Amy Berg - The applicants

College essays that made a difference - Princeton Review 2010

Amy Berg
The applicants

Throughout high school, Amy ran varsity cross-country, varsity track, and participated in student government. During her senior year she was Commissioner of Clubs, editor of her school’s literary magazine, and head coordinator of the Mr. Crescent Valley pageant, a year-long fundraiser for a local charitable organization.

Stats

SAT: 1500 (800 Critical Reading, 700 Math)

High School GPA: 3.80

High School: Crescent Valley High School, Corvallis, OR

Hometown: Corvallis, OR

Gender: Female

Race: Caucasian

Applied To

Claremont McKenna College

Colby College

Haverford College

Lewis and Clark College

Pomona College

University of Oregon—Clark Honors College

Whitman College

Essay

Amy used the following essay, which she had written for an English class, in each of her applications.

As we drove closer, I gathered my books into a neat stack. When we rounded the final corner, the redbrick façade of the library loomed, a promise of the incalculable wealth inside. We four siblings raced each other upstairs, laughing and panting. Our cloth book bags were ready in our hands, flapping against our knees as blank and lifeless as the King Tut mummy pictured on mine. As soon as we reached the first floor, the blue-green hush of the thousands of volumes was enough to quiet us even on our worst days. To run, to shout, or even to touch the regal Puss-in-Boots statue in the children’s corner meant a dreaded punishment: having to sit with my mother while she perused the adult non-fiction.

On the other hand, those who behaved had the run of the library. We could never read everything those stately shelves held. My siblings and I all had our favorite haunts: mine were the “pioneer girl” stories. Among the huge wooden shelves, it was easy to imagine that I was in a magical indoor forest, dwarfed next to the stacks of knowledge.

All too soon, we found all the books we could carry, and my mother gathered us all up. I walked back to the checkout desk, my full King Tut bag bulging and banging against my legs. My arms grew heavy as I balanced my load while standing in line. Each time I gave my card to the librarian, I fervently hoped I didn’t have any fines. To owe a fine was to fail the library; was I really good enough for its generosity? Once, while I was searching my pockets for quarters, an elderly gentleman behind me paid for me. When I thanked him, he said to me, “Just keep reading.”

In the car on the way home, our ecstatic solitude lay undisturbed unless two of us went for the same book at once. When we stopped in our garage, those of us at a tense moment in our books would often be too captivated even to leave the car. I don’t know how my mother expected us to finish any chores for the rest of the afternoon. If I was able to steal an uninterrupted half-hour, what a treasure that was! I would go into the living room and rest the book on one of our overstuffed wingback chairs. Kneeling before the book, completely devoted to every word, I leaned my body into the upholstered maroon fabric. I read the back cover, the title page, the dedication, the preface. And then, finally … a new adventure transcended paper and ink. I quit twentieth century Oregon for a trail across the country or a castle across the world. As I grew up, the words became bigger and the print became smaller, but the wonder at opening a book stayed the same. I may not be traveling across the prairie on a Conestoga wagon like my pioneer girls, but I know I will “just keep reading.”

See this page to find out where this student got in.