College essays that made a difference - Princeton Review 2010

Andrew Maxwell Mangino
The applicants

Throughout high school, Andrew’s passion was his school newspaper, The Caldron. While Andrew worked on The Caldron, it expanded from 10 to 100 staff members and won the award for top high school newspaper in New Jersey in the small schools division. Andrew taught a class on his journalism experiences at Columbia Scholastic Press Association conventions and won a national award for newspaper design. He spent his summers at journalism conferences and volunteering at his local newspaper. He played double bass in his high school’s orchestra, jazz band, chamber group, and band, and was a North Jersey regional bassist his senior year. He was on his school’s baseball and varsity cross-country teams, and was president of the National Honor Society.

Stats

SAT: 1510 (750 Critical Reading, 760 Math)

SAT Subject Test(s): 760 U.S. History, 760 Math IIC

High School GPA: 99.5 (out of 100) weighted

High School: James Caldwell High School, West Caldwell, NJ

Hometown: West Caldwell, NJ

Gender: Male

Race: Caucasian

Applied To

Brown University

Columbia University—Columbia College

George Washington University

Georgetown University

Harvard University

New York University

Northwestern University Princeton University

Syracuse University

Tufts University

University of Chicago

University of Pennsylvania

Washington University in St. Louis

Yale University

Essay

Andrew used similar versions of following essay in his applications to Brown, Chicago, Columbia, Harvard, NYU, Penn, Princeton, Syracuse, Tufts, Washington, and Yale.

Common Application: Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence.

His arms flew through the hot summer air. There was a deafening delay. Someone shouted, “We love you John!” Had he read my mind? Snapping open my camera, I focused intently on his expression. Suddenly, the blistering B-flat chord thundered from the platform and applause spread through the crowd like an electrical current. The musical rush of Star Wars was contagious. For two minutes and fifty five seconds, the Blossom Musical Festival audience was mesmerized, and I realized why I had convinced my family to drive eight hours for the moment. His music, in its grandeur and consonance, was perfect. I want to tell him how it makes me feel!

One year later and miles from Cleveland, I waited anxiously in Tanglewood, Massachusetts amongst fellow diehards. With my Star Wars score in one hand and Greatest Hits piano book in the other, I wondered what I would tell him. Should I explain where my passion began? For more than a decade, I had listened to an array of music that included everything from Jewish chants, Christmas classics, and traditional Afghani hymns to, Bob Dylan, Gustav Holst, and Blink 182. But over time, dramatic movie themes began to stand out most. As I got older, I turned from dancing around the house with my mom to Whitney Houston’s I’m Every Woman to conducting the 1984 Olympic Theme in front of my cat, cuing imaginary trumpets with pretzel rods. During school presentations and in my film projects, I blasted his music, determined to share his genius with others. Should I tell him about my own experience playing the double bass? After all, that instrument had sparked my interest in orchestral music. But that night, I learned that it did not matter what I was planning to say after all. An usher appeared to apologize. The maestro had left.

Two evenings later, I returned to Tanglewood without a ticket. A thunderous storm accompanied the evening performance, leaving the field a muddy mess. But it was my last chance. Begging a guard to let me in, I sprinted across the grass with the Star Wars score clutched to my chest. Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture blasted and canons exploded behind me. Then, in a rush of mud and water, I found myself at the stage exit for the second time that week. As I panted, a lady emerged. I could not hear what she said, but I clearly saw her signal for me to join her. Nervously, I stepped forward and peered at the stage door.

In the next moment, a dapper, white-haired man in a tuxedo appeared. John Towner Williams seemed to glow as he reached out with his conducting arm to shake my hand. For a second, I could not think. “Mr. Williams! I admire your music so much,” I managed to say. “E.T., Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Harry Potter, The Cowboys, the NBC News Theme, the Olympic themes, Superman … the way you use the instruments to create such strong emotions is amazing. How do you create so many perfect pieces?” He chuckled and I handed him the score. “Oh! Look at this,” he said, smiling. “It’s one of my favorites.” I told him I agreed and asked him to sign it and make it out to my high school orchestra. “I’ve convinced them to perform your Jurassic Park suite next year,” I said. “We really think it will revitalize our group!” The words rolled off my tongue faster than the bass section’s ominous low notes in the JAWS end credits. But he responded calmly. “Thank you, Andrew. Please do send me a recording.” And then, before walking away, he turned. “We will meet again.”

He was right. Months later, as my arms sweep through James Caldwell High School’s air-conditioned symphony room, I shut my eyes and imagine that our group is recording on the floor of Lincoln Center. I look to the brass section. Seeing the focus in their eyes inspires me to conduct with even more emotion. I turn to my left. The violins are playing in unison. I look up to my bass teacher for approval, but he is too engaged to notice. Then, one minute and thirty eight seconds into Jurassic Park, with my arms dramatically flailing, a cymbal crashes, intensifying the moment. Then it hits. I have met him again: the first time in person, this time through his work. Before, I did not share the moment with anyone. Now, I am surrounded by others whose passion for John Williams matches mine.

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