Marjorie Sussman ’88

  • 1980s
A portrait of a woman in a blue button-up shirt, turned to the side and looking toward the camera. She wears glasses, short, curly hair, and a purse slung across her shoulder.

My path to Wellesley started with a boy. I was living in New Jersey, he was in Boston. All I wanted was to attend college near him. So when I had the chance to attend Wellesley’s Minority Students’ Weekend in the fall of 1983, I said yes—mainly as an excuse to be in the area. But, as it turned out, I never even saw him that weekend. From the moment I arrived, I felt surprisingly at home. The campus was breathtaking, and everyone I met was warm, welcoming, and engaged. By the end of the weekend, something had shifted. Getting into Wellesley became my singular focus for the rest of high school. I had no idea whether I would be admitted—or whether I’d be able to afford it if I was—but I knew I had to try. I still can’t believe my good fortune.

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