Graduation wouldn’t simply mark the end of high school. It marked the first time I chose to truly leave everything familiar behind.
My adventure with Iowa State University began long before I ever unpacked a suitcase in Larch Hall. In fact, the very first time I “visited” the campus, I barely visited it at all. It was more of a joyride with two of my brothers— Tom and Dave— at a time in our lives when a drive across state lines counted as both exploration and entertainment. I was young, edging into adulthood, and they were all a few steps ahead of me, showing me what freedom looked like. Early in my senior year at high school, I had narrowed my college choices to the University of Minnesota in the Twin Cities, Northwestern University in Evanston, IL, the University of Wisconsin in Madison, Cornell University in Ithaca, NY, and Iowa State in Ames, IA. All great engineering schools. This would be my first college trip.
I met my brother Dave in the Twin Cities on Friday afternoon after taking the Greyhound bus from New Lisbon. I was supposed to end up in St. Paul, but in true rookie fashion, I climbed off at the Minneapolis station instead. Dave just laughed, and before long we were heading south to Fort Dodge, Iowa, where our brother Tom was living and working. As the miles rolled by, Interstate 35 carried us through the familiar landscape of the Midwest—endless cornfields, quiet towns, grain elevators on the horizon, and long stretches of open road. We reached Tom's apartment close to eleven that evening. After a day of buses, highways, and a minor navigational blunder, it simply felt good to be with my brothers again.
When we arrived in Ames the next day, we made a half-hearted attempt to drive near campus, taking the exit and heading west on Lincoln Way toward the school. Most of the campus was located north of Lincoln Way, but our car never took that right turn. The three of us were more interested in simply being together, joking, laughing, and celebrating the youngest of the Rubash boys coming of age. Before long, we ended up at a bar called "The Cave-In", and that became the real destination. We spent the entire afternoon there, and whatever impression I was supposed to draw from Iowa State that day got lost somewhere between bar stools, brotherly banter, and pitchers of beer. Still, even that casual visit planted a seed. I had at least seen Iowa State—even if through a haze of a beer buzz and dim bar lighting.
I remember returning home, and my mother asked about the trip and the campus. I replied, "Iowa State is the place for me!"
My second visit was a little more official: freshman orientation. Except it didn’t feel very official the night before because, once again, I found myself out late at a bar. This time with my brothers, Chuck and Tom. Back then, no one warned us that orientation involved anything serious—let alone an exam that would determine our math placement. So when I walked into the testing room the next morning with far less sleep (and clarity) than ideal, the surprise was real. I didn’t know what to expect, but somehow, through instinct or luck or maybe just leftover high school math, I tested well enough to land in the Calculus 101 series. At the time, it felt like a win. Little did I know calculus would later become one of my biggest academic hurdles.
My true Iowa State beginning came in September 1977, when I officially moved in for my freshman year. Back then, you didn’t meet your roommates online or trade messages on social media. No, the university mailed you letters—actual paper letters—to tell you who you’d be living with. Because there was a housing shortage that year, they had to place three freshmen into dorm rooms built for two. It was a kind of modern-day rite of passage. You accepted it, shrugged, and prepared to live in close quarters with two people you had never met in your life.
I packed like someone who had no idea what college life required—because I didn’t. I stuffed clothes into a couple of suitcases and added a few personal belongings. That was it. No mini-fridge, no décor, nothing that Pinterest or TikTok today would call “dorm ready.” My mom and I loaded everything into our Ford LTD early in the morning. The drive was about 300 miles—roughly five hours straight through, or six to seven with breaks. The car was mostly quiet. I think we were both processing the meaning of the trip in our own ways. For my mom, I was the last of 5 boys to leave the nest with my father's passing the year before. My mom would be all alone in the house for the first time. For me... a mix of confidence and anxiety, knowing I was not unfamiliar with new starts in new places.
When we arrived in Ames, the unloading went quickly. I was assigned to the fourth floor of Larch Hall, a tall brick building right across from the athletic facilities, a short walk to Jack Trice Stadium. Early on after my acceptance into Iowa State, I thought about "walking on" and playing for the Cyclone football team. I had loved football my entire life, and it was a big part of my identity in high school. However, this was the Big 12, and after meeting the coaches and some of my potential new teammates, I decided better of it. My house name was Cessna, and when I walked into my room for the first time, everything felt foreign: two empty beds (one single, one bunk) waiting to be made, three desks, a view out the window that looked nothing like my small hometown, and the hum of energy on the floor.
My mom didn't stay long. That was the way things were done back then. Parents dropped you at the curb, helped carry your belongings into the room, gave you a hug, and headed home. I walked her down to the parking lot, hugged her one last time, and watched as the Ford LTD disappeared down the road. That moment hit me harder than I expected. Suddenly, the hallway behind me felt like I was no longer on Earth.
The first few hours were rough. Students up and down the hall seemed to know one another already. They called each other by first name, swapped stories about their summers, and picked up conversations as though they'd never been apart. I didn't know a single soul. I was a kid from a Wisconsin town of barely 1,200 people, standing alone in a building full of strangers on a campus of 25,000. I felt like I'd been dropped onto another planet where everyone else knew the customs, spoke the language, and had already figured out how life worked. I was just hoping not to do anything that immediately identified me as the confused visitor from Wisconsin. Honestly, if my mom had turned around and come back that afternoon, I think I might have climbed into the car without hesitation.
Once classes began, the struggle intensified. High school hadn’t prepared me for what was waiting for me academically. Calculus hit me like a brick wall. Chemistry wasn’t far behind. Even English demanded more than I was used to. It felt like every course came with a steep uphill climb.
I threw myself into studying. While other freshmen were out exploring, adjusting, or partying, I spent most of my time buried in textbooks. I wasn’t just trying to succeed—I was trying to survive academically. I studied all day, every day, afraid that if I fell behind even a little, I’d never catch up. It wasn’t the college experience I had imagined, but it was the one I felt forced into.
One class I still remember vividly was a Library course—literally a class on how to use the library. It might sound simple, but I treated it like a lifeline. It was pass/fail, and when I got a “pass,” I felt genuine pride. It was one of the first positive signs that maybe, just maybe, I belonged at Iowa State.
The end of the first quarter brought my first major academic shock. Iowa State was on the quarter system, and when my calculus grade came in the mail, it was a C. Not terrible by most standards—but that one C brought my overall GPA below a 3.0. It was 2.67 to be exact. To most people, it was just a number. To me, it felt like someone had taken away an identity I had carried my entire life—that of being a good student. Coming from a high school career filled with mostly A's, the hit to my confidence was immediate. I remember thinking, "Maybe I'm simply not cut out for this place."
Determined to understand what went wrong, I went to the professor Gregorac's office to go over my final calculus exam. We walked through several problems together, and surprisingly, we found small mistakes—places where I had earned more points than had been marked. After recalculating, he said I had been only one point away from a B.
Then he leaned back, smiled, and said, “Rubash—that’s a great name. I’m going to give you one extra point just for that.”
And just like that, I went from a C to a B. That one extra point lifted my GPA to an even 3.0, but more importantly, it lifted my entire spirit. That moment changed the trajectory of my attitude toward school. I stopped feeling like an imposter and started believing I could keep up. From that point forward, my GPA climbed each quarter for the four years I attended. The studying didn’t get easier, but I got better at it. I found routines, confidence, and my footing in the academic jungle of Iowa State.
Looking back now, that first year was one of the hardest and most formative experiences of my life. It was the moment I left behind the safety of a small-town world and stepped into something bigger, scarier, and ultimately life-changing. My Iowa State adventure began with a playful drive-by visit, stumbled through a bar-filled orientation, and hit its emotional low point during that lonely first day in Larch Hall. But it also gave me some of the earliest proof that resilience, effort, and a little encouragement can change your entire path.
I arrived at Iowa State unsure of myself. Four years later, I left with far more than a degree. Along the way, I met people on my dorm floor who would become lifelong friends, and eventually their spouses and children would become part of my own extended story. But that's a chapter for another day. I left with confidence I hadn't possessed four years earlier, and relationships that have enriched my life ever since. But before any of that could happen, there was one final week in New Lisbon that changed the course of my life forever.