Marcy clasps a white mug, the colored blocks reading CLAS in bright blue and orange on the porcelain, “Beware of the laryngitis,” she manages through a sore throat. She takes a sip of tea and grins at me, “Steve thinks I sound sexy with a raspy voice,” and lets out a laugh, a burble from deep within her throat, a laugh that is stained with pain and wisdom and unmistakable optimism.
I first met Marcy during my freshman year at Franklin and Marshall College in my quest for an on-campus job. She had a reputation for expertise in publishing and communications and I sought her out for this reason. I dressed up for my first time meeting with her—straightened my hair, donned a crisp white-button down, dark pants. Marcy waited for me in her office, barefoot, dark curls grazing her shoulders. Pictures of her children, husband, and friends adorned desktops. Where the Wild Things Are dolls embellished the shelves in her office; Max with his costumed paws mid-prance, the creatures protectively joining in his fun. What I saw was a woman who would accept my wavy hair, my athletic attire as I rushed from class to job to field hockey practice.
Marcy started out at Franklin and Marshall in the news bureau and college communications. As the former associate director of the Center for Liberal Arts and Society (CLAS) and former director of the Seachrist Institute’s Clemente Course in the Humanities, Marcy has been the “Jewish mother” to more people than her two children, Ryan and Caroline. With these positions have come a slew of student workers and Lancaster natives who have “opened [Marcy’s] eyes.” The Clemente Course, a national initiative, offers tuition-free education for underprivileged lovers of learning, ages 17 and older. The course consists of 110 hours of class time, spanning the disciplines of the liberal arts, and is taught by college-level instructors. Free books, carfare, and childcare are among the tangible benefits of the program. Students who complete the program earn college credits. Unfortunately, the Clemente program was cut in an effort to budget programs on the F&M campus and in the greater Lancaster area.
“We were bringing the liberal arts to a new constituency—poor people,” she explains, “People would say, ‘[Clemente] makes me want to be a better parent,’ and ‘[Clemente] gives me hope.’ After the program was cut, I was sad…that people weren’t going to be helped anymore.”
It may be this selflessness that marks the falsettos in Marcy’s laugh. As much as she has impacted the lives of others, she is quick to reflect on the mutual effect that they have had on hers.
“More than 100 students have worked for me, and the things they have brought—laughter, energy happiness,” she pauses, “being around young people keeps me young,” she muses and smiles graciously at me, one of her former workers. Franklin and Marshall College is lucky to have its resident “Jewish mother” as she calls herself, constantly checking up on the wellbeing of her student workers, past and present.
Born in Brooklyn, New York, Marcy Dubroff enjoyed what she terms an “idyllic childhood.” This type of cheerful nostalgia carried Marcy through her college years and into adult life. “My father would tell me, ‘There’s one thing you can’t be in life—a father.’” It was in a supportive home that Marcy first fell in love with language. Races to complete the New York Times crossword puzzle and reading the dictionary with her father, listening to a multi-lingual mother, all became the courtships to her involvement in writing and editing.
At Cornell University, where she earned her B.S. in Communications, Marcy first learned short format writing and editing. She pursued a career in writing, publishing articles in LaxPower Newsletter and co-founding the website College Lacrosse USA.
“I love sports. I’m envious of people who can do that with their bodies,” Marcy notes, whose father called her “Grace” because she “was not graceful.” An avid Mets fan and sports enthusiast, she briefly worked in sports administration, as well.
Later, she married the now commissioner of the Centennial Athletic Conference, Steve Ulrich, in Cornell University’s campus chapel, where, “I used to say, when I get married—if I get married, this is where I’m getting married.” Steve and Marcy were married under the gaze of Cornell’s muses that adorn the non-denominational chapel. Both sets of parents were concerned initially, as Marcy is Jewish and Steve is Christian. “[My parents] didn’t know what an interfaith marriage looked like. They thought, the kids are going to be confused. Steve and I decided if we weren’t confused, our kids wouldn’t be confused.” The two wed in a non-denominational service with a rabbi and a minister, and wrote their own vows. The result?
“We had one heck of a party.”
Any visitor can tell that Marcy values a good time. There are certain people, though, who believe good times are not simply instants, rather, they are moments stringed together by faith.
“The key element is to find what you love in what you do,” Marcy advises. She has been moved around a lot on F&M’s 1.5 square mile campus. From communications to CLAS to the POGIL Office (Process Oriented Guided Inquiry Learning, which is an educational program indirectly connected to the college), Marcy’s resiliency has been instrumental in making smooth transitions from one program to the next.
In her new position as the Project Coordinator in the POGIL National Office, Marcy does not see as many young faces as she would like to, nestled in an office no more than a half mile away from her old stomping grounds on F&M’s campus.
Like the young boy, Max, perched on her shelf—first in her office in Huegel Alumni House, then in Buchanan House, and now in the POGIL office—Marcy adjusts to her surroundings, as unpredictable as they may be. Her voice cracks, whether from the laryngitis or reflection of her life thus far. “I’ll be honest with you, I still don’t know what I want to do in life.” In that case, may the wild rumpus start.
This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at F and M chapter and does not reflect the views of Her Campus.