It was a political science class.

One of my favorite subjects, by the way.

That said, I spent most of the class with my mouth shut.

Call it self-preservation, if you will.

Perhaps a little back story is in order.

It was 1975.

I was in the second semester at Sacramento State.

The first semester was baptism by fire.

I learned not to ask questions that didn’t align with a professor’s beliefs.

To be clear, it wasn’t all professors.

But after hearing responses offered by other students to in-class questions ripped gleefully to shreds as if it were a blood sport, I slipped into self-preservation mode.

To be clear, they were not typically yes or no questions that were asked.

What was required — at the instructors’ request — was for those responding to basically offer their perspective or offer up an opinion and back it up with an argument.

Nothing wrong with that.

If helps you think on your feet.

But more often than not, the instructors would only rip apart those responses that clearly didn’t align with theirs.

I confess. I never took the bait.

Some of it had to do with carrying 15 credits, working full-time, a part-time job on the side, a fledgling photography business, and being on a school board.

But most of it has to do with the fact I wasn’t stupid.

The first semester at Sac State I questioned an instructor who thought it was beneath any of his students to want to work at any newspaper that wasn’t the Los Angeles Times.

He delivered a 10-minute rant about wasting one’s life by not wanting to aim high.

When I shared that I worked at the daily Press-Tribune in Roseville and that I considered community journalism a worthy vocation, he basically inferred I needed to have higher goals.

This, mind you, came from a journalism professor.

At the time, 84 percent of the jobs in journalism were at small newspapers small radio stations, and In small TV markets. Today, that’s probably closer to 98 percent.

Large newspapers, for the most part, were becoming interchangeable degraded from offering a mirror on specific communities they served by adhering to pack journalism or basically  self-affirmation by not being different than others.

I came to the conclusion — right or wrong — that one doesn’t argue with people in a position that can impact your academic success that are driven by the belief that they are absolutely right about everything.

That interaction — coupled with the classroom performance of a few selected professors — brought me to the conclusion not to poke my head above the preconceived notions of those controlling my life in segments of 90 minutes twice a week.

Again, keep in mind, this was not how the majority of professors or instructors conducted their classes. There were enough, though, for you  to remember to keep your head low.

That approach to post-secondary education in disciplines not rooted in science or the humanities was hammered home in the spring of 1975.

It was a political science class.

The instructor was droning on about the evils of capitalism.

Strike that.

He wasn’t droning.

It was borderline preaching.

He was baiting students to challenge his assertions.

When no one did, he zeroed in in on one student.

He was likely a freshman in a class of freshmen.

What set him apart was wearing Wranglers, cowboy boots, and a flannel shirt.

He also had a cowboy hat that — unlike others that entered the classroom wearing hats or caps — had removed from his head and placed on the desk.

The instructor asked him what his father did for a living.

He replied that his father was a rice farmer in Colusa County.

The exchange went downhill from there.

At one point, the instructor asked what his father drove.

The reply was a Cadillac.

In quick succession it was established for the class that the Cadillac was new and that his father paid cash for it.

That led to the “ah ha” moment.

The instructor rambled on about how that proves his point about how farmers were getting rich and cash crop support checks were part of what was wrong with capitalism.

Then something miraculous happened.

The student that was the target of the instructor’s disdain started a response that started with “sir” and ended in his tone still being polite.

In between, he shared that his father basically got only one paycheck a year.

It meant he had to put aside money when times were good.

He saved money to pay cash whenever possible because he couldn’t risk not getting a “paycheck” and not being able to make loan payments.

The Cadillac was the first new vehicle his dad had his bought in a decade.

He shared that his father — and other California rice growers — didn’t receive government crop support checks.

They sank or swam on their own.

I found out after class that the son of the Colusa County rice grower was majoring in criminal justice.

He shared how it was annoying that some professors were constantly making assumptions about who he was, what he believed, and relished in belittling his life.

The point of all this is simple.

Nothing really changes.

Everyone acts as if colleges in the United States have somehow become bastions of wokeness.

I disagree.

It’s just become more transparent.

The truth is colleges, in many ways, have always been an extension of high school cliques on steroids.

It’s not that the new challenges, mixing with others from other social-economic background, and with different viewpoints isn’t a part of the college experience.

It is.

Even in today’s arena of conditioned free speech restrained by the fear of offending someone’s fragile sense of being, students are afforded new challenges.

It is why what many perceive to be wrong with college is often wrong elsewhere in society.

College, when it comes to values intermixing, has never been a perfect nirvana.

It has always been a place where herd mentality thrives.

Granted, there are more herds but they are still herds.

The problem is being in the shadow of an ivory tower doesn’t bestow on you some sort of divinity that puts you above the fray of life, let alone give you the absolute right  to pass final judgment on all things familiar or foreign to you alike.

The sin isn’t whether colleges mirror society social economically, culturally or politically because they don’t.

It’s the assumption that they do.

This column is the opinion of editor, Dennis Wyatt, and does not necessarily represent the opinions of The Bulletin or 209 Multimedia. He can be reached at dwyatt@mantecabulletin.com