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It was from her that I learned to embrace “ambiguity” and the “grey area”, for it was in those places that freedom could be found. |
A Tribute to Helen Gana – A Quiet Pioneer One of these quiet pioneers was Helen Gana, the first financial aid director at the University of St. Thomas in Houston. I will always remember my first encounter with this remarkable woman. As a young freshman in my second semester of school, I ran up the small stairway to the small offices on the second floor of a wooden building. I just wanted to make sure my financial aid was ready for next year. Imagine my surprise when the “financial aid lady” told me I had to apply all over again! “You mean I have to fill out all those pages again and pay that money? I have to reapply every year? The deadline is next week!!” My next encounter was the following spring semester when I discovered my old work study supervisor was no longer with the institution. What was I going to do for my work study job? I guess I looked so pitiful that the “financial aid lady,” Miz Gana, told me to check back with her about working for her. That was the start of friendship that has spanned over 30 years. I don’t exactly recall when “Miz Gana” became “Helen,” but I do recall all the many things I learned from her, for she was a remarkable woman. She literally was a one-person office for the hundreds of students receiving financial aid at St. Thomas. She gave out applications, did hand calculations, awarded aid, typed award letters and answered what seemed to be never-ending calls from the Admission Office checking on the status of a prospective student. Under her tutelage, I learned to type those long, multi-aged Hinson Hazlewood loans (one original and three pages with carbon paper in between) and to correct them by using those little white correcting sheets before the advent of liquid paper. I learned to give out the correct application such as the PCS for dependent students, and I learned how to screen those calls from the admission director. Without a doubt, one of the most valuable lessons I learned from Helen was not to be afraid to make decisions. Back in those days, the regulations were few and stayed as “proposed” regulations for years. This meant the aid directors were left on their own to administer the federal funds. I will always recall one of her mantras, “The regs don’t say that I can, but then again, they don’t say that I can’t.” It was from her that I learned the nuances between “shall” and “should.” We had numerous discussions between the intent of the law and whether or not the regulations assisted or hindered the process. It was from her that I learned to embrace “ambiguity” and the “grey area”, for it was in those places that freedom could be found. Helen was not only pragmatic in her approach to the administration of financial aid, but she was quite skilled in her assessment of social situations. Like a scientist, she would break down an event or social interaction and explain the rationale behind words and actions. I marveled at her intuitive knowledge of people and their actions. Although Helen was extremely intelligent and analytical, her most effective teaching moments were those where she led by example. I can remember the boxes of applications she would work on in the evenings and on weekends. She taught me that there was no such thing as a 40-hour work week, and no such thing as anything “final” in financial aid. Despite her intelligence and varied skill sets, Helen was a very humble person. She attended TASFAA conferences, but remained quietly in the background. Although a financial aid pioneer in Texas, she was never one to bring attention to herself. She quietly served TASFAA by being the best, most ethical and student-centered aid administrator ever. Unquestionably, the most valuable lesson I learned from her was outside the office arena. Through sheer determination and optimism, she became a cancer survivor through several battles. By her example, I learned that a positive outlook on life is essential, and that opening your heart and home to all who enter is one of the greatest gifts in life. Thank you, Helen. |