Calvin Stokes was an imposing person, not as much physically as he was in terms of his personality. He more than made up for his small, stocky build with his charisma and presence. His friends, if asked, would describe him as definately possessing a larger than standard ego, but not to such a point as to be a problem. He was a storyteller, and since his life tended to be fairly interesting in comparison to those around him, or any fiction he could possibly produce (Calvin's writing style was a mix of bad spelling and first-person stream of conciousness when he bothered to make the attempt academically or otherwise). His stories were often about events involving himself and of a self-deprecating nature. One of his friends' favorite stories is about a fire he accidentally started in train compartment during a high school exchange program to Germany.

Calvin was the son of a psychiatrist who specialized in juvenile psychosis cases (father) and an elementary school teacher (mother). Growing up in a house with a psychiarist as a father was not as bad as it could have been, he often considered in retrospect, since he, Calvin, was so normal in comparison to most of his father's cases that his parents actually tended towards the underprotective side of raising him, realizing the he at an early age was generally mature enough to take of himself in most situations. As a result, he had a fairly untroubled childhood, at least in the family department. Calvin felt fortunate to never have his mother as a teacher in grade school; not because he thought she was a particularly bad teacher or didn't like her, but he felt it would have been a little awkward for both of them.

Calvin enjoyed material things, transient things in particular. For instance; genuine gourmet hot chocolate. If he were to be called a snob about anything, it would be his hot chocolate habit. Hold a package of Swiss Miss with marshmallows up to his head and he would probably make a decent effort of ripping your arm off if he thought you knew better. More likely he would just snatch the proffered packet and make for the nearest men's room, go to the first available stall, empty the contents of the powdered, Americanized version of European nectar into the commode, and procede to urinate over said contents until well mixed. That was the kind of person Calvin was.

Calvin also had a perchant for foreign cigarettes, turning his nose up on any cancer stick which did not have at least one non-Anglican character somewhere on the packaging. He particularly enjoyed Czechoslovakian brands, at least until that entire area shattered like a dropped plate. Even as a history major he found that the biggest impact that world event had on his as an individual was really on his nicotine habit.

After high school, Calvin entered Columbia University's History program and steadfastly refused to be involved in anything even vaugely approaching the theatrical arts, despite the fact that he was a film buff. His reasoning was that it was New York, and Columbia no less. If he wanted to be anymore mainstream he'd have gone to NYU. Getting involved in film studies in New York, in his mind, was like going to Paris and spending the entire time looking at the Eiffel tower.

He was a highly ranked student, though he tended towards the wild side, but his professors recognized the inherent intelligence of the trenchcoat-wearing, Slovakian-cigarette-smoking, Misfits-listening plodding young man, and for the most part earned their respect. Calvin liked to say that his personal best episode of class-participation occured after having been up all night finishing an econ paper and starting the morning off with two Nodoz washed down with three beers on an empty stomach. If classroom debates were acts of war, Calvin would have been condemned by the UN that day. His professor asked him to stay after, and when all the students were gone he offered Calvin a research position.