People who think that professors lead easy lives are sorely mistaken. University politics create extraordinary opportunities to make a fuss about trifling matters, and some departments are in a constant state of war with the administration or with each other; The smaller the stakes---the bigger the battles. Professors are also encouraged to publish their research if they want to advance. And, to add to their discomfort, they have to deal with all of those pesky students. If teachers want to earn extra money, sometimes they establish consulting practices on the side. What a life!
I had met most of the beleaguered faculty in W.S.’s department, but had never met his new major professor. When W.S. introduced me to Professor Seltzer, I was shocked. Later I said to W.S., “I can’t believe it,” Professor Seltzer was engaging and totally relaxed. He was smiling and actually had a twinkle in his eye. Why is that?” “He’s retiring the end of the year,” W.S. replied. “It means I have to be finished before he leaves. If not, I have to start working on my dissertation with another professor, and we may never get out of here.”
W.S. had been awarded another graduate assistantship, which meant indentured servitude to Professor Seltzer. His duties involved helping Dr. Seltzer with his academic ventures. It wasn’t a bad deal, because W.S. would help him with his research and sometimes be listed as a co-author on some of the written papers. Then, W.S. would be sent hither and yon to report on their analyses. Dr.Seltzer wasn’t traveling. He was busy marking days toward retirement off of his calendar.
So, when I came home from work and saw W.S. packing a suitcase, I knew he was headed out to present a paper at another professional meeting. “Where to this time?” I asked. “I wish you could come with me,” he replied. “I’m off to Denver, and have made plans to have dinner with Jeffrey and Diana. After their wedding, our former bachelor friend and his bride had moved from Chicago to Denver.
I would have liked to join W.S. on this jaunt, but was accumulating my vacation time for another meeting that was to be held in New Orleans. W.S. and Dick England, the mountain owner, were both going to receive an award for their scientific research, and I wanted to be there to make sure that Dick didn’t go near any soft shell crab before the presentation. So, I stayed home and W.S. went to Denver.
A few days later, I picked him up at the airport. When he got into the car, I asked how things went. “Did you see me on TV?” he asked. “No,” I said. “I haven’t had the television set on since you left. What happened?”
“Well,” he began, “there were two conventions scheduled at the hotel. One was my meeting, and the other was a get-together of members of The Atheist Movement of America. I presented my paper on, ‘The Readability of Tax Returns,’ while at the same time Madelyn Murray O’Hair was devoutly disclaiming God in the ballroom. Her appearance brought out the holy protesters, and there was a lot of screaming going on outside.” “So, I don’t get it,” I replied. “Why were you on television?”
“It was all Jeffrey’s fault. He told me he’d pick me up at the front entrance of the hotel at five o’clock, and you know Jeffrey. He’s always late! So, I was standing there, minding my own business, when some guy started yelling that I was going to burn in Hell. Then another man said that I shouldn’t listen to people of that ilk, and the other man thought he had called him a nasty name, and hit him over the head with his ‘I Love Jesus’ sign, and then the police arrived. The religious and the non-religious were all screaming at each other, and I was telling both sides to ‘Leave me alone!”’
“Some reporter stuck a microphone up to my mouth, and asked my opinion, and I said, ‘I don’t have an opinion, but if you want to hear about the readability of tax forms, I can tell you about that. He didn’t. When Jeffrey picked me up, he asked, ‘What’s going on?’ and I told him that my talk had caused quite a controversy.’”
All in all, it was a taxing experience. A clap of thunder could be heard in the distance.
Esther Blumenfeld
CROSSING WITH THE BLUE LIGHT, Blumenfeld c. 2006