REWARDS

REWARDS

My time as a university faculty member dragged on far too long. Teaching undergraduates kept me at it. Most were eager, attentive, and as business-like as students as their instructor were in response; the smart ones had unerring bullshit detectors. Others wanted only to skate into the next semester as effortlessly as possible; burdened early in life with a sense of entitlement that I could only attribute to over-indulgent parents and brow-beaten high school teachers, they felt put upon by demands such as arriving at class on time and taking exams when they were scheduled—but Dr. Huesos, can’t I take the midterm exam another time? This really cute guy wants to take me to the beach that day! But the good ones, not necessarily the smartest, but the ones I remember best, figured out they could learn some things—that is, get an education--while they were getting a college degree. Two of my favorite written student evaluations are symbolic of my relationship with students: First, “Dr. Huesos is the anti-Christ”. Second, “Dr. Huesos is the anti-Christ superstar.”

The anti-intellectual arrogance of administrators and the unconscious spinelessness of most faculty colleagues eventually made my life among them impossible, made me feel like I was sipping poison every time I was among them. I never shook off the toxic after-effect of one particular incident. An untenured junior faculty member made a couple of unpardonable errors: he was brighter than the rest of us and he ran with the wrong crowd in the department. Without notice or warning—or good cause--the dean told the department chair to get rid Dr. S. The dutiful, toady chair huddled with a few of his sycophantic cronies to invent a set of bogus guidelines, issued them to Dr. S one week, and terminated him the following week. The department, which on paper was democratic and sovereign, voted 2 to 1 against approving the guidelines, or applying them to new faculty, specifically Dr. S. No matter, the thugs moved ahead with the termination.

Of the 30 or so members of the department, approximately 90%--the watered-down liberals and the thugs—walked away from the situation once they cast their votes. Three of us aggressively organized on behalf of our ousted colleague and 1 other assumed the role of honest broker. We were joined by a handful of students who put everything on the line over a matter of principle, something abandoned by most of their professors. The struggle dragged on for months—petitions, news releases, TV interviews, rallies, letters and conversations with people of power and influence, but nothing worked. When the dean received a copy of Dr. S’s formal appeal he figured out what we knew all along--any impartial faculty procedure would beat the dean like a rented mule; he skulked around until finally issuing an ultimatum: Dr. S could take a year off with pay to work on his book and accept a stipend for legal fees, or wait for another year to be fired properly.

The abbreviated telling of this story does no justice to the dedicated hard work of the students, the only class of people more vulnerable than my soon-to-be-departed-friend. They, like many of us when we were coming along, believed in the ideals of university life, of academic freedom, of the free exchange of ideas, of judging people on their merit, all the rich values that had once made academic life attractive. For their commitment, the students learned a cruel education about the potential miseries of the professional life they sought; and they learned those lessons from the very worst among us.

Word spread fast when the deal was struck between Dr. S and the administration. A lot of upset followed. One graduate student in particular (BK) was outraged that after all the effort made on Dr. S’s behalf, we had advised him to take the deal, which to this graduate student was nothing short of folding under pressure, leaving the battle unfinished. As part of a lengthy conversation that followed, I tried to explain the nut of the situation: Dr. S could take the offer or wait a year and be fired without recourse. With the brokered deal, Dr. S would receive full salary, teach no classes, work fulltime on his book and job hunt while he still had a position, a big plus in the academic market place. BK was not be appeased. Nothing practical or philosophical cut his anger or his sense of betrayal. The call ended on a bad note, although I admired his principled determination throughout the struggle and understood his anger.

BK and I remained friends. Dr S. published a prize-winning book and is a department chair at a major university. Of the 3 who tried to aid Dr. S, one fled the university in disgust, was awarded an endowed chair at a premier university, and published a book that won 17 prestigious awards of excellence, an unmatched achievement by any one’s memory. The honest broker is the only other former colleague I remain in touch with.

But catching up with the cast of characters is not the point here. Several years after the incident, BK, by then a PhD with a decent university position, returned for a visit. We spent a good bit of time together, reminiscing and telling stories, and then BK got serious and asked did I remember our phone conversation about the deal struck between Dr. S and the administration. I said I did. Then he walked me through all the details of our conversation in a question and response sequence, asking me to recall what he had said and how I had responded. I did remember the details for I had understood his disappointment. Then BK asked did I recall what I said to him at the close of the call. I said I did. He looked at me sideways with raised eyebrows, as if to say, OK, hotshot, what did you say? I remember telling him that what I was about to say would not give him comfort at his moment of anger and disappointment, but if he held onto the idea, it would have meaning in the future. What I said was, “BK, sometimes the only reward is in the struggle itself.” He looked at me and said, “I want you to know I get it now. Sometimes the only reward is in the struggle itself. And, yeh, sometimes that has to be enough. I get it now.”

That was as good a moment as I ever had as a university professor, or as a friend.


Dr. Huesos is an unrepentant New Leftist who rebuilds old Harleys.