“Sometime I’d like to put an espresso machine in here,” Gilley mused.
Levin nodded, studying the man with interest.
“People drop in for coffee between classes, or when they’re keeping office hours. It’s just the thing when you need a break. Milly starts the pot boiling first thing in the morning. Professor Fairchild is a steady customer—comes in at ten, right after his Shakespeare, and again at three, after his nap.”
“I prefer tea to coffee,” Levin said.
“Let me show you where we keep the tea bags. Right here. Also cocoa. Milly collects a dollar and a half a month, and that’s for doughnuts too. What beverage you drink makes no difference to us. Meeting here during the day gives us all a chance to visit informally and relax with each other. Now let me show you the comp room.”
“Comp room?”
“That’s right.” This was, once more across the hall, a windowless
cubicle lined with shelves divided into individual filing slots, each partly filled, Gilley showed Levin, with graded student themes.
“This was the boss’s idea. Once we collect them, the students can’t pass them around for their friends to copy. I suppose you’ve heard about fraternity files?”
“Couldn’t they keep carbons of the compositions?”
“Most are too lazy to. Also, having this room, if you don’t mind my saying so, sort of keeps the instructors on their toes, because they know Orville—that’s Professor Fairchild—or I, can come in here and count the number of papers they’ve assigned. We ask for six the first term, and eight each, the second and third. We’re on the quarter system here, three terms during the year and the fourth is summer school.”
“What happens when the slots are full?”
“Milly clears them out just about this time every year, and Marv Beal burns ’em, then we’re ready for fall term. Marv is janitor of this building and knows more about Cascadia’s team performances than anyone around, including George or me. The only thing I’d warn you is he’s very talky once he gets started.”
Gilley pulled the door shut. “Opens with the common key. Remind me to give you one before you go. It works for all our offices on the second and third floors, with the exception of Orville’s and mine.” He glanced to the right, considered something, then said, “I guess you ought to meet Joe Bucket”
Gilley rapped on the door at the end of the hall before the stairs and listened.
“He was here about twenty minutes ago, picking up his mail. I guess he’s gone home to his house.”
“Excuse me?”
Gilley smiled. “He’s been building it for years, a board here, a brick there. Makes you wonder if he’ll ever get it done, or for that matter, his dissertation. That’s come back three times so far for revisions, and he can’t seem to get them right though he passed his orals first shot. Maybe it’s his subject
matter—Laurence Sterne.” He shook his head. “They moved out of the shack they were in for years, camped in the basement of the new place another six months and now have the upstairs working, plus an additional bedroom because the kids keep coming—five, though they aren’t Catholics. Anyway, the house is about done.”
“That’s surprising—an English professor building his own house.”
“A lot do it here. Some of the married students start houses and never take their degrees. When they flunk out they sell the house and use the capital to start a business. Lucky for Joe he was one of Orville’s good students, and Orville has sort of kept an eye on him. This past year he promoted him to assistant professor.”
Levin sighed. “My two hands are practically useless.”
“We’ll get you doing things, Sy.”
“Not a house. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Maybe golf? We have a fine nine-hole course.”
“Maybe fishing. I’ve enjoyed Izaak Walton.”
“Good,” said Gilley. “Let’s go back to my office.”
They walked down the hall and the director of composition hesitated at the office between Bullock’s and his. “This is Dr. Fabrikant’s. He’s the senior man after me.”
“The one who teaches the course in liberalism in American literature?”
“How’d you know that?”
“I looked at a copy of the catalogue in the library before I came up here.”
Gilley knocked curtly and waited.
“Not in?” Levin whispered.
Gilley winked. “Hard to say,” he whispered. “He’s the department scholar. A bit of a hermit.”
“Really?”
He knocked again. “He doesn’t mingle much around the office. When he isn’t taking notes or something, he’s usually home riding his horse. Let’s go.”
Levin, concerned about the time, hoped they were going straight to Professor Fairchild’s office, but the director of composition, without warning, reversed his field and walked quickly up the hall to a door opposite the comp room.
He fished a key out of his pants pocket. “We used this for storage last year but Marv has just cleared it and neatened it up.”
The new instructor secretly looked at his watch as Gilley opened the door and snapped on the light. The office was a small one with a single window and was furnished with a new desk, file case, and two chairs. Through the window Levin caught a view of the long green quadrangle, and beyond that, above the fir trees at the edge of the campus were the western mountains.
“Beautiful.”
“This is yours, Sy.”
“Mine? Holy smoke, I—”
“Don’t say a word,” Gerald said. A muscle in the corner of his mouth flickered.
“Whoever expected anything so wonderful? I figured I would have to share a place with somebody.”
“That’s usually the case with a new man, but you’re a lot more mature, especially with your beard, than some of our crewcut boys upstairs, so I thought I would keep you down here with us.”
“That’s very kind. I’ve dreamed for years of being a college professor. This is so—” He could say no more.
“Glad to help those dreams along.”
Gilley remarked, after an emotional minute: “This office used to belong to someone by the name of Leo Duffy, and the less said the better, but you’ll probably hear about him so I’ll just say who he was. He was here for a year in ’48-’49, a sort of disagreeable radical who made a lot of trouble. Among his wackinesses was the habit of breaking his window panes and I finally put one in of thicker glass which, you notice, he cracked anyway—don’t ask me how or why. When
he first came here, Orville took a shine to him and assigned him this office. He treated him like a son and for all his pains got headaches. I was more than thoughtful to him too.” He had to work his throat clear of hoarseness. “After he left—by invitation, I should say—the only man this department has ever employed who got publicly disgraced, Orville had this office turned into a storage room, but he agreed to reconvert it when I told him how tight space was getting. Ferris Farper and someone else upstairs had their eye on it but I kept it for you.” He handed Levin the key.
“I am most grateful.”
“We want you to like it here.”
“I know I will—”
“While we’re at it,” Gilley said, “your department assignment is you’re chairman of the textbook committee. Bucket, Jones, Millard Scowers and Carson Fitch are on it too. I’ll send you a memo next week.”
“Me?” Levin said, uneasily. “Thanks very much but I—I really don’t know the first thing about college textbooks. To perform—er—competently on this committee, I’ll have to make a study of available texts in the field. Couldn’t you for the time being make me just a regular member of the committee, and then after I get to know the books, why maybe then I could—”
“You’re obviously conscientious,” Gilley said, “and I wouldn’t advise you to worry at all about the textbooks. You’ll get to know them as you go along. The salesmen call and they’ll send you what they hope you’re looking for. What with
The Elements
and
Elements Workbooks
, Forms A, B, C, for regular, and D for remedial classes, in use, all we really have to worry about is a new freshman reader once in a while. We’ve kept
Science in Technology
as our reader for the last five years because it’s been popular with the students. For the lit classes Orville usually picks the texts himself with an occasional assist by Bullock, Kuck, or Merdith Schultz—his is the office next door to yours, opposite Bucket’s, but his wife has
been seriously sick and he isn’t around much more than he has to be. Anyway, if you take the time to examine the books that come in the mail—just thumb through them—you’ll more than do your job.”
“I will and thanks for everything.” Levin looked at his watch. “Wow, it’s ten after. My appointment was for two.”
“Nothing to worry about,” Gilley said calmly. “I told Orville I’d be showing you around first.”
“I like to start out right.” He tried not to laugh but did.
“You have. We’ll go right away. Since talking with you I have confidence in your ability to do a good job. As I said, we’re looking for people who can hold up their end of it and keep the department running smoothly. This is a fine place to start your college teaching, and if you’re our type, it’s a good place to stay. We don’t pretend we’re anything more than a typical American state college. The atmosphere is relaxed. There’s no ‘publish or perish’ hanging over everybody’s head. There are no geniuses around to make you uncomfortable. Life is peaceful here—people deserve that after all we’ve gone through in the last generation. We don’t ask more than that a man does his work conscientiously—his share of it. What we don’t want around are troublemakers. If someone is dissatisfied, if he doesn’t like what we do, if he doesn’t respect other people’s intimate rights and peace of mind, the sooner he goes on his way the better. If he likes it here and wants to stay on, at the rate we’re growing I’m sure we can keep him. We don’t offer the best of salaries but we do advance people in not too long a time, and once you become an assistant professor you’re on permanent tenure. If you’re the type I think you are, Sy—and so, incidentally, does Pauline—you can be sure of a worthwhile career here. On the other hand, if you don’t like the climate, let’s say, and want to go elsewhere, the experience you get here will make it that much easier for you. That’s up to you and all right with us.”
He said in afterthought, observing his shoe, “We’ve got a new dean, the man who replaced Dean Feeney, and I guess
he seems to want to make some changes here and there. Well, they may be good ones and they may not, but I’ve heard him say we’ll need some first-class people for the responsible jobs.”
Levin felt oddly wrung out. “Thanks, but could we go in now? I hate to be late—”
“Righto.”
But in the hall, Gilley introduced him to a gray-haired man in coveralls, holding a broom. “This is Marv Beal. He’ll be sweeping your office.”
Levin shook hands with the janitor.
“He get his athletic season ticket yet?” Marv asked Gilley.
“No, not yet,” Levin said hastily.
“He will, Marv.”
To Levin, Gilley said, “I’ll have a copy of
The Elements
and the workbooks for you when you come out. All you have to do is follow them more or less according to our syllabus, keeping an eye out for the d.o. That’s the departmental objective final we always give the comp freshmen at the end of each term.”
“STRANGERS ARE WELCOME HERE BECAUSE THERE IS ROOM FOR ALL OF THEM, AND THEREFORE THE OLD INHABITANTS ARE NOT JEALOUS OF THEM—” B. Franklin
The framed tapestried motto hung over Professor Orville Fairchild’s head as Levin entered his many-windowed sunlit office, directly across the hall from Gilley’s. Gerald had knocked and held the door open as Levin went in. The head of department laid down his galley proofs, fixed a cigarette in a yellowed ivory holder, lit it, and resting back in his flexible chair, examined Levin.
He was, secretly examined by the new man, an old one, meticulously dressed, with a flower in his button hole; he had a bit of a belly, bags under both eyes, and a halo of sunlight ensnared in his bushy gray hair.
He frowned as he puffed and Levin quickly warned himself not to let a foolish word pop out of his mouth.
The head of department shook out the lit match that had nipped his fingers, a gesture that eclipsed the flame. Snapping the burnt matchstick he dropped it into the metal wastebasket, at the same moment blowing a stream of smoke that partly hid a sigh.
Life, or my interruption? Levin wondered. In the direct path of the smoke, the new instructor discreetly coughed but did not avert his head, not to affront.
“Well,” said Professor Fairchild, chuckling to himself, “how do you like the West?” A vibrant old man’s voice filled space. With small blue eyes, when he looked it penetrated.
“What I’ve seen I like,” Levin said. “I only got here yesterday.”
“I myself am an anomaly here, an old man in a young country. What about you?”
Ancient, thought Levin. Not sure whether the question connected to the statement, he cagily answered nothing.