Don't Make Me Choose (story)

***

The old guy saw the story in a vintage magazine in a used book store.  It had been published when he had been about 50.  He said he'd never read it, but he bought it, for a dollar, because it was so obviously about him.

By the next morning, though, he had decided he was going to read it after all, aloud.  

So he got his little music stand all set up in front of the full-length mirror.  He laid out the old magazine and began...

"It says (he read) the setting is a small music conservatory in the lower midwest, and
the objective is to build a good theater program to strengthen the music programs there.

And the people, now.  The people it says are:  Byron Derrick, Executive Director of the Conservatory; Neil Graham, Director of Theater, hired one year ago; And Jim Greenwood, Resident in Theater, hired one month ago.

He said to his mirror, with a wink: "Jim Greenwood.  That's what they called me," .

1

He began to read, aloud, making eye contact now and then with his mirror:

"Listening sympathetically to others' complaints about your colleague may seem generous and kind," as I said.  "But at some point, Jim, your just listening may encourage still more complaints.  Whether you say you agree, or not."

He nodded, as though 'everybody knows that, Byron.'  (The old guy winked at the mirror again.)

"So just tolerating the gripes might promote more gripes.  Do you see?"

"Oh, I don't criticize him myself. Oh my goodness no! I'd never be unprofessional like that."  (No, I'd never, ever be unprofessional! the old guy thought.)

"I know, Jim.  I know you wouldn't," I kept after it.  "But there's a fine line between letting someone bad-mouth him - you know, without setting them straight - and bad-mouthing him yourself.  You gotta be careful about that."

"I can't just tell them them to shut up!"  (Shut up! What?)

"No, of course you can't.  But you can say, 'Look, he's an experienced director.  He knows what he's doing, probably.  You can say: Go with the flow, you might learn something."

"I couldn't just stifle their opinions.  Geez!"

"You can say you sympathize with their hurt feelings - or whatever it is - but it happens to everybody, that's what it's like in the arts world.  Sometimes we just have to suck it up...'  That kind of thing, you see?" 

"He's just terrible to work with, Byron!  Not only the volunteers but even the real cast and crew sometimes: they say it too.  I'm just saying it's not easy being the other guy, you know?"

"Let me just say this, Jim.  You need to distance yourself from this kind of gritching and bitching.  Otherwise, it'll begin to seem you're 'with them' (holding up his hands and making quote marks) and 'against him.'  You don't want that."

He nodded and smiled.  "I'm just telling you what I'm hearing, Byron.  Just sayin'..."

(Just sayin'...)

*

Byron's perspective:

Jim is so smooth and self-confident, it was surprising to me to see how naive he is.  He's trying to be sensitive to the emotional needs of our people and doesn't recognize the big picture, which is that to serve all our needs he has to pooh-pooh complaints and accentuate the positive.  Glad we had this talk.  He can charm a bird out of a tree, as they say...  He'll turn it around.

Jim's perspective:

Well, I guess I told him!  Byron has been naive about Neil's failings.  I've got a good start now on getting that Wanna-Be put in his place... Maybe even getting him out of here.  Glad we had this talk.

(It was useless, the old guy thought.  That old fart didn't have a clue.  But it was probably good to have had that talk.  Yeah, okay.)

2

"So Neil," I said: "how's Jim settling in?  Finding his place, is he?"  (To the mirror: Now, to that other feeb...)

"Oh, I guess so.  Actually, we don't see all that much of each other.  He's working mostly in the daytime now, and all my rehearsals - acourse - are at night..."

"And for the first month, it was the other way around?"

"I guess.  Although, with him being brand new and all, I tried to find reasons to be hanging around during their rehearsals.   In case he needed anything."

"It was a clever show, didn't you think?"  (The best Shakespeare, ever, on that stage!)

"Oh yeah.  Too bad we don't have an audience built up yet.  We'll get there.  We'll keep plugging away."

"How's your show progressing?"

"Pretty well, I guess.  A couple of the younger folks were a little cranky at first.  But we've gotten beyond that.  The results should be good.  Do you think we can get more people to come see us?"

*

Neil's perspective:

I don't know anywhere where the head guy takes such an interest.  We'll have this place up and humming soon with that kind of support.  I oughtta just poke my head in once a week or so, to keep him feeling a part of things.  Glad he called me in this time. 

Byron's perspective:

Neil must know Jim resents his leadership, but you'd never know it.  I'll have to keep in touch, if I can find the time...  (You betcha I resented him.  You got that right, fathead.)

3

Midway through Jim's second year, Byron's notes to the file:

We started our meeting five or ten minutes late, when Jim arrived.  I began by explaining that the new theater program we three were trying to get started in the Music Conservatory now required us to spend some serious time together, on a regular basis.  I wanted them to mark their calendars on every Wednesday for the next couple of months from 10:30 to noon, when we would meet there in the conference room off the dining hall.  We should all plan on being there the whole time, since this work required all three of us together.

They didn't respond.  I didn't invite them to.

I said that for our hopes and dreams to work out, we had to function like a team.  We all had to share the same goals, and each of us had to support the others individually, if we were to have any chance to succeed.

The fact is, I said, you two aren't working well together.  In fact, you may knowingly or unconsciously be undermining the efforts of the other.  Our work during these weekly sessions will be to reduce and subdue the forces driving us apart, so we can get back to heading in the same direction again.

Both of you must resist any pressures you sense of volunteers, students, actors and tech people "choosing up sides."  Those for Greenwood and those for Graham.  That won't do.  Let's do whatever it takes to have one solid, unified team, okay?

They didn't challenge my claim that they were not working well together.  Neil said theatre is by nature a team effort, but paradoxically every performance is very personal.  Jim said he'd never had any trouble getting along with others before.

An hour passed quickly. The conversation could not be very well summarized, but it was not particularly emotional.  I concluded by telling them that next Wednesday, we'd begin by each of them sharing what positive features the other one brings to our program.  At least three things each, I said.

*

Byron's perspective:

That wasn't too bad.  I don't think they could have been expecting what I said.  For two strong-willed, arty guys they were quite subdued.  I wish it were all over and done with already, though.

Neil's perspective:

Byron doesn't avoid the oogy jobs, does he?  I hope he's not being naive to think we can work it out between us.  I don't know what's going on with Jim.  But he's a good director, creative, different.  I had high hopes when we brought him in...  Maybe each of us could just do our own thing.

Jim's perspective:

Well, I can waste an hour a week, I guess.

(I can waste an hour a week! the old man repeated, with apparent delight.  "Creative?" "Diffferent"?)

4

To Neil and Jim:

After three substantive conversations, I'm writing to summarize what we've learned is needed to improve working relations between the two of you, without which the program will not be able to move forward.

Whether justifiably or not, Jim feels Neil does not keep him informed about developments affecting the Theatre Department.  Actors, students, and crew members - and possibly members of the general public - sometimes ask him about this or that activity they've heard about but that Neil has not mentioned or explained to Jim.  This makes him feel like a chump, whose ideas and plans don't matter. 

(I am not a chump!)

Whether justifiably or not, Neil on the other hand is concerned that Jim may care more about his own success and reputation than about the Conservatory's or the Theater program's.  It's a little as though he wouldn't care if the program failed as long as people thought he himself had done a good job.

Keeping in mind each man's worst suspicions about the other, Neil will consciously look for items of information about the program he can share with Jim.  He will communicate two or even three times a week, every week, about such news.

Jim, on the other hand, will make a conscious effort to think of ways he can contribute to the success of the Conservatory's theater program above and beyond his own activities.  For instance, he can propose to Neil initiatives Jim himself will undertake to better publicize the shows Neil has in rehearsal.  He will do at least one thing a week along that line which he has brought up first with Neil.

Next Wednesday, at our joint meeting, each of you will report to me what you have done along these lines, giving the other an opportunity to comment.

*

Jim's perspective:

So now I'm his PR guy!  If no one come to see Endgame, it'll be my fault. ...But I'll play along.  I can handle it; I'm an actor, aren't I?

Neil's perspective:

Byron's plan follows logically from what what we've been saying.  But I can't help thinking we're only wandering around on the surface, leaving root causes untouched.  Some days I feel like I've already got too much to do, but it'll be pretty simple to pass along to Jim whatever chit-chat I might hear. 

Byron's perspective:

Put up or shut up.  Let's get going.

(I am an actor, aren't I? the old man said to himself)

5

"Hey, MariLou.  My secretary has gone to make some copies for me.  Can I help you?"

"Well, I came to make an appointment to see you, as a matter of fact. Just ten minutes or so, I would say."

"How 'bout now?  I could give you a few minutes now...?"

We went into the inner office and sat down, facing each other across a little table.

"I just wanted to say that... We like Mr. Greenwood a lot," MariLou said.  "He's about the best anybody's ever seen."

(The best! he admits it now, the old guy reading aloud thought.)

"Well, that's good to hear.  You and the others sure did a good job on the Shakespeare last month."

MariLou nodded.

"Mr. Greenwood's concept, setting the action in a toy box, was a novel idea.  And appropriate too!"

"Yeah," she said laughing.  "It was a lot of fun."

"Most of the Shakespeare plays I've seen which are that innovative, well you know; it just distracts from the original, but..."

"It was a good show.  My parents came all the way from Springfield."

"So, MariLou.  Did you discuss coming over to talk with me today - I'm glad you did, you know - did you and Mr. Greenwood talk about it?"

"He said it would be okay.  Did you two know each other before he started working here?"

"He directed my wife and daughter in some community theater shows...  I was pleased we could make a place for him at the Conservatory."

"Well, he is the best to work with.  Better than some others, I mean."

"What does he do that Mr. Graham doesn't do, for example?  You're working crew on Endgame, aren't you?"

"Mr. Greenwood kids around a lot with us.  He hangs around just to chat, you know.  That Mr. Graham - I mean he is a very good director.  Last year, Cabaret? you know?  But he's, well, he's 'the Boss.'  You know what I mean?"

"MariLou, I'm glad you came over to say Hello.  We can both be glad, and proud I'd say, that in our little program we can have both Mr. Graham and Mr. Greenwood."

Jim wasn't picking up his phone, so I left a breezy little message telling him not to send any more actor testimonials my way.  It's how well he and Neil work together that matters, not how much the cast and crew love him.  "See you Wednesday, Jim."

*

Byron's perspective:

What have I done wrong?  When we interviewed for the Theater Program Director, Neil Graham was clearly the right guy - right degree, right experience, good record - so I hired him.  But Jim Greenwood looked like such a good match for what we need to get this thing off the ground, building a theater reputation to balance our long-established prominence in Music.  So I made a place for him and told Neil he was going to have a colleague after all.  Was it favoritism?  Did Jim sense it?  Does he think our friendship will give him immunity or something?

Jim's perspective:

If the dweeblings wanna go tell the Exec. how much they like me, what can I do?  Betcha no one's saying that about that other guy....  (No one would have said that, the old man said looking at the mirror.)

6

"Norton, you told me you came here to sing tenor and not to monkey around on the stage, but you were great in Endgame."  I had struck up a friendly relation with one of our proteges who worked part time in the cafeteria.

"Thanks," Norton replied.  "Thanks a lot.  It was hard work."

"Yeah.  How was it anyway?  The whole thing, audition right through strike.  A good experience for you?  Not so good...?"

"No.  It was hard work, like I said.  Exhausting, every night.  Emotional sometimes.  But the thing is, we had to do it.  We had to do it like that.  We had to work it out.  So it was not good.  But really good.  I learned a lot, I can tell you."

"Do you think the others thought the effort was worth it?"

"Two or three dropped out after the first week or so.  The rest of us right now are a team, or a family.  It's like that when it works.  Mr. Graham did that.  Gotta give him credit."

"Did some music and theater folks you know from other shows come to see you?"

"Not as many as I'd hoped, but yes. ...And lemme tell you, they were impressed.  We might get some more auditions next month."

I'd sent Neil an email: "The Beckett was very good.  Don't let up...."

7

I asked:  "Do we have any progress to report?  50 at Friday's performance, 63 at Saturday's - That's pretty good for us, isn't it?  But can we be sure it's because of anything Jim did?"

"I did get that newspaper photographer and reporter out here," Jim said.

Neil chimed in:  "Yes, Jim did that.  And I just know that made a difference."

"Go on, Neil.  What other efforts did Jim make?"

"Well, he ..." as Neil looked over at Jim, "he talked it up with people he knows.  He told me he called that community theater director down the road where he appeared last summer..."

Jim nodded.  "I know quite a lot of performing people in the surrounding towns."  Didn't seem like he had done much on his assigned task, though, I was thinking.

"Jim, what information has Neil shared with you about what's going on?  You know, his side of the bargain..."

"Well, he came by the office a couple of times," Jim didn't seem to have thought about this part.  "There were two different families this week looking at the conservatory for their musical children, whom he met with to talk about theater. ...And he and I are going to get together next week to draft our season for next year."

"Do you feel you're a part of things? as far as you know?"

"As far as I know, well, I would say so, probably."

"So, are we making progress?"

Neil was nodding Yes.  Jim said, "Well, it's early, too early to tell, isn't it?"

*

Jim's perspective:

No one would be able to get them to come see a Graham show, why would they?  They can do better things with their time.  But they will come to my shows, and good things will happen, eventually.  No rush, no hurry.  (Well, the old guy admitted, I was thinking something like that okay.  Yeah.)

Neil's perspective:

We're having a pretty good season.  A couple more, and a couple of breaks with publicity... and we'll be on our way.

Byron's perspective:

Neil's instincts are to dictate, not manage; that method can work on a show, but with his colleagues?  Can Neil work against his instincts?  Share decision-making with Jim, for instance?  But then, I don't know what's going on behind Jim's pearly whites...  Could be anything, from loyal cooperation to full-throat revolution.  He is an actor, isn't he?

(He is an actor, isn't he? The old guy grinned fiercely at the mirror.)

8

To: Neil and to Jim

Thank you both for sending me your notes, Jim listing Neil's strongest qualities as he sees them and Neil listing Jim's.  I said you could write them confidentially to me, and I would make a summary.

Jim said Neil is very organized; he plans the work and works the plan.

Neil said Jim "inspires" his cast and crew, and "They give him more than they know they have to give."

 *

Byron's perspective:

But can they work together?  That's the key question, isn't it?  Or rather, do they want to work together: is that it?

9

"Jim, you seem upset."  We were just beginning our regular Wednesday a.m. session.

"I am upset.  You would be too."  

It turned out Jim was lodging a complaint that Neil was making plans without keeping his junior colleague in the loop, certainly without engaging Jim in making the plans.  Some actors had told Jim Neil had already sent inquiries to publishers about production rights for next season.  Jim was indignant.

Neil was surprised at Jim's reaction, explaining that preparing for his meeting with Jim to plan the season, he was finding out if some of the shows he was thinking about were within usual budget limits.  I said: "You mean you were just trying to avoid working with Jim on a plan that wouldn't work?"

But Neil's saying Yes didn't seem to calm Jim down.  He didn't seem concerned either that he hadn't made contact with the high school drama teachers in the region, as he had told Neil he would do last week.  Neil thinks we could do some Saturday morning workshops or a summer drama camp...

Next year Jim will direct the musical.  Neil was hoping it would be an audience favorite like "Oklahoma," although they couldn't get the rights to that particular one.  Jim had been looking for a real popular choice too, and suggested "Annie." 

As the conversation wound down, I said next week instead of our usual joint format, I would meet with each of these guys one-on-one beginning with Neil at 10.

*

Byron's perspective

I can't tell if Jim was really angry or if just acting upset made his point that Neil was impossible to work with.   Neil seems to be trying, working against his impulsive, go-it-alone instincts.  Is Jim working against his instinct to trash Neil so that he looks better himself?

10

Byron's notes to the file:

Right out of the shoot, I told Neil to relax.  I said I was pleased at his efforts to work with me on this project of trying to improve working relations in Theater.  What did he think about things in general?

Neil addressed this question globally, repeating things he had said from the Get-Go:  a full time tech person, a better cyclorama, several new spotlights, stuff like that.  I listened and then asked, What about how it's working out with you and Jim?

"You know," he said, looking into my face: "We're getting the job done.  When you asked me if two actor-directors were hired instead of me plus a tech director, could between us we cover the tech stuff...?  Remember?"

"Yes.  You said you could, if you could work as collaborators, number 2 doing some tech for you on your shows and you yourself doing some tech for number 2 on his or her shows.  Right?"

"I guess so, yes."  He smiled: "Is that why we've been having these meetings?  ...Because there's never been any problem with that.  Ten minutes before Endgame curtain, Jim was sweeping the floor on stage - on his own initiative - because he didn't want anyone's footing to be unsure.  No problem.  We're professionals."

I laughed.  "No, that's not why we've been meeting.  But do you think, all things included, that everything's hunky-dory?  Really?"

"I think we're getting the job done," he said.  "But you're the boss."

*

"So, Jim.  I have to say I'm disappointed in your lack of effort to improve working relations with Neil.  Your heart just isn't in it."

"I've been doing what you told me to...  I mean, Haven't I?"  (Haven't I?)

"The point is, you don't seem committed to improving the situation."  I added: "Neil at least seems to be trying."

We talked for ten or fifteen minutes more.  Jim was his usual cordial, well-mannered self.  But he didn't add much.  I concluded as I had with Neil.  I would give it two or three more months before deciding what our goals should be.

11

"Now Neil, I told you, both... I told you together.  I didn't want to have to choose between you but if the two of couldn't work together, I would choose.  Didn't I say that?"

"Yes, sure you said exactly that."  He paused for a minute: "So, don't you see?  To me, that meant if Jim didn't want to work with me - and wouldn't bother trying to convince you we could do just fine working independently of each other...  Well, then you were going to choose him.  Not me.  Him."

(Not him.  Me!  See?  That - the old guy said out loud - That's what everybody thought.)

"I told him, Neil, you were trying to make it work between the two of you, and Jim wasn't even trying... And that meant he had to be the one to go."

"I get it now.  I won't let you down."

"But I still think the two of you would have made a great team."

*

Jim's perspective:

That dinky little place wasn't right for me.  I'm better than that.  Who's next?"

*

The old guy leaned forward.  "Maybe I haven't set the world on fire," he said.  "But...  Was I lucky to escape that madhouse, or what?"

***

Class - Is as Does (story)

***

The Right Reverend Stanley Patmore, known as "Pastor Stan," found the story below in the In-Box in the narthex.  In the first months of this congregation (Pastor Stan's third), two or three messages were received each week.  Now that the congregation has grown to 4,500 or so, only one or two messages are left each month. 

1

The Executive Secretary and her boss met them all, took them all to dinner, the best and... well, the rest too.

Sallie was good at the intuitive part, the personality traits, values and attitudes, so while they waited for the waiter, or over their meals or coffee afterward, Sallie would be asking about hobbies, favorite vacations, maybe clothes or foods.  Often the candidates would speak of their spouses or children or pets, of their age or even their health.  The Dean focused on the professional side: why were they interested in moving? what was a typical work day?  current scholarly interests?  favorite class size and why?

And by the way, all of this was in the mode of pursuing the most important objective of the on-campus interview: to recruit the candidate.  It's so much better for the university to be able to be  making the choice, from among three or four good people, all of whom like the university!

Pastor Stan used to wonder why people turned in what they did. Did they think there was a possible sermon idea in there? 

2

So after dinner with Teri Underwood, as usual, both Sallie and Dean D--- were right there on the same page.  "Classy" was a word that each of them leapt to.  Teri was tall with thick hair cut pretty short, like the twenties' "bobbed" style.  Tweeds and plaids, very preppy.  Professional, not formal.  She moved gracefully and spoke well, looked you in the eye.  A nice person to have dinner with, in fact.

The Director of the Speech Therapy program - the redoubtable Sophia - was a little cooler on Teri than I would have expected, given the one or two other candidates we had considered over the two years we'd already been looking.  But she signed Teri up willingly enough.  Sophia was a feet-on-the-ground, no-nonsense kind of a woman, more focused on results than on how she and her team appeared while getting the job done.  D--- thought maybe that was why she was not as enthusiastic as Sallie and Dean D---.  Teri might have been Sallie's cup of tea, but not Sophia's "cuppa joe."

Another picture began to emerge after a couple of semesters, however.

3

D--- had been asking the routine "How's Teri working out?" for six or eight months, with Sophia - in her regular meetings one-on-one with him - giving the obligatory, "Oh, fine."

At one point, though, a little comment began to follow the usual response, like "Well, she likes to do things her way..."  But this wasn't presented as a real problem.  Teri was teaching what she was supposed to teach.  The students liked her.  She was exploring the possibility of adding a certification we'd like to have, and she was continuing a community health project on her own time that she'd begun before coming on board.

No complaints.

And Pastor Stan wondered who had turned in what. He was never sure... and he never based a sermon on the In-Box.

4

In the mean time Sophia had been going through one test after another for a considerable period already, hoping to rule out cancer.  But finally, everyone had to face the fact that she had it.  D--- wasn't sure she took real time off, as her various therapies got started.  She lost her hair, but got a great wig and kept on keeping on, slogging it out most of most days.  She was the bravest person anybody ever saw, and - even more impressive - she was the most determined too.  She just wouldn't give in.

The cancer was apparently in her blood, and she was taking lots of drugs, every day.  She went about 100 miles to some specialist about once a month too. 

And she kept the program rolling along just as it should, everybody pitching in.  Most people at the college didn't even know about Sophia's cancer in the first years.

5

The Speech Therapy program had more bother than most departments do of extra work, keeping up with Health Department regulations and that sort of thing.   In holiday periods and over summers, when faculty in other programs are busy on personal scholarly projects or working or re-working class plans, Speech faculty divided up various sections of self-study reports, gathered data, filled out forms and wrote up reports.  Sophia mentioned early in Teri's second summer that she was hoping she didn't have to nag Teri so much as last year to get her share done.  (It didn't need to be said that Sophia herself would be somewhat less available to step in and take over herself for anyone having trouble getting the job done.)

It was early that summer that Sophia took off her first substantial block of time yet.  She went up to the City for bone marrow transplant therapy, which was then still in the experimental phase; she had been lucky to have Health department colleagues who got her into the trial.  It was going to be a grim experience, Sallie learned from the senior faculty member in the department, but Sophia expected to be running things at the college from her hospital bed, using her laptop and telephone.

And she did.  As usual Sophia planned carefully, monitored closely, and things got done... even though there were always unexpected and unwelcome surprises along the way.

As for colleagues, Sallie co-ordinated an eager group's individual cards, letters, flowers or fruit-baskets, and the like, so that Sophia knew we were thinking about her (and her husband, who had taken the whole time off too, to be at her bedside), thinking of her routinely and not just in the first day or so.  Sallie ran the little plan as efficiently as Sophia might have done herself...

More than anything, Pastor Stan asked himself, every time: "What's the point?"

6

When D--- (and Sallie) next saw Sophia she had lost some weight, and her color was a little odd.  Skin-tone maybe  a little gray, or green?  Or maybe it was just the absence of a little of the usual rosy vigor.  Anyway, you couldn't say Sophia looked her usual self, but she was certainly behaving normally.  Showing up for routine one-on-one's as usual, never presenting a problem without a proposed solution, or sometimes two.  And so on.

She was a brick.  Come to think of it, she was built a little that way too, solid, stocky, muscular.  As her hair began to grow back in a little, the wig was sometimes a little askew but Sophia was still keeping on.

This experimental therapy and drug regimen worked too.  Her blood count improved, as her husband quietly mentioned in the margins of some formal event, and she got back up to speed and her customary robust demeanor.  The possibility of the cancer's return was an anytime thing...

7

The third year of a faculty member's appointment at the college is an important time.  Colleagues, the program director, and the Dean all have to go on record saying whether or not the individual is making satisfactory progress toward tenure.  In positions that are hard to fill, to be honest, one is inclined to give the individual second or third chances that might be denied someone in a more crowded field (like History or English or one of the fine arts).  But Teri didn't seem all that close to the knife edge of a year's notice.  She was not very accessible to her students, who did not seek her support as their academic or professional advisor either.  She was doing the minimal - or less than the minimal - scholarly work, was not much involved in faculty committee work or that kind of college service, and although Sophia did not mention it particularly, when D--- as Dean asked if Teri was pulling her full share of the unusual paperwork load the preprofessional program faculty had to produce, Sophia was noncommittal.

Still, Sophia's recommendation was unenthusiastic, and the Dean's concluded with the line intended to rattle the cage: "If the decision were to be made today, it would not be for tenure."  Teri asked to speak with me privately about my evaluation, but she just listened politely to my re-hash of the written review.  She talked about some professional goals, which - as D--- told her - were perfectly appropriate, but that she would have to make demonstrable progress toward one or more of them in the next two years in order to succeed.

Our personal bond renewed, she left graciously enough, head held high.

Just catching Sallie's eye as Teri let the outer office, D--- knew she was again thinking "classy."  And I was too.  I was relieved there didn't seem to be real ill-will on either side of whatever little division there was between her and Sophia.

Pastor Stan was now moving into fast-scanning mode, always seeking "What's the point?"

8

From the memorial service for her four or five years later, D--- learned that Sophia was not only respected, admired, sometimes feared a little... She was also loved.  Yes.  Even though that term seems totally out of keeping with her personality, looks, and character.  You knew she was someone you did not want to get crossways with, a person whose judgments were not lightly taken or easily challenged, who seemed to operate using reason and practicality more naturally than idealism or emotion.  A classic professional.  Competent.  Efficient.

But many of her colleagues did not know of the students to whom she had given a ride when they couldn't wait for a bus and couldn't afford a taxi, whom she'd treated to a pizza or a burger when it was particularly hard to make ends meet, whose tuition she had silently subsidized with private scholarship deals she'd quietly arranged through the college's Financial Aid staff.  And that kind of thing. 

9

It had seemed entirely out of character, and out of keeping for our their working relationships, one day when Sophia was telling the Dean in June that she didn't know whether she could carry her normal load and fulfill her usual duties the following September. 

She talked stoically enough, as always, and detailed how she would decide, and when, and how.  Her tone of voice was flat, businesslike as usual.  She was sitting bolt upright in the chair across from me, and her wig was just a little askew: all the typical Sophia.

But it astonished D--- to realize inside that when they stood at their meeting's conclusion, he was going to give her a hug.  That was just going to be the right thing to do.  This, you know, was not what one normally did with Sophia.

But D--- stepped toward her with his right arm a little out to the side, and she walked into the hug.  It was just three or four seconds, but it was a real hug.  They smiled a little as they separated; she turned on her heel and opened the inner office door.  She waved as usual at Sallie as she turned down the hallway and plodded out.

10

When Teri's tenure swam into sight, even rather far out there on the horizon, it was real clear she couldn't make it.  The fact is, she hadn't met even one of the standards we had reviewed that last time the two of us had met.  It didn't look as though she had made any attempt to do so.

Sophia had even quit covering for Teri's refusing to do the extras required by the professional standards self-study reports.  Only once, but once, she had admitted that the other faculty in the program were pretty disgusted with the extra effort Teri's laxities required from them.

In short, it looked as though Teri had surveyed the situation and had made the decision that, if we were serious about all we said we expected of her, this wasn't the right place for her.  But she was going to make us be the ones to take the responsibility to say so.  Okay, fine, D--- thought.  I can handle that.

11

As the next academic year drew to a close, Teri called Sallie to ask for an appointment to see the Dean and Sophia together for an exit interview.  That was unusual but not a bad thing in itself, and besides the non-reappointment process the year before had gone smoothly and Teri's terminal year had been problem-free too... So, why not?

Sophia was already with D--- in the inner office, having arrived precisely five minutes early, when Teri herself strode through the hallway door.  Sallie ushered her in, and they all took a seat.

"We want to thank you, Teri," Dean D--- started, "for having completed your contract this year coolly and professionally," adding "That's an anxiety I as the dean have in such situations, and - like most folks, I have to say - you did well."

"Do you have your future plans all laid out?" Sophia asked, keeping up the conversational tone.

Teri did not seem her usual serene, above-the-usual hullabaloo self, despite her normal preppy suit and slacks and just-so hair style.  "I know what I'll be doing," she said, then with a harder edge looking at Sophia: "no thanks to you."

"Well, that's fine then," I tried to get us back in the chit-chat mode.

But Teri wasn't having any part of it.  She had come with a mission, and she was going to get right to it.  "You're a miserable tyrant," she said to Sophia who looked back at her calmly.  And before the Dean could wedge in a cautionary word, she went on.  (Maybe it was a set speech she'd been rehearsing.)

"You know everything.  It's always what you say that matters.  You don't care about others, who have real lives and families and community obligations."

D--- was stirring but Teri just raised her voice so he couldn't intervene.  "You don't even like yourself!  So you're sick?  You deserve it.  You deserve to die.  You - deserve - to - die!"

Dean D--- had stood up.  Teri had, too.  "That's what I have to say, and I've done it," she turned on her heel, pulled open the door to Sallie's office and stomped away out the door.  Sophia was standing now, next to D---, side-by-side,

12

D--- asked Sallie to close the hallway door and come into his office to join him and Sophia.

"Sallie," the Dean said, "I have just witnessed the most despicable human behavior of my lifetime."

Sophia was sitting quietly again, looking impassively at the two of us.

"Oh gosh!" Sallie exclaimed.  "I'm so sorry, Sophia."  Then to D---, in a sort of stage-whisper: "At first, I kind of liked that girl."

D--- couldn't keep from laughing.  Sophia sort of chuckled too.

"At first," Sophia said, "she seemed perfect."

*

Midway through his scan, Pastor Stan had stopped wondering who had been in attendance Sunday morning who might have written this thing.  He didn't know of anyone who worked at the university... 

It didn't matter, though; it was destined for his trash can.  Would it be recyclable?


***

Where No Kindness Is (story)

*



[found on a park bench]

Where No Kindness Is

1

She was in her first year as Dean.  Three months after hiring her away from the little college in another state, President L---- had called to say that at the June Trustee meeting, he'd announced his intention to resign, effective in July of the following year.

She figured he'd only called her at all because of an incident during her interview in the Spring.  It was during her "Wrap-up Meeting with the President" before being driven back to the airport heading home to her husband and two children. 

"So," he said in a wrap-up kind of tone, "You've been here 48 hours or so, do you have any questions?"  She wasn't sure but suspected he asked mainly because one does that in a final interview meeting.

But he seemed visibly startled when she said, "Yes" and waited a second or two.  She had his attention:  "What are your own plans?" she asked.  "As a Vice President, when you leave I will be vulnerable or will feel vulnerable at least..."

He talked about being 62 and having always thought he wouldn't retire until he was at least 70.  She thought that would be okay, not planning herself to stay more than five or six years.

So the next June when he called the Dean-elect again, two weeks before her movers came, President L---- acknowledged he'd told her before that he had no plans to retire.  But he had been thinking lately that maybe he'd already accomplished his goals at V----- College and maybe he had other things to do elsewhere, perhaps in the ministry.

As she got to know her new colleagues in the first couple of weeks, from what they said she figured the Trustees had asked for President L----'s resignation.

2

Fortunately, there was only one faculty member up for tenure that first year, the kind of long-term decision usually made ultimately by a President.  She was familiar enough with the whole process, having gone through it herself at two different institutions, but she knew it would take some time to get a feel for how it played out in practice from the Dean's perspective at this new place.

Of course, anyone denied tenure would get a contract for one final year...to look for another position.

So she was lucky only one such decision would fall into her own, unsupported hands so soon.  As it turned out, President L---- was not only, as they say, "a lame duck."  It turned out he was literally absent much of the time.  No one knew if he was out of town or just laying low in the big colonial-style President's house on the hill above campus.  But he didn't show up for work except, unpredictably, now and then.

3

Assistant Professor Ben Jamison had been elected to one of the faculty committees whose weekly meetings the Dean herself was expected to attend.  This seemed to indicate a certain measure of confidence in Ben by his colleagues. 

Like the Dean herself, Ben tended to show up for the committee meetings on time.  That meant they had some time to chat, as the others arrived one by one.  He was cheerful, down-to-earth, pleasant.  He didn't seem to feel uncomfortable with her just because she was the new Dean.  He didn't say much in the meetings themselves, but he did seem to be well-prepared and paying attention, agreeable.

She happened to notice one day, and again the following week, that Ben had a little twitch in a shoulder or neck muscle.  One day when she arrived a minute later than usual, as members came in one by one, Ben was complaining to another committee member that his little twitch was annoying and a little distracting.  The other faculty member was from the Nursing program and advised him to consult his doctor's nurse practitioner.  She did not seem particularly concerned.

4

The first step in the tenure-review process occurred in mid-Fall, when the Dean and the Chair of the Faculty Tenure Committee met with the candidate - in this case, Ben Jamison - to make sure everyone was understanding things the same way and, especially, that the candidate understood what was expected of him: organizing peer visits to his classes, compiling a self-review report, and checking to see that his personnel file was up-to-date and complete by the submission deadline.

"If there was any question or negative comment in your mid-tenure review two years ago," the committee chair said - apparently as he had on many previous occasions - "then you need to discuss that in your self-evaluation."

Any questions? No? This little meeting lasted only five minutes or so.

The Dean had already reviewed Ben's file from two years before.  She noted that the summary letter concluded that Ben was making satisfactory progress to tenure.  He seemed, she thought, what her son would call a "slam dunk" for tenure.

5

After the holidays, Ben dropped into her office, apparently just for a friendly chat.  "How was your Christmas?"  "Did you travel at all?"  "Did you see family?"  Things like that.

But he did seem a bit distracted.  "You remember that I had that little twitch in my neck?" he said after a minute. 

"I do remember," she said sympathetically.  "Yes. Anything new?"

"I noticed over this last weekend," he said darkly, "that the same kind of twitch is now sometimes in my bicep....On the right."

She frowned.

"It's started to disturb my sleep," he added.  "So, this morning I made an appointment with my doctor in B-----" (the town where he lived 35 miles away).

"Ben, that's the right thing.  I hope he can tell you how to make it just go away."

"So, I'm asking your permission to leave campus right after class.  I'll be missing the committee meeting this afternoon."

"Don't give it another thought," she said.  "Your health comes first."

So, she said to herself: in his mind it was really a business meeting after all.  She thought most faculty would have just taken off, but Ben was evidently especially conscientious.  Good for him.

6

With the tenure and promotion decisions expected by mid-April, in late February the chairman of Ben Jamison's division set up a meeting to speak privately with the Dean.

"I didn't want to surprise you," A---- said, a burly cordial man with a raspy voice.  "About Ben Jamison."

"Oh, has something happened?"

"You know, as Chairman I have to submit a recommendation to the Tenure Committee."  The Dean nodded.  "I've talked it over with all our colleagues."

"Yes?"

"We're not going to support him," A----- said.  "He's well-liked by his students, so there may be some flack.  I know you like to avoid that sort of thing."

"What's happened?  I don't understand, A----, since his mid-probation review was all positive."  Dean D---- said.  "Wasn't it?"

"Well, I guess so but this is now.  My recommend will be to deny tenure.  We have to maintain high professional standards."

"This is surprising indeed," she said.  "The peer evaluations that have begun to come in have all been positive. ...Did you see them?"

"The Chairman has access to all the file.  I've just been looking them over."

"What are we missing, A----?  What do you folks know that the rest of us don't?"

"Yes," he said.  "Well, first of all that mid-probation letter came from your predecessor, the last Dean."  A---- smiled a little, "He was a cantankerous guy in many ways but on this one he told us he and President L---- didn't want to make a fuss.  Worried about the student retention situation, you know," he added.

"You mean Ben's weaknesses were glossed over?"

"We said at the time we had some reservations about his commitment to the College.  Did you see that?"

She hesitated.  "It didn't jump out at me, I'll have to say.  Did you say he may not have been making satisfactory progress?"  A---- began to shake his head No.  "...And tell him what he needed to do in order to earn your recommendation before this time around?"

"Not in the letter, no.  Somebody probably told him, confidentially you know.  I believe so."

"I'm getting a little uncomfortable about this, A----," Dean D------ said.  "What exactly were those of you in the division concerned about?  The same thing as now?"

"Oh, we've been very consistent.  Ben's a heck of a nice guy... but he lives out of town, did you know that?"  She nodded.  "He's got a business over there in his hometown.  He's told some of us - not me - that he makes more every year that way than in his work for the College altogether..."

"That does sound troubling," she said, "but..."

"It's just not right," the Chairman said.  "We have to depend on everyone we have.  If he's so damn popular, he ought to teach more."

"It's my impression that his student evaluations are pretty good, aren't they?"

"Yes, but you can't run a business and be a full-time faculty member too, can you?  It's not right!"

"What would you say, if you were me talking to him, and he said it was not fair that there's nothing in his file about this.  He wasn't formally told he'd have to change in order to get tenure."

"Oh," A---- said and sat back.  "That's not the way it works.  You don't have tenure until now, or after now I should say."  He smiled.  "Everybody knows that."

7

The last thing A---- said that day was that he'd already put the Committee's letter in the campus mail.

A month later, the Chair of the Tenure Committee came in to review for the Dean the Committee's upcoming recommendations.  The two first-year reviews were fine, no problems there, she said.  The three mid-probation reviews were okay too, but there was some concern about one person's ability to get students to participate in class discussions and another person didn't seem to be involved in any scholarly research or professional development.

"Will your recommendations to the President declare these concerns?" Dean D------ interrupted her to ask.

The committee chair paused a moment.  "I guess it is a recommendation," she said, "Technically.  But it's really the College's communication to the probationer saying everything's OK, or not."

"But you won't neglect to formally declare any areas for improvement to be made, will you?  It needs to be noted right in the file, doesn't it?"

The Chair shifted in her chair.  "That's hard to do with your faculty colleagues, you know?"

"Yes," the Dean said.  "But it's an important responsibility... The President's final letter can't very well just dump in some criticisms that haven't been mentioned before by anybody."

"We'll look at our letters again," the Chair said, "trying to find a tactful way of indicating our reservations.  I can see what you're saying.  But there isn't usually a President's letter, by the way.  Just the Committee's."

"What have you heard about Ben's health?" the Dean asked, changing the subject.

"Well, we aren't talking about that in committee, but A---- said at lunch the other day that Ben was getting frustrated, not knowing.  Anyway, though, you know we won't be giving him tenure.  He's got his other business and all that."

"But your recommendation will say something tactful about that, right?"

8

"M---," the Dean thought Ben Jamison seemed agitated (she almost thought he looked scared).  Most faculty used her first name, M---, but that was unusual for Ben.

"M---, I've been to two doctors now.  A second opinion, you know?  About this damn nervous twitch.  They've had some tests and everything."

The Dean felt sorry for him.  "Oh, Ben...," she said but waited for more.

"In the Easter break," he went on, "I'm going to Chicago to see a neurologist specialist.  I won't have to miss any classes."

"What are they worried about?" she asked.  "Something serious?"

"They say it's too early--," his voice got husky.  He cleared his throat, "--Too early to know if it's anything to worry about, too early to tell.  They don't know.  So I'm having a special kind of blood test right away," he said sitting back a little.  "They have to send it to some special lab.  To see if there's anything genetic, I guess," he said.  "Before the specialist sees me in Chicaqgo."

"Ben, you have a lot of friends here, you know.  We'll have our fingers crossed."

"Okay," he said.

9

When she got her copy of the Committee's negative tenure letter, the day before the spring break started, she called Ben's office but he was already gone.  He would have gotten a copy.  She said on his Voice Mail that they should sit down together when he got back.  "Good luck, Ben," she said.  There was no answer at his home.

She got through to A----, Ben's Division Chair.  "I'm concerned about Ben Jamison," she said.  "He seemed worried about his health last time I saw him..."

"He said he was taking off an hour or so ago," A---- chuckled; "I think I'm the only one left in the building.  And I'm fixing to leave too."  After a second, he added; "Oh, the Committee's denying tenure, I heard."

"Do you think we could put that process on hold while he sorts out his health problem?"

"No.  That's never been done."

She reached the Tenure Committee Chair at home.  She also said the process had to follow the schedule in the Faculty Handbook, or they could be sued.  "I don't think he'll be surprised, by the way.  I don't know him, just to say Hi to, but others on the Committee say it won't be a big deal."

10

So the Dean wasn't surprised when Ben showed up in her office the morning after break.  This time there was no chit-chat.

"When I asked you to come by--," she was starting to say when Ben broke in.  She later concluded he had not yet heard her Voice Mail.  He'd come straight from the parking lot to her.

"What?" he said.

"No, you go ahead," she said.

He said he'd been to the Chicago specialist.  He had ALS, 'Lou Gehrig's disease.'

"It's fatal, M---," Ben said.  And he looked scared, out of breath a little, a little flushed.  Not sad or feeling sorry for himself, or even angry.  Just scared.

"What can be done, Ben?" M--- asked.  She was usually acutely conscious of how she would seem to her listener, how her attitude and manner would be interpreted...  Later, she realized that talking with Ben that day, she'd not been thinking about that kind of thing, not at all.

He was already started on an extensive drug therapy program.  He couldn't perceive any difference yet, except that he was sleeping better.  That was good in itself.  The course of the disease could not be predicted.  It had moved pretty quickly from no symptoms to his current state with the neck twitch now and then and, less often, the funny little tickle in his bicep.  But the disease had stopped progressing a couple of months ago.

"So we don't have to worry about my classes this term," he said.

"Are you sure, Ben?" she said.  "You don't want to overdo..."

"No, all I'm saying is next year, next fall," he was speaking calmly in a matter-of-fact tone.  "Next term I may have to cut back a course."  He was starting to stand to leave.  "I'll give you enough notice," he said.

"Do you have family there in B------, Ben?"

"My daughter helps run the family farm 30-35 miles away.  She says she'll check in with me now and then."  He turned back to face her: "But I don't know about the future, M---.  I just don't."

11

Surprisingly, the President was in that day.  She told him she wanted him "as the President" to tell Ben in a formal letter for the file that the tenure review process was officially suspended until his health situation was resolved.  There was no benefit to denying tenure to a dying man.

The look on L----'s face showed how opposed he was to this bright idea from the new Dean.  "What does the Division Chair say?  Who is it this year: A----?"

She hadn't spoken with A---- or the Tenure Committee Chair, she said.

"Well, see if they think we could do this...if we wanted to.  I think it can't be done.  It would undermine the Committee." 

She told him the division chair and the committee chair didn't seem likely to budge.  It seemed hard to believe.  But she would try.

L----'s manner said clearly he was through with this distasteful issue for today.  She could reach him, he said, any time, through his secretary.  "We'll talk again."

12

So, they did nothing.

Ben came in again a month into the summer.  His daughter was waiting in the car.  He would not be able to teach in the Fall after all, he said.  He was sorry to let the College down.  His doctors said sometimes there was a period of remission, but it was unpredictable.  And the Fall semester was definitely out.

She went out to the car with him to meet the daughter.  "Your Dad is to have a leave of absence for the Fall," she said.  "With pay.  Will you, Ben, keep me up-to-date?"

He said he would, of course.  The daughter made eye contact as if to say she herself would keep M--- informed.

Later that day M--- told A---- the sad news, and by September they were able to cover Ben's courses with a minimum of trouble. 

No one was saying anything about the tenure denial.  M--- told her husband she couldn't tell if Ben's daughter even knew.

13

The next thing she knew, early in the fall, she learned Ben had died.

It popped into her head at that moment that Huckleberry Finn said, about some heinous event he'd witnessed, that it made him ashamed of the whole human race.  It seemed appropriate to the Dean that she'd thought of that remark just then.



*





Not Harassment, But Still... [story]

*

[found on a park bench]

Not Harassment But Still...

1

Here's the story, as I've been able to piece it together.  Maybe Ronald technically shouldn't have told me about the conversations between just himself and Ted, but he did. The private conversations he had with the redoubtable Master Stuart Bluestone, well that's really different, since now - so help me - I have him to supervise. I even asked for him!

And come to think of it, Ted himself was right there in our Department, and I'm now department chair. So Ted's confidential story - and all the scandal surrounding our department because of his escapades - might be considered something I should know about.

Anyway I do know, so I'm going to write it down.  Wouldn't you?

2

The final stage began when an outraged member of the biological department of our museum institute told me about the pass Ted had made at her.

I was one of the 20 or 25 who'd participated in Ronald's workshop that day when Loo ("Louisa," I guess) collared him as people were hurrying to get home or wherever they wanted to spend the rest of Saturday afternoon. She was often in some sort of rage or other, but it looked to me as though this one was different, worse or at least more personal. Ronald's reaction was different too: he was intensely focused on what Loo was saying and his look was dark.

Just on general principles, I had to ask her Monday or Tuesday when just the two of us were there in the outer Post Office collecting our mail from the little boxes. "Say, Loo," I said, "I was sorry to see you had some kind of disaster to report to Ronald the other day."

"Damn right," she said, instantly ready to go another round. "I'm not going to repeat what that low-life business guy said to me. It was right here, on this spot, when it was just the two of us getting our mail."

"Did he touch you?"

"I would have killed him," Loo said through her teeth. "But it's bad enough that he hit on me," she went on, "and Phyllis said he'd done the same thing with her. Even Betty. But staff women can look out for themselves --"

"Still, it's sexual harassment," I threw in. "You could sue him."

"Damn right, we could," she liked thinking about what she could do to him. (It turned out it was Ted Maugham she was talking about, whom she had called "that low-life business guy.") "But," Loo went right on, "We can take care of ourselves, you know? But he's talking with students too. Trying to hit on students! Can you imagine?"

It turned out Ronald told her to write up a report for him on her incident, and to also get Phyllis to write up her experience. So now she was going to see if she could also find some women students who would complain to the Director too. Or maybe to the Director's Assistant, the woman in that office.

3

In all the Anthropology program, our classes are small.  We work shoulder to shoulder with our students, so without raising any red flags or anything I thought I could poke around a little. To one or two of the guys during that next week, I said something like: "Say, I read something about harassment in schools. We don't have any men staff trying to hit on female students here, do we?"

They responded differently. One said,"Well, not really." Another said, "I haven't seen any at least..." Another one said, laughing, "Where do you live, old man? Sure, there are a couple of them!"

So, it seemed even the guys had heard a story or two but didn't think it was a scandal or anything. I asked a female, a senior who was doing an independent project with me. I said, "Are there any individuals you and the others warn the new students about?"

"Only that guy in business," she said. "He jokes around about it."

4

Ted was a young 35 or so. He was blond and athletic-looking, handsome, in good shape, with a sparkling smile. He seemed ready to be amused at any moment.

His consulting papers were all confidential, so no one else ever saw them. A few skeptics wondered aloud how much was just his personal market research, for playing the stock market.  Students liked hanging around with him, working on their own projects.

He always seemed short on money too. Our salaries at the Institute are not lower than in most other areas at the Museum, but Ted was the only one of us who seemed to need more all the time.  He spent every summer moonlighting at the community college in the little lake village north of here where he and "his woman," as he called her, had lived for a long time. He's probably still there if he's still alive. I'd say there's not much hope the woman is...

5

So Ronald - as he mentioned later - had gotten the pitiless written report from Loo and an oral one from Phyllis. Ted had probably thought he was kidding, not realising that these two professional women did not think joking around about casual sex was to be expected (or tolerated).

No students came forward, but Loo said they told her Ted made jokes right in class about how many women he had laid the night before.

"Say, Ted," Ronald said to him a bit later, waiting for a committee meeting to begin, "would you set up a time to come see me later this week?"

He'd told Ted someone had overheard him apparently joking around about casual sex with a colleague. This was an introduction to reminding Ted of the strict policy against colleague relationships, and of course sex contact with a student would lead to dismissal on the spot. No, No, Ted had said. That was just silly talk. But he could see now why he shouldn't have done it.

Ronald sent him a brief note confirming they had reviewed the sexual harassment policy together, with a copy to the file.

6

I was on that community outreach committee too, and Ted had actually been chairman the year before. He took that work seriously, prepared carefully, didn't seem a boob or a simple ne'r-do-well.

Ted was cooperative too. As part of their General Program, all students had to take at least one course in museum management. Not preservation or museum history or something, but where they would really have to face up to the day-to-day business practicalities of our profession. 

Marketing and Fundraising were the most popular choices, both of them Ted's courses. Almost every term he was willing to set the class limit at 25 instead of 15 or 20, like the rest of us. Since it saved getting someone part-time to do an evening section, Ronald was willing to hire an assistant for Ted. The deal was that he would never just let this young woman take the class or even half the class by herself - she was a recent graduate of our own but hadn't yet worked on a master's - and Ted never complained about his teaching load. ...Like the rest of us do, if I'm honest with you.

7

Seemed like the next thing we knew Ted was just gone. Over one weekend he had just cleaned out all his stuff, even his filing cabinets; the College had hired movers. The IT department was just down the hall from Business, and some of their guys said they'd helped box up and carry Ted's stuff Saturday afternoon.

We were curious, of course, and as department chair I had to work with Ronald and with the remaining business faculty to find part-timers to cover Ted's duties for the rest of that year and all the next year, while we looked for a permanent replacement.

But even the usual soreheads didn't say a word about he wasn't fairly treated or it was wrong for the Director and the Board to be able to just fire somebody, without staff hearings or something like that. Ted didn't file a grievance.

8

Eventually, over time I learned that Ronald had decided to interview all the advaned business students to find out if they had any sense of any sexual escapades of Mr. Maugham. All very confidential, of course. The conversations were billed as part of a program review. "You know, we're always trying to improve..." That kind of thing.

At the time there were fewer than a dozen or so advanced students. One or two recent graduates were contacted too.

Hush-hush is right. I mean, I make it my business to know what's going on around here, and I didn't hear anything about this.  Ronald's assistant Stephanie was the main interviewer.

But Ronald reserved the extraordinary Mr. Bluestone for himself.

Come to think of it, I might never have heard anything about all this if I hadn't asked Ronald at the end of that year if I could hire Stuart to replace the Technical Assistant in Online Education. He told me Stuart might be a little crazy.

He is a character, true enough. But he's starting his third year with me now, and I don't know what we'd do without him.

9

"Thanks for coming over, Stu," Ronald would have started. "You're still working on your Marketing certification, aren't you? Even though you're part-time now, working for IT full-time?"

"I've got six hours to go," he would have said. "Yes. It's nice to talk to the Director himself."

Anyway, Stuart spent an hour maybe, when the other interviews had lasted 20 minutes or so. That's the way he is. Talks non-stop. Mostly about himself, in fact...

Ronald learned that Stuart (he hated being called "Stu") had quit the full-time Business program because of bad blood that had grown up between him and Ted Maugham. So Ronald would have to be on guard against some bias in this interview.

Stuart must have said he'd have known if Ted had been sleeping with the females in the program. That Stuart's a real busy-body, you know? Always up on the juiciest gossip.  That riles some people up, don't you know.

But Stuart said Ted did seem to think about sex a lot, and he would jokingly pretend that the women were eager to get in his pants... But he didn't expect anybody to take him seriously. Now, that new assistant had come on since Stuart had gone to work for IT; he didn't know her very well. So he didn't know about her and Ted. But not students in general, no.

That's apparently the consensus Stephanie and Randall were finding. (Stephanie actually talked with the assistant directly and was convinced she was offended by the very idea.)

Ronald said, though, Stuart really hated Ted. He told the Director that afternoon that all the IT guys were always complaining about him among themselves. He would drop into their office and hang out with them. They were his "friends," he seemed to think, and he was always getting them to update or reprogram his computers, or help him unload his truck.

He said they really didn't think it was right that he kept beer in his little fridge in the lab. He'd get them to carry a case or two up to his second-floor lab most weekends, apparently. Or at least, that's what ol' Stuart said that day with Ronald.

10

The reason Ronald told me about this conversation was that he had poked around just a little to see if he could find out why Stuart had split with Ted in the first place. In the course of Stuart's ramblings, he said in several different ways that his own software programs were "great works of art." Not pretty good, or good. Literally great.

"I'm like Gates, you know?" he'd said, leaning forward. "Only I'm better than him, or Steve Jobs either, do you see?"  Ronald quoted him word-for-word on that one.

You can see why he thought I might want to reconsider hiring Stuart away from Information Technology. Just imagine. He was quite serious about his own talent, Ronald thought, and he assumed Ronald believed so too.

11

Stephanie and Byron both confronted Ted late one afternoon. They told him what they'd been hearing about him, and asked him flat out if he'd ever had sex with a student in our program. He understood why they had to ask and he simply said No, he had not.

They told him he had to stop joking around about sex, whether with students or anybody else. He accepted that, and then Randall said he thought Ted had a problem with alcohol.  Ted denied that.  Ronald said Ted needed help, counseling.  If Ted asked him, he could give him some names and phone numbers.  The county had a good clinic, and it was free.  Ted didn't argue.  He sat quietly.

Stephanie added that the alcohol wasn't an Institute problem per se, only if it interfered with his duties...

After kicking all this around for most of an hour, they shook hands and wound it up amicably. Apparently they had also reminded Ted that the deal about the assistant was that she would never be left in charge of a class. (It was a bragging point for parents that we don't have teaching assistants at our college, unlike the universities.)

Randall didn't know the truth for sure, but he was convinced he didn't have enough against Ted to take any disciplinary action. Only another letter, with a copy to Ted's file.

12

The very next week, though, the Art assistant came to see Stephanie again. She told her she'd been thinking about all the emphasis Stephanie had placed on her never being left alone with a class. Did he know Ted took all day Friday off?

It didn't affect her because her courses with Ted were all on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but it was well-known you couldn't talk with Professor Maugham on Fridays. She herself couldn't reach him, even on his cell. He didn't want emails or texts either. You had to wait until Monday.

One of the students, a sophomore, took Ted's place in the Friday class. He'd been doing this for years, even back when the assistant herself was still a student. These students who covered for him on Friday weren't even advanced undergraduates, just regular students registered for that course.

13

Stephanie found out who that student was this semester. She was thrilled that Professor Maugham trusted her - and the other students - well enough to leave them on their own doing course lab. It was her favorite class. She was planning to change her major from Archival.

No, there was nothing special about the way Mr. Maugham interacted with the students, the assistant reported. Friday was a self-directed "computer lab" day.

It seemed clear the students in this class thought it was just normal for a teacher to just regularly skip class one day a week.

14

Ronald made a point of reminding all the staff at the opening meeting of the next term that everyone was expected to meet or make up every scheduled class meeting. The Registrar should be informed in case, for example, of missing class even due to illness; that was in case anybody should need to communicate with the teacher or any of the students during the scheduled hour.

I wasn't the only one, I think, who understood this was Ronald's way of explaining why Ted had suddenly disappeared.

Maybe I should mention all this stuff to one or two others...?  It's pretty good stuff, don't you think?

*

American Independence [story]

*

**

***

On May 1, 1991, when it was her time, the Dean approached the lectern:

“Good morning,” she said, “I appreciate these opportunities we have put aside for me to share my thoughts with you each month.” 

After a brief pause, she began:

“Today I want to direct my remarks to a single subject: two contrasting paradigms of how organizations might operate.

“The one model is of diverse, distinct factions within the organization competing with each other for the available resources, attempting to serve their own interests or their own special agenda for the organization, with the organization as a whole proceeding by balancing these competing interests off against each other in order to maintain a tolerable working relationship. 

“In the other model, the members of the organization think of themselves first as members of the organization as a whole and only secondarily as members of any sub-group or faction, working together to achieve commonly shared goals.

“When it operates successfully – as it often does - the first system is characterized by competition, confrontation, and compromise.  The second system, when it operates successfully, is characterized by communication, dispute resolution, and cooperation.

“Now, it will not surprise you to hear me say that the second model - colleagues working together to achieve commonly shared goals - is the one I believe appropriate for an educational institution like ours based on free inquiry (rather than dogma), research, reason and observation (rather than mere custom), and freedom of expression. 

“When I arrived here as your Dean five years ago, however, I found the other organizational system in operation:  factions competing against one another, in our case for scarcer and scarcer resources. 

“When decisions were made - and sometimes it seemed any decision was made reluctantly - they were unstable compromises among competing interests.

“The point is, I think we at this fine old school, fighting to draw back from the brink of financial collapse, should be able to recognize more clearly and more certainly than others that the system of competition, confrontation, and compromise does not work well here. We have seen, close up, that this mode of operation will fail.

“As we move through our work together in future years, I am asking you to keep in mind the two paradigms - competing factions representing diverse interests as opposed to colleagues working toward common goals –

“…And to work with me to eliminate any vestiges we still have of the old system, avoiding any actions that would entrench still further our unproductive habits in this regard.

She looked up:

“Or at least, let’s give it a try. “

Looking at her watch, she said, “We seem to have a few minutes for questions…?”

One of the older members of those listening put down his newspaper and stood up. 

Facing those seated around him, he said: “Do we have to submit ourselves to these little sermonettes?  We could be having lunch by now!”

He sat down again: “…Nothing personal, Dean ‘D----',” he said.

***

**

*

Dr. Baier's Dilemma [story]

***

1

The Manchester-Barnes is a teaching hospital in rural northern Kansas, but it does not focus on teaching doctors.  The M-B is one of the few hospitals in America focusing its educational efforts on teaching nurses.  It has one of the few accredited diploma nursing schools where high school graduates may start directly in nurse training and after three successful years take the state exams to become an RN.  In the first two years, the courses in traditional academic subjects (English, biology and chemistry, and others) are completed by special arrangement with a small four-year college a few miles away, where also, in night courses, one can complete the B. S. while working full time at the hospital as an R. N.  There are hopes and dreams of offering a Master's in Nursing at the Manchester-Barnes soon.

Most nursing students, whether right out of high school or older, are girls and young women.  So the nurses and doctors who make up the hospital's nurse education faculty are regularly reminded of the institution's strict ban on sexual contact between staff members and students.  Consensual or not, a sexual relation with a student at the M-B is a sure way to exit the scene. 

It was Vice President Farley ("Lee") Baier's responsibility to enforce this strict rule on nurse educators including the staff physicians involved.

2

"Dr. Baier?"  Farley's administrative assistant poked her head in the doorway one morning.  He figured someone was in the outer office with her, or she would have just said "Farley" or "Lee."  But that morning, it was instead "Dr. Baier?"

"Yes, Helen.  What's up?"

"President Anderson requests the pleasure of your company, if it's convenient."

"Ah ha," he said standing right up without even saving the report he'd just started on his laptop.  Both he and Helen understood that this special phrasing meant, "Get yourself over here right away!"  The back door to the President's office was just across the hall.  He knocked and walked straight in.

"Well, hi, Jeff," he said to the Financial VP who was standing across the desk from the President.  "Good morning, Ron," he said then, coming further in.  "Can I help?"

"Let's all sit down," Anderson said, "and be more comfortable."  All of this made the situation - whatever it was - seem serious... which indeed it turned out to be.

"Lee," said Anderson.  "Yesterday, I asked Jeff to look into an important matter that would usually have been your business."

Jeff nodded solemnly, looking only at the President.

"You see, it's about John Feikema..."

3

As Executive Vice President, Farley's duties could have been just about whatever President Anderson assigned to him.  His background was in personnel management, particularly in health-care-related organizations, so among other things at the M-B he supervised all the nurses and all the nurse education programs. 

Dr. Feikema - sometimes called "Dr. John" - was the head physician on staff in the Manchester-Barnes cardiac care division.  He actually enjoyed teaching classes and then mentoring students in the lower-level nursing care courses.  His lectures were considered interesting and not overly challenging, and he was well-known throughout the M-B.  Over the sixteen years Farley had been there, he and Dr. John had become friends.  Their wives were friends too, and the four of them socialized now and then.

There'd been a curious thing several years earlier.  Farley and the President had been meeting with a committee of doctors considering possible research projects, when a senior member of the staff expressed some vague reservations about Dr. Feikema.  Ron Anderson was a fairly new president at that time.  Neither Farley nor he had heard any concerns at all about Feikema.

But after a confusing exchange or two, another senior physician put it bluntly.  "The rumor was all over," he said, "when John first got here, that he was a ladies man, a flirt, who might have made some advances..."  There seemed to be some agreement around the table.

"Someone claimed to know that was why he'd left his practice out west," another put in.

"It was just a rumor," a third man said - in fact, all six of them were men - "and nothing ever came of it, but he was sometimes called Dr. Hands by some of the nurses.  Dr. Hands... Not that it's relevant to this meeting, but it's probably something you two might want to know.  Sorry!"

Farley had dealt with delicate questions before.  A few months after his arrival at the M-B, there'd been a question about a nurse's aide having an alcohol problem.  When he asked the Director of the Diploma School about it, he learned that his predecessor had had the custom of saying aggressively to anyone who made a formal complaint like that, "Would you be willing to testify in court about that?"

The director had commented, "Needless to say, there were fewer and fewer complaints of any kind."

But Farley had had a private conversation about the rumor with Nurse Molen herself, who had since graduated from the diploma program and was on staff.  She'd been very straightforward.  "I was afraid I might be developing a problem myself," she said.  "So I worked with a counselor, and I put it all behind me.  There's no problem now," she concluded.

That turned out to be true ever since, apparently, based on her evaluations, and on recommendations from co-workers, and Farley believed her.  After reminding Nurse Molen of the seriousness of such a problem, he thanked her for her frankness and sent her on her way.  He wrote a detailed report of the conversation for her confidential file, in case he should ever need it...

The point is, unlike his predecessor, Farley did want to know about real or rumored weaknesses or character flaws in his staff.  Maybe his blood pressure would go up for the time he was looking into a complaint or confronting someone about it, but he thought it was his duty and possibly an important one.

4

That later morning, President Anderson went on: "A part-time evening diploma student went to Jeff yesterday to say that after class one night, Dr. Feikema had had sex with her, and I asked him to get with our attorney downtown and deal with this."

"Ron thought it would be best for you, Lee - as a friend - not to be in charge," Jeff said.

Farley remained silent.  He didn't know what to think.

"I have your copy of Jeff's report here," Morrison went on.  "I'd like you to tell me this afternoon what your recommendation would be... Any questions?"

"Did you talk with John?" Farley asked Reese.  It turned out the attorney yesterday afternoon had interviewed the student and then Dr. Feikema in turn, and they had this morning signed statements confirming the summary of what they had said.

"Let me know if you want to see their statements," Reese said.  "They are summarized in my report."

Anderson said, "They both say that there was in fact sexual contact."  It turned out to be three times.  "He says it was consensual, and Jeff..."

"I believed him, and the attorney did," Reese put in.  "Not her."

"But really, in our policy, it doesn't matter..."

5

"Hey, John, come in.  Thanks for coming."  Farley was in the outer office, following up quietly on the senior docs' report of the womanizer rumors.  Farley had searched through Feikema's confidential personnel file since that meeting, trying unsuccessfully to sense any hint of reason for concern.  There was no smell of potential scandal he could detect, only evidence of Dr. John's enthusiasm, efficiency, careful management of department budgets.  His recommendations from the Oregon hospital where he'd worked previously were not particularly effusive, but they were all positive and not overly cautious, as far as he could tell.

When they were seated at the conference table, Farley turned away from chit-chat.   "I wanted to share with you a comment I heard about you the other day.  I don't know of any reason for concern - it was presented as an unconfirmed rumor - but I thought you'd want to know."

"Well," John hesitated, surprised.  "Thanks for filling me in, Lee ...I guess."

Farley summarized the conversation from the meeting three days earlier, pleasantly surprised when John did not press for any details aimed at finding out who had reported the rumor.  Which would have been a bad sign.  "I'm... Well, this kind of thing is disgusting, isn't it?" he said instead.  "But frankly, I'm not too surprised." 

When Farley waited to let him go on, the older man added: "When I was first starting here a dozen years ago, a few of the physicians in the department hadn't wanted the M-B to go outside and hire a division head."  And he elaborated for a sentence or two on professional jealousy.  He was upset, but well under control, not defensive.  "Is there anything you want me to do?" he asked finally.

"No," Farley said, "but I have to make sure you understand that as a teaching hospital, we have even more obligation than usual to make sure there is never anything sexual between staff and students..."

"Of course!" Dr. John inserted.

"...Whether consensual or not, whether just something creating the appearance of any sexual attraction or anything..."

"Right," John said.

"...Even suggestive or seductive comments or gestures..."

"It's a good policy," John said, "and as far as I know, we look squeaky clean on this, don't you think?  What can I do to make sure my reputation isn't questioned again?"

"Well, be real careful about what you say and do," Farley said, "keeping this ugly rumor in mind."  He wrapped up the conversation at that point, after all of about ten minutes, by explaining he now needed to say he would send Feikema a confidential memo simply summarizing their conversation that morning.  John showed no concern.

6

Farley had asked Helen to get the two statements Jeff Reese had offered him.  Not that he didn't already know what was in them after Reese's careful and thorough report, but on principle...  They had been as described in the report.

The details in both statements were the same.  There had been three sexual encounters, all of them in cars, all of them after the night class.  The first had been in the parking lot in his car, the second in her car parked on a few blocks away, another again in his car.  The student had gotten in willingly, and the sex act had been oral sex.  The student claimed that all three times John had physically forced her to do it.  It hadn't been a trade for a good grade in class, both agreed.

"Thanks for small favors, " Farley thought.

There was no doubt about what had to be done.  Farley wrote up a formal recommendation to President Anderson, with a copy to VP Reese.  He would take it across without waiting; Helen could take the copy in a sealed envelope to Jeff's secretary.

7

"Dr. Baier?" Helen looked in.  "Your appointment is here," swinging the door open as Farley crossed from his desk to greet the young man coming in.  He introduced himself, and the two men shook hands.  He gave his name and said his girlfriend - naming her - was a full-time student in the diploma program.  He said she'd said something to him that the man in charge should know.

By now they were seated at the conference table.  "She said one of your instructors - someone she calls 'Dr. John' - had made her feel uncomfortable, and it's all over among the students that he is dangerous.  'Don't be alone with him,' the more advanced students tell the newer ones."

This was several years after Farley had heard the first rumor.

"Dr. Feikema is a respected veteran staff member of our cardiac staff," Farley said, "but this is a real concern to me.  I appreciate your bringing it to my attention."  Then he went on: "What did he do to your girlfriend?"

"She didn't want me to come, by the way, and she wasn't really upset... Just feeling a little 'oogy,' you know what I mean?"  Farley nodded.  "She told me he said she should always wear tight sweaters, like the pink one she had on that day.  And he had a kind of grin on his face.

"Was there anyone else around?"

"Oh, yes.  It was before class, but most of the other students were already sitting there.  Two or three of them told her after class that he'd said things to them too, at one time or another."  Farley nodded again, making another note.  "And earlier in the semester, one of the other girls made a really good class presentation... and he hugged her!  Right there in front of the class.  She told my girlfriend it creeped her out."

After a moment, he went on:  "Another student, she said, worked in Dr. John's office briefly, and she said he often touched her... like on the shoulder, or patting her head when passing by her chair at the table.  Once he was telling her something and came up behind her and began to massage her shoulders.  All that made her uncomfortable."

"What did she do?" was Farley's question.

"I don't know," the young man said.

Farley was concerned, but a little frustrated too.  He said he needed to talk with the "girlfriend" herself.  "Oh no," the young man said.  "She didn't want me to come, and she wouldn't come herself."

Farley told him it wasn't unusual for a student, or a nurse either for that matter, to be concerned about retaliation.  But he would not let that happen.  "We can work it out so that Dr. Feikema doesn't get any sense who came forward... And the others too.  If there are others who have been made to feel uncomfortable, I need to hear the details myself, from them, or I won't be able to warn him convincingly.  See?"

The "boyfriend" hadn't thought of that.  He said he'd try to get one or more of them to come in.  "That would help a lot, " Farley said, "but I'll be thinking about what I can do in the meantime.  The sooner, the better, okay?"

8

"You're sure we have to let him go, Lee?"  President Anderson asked that afternoon, pointing out that Feikema was in his sixties and had been at the hospital for almost twenty years.  Farley's recommendation was on the desk in front of him.

"He was warned," Farley said quietly.  "Twice.  If our policy means anything, we don't have much choice."  And then added: "...I'm sorry to say."

"Clear it with the lawyer," said the President.  "Assuming he doesn't tell us to hold on, set it up with the three of us... Feikema, not the attorney."

9

"John," Farley had begun following up on the 'boyfriend's' complaint, speaking in a confidential tone.  "You'll remember that a couple of years ago I brought to your attention some rumors that had apparently circulated around the M-B about you."  Dr. John nodded.  "You asked me," Farley continued, "if there was anything in particular you could do."

"Yes?" John asked.

"Well, I've heard second-hand some details of behavior that made some of your students or colleagues feel uncomfortable."

"Lee!  I don't fool around with other women.  You know my wife.  You know my children!"

Farley raised a finger, "No, wait.  Nobody's making any allegations.  I'm just warning you that certain gestures and comments may make some women feel uncomfortable.  I want to tell you what I've heard.  Okay?  So you can do your best to avoid repeats..."

"Yes," Dr. Feikema smiled ruefully, "yes, of course.  Go ahead."

"Well, once you apparently hugged a student who had made a good presentation in class..."  Farley mentioned each incident the 'boyfriend' had told him about.  That young man had called a day or so after their one meeting to say he couldn't convince anyone to come in and talk with Farley directly.  So Farley and John discussed each of the three incidents a moment or two without much detail.  John was again not defensive, but he was frustrated:

"But none of that means anything!" he said finally.  "That's the way I am.  I'm demonstrative.  I tell people they look nice, when they do.  I pat people's shoulders, in a show of friendship.  I hug people in congratulating them... to say 'Good job!'" he added.

"People are very sensitive about these things," Farley advised, "these days... Will you restrain yourself, keep all this in mind?  It might get serious."

"You know, Lee?  I appreciate your telling me this stuff.  Yes, I'll try not to do those things... or other things like them."

A moment later at the door, Feikema looked back at Farley.  His face was a little flushed:  "I'll just have to keep my hands in my pockets," he said.

"Couldn't hurt."

10

"Good luck, John," Farley said, shaking his friend's hand.  "We'll be in touch by phone in January."  John turned silently and walked away, without making eye contact with the President's assistant in the outer office.

That was how the meeting among Ron Anderson, Farley, and John Feikema had ended.  Farley had known it had to be done, so it hadn't been terribly stressful for him... But it had been sufficiently horrible.

The three of them had taken seats in the President's conversation area, John on the couch, Ron in his big leather wing chair, and Farley on a wooden chair he'd brought over from in front of the desk.  This was the President's show, and he began right away.  "It's a bad situation, John," he said, Feikema nodding and looking down at his hands.  "We're in a pickle," Ron went on, then waited.

"I'm sorry," John said softly without looking up.  He took a deep breath.

Farley thought maybe he should say something, but President Morrison continued.  "We at the M-B are entrusted by the families and sometimes the spouses of our nursing students with their daughters and wives.  We have to keep them safe, or seeming and feeling safe, and part of that obligation is our strictly enforced policy prohibiting sexual contact with any student."

"You even told me once you agreed with the policy," Farley did finally speak.  John nodded.

Then he looked up at the President:  "Do you want me to resign?" he said, his voice a little hoarse.

The President still made no eye contact with Farley, gazing for a few seconds into Dr. John's eyes.  "It breaks my heart to say it, John, but you have to go.  Resigning is the best way for you."

"My mother," John glanced at Farley and then back to Ron: "In Arizona.  She's very sick, could die anytime."  He again glanced to Farley: "I could take an emergency leave and go to be with her."

"Oh!" said Farley.  The President seemed to respond positively, so he said, "That would be plausible, but..."

John went on again.  "I could retire after the New Year."

"We would continue to pay your salary until the end of June," the President said.  That was what he and Farley had decided that morning in talking with the hospital's lawyer.

"So, you would take an immediate, emergency leave," Farley said, "and in early January - about a month from now - you would write me a letter saying you want to retire, effective at the end of June..."  He looked closely at the older man.  "But you can't come back to the M-B in the meantime, John."

"Can I be the one to tell my staff?"

So, they worked it all out.  President Anderson wound the meeting up quickly, standing and extending his hand.

11

The memo from the Personnel Office to staff the next morning read as follows:

Dr. John Feikema of the cardiac care unit and the nurse education program has taken an emergency leave of absence, effective immediately, to go to be with his aging and ailing mother who appears to be nearing death.  Any questions should be addressed to Dr. Farley Baier's office.

*

On January 16, the follow-up memo read:

Dr. John Feikema, now on family medical leave until the end of June, has announced his intention to retire at that time.  He has been with the Manchester-Barnes Hospital and Health Center since 1980.

*

The heart of Farley's last letter to Dr. Feikema, of the same date, said:

We do not expect to see you at the Hospital again, John, except to collect all your personal belongings from your office, which you are to have done by the end of the month.  Please co-ordinate your visit for that purpose through my office.  You will also need to meet with members of the Personnel Office to work out details of your retirement benefits.

It ended:  Best wishes.

12



"Lee!" Helen whispered sharply, hustling in, closing the office door firmly behind her, and crossing to him at the desk.  It was now late January.  "Mrs. Feikema is here, Lee."

"Sharon?" Farley murmured.

"She's in a bad way," Helen said.  "I tried to do my thing, calm her down, hugged her too.  Didn't change anything."

Farley was beginning to stand up.

"I know you're not supposed to, Lee," she went on, "but you really have to see her."

Farley told her to go get Sharon, John Feikema's wife.

While John was slender and a little shorter than Farley himself, Mrs. Feikema had a robust figure, an attractive face, and matched Farley's height.  She'd started to talk even before they could sit at the conference table or Helen could get the door closed behind herself.

"John won't talk to me," Sharon cried out, on the verge of tears.  "He sits there eating what I cook for him, looking down at his plate.  He doesn't respond to questions.  Then he goes back down to his office in the basement.  I'm going crazy, Lee!"

"You know, Sharon..." Farley started to say.

"I've come to you.  You've got to help me.  What's happened?  What - is - going - on?!"

"You mean - " Farley started again.

"I mean, I know he went to Tucson to see his dying mother, who is not dead yet by the way.  And I know he's not coming in to work and nobody calls him at home anymore.  But, Lee, he won't tell me!  What's happened?"

Farley knew the hospital attorney would have a stroke if he ever heard about it, but he was going to tell her.  "Sharon," he said...

"John had oral sex with a non-traditional nursing student, three times, in the Fall semester.  She complained, apparently planning to get some money from suing the hospital.  John admitted it happened, saying she'd been the aggressor, which apparently is true."  He paused.  Sharon's eyes were closed.  Maybe she wasn't surprised?

"The complaint was six weeks ago or so," he added and paused again.

"John knew he would get fired for this, Sharon.  So he did the right thing: he resigned.  His regular salary will continue through June, and then he'll be on retirement."

Sharon opened her eyes and looked for something in Farley's face, but did not speak herself.

"Are you going to be all right, Sharon?"

She stood up, taking a deep breath and kind of squaring her shoulders.

"I think you need to get some help, Sharon," Farley said as he slowly stood too, trying to keep his voice steady and calm.  "I could call up to Counseling.  They'd talk with you if I asked..."

She shook her head.  "No.  No, thank you.  If I need you, I'll let you know..." turning to go.  She hadn't even set her purse down, clasping it to her chest.  She opened the office door herself and went on through.

She didn't call back.

When Helen came in after Sharon had left, Farley said to her:  "No one can know she was here, you know."

"Right," Helen murmured.  "Are you okay, Lee?  I feel so bad for her!"

"I do too," he said.  "And as for me, well, I'll feel better soon..."

***