GREAT THINGS ENTERPRISE
CLAUDE BLACK
Petersons
Chapter 1
Professor Shay Norman
“I’m opposed to this seminar,” Dr. Crew Letterless, Professor of American History, said, standing to make his point. “I’ve discussed this with some colleagues who also have doubts about it.”
Dr. Robert Calloway, Dean of the College of Liberal Arts at Seaway University in Mt. George, Iowa, had called the first fall meeting of the faculty to order in the first-floor conference room in Hathorn. He greeted everyone for the new semester and worked his way through the agenda, coming to item seven, Professor Shay Norman’s proposal to offer a spring semester seminar titled “Forensics in History”.
The graduate seminar would use a popular forensics textbook as its foundation and then focus on the forensic details of a specific case: the Cooper Mall bank robbery. The strange, daring, early-morning robbery had fascinated everyone in Mt. George. For their final assignment, the students would write an analytical essay about the forensic details of the robbery.
“There’s no need to stand, Dr. Letterless,” the dean said. “What do you find objectionable about this proposal?”
“First, Shay is a historian, not a forensic expert,” he said, with a notable air of condescension, and a faint sneer across his lips. His attitude suggested personal rivalry as much as professional concern.
I began, “Crew—”
“Dr. Letterless,” he said, cutting me off.
“Crew,” I continued, irritated, but ignoring the jab, “this isn’t a forensics class. It’s a forensics in history class.
“Even so,” Letterless continued, “forensic science is out of your area.”
“Perhaps you don’t know, but Crew, I have a Ph.D. in history and forensics with post-doc studies in criminology.”
While some faculty members focused on the agenda, others looked out the windows or stared in bewilderment at Letterless’s tone.
“Maybe this’ll help,” Dr. Margaret Hayes, Chair of the Criminology Department, said. “Dr. Norman and I have worked on this project. It will be a fine fit for criminology students. They will have the opportunity to see how forensic science actually works in a specific historical case.”
Letterless, still not satisfied, jaw set, fists clenched, pressed on. “I am opposed to this because it will put Seaway in danger.”
“In danger? How so?” the dean asked.
“Students will be involved with the police,” Letterless said, raising his voice.
“This is all spelled out in the proposal, Crew,” I said. “We will have a liaison from the Mt. George Police Department, Lieutenant Bernard Roebuck, a detective who helped investigate the robbery. Lieutenant Roebuck is a graduate of Seaway and, pardon the personal reference, one of my former students. I’ve worked with Lieutenant Roebuck on the construction of this proposal. His superiors approved his time to meet with the students.”
“Anything else, Dr. Letterless?” the dean cut in, chopping off his words.
“Yes.” Letterless clung to the topic like a bulldog with the prey in its mouth, refusing to let go. “This proposal will involve the university in affairs over which it has no control.”
“How so?” the dean said, with an edge in his voice.
“Involvement with the police, the bank, and by extension, the robbers, whoever they may be. The university has no control over these,” the agitated professor said.
“Crew,” I tried to explain, “as the proposal points out, no student will be involved with the police department, the bank, or the robbers.”
“Anything else, Dr. Letterless?” the dean asked.
“Yes.”
The faculty members grew more uneasy, shuffling in their seats, writing notes, or checking emails. A few looked at the dean with a visual message to move along.
“The seminar is pedagogically unsound. University education should focus on theory; practice comes only after a solid foundation of theory,” Letterless said. Dressed in an olive crewneck sweater and gray pants, Letterless appeared to raise his nose, I thought, as if he found the idea of discussing educational philosophy with an upstart beneath his dignity.
“Crew,” I said, my voice soft as if speaking to a recalcitrant child, “the students will be studying a forensics textbook, a book that Dr. Hayes also uses in one of her criminology classes. And how is this different from your ‘Historic Spaces and Places’ seminar?”
“Okay, anything else, Dr. Letterless?” Hearing nothing further, the dean called the question. The vote was twenty-nine in favor of Shay’s proposal and two opposed.
“I want it on the record that I oppose this seminar for the reasons stated,” Letterless said. “I’m convinced this is the wrong decision.”
“So noted,” the dean said. He explained that the proposal would go to the Board of Administration at its next meeting and, if approved there, it would then go to the college directors. At any rate, the dean assured me, I should receive a final notice within a month.
The dean worked through the remaining agenda items, made announcements, and adjourned the meeting.
“Shay, wait up,” Dr. Bill Chase called out as we left the meeting. Chase was a Professor of American History, my office neighbor, and friend.
“Sorry, Bill. I guess I didn’t realize my anger was working itself out through my feet.”
“What was all that about?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I said. “Crew has always been a little cold toward me.”
“Yeah,” Chase said, “but this sounded more like raw anger.”
“That was what I felt,” I said.
“Any idea what set him off?” Chase asked.
“No, not really. He and I came to Seaway about fifteen years ago as assistant professors. About 10 years ago, we both applied for an associate professor position, but the college only had one opening, and it went to me. He never openly said it, but his attitude and behavior showed his resentment. He applied for promotion the next year, and I wrote a favorable letter for his dossier. He received the promotion to associate, but that never really seemed to assuage his resentment. But today’s outburst seemed like something more than that.”
“Anyway, I think you handled it well,” Chase said.
“Thanks, Bill, I needed that,” I said as we walked toward our offices.
Finishing work for the day, I closed the office, drove home, and began preparing dinner. When Marshall came in, cooking smells filled the house.
“Rough day?” he asked.
“You can tell?”
“Honey, I’ve been married to you long enough to know that when I come home and find pepper steak, sautéed vegetables, and homemade bread, you’ve had a hard day. Somehow, cooking has always been therapeutic for you.”
“Yeah, it kinda puts my mind out of gear when I focus on pots and pans,” I said. I told him about the ruckus Letterless raised in the faculty meeting.
“What difference does Letterless make? The proposal is solid, and the faculty approved it.”
“You’re so logical. I just don’t like having uncertainty hanging over me.”
“I know.”
“Married to me long enough?”
“Right.”
He went to the office, and I continued working through my emotions by washing the dishes.
I was angry with Crew for attacking me in front of our colleagues. I could have cut him down, but I know my sharp tongue sometimes gets me in trouble, so I tried to use logic instead. Something set him off, as Bill said—but what was it?
NOTE: This is copyrighted material.
Directory
Chapter 2