Petersons Chapter 1

Petersons
Professor Shay Norman
   “I’m opposed to this seminar. I’ve discussed this with some colleagues who also have doubts about it,” Dr. Crew Letterless said. A professor of American History, he stood to make his point.
   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 study a popular forensics textbook and examine the forensic details of a specific case, the Cooper Mall bank robbery. Everyone in Mt. George knew about the strange, daring, early-morning robbery. The students would write an analytical forensic essay about the robbery.
   “Dr. Letterless, you don’t have to stand,” 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.
   I began, “Crew—”
   “Dr. Letterless,” he cut in.
   “Crew,” I continued, irritated, but ignoring the barb, “this is not a ‘History of 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, Crew, but I have a Ph.D. in history and forensics with post-doc studies in criminology.”
   Other faculty members focused on the agenda. Some looked out the windows, and others stared, bewildered by the tone of Letterless’s objection.
   “Maybe this’ll help,” Dr. Margaret Hayes, Chair of the Criminology Department, said. “Dr. Norman and I have worked on this project. It’ll be a fine fit for criminology students. They’ll have the opportunity to see how forensic science actually works in a specific historical case.”
   Letterless, still not satisfied, took another tack. “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 explained, 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 in the construction of this proposal. His superiors approved his time to meet with the students.”
   “Anything else, Dr. Letterless?” the dean asked, chopping off his words.
   “Yes.” Letterless would not let the topic go, like a bulldog with prey in its mouth. “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 said.
   “Yes.”
   The faculty members grew more uneasy, shuffling in their seats, writing, and some were checking their email. 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 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 to be beneath his dignity.
   “Crew,” I said, my voice soft as if speaking to a recalcitrant child, “the students will be studying a forensic 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 were 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 went on to explain that the proposal would go next to the Board of Administration for review, and if approved there, it would go to the college directors. At any rate, the dean assured me that 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 manifesting 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’s what I felt.”
   “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 ten years ago, we both applied for associate professor, 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 more than that.”
   “Well, I think you handled it well,” Chase said.
   “Thanks, Bill. I needed that,” I said, as we walked toward our offices.
   After 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 in neutral when I focus on pots and pans.” I told him about the ruckus that 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 to know me?”
   “Right.”
   He went to the office, and I continued to work out 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 my sharp tongue sometimes got me in trouble, so I tried to use logic. Something set him off, as Bill said—but what was it?

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