Authors: Bernard Malamud
A New Life (38 page)
“Where do you think that’ll get you?” Gilley asked sarcastically. Without waiting for an answer he said, “You might at least have waited until Professor Fairchild’s corpse was cold in his grave.”
“I’m reporting the committee’s decision.”
“I’ll bet you led them by the nose.”
“Our decision was unanimous. You can poll Bucket, Jones, Scowers and Carson Fitch if you don’t believe me.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He had flushed darkly and Levin felt his stomach flip. “Gerald,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “if you countermand these recommendations I’ll have to go to everybody
and tell them about Bullock’s shit-list that you did nothing about.”
and tell them about Bullock’s shit-list that you did nothing about.”
“Don’t you use that kind of language in this office.” Gerald looked indignantly to see if Milly had heard but she was in the lavatory.
“I will also tell them, if they don’t already know, that Bullock invites the outstanding athletes into his own classes so he can look after them personally, and no one has done a thing to discourage that either. On top of that he tutors those who are too stupid to get a C, and gets paid for it by the P.E. department. That’s twice for the same student. How do you think the Cascadia taxpayers would feel about that?”
Gerald got up and shut both doors.
“Are you trying to blackmail me?”
Levin denied it.
“Nothing is being done that the President doesn’t know about. It’s all on the up and up, so don’t try to make it sound like some kind of secret conspiracy,” Gerald said, his fury subdued but showing. “George had the initiative to start this tutoring program on his own. The P.E. department insisted on paying him for his time, he didn’t ask for it, he doesn’t need the money. I personally mentioned it to the president and he didn’t think it important enough to comment on.”
“Have you told him about the list?”
“Nobody has any proof of that.”
“Why don’t you ask George if it exists? If he admits it you can then tell him to cut it out. You could also ask him to stop tutoring those he teaches.”
“I don’t see what difference it makes who tutors them,” Gerald said, “so long as he’s qualified to do it, and I’d like to point out to you that George, who is three years younger than you, has had his Ph.D. for the last two years, the youngest man in this department with the degree. He is eminently well qualified to teach or tutor anybody. Now I want to tell you that you’re not fooling me with your complaints. I know darn well that you and Fabrikant, and Joe Bucket, are playing these
things up because you want to discredit me and win the election for CD. But I’ll tell you this: it won’t work because everybody in the department knows that things aren’t as bad as you try to make them out to be.”
things up because you want to discredit me and win the election for CD. But I’ll tell you this: it won’t work because everybody in the department knows that things aren’t as bad as you try to make them out to be.”
“They’re a lot worse.”
Gilley sat down looking miserable. “Sometimes I curse the day I brought you here. You’re not fit to be a college instructor.”
“Why did you?”
“I was a damn fool.”
“To get my vote for giving me a job?”
“If I did I don’t want it any more. Listen, Levin, why don’t you go back where you came from—to the stinking goddamn New York subways?”
“I’m here to stay.” Levin barely believed it.
“That’s what somebody else thought who is no longer with us. We’ll get rid of you just as we did him.”
Though the instructor had borne up fairly well till then, Gilley’s threat made him wilt. He might have discovered his ass on the floor, had he not then heard the acting head’s desperate voice asking him to be reasonable. Afterwards he felt a dark sense of isolation. He was meant for a peaceful life.
He tried again to persuade Bucket to run, but the assistant professor said he had already committed himself as far as he could.
“If Gilley wins,” Levin said, “I’ll be kicked out for sure.”
“Not without good cause.”
“I’ve given good cause.”
“And I’ve given five hostages to fortune,” Bucket said, “not counting a presently pregnant wife, a not unsizeable company to consider.”
“I am my only hostage,” Levin sighed.
Home, he lay on his bed for hours, staring at the wall.
That night, while picking up a box of crackers in the neighborhood grocery, Levin spied Dean Seagram hefting grapefruit
at the fruit counter, and his heart skipped a beat. With his Van Dyke and pinched nose he looked slightly aristocratic but Levin suspected he was approachable. Though the dean had brought nothing particularly new to the Liberal Arts Service Division, he had at least upset the English department with his plans for an election. Levin had more than once seen him in this store; usually they nodded and each went his way, but tonight the instructor felt a desire to talk to the dean. Lately he had been thinking of discussing with him Bullock’s concern with athletes but it was too much like snitching. Tonight something else was on his mind.
at the fruit counter, and his heart skipped a beat. With his Van Dyke and pinched nose he looked slightly aristocratic but Levin suspected he was approachable. Though the dean had brought nothing particularly new to the Liberal Arts Service Division, he had at least upset the English department with his plans for an election. Levin had more than once seen him in this store; usually they nodded and each went his way, but tonight the instructor felt a desire to talk to the dean. Lately he had been thinking of discussing with him Bullock’s concern with athletes but it was too much like snitching. Tonight something else was on his mind.
He waited outside the store and when the dean appeared carrying a huge paper sack loaded with grapefruit, Levin lifted his hat.
“Good evening, I’m in the English department, S. Levin.” This took an effort but less than he had imagined.
“I recognized you,” the dean said. “You’ve cut your beard—a pity.”
“Oh that.” Levin laughed in embarrassment. He fell in step with the dean; they crossed the street at the corner and walked on.
“Do you live this way, Mr. Levin?”
“No, sir, the other. I—ah—thought I’d like to speak to you about an idea I have.”
He laid his hand on his chest to calm the galloping organ. It had occurred to him that the dean might have had a bad report of him from Gerald and he now regretted having approached him. Still, here he was, so he spoke.
“I’ve been wondering if this mightn’t seem like a possible good idea to you: to introduce a Great Books program here, something we might carry on at night in the college library? I would be willing to do whatever running around is necessary, et cetera, to get it started.”
“I don’t understand,” said the dean. “Do you mean a Great Books course for our students?”
“No sir. They could come if they want to—everybody welcome
including townspeople—but I had the faculty in mind mostly. That is if you think the idea is practicable. What I’ve been hoping is to get a mixed group together—liberal arts people, scientists, technologists, and business school people-so we can explain these books to each other. Most of them are classics of literature and the rest are from science and the social sciences. What I’ve been thinking is this: After we’ve talked about some of the books maybe the others would understand us a little better, at least what the humanities are and why they’re necessary to our existence. I realize,” he went on quickly, “understanding is a two-way street—some of us know dismally little about science, but in Cascadia College it’s obvious who the second-class citizens are, as Dr. Fabrikant calls them. The technologists barely know we’re alive and hardly seem to care. Our people have almost no status and accept their fate; some, as I understand it, don’t even defend the importance of the subjects they teach. How can they when we’re so service-oriented, if I—er—may ask? One can guess the effect of this on their students—”
including townspeople—but I had the faculty in mind mostly. That is if you think the idea is practicable. What I’ve been hoping is to get a mixed group together—liberal arts people, scientists, technologists, and business school people-so we can explain these books to each other. Most of them are classics of literature and the rest are from science and the social sciences. What I’ve been thinking is this: After we’ve talked about some of the books maybe the others would understand us a little better, at least what the humanities are and why they’re necessary to our existence. I realize,” he went on quickly, “understanding is a two-way street—some of us know dismally little about science, but in Cascadia College it’s obvious who the second-class citizens are, as Dr. Fabrikant calls them. The technologists barely know we’re alive and hardly seem to care. Our people have almost no status and accept their fate; some, as I understand it, don’t even defend the importance of the subjects they teach. How can they when we’re so service-oriented, if I—er—may ask? One can guess the effect of this on their students—”
The dean nodded.
He was about to remark something but Levin hastened on. “I figure if we could keep the program going for a while it might eventually create a climate of opinion in favor of the return of the liberal arts to this college. And maybe this group could become a sort of nucleus of a faculty forum? That is—er—if nobody objects.”
Shifting his grapefruit bag, the dean looked intently at Levin.
God damn me for a miserable fool, thought the instructor, why do I never learn?
“Now there’s an interesting suggestion.”
“You think so?” Levin drew a jagged breath in relief.
“No doubt about it, if we could get the right sort of group. Maybe the approach should be to ask the Council of Deans informally to sponsor the project so that it doesn’t look like a propaganda job of the Liberal Arts Service Division? I’ll
tell you what, Mr. Levin, why don’t you drop up to my office some time shortly after Commencement and let’s talk about it? We might make a stab at getting such a thing started next fall. I have my doubts as to what the response will be but it’s worth trying. Even if we can’t get any technologists to join, it’d do some of our people no harm to become re-acquainted with the Great Books—or should I say acquainted?” He laughed hesitantly. “If we could get half a dozen participants from all the other schools, we’d be doing unusually well. It’s a unique idea. I congratulate you.”
tell you what, Mr. Levin, why don’t you drop up to my office some time shortly after Commencement and let’s talk about it? We might make a stab at getting such a thing started next fall. I have my doubts as to what the response will be but it’s worth trying. Even if we can’t get any technologists to join, it’d do some of our people no harm to become re-acquainted with the Great Books—or should I say acquainted?” He laughed hesitantly. “If we could get half a dozen participants from all the other schools, we’d be doing unusually well. It’s a unique idea. I congratulate you.”
They walked on, Levin with light step. One more idea like that, he thought, and he’d give me a bang-up reference.
“Ah—there’s something else I wanted to mention,” he said after another block. “This election we’re having soon—can anybody run?—I mean an instructor?” He was beginning to laugh hollowly and choked it off. “It may sound silly but all sorts of people run in elections. What would happen if—ah—an instructor won?”
The dean shifted the grapefruit bag to his other arm. “I haven’t given a thought to that possibility. Generally the men at the upper ranks are the likely candidates; still if an instructor managed to win fourteen votes I imagine we’d commission him on the battlefield. I’d suggest he be immediately promoted to assistant professor, with all the privileges and emolument thereof—not much of either, I’m afraid. But there might be something additional for administering the department, though not so much as a man of higher rank would get. However, in the unlikely event an instructor won, just to be cautious I think I’d urge that the chairmanship be made rotating—say a new man every two years, at least for a while.”
“Fair enough,” Levin said.
“Are you interested in running?”
“I’m not sure.” He aborted a mad snicker. “Is it—it isn’t too late for further nominations?”
“Yes, it is. I sent out a poop sheet to you people this afternoon, with the names of the nominees. However you were
nominated, along with Drs. Gilley, Fabrikant and Bullock. The latter called me at home this evening and asked to have his name withdrawn.”
nominated, along with Drs. Gilley, Fabrikant and Bullock. The latter called me at home this evening and asked to have his name withdrawn.”
“Me?” said Levin in joyful surprise. Bucket did it, he thought. Or Jones, or maybe Scowers. He wondered if the dean thought he had nominated himself, since names had been entered on unsigned sheets. He laughed nervously.
Dean Seagram laughed too. An oncoming car separated them in the street, Levin waiting as the dean ran ahead.
“Look out,” he yelled.
The dean, glancing back to see what had become of the instructor, was heading into a phone pole. He stopped short of it but not before his grapefruit bag had hit the pole and split apart.
The grapefruit went rolling into the street. Levin, clucking, rescued an armful. At the dean’s insistence he piled a few on those he had in his arms but what he couldn’t carry Levin did.
In fine fettle for being so helpful, almost without thinking he asked the dean how much notice anyone who was not going to be re-hired usually got.
“Well, sir,” said the dean, hugging his fruit, “the Administrative Regulations require us, after the first year, to give twelve months’ notice to faculty members without tenure. But if you’re referring to someone serving his probationary year, he’s got to have notice in writing by the latest at the beginning of the spring term that we won’t be renewing his contract for the fall:”
I’ve had nothing in writing, Levin thought with elation. Though he realized he had asked a foolish question he could not help thinking that a man had no true idea of his possibilties until he had investigated them. Even with Gilley as head of department, in another year, given a break or two, he might recoup his fortune at Cascadia College if he played it right. Therefore, no further questions.
“But dismissal is summary,” the dean went on cheerily, “on
any sort of morals charge. I understand that that, ultimately, was the justification for getting rid of Mr. Duffy.”
any sort of morals charge. I understand that that, ultimately, was the justification for getting rid of Mr. Duffy.”
In a minute they were scrambling after grapefruit after Levin had walked into a tree.
Am I worthy? he asked himself. Me, jailbird’s son, ex-drunk, unfrocked idealist, sinner re-sinned, mistake-maker-of-every-kind? How can a man who has so often failed in obedience think of himself as a possible leader? Do I dare, with my nature, weaknesses, history of failures, seek any task other than that which fosters humility, cleans conscience, and/or balances the mistakes of the past? Levin had never before even remotely considered running for office, had never been a candidate for anything but punch-ball captain at twelve, and later for a couple of college degrees. A worthy leader means man of virtue and wisdom, virtue embodying courage; he had not much of either, mostly he had good intentions. Still a good-intentioned administrator who was not afraid to try a worthwhile idea once in a while might do all right. Of course it was a hell of a nerve for an instructor with so little experience in a college, an Easterner not long in the West, until recently a stranger to most of his colleagues, to ask them to elect
h
im head of department. Yet maybe that sort of shock was what they needed here. If that happened, anything might.
h
im head of department. Yet maybe that sort of shock was what they needed here. If that happened, anything might.
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