Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red (5 page)

“But a member of the faculty helped a student to cheat! Do you have any idea what could happen if that got out?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s likely. Not if Professor Fine is approached in the proper manner. Suppose we play it this way….”

Seated in the visitor’s chair. Roger Fine appeared completely at ease except for his whitened knuckles on the hand gripping his cane. “You realize. Miss Hanbury,” he said, “that you have no real proof.”

“Do you deny it?”

“I neither deny nor affirm it,” he said negligently. “I don’t think I’m required to answer at all.”

Dean Hanbury tapped her desk with her fingertips as she gathered her thoughts. Finally she said. “I have not spoken to Miss Dunlop – as yet. I feel certain that if told she must substantiate her phenomenal grade in the final by taking another exam, she will admit everything.” She looked away and then added. “I understand she has a small scholarship from some religious group in Kansas where her father is a minister.”

“What do you want. Dean Hanbury?”

“Well.” said the dean, noting the change in tone, “we don’t want a scandal, and we don’t want another confrontation with the students.”

“In other words, you’d like me to resign quietly.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Since the semester has already started.” said the dean. “I suspect that some of your more concerned friends among the student body and the faculty would realize that your resignation probably had been requested and might initiate the inquiries and possible actions we’re trying to avoid.”

“Then what exactly are you recommending. Dean Hanbury?”

Millicent Hanbury., feeling in control now, picked up her yarn and resumed knitting. “You were hired on a one-year contract which expires at the end of this semester,” she said. “We would be happy to have you fulfill your contract, but on the mutual understanding it will not be renewed.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Professor Fine. But to insure that you leave quietly at the end of the semester. I’m asking you to sign this paper, which is your admission that you showed the Dunlop girl an advance copy of the exam. I will put it in my safe in a sealed envelope, and that will be the end of it.”

The room was silent except for the click of the knitting needles. “How do you mean the end of it?”

“Just that,” she said. “We are willing to let the matter rest if you are. When you have fulfilled your contract, you will leave Windemere and the envelope will be destroyed or returned to you.”

“And how about my getting another job?”

“We won’t interfere in any way,” she assured him.

“Let me get this straight, Miss Hanbury,” he said. “If I sign that paper, you put it away and say nothing. You don’t mention it if I apply for another job someplace else, and they write you for reference?”

“We will make no mention of what is in that paper, we’ll handle it as a matter of form and transmit whatever ratings you’ve been given without comment. I believe Professor Bowdoin gave you a rating before he retired?”

“Superior.”

“And your student rating?”

“Also Superior. But how about Hendryx?”

“He’s only acting head of your department and so would not be asked to rate you,” she said.

“All right. Give me the paper. I’ll sign.” He switched his cane to his left hand and reached into his breast pocket for a pen, he glanced at the single typed paragraph and was about to sign when a thought occurred to him. “How about Miss Dunlop?”

The dean laughed shortly. “Oh, we’re not greatly concerned about her. Dunlop barely passed even with that A on the final, and judging by the rest of her grades. I doubt the girl will stay the distance.”

Ever since the death of his wife three years earlier, President Macomber had been a lonely man, rattling around the large President’s House, ministered to by his efficient but dull housekeeper. Mrs. Childs. Outwardly he appeared to maintain an active social life, going out two or three nights a week to meetings, conferences, official dinners. Once a year he was ‘at home’ to the faculty, serving sherry, crackers and cheese, coffee and cake, under the supervision of Mrs. Childs and a crew from the school cafeteria, and once a year, he gave dinner to the board of trustees, a dinner served by outside caterers, much to the annoyance of the estimable Mrs. Childs who regarded it as a reflection on her.

On those evenings when he stayed home, he read the newspapers after dinner, watched TV or read a book, at ten, Mrs. Childs appeared with tea which she set down on the table beside his easy chair, wished him goodnight, and went off to her own quarters off the kitchen, he usually puttered around until the eleven o’clock newscast and then himself went to bed.

Just before the fall term Macomber’s daughter Betty called from Reno to announce the glad tidings that her divorce had been granted and that she was taking the next plane out, he indulged in pleasant daydreams that now things would be different, he would now have someone to talk to at breakfast and dinner. Perhaps he might even play hookey some afternoon and sneak in a round of golf, they were both avid golfers.

She would be his official hostess, and once again he could hold those purely social parties, not connected with business, that he had missed so much since his wife’s death. Of course Betty was still young, thirty-five, and after a while she would develop her own circle of friends, young people with interests different from his. But not for a while yet, she would want some peace and quiet after her unfortunate marriage.

It did not work out that way, she arrived early in the evening, her plane had been delayed on the ground and then was locked into a holding pattern for almost an hour before it could land, the gaiety in her voice when she had called him from Reno was gone; she was tired and peevish.

“That awful plane!” she exclaimed by way of greeting. “I thought I’d have time to lie down for a while, and now I barely have time to shower and change.”

“You don’t have to change on my account, dear.” said her father. “Mrs. Childs has prepared a quiet little meal. I can’t tell you how I’ve been looking forward to the chance to talk and catch up on things.”

She was contrite. “Oh, I am sorry; dad, but I’m due at the Sorensons’ for dinner, they’re having a few people over. It’s a kind of freedom party for me – you know, celebrating my divorce, and Gretchen said she had this fascinating man she wanted me to meet.”

Nor did it change with time, he saw as little of her as when she had been married and living in the suburbs, she went out almost every night, and even when they had dinner together she always seemed rushed.

“Look. Betty;” he remonstrated, “must you go out again tonight?”

“Oh, I really have to. Dad. I promised.”

“But you’ve been out every single night this week.”

“Dad I’m thirty-five –”

“I know that. I’m not trying to play the stem paterfamilias, but –”

“You’ve been a dear. Dad, but you must understand that I have no intention of remaining single for the rest of my life. I mean to get married, and just because I’m thirty-five I can’t waste any time.”

He was old-fashioned, and the bluntness with which she stated her position embarrassed him a little. “Well, naturally; I want you to get married. Betty. I realize I’m probably being selfish,” he went on. “but I rather hoped that we could have some evenings together, just the two of us. You know, the president of a college, like the president of anything, is a kind of lonely figure, he has to make all sorts of decisions, and almost anyone he turns to for advice, or just to talk out some problem, has an axe to grind.”

She laughed. “Poor Dad, all right, tomorrow I’ll stay home and – Oh, no, tomorrow I can’t or Thursday either. Perhaps. Friday?”

The weekend was out of the question, of course, because then she went upcountry to New Hampshire where her son. Billy, was at school.

Monday was registration day; classes began Tuesday; so Wednesday morning was the first session of Philosophy 268, Jewish Thought and Philosophy; Mon. & Wed, at 9:00, Fri, at 1:00: Admin. Building, Room 22; three credits.

By a quarter to nine they began to drift in – the fresh-men checking the number on the door against the number they had copied down on their program cards, the upper-classmen gravitating to one corner.

“Hey; Harvey boy!” A tall, willowy youth in yellow plaid slacks, crimson shirt, and a yellow silk kerchief fastened around his neck appeared in the doorway and was instantly hailed by the group in the corner. “How they hanging?”

“You taking this course?”

Harvey glanced around the room to see if there were any attractive new girls, then sauntered over. “You bet I’m taking this course.” Harvey Shacter perched his elegantly clad bottom on the arm of the chair occupied by Lillian Dushkin. “Can’t you just see Uncle Harvey turning down a gift of three credits? You know Cy Berenson? He took it last year and didn’t even take the final, the rabbi let him write a five-hundred-word paper and gave him a B.”

“Yeah, but Berenson used to wear a yarmelke all the time.” said Henry Luftig, a short, thin, intense young man with a high bony forehead ending in a cap of jet black hair. “The rabbi probably figured he knew the stuff anyway.”

“Yarmelke? Oh, you mean that black beanie? Okay, if it will guarantee a B I’ll wear a yarmelke.”

“That will be the day;” Lillian Dushkin giggled. “Come to think of it, you might look cute.”

“Hey; Lil.” said Aaron Mazonson. “I heard this Rabbi Lamden was a regular swinger, all a chick has to do is sit in the front row and give him an eyeful and she’s practically guaranteed an A.”

A sophomore nearby joined in. “It’s not Rabbi Lamden this year, it’s a different guy.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“When I registered for the course. My adviser told me when he initialed my program.’

“Well, it says Rabbi Lamden in the catalogue.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because it was a last minute change.”

“Great!” exclaimed Shacter in disgust. “That’s just what I need. My one pipe course, and they get a new guy who will probably want to show how tough he is.”

“So we’ll set him straight,” said Luftig, grinning.

Shacter considered, and then he, too, grinned. “Yeah, that’s the idea, we’ll set him straight.”

The street was lined with cars, and the broad granite steps of the administration building were so crowded with students that Rabbi Small had to zigzag his way to the doors. Inside the enclosed area of the Marble, the marble-tiled rotunda, students were swarming about while others were manning tables behind signs: “Support Your School – Buy a Sports Card, admission to All Athletic Events,”

“Subscribe to The Windrift. Your Own Magazine,”

“Sign up for the Dramatic Club,”

“Concerned? Join the Democratic Party.”

“Concerned Students join SDS:”

“Hear the Truth – Join The Socialist Study Group.”

“Hey! You a freshman? Then you’ll want to go to all the games. Sign up here.”

“Sandra! Coming out for dramatics again this year?”

“Get your free copy of The Windrift.”

The rabbi managed the stairs leading to his office without either buying, pledging, or signing anything. Pleased and excited by the unaccustomed activity, he stopped to catch his breath before entering his class.

There were twenty-eight students present; his class list, sent to him a few days before, showed thirty, he mounted the platform and wrote on the blackboard: “Rabbi David Small. Jewish Thought and Philosophy.” And then announced: “I am Rabbi Small. I will be giving this course instead of Rabbi Lamden who is listed in the catalogue.”

Harvey Shacter winked at Lillian Dushkin and raised his hand lazily, the rabbi nodded.

“What do we call you? Professor or Doctor?”

“Or Rabbi?” from Henry Luftig. “Or David?” asked Lillian sweetly.

“I am neither a doctor nor a professor. Rabbi will do perfectly well.” He gave Miss Dushkin a sharp look and went on. “This is a one-semester course, and the subject is a large one, the most we can hope for is to get some understanding of the basic principles of our religion and how they developed. For you to derive any benefit from the course, however, you’ll have to do a great deal of reading. I shall suggest books from time to time, and within the next couple of weeks or so I hope to have a mimeographed reading list to distribute to you.”

“Will that be required reading?” asked a shocked Harvey Shacter.

“Some of it will be required, and some will be collateral reading, we will start by reading the Five Books of Moses, the Torah, on which our religion is based. I’ll expect you to finish it in the next two or three weeks and then we’ll have an hour exam.”

“But that’s an awful lot.” Shacter protested.

Not really. I don’t expect you to study it intensively at first. Read it as you would a novel.” He held up a copy of the Old Testament that he had brought with him. “Let’s see, in this text it runs about two hundred and fifty pages. It’s good large type. I’d say it’s about the length of a short novel. I shouldn’t think that would be too much for college students.”

“What text do we use?”

“Is it on sale in the bookstore?”

“Any special translation?”

“Can we use the original?” This last from Mazonson.

“By all means, if you can.” said the rabbi with a smile. “For the rest of you, any English text will do. If it’s not on sale in the bookstore, you should have no trouble getting a copy. I would appreciate it if you did not leave it until the last few days before the exam. If you begin your reading immediately you can have a better understanding of the material as I deal with it in my lectures –”

“This is going to be a lecture course?” Henry Luftig seemed aghast.

“What else did you have in mind?” asked the rabbi dryly-Well, I thought it was going to be a – you know, like a discussion course.”

“But how can you discuss something you don’t know?”

“Oh, well, like general principles. I mean everybody knows something about religion.”

“Are you sure, Mr. – er – ?” the rabbi began gently. “Luftig. Hank Luftig.”