Arthur told him and asked, “What are you doing?”
Eric didn’t answer. He chuckled to himself and took a picture. “Okay, I put in your email address and phone number. Check this out. Here, take your phone.”
Arthur took the phone back and set it on the table.
“No, hold it up.”
He slumped his shoulders and said, “You’re becoming tedious.”
Eric bumped his phone against Arthur’s and said, “There, now you have all my important information, and I have yours. Pretty cool, huh?”
“What do you mean important information?”
“We just exchanged phone numbers and email addresses. Go to your address book.”
Arthur looked at the screen blankly.
“It’s the green one in the bottom corner with the phone on it. Okay, now choose the little guy at the bottom. That is your contact book. Address book for old people like you.”
“It pains me to say it, but that was a nice piece of technology witchcraft.”
“If anyone else has the Bump app, you can just hit the phones together.”
The burger basket arrived. Eric ordered one, too. A moment later Wen rushed in and yelped, “I found you!”
Arthur popped a fry in his mouth and said, “Obviously the cloaking app isn’t working.”
“I went to your office, but your secretary said you weren’t there. I’ve been to the library, your house, and even the grocery store.”
Eric laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’ve never seen his refrigerator.”
“Hi, I’m Wen Hu.”
“Hello, Wen, I’m Eric. Why are you chasing our grumpy, old friend here?”
“I’m one of his TAs, and we need to get ready for class tomorrow.”
“It is nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet one of Professor Byrne’s friends.”
Eric smiled, “Well, it may be a while before you find another one. We’re a rare species.”
Arthur said, “I had plenty of friends, but they all died.”
Wen looked shocked and asked, “All of them?”
“Yes, Mark died to a woman in Arizona who bore him three burdens. Jerry died to a dreadful hair stylist in Las Vegas with spectacular...well, you get the idea.”
Wen rolled her eyes and asked, “Do you take anything seriously?’
“I take many things seriously. Rudyard Kipling, Harper Lee, Oscar Wilde, and Elmore Leonard are all held in the highest regard. I am dead serious when I discuss the many reasons that Ernest Hemingway’s greatest contribution to literature was his generous decision to take his own life. I will not be sucked into a discussion of politics by people who prefer emotion to reason. The designated hitter is an abomination, and the day pitchers and catchers report is the start of the new year despite what those ill-informed calendar makers might try to tell you.”
“I didn’t understand most of that. I’m glad, though. Now, do you know your email address?”
“Yes, I do. Check the Bump app. It’s in there.”
“You have Bump,” she sounded shocked as she tapped her phone against his.
Arthur said, “I like to stay on the cutting edge of technology.”
The waitress returned and Wen slid in next to Eric. She ordered a burger basket, too, and went to work on the phone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mary raised her glass and said, “Here is to the start of a wonderful, new semester.”
Dr. Weaverson said, “A clean slate of young minds is always an exciting thing and worthy of a toast.”
“To a clean slate.”
The mood was jovial, and the conversation lighthearted. When the dinner plates had been cleared and the tiramisu had been set before her guests, Mary said, “I hope you have all enjoyed yourselves, but, truth be told, I had an ulterior motive in inviting you here this evening.”
Mr. Evans said, “How ominous and delightful. After such a delicious meal, I am more than willing to do your bidding.”
“Thank you Mr. Evans. As you all know, well, all of you except our newest colleague,” Mary said with a smile towards Dr. Emily Bird. She continued, “We have a faculty member who is a constant source of embarrassment for both our fine college and all who devote their lives to making this the best institution of higher learning possible. He mocks all that we hold dear.”
Dr. Weaverson and Mr. Evans nodded with understanding. Emily Bird asked, “Who is this notorious professor?”
“Arthur Byrne.”
“The writer?”
“The skirt-chasing drunk is a more apt moniker. As far as I know, he hasn’t written anything in over a decade.”
Mr. Evans asked, “How can we help, Mary?”
“I’m not asking for you to do anything unseemly. Just attend his class tomorrow and write a brief summary of his performance.”
“Is that all?” he asked then added, “You didn’t need to wine and dine me for that, but I’m glad you did.”
“To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t bother to get out of bed.”
***
8 am, Peterson Lecture Hall
Dr. Weaverson, sitting between Mr. Evans and Dr. Bird, said, “By my watch it is time for class to begin. It figures.”
Mr. Evans jotted a note.
A nervous-looking woman peered from behind the curtain.
Dr. Weaverson asked, “So, tell me, Emily, how are you settling into our little community?”
“It’s lovely. I especially like the book shop on Main, and the student union is impressive for a school of this size.”
Mr. Evans said, “Yes, we are quite proud of it. I chaired the fundraising committee that got that ball rolling.”
“Mr. Evans did yeoman’s work in rounding up donors.”
The din of chatter calmed as a woman approached the lectern. “Hello, my name is Wen Hu, and I’m one of the TAs for this semester. Dr. Byrne will be here shortly. Until then, why don’t I introduce the others?”
Five minutes passed. Wen was running out of song and dance. She kept looking to stage left, which did little to persuade the class that Dr. Byrne was actually on his way. At ten minutes past eight, she returned to the microphone and said, “I think we should just...”
A booming voice from the middle of the auditorium said, “Don’t be so hasty.”
Wen looked at the crowd and said with some relief, “Dr. Byrne,” and started to clap. Nobody knew what was going on, but a few students clapped, too.
Arthur removed his hoodie and stood up. “We live in a new era,” he said as he walked to the aisle. “When Guttenberg invented his printing press, it brought the written word to the masses. No longer were books the domain of the privileged.”
Heads turned, and people craned their necks to see Arthur speak. He continued, “Media has, for centuries, been controlled by a few. The gatekeepers, if you will, deciding what is news and what is unworthy. They wrote the reviews, told us which plays to see, and warned us when Mother Nature was on the cusp of a hissy fit.” Arthur didn’t head for the stage but walked up and down the aisles with all the showmanship of P.T. Barnum.
A phone rang, and a nervous voice said, “Sorry, sir, I thought it was off.”
“What would Alexander Graham Bell have thought were he with us today? To see his idea flourish to become not only an integral part of our lives but almost an extension of our bodies. What is your name, young man?” he asked, making his way towards the student.
“David, sir.”
Arthur chuckled, “You may call me Arthur. ‘Sir’ seems far too formal. Who was calling you, David?”
There was a long silence and he said, “My mother.” A few aw’s could be heard but mostly laughter.
“Everyone loves a call from mom.”
Another voice yelled, “You’ve never met my mom.” There was more laughter.
“I stand corrected. And that is why we are here because social media has the ability to wrest the pow
er of truth from the few and give it to the world. You are the media of the future, you are the keepers of what will be consumed, you, my bright eyed lads and lassies,” he said, donning a Scottish accent, “shall shepherd in the next evolution of society.”
Someone else yelled, “Amen.” Another round of laughter erupted.
Arthur climbed to the stage, walked the length, and walked back again. “I see we have several distinguished faculty members with us today. No doubt concerned about the heresy I might be preaching for we are part of the ruling class. We tell you what to think, but what if...we simply taught you to think for yourselves? What if we showed you how to make your college days more than beer and football? What if we explored Facebook and Twitter and dug beneath the surface?” Arthur preached and took a moment to let a silence shroud the room. With a softer voice he asked, “How many of you are on Facebook?”
Almost everyone shot a hand in the air.
“How many of you are on Twitter?”
Over half the hands came down.
“How many of you know exactly what you are going to do with the rest of your lives?”
All but a few of the most optimistic hands disappeared.
Arthur continued to pace. He brought his voice back up to theatrical level and said, “It looks like there are 80 young minds who managed to get out of bed at this unholy hour, which means that about 20 percent of this class didn’t. I applaud you all. For your first assignment and mine, we...and I mean WE are all going to create new Twitter accounts. I know there are some of you who probably have put in a fair amount of effort and don’t want to start anew, but today we begin a journey together so we all start from scratch. If you need to, go get a new Gmail account. I got mine last night. My twitter handle is @ExtraAmbivalent. All you need to do, to get the first twenty points of this class is set up an account, write a clever bio, and follow me. Now, there are likely those among you who are ambitious. If you want to earn the easiest extra credit ever just follow your fellow classmates’ new accounts. Oh, and one more thing, the twenty points is only good for the next twenty-four hours...make that twenty-eight...ish. My team of crack TAs will go through and count how many of your fellow classmates you’ve followed.”
Spontaneous chatter rose from the crowd. Wen stood, but Arthur gave her an “it’s okay” look and she sat back down. He let the murmur continue as he made his way to the front of the stage.
Arthur stopped and reached into his pocket. He took out his phone and gave a quick glance.
A smile crept across Arthur’s face. “Is there a Josephine here today?”
A woman with long, chocolate-brown hair raised her hand. She was sitting in the first row and smiling. She held her phone in hand.
“Josephine, can you guess why I have called you out today?”
“Because I’ve just earned twenty points?”
“Yes, it is! In the brief time I was blathering on about how the class works, Josephine set up an account and followed me. Social media is that easy. Any questions?”
“Why is social media important?”
“That is really two questions: Why is it important on a macro scale? The more interesting question is why is it important to each of you? We will study the former over the rest of the semester, but the latter is easy.”
Mr. Evans scrawled notes while Dr. Weaverson sat with arms crossed, shaking his head at every opportunity. Emily seemed to be playing with her phone and not really paying attention.
“Most of you have indicated that you’re unsure what the future holds, but whether you leave here and practice law, become a rocket scientist, or find yourself as a low-level manager in a cubicle of death, knowing how the world works and being able to reach into the depths of the dreck that fills up the worldwide web and retrieve something of value or, better yet, demonstrate that you have peoples’ ear, will help you to get beyond the mediocrity of your fellow classmates and truly grab that brass ring.”
A hand went up.
“Yes?”
“I’ve never understood why one is grabbing a brass ring and not gold or something like that?”
“A bit off topic, but in the days of your grandparents, before the Xbox, people went on dates to places like Coney Island. There one would find a merry-go-round and if one leaned really far out, a brass ring could be grabbed, and later redeemed for prizes, but it took courage. Basically, it means sticking your neck out to try to impress the girl you just blew your entire paycheck on. Okay, that isn’t exactly what it means, but you get my point. Without risk there is no reward despite what you may have learned from watching reality TV. I mean, do you really want your success to come from being named Snooki?”
“Snooki rocks,” came a voice from the back.
Arthur grinned and looked at Wen who was now sitting in the front row. He said, “Please find that misguided youth, explain the error of his ways, and deduct two points from his grade.”
Everyone laughed.
“I’m just kidding...as far as that student knows...The point I’m trying to make is that this semester we are all going to build something. We are going to use the tools that the evolution of our society has given us and craft something more valuable than the sheep skin you’ll frame after graduation. We will be building a giant microphone so that each of us may be heard.”
Another hand went up.
“Yes, the young man with the Cubs hat.”
“Can you explain how the grading will be done?”
“Each student will be judged harshly, and those found to be worthy will receive a mark commensurate with their performance.”
All but a few of the faces were blank; a few looked frightened.
“It will be points, standard 90 percent, 80 percent, et cetera...It is explained in the syllabus that my team of TAs will hand out.”
He checked his phone and said, “It seems a young woman named Emily has also gotten a jump on her homework. Emily, would you mind standing up?”
She stood and said, “I’m not sure that “young” is appropriate. I’m not really a student, but I just might have to audit your class.”
“As long as there is a seat, all are welcome. In three months we will change how you think about the world and, more importantly, how the world sees you. With that, I’ll see you all Friday morning. TAs unleash the syllabi.”
Arthur walked off stage right. Every student stood and cheered.
Dr. Weaverson said, “What a dreadful display.”
Mr. Evans stopped writing long enough to say, “It was shameful. He has no regard for proper decorum.”
Emily said, “I liked it.”
They both gave her a weak smile.
***
Arthur didn’t return to his office after his exit and there were three hours to kill before his next class. He wanted a drink. The cheers were intoxicating, but their echoes took him back to the last time he had lectured in front of so many.
The air had seemed too heavy to breathe. Four hundred students and faculty showing their appreciation as he walked on stage. For three days he had fussed over his speech only to have it all vanish like a morning mist the moment he got to the microphone.
She wore a maroon silk top and sat in the front row. Her angelic eyes and unwavering support had kept him at the typewriter day after day until finally he had written “The End.” She found the publisher, too. He found new words and said them to her, and it didn’t matter if everyone else listened in as he did.
It had been the happiest time of his life. It hadn’t lasted. The adoration became a habit he fed in ways she couldn’t live with. When it was gone, he turned to drink. Last he knew, she had given up on life and gotten married...happily.
The arboretum was nice. Arthur contented himself watching squirrels. They seemed to be in fine spirits.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Scotch, neat,” Arthur said as he walked in the door.
Donna, the bartender, said, “You want me to bring it over to your group?”
“I
wasn’t aware I had a group.”
“There is a pack of TAs in the corner that made me promise to send you their way as soon as you arrived.”
“How did they know I would be arriving?”
“Because you’re a creature of habit.”
“I really am, and one of my favorites is drinking alone.”
A voice carried across the bar and likely all the way to the state border,” Dr. Byrne, we’re over here.”
“Is there a small, enthusiastic Asian woman hailing me?”
“There is,” said Donna, setting the drink on the bar.
“If you see this run dry...”
“Got it.”
Arthur made his way to the two tables that had been pushed together. There were pitchers of beer, a couple of laptops, an iPad, and two baskets of popcorn.
Wen could barely contain herself. “Dr. Byrne, you were awesome today!”
Kurt said, “You really were.”
Arthur took a seat and looked at Kurt, mostly because he hoped the blinding smile on Wen would fade, and asked, “On a scale of one to Gaga, how would you rate it?”
“A solid eight, but I’m a tough grader.”
“Good, that’s what I want. Take a gold star out of petty cash, Kurt.”
Wen said, “You must have stayed up all night writing that speech.”
“No, I did exactly as I told you I would. I faked it.”
The smooth baritone voice of Lawrence said, “You had me convinced you knew what you were talking about.”
“Thanks, but that was the entire bag of tricks. We’ve still got a few classes left. Any ideas?”
Susan raised her hand.
“You’re a TA now, Susan, you don’t need to raise your hand.”
“Sorry. Maybe the next lecture should be about some of the finer points of Twitter?”
A was texting away and said, “The students seemed pretty fired up to start their accounts. It seems like a good plan.”
Susan blushed a little.
Arthur finished his scotch and raised the glass to the heavens. A voice from afar said, “I’m on it.”
Underwood, Scotch, and Wry Page 3
