by Tom Corbett
The door opened, and in walked a tall man with a distinctly avuncular air and a slightly British accent. Josh wondered why everyone around here seemed to have a British accent. His father would have been outraged at that fact.
“Oh, I will miss your humor, Professor Connelly.”
“And I’ll miss one of my favorite targets, Dr. Howard.”
“But I hope not totally,” the tall man added. “I am hoping we can keep you a part of our happy family on a part-time basis, just a little teaching and stuff.”
“And stuff ?”
At that moment, the door opened again and in walked Connie Chen. “Oh sorry, I was hoping to catch Josh, but I can come back.”
“No,” Josh almost yelled. “Stay, this won’t be long.”
Ellison Howard continued with a slightly annoyed look. “Yes. We might need someone to teach both the policy and the evaluation courses next fall.”
“I’ll do one—the policy course.”
“Can I—”
“No, Ellison, you cannot. The policy course is fun, usually interesting students or perhaps it is more accurate to say students in which I am interested. That, my dear friend, is the only reason I will do it. And what’s with the younger faculty, don’t any of them want to teach anymore?”
The tall man cleared his throat. “Let me suggest one other contribution you might make, and don’t turn me down until you hear me out. I want to start a thorough review of the department, a kind of strategic-planning exercise. We are juggling several degree programs, a community outreach effort, and a full research agenda. And we’re doing this with increasingly limited resources. I need someone to guide us through an exercise that will engender enormous uncertainty and, how shall I put it…”
“Turf protection and interminable whining. I know the drill, you can change anything you want except what I do, which is blessed by God and cannot be touched.”
“See,” Ellison said with a broad smile. “You understand the character of the challenge right off. As an emeritus, you will be viewed as neutral. You won’t be perceived as not having an oar in the water as they say. Besides, everyone likes you. You have a way with people, even those you insult all the time.”
“That’s only because I’m an equal-opportunity insulter.”
“Nevertheless,” Ellison tried to retake command, “I need you, we need you. We should have done this years ago. Can I impose upon you to take up this challenge?”
“I will think on it, Ellison.”
“Josh, what can I do to—”
“I’ll think on it, Ellison,” Josh raised his voice slightly for emphasis. “Now I would like to spend a few minutes with this young and lovely colleague, well, maybe not so young anymore but still not bad looking.”
“Yes, of course.” The distinguished man arose. “I will be in touch.”
After he left, Josh started to say, “I bet you will.” He never finished given that he was distracted by a pen whistling past his head. “Hey, what was that for?”
“Not so young anymore, not looking bad? As if you would have a shot.”
Josh looked over at her. She was also dressed up for his event, wearing a real skirt that revealed a pair of very good-looking legs. Josh again made a mental note to look up the number of the escort service. “Cut me some slack, okay. I did admit that you were not so bad for a broad so long in the tooth, or is it teeth? Where does that come from, by the way? It is how they check the age of horses, no?” Another missile passed over his head.
“I really have to practice my aim.” She smiled. “I am curious. Are you going to help poor Ellison out with his strategic-planning thing? They are pure misery.”
“Oh, of course I will. I just want to make him squirm a bit. I still have some concern for the flock. I cannot imagine leaving them to his inept ministrations. World War III would erupt. Anyways, what brings you to my lair? Most women only enter my cave with an escort or a can of mace. Should I check your body for hidden cans of pepper spray?”
“That is so bogus, everyone knows you’re totally harmless. But I have wanted to catch up since the party the other night. To be honest, I did chat with Rachel on the phone about you.”
“Hmmm, this does not sound good. Have you forgotten the old rule, never ask the aggrieved sibling? Besides, she doesn’t know that much.”
Connie shifted in her seat. “She knows enough and cares a lot more. She loves you, Josh.”
“I-I…”
Connie bailed him out. “But you know that. Not even you can miss something that obvious. She wants to be your sister again. Do you understand that? She is trying.”
“I’m getting there.” He decided to avoid humor. “It takes me a while.”
“Well, don’t take forever, none of us is a spring chicken any longer. In fact, biologically, you could be my father if you had reached puberty very early.” Connie exclaimed triumphantly. “I’m just pointing out that if you leave things unsaid now, they may never get said. That would be a tragedy.” Connie paused to decide on her next words. “I-I like you a lot, but I also know you better than most. Beneath the jokes and light banter, in that quick and agile mind lies a very lonely and searching heart.”
“Come on, Connie, my shrink and my favorite bartender have seen far worse. I’m not a tortured soul, just a pathetic putz.”
“Don’t, asshole,” she barked. “You cannot charm me, well, not often anyways. While I might concede that you’re not tortured or pathetic, you’re infuriating, no question on that score. You will be that homeless guy shuffling aimlessly around campus with his fly open and people wondering what happened to this derelict who looks vaguely familiar.”
He paused and looked at her without mirth or artifice. “You have always been my closest friend. I-I-I’ve wanted to thank you.”
“And don’t go maudlin on me.” She said this with a softer voice.
“Wow, kiddo, you’re not leaving me much wiggle room. Going straight for the jugular.”
Now she smiled. “Wooo, I came this close to losing it here. You do bring out my Chinese temper, and the Chinese don’t even have one. I must have learned about this temper thing from the Irish master though in all honesty, I never saw it much.”
“Well, I’m half Russian or Lithuanian or Finnish or something we are not sure about, maybe that dilutes my Irish blood. I just look like a roguish, romantic lad of the Emerald Isle.” Then he cut off the witticism that was sure to come from her. “Hey, by the way, when are you getting married to that physics guy, what’s-his-name again. Hope I am invited, I always cry at weddings—such sad events.”
Connie leaned forward. “Still can’t remember his name?”
“I always wanted to call him Mr. Pencil Neck. It is just that he always walked around with a slide rule inserted up his—”
“Stop it…you are so mean. Harold is a very nice man. He treated me very well.”
“And the wedding?” he persisted. “Wait, did you use the past tense?”
“No wedding, it is over.” And during the pause where Josh absorbed her news, she added, “Slide rule? Just how ancient are you?”
“No wedding,” he echoed with a serious expression reaching out to take her hand. “What happened?”
Connie shrugged. “After the dinner the other night, I accepted something that has been there all along. I think I just wanted someone to be with. Harold seemed okay. But in truth, he isn’t and it was time to accept that. I also need laughter and stimulation, and not just sex you pervert.”
“I said nothing, nothing.”
“But you do understand, don’t you?” Connie’s lip trembled a bit. “No need to settle. I need more than a body on the other side of the bed.”
“Connie, I understand more than you realize.”
“I know, Josh. I was not whistling Dixie when I said you being just about the loneliest man I know. You’re surrounded by admirers, colleagues, students, female adorers, and I bet you do not have a single friend. Not one. I’m talking about
a good close friend, someone to share stuff with and confide in. Maybe you even want someone on the other side of that bed and the paid service workers don’t count. You don’t have one, do you? Am I wrong? Am I?”
Josh sighed. “Yes, you’re wrong.”
“Okay then, I want names, names.” She tried to sound light about it.
“Morris?”
“How about one that can respond with more than a growl.”
“You. You are my friend.” Josh didn’t smile.
Connie sat there, immobile. Josh still held her hand and slowly got to his feet. She followed tentatively. With measured motion, he inclined his lips toward hers until they touched. She murmured what sounded like a faint protest but yielded immediately. Then there was a noise at the door, and they jumped back from each other and laughed.
“Just like kids kissing in the school corridor,” he whispered to her.
She laughed. It felt good to her. She wanted more laughter and more touching.
Several colleagues were at the door to begin the afternoon’s festivities. Josh groaned inside. It was his want to face social events or public responsibilities with a bit of dread. In truth, he knew he was good at these things. He could schmooze with the best of them, run meetings well by involving everyone, and using humor at the right moments, and his ability to deliver an entertaining and provocative talk was well-known. On social occasions, he seemed to pitch his interactions at the right level, relaxing others and even mesmerizing them with his vignettes and dry wit. Yet he inevitably approached these expectations with some dread, having to pump himself up for the effort. From discussions with others, he had concluded that there were two kinds of people. The first were like him. They would have to psych themselves up and then expend energy during their public exposure. The trick was to have enough stored up in advance. The second type tended to accumulate additional energy during social and public events. They embraced what was being given off by others in their orbit. Okay, Josh said to himself, it is showtime.
A large gathering had convened in the conference room overlooking the water. It was a perfect venue for special events, and Josh could not think of a more special event than his retirement. He slowly worked the room, shaking hands and exchanging bon mots with peers, acquaintances, students, and assorted others whom he suspected had wandered in for the free food. The biggest challenge involved thinking up clever responses to the inevitable question about what was next. He could not believe how many believed his line that he was about to embark on a climb of Mount McKinley, or Denali if you prefer, as a start to conquering the highest point on each continent. Most nodded admiringly at his alleged plans unless they knew him well enough to detect the absurdity of this claim. Did they not know that he could not even get across the suspension bridge north of the city? His vertigo was too bad. But most would look upon him with wide-eyed admiration while sharing words of encouragement.
Eventually, he made his way to a platform that elevated the dignitaries and others chosen to say a few words. Someone tapped the microphone and called the room to attention. A roomful of eyes looked expectantly toward the dais.
“Let’s get started here. The sooner we start, the sooner we can finish and reassign Joshua’s parking space.” It was an old joke but never failed to elicit a laugh. The standard line among the university faculty is that they are a bunch of independent academic entrepreneurs held together by disputes over office location and parking spaces. In Josh’s view, this ancient aphorism was all too true. You pretty much had complete freedom to do what you wanted. The downside was that very smart people too easily became entrapped in trivial disputes about very small matters. Should the next recruit be another positivist or should they seek an ethnographer for methodological balance, that debate could rage for weeks or months. Maybe they should follow the strategy of many sports teams. Just select the best talent available whatever their methodological preferences. But that would deprive the combatants of hours of faculty meeting conflict and hallway intrigue. Josh was popular because he typically rose above such petty arguments. He put them in perspective and could sort out and differentiate the important from the tangential.
The master of ceremony spoke into a microphone. “This is an auspicious occasion, the retirement of one of our most beloved colleagues. By the way, the lottery winner of his prized parking spot, which he has graciously relinquished, will be announced at the end of the festivities. And yes, you must be present to claim the prize.” Chuckles and a groan went up from those assembled. “However, without further ado, I want to introduce our distinguished provost who will make a few introductory remarks.” It was starting, where were Rachel and the others, he wondered. Josh looked out over the crowd and sighed with relief when he spotted the group together— Rachel, Cate, Meena, Usha, and Connie. Oh, there was Peter Favulli. He had made it. He was looking even more successful than he recalled from their last interaction. He quite obviously was with a couple he did not recognize. A mostly bald man, slightly stooped, wearing rimless glasses, and looking very much like a retired accountant stood next to a woman with short, curly gray hair and wearing a stylish pantsuit. It was obvious that they all were together, but who the hell were these two unknowns? He pressed his memory to no avail. Josh was puzzled.
His puzzlement ceased when a short, somewhat portly Asian man stepped to the microphone. “For me, this is a sad occasion. We’re losing a valued member of our university family, Professor Jeremiah Joshua Connelly.” Josh could see looks of surprise on the faces out in the audience. Few knew his real name. “When I first came to this wonderful institution from Hong Kong a dozen years ago, I soon heard one name over and over, Joshua Connelly. His reputation as a scholar was secure. But his skill at negotiating academic politics was legendary. I personally asked him several times to move up the administrative ladder to no avail. He was too committed to his students and his work.”
Josh faded out. It was agony for him to listen to people comment on his so-called gifts and contributions. His view of himself bore little relationship to the glowing terms in which he would be described that day. Who was this guy they were talking about? Inside, he always felt like the impostor. When he was presenting an academic paper before his peers or consulting with top government officials in Ottawa, he always kept looking around for the adults to enter the room. They were sure to be lurking about, waiting to pounce and eject him from the proceedings. “Son, you will have to leave. We only allow adults here. Playtime is over.” But that never happened. They never burst in to rectify this colossal error. After all this time, he could not believe that they still listened to him as if he really knew something.
The provost was still talking. “On those occasions when I required incisive input regarding delicate matters, whether retention packages or the inter-disciplinary collaborative initiative, or recruitment efforts, Joshua was always willing to help out. He was a critical go-to guy. Therefore, let me extend the best wishes of the administration and personally wish you well in your future endeavors, which, as I just heard, will involve mountain climbing.” A trickle of giggles rippled through the audience as Josh suppressed a smile. Undeterred, the provost ended with a rhetorical flourish.
Next came a recently promoted junior faculty. She praised him as a wise mentor who guided her through the tenure perils with patience and kindness. How nice of her to lie about him like this, Josh thought. She had needed no mentoring. She would have achieved tenure on her own without any assistance from him. Her empirical skills were much stronger than his. But he considered the possibility that his success in the academic world probably was a great comfort to her. If this klutz could make it, then she had to believe that she would experience no difficulty. That insight, no doubt, boosted her confidence, Josh concluded. Yes, that was his contribution to her; he calmed her down when she became overanxious about her prospects.
Then a student was called on to make a few comments. Josh listened at this point. She was a student who had done her undergraduate wo
rk here and now was in the graduate program. She had taken several courses from him, and he had overseen her master’s thesis. He remembered her from early on, even as an undergraduate. He had divided that disorganized rabble of so-called students into three groups. There were those who sat back in the back reading the student newspaper, texting, or dozing in their seats. He always warned the dozers that a snooze was okay but to do it with discretion. He encouraged them to sleep with their eyes open, as if listening. The second group sat in the middle and stayed awake, would take notes, but little more. The final group sat toward the front, took frantic and copious notes, and asked many questions. They seemed to care, how quaint. This student was a member of that group.
Josh suddenly realized she was looking at him while praising the impact he had on her life. Her words were heartfelt and touching. He felt a flush suffuse through his neck and face. As she finished, she walked toward him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He expressed his thanks, but his voice caught, much to his embarrassment. It was something he could never fully appreciate. Many of these kids really listened. You might be trying to get through another fifty-minute lecture, but they were being thrilled and motivated by what you considered throwaway words. You just never knew. He had a vague sense that many transformed lives were out there, but the actual numbers would remain unknown.
Ellison, the department chair, next took the microphone. He focused more on Josh’s academic successes. “Our Professor Connelly contributed so much to the better understanding of social issues in Canada and across the Commonwealth. He was heavily involved in the basic income guarantee experiments in cooperation with the Manpower Development Research Corporation out of New York. He did extensive evaluations of various work programs for assistance populations at the national and provincial levels. He engaged groundbreaking work on the theory and practice on integrating human service systems. He helped us develop new ways of understanding how complex human service and rehabilitative systems might be organized.”
