Kittler had slumped down in his seat during Velma’s outburst but quickly spoke up. “Yes, of course, Dean. And Professor VanLandingham, I apologize for my inappropriate remark— inappropriate and inadvertent.”
Velma glared at the young professor but said nothing. She was a full professor, and tenured. He was an assistant professor only on a tenure track, always subject to derailment by vote of the tenured faculty. He would be sure to make a private apology the following day.
Winston was ready for the meeting to end. It had started on a bad note and appeared to be ending on one. There was another faculty meeting scheduled for the following Tuesday, and hopefully things would go more smoothly.
Velma was still standing as Winston faced the faculty and asked, “Any further announcements?”
This was a time for any member of the faculty to announce a new program, an award, or perhaps the forthcoming visit of a distinguished guest to the campus. No one spoke up, and Winston was about to call for adjournment when Geraldine stood and began to speak.
“I was in the cafeteria yesterday as well as today, and I note they are still serving margarine made with hydrogenated oil. I don’t think I have to remind anyone that we must keep not only our environment but also our food safe and healthy for our students. We are falling behind. I think a faculty-student committee should be formed for the purpose....”
Before she could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by a roar from an unidentified male member on the back row. “Agenda! Agenda! That’s not on the agenda!”
Stunned, Geraldine stood still, with her fingers pressed against her top lip.
“Yes, Geraldine,” Winston said. “You may want to place that on our agenda for a future meeting.”
“Move to adjourn” came from the same voice that had interrupted Geraldine. It was followed by “second” from a faculty member who did not even look up from his third Sudoku puzzle of the afternoon.
Velma was still in her “fighting mad” stance. “As a point of privilege,” she said, “I move the previous question. You haven’t taken a vote on Denis’s motion for another student on the Dean Search Committee. Denis, you do accept my amendment, don’t you?” And without waiting for Denis to respond, she continued, “I call for the previous question before we vote on the motion to adjourn.”
Winston had presided over hundreds of faculty meetings. Early on he had mastered Robert’s Rules of Order—something necessary in governing a room of lawyers, especially law professors who not infrequently were prone to make obscure, pedantic motions; amendments to motions; and amendments to amendments, resulting in an unstructured and ambiguous morass that no one understood and no one could restate. Few faculty members took the time to understand the rules, which were specific and prioritized. It was not unusual for a member to throw out a term such as “point of privilege” and “call for the question.” Winston’s mastery of both Robert’s Rules and group dynamics equipped him for a solution to this apparent impasse. He would say a few words to smooth the ruffled feathers of Velma and shepherd the meeting to a quick adjournment.
“There is a motion on the floor to adjourn and, as we all know, under Robert’s Rules of Order, that motion takes a mere majority vote and is not debatable. However, as Velma has pointed out, a recommendation was made by Denis that we should have a first-year student on the Dean Search Committee. And Velma has suggested that if such an appointment is authorized, it should be a female student. I will take that up with the board chair, Harry Ramsey, later this week, and report back to you at our meeting next Tuesday.”
Winston did not take a vote on the motion to adjourn. He merely said, “Now, do I hear any objection to the motion to adjourn?” He knew there would be none. Both Velma and Denis appeared pleased with Winston’s intercession; Velma was even managing to smile. “There being no objection, we stand adjourned until next Tuesday, same time,” he said. “I invite all of you to the faculty dining room for libations to celebrate the beginning of another semester and to welcome our new colleagues.”
The faculty were already out of their seats and beginning to walk out by the time Winston had finished his invitation. Belinda Chapman and Brian Latimer were among the last to leave.
Belinda was still a bit dazed by the afternoon’s proceedings. “So, Brian,” Belinda said, looking around to make sure no one was listening, “this is what we have to look forward to every week or so?”
“Not exactly... sometimes it’s much worse. But you will get used to it, or rather numbed by it. Frankly, I find it a bit of fun. You see a side of people you otherwise would never see. Faculty meetings just bring it out. I decided early on that I could be miserable, sit on the back row, and ignore the show, or get a front-row seat and enjoy it.”
By now, the room was empty except for the two of them.
“Tell me more about Velma. Is she all there? And do you suppose she plans to apply for the deanship?”
“Apply for the deanship? I doubt it,” said Brian. “But is she ‘all there’? That depends. Socially, she’s as out of place as a penguin on Tybee Beach. Interpersonal relationships? She has none and apparently has no desire to acquire any. She has a reputation for being a real mean witch. And something tells me she enjoys that reputation. The students refer to her as the ‘Dragon Lady.’ But with regard to her teaching skills, is she all there? You bet. Perhaps the best on the faculty. She never attends alumni events, but the alumni always ask about her. She not only gives them a solid grounding in contract law but also teaches them how to study. And she gets them ready for the bar exam.”
“How well are we doing on the bar?” asked Belinda. They were now standing next to the exit. “Mind if I take a seat?” Belinda sat down in the nearest chair without waiting for a response.
Brian took the seat next to Belinda. “Bar passage rate? Exceptional. Savannah College of Law grads have finished high on the Georgia Bar Exam every year since our students became eligible to take the exam—usually first or second place. Winston is primarily responsible for that.”
“How so?” asked Belinda.
“He knew that as a new law school, all eyes would be on the bar passage rate. We couldn’t afford to do less than excel. Our tuition is much higher than the tuition in the state schools, so we couldn’t expect to get enough applications to cherry-pick our students. We were an unknown quality, and the quickest way for a new law school to fail is to have a poor bar passage rate. The reverse is also true. The best way to rise above the pack is to have a superior bar passage rate. So, Winston insisted not only that the curriculum include every subject included on the Georgia Bar Exam but also that every subject tested by the exam be a required course. Well, I’m not sure we have them all, but we have most of them.”
“Makes sense to me. My law school had only one required course after the first year.”
“But that wasn’t all. He added more days per semester and more classroom hours than required for accreditation. And he put an emphasis on class attendance. He believed in the old Woody Allen quote that ‘eighty percent of success is just showing up.’”
“How about the faculty? They surely have to teach longer. Do they complain?”
“What law faculty doesn’t complain? They have the cushiest jobs in the legal community and bitch all the time, and not only about teaching or writing requirements. But, down deep, they are proud of this law school and the bar passage rate.”
Then Belinda asked, “What about Professor Nolan—Denis? What do you know about him? Did you find it a bit unusual that he was requesting a first-year student to serve on the Dean Search Committee?”
“Denis was here when I got here three years ago. He’s one of the original faculty members. He’s a strange bird at times. I don’t have a clue to what he had in mind with that request. But he had a purpose; I’m sure of that. Did you know his dad, Howard Nolan, was the school founder?”
“His dad established Savannah Law?”
“That may be an over-statement. Ten years
ago, there were no law schools in Georgia south of Macon. A number of business leaders and local politicians got together to push the legislature for a state law school in Savannah. Everyone was on board for it to be established at Armstrong Atlantic State University. They thought they had it locked up with the legislature, but it got sidetracked until the next legislative session. Then the business leaders changed strategies—they decided to establish a private law school. With Howard taking the lead, they found the necessary money, much of it coming from Howard. So I guess he could be called the ‘founder.’ He certainly was the moving force behind it. He served as chairman of the board until his death about two years ago. Powerful man.”
“Denis surely seemed interested in the composition of the Dean Search Committee. Do you think he will be a candidate?”
“Sure, I know he will. He told me so when he came to my office yesterday. Said he wanted me to know that he would be applying, and he told me of some programs he wanted to establish if he became dean.”
“Like what?”
“More money for summer writing grants, for one. And more pay for those of us on a tenure track, so we can catch up with tenured professors sooner. Then he asked me if I would support him.”
“And you said...?”
Brian did not answer directly. “Belinda, both those programs would involve money in my pocket. Denis believes that everybody will follow the smell of money. Just let me say, he’s wrong on that. But we should head for the dining hall. You need to be there. Winston will be looking for you.”
CHAPTER 11
Immediately after the faculty meeting, Denis Nolan went to his office to place a phone call. Even though it was now after five o’clock, when most businesses in downtown Savannah switched to “answering machine mode,” Denis knew his call would be answered by a human voice.
“Savannah Global Trade.”
Denis recognized the voice. It was Carolyn, an executive secretary who never left the office before her boss, and her boss rarely left in the evenings before seven. She had worked for Harry Ramsey, president and CEO of Savannah Global Trade, an international shipping and warehousing company, for as long as Denis could remember. Harry Ramsey was now chairman of the Board of Trustees of Savannah College of Law. He and Howard Nolan had been friends for forty years before Howard’s death, and he had known Denis from infancy.
“Carolyn, this is Denis. Is Harry available? I need to speak with him.”
“I’ll put you right through,” said Carolyn, and within seconds, Harry Ramsey was on the line.
“Harry, I just came out of a faculty meeting. Winston informed us of your Dean Search Committee. The faculty was impressed by the people you appointed. Solid choices.”
“Glad to hear that, Denis.”
“I called to also tell you that the faculty feels it needs another member from the student body, preferably a first-year student,” Denis said, as he swiveled his chair and placed his feet up on the window ledge. “Still, that would place only two students on the committee, but it would give the students a better sense of having a voice. Winston said he would call you, but I’m not sure he’s convinced we need an additional student. So, I’m giving you a heads up. The faculty feels strongly that a student rep from the entering class should be appointed.”
“I’ll see what Winston’s take is on the issue. He usually has pretty sage advice on such matters.”
“I agree, Harry. It’s just in this case the whole faculty—and I’ve spoken with most of them—are in agreement that this would be good for the student body. Getting them involved with the selection would go a long way to ensuring a smooth transition. Sorry to bother you with this... I know you are busy. Just want you to be aware of the situation when Winston calls.”
“Never too busy to speak with you, Denis. And by the way, are you planning to apply for the job?”
“I haven’t given it much thought, Harry. But I wonder if there might still be some bad feelings lingering on the board. There were some who were down on my dad, and I’m afraid that may stand in my way.”
“Nonsense. Even if there were some who were upset with your dad, they certainly are not upset with you. That should not deter you. Give it some serious thought.”
“I will. We have a great school, and I want to see it continue on the track that Winston has placed it. Maybe I could be of service.”
“I’m sure you could, Denis. And thanks for the call.”
Denis left his office for the faculty dining room. The party was still in session. Winston and a number of faculty members, including all of the newly hired, were gathered at one end of the room near a table with trays of assorted sandwiches, cheese and crackers, and dishes of nuts. Denis noted Chad Kittler by himself, at the other end, near one of the side doors. He was holding a glass of wine and wearing an unhappy face. Denis poured himself a glass of wine and joined Chad.
“Let’s step outside,” said Denis.
There was a small patio with three tables outside the faculty dining room. The faculty used the area when the weather allowed, but today was hot and muggy, and all the faculty had remained inside the air-conditioned room.
“Thanks for your support for another student on the Dean Search Committee,” said Denis. “Sorry you had to endure the wrath of the ‘Dragon Lady.’”
“That porcine bitch,” Chad said through clenched jaws. “She gets her kicks rolling her fat, tenured ass over any junior faculty member with the mettle to speak in her holy presence. She probably has her eyes on the Dean’s Office. Do you think she... ?”
Before Chad could finish his sentence, Denis interrupted him. “No, no, no. She wouldn’t want the work that goes with the job, though no doubt she would enjoy the hassling that goes with it. But you don’t have to worry about ever calling her ‘Dean.’ Won’t happen. As I told you last week, my hat’s going into the ring, and I think I’ll have the faculty’s support.”
“Good,” was Chad’s quick response. He put his wine glass to his mouth and drained it. “I’m going back in. I’m empty.”
“Before you go, Chad, I need your help with that recommendation I made—the additional student on the search committee. I spoke with Harry Ramsey, the board chairman, a few minutes ago. I told him Winston would be calling him and that the faculty was behind my recommendation. That may not be exactly the case, but I didn’t hear anyone in opposition, and at least one faculty member supported me.” Denis winked and slapped Chad on his chest with the back of his hand. “So, if Harry does authorize another student member, I have the name of a new female student that I want to submit. I would appreciate you also recommending her. It’s Jennifer Stone. I’ve met her, and she’s sharp. I doubt if any others on the faculty will submit a recommendation. I think Winston would appoint her if Harry gives him the OK.”
“Sure, Denis, OK with me. But remember, when you become dean, who got you there.” He laughed, and then said, “How about sending me an e-mail with something about her so I can personalize my recommendation.”
“Will do. Now, let’s go in for that refill.” Denis and Chad walked inside, refilled their glasses and helped themselves to the sandwiches. But Denis did not stay long; he had another phone call to make.
• • •
Jennifer Stone was in her apartment, arranging her desk to begin the night’s study, when her phone rang.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Hello, Jennifer. This is Denis Nolan.”
Jennifer was surprised but recognized his voice. She searched for a response, wondering what this call could be about and if she should respond or wait for him to continue. After an awkward pause, she said, “Yes, Professor.”
“I wanted to speak to you after class but thought it best to call you tonight. I was delighted to meet you Sunday. And I want to give you a special welcome to our law school. Since you were present during my conversation with Scott, you are aware that I will be actively campaigning to be the new dean. I believe there is a good chance another student w
ill be added to the Dean Search Committee, and I would like to nominate you. Would you be interested?”
Jennifer paused to make sure she understood the question. “Interested?” She was flattered. “Of course, Professor.”
“Good. It’s not final, of course, so keep it on the QT. I’ll keep you informed. How are things going so far?”
“Fine, Professor.”
“I want you to know that I’m here for you. If you need advice or just someone to talk to, stop by my office.”
“Thanks.” Her voice was restrained and hardly audible. But she was thrilled. She knew she had made the right career choice.
CHAPTER 12
Wednesday, August 23
Scott Marino was up early Wednesday morning. He was ready for this day. He had packed his briefcase carefully the previous night with everything he would need for the trial, which was scheduled for 9 a.m.
As he drove to the Chatham County Courthouse that morning to prosecute his first felony trial, he reflected on a day, ten years before, when he was at the courthouse in his hometown in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, for a different type of court appearance. On that occasion, he was attending a juvenile detention hearing—his own. He had been picked up two days earlier for joyriding and was being held in juvenile detention. He was in his junior year of high school. The purloined vehicle was owned by his baseball coach, and he knew his coach would be at the courthouse to testify. He was both terrified and embarrassed. This was his second juvenile offense, and he also had several citations for truancy. He wasn’t sure what penalty he would face, and he feared the worst. But instead of testifying against him, his coach worked out a deal with the prosecutor. He would personally take on the responsibility of supervising Scott. He knew that Scott’s father had died when Scott was quite young and that his mother was a hard-working woman struggling to provide for her family. Scott had more baseball talent than any student he had ever coached, and he believed he was an exceptionally intelligent young man. He was confident that all he needed was another chance, encouragement, and supervision. He would help Scott get a part-time job, and the money would be put aside so that he could eventually purchase his own car. It worked out as planned. Scott finished high school with honors, obtained a scholarship to Alabama, and bought and restored his first car—a well-worn 1984 Camaro Z28, which was still his pride and joy.
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