Shit happens, and sometimes, produces a rose. Two strangers share a dreadful experience and fall in love. It happens. I hope you enjoy this small tale. Jb7
Guy Foster was a talented weaver/fabric designer, with samples of his work on display in collections around the world. Up until his wife had passed away at a much too early age, he had been a regular in both invitational and juried art shows. With her passing, he had lost his muse and had turned from producing art to teaching others how. A good teacher, popular with students, he soon found himself involved with students' activities beyond the classroom.
Already on track for an administrative post, the major event which pushed/vaulted him into the University Administration was a student strike protesting random searches of student vehicles legally parked on campus. Several students had taken over the Arts Center building and were requesting face to face talks with the President of the University. Calling them hooligans, the President not only refused to acknowledge them, but had ordered campus security to clear the building.
Hearing this, fearing for the safety of the students involved, and for the irreplaceable art works in the building, Guy grabbed a bull horn from one of the security officers and approached the building, identifying himself and asking to talk to someone who could negotiate for the students. As he started up the short flight of steps into the building, the main entrance doors opened and a male student came out to greet him.
Guy quickly apprised him of the President's stance and orders. He promised to advocate for the students if they left promptly and peacefully. He had just finished speaking when campus security shot a tear gas cannister at the entrance. With a kick which would have netted him a job with either a pro football or soccer team, Guy returned the cannister halfway to the police line.
Without considering what he was saying, Guy lifted the bull horn to his mouth and, for all the world to hear, shouted, "Who the fuck did that? What the fuck are you people thinking? Get the fuck away from here! Right now! I'm assuming authority here; these student's are my responsibility and you are not needed!"
He saw the campus cops back off and group in the parking lot across the street from the Art Center. When he turned back to the entrance the student had retreated inside the building and disappeared. He turned back to say something to the security team and saw one of them approaching him, hands held high, carrying a walkie talkie. The officer stopped at the bottom of the steps. "President deGraaf wants to speak with you," he stated, holding out the radio.
Guy motioned the officer to come closer. He had seen the TV cameras from the local TV station , and felt the administration would not want to be seen as unreasonable in the situation. The popular professor had the officer show him how to use the hand held radio, then took it and spoke, "Guy Foster here."
"Foster, you asshole! Do you know what you're doing? Giving those hooligans assistance!"
"Excuse me, sir. Those hooligans, as you call them, have public sympathy on their side. Besides that, they are sitting on approximately two million dollars worth of irreplaceable art works, which if damaged in the melee caused by campus security reclaiming the building forcefully, will be essentially uninsured. They also happen to be right; the searches are illegal."
"So are their actions! What do you mean, the art works would not be insured?"
"The campus police are not a government force. They are one group of civilians, even though employed by the University, owners of the property, attempting to wrest control of a property from another group of private citizens, who, in this case, are customers of the owner. Courts have recently supported the contention by insurance companies that this meets the criteria for civil strife, and, if it gets violent, a riot, exempting insurance companies from liability for damages."
"Horseshit!" the President exploded. He recalled reading about that decision in the Higher Education Journal recently, about a similar situation in NYC. "Can you really get those kids out of there?"
"I'll need to guarantee them a real opportunity to present their grievances and have them addressed."
"Shit, I'm getting too old for this job," quietly snorted the 60-year old official. Guy could hear the forced exhale of breath as the President reached his decision. "OK, I'm appointing you as staff to the Dean of Student Services, effective immediately. Do what you have to do, but get them out of that building, and back to class."
"Very well, sir. First will be to remove the security personnel. You need to do that."
"As we speak," the President replied. Guy looked across to the parking lot as he handed the radio back. The campus police were pulling out of the parking lot. When they had all gone, he turned and banged on the door. It opened immediately.
That had been five years ago. Now he was Dean of Students, in line to replace the President when he retired in two years. The school was a small, prestigious school in a medium sized Midwest city.
They offered a five year BA program, requiring a scholastic year abroad during the fourth and fifth years. While the students could fit the year abroad in however they wanted, the most popular time was the second semester of the fourth year, with the summer free in the country of choice. They would then complete the year of study the next fall, and finish up the second semester of the fifth year back on campus.
The students could choose to study in Europe, Japan, Brazil, Argentina, or, with the proper background in Sciences, Antarctica. Admission to the study abroad program w as highly competitive. This year there had been over 500 applicants for 50 available slots.
Students were selected by a joint committee of faculty and students. The committee comprised ten students who had just completed their study abroad, and eight faculty, representing the various disciplines the University offered as major courses of study, along with a member from the University Curriculum Committee, and Guy, the committee chairperson.
Guy hurried through the early January snow to the first meeting of the selection committee. He had seen the member list. All the students were at the top of their college's list, academically and in degree of involvement with the school. Over their academic career, he had met and worked with all of them.
Similarly, he knew all the faculty members, with the exception of the new rep from the curriculum committee, whom he knew by reputation, and a brand new faculty member from the College of Fine Arts–a Phil someone. There had been a message on his voice mail about the change, but the last name had been slurred so he didn't get it.
As he approached the Student Union, where the meeting was to be held, he noticed a tall, attractive, dark haired woman about his own age looking at a slip of paper and looking around at the campus buildings. Making a deductive leap, he approached her from behind. About a yard from her, he softly asked, "Excuse me. Would you be Dr. Phil from the Art Department?"
She gave a small squeek as she spun around. "Uh, yes, I'm Phyllis Everett, without the doctor. Could you tell me which is the Student Union? I'm due at a meeting ten minutes ago."
"Don't worry; so am I, and I'm the chairperson, Guy Foster. I could have sworn Steffan said Dr. Phil." He pointed at one of the buildings and began to walk. She fell in along side him.
"He's just being generous. I'm all done except for the dissertation, which has been sitting on my chairman's desk for the past year."
"Personal or professional?" he asked as he opened the door to the Union.
"What?" she replied, giving him a quizzical look.
"It's been my observation that, once a dissertation is finalized, if it's not published promptly, there is either a problem between the candidate and people on his committee, or they don't like the results. Usually that's because it conflicts or challenges their publicly stated opinions." He pointed to an open door. "Here we are."
The meeting broke up at five. They had paired faculty and student members, discussed criteria for selecting the foreign study students, and distributed the applications randomly among the pairs. Each pair had fifty-one or -two apps, from which they had to choose eight to present to the committee. A date in late February was chosen to meet for the first round.
As they were getting their stuff together to leave, Guy spoke, "Dr. Everett, could I see you for a moment?" She lingered, and when the room was empty, approached him. "I just wanted to apologize in case it seemed like I was prying, or over stepping any boundaries."
"Please, call me Phyllis or Phyll. There wasn't any offense. You left out the third common reason, that it's not worth defending. My chairman hasn't given me any feedback, nor given the other members of my committee their copies. Steffan is my distant member and wasn't aware that it was done until I called him for a job last month."
