Most emails I receive end up in the trash. It’s doesn’t matter if they’re from a relative or a relatively high up person in a shadowy government organization. Since I rarely have the time or the patience to respond, they are generally deleted unread. Over a pot of coffee, I mark a significant portion as spam and simply ignore the rest. It’s probably why your fawning three-thousand-word fan letter fell on deaf ears (blind eyes?). It’s akin to taking out the garbage. I don’t unfold every receipt or dust off each apple core for a solemn remembrance. I merely check the bag for weak spots. No one wants a leaky trail of trash juice following them out of the house.
That said, I did happen to read one email the other day. How come? Easy. The subject line intrigued me, implying there was potential value in further engagement. It said, quite succinctly, “YOU MUST BE SMART.” I must be, yes. So I read on.
The note was from Gardiner Crenshaw Stokes III, the provost of a small illiberal arts school in unsunny New England, Chair-Latin College, within the exceptionally depressed hamlet of Chug Harbor. I’m not sure whether it’s in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, or somewhere like Maine, but the town sure sounds picaresque. A place built on the back of whaling. No, really. The town’s grid was laid out along the spine of a dead Sperm Whale. You can still see some bones after normal street repairs. I’ll definitely consult a map sometime between now and the new year.
Stokes got right to the point, “you say a lot of things that make sense. More than a lot. Maybe more than many. Maybe more than most. Is what you say that much different than half of our tenured professors? I don’t think so.”
Now you have to understand that I’ve deliberately avoided academia since graduation. Have I had offers? Naturally. Who hasn’t? But this one felt different. Stokes offered me the chair of the philosophy department. I told him that the only way I’d accept such an offer is if they changed the spelling of philosophy to filosophy in all the academic handbooks. That way, it’s much more accessible to the average unexamined student. He agreed instantly.
As of January 4th, I’ll be teaching two courses at Chair-Latin. The first is Arisdawdle: The Philosophy of Procrastination from Ancient Greece to some Greek Diner in Queens (don’t worry, there will be no exams, papers, grades, and very few classes to speak of). But that’ll leave me plenty of time to partner with the phys-ed department for a practical seminar in Asteroid Preparedness. Plus, I’ll be coaching the Mollusks, the school’s well-regarded bocce club. The academic freedom Stokes guaranteed me was essential. That and putting it in my contract that I’ll be paid solely in chowder. And no, not the tomato-based disgrace from the island of Manhattan. That's in my contract, too.
I have much to discover about campus. Like why the quadrangle is serpentine. Why there’s kindling and other fire starters in the library. And the reason the improv troupe improvised their way out of existence with a few too many “yes and...we're not funny. We should attend law school.” I look forward to what the students bring to the classroom as well. Namely in the form of contraband and terrible dispositions. I’ll be routinely betraying their trust in these pages, so stay tuned for that. I have a lot to learn.
Merry Christmas Eve.
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