Tenure Track (4 page)

She also noticed he avoided making eye-contact, coming across as rather aloof and stand-offish. Mandy had observed similar behavior in other professors, which she interpreted as a sign of arrogance. Colleagues who knew better joked that Dr. Burns was a lost traveler constantly seeking directions in a foreign land, as he never seemed completely comfortable anywhere other than in front of a classroom. In that setting, the shy, introverted middle son of vagabond, earth-child parents morphed into a confident guide, leading his followers through a historical journey. Within this element—an isolated paradise he often referred to as “Edutopia”—Lewis the lost traveler always found his correct destination.

He was less comfortable in one-on-one situations, such as this impromptu job interview. As he continued to silently scan the résumé, already growing moist with sweat from his nervous hands, Mandy analyzed the photograph perched next to his open laptop computer. She recognized the beautiful, auburn-haired woman in the wedding dress as Laura Hennig. The much-awarded scholar had been a common face in campus publications, even those quickly scanned by undergrads, but until this moment, Mandy hadn’t realized that Dr. Hennig was also married to Dr. Burns. If there was one thing she had learned from her politically savvy stepfather, it was the value of remembering relevant details about people you wanted to impress. She mentally filed this factoid away, recalling that she thought she had read somewhere that Hennig was leaving campus for a better job.

Lewis finally leaned back and set the résumé down in front of him, still staring at it. “Very impressive. You’ve done a lot for someone so young. You’re only a sophomore?”

“
Yessir, but I have a 4.0 GPA from last year and a lotta work experience.”

“
Yes, I can see that,” he said abruptly. Looking back at the date of her first employment listed, he observed, “So you had your first paid job at the age of —“

“
Twelve. Babysittin’ for a neighbor, but hey, it was a good way to start,” she explained. “There aren’t too many good payin’ jobs for twelve-year olds.”

“
It looks like you’ve also done some research work at a law firm,” he noted.

“
Yessir.”

He raised one eyebrow slightly. “And now you also do some waitressing?”

“
Yessir.”

“
The Chug-a-Lug,” he read out loud.

“
I know, it’s a silly name—“

He waved her off. “No need to apologize,” he said, still looking down. “The Chug-a-Lug is a landmark around here. I’ve even had occasion to step in there once or twice myself.”

“
Yeah. Well, it’s fun work,” she said. “College kids aren’t great tippers, but they’re fun to hang out with and I get to hear the bands for free on weekends.” She did not mention how badly she needed the paycheck. Despite her family’s hard-earned success, Mandy was expected to pay all of her own expenses beyond tuition, rent, utilities, and a limited food allowance.

“
What kind of research did you do at the law firm?” Lewis asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Mandy did not miss a beat. “Oh, all kindsa things. Our firm mainly handled family court issues, so it was a lotta lookin’ up case law and such.” Actually, it had mostly been Xeroxing and printing out cases that her mother asked her to look up on Lexis or in the law library. But since such work took little time, Mandy
had
spent most of her paid 20 hours a week reading the cases. She had no intention of mentioning the nepotism behind her hiring, nor did she have any intention of dropping her stepfather’s well-known name.

Lewis rested his face on one hand. “So you want to be a lawyer?”

Now Mandy hesitated. “I’m . . . not sure. I’m thinkin’ about it. To tell ya the truth, from what I’ve seen of what lawyers do, a lotta it’s really borin’. It’s not like on TV, where you get to make great court summations. It’s mostly writin’ and readin’ briefs.
Lotsa paperwork. I’m really more into public policy, so I might consider grad school or a joint degree.”

“
Aaah, a budding politician!” he concluded.

“
Naw,” she clarified. “From what I’ve seen, politics is too dirty for me. I’d rather be a hired wonk.”

“
Yes, I also noticed you’ve done some volunteering for political campaigns,” he said.

“
Well, it pays to know the right folks if you wanna get a good appointment,” she said without elaboration.

He nodded, impressed that she had thought through her future so much. He was also impressed with her vocabulary, using the proper term “summations” instead of “speeches,” for example, as well as other legalistic words and phrases, her speech marred only by that drawl. However, he also recognized that within this state’s political scene, a drawl was often an asset more than a detriment. Finally looking up, he noticed that she sat very straight, without the slouching posture he usually observed in undergrads. She came across as confident and mature, without being cocky.

He glanced back at the sheet of paper. “I see you listed Dr. Stevens as a reference. She has pretty high standards.”
That’s an understatement.
He found it hard to believe that Sheila Stevens would be willing to give a reference to a sophomore. With an authoritative voice that sounded like a cross between Barbara Jordan and Maya Angelou and eyes that could pierce the soul, Dr. Stevens—as even colleagues addressed her—was known as one of the most demanding faculty members on campus. For the majority of undergrads who only took the minimum number of required History courses, there was little incentive to study under the department’s harshest grader. Those computer-assigned to Stevens’s survey courses usually made every effort to switch to an easier teacher.

“
Yeah, I made A’s in both of her classes last year,” Mandy explained. “My roommate ‘n’ I spent a lotta time in her office, askin’ questions ‘n’ stuff. I thought she’d get sick of us, but I think she kinda liked it. My roommate wound up declarin’ African American as her major, so Dr. Stevens offered her a job at the Center.” Lewis knew that, in addition to being a tenured History professor, Dr. Stevens was also a senior fellow in the college’s Center for African American Studies.

Mandy was talking a little faster now, displaying some youthful nervousness. He cut her off again. “Yes, I could figure out you made A’s if you have a 4.0.”

She paused, then apologized. Lewis realized that his comment had probably sounded more demeaning than he intended, which seemed unfair to this particular student. For a frosh to not only stick with Stevens, but to get two rare A’s, was impressive indeed.

Getting back on track, he observed, while fumbling through more papers, “Your legal research experience and interest in public policy will come in handy on this project. I need someone to find information about federal reforms regarding American Indians in the 1960s and 1970s. My latest book focuses on how these policies changed life on reservation communities, but I’ve taken more of a social history approach. Some early reviews suggested I needed to beef up research on the actual policies themselves: how they were developed, statistics on projections versus outcomes, etc.”

Actually, the editor had concluded: “Needs more research to show the importance of the story to American history,” which Lewis had sarcastically interpreted to mean,
It’s not important enough to know how the Indians were affected. We need to know what the White Man thought. Screw the Injun again!

While in years past he might have just sent the manuscript out to smaller niche publishers, he now needed to play the game of producing “big picture history” in order to impress major northeastern universities and land a job near his wife. If that meant including more of the “White Man’s” perspective, so be it. When he had tried to subtly express to Laura how he would be sacrificing his principles for her, she offered little sympathy. For Dr. Hennig, writing big picture history was the minimum payment expected of serious academics.

In contrast to Lewis, the strong, confident Laura Hennig had always seemed to know exactly where she was headed. Born of deep-rooted New England stock, her destiny compass had always pointed directly back to the Ivy Leagues. Research and writing were her passions; teaching merely the necessary dues she had to pay for entrance into the highest realms of the life of the mind. She had achieved this goal with the offer of an endowed Chair in European History at Yale. Whereas she and Lewis had been a celebrity couple at the state U., that rare “two-fer” offered duel tenure-track positions within the same department upon completing their Ph.D.s at Harvard, no similar offer was forthcoming from Yale. The Ivy Leagues wanted scholars who wrote seminal tomes, not excellent teachers who produced good, but not earth-shattering, studies. Unwilling to settle for a supporting role, Lewis had stayed behind at the flagship to beef up his credentials and obtain a respectable job within commuting distance of his spouse. By hiring a research assistant, he hoped to improve his chances of actually getting the work done. The young lady sitting before him offered a pathway back to Laura.

“
If you can do the legwork in tracking this stuff down, it’d save me a lot of time.” Lewis explained. “It’ll only be a few hours per week, minimum wage, but it would offer some good experience for you. I might even be able to give you a credit if I write an article focused just on this topic.”

He did not want to admit that he was trying to pawn off the less-desirable aspects of his job, although he
was
being honest about Mandy’s experience coming in handy. She actually seemed to like the type of research that bored him to tears.

“
That’s why I want the job,” she declared assuredly. Again, he was impressed by her forward-thinking. She was obviously a smart girl, and since she was also the first to inquire about the position, he offered it to her on the spot.

They worked out a schedule whereby she would pick up instructions and drop off her research as it came in. He didn’t plan on seeing her often or closely supervising her work, as long as she was producing results. They walked downstairs so that he could show her the department copy room. Perry Waters, one of Lewis’s least-favorite colleagues, was standing next to Isobel’s desk, laughing over some unheard remark. Lewis introduced Mandy to Isobel so that the feisty department watchdog wouldn’t kick the undergrad out of the staff-only areas. The 68-year-old Isobel shook Mandy’s hand politely, while at the same time giving her a stern look above the lenses of her red-framed half-glasses, attached to a chain hanging around her neck. Isobel had been in this department for 43 years, longer than any faculty member, and planned to stay in her position until retirement or death. She made it clear to everyone who entered her domain that she was the alpha dog around Hammond. Not even Sheila Stevens messed with Isobel.

“
Ever’body calls me Mandy,” Ms. Taylor clarified as she shook Isobel’s hand.

Isobel nodded, then pretended to read some paperwork on her desk. Realizing that Lewis wasn’t going to bother introducing him, Perry stuck out his hand. “Perry Waters, nice to have you in the department,” he greeted in his most charming tone.

Once they were out of earshot, Lewis advised the student in a muted voice, “Dr. Waters and Isobel are the department’s biggest gossips. Don’t ever tell them anything you don’t want broadcast on the six o’clock news.”

Mandy laughed. “It always seems like there’s at least one in every office.”

Shaking her hand outside of the building, the mentor in Lewis suddenly took control of his mouth. “No offense,” he told her, “but you might want to think about going by ‘Amanda’ instead of ‘Mandy.’ It sounds a bit more mature and professional.”

“
I’ll keep that in mind,” she said in a friendly tone as she walked away.

Inwardly, however, she was fuming.
Asshole. Who does he think he is telling me what my name should be?

Chapter Three

Two Families

One year later, Jane Roardan would begin a new term by trying to interpret the recent history that had led from Lewis Burns hiring an assistant to his being accused of having an inappropriate relationship with that same student.

After leaving Gary’s office, Jane resisted the urge to confront Lewis right away. Needing a little more time to determine her approach to such a delicate situation, she waited until she knew he was in class to phone his office. Upon hearing his cheerful-sounding voicemail greeting, she left a simple, direct request to meet with him at four o’clock the next afternoon. She adjusted her voice so as to imply the request was about something important, but not necessarily urgent. Driving home alone in her dark blue PT Cruiser, she continued to fret about whether she had used the appropriate inflection. She needed to bounce the problem off Mark. Her husband’s logical mathematician’s mind always helped her sort through difficult issues.

She arrived home at about 6:30, feeling totally exhausted as she carefully maneuvered the car into its place beneath Mark’s old red, white and blue-painted Schwinn that hung from the ceiling hook like a welcome banner. He had ridden the bike home from campus about two hours earlier. Ever since the twins were in elementary school, her husband had arranged his teaching schedule so that he would arrive home before them. Even though the teens’ afternoons and evenings were now so filled with extracurricular activities that they rarely made it home before dinnertime, if not bedtime, Mark would always be there to greet whomever arrived first. There were no latchkey kids, or wives, in this family.