The Letter Whisperer

                                                    September 21, 2015

Martin Schuler read the letter. He then re-read the letter. Miriam waited patiently as the new dean of mathematics stared at the words on the paper.

Schuler tossed the letter on his desk and toward Miriam.

“What does this drivel mean?”

Miriam picked up the letter and read it. A smile flitted across her face.

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My dear partner in education,

First, allow me the pleasure of welcoming you to the hallowed halls of the university. I am overjoyed, bucked up, chuffed, and ecstatic beyond measure to have such a distinguished person leading us into the educational fray, forging young minds, tempering the intemperate, bending the unbendable, and, in short, shoring up the cracks that weaken our society. I am but a mere foot soldier, looking to the general – that is you – to show us the way, to light our lamps when darkness threatens, to beat out the bed bugs when we sleep, to sound the alarm when an alarm needs sounding. Welcome, dear comrade!

As regards your latest email to me, I appeal to your higher nature. The parking spot reserved for the dean of mathematics is yours and yours alone, I grant, but I sense that you are man of vision and foresight. You are that rare person who sees that we are comrades in arms, brothers in the trenches, watching out for each other with vim and vigor. What is mine is yours and what is yours is mine. I believe that your greatness of spirit will not rail against such trivialities as a parking spot. Rather, you will see it as community property among us band of mathematical brothers, and, as such, will forego any claim to a piece of asphalt that may or may not be assigned to you. We are twined at the soul. I sense that you see this as well.

In the spirit of brotherhood and camaraderie, I invite you to partake of my bounty of comestibles at a time that is convenient to you. I will share what I have, even to starvation, to feed my brother. Today, I have tinned sardines and a rather nice kombucha, chilled in my mini-fridge. Please, come and break bread with me, let us rejoice in our shared mission, complete with hearty backslaps and rude humor. We are of the same mind, oh captain, my captain. Lead on!

Yours in education,

Professor Reginald Haversham

P.S. – Bring some mustard, if you have any. I seem to have run out.

P.P.S. – Also, some crackers.

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“Well?”

Miriam set the letter on the desk and gazed at Professor Schuler with a mixture of pity and regret. The man wasn’t prepared for Professor Haversham. Not even close.

“He’s making an overture of friendship,” Miriam said, sitting down. She knew that more was to come. It always did.

“Really? I can’t make heads or tails of it.”

“Clear as day, sir. He offers camaraderie.”

“By stealing my parking space?” Schuler was close to yelling. Miriam feared that his blood pressure was also reaching dangerous levels.

“Yes. Get the attention of the person you wish to befriend, and then offer him or her something desirable. He offered lunch and companionship.”

“Sardines! Blech!”

“And kombucha.”

Schuler eyed Miriam with some disfavor. She was teetering on the edge of being cheeky.

“You may go now,” Schuler said, the tautness in his voice evident to anyone withing a five-mile radius.

Miriam left, returning to her desk and opening up her novel. She was halfway through a modern bodice-ripper, and she wanted to savor the ripping off of the bodice, wondering idly if her dear Reginald was proficient at such a thing.

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                                                       November 19, 2015

My dear partner in education,

I am overjoyed at your concern for my teaching methods. The true visionary sees all, knows all, appreciates all. My faith in your abilities has reached new and dizzying heights. Yes, we must always question pedagogy, yes, we must delve into the intricacies and mysteries of knowledge conveyance, yes, we must – I say must! – search our inner hearts with assiduity in these matters.

As you stagger forth through your day, you will find disagreements in teaching aplenty. Do not despair, my friend! As you so rightly state, my methods are unique, and are ripe for the Sharp Discourse on Methods. True, you didn’t use those particular words, but the sentiment was clear. I am a pioneer of teaching! A paragon of the Lucid Insight and the Sharp Intuition.

You have cheered me, mon ami. The dark November days are as bright as the chariot of Helios, lighting my journey through the murky depths of education. I salute you, my beacon, my comrade, my stalwart protector!

Yours in education,

Professor Reginald Haversham

P.S. – May I prevail on you to procure a new chair for my office? An army may march on its stomach, but an educator marches on his posterior. So to speak.

                                                      **************

Schuler tossed the missive at Miriam. His sullen aspect and beet-red face attested to his displeasure. Miriam wondered if he had seen a doctor about his health. He had a gray pallor about him lately, and his face was now drawn and lined.

“Translate,” he muttered.

Miriam read the short letter and sighed. This wasn’t going to go down well with the dean.

“I believe that he’s telling you that his methods are his methods and that he will not deviate from them.”

Schuler nodded gloomily.

“You put it delicately, and I commend you for it. Am I to assume, then, that he’s telling me to fuck off?” Schuler’s voice was tinged with a smoldering anger.

“Ah, sir, I wouldn’t say – “

“No, no. You wouldn’t. But you have made his intent clear.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“Tell me, how can I get him out of here?”

Miriam blanched at the thought. Her dear Reginald, cast from the university? It was not to be borne.

“Well, he has tenure,” Miriam said, brightening.

“Damn!”

“As you say, sir. May I go back to work?”

Schuler waved her away and continued to busy himself this morning with pouting.

Miriam returned to reading Lust in the Moonlight, a novel that was in that gray area between boddice ripper and straight-up erotica. She had just got to the part where Lucy was in the arms of Roderick, and clothes were being removed with a rapidity that made her feel faint. She was sure that Reginald could do it better, and proceeded to spend the rest of the morning daydreaming of moonlight and professorial naughtiness.

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                                                        February 17, 2016

My esteemed brother,

My spirit soars and my soul swells at your words. It is indeed true that all my students pass all my classes – and all with A’s, no less! What a tribute to your guidance and inspiration. Hark! The call goes out. What magic is this? They all want to know. Myriad young minds bolstered for the future, secure in their newfound knowledge and grateful to a university that understands their needs.

The slings and arrows of the many headed who do not understand how such a thing can be is a fate that you must suffer. The aged heads of the university want to know why I have not been bridled in my ambitions. Impossible, they say, and you fight back with the armor of justice and courage. Not everyone can pass, much less make A’s, they say. The cry goes out. Will no one rid us of this troublesome professor? You rebut them with the Sharp Word and the Irrefutable Fact. I stand by your side, sir, sword at the ready. We shall not be overcome by our so-called superiors.

I say to you, warrior and comrade, not to give in, though it has cost you your position. Deliver the Stout Stance. Do not be swayed by threats. Gird your loins and prepare for battle, I say! Yours is a spirit that is not to be diminished, no matter the circumstances. Pooh to your job, you say. The Purity of Teaching is not to be sullied. My admiration for your beliefs knows no bounds.

Should you need a letter of recommendation for another position, look no further. I will gladly state all your sterling qualities, my friend. The letter will glow, it will sparkle with Truth and Wit. Indeed, it may even catch fire because of its heat and brilliance! Allow me a day or two to mourn the loss of your position and I will attack the letter of recommendation with fervor. You will be employed again in a flash, leading a new group of professors to unheard of heights.

Yours in education,

Professor Reginald Haversham

P.S. – any word yet about that new chair I requested?

P.P.S. – would you like a parting kombucha?

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                                                    May 19, 2016

The ex-dean was packed and ready to go. He was unhappy, and not mollified by the fact that the university went through mathematics deans at about the same rate that babies go through diapers. He blamed it all on Professor Haversham, though, in truth, he should have blamed the administration of the university. A tenured professor cannot be curbed, yet they insisted on it being done.

“Good-bye, sir, and good luck,” Miriam said, sticking out a hand. Schuler gave it a perfunctory shake. Miriam returned to her desk to finish up her latest read, Hot Nights in the Castle, detailing the lives, loves, and intimacies of the staff of Lord Emory in the late nineteenth century.

Schuler had been quickly forgotten in lieu of the amorous advances of the third footman toward an upstairs maid.

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                                                      May 20, 2016

Reginald,

I have admired you for these thirty years, and I feel that the time has come to reveal the depth of my feelings for you. It would not be too much to say that you are inked indelibly in my heart, and that I would consider it a great honor to be your partner in life. It may seem forward, but I am asking for your hand in marriage.

Yours truly, with love and affection,

Miriam Jones

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                                                     May 20, 2016

My dear Miriam,

Raise the bunting and publish the banns? Your declaration has fired the smoldering embers of the desire for companionship, confirmed bachelor though I am. I must admit, however, to being quite happy with my books and the many solitary leisures that I enjoy in my abode. The cataclysm of marriage thunders under my feet. Is it a benign giant or a terrible catastrophe? That, my dear, is the Poignant Question.

In short, I am not a proponent of such an archaic, synthetic institution. I liken it to wax fruit and French pastries: pretty on the outside but full of nothing. I, sadly, must follow the courage of my convictions and decline your tender, beautiful offer. I trust that we may still be comrades in the hallowed halls, and that you will look upon me kindly as we stagger through the days of our lives.

Your friend and not-to-be husband,

Reginald

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                                                          May 20, 2016

Dear Reginald,

Fair enough. Perhaps we can procure a common abode and grab what torrid pleasures there are to be found in a shared bed. I am loathe to employ the term “low hanging fruit,” but at our age, I think it is an apt description of what we have to offer each other. You will find me a not unwilling partner in the intimate arts, despite my lack of experience in such matters.

Yours affectionately,

Miriam

P.S. – how is your heart health?

P.P.S. – should I purchase a bodice?

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                                                        May 20, 2016

Dearest Miriam,

Good oh!

Yours truly, the new roomie,

Reginald

P.S. – my heart beats with soothing regularity. Why do you ask?

P.P.S. – what is a bodice?