“Sounds good,” he said. “That way we can eat on campus, and we’ll be here for the big protest demo.”
As they crossed the campus, Jillian saw little indication of what was to come. But, when they stopped at the fountain, midway between the MU and Wilson Hall, she did a slow ‘360’ and looked along the sight lines in all four directions: past the Social Sciences Building; past the MU; past the Business Complex; beyond Wilson Hall. She spotted motorcycle officers, one in each direction, standing like a lone sentry at an outpost…each one a good 100 yards away (probably more). She glanced at Wes who was looking, too.
At the food trucks, Wes ordered a Rocky Point fish taco (grilled) with a side of rice. From a different truck, Jillian ordered a sandwich: avocado, goat cheese and sprouts on sour dough. They both had iced green tea.
Jillian led them to Wilson Hall and to the ante-room to African, African American Studies on the first floor. It was like a lounge that was dominated by posters and memorabilia commemorating the African diaspora and African American contributions to US history. There were comfy chairs, and they scooted a low table toward them for their food.
Wes looked around the room and said, “Pays to have someone on the case with a sense of the campus. Originally, I thought you’d just be helping with the investigation, but now I see that it’s also important to know where to get food, and the best spaces for dining. I assume this spot is on TripAdvisor,” he laughed and toasted Jillian with his tea.
Jillian returned the toast. “This is a great spot. Sometimes, if I was early for a class, I’d come here and read. People walk through now and then, but mostly it’s quiet.”
Wes smiled again, “Jilly, I really do think it was a good move getting you back on campus. It somehow just seems to fit you.”
“It is nice being back. A little weird of course…since I’m in a different situation, but good, too.” She took a sip of tea, then asked, “So, what do you make of this business with Professor Keefer?”
“Well, something’s up…if nothing else because he chose not to mention the affair with the victim.”
Jillian finished a small bite and said, “There’s definitely campus intrigue going on. Grace told me that both Professors, Siemens and Keefer, were social climbers.”
“Suck up and kick down,” Wes responded.
She nodded. “One thing for sure, I’ll swing back to Professor Siemens’ condo and show a photo of Professor Keefer. I’ll pull the one from his ASU webpage when we get back to HQ. Actually, I re-show our whole gallery of photos…you never know.”
“Sounds good. And you know what, Jilly, I’m as interested in Keefer being ‘out’ as English Department chair as I am that he lost his promotion. That had to come from higher-up.”
“You mean President Davidos?”
“I assume so, yeah.”
“Wes, remember, I thought he showed something ‘personal’ when we were interviewing him. Do you think that maybe these decisions against Professor Keefer are some kind of revenge?”
“Yeah, I remember your take on Davidos after our interview. You could be right,“ he said and sipped his tea. “Course…this could be simply trying to avoid any embarrassment for ASU. I mean, do you want to promote some guy, some married guy, who’s having an affair with one of his subordinates, who ends up being murdered in her office…which is one floor above his?”
He thought for a couple of seconds, then added, “These decisions about Keefer have a lawyer’s thumb print on them. Don’t you know someone in the Legal Counsel office…whatever it’s called?”
“It’s the Office of General Counsel. And yes, I do, but she might not be permitted to discuss this…you know, the lawyer confidentiality thing? Also, Wes, in university-think, I don’t know if a department chair and the faculty are superior and subordinate, strictly speaking. I mean, professors are fairly independent.”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember all that from my U of A days. Still, to the non-university public AND the media, too, the chain of command is the chain of command. So, for Keefer to be promoted to dean when he’s been sleeping with a murder victim…not the kind of headline a university wants. But, you’re probably right about your ASU lawyer contact and the Keefer decision being confidential.” He shrugged and pursed his lips. ”You want to re-interview Davidos…am I right?”
Before Jillian could answer, Professor Zuzana Szabo said, “Hello again.” She emerged from the corridor to their left front…leaving the African, African American Studies faculty offices, which were down the hallway and out of sight from where they were seated.
Jillian and Wes said “hi” at the same time, and Wes stood.
“So, the first floor of Wilson Hall has become the police canteen,” she laughed.
Wes smiled and said, “Yes, Jillian is showing me ASU’s top 10 places to eat.”
“And food trucks, I see,” and laughed again.
Jillian said, “This room was always one of my favorite places to eat, especially when I was in a hurry.”
“It is a convenient spot.” She paused, then added, “Don’t’ forget, you’ve promised me a visit, Jillian.”
Jillian glanced at her wrist watch and said, “I could come by later this afternoon…maybe around 3pm or so…would that work?”
“Yes, of course. Chao, Jillian, Detective Sergeant Webb.”
They said their goodbyes, she left the anteroom, took a right and headed upstairs.
Jillian turned back to Wes. “I hope that’s OK. There are a couple of things I want to ask her…about Professor Siemens AND about Professor Keefer. I thought I could double back here after the demonstration. And, after I talk with her, I’ll text Grace Wilson. By then, she should know who the new chair of English will be. I don’t know if that’s relevant, but still…”
“All good, Jilly. And after the demo, I’ll head back to HQ and talk with the Chief…she’ll want to be in the loop. I’ll also call Al to see if there’s any scuttlebutt on Davidos…as a womanizer…really, on any front. Al is usually an ‘in the know’ kind of a guy. I’d like to know what’s what before we schedule a follow-up interview…because, I suspect that this will generate some push-back. I’m not saying we shouldn’t re-interview Davidos…just that we want to get our ducks in a row first. Sound like a plan?
“Sounds like a plan.”
“By the way, Professor Szabo, where’s she from? I couldn’t quite place the accent,” he said, as he tugged at his earlobe.
“Yes, I know…it’s hard to pinpoint. OK, well, she’s originally from Hungary, but went to grad school in France—Paris, of course…”
Wes laughed, “Well, of course…”
She smiled and continued, “And this is interesting, Wes…she’s of Roma heritage—her dad, I think. She also lived in Spain for a while. I know she speaks Hungarian and Romani. But, she’s fluent in a bunch of languages.
“Romani, wow, that’s interesting. How’d she end-up at ASU?”
“I know some of the answer…but some is only hearsay.” She took a big sip of tea. “OK, several years ago, a few really well-respected scholars started writing about what they called ‘Southern theory.’
Wes gestured that he didn’t understand.
“So, most scholars who’ve written about society, about government and politics…whatever, have been from the northern hemisphere…the US, the UK, France, and so on—and really that’s what they’re writing about as well. Anyway, it was a big deal when some scholars started writing about theorists from the southern hemisphere, people whose ideas and research were about those regions.”
Wes nodded that he understood, so she continued. “Only problem was…almost all of the southern theorists these men wrote about also were men.”
“Oops,” Wes said.
“Exactly. Anyway, what ZZ did—Professor Szabo—is that her doctoral dissertation was about southern theories…from WOME
N in those regions. “
Wes asked, “And this was a big deal, why?”
“Well, in the first place, because she did it at all. She gave voice to some amazing women theorists whose voices had not been heard, at least not in the northern hemisphere. And second, she did a phenomenal job of it. She was thorough, she was thoughtful, and she discussed agreements and disagreements among these theorists, and, she contrasted them with the southern male theorists.”
Jillian ate her a last bite of her sandwich, took a sip of tea, and used her napkin. ”ZZ pretty quickly turned her dissertation into a book that was originally published in French, then translated into English and other languages, too, I think. She won a lot of academic awards for the book.”
“And that’s when ASU hired her?”
“Not yet. As soon as she earned her PhD, Wellesley College snapped her up…the book was published about the same time…and translated into the other languages.”
Jillian continued and was very demonstrative with her hands. “Then, almost immediately, she published a companion volume, an anthology of articles actually written by many of these southern hemisphere women. But, this was more than just a compilation of articles…ZZ introduced each theorist with a discussion that put them in perspective. It was very original…like her dissertation.
“I take it that you’ve read these books?”
“Yes, I had a graduate seminar with her, and we read them then.”
“But, when does ASU enter the picture?”
“Well, this is the part that’s more gossipy.”
“I’m all ears,” Wes said, and rubbed his hands together. “Talk on.”
“It’s my understanding that President Davidos heard ZZ speak at a conference, and he was really impressed. So, he set out to hire her. He had someone—a VP, a Dean, I don’t really know—put together a very attractive offer for her. She’d only been out of graduate school for maybe three years, and Wellesley had already tenured her and promoted her to Associate Professor, so, ASU promised her a quick promotion to full professor and a fairly large salary, which they justified by offering to make her the head of a humanities methodology center on campus. ASU could pay her a larger salary by making her an administrator, right?”
Wes nodded. “Administrators get a calendar year salary, not the 10 month salary that most professors earn.”
“Yes, exactly. Except…” Jillian paused for emphasis, “ZZ said no. She would not be an administrator. Someone told me that when ZZ turned-down the offer, she told ASU that Americans were fixated on being administrators. And get this, Wes, she cited Mick Jagger as her source for this criticism.”
Wes laughed so hard that he choked on his tea. When he finally stopped coughing, he said, “I love it.”
“Thought you would. Anyway, ZZ declined to be an administrator, but said that to come to ASU, she’d still want the salary that was originally offered, which threw a lot of people into a tizzy.”
“And yet, she is here. What happened to break the log jam?”
“The U of A.“ Jillian held up a hand before Wes could speak, and continued. “Apparently, President Davidos had cooled on ZZ when she declined the administrative post...until…” she paused, then continued, “…he heard that the U of A was actively recruiting her. As soon as he heard that, he waved his presidential wand, the original offer was reinstated and she was hired...on her terms…the higher salary, without the administrative duties.“
“It’s the Territorial Cup,” Wes laughed again.
“I don’t understand,” Jillian said. “What’s a Territorial Cup?”
“OK, every year, ASU plays the U of A in the last regularly scheduled football game of the season. And, the winner of the game is awarded the Territorial Cup…you know, our status before becoming a state…The Arizona Territory. Anyway, ASU and U of A are such rivals that, regardless of the rest of the season, winning the Cup is ‘the thing.’ ASU has had a bad patch lately—not many wins—so now Davidos can snatch the rising young star for the Sun Devils and away from the evil clutches of the Wildcats…and can claim a victory. And, from what you’ve said, a real academic victory given who she is, what she studies, AND the awards…don’t forget those awards.”
Jillian laughed now, too. “You’re right, Wes, but wait…as they say, there’s more. The immediate reaction when ZZ arrived was 50:50…half the faculty was elated and wanted to schmooze with her...”
“And the other half?”
“Not happy. Some were jealous of the deal. Some thought it was too much too soon for such a young professor. Some were just flat-out angry about…the whole picture.
“Sounds a little like the reaction to Professor Siemens.”
“Exactly. Anyway, some of the naysayers were biding their time…waiting for her to fail…or to be only normal, not a star.”
“What happened then?”
“At first, nothing…in terms of research publications…silence.”
“The naysayers must have loved that.”
“Yes. I was in grad school by then and heard the negative talk…from some professors, so of course, from graduate students, too.”
“I sense that there’s about to be a ‘but then’ in your story…?”
Jillian gave a pronounced nod. “But then…Boom! Another book: this one on research methods. It was brilliant. More awards. And…”
“Don’t tell me…another companion volume?”
“Bingo. Articles demonstrating various research methods in the social sciences and the humanities…including some that were cutting edge. Her promotion to full professor was a breeze.”
“You like her, don’t you, Jilly? You light up when you talk about all her.”
“Yes, I do…I really respect her, Wes. She’s wicked smart, but, I don’t know, somehow, she’s still very accessible. She was a member of my graduate supervisory committee. I included her because she’s such a good methodologist, and it’s nice to have committee members who you trust.”
He nodded. “So, back to her time at ASU…the naysayers?”
Jillian shrugged, “They were quiet for a time, but it’s been a while now, and no new research.”
“What have you done lately, huh?”
“Right again.”
Wes said, “I guess it’s the same all over…you know, how you get ahead. Even in a university…where everyone is supposed to be so smart and above it all.” He was quiet for a moment as he worried his lower lip, the said, “But, wait a minute…don’t professors hire their own colleagues? When I was an undergrad, if professors applied for a job, they’d make a presentation and the faculty would show-up and ask questions. And, after they interviewed several job candidates, they’d vote, and then offer somebody the job. Was that just at the U of A and not at ASU?”
Jillian said, “I think it used to be like that…but not so much now. It may not be as crazy as what happened with ZZ…I mean, obviously, that thing in English last month when Professor Siemens attacked Professor Gilroy’s candidate…that was more along the lines that you’re describing. But, I don’t think universities aren’t all that democratic anymore. That’s what Ian Naremore is complaining about…like how Professor Siemens was hired. I think he was upset both about who she was, you know, ideologically, but also how her hiring happened.”
Jillian was quiet, then said, “I guess it can go either way…you can get someone like ZZ, who’s great, OR someone like Professor Siemens, who brings out a lot of bad feelings.”
Wes nodded, glanced at his watch, then said, “Well, thanks for the story…and for the food truck suggestion, but I’m thinking that maybe we should go grab a spot, given…whatever’s next.”
They tossed their trash in a waste can and headed out the main entrance of Wilson Hall…Jillian in the lead…ASU was her world. They cut along the sidewalk that angled left and took-up a position in front of Interdiscip
linary A, a long, two-story yellowish-brown brick building that was across from the main entrance to the MU. Their spot near the main entrance gave them a good, unobtrusive view of what would soon be the center of action.
There was more activity now, including more students than what you’d normally see between classes, more police (plain clothes and uniforms), and a lot of media, including one helicopter…sometimes circling, sometimes hovering over the campus.
To their far right, standing beyond the Business complex and near the edge of campus, they could see a crowd of men who, even at that distance, didn’t look like students. Some of them carried signs although they were lowered…for now. They weren’t exactly milling about—they were too closely packed for that. Two media crews stood near the men.
Jillian and Wes looked about slowly, in sectors from the right—where the men were standing—to as far left as they could see…to the left of Wilson Hall. Jillian realized that she had tension in her shoulders. She glanced at Wes who looked casual, but alert.
In five or six minutes, the men left their scrum, and began a slow march (more of a shuffle, really) across campus and toward the fountain. They walked two abreast. The men made no noise…the only sounds were the everyday sounds of a very large campus, and now and then, of the helicopter.
The marchers were accompanied by several uniformed ASU police office hours on either side of their double line. The camera crews came too, and a new one appeared from the front of the MU…walking backward in front of the men…so that, on the news, the men would be seen slow-marching toward the audience. Each crew had three people, a cameraman, a person with a mic—two of these were women—and a third man, maybe a director or sound guy or something.
The marching men looked to be mostly in their 20s, some even late teens, with a couple who looked to be 30, maybe. Some of them seemed to be skinheads—hair, boots, tats—while others looked like disaffected teenage boys. Some of them, especially the younger ones, looked to Jillian as if they were uncomfortable being on a college campus, like they were political tourists, trying to look defiant, but gawking at the buildings and the students who were roughly the same age as some of these guys. She could see their signs now…an array of messages that she’d expected to see. None of the signs featured swastikas, but she thought that maybe some of men’s tats were that symbol, although she and Wes were far enough away that she couldn’t be certain. She did a quick count as they passed, and counted 24 guys.
Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar Page 31