Lady Professor

by Switzer, Robert L. ;

  “Oh, look how late it has gotten,” Emma exclaimed. “That’s what happens when you get me talking about science. Let’s go home and make supper.”

  “Yeah, Mama, let’s go to the museum and gnaw on some of your old bones. I’m starving.”

  ON AN UNUSUALLY warm evening in late May, Emma sat at her desk in the large living room at the front of her house and puzzled over final examination questions for her general biology course. After so many years of teaching, more and more thought was required to come up with novel and original exam questions that probed the students’ understanding.

  The front door was open to allow cool evening air to flow in from the wide front porch. Moths, attracted by the light, threw themselves against the screen door. ’Rico had gone to bed in his room at the rear of the house. The rhythmic beat of the grandfather clock in the hall was interrupted by nine soft chimes. Already? It had only just gotten dark. Emma was calm, content, enveloped in the comfort of the life she and ’Rico had rebuilt from the ashes of war and death.

  A soft tapping on the front screen door. “Emma? Is that you?”

  There was something familiar about the voice. Where had she heard it before? Emma went to the door. She was not afraid to live alone, but she always kept the screen door hooked from the inside as a simple precaution. The visitor’s face was obscured by the haze of the screen and the passage of time, so it took a moment for her to recognize him.

  “Victor! My God, Victor Midlothian. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you. May I come in?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Emma unhooked the screen, and Victor stepped into the room.

  They embraced, first tentatively, then warmly. He was heavier than she remembered, and his face had lost its boyishness and become leathery with crinkles at the corners of his eyes. His hair, now more gray than brown and clipped short in military fashion, no longer fell rakishly over his brow, but the amusement in his eyes and his mischievous grin were unchanged. He would be, what, fifty-one now? A year older than Emma. He was still a handsome man.

  She quickly pulled off her glasses, smoothed her dress, and waved him into the living room. “This is a surprise, Vic. I never expected to see you again.”

  “I know. It’s my fault. I was lazy about writing. Too caught up in what I was doing.”

  “How did you even know where I was?”

  “I was in Stanton Mills to take care of my folks’ estate. They’re both gone now, and I had to clear out the house, put it on the market, talk to the lawyer, that sort of thing, you know.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Both dead? I didn’t know.”

  “I’m afraid I neglected them as much as I did you. I’m a little ashamed about that now.” Victor rubbed his face with his hand and stared at the floor.

  “Please, sit down, Vic.”

  “Thanks. Well, anyway, I asked around about you. Went out to the farm and talked to Bjorn. He told me you were a professor here. Wow. A dream come true for you, huh? And this is quite a grand house you live in.”

  Emma shrugged dismissively. “It’s bigger than I need. For just the two of us. We live downstairs. The upstairs is an informal natural history museum for the college.”

  “Oh. Bjorn told me that you were married and that you lost your husband in the war. I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you.”

  “It was. Very hard. Joe Bellafiori was the great love of my life. And my partner in science as well.” Emma shook off the little wave of sadness. “But, what about you? Were you in the war? Or were you exempt because you were in the last war?”

  “I joined the Army Air Force and spent the whole war training pilots stateside. They never sent me overseas. They said it was because I was needed for training, but I think they thought I was too old. Good thing. I trained a lot of pilots who never came back.”

  “Are you still in the Air Force?”

  “Naw. I’m a pilot for American now. It’s good money.”

  “Um, did you . . . ever . . . marry?”

  The familiar grin. He shook his head. “You know me.”

  “I guess I do. Or did. People change sometimes.”

  “But a minute ago . . . you said ‘we’ . . . ?”

  “I’m not remarried. Joe and I had a son. Didn’t Bjorn tell you? He’s fifteen now. A wonderful boy. I don’t know how I could have gotten through those first years after . . . without him.”

  “Did you ever consider . . . uh . . . remarrying?”

  “No. Not really.” Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Joe spoiled me for any other man. Most men seem . . . well . . . intimidated. It would be good for Enrico to have a father, but . . . well . . . that’s not enough reason, is it? I guess I’ve learned to be self-sufficient.”

  They fell silent, a silence that grew uncomfortably long.

  “Vic, why did you come here?” Emma asked.

  He shrugged, then fixed her eyes with his. “I don’t know . . . I just . . . I guess . . . Emma, I have never forgotten you. I really wanted to see you again. There was something special between us.”

  “Was there?” Emma was warmed with a flash of anger. “You had a funny way of showing it. What’s it been? Twenty-five years, at least, and not a word, not a letter. You were too busy flying your aeroplanes. Other women were closer to hand, I daresay.”

  Victor hung his head, twisted his hands between his knees. “I know, I know. I was very immature. Selfish. I had a lot of growing up to do. Please forgive me.”

  “Oh, I got over it. You were fun and we had a good time, but I don’t think I was really in love with you. No, no, not now that I know what real love is. And it certainly didn’t make sense to think of marrying you—if you had even wanted to . . . which, admit it, you didn’t.”

  “Ah, that’s the fiery, independent Emma that I remember. You know, you haven’t changed much at all. Still a very pretty woman. Very attractive. Would you ever consider . . . renewing our . . . friendship?”

  “What are you suggesting, Vic? Surely not marriage?”

  “Well, uh, no, I guess that wouldn’t be practical. Not while I’m working as a pilot. But, maybe we could . . . see one another . . . now and then. I fly in and out of Cleveland sometimes. I could visit you then.”

  Emma stood up and shook her head. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or angry. Things have changed. I’ve got a fifteen-year-old son sleeping in the next room—if he’s asleep—and you . . . you come back after a quarter century and want to start right up where we left off. After all that’s happened? I can’t believe it.”

  Victor jumped up from his chair and held his hands out to ward off Emma’s words. “Oh, no, no. I wasn’t suggesting . . . I’m sorry. That would be . . . presumptuous. I apologize. Please don’t . . . don’t let it spoil the good memories we have. I am serious, though, if you are interested in . . . a friendly relationship. It might lead to something . . . more permanent. I still have . . .feelings for you, Emma.”

  Emma’s feelings were too muddled for her to reply..

  “I’m staying at the Hamilton Hotel downtown tonight. I’ll tell them to give you my address . . . if you . . . change your mind.”

  When he was gone, Emma sat back down at her desk, but was unable to concentrate on exam questions. Replace Joe? No. A love life of that kind—maybe of any kind—was over for her. Or was it?

  CHAPTER 24

  1955

  EMMA KNEW WHY the Dean Roberts had summoned her to his office. The secretary to the Biology Department had brought her, without comment, a copy of the Cincinnati Enquirer this morning with the page folded back to a news story headline:

  LADY PROFESSOR’S SEX COURSE AT HARRINGTON COLLEGE

  Emma had initiated a course titled “Human Sexual Biology: Love, Marriage and Childbearing” this year. As long ago as 1935, when she taught general biology while pregnant with Enrico, she had been aware that many of her students were woefully ignorant of sexual matters and that they were hungry for accurate, detailed information
. She always included a section on reproduction when she taught human physiology, but not many students took such a specialized course.

  She had invited her students to submit written questions or to visit her in her office, but she was overwhelmed by their responses and had to discontinue the practice. When she learned that Professor Alfred Kinsey at Indiana University was offering a “marriage and family” class that dealt frankly with sexual topics, she contacted him for details, which he gladly supplied, and she decided to offer a similar course at Harrington.

  The syllabus was described in terms sufficiently innocuous to avoid raising eyebrows in the Dean’s office:

  Anatomy of the human reproductive system

  Physical aspects of marital relations

  Varieties of sexual expression

  Pregnancy

  Childbirth and infancy

  Once the course was underway, word spread across the campus, and many students came to the class who were not enrolled in it. A large lecture hall had to be located to accommodate them. Emma knew that there was considerable gossip about the candor and explicit detail with which she taught the course, but she chose to ignore it.

  There were protests too. The pastor of the First Methodist Church of Harrington had complained to Dean Roberts about the teaching of immorality, and the Dean grumbled to Emma about angry letters and phone calls.

  “Couldn’t you tone it down a little, Emma?” he had asked her. “I respect what you are trying to do, but it’s being misunderstood. I don’t want the college dragged into a controversy about sex.”

  With characteristic determination Emma had ignored him and taught the course as she wished.

  But now the sensationalistic article in the Enquirer threatened to embroil the College in scandal. A reporter had gotten word of Emma’s “marriage and family” course, probably from the unhappy clergyman, and slipped into the lecture hall to observe several classes throughout the semester.

  “Professor Hansen has abandoned all standards of decency and discretion,” the reporter quoted the Rev. Dr. Whisnant as saying. “Her so-called ‘love, marriage, and childbearing’ course is laced with pornography and perversion.”

  “Even though male and female students take the course in the same classroom, the students were shown transparency slides of photographs of female and male external genitals, the latter even in a state of arousal. The students viewed a lengthy film of a woman giving birth with no detail obscured from sight. The course is a virtual how-to manual for every imaginable sexual activity. Techniques for arousing sexual excitement and performing conjugal relations were described in detail, as were several contraceptive methods. Professor Hansen described such practices such as masturbation, homosexuality, and prostitution as ‘within the normal range of human sexual expression.’ She discussed venereal diseases in detail and advocated means of avoiding and treating them.

  “Professor Hansen denied that her course promoted immoral behavior. ‘I expect the students to be guided by their own moral beliefs,’ she said. ‘The biological facts do not by themselves form the basis for moral decisions, but they allow anyone who is engaged in sexual activity to do so in an informed and positive way.’ ”

  Emma vaguely recalled a conversation with a man, whom she had not seen before and seemed older than most students, who had questioned her about “promoting immorality” and “lascivious images and descriptions,” but he had not identified himself as a reporter. She had assumed that he was a student who was troubled by the teachings of his conservative religious background.

  The news story quoted her accurately, but she had also said, “Look, most of the students in the course will eventually marry, and some will engage in sexual activity outside of marriage, whether we like it or not. Isn’t it better that they should be informed about sex, that they should know how to avoid harmful outcomes, that they should learn how to make sex a positive, pleasurable, and bonding experience? This is an educational institution, devoted to developing and sharing knowledge, not to perpetuating ignorance.” None of that was quoted in the Enquirer article.

  DEAN ROBERTS HAD a copy of the newspaper on his desk when Emma was ushered into his office.

  “Professor Hansen, whatever am I going to do with you?” he asked.

  “Why do you have to do anything with me?” Emma shot back.

  “Surely you’ve heard about this report in the Enquirer?”

  “Yes. They’ve sensationalized the whole thing. I think they should be ignored. Or I’d be willing to give them a statement justifying the value of this course. I explained all that to their reporter—who, by the way, never identified himself, just lurked in the back of my classes—but he chose not to print it.”

  “Well, I worried about this when we approved your syllabus. There’s been so much fuss over Kinsey’s books. And I have had numerous complaints before, as you know. I should have anticipated this.”

  “Are you now saying the course shouldn’t be taught? Or are you just upset over the publicity?”

  “Let me remind you that Harrington College is a private college. Although the college is no longer affiliated with the Presbyterian Church, many of our graduates and supporters are religiously conservative. The college is very dependent on the good will and financial support of our friends and alumni, some of whom are offended by this.”

  “Many?”

  “I have had quite a few telephone calls.”

  “Tell them to call me.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that would be wise.”

  For the first time during this tense interview, Emma laughed. “You’re probably right about that. I have no sympathy with ignorance. Or with people who are afraid of sex for that matter. Kinsey has been teaching a course like this for years.”

  Dean Roberts shrugged. “Privately I am inclined to agree with you. But . . . I do have to worry about the public perception of our college.” He cleared his throat, rose from his desk, and walked over to Emma and sat near her on a side chair. “Professor Hansen, Emma, you are one of our most distinguished faculty members. Students flock to your classes. You have even opened a natural history museum in your own home. Your record of original research publications is the most impressive in the college. And the recent award of a grant from the National Science Foundation was the first for Harrington . . . ”

  “But . . . ?”

  “I’m afraid that, in the best interests of Harrington College, the Human Sexual Biology course will be discontinued at the end of the semester.”

  “Hmmm. Forgive me, sir, but I don’t feel that serves the best interests of our students.” Emma considered adding that she thought it was downright cowardly, but held her tongue.

  “I was sure you would not agree with me, and I’ve thought about this a bit. If you were . . . ah . . . to wait a year, give the fuss some time to blow over, then offer a . . . non-credit course of similar content . . . uh . . . off campus . . .”

  “The college wouldn’t object to what I do privately . . .”

  “Um, yes, exactly so. No connection to the college.”

  “You might consider approaching the Unitarian church near campus,” Dean Roberts continued. “Their sanctuary would probably be large enough, and they, uh, have the reputation of being, uh, open-minded. Mind you, it would be wise to be somewhat . . . less . . . explicit.”

  Emma took a deep breath. “Dean Roberts, your responsibilities are different from mine, I understand that. My duty is to pursue the truth, to fight ignorance, to stimulate our students to think critically with the use of the best information they can get. I know you share those values—you’d never have approved the course if you didn’t—and I know that you have to protect the college. I guess I can live with your proposal, although I don’t like putting the course off for a year.”

  “To let controversy pass, don’t you see? It’s in your interest too. I have had many who are calling for your removal. Even though you are tenured, the statutes would allow for that.”

  E
mma bristled. “You’re not threatening me?”

  “Oh, no, no. Just . . . work with me, all right?”

  A FEW DAYS later Hank bounded up the porch steps and through the front door of Emma’s house with a white bag stuffed with dirty laundry over his shoulder. He was near the end of his sophomore year at Harrington. He and Emma had agreed that he should live in a dorm at the college, despite the extra expense, because it was time for him to learn to live more independently and they wanted him to experience campus life. However, he came home most weekends, usually bearing laundry, to visit Emma. They often cooked an evening meal together, and they ate in the dining room.

  “So, Mama, how’s the famous sex professor?” He laughed as he threw down the laundry bag and embraced Emma.

  “Oh, is it all over campus? The news story, I mean. Everybody already knew I taught that course.”

  “Yeah. Everybody thinks it’s funny. There were a couple of reporters hanging around, looking for wild sex parties. Orgies at Harrington College. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Are you embarrassed, ’Rico?”

  “Oh, hell no. Lots of the kids don’t know you’re my mom because we have different last names, so I tell ’em, ‘That’s my mom.’”

  “Then what do they say?”

  “Mostly they think it’s cool. They can’t believe their parents would ever be so open about sex. Then, it’s funny, the next thing they ask is how’s come my last name is Bellafiori instead of Hansen. So I explain about my dad.”

  After supper Hank became quiet, which was rare for him. Emma knew her son so well. He had something on his mind, something they needed to discuss.