Braided Gold

by Glen Roylance

  “Go ahead, you’ve got my complete attention.”

  “It’s just a little ironic – he being a family solidarity expert and his daughter commits suicide. But the plot thickens. According to the chapter president, Jill – that’s the girl’s name – was expecting a baby. I mean, this is a single freshman whose family image is squeaky clean, and you can imagine how difficult her circumstances must have been. But the kicker is that she apparently had a secret abortion. Almost entirely secret, that is. Afterwards she was really depressed and shared the details with her roommate. From what the roommate said she was taking a class from Paul Kirkham and must have received counseling from him before getting the abortion.”

  Elizabeth’s reaction affirmed that she was far more than a passive listener in this conversation. “Wait a minute, Frank, are you telling me that this story has been corroborated and that the facts have been made public?”

  “It’s not quite like that. Jill’s roommate feels the obligation to keep all of this under wraps. She probably made some promises of confidentiality to Jill, but after the suicide she was really distraught and laid the whole thing out to the chapter president. I don’t know who else knows what really happened, but these things are bound to come out into the open sooner or later. I promised not to pass the story on to the editor of the Daily Aztec at present. But in time he’ll get the word. And then there is the San Diego Tribune. If they get so much as a whiff of the story, they’ll be onto it big time.

  “The bottom line is that Kirkham is going to have a world of trouble. As you know, he’s already got a reputation for beating on the drum to legalize abortion. He’s on the ‘bad list’ for a lot of people who are opposed to any change in abortion laws.”

  “Frank, do you believe what you have heard is completely accurate? Do you have any doubt that Paul may be involved in this mess?”

  “For me this involves a lot of guesswork, but my opinion is that it’s just a matter of time until he’ll be implicated.”

  Elizabeth paused before continuing, then spoke firmly, “I want you to keep me abreast of the circumstances there, Frank. All of this is far more important to me than you might think.”

  “I knew you’d want to know. And yes, I will keep you updated.”

  Leo Dykeman had been Chairman of the Psychology Department at San Diego State for nearly ten years. During this time he had earned a solid reputation for competence as an administrator. As an instructor he was exemplary, and as a researcher he was a credit to the University. Not only had Leo’s numerous papers and articles been published in national academic journals, but he was also a frequent speaker at convocations and symposia in various parts of the country where his voice was regarded as authoritative in behavioral research. Years of work in cognitive psychology had led him to publish a textbook on learning theory that had come to be highly touted among educational psychologists throughout the United States.

  This morning, as on most weekdays, Leo and his wife, Myrna, had breakfasted together while listening to the morning news, and then driven to the campus, which was a convenient three miles from their home. Myrna, a woman of academic distinction in her own right, held a professorship in the Sociology Department. It was Friday, which meant that Leo’s schedule would be unstructured following an early morning class. He typically spent Fridays with correspondence and writing projects. Such were Leo’s plans for the day as he greeted his secretary and settled in at his desk, mentally ticking off the tasks he needed to complete before meeting Myrna for lunch. He had his Dictaphone in hand and was about to commence work on a letter when his attention shifted to the man standing in his office doorway. Leo had established an “open door” policy with department colleagues that encouraged them to come to his office without an appointment when there were items they needed to discuss. He acknowledged this morning’s unexpected visitor graciously.

  “Come in, Rex. What brings you up here?”

  Responding to the invitation, the younger staff member seated himself in one of the chairs in front of Leo’s desk. Rex Hale’s office was a floor below Leo in the Life Sciences building. He was slight of build, chisel featured, and wiry in his quick bodily movements.

  “I was wondering if we might visit for a few minutes, Leo, unless this is not a good time.” Rex was always brisk and precise in his manner. There was a nasal quality in his high-pitched voice that was both distinctive and slightly annoying.

  “It’s just the right time,” said Leo warmly. “What’s on your mind?”

  “At the risk of sounding like a sore loser, I’d like to talk to you about Paul Kirkham.”

  “I assume you’re referring to the Ford Foundation project.”

  “I know we’ve covered all of this before, Leo, but I think there’s a real ethical problem here. This guy’s making big bucks from royalties that should really be turned over to the University.”

  “But you also know that he has put a lot of time into the project over and above his professional load here in the Department.”

  Rex had anticipated Leo’s reluctance to take a position against Paul Kirkham. Even though Leo made a great effort at being objective on most issues, Rex knew of his consistent partiality where Paul was involved. With some justification, Rex doubted that Paul would ever get his hands slapped for his frequent unprofessional activities as long as Leo was head of the Psychology Department.

  He was bolstered in his views with knowledge of some trivialities that had never come to the attention of other faculty members. He knew, for example, that Paul had been Leo’s student during his undergraduate years and that it was Leo who had urged Paul to major in psychology. He knew that Paul had become Leo’s protégé during those years – that Leo had lobbied with the Office of the President to bring Paul from the University of Michigan back to San Diego State at the conclusion of his graduate studies. Through a well-placed friend in the University’s administrative hierarchy, Rex also knew that when this matter reached the desk of President Michaelson there had been reluctance to offer such a young, inexperienced man a teaching post at San Diego State. After all, Paul was fresh out of graduate school, and his classroom experience had been limited to a teaching assistantship in Michigan. But Leo had laid his reputation on the line with an exceptionally strong appeal on Paul’s behalf. Ultimately an offer was extended.

  Paul’s rapid rise to prominence among the San Diego State faculty had undoubtedly pleased Leo, who likely perceived this turn of events as a vindication of his good judgment in bringing Paul to the University. What troubled Rex was Leo’s blindness to the fact that this prominence also involved an aura of intense controversy. Paul had rapidly become an unofficial advisor to the “Voice,” a sort of underground student newspaper that competed with the Daily Aztec. He was frequently quoted as he said things in the classroom and at unofficial student rallies that brought chagrin to the Psychology Department and embarrassment to the University generally. It appeared that Paul had adopted the agenda of the student left – an agenda whereby dissidents promoted ongoing campus unrest, ever widening the gap between this militant student subculture and the establishment. To Rex it seemed that Paul’s never- ending flirtations with strange ideas had allowed him to become a pied piper, playing what liberal thinking students wanted to hear; at the same time calling a controversial cadence they were eager to follow. But this extremely vocal student minority was still a minority. Rex felt that Paul had cheapened himself professionally by pandering to their marginal values and defending their nonconformist lifestyle.

  “It’s not just the monetary thing,” said Rex, attempting to frame the right justification for the biting criticism he was about to level against Paul, “There’s much more to it than that.”

  “Are you certain it’s not personal resentment?” said Leo, seizing the initiative in the conversation that was moving in a direction that was familiar to him. “Isn’t it possible that you resent the recognition and the money that has come to Paul, especially since the project was your idea
to begin with?”

  Rex was a little taken back by Leo’s directness, but he was not about to have his position relegated to one of petty jealousy. In his mind the issues involved were far more significant than that. “You’re reading me the wrong way, Leo. Oh, sure, I was miffed when the Ford grant ended up in Paul’s lap after all the work I’d put into the project. But what really galls me is that this department and the University itself are sponsoring him. He’s become something more than a staff member doing his job. He’s being turned into a high paid national celebrity. This man is becoming an educational icon when, in reality, he’s simply out of step with society at large. Leo, he’s a radical, unloading amoral garbage in the name of psychology, and the University promotes him as if he were some grand example of enlightened thought. I know how you feel about this issue of free speech, but don’t you think that those who teach in the name of the University have an obligation to legitimate scholarship? They ought to represent the traditional views of their disciplines. I don’t think a man has a right to glom onto radical ideas and then give them legitimacy in the classroom. Academic credentials don’t give a man license to dispense trash as course curriculum.”

  Suddenly Rex realized that Leo was grinning at him. “What, Leo? You think this is all a joke or something?”

  Leo chuckled and responded warmly, “No, Rex. It just occurs to me that I’m too small an audience for such a masterful speech. If the University ever mounts an inquisition against its renegade professors, I’ll recommend that you lead it.”

  Rex relaxed a little and smiled at himself. “You’re probably right. I’m too personally involved to be objective when it comes to Paul Kirkham. But it’s not just a matter of professional jealousy. I just feel that …”

  “Let me tell you the way I see the picture,” said Leo, interrupting Rex once again. “Both of you joined the University faculty the same year. Both of you are bright lights with impeccable credentials. That alone set the stage for competition between the two of you. You’re older than Paul by several years and had considerable teaching experience before coming here. That gave you ample reason to consider Paul your junior as you began to work side by side in this department. You’re both strong-minded. Neither of you could be passive very long on any significant issue. And when it comes to issues facing the department and the University in general, the two of you have a vastly different outlook. It seems to me that all of this lumped together makes conflict between the two of you inevitable.

  “I know that losing the Ford Foundation grant was a bitter pill for you, especially since the initial proposal was yours, with the final nod going to Paul. When he picked up where you had left off, none of us could have anticipated that his work would get national attention. I admit that his incredible success came at your expense, Rex. Given that turn of events, none of us could stroke your ego sufficiently to even the score between the two of you. But simply stated, I suspect that’s what you’d like to do – even the score, I mean. I don’t blame you for that, and if I were in your place I’d probably feel much the same as you do. But since I’m not in your shoes, I must do what both of you expect me to do, and that is to keep this spirit of competition from undermining the unity of the department. The field of psychology is certainly broad enough to allow for differing approaches and variant schools of thought. But more importantly, Rex, if universities across the country are boiling over with debate on hot issues, I don’t believe it’s appropriate to try to stifle that sort of thing here at San Diego State.”

  Rex acknowledged to himself that he was losing this round in the ring – not that Leo was unwilling to listen, but what did he really expect Leo to do? Paul was tenured at the University, and nothing short of significant ethical misconduct would be grounds for formal discipline. Still, it was important for him to have lodged his complaint. He knew that Leo was accurate in his assessment of the jealousy that was gnawing away at him. But he also knew that time would vindicate his appraisal of Paul – that this man was unfit for a position of trust in higher education. He leveled his gaze at Leo, and with that frankness Leo had encouraged in his open administrative style, Rex said something that was more prophetic than melodramatic. “I don’t really expect you to do anything, Leo. But a man in your position has to be careful who and what he defends.”

  Leo evaded the remark and changed the subject slightly. “Rex, do you think I’m showing favoritism to Paul?”

  “Some of the staff have made that observation.”

  “What kind of favoritism?”

  “The Shelter Island Conference, for one thing.”

  Leo shook his head wearily. “It always seems to come back to money and recognition.”

  “But Leo, there’s not much else that matters when the favors are passed out.”

  “You recall that I personally invited you to participate in the conference,” said Leo.

  “I’m not that hungry for exposure. Being invited to work in some perfunctory role under Paul’s direction falls short of what I would call a significant professional opportunity.”

  “I don’t mean to throw salt in an open wound, but you do know why Paul was selected to chair the conference, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I know. We’ve covered that subject before.” Rex looked at his watch and then back at Leo. It was time to draw this discussion to a close – for today, at least. On his way out the door Rex turned back and, with an obvious effort at being good natured, said sincerely, “You’re a good man, Leo – blind in one eye, but a good man. I appreciate being able to work under you. Thanks for listening.”

  On his way back to his office Rex rehearsed the incident both men had alluded to – an incident that had become the nightmare of his career. As a part of his graduate studies Rex had done an internship as a consultant with National Educational Television (N.E.T.), the production company that was leading a pioneering effort in producing cultural and educational programming for viewing by the general public. Many of the N.E.T. programs had been skillfully written and produced, providing an alternative to what some regarded as a tasteless fare of mindless nightly commercial broadcasting. Many of these “new genre” programs did well in the public arena, attracting funding from philanthropic organizations as well as broad-based businesses desirous of being identified with high quality programming even though there was no real opportunity for commercial advertising.

  It was during these days that Rex discovered something about being a psychologist. People attributed an almost mystic aura to them, accepting even their common-sense pronouncements as though they were profound or offered some peculiar insight into life and people in general. While all of this was a little amusing to Rex, he began to wonder if this reverence for psychologists might not justify a place in public television programming for a pop-psychology series – something that dealt with legitimate principles involving learning, motivation, personality development, and self-actualization. Properly written and presented, he believed that such a series could not only have popular appeal, but also make a significant contribution.

  In the years following his arrival at San Diego State, Rex dabbled with projects along these lines. Then, a few years into his teaching career, he launched into an earnest creative effort. After weeks of research and writing he presented a finished proposal to Leo, who was astonished at the amount of work Rex had done. Enthusiastically, Leo threw his influence behind the project, seeing it as a key to increased recognition of the San Diego State Psychology Department. Soon an outline of the proposal and some sample TV program scripts were presented to the Ford Foundation with a request for funding. The proposal envisioned twenty-four professionally produced programs to be distributed through N.E.T. and aired by its affiliates.

  The Foundation liked the idea but offered only limited funding. They asked that two prototype programs be initially produced for review. If these samples were satisfactory to both N.E.T. and the Foundation, then the balance of the requested funding would be provided. Such a grant, representing
several hundred thousand dollars, had the potential of showcasing San Diego State as the sponsoring institution. Both Rex and Leo were ecstatic. In the ensuing months Rex had approached the project with a fever pitch of energy, enthralled at the prospect of translating his ideas into an impressive finished product. Finally, studio production work commenced. As anticipated, Rex did the “on-camera” work, which is where the first real hurdle loomed up.

  Though the prototype was skillfully prepared and professional in its appearance, Rex simply lacked the spontaneity and magnetism expected of a television performer. His presentation was drab, lackluster, and stilted. Although his “on-camera” work didn’t want for the voice of authority or academic brilliance, there was a complete absence of personal charisma. Those who reviewed the two prototype programs were under-whelmed!

  Leo spoke frankly with Rex about the limitations of the programs, but was faithful to his earlier pledge of support, accompanying him to New York City for a screening at N.E.T. headquarters. The outcome was demoralizing for Rex. An official response to the preview came almost immediately. Following a private meeting in which N.E.T and Ford Foundation executives asked Leo to join them – they delivered a death knell to the project. Moreover, they indicated a determination to cancel any further funding. N.E.T. tactfully explained that it would no longer be able to provide production assistance in the studios of its San Diego affiliate. And although there was a veiled explanation, Leo had no difficulty discerning the real reason for the dissatisfaction.

  When he suggested that the “on-camera” portion of the program might be turned over to someone more adept, enthusiasm for the project miraculously revived. The final agreement was that funding would be made available for a re-taping of the prototype in which an alternative instructor was to be utilized. A final decision on the project was deferred until the new rendition could be previewed.