The Booth is a transformational verb--chapter 2

From August, 2009

...the higher education metaphorical circle cribbage board..."

Chapter 2

And on the second day, after enduring students who couldn’t spell, fuming about students who thought assignments were optional, and ruminating about students who thought average work was excellent, the duo gathered in the afternoon near the hive of the Queen bee to recuperate. They dropped into their chairs, with greatest of sighs and moans, seeking to wash away the greasy taste of the lunch and mediocre students with the bitter dregs of that morning’s coffee.

Alas, even after much commiserating, and exchanging understanding jocularity with the Queen, still persisted the sourness in their mouths. Whereupon, the Clark, because as chair he was supposed to have great ideas, suggested another trip to the booth, even though he knew he would probably again lose the battle of the cribbage board, but he knew the frivolity and ferment of the drinks would offset it. Up perked the ears of other equally frustrated faculty members—especially the German complainer, the public relations princess, and Friar John, the photographic monk--who happened to come into the office to kill time and postpone grading papers or avoid attending meaningless committee meetings.

" ...a pedagogical concept had transformational  learning possibilities..."

"Booth?" they asked—because they had already heard intimations of immortality from the Illidge’s boasting, and the Queen’s complicity--and when once explained and located, they affirmed that such an pedagogical concept had transformational learning possibilities, because, lo, all were as thirsty as the Ancient Mariner for more than the dregs of everyday life. Whereas, it was only 3 p.m., and early perhaps for liquid refreshment, the Clark, because he was chair and was experienced in scheduling meetings and wished atonement for his sins, proposed a 4 p.m. rendezvous with reality, and the bosomy bartender. The frustrated trio immediately departed the hive, heading to their offices to finish grading, turn off computers, clear desks, or otherwise waste time.

Then it was that the Illidge said, in his great and superior wisdom, “It’s five o’clock somewhere. Let’s go.” And with much insult, he did challenge the Clark to another embarrassing loss on the higher ed metaphorical circular cribbage board. And lo, forth they did sally to the booth, and the evening’s debauchery began.

To be continued….

The booth, chapter 1, the story retold

Ye olde, and actual, cribbage board of "The Booth"

"…cribbage...a game of cards and counting and moving pegs in holes endlessly around a board…somewhat like teaching in college, and certainly like being an administrator, other than it was fun." 

From 2009, on the blog, The Booth, chapter 1, because these words have high import

Chapter 1

And on the first day of the booth, commencing at 4 p.m. one sunny fall day, which was unremarkable and unmemorable to the profs as the years passed, they joked and the Illidge taught the Clark how to play cribbage…a game of cards and counting and moving pegs in holes endlessly around a board…somewhat like teaching in college, and certainly like being an administrator, other than it was fun. As the afternoon unfolded, with only grading to be done for tomorrow, the two shared war stories. Under the watchful eye of the bosmy student-bartender however, they would not share their preferred refreshments of vodka on one hand, and rum and coke on the other, which helped them forget the frustrations and stresses of higher education.

Lo, the Illidge, since he knew the rules, soundly thrashed the Clark in the card games, though the cards, dealt repeatedly for two hours, perchance did get sticky from their glasses’ condensation circles.. And in spite of several games and matching drinks, after generous tips, it is well reported that both were able to drive home safely, vowing to return. 

Henceforth, though they knew it not, the one-sided results of the card games, as well as their exclusive occupation of the booth, would not always be so.

On the morrow, as was their habit, they arrived early in the less-than-august halls of the university, yea, before most academics and administrators had even heard alarm clocks. It was, as it were, an unsaid competition between them, to see who would be first to start the coffee. Whoever was second, even at 7 a.m.,  would be greeted with insults, as in “It’s nice you came to work this afternoon."

Then they would sit, in the pre-dawn darkness of the day, office lights not turned on, sipping coffee, dozing, sighing, thinking, occasionally exchanging words, but not constantly yammering as women, about issues and events of the day, but mainly enjoying the silence, the quiet. Until of course, the sun slowly came up, illuminating the aging clock tower of the university with its hands slowly, if ever ticking, as time slid by. Then the Queen bee of the department arrived, early as was her habit, unlocked the department office door, flipped on the lights, to the dismay of the optical pupils of the professors, and their outcry.

Lo, then the Illidge exclaimed to the fair Queen, even boasting, about his previous afternoon’s conquest of the Clark in cribbage. And the Clark could only cower that first day. And the Queen, with the exalted reputation of Dr. Sump, did nothing to assuage the stories, nor mitigate, nor even lessen them, much less deny them. So then the word of the Illidge spread, abetted by the Queen's royal reputation and humor, that there was this spot, this time when there was respite from campus control, from inane dithering, from the Clark’s type-A attitude—a veritable air-conditioned, and thoughtful oasis in the midst of Oklahoma aridity.

To be continued…

Yea verily--Tis time to retale the tale of "The Booth"--Prologue

End of another semester, and of a career for me, but not of "The Booth," now immortalized in the caricature of me in "my" retirement paper. 

Booth?

'Tis surely time, yea verily,  to retell the tale, for the benefit of the "young-uns" who do not know how "booth" became a verb, and while we still, every time we meet to imbibe, toast "To Bob," not with saddness but with much revelry and great memories and sayings.
Henceforth and forsooth, here is the beginning of 16 chapters telling that sacred tale, last retold told in 2014. (Note--the booth location twas once Bennigans and now is Old Chicago's--alas the booth plaque, which once hung on the wall of the original booth is no more.)

"Booth" is a verb, a story and reverie

"We need to booth," said a colleague the other day, and we knew what she meant. End of semester. Time to get together for a little adult beverage and toasts and stories and jokes and release from  higher education's tensions, rules and nonsense. 

Boothing, The Illidge, The Clark, cribbage and spirits

But "Booth" has a long history for us in our department, I'd guess about 14 years. I've told this story before on this blog, but realized it has been a decade since my friend Bob Illidge retired, and nine years since he died, most of us attending his funeral in Wichita, Kansas.
After all these years, at this week's booth, here was the first toast: "To Bob." Such is the power of a friendship and a gathering.
So, in his honor, here is the first of about 16 chapters in the story of "The Booth," first written in 2009. I'll post one each day.

From Aug. 9, 2009

"Booth is a verb...a love story, prologue"

Once upon a time long ago in a university department, two friends needed to get off campus one afternoon, to get away from the inanity of higher ed, from students who didn’t care, from stupid rules and useless meetings and endless paperwork, from administrators who didn’t care about teaching.
Major universities worth their salt have neighborhood pubs around them for the students, and select ones for the faculty. But not so for where they labored against ignorance, a commuter-oriented university in the midst of a rich religious-right Republican suburb of a government-welfare capital city in a somewhat backward, if friendly, state. And this was grievous indeed for the Irish Catholic, veteran advertising professor whose sense of humor offset the injustices of life. He knew he needed a “little something” to wash away another day. Forsooth, the younger professor and chairman, a recovering tee-totaling fundamentalist, had become an expert over the years in the nonsense of administration, and knew he also needed respite of a liquid kind to keep his sanity.
 

Yea verily, they escaped the halls of mediocrity one day, a cribbage board and cards in hand, and ventured down to a franchise bar and restaurant no more than a half-mile from the austere campus, and found in the back, a booth paneled in dark-stained wood, cushioned with fake green leather, and set off from the rest of the restaurant by fake dark greenery. Then they saw the bartender, a cheerful, bosomy young woman who both knew because she was a student, as with most of theirs, paying her way through college by working long hours in fooderies and drinkeries for cheap pay in hope of good tips.

"To be continued…  "

Booth is a verb--chapter 15, redux "-30-"

From Sept, 2009

A gospel of friendship and resilience

Chapter 15 

"'Let's Booth!"

"That was the cry one afternoon soon afterward, and the journalists did congregate once more that spring, where hung the plaque.

"'To Bob,' rang out to clinking glasses, and stories and tears did flow. But The Clark left The Cribbage board in the office, and one seat was vacant.

"Summer came and was a blur, but the following fall, The Clark thought about retrieving the plaque and displaying it in the department. It was not to be. Forsooth, he went to the restaurant, and found the business closed, and the plaque and The Booth locked up. He was sore vexed.

"The Booth is no more," he despaired to his colleagues, to their dismay and gnashing of teeth. This was the same time The Department merged with another on campus, doubling its size in faculty and students for the good of the students. Verily that stress also was a shock to the former journalists. They seemed to wander in a daze, trying to find who they were. They'd lost a friend, a Booth and a community in one fall.

There was no Booth to booth to.

"Eventually, they tried other gathering places in Edmond (There be Republicans there), but it was not the same. The was no Booth to booth to. Even some of their new colleagues from the other department joined them, and began hearing tales of The Illidge, who they knew by sight, but not by stories. "To Bob," was still the introductory toast, but it was not the same.

"One day The Clark noticed the old Booth location was being remodeled, and he hastened there, seeking The Plaque, only to be forbade to enter. He considered breaking and entering to rescue the artifact. The next day he tried again, describing the item he sought, and was successful in bringing it out, to be displayed in the office of the Queen Bee.

"But still there was no Booth to Booth to. The faculty tried the new restaurant at the old location for several weeks, but still it was not the same, and heavy with ghosts. Eventually, The Clark, because he got paid the big bucks to do such things as an administrator (forgive the profanity and pray for his soul), found a restaurant a mile away that had a booth.

"Boothing was back, and over the years the numbers of people attending swelled. Teetotalers, assistant deans, broadcasters and communication profs and others from the merged department frequented the location, usually on Thursdays, to joviality and the best of collegiality. All were invited and welcome.

"All newcomers heard the story of The Illidge. All toasted, 'To Bob.' All waitresses at the new Booth knew each of the Boothers and their drinks and food preferences, and always greeted them with great joy, because yea, verily, there weren't like other stuffy professors, and they did tip grandly. Talk was about everything, and rarely about work, but about people, and ideas, and yea, even griping seasoned by laughing about The Illidge, and how he was probably keeping Yahweh in stitches with his humor.

Where there is sunshine, someday there will be clouds.

"But where there is sunshine, there will someday be clouds, as the Psalmist should have written. One recent year, one insecure and bloated Recalcitrant who never attended The Booth did disapprove and complain to Mission Control, though the Booth was ecumenical and all were invited. Recalcitrant spoke with ignorance and arrogance about The Clark and his "cronies." Hence did also insecure and micro-managing Mission Control complain to The Clark that he was making departmental decisions in a 'bar.'

"The Clark was floored by the blasphemy, not about decisions--which were never made there because adult beverages wash away the inanity of academic decisions--but by disparaging The Illidge and The Booth. While it was a temporary setback, it only strengthened the bond of The Boothers, and, pun intended, 'got their Irish up,' assuring their belief in The Booth, a faculty retreat from thus proven inanity of higher education, from the 'vagaries and vicissitudes' of life.

"Yea verily and forsooth, today, Booth is an active verb. The plaque will soon be hanging on the wall when they Booth again."

-30-

P.S. Only journalists know the significance of the -30- and it carries a double meaning here.  But Yea Verily, the booth is no more dead than The Illidge. The Clark has found since initially writing those numbers, that the story continues. In the years since, Booth has moved to various locations, but it always starts with a toast, "To Bob." And the stories grow.

The story continues: An epilogue, a postscript, and two appendices (of sorts), and an afterword will follow.

Booth becomes a verb, chapter 7 redux

From August, 2009

A gospel of friendship continues

Chapter 7

The Clark and The Illidge, the Cribbage Board, The Booth, and The Plaque

--photo by The Brett

But the tears came not from The Illidge, who, unlike Job, never complained about his physical discomfort. He did complain, and oft, about students who couldn’t pass tests, or construct simple sentences, or show up, or work hard. He was unsettled, but not complaining, when he and The Clark went to the university president, The Politician With Only a Bachelor’s Degree, to ask for a promotion based on The Illidge’s masters degree, only to be summarily dismissed.
"But in The Booth, there was no weeping nor wailing nor gnashing of teeth. The Booth buddies only learned about his leukemia when he’d mention his trips to the doctor to check his blood levels, which were slowly changing. Still, his humor and fortitude inspired students and faculty—and those stories continue to this day, and shall shortly be revealed..

"Thus it was that his colleagues, in admiration and thanksgiving, pitched in and had a small plaque made, with walnut wood and green metal to match the colors of The Booth.

"And then The Clark and the others petitioned their bartenders, who talked to the managers, and convinced them, in view of their conviviality, large bar tabs and tips, to hang the plaque in The Booth. The Clark brought hammer and a nail, and one afternoon, did drive, with much audacity and firmness and joy, the nail into the paneled wall where they usually set, and did hang the aforesaid plaque, all without knowledge of The Illidge.
"Then it was that the faculty planned a dedication for an afternoon to surprise The Illidge, and invited the entire department, visitors from other departments, and even The Good Dean—He Who Dances With Penquins. Yea, they all attended, including the Queen Bee, and the plaque was unveiled to The Illidge’s honor and humility, among much raucous ramblings, laughter and “spirited” conversation.
"Forsooth, it was at about that time that The Booth became a verb, adding to its legend and influence with faculty and students in the department. Instead of, 'How about a Booth this afternoon?' the conversation evolved to 'Booth?' and then to 'Let’s Booth!' Eventually, it became 'Booth!' as in 'Charge.' And so it was that Booth became a verb, and always in active voice."

To be continued

Booth becomes a verb, chapter 5 redux

From August, 2009

Because  friends matter, a gospel by The Clark

Chapter 5

"The weeks and the seasons and the semesters slipped away, changing with the bartenders, from the bosomy beginning to other students seeking to stay in school by serving spirits, all of whom greeted the growing group at The Booth with enthusiasm because there they knew there was joviality and fun and tips, larger than usually came from professors and poverty.

"And in the fullness of time, The Clark became as competent at cribbage as The Illidge. Oft they arrived earlier than the others so they could see what cards fate had dealt them. Thus it was that when The Clark built a huge lead, he would hold forth with astounding and magnificent quotations, as in, 'Mama, open the gate cause the cows are coming home and Daddy is hungry,' or 'Bring in the laundry and pluck a goose, 'cause we’re gonna celebrate tonight.'

"Bring in the laundry and pluck a goose..."

"Such wisdom did oft seem to irritate The Illidge, and when in turn, he would manage to eke out victories, and yeah, even perchance rarely skunk The Clark, he would also hold forth, mocking with his own wisdom, as in, 'Light the candles Mother, the stars are shining tonight and we’ve got to skin a hog.' That their utterances were less than sophisticated never dawned on them, thanks to friendship and Stolys and Bushmills on the rocks. However by this time of the day, booth buddies began arriving and they made mockery of the misery of the day’s loser and the mentality of the day’s winner.

"And lo, when he did win, the next morning The Illidge would regale the Queen Bee with stories of his victories, usually by asking her, 'Ask Himself if the cows came home last night,' and thus the laughter was verily contagious from one day to the next. 

"Cards dealt by fate are not always winners"

"Alas, it was not till years later that The Clark would realize, in an epiphany to be explained later, the significance of the way The Illidge used the word 'Himself,' and it brought The Clark to tears, matching those that began to offset the laughter of The Booth, because the cards dealt by fate are not always winners. "

"Thus it was that The Booth was soon ordained officially, and slipped from being a noun to a verb, as The Illidge slipped from health to illness that would eventually match Job’s."

To be continued…

Booth is a verb...Interlude redux

From August, 2009

Booth is a verb, a love story...Interlude

"The Illidge, a sojourner from Kansas in a strange land (Oklahoma), over the years usually departed his temporary abode when weekly classes closed, and as was his wont, winded his way to Wichita, where awaited “his little sweet pea.”

"Dorothy may not have been there any more, but, lo, there were lots of Illidges--wife, children, grandchildren and great-grand ...children. Here it was in the family manse, a two-story castle with broad front porch and porch swing on a brick street under massive elm trees, that the Elisabeth waited for him, “pining away,” as Illidge would proclaim. There the Illidges found recourse and sustenance from the world amid family and friends and faith through the years. As the weekend neared its nadir, after Mass and family dinner, the illuminated Illidge would align his comfortable carriage south along the way-35 for about three hours till he reached his “very own apartment” in the Republican rendezvous known as Edmond.

"Thus it was that refreshed from R&R, the Illidge prepared for students, life, and more cribbage at the booth. How he came to sojourn in Oklahoma is a tail longer than a cat’s, and full of danger, drama, and injustice, as well as fortitude and fortune for those who would study under him. But that is yet another yarn to be told perchance later. Though what the Illidge experienced therein would lead him to expound forth, in the booth, on the “vagaries and vicissitudes” of life. And thus he did often, as the word of the Booth blossomed in the coming weeks.

"Few noticed at first, but the Booth, at some point over the weeks, became capitalized in their language. The first linguistic leap happened quickly... ."

To be continued...

Booth is a verb, with buddies, chapter 3

From August 2009

The booth reputation grows

Booth is a verb, chapter 3

"Retreating from the glaring sun, hot wind, and lukewarm students, the duo welcomed the air conditioned and dim-lighted pub and made their thirsty way to the booth at the back of the bar, where the bosomy bartender befriended both again, serving the first drinks before they had even settled into their places.

"They unfolded the cribbage board, dealt the cards, and by the time the ice-cubes clinked emptily in the glasses the first time, the Clark, in spite of being math-challenged, had pegged his way to his first victory. He thought his success was because of his superior skill and intelligence, though the Illidge ascribed it to luck and perhaps cheating. Years later, the Clark realized his success was probably a tribute to his seasoned experience in filling out multiple administrative forms that made no sense at all, but which justified a multitude of university administrator's jobs having little to do with students and teaching.

"And lo, the Clark reasoned that such a victory should be celebrated in style, so, in honor of his opponent the Illidge, and to irritate him even more, he switched from rum and coke to Irish whiskey. Whereupon, yeah, he won a second game, to the Illidge’s considerable consternation.

"At that opportune moment in the history of the universe, the trio of fellow travelers--the German Complainer, the Public Relations Princess, and Friar John the Monk--arrived, and made their way to the back, eyes adjusting to the dim light, and noses to the fine odor of spirits. 

"Whilst they settled in, the Clark, being a humble, quiet sort, did modestly manage to mention in minute detail his successes, making sure that the trio was properly impressed, including the bosomy bartender who arrived promptly to help assuage the newcomers’ thirsts. Whereupon the Illidge, chagrined and protesting ineffectually, tried to save face by being considerate of the others and declaring the game session up, while assuring his colleagues there would be another day.

"Then it was, for the next hour or so, the colleagues became booth buddies, and the bar tabs increased more incrementally than the Clark’s game scores. And the quintet of travelers, all former scribes of various periodicals, and their tongues watered with the spirits of the season, began telling war stories of their travails in the trenches of journalism. Here indeed it was that the Illidge shown mightily as the eldest and most experienced of the group. But the Friar also regaled the group with numerous yarns of yesteryear, while The German talked about the cheapest beers, and the Princess was rarely quiet. The longer the evening wore on, the louder loomed the laughter, the larger the potential tips accumulated for the busy bosomy bartender, and the more magnificent the meanderings of tales.

"Such conviviality was bound to attract attention, and behold, several stressed souls from other university departments, seeking refuge from a hot day, and putrid paperwork, began stopping by, exchanging pleasantries and laughs. They were amazed at the rare sight of faculty members from a single department engaged in collegiality and fun, rather than attending boring meetings or fussing endlessly about academic matters that mattered little, or publications nobody read. Thus it was, before the booth buddies departed that day, the seeds of the reputation of “the booth” had been firmly planted, and certainly well-watered. 

"So it was, that when the group would soon once again seek succor in its confines, their gospel of good will had begun to spread, with unforeseen results, including the soon famous “vagaries and vicissitudes.”

"To be continued...."

The booth, chapter 1, the story retold

Ye olde, and actual, cribbage board of "The Booth"

From five years ago, on the blog, The Booth, chapter 1, because these words have high import


Chapter 1
"And on the first day of the booth, commencing at 4 p.m. one sunny fall day, which was unremarkable and unmemorable to the profs as the years passed, they joked and the Illidge taught the Clark how to play cribbage…a game of cards and counting and moving pegs in holes endlessly around a board…somewhat like teaching in college, and certainly like being an administrator, other than it was fun. As the afternoon unfolded, with only grading to be done for tomorrow, the two shared war stories. Under the watchful eye of the bosmy student-bartender however, they would not share their preferred refreshments of vodka on one hand, and rum and coke on the other, which helped them forget the frustrations and stresses of higher education.
"Lo, the Illidge, since he knew the rules, soundly thrashed the Clark in the card games, though the cards, dealt repeatedly for two hours, perchance did get sticky from their glasses’ condensation circles.. And in spite of several games and matching drinks, after generous tips, it is well reported that both were able to drive home safely, vowing to return. Henceforth, though they knew it not, the one-sided results of the card games, as well as their exclusive occupation of the booth, would not always be so.
"On the morrow, as was their habit, they arrived early in the less-than-august halls of the university, yea, before most academics and administrators had even heard alarm clocks. It was, as it were, an unsaid competition between them, to see who would be first to start the coffee. Whoever was second would be greeted with insults, as in “It’s nice you came to work this afternoon.”
"Then they would sit, in the pre-dawn darkness of the day, office lights not turned on, sipping coffee, dozing, sighing, thinking, occasionally exchanging words, but not constantly yammering as women, about issues and events of the day, but mainly enjoying the silence, the quiet. Until of course, the sun slowly came up, illuminating the aging clock tower of the university with its hands slowly, if ever ticking, as time slid by. Then the Queen bee of the department arrived, early as was her habit, unlocked the department office door, flipped on the lights, to the dismay of the optical pupils of the professors, and their outcry.
"Lo, then the Illidge exclaimed to the fair Queen, even boasting, about his previous afternoon’s conquest of the Clark in cribbage. And the Clark could only cower that first day. And the Queen, with the exalted reputation of Dr. Sump, did nothing to assuage the stories, nor mitigate, nor even lessen them, much less deny them. So then the word of the Illidge spread, abetted by the Queen's royal reputation and humor, that there was this spot, this time when there was respite from campus control, from inane dithering, from the Clark’s type-A attitude—a veritable air-conditioned, and thoughtful oasis in the midst of Oklahoma aridity.
"To be continued…"

"Booth" is a verb, a story and reverie

"We need to booth," said a colleague the other day, and we knew what she meant. End of semester. Time to get together for a little adult beverage and toasts and stories and jokes and release from  higher education's tensions, rules and nonsense.
But "Booth" has a long history for us in our department, I'd guess about 14 years. I've told this story before on this blog, but realized it has been a decade since my friend Bob Illidge retired, and nine years since he died, most of us attending his funeral in Wichita, Kansas.
After all these years, at this week's booth, here was the first toast: "To Bob." Such is the power of a friendship and a gathering.
So, in his honor, here is the first of about 16 chapters in the story of "The Booth," first written in 2009. I'll post one each day.

From Aug. 9, 2009

"Booth is a verb...a love story, prologue"

"Once upon a time long ago in a university department, two friends needed to get off campus one afternoon, to get away from the inanity of higher ed, from students who didn’t care, from stupid rules and useless meetings and endless paperwork, from administrators who didn’t care about teaching.

"Major universities worth their salt have neighborhood pubs around them for the students, and select ones for the faculty. But not so for where they labored against ignorance, a commuter-oriented university in the midst of a rich religious-right Republican suburb of a government-welfare capital city in a somewhat backward, if friendly, state. And this was grievous indeed for the Irish Catholic, veteran advertising professor whose sense of humor offset the injustices of life. He knew he needed a “little something” to wash away another day. Forsooth, the younger professor and chairman, a recovering tee-totaling fundamentalist, had become an expert over the years in the nonsense of administration, and knew he also needed respite of a liquid kind to keep his sanity.

"Yeah verily, they escaped the halls of mediocrity one day, a cribbage board and cards in hand, and ventured down to a franchise bar and restaurant no more than a half-mile from the austere campus, and found in the back, a booth paneled in dark-stained wood, cushioned with fake green leather, and set off from the rest of the restaurant by fake dark greenery. Then they saw the bartender, a cheerful, bosomy young woman who both knew because she was a student, as with most of theirs, paying her way through college by working long hours in fooderies and drinkeries for cheap pay in hope of good tips.

"To be continued…  "