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…  "

Breakfast and memories of the Order of the Yellow Tablet

The OYT..from left, Dave Ford, Steve Law, Greg Scott, me, Rudi Nollert.
Kenny Brown seated.

The Order of the Yellow Tablet.
Defunct now, but once there was a spot, if not Camelot, still a gathering of wits and some wisdom, a refuge from ridiculous demands from higher up...the chairs of the Liberal Arts College at UCO.
That came  to mind and discussion this morning as Dave Ford, the chair of the Sociology department, and I, former chair of Journalism and Mass Communication, had breakfast and traded memories.
The occasion? Dave is retiring, and Friday is his last day. He and I came to UCO the same year, 1990, and we became friends, each serving many years as departmental chairs.
We credit former Dean Tim Baughman with creating a strong chair's council, and after he left, we began gathering informally on the porch of then Political Science Chair Greg Scott, taking notes on yellow legal pads. Thus was formed the noble-named and august body of the Order of  the Yellow Tablet. While many faculty disapproved of Tim, we found him an inclusive leader who brought needed structure to the college, real influence and power to a cohesive group of chairs, and other benefits we still see.
We also gathered socially at our house one evening about 10 (hence this photo) years ago, when History Chair Kenny Brown was stepping down, to honor him. It include memories, jokes, Humanities chair Steve Law's homemade mead, and more.
Dave is the last of that group to serve as chair. Three are now retired. Modern Languages Chair Rudi Nollert is now an assistant dean, Steve Law is still professing medieval life, making mead, chain mail and more, and I am still here as a professor of journalism. Greg and his wife Jill have retired to Santa Fe, and Kenny and his wife Diane are retired here.
Here's a toast to the members, my friends, of the Order of the Yellow Tablet. It kept us sane, gave us an outlet for frustrations, and helped bond good friends and colleagues. Salud!

Oklahoma Icon--success and friendship, a professor's thoughts

Minute to Midnight, Icon--8 by 10 watercolor

This old prof has weathered the years and thousands of students, most of them  within sight of Old North, the first building of higher education in what is now Oklahoma at what is now the University of Central Oklahoma. 
In recent years I've begun painting it, usually in night time snow scenes for Christmas cards and a few other efforts. I don't know what drew it to me, but it became a recurring theme, and it has gradually dawned on me why.
The old building--vacant for years because of safety concerns--is now undergoing extensive renovation and could possibly be open this fall. It is an icon for education to generations of people in this state, but for me, it's more than that.
The blessings of my years at Central center on the friends I've made and the students I've encountered. I've said many times that "Our students make us look good."
As a prof, the greatest satisfaction comes when students  stay in touch after graduation, when they become friends--you've become a part of them, and they of you. It's gratifying when they surpass you in whatever they consider success and joy in living. And there are many who are just smarter and more talented than you.
So to me, Old North is an icon of success and friendship. 
That was brought home recently when one of those smarter, more talented graduates commissioned a watercolor of Old North to be framed with her degree. Thank you, Lauren Vargas of Boston.

God and professors--paradise without tenure, conversation

 (An earlier version appeared six years ago)

God:  "Welcome to Heaven. Sorry for the memorized formula speech, but we have to read you your rights. You've got your welcome packet, met the lawn crew, read the rules, signed consent and release of liability forms, signed up for health care insurance like Congressmen get, been assigned mansions just over the hilltop with silver fixtures and  streets of gold,  got pass keys to the stables of The Four Horsemen, know where the cafeteria is, gone through training to use the Help-Desk, got security clearance from IT, and have been issued always-clean-no-wrinkle white robes. Any questions?"

Professors: "When is fall break and what office hours do we have to keep?"

God: "Give Me a break. There is no work here,  no office hours. If you can sing, you can join the choir. For others, like Clark, we'll find something else to occupy your time, oops--no time up here either--to keep you busy."

Professors: "It seems we've filled out a lot of paperwork and useless forms."

God: "I figured you university types had lots of experience with that, so I wanted you to feel at home. Don't worry, the forms will soon change and you can do them over."

Professors: "How come the angels have different colored robes? We see some with gold, silver, bronze,  and ours are white?"

God: "The gold robes are for Full angels, silver for Associate angels, bronze for Assistant angels, and white for Lecturers."

Professors: "What? We're full professors. We don't even speak to lecturers."

God: "Up here, we have a real 'higher-ed' system. It's based on service, not snobbery."

Professors: "Service? We've all been on committees and task forces and faculty senates and  ..."

God: "Not that kind of time-wasting mediocrity. We don't have any time to waste. Literally. Up here, service means actually helping people."

Professors: "So what about research?"

God: "Just ask Me."

Professors: "Would you mind repeating that construct so we can dialog  with you as to the impact of this concept vis-a-vis our cognitive post-modern theses..."

God: "Stop it. No profanity up here."

Professors: "About research, God. It was more important that teaching or service down there, and we're specialists in analyzing minutiae so we can publish it in academic journals nobody  reads."

God: "I repeat, if you want to find something out, or do research, just ask Me. I know the answers, all of them. Quantum physics? Philosophy? The name of Shakespeare's dog? --Yes, Shakespeare had a dog. Never would have found out that would you?--Why Conan was really fired?  How the so-called Religious Right's synapses misfire in their brains and the chemical analysis of that?  Literature? Did you know there's a lower level of Hell that Dante forgot about? The one reserved for micro-managing  administrators and poor teachers.

"Name your discipline--such a silly term for knowledge--and I can give you all the answers, and the statistical calculations and chi-squares, immediately.Where do you think 'Rain Man' got his talent?  I am a know-it-all. No brag, just fact. Nope, no need for 'research' up here, sorry.

"And publishing? That is so 18th Century. Nobody reads those 'journals'  anyway, much less understands all that obtuse academic jargon. They just gather dust.  I'm not interested. Now if you've written something for Mad Magazine, I might be, or if you have an I-phone ap for Mad, cool."

Professors: "Then why are we here?"

God: "Good question. I wonder that Myself. Well, you all must be pretty good teachers. Your dossiers show you actually liked students--even Freshmen. You helped them learn,  weren't boring, didn't talk down to them, learned their names, mentored them, didn't mind being disagreed with, kept your doors open for them, weren't rude or arrogant, kept your office hours, were on time, were usually prepared, had a sense of humor and were secure in challenging them and being challenged."

Professors: "So how do we get to move up to Full Angel. What about 'shared governance' and when do we get tenure?"

God: "I've got a lot of people who need a lot of help. Lists everywhere. Get busy."

Professors: "Uh, about  faculty senate and tenure...."

God: "There ain't no faculty senate or tenure up here. I don't 'share governance.' That's why I'm God. Don't have to. Satan has a faculty senate--meets  and talks forever and never gets anything done...modeled after your systems."

Professors: "No tenure in heaven. Why we thought...."

God: "Ever hear of the fallen angels? No. Hmm, I thought you were educated. You did know Milton plagiarized in 'Paradise Lost,' didn't you? Check out his source, an old book among many I recommend. I've got it on a podcast if you want visuals. It might be apocalyptic for you.

Professors: "Godda...er, Youdammit, God. Tenure...why that guarantees our academic freedom...."

God: "MeDammit. Look, If you want tenure, you can go to Hell. Never have to leave. Never will."

Students learning--color in a gray world

Color in a gray world--5 /1/2 by 8 1/2 watercolor, 140 # d'Arches paper

"It's the first time the student has smiled this semester."
So said a colleague after I was a guest speaker in a class today.

• Other students asked several questions.
• Still another blurted out answers.
• I could see eyes light up.
• There were some laughs, some smiles.
• Genuine interest.
• Wanting to know more.
• Spontaneous conversation.
• Thinking.
• Excitement.
• Curiosity.

It's what teachers long for, trying to generate interest and participation from students who have been mind-numbed by mass factory rote learning and testing overloads that make learning boring and irrelevant. 
I know from conversations with friends and other colleagues, that these reactions, the students, are what keep us going, give us hope in the mind-numbing cookie-cutter administrative world of higher education.
I saw some of these reactions today, and some on good days when I do my job well in my classes. My colleague's comment told me what was inside today....Thus the watercolor.
Here is what I see when students are learning--color in a gray world.

"Mentor" moments

Two ads with my name in them came out this week in the Oklahoma City Gazette and Edmond Life & Leisure, and the honor for me was being considered a "mentor" by this former student and others. I knew they were scheduled, and we'd approved the ad content ahead of time, but the idea of being a mentor is still sinking in. I'm just a professor trying to do my job with passion, helping students to learn and to grab their versions of success.
The best students are not defined by grades.  They excel because they are serious about learning, because they have passion, because they come to class, because they have a sense of humor, because they take responsibility for their actions, because they're not afraid to make mistakes, because they have discipline to stick to  tasks, because they are not afraid of hard work, because they are curious, because they will take risks. 
Many of my best students are married, or are single parents, or are veterans, or hold more than one job. Most of them are paying their own way and most of them  commute in between all of the rest of life. They earn their educations.
To be considered a mentor to such people is an honor. Good students matter.

Notes on a graduation note under the door

The small envelope had been slipped under the door of my office when I walked in today. It was addressed to "Dr. Clark." I opened it, to find a note from a graduating student.
Saturday, I'll attend another UCO graduation, watching students march across the stage and have their names read, while parents and families and friends yell and clap. The students will smile, pose for photos, and walk briskly off stage, some holding their diploma covers high. All will be smiling. 

Out of the hundreds in that room, I will know about 50, like the note writer, as former students in my classes over the past four or five years. Most of them I know by name, and for a large portion, I know their personal stories and trials, and their hopes and plans for the future. 
Yes, I'll be wearing my "funny hat," and academic regalia, and the faculty will march in to the gym to "Pomp and circumstance," down the aisle between the already seated students. We'll take our chairs in front of them, and then, after the national anthem and a few introductions and short speeches, they'll file past. Many will catch my eye, and smile. I clap for my students when they do get their degrees, giving thumbs up when they see me.
After graduation, they'll gather out on the lawn, meeting family and friends, and a few will want their photos taken, and I'll meet parents, family, finances or spouses for a few. Then it will be over, but it's not, because many will stay in touch, some becoming friends. A few will graduate to calling me "Terry," while others, even decades later, still call me   "Dr. Clark." 
I get a few cards and presents every year from appreciative students. I don't think they know how much I appreciate them though.  I treasure the time with these students, their energy, their hopes, their futures,  and I'm enriched by the time I spend with them, helping them on their way. 
That's why teaching keeps you young,  even though their youth reminds you how old you are. 
To be a good teacher you have to like students, to see their potential, to allow their individuality, to not give up on them, and to be a demanding encourager. And when you succeed, the rewards are unexpected and treasures, like notes slipped under the door. 

Passion and professing and blogging

 Jarred awake by a student comment on a course evaluation, Coffee with Clark has perked up this month, gaining some off the highest number of readers in its almost four-year history.

If you don't know, professors are evaluated every semester by students at UCO, with a lofty sounding survey pronounced "spee," from the acronym, SPIE ("Student Perception of Instructional Effectiveness").

Students rank us on 13 questions,  rating us on a scale of 1 up to 4. We have standards in our department and college that we should meet--called a "Dashboard, " and most of the ratings should be in the mid threes. Most of mine are, or a little higher. On the back of the surveys, they're allowed to make comments.
Here are the things we're evaluated on:
      1. Instructor available outside of class 
      2. Syllabus covered course essentials
      3. Critical thinking encouraged
      4. Variety of instructional formats used 
      5. Instructional methods facilitated understanding
      6. Asking questions was encouraged
      7. Constructive answers given to questions
      8. Working in groups encouraged

      9. Writing required in this course 

      10. Timely notice of grading criteria 

      11. Instructor feedback helpful 

      12. Class time used well 

      13. High academic standards set by instructor.
My lowest rankings, not quite at 3.5 are 2, (because I vary from the syllabus); 8, (because my classes don't lend themselves to that all the time, though I'm working on that); and 10,  (because I'm not very punctual and hate grading).

Good professors pay attention to these things, looking for trends, trying to improve. I think you can throw out the very bad ones and gushy ones, other than letting them stroke your ego if you wish. There is no relation between grades and hardness on these ratings, but there is if you treat students badly or are egotistical or unprepared. And of course those faculty never pay attention to the ratings. I look for trends and scan the remarks they can give on the back of the "instrument" as we inflatingly call it, like almost everything else in higher ed.

But one of the comments on the back of my evaluations from last fall jarred me. The student used a word I couldn't ignore, or pass over: "Passionate."  You can see it on the item on this post. I try to instill passion in my students and teach with it, because I think it is the key to success in a increasingly mediocre world.
My blogging had withered like  our land in the drought in the fall, almost somnolent, hibernating with only a couple of posts a month.
So the fact that this blog is back from four months of meager postings, is due to a perceptive and honest student in my blogging class. I'm teaching Blogging for Journalists again, and, in my world, you have to be able to do what you teach to have any validity and impact on students. 
You can argue that these evaluations don't make much difference, and students often feel that way. And in some ways, for a tenured professor, they don't, if the professor doesn't care and just manages to get by. That's one of the faults of tenure, but that's another issue.
There's another evaluation that can really be brutal, and students wanting to know about a professor ahead of time, use this all over the country: Rate My Professors.com  ratemyprofessors.com
Plug in the state and school, and you can find how students view professors. Again, the bad professors ignore these comments, and the good ones probably look at them to boost egos. If you're really liked by students, they'll award you with a red chili pepper, as a "Hottie." They're not foolproof as I know of at least one poor professor who got students to rank them high to offset all the bad ones, or perhaps wrote the glowing ones him/herself. I don't have many ratings compared to those that teach large section classes, and I suspect poor professors get more ratings than most of us.
I think the best evaluations come when I ask students every semester how to improve the classes for future students. I get a lot of good ideas, and the students are direct. It seems to me that's what "passionate" is about.

Portraits of the prof, as an old man

It's interesting to me that the young'uns think this is cool (including cool step-daughter Alexx Reger) while the older ones want me to shave.  And Dave Rhea of  the Journal Record, "Fear the beard." I'd quote my friend and mentor Ben Blackstock of OPA, but it would be profane, starting with an "F "and concluding with 'em!"
So here they are, post-Alaska, post type A:

Speaking of Geezers

 “Latch on to the old geezers and sop up all you can from them.”

That’s my advice to my journalism students, and anyone else for that matter.

I’ve been fortunate to count five special people who had huge influences on my life and career as a teacher and journalist. What they had in common was a passion for their work, an interest in hard-working younger people, huge amounts of experience in their fields, a desire to keep learning with an eye on the future and change, and no sense of being old.

Every field of work and living has people like these, and I know you can think of some: a seamstress, a cook, an auto mechanic, a mother, a cattleman, a store owner, a piano player, a school teacher. Just by being around them you’d learn about their craft. They would take you under their wings and guide you with wisdom and experience; but they had enough confidence in you to let you try and fail until you found your own wings.

Mentor’s a big buzz word in education right now, but long ago I figured out if I really wanted to learn my craft, I would find these people and “sit at their feet,” as they used to say. But with my mentors, sitting was the last thing you could do--they were busy.


"Latch on to the old geezers..." 
    
My last mentor, Harry Heath of OSU, the dean of Oklahoma journalism, forgot more about journalism than I know. He was the embodiment of the journalist-scholar, with extensive experience in media, and a scholarly attitude to boot. Always thirsty for knowledge, he never quit writing; retirement was not in his vocabulary. From him I learned to love Oklahoma journalism and journalists.
    Before him was my partner in publishing, Donald J. Morrison of the Waurika News-Democrat. He was committed to his town and family newspaper in a way best described as “from the old school.” From him I learned that small weekly newspapers can accomplish great things--like The Corps of Engineers’ Waurika Lake. He gave up a plush public relations job to come back to the small town and run the family paper. He didn’t make as much, but he could say, “I’m my own man.” 
    Callaway Buckley, executive editor of the Duncan (OK) Banner, could chew you out and 15 minutes later praise you, because he was a stickler for serious work. From Cal, a consummate newsman, I learned a passion for timely, accurate news coverage.

Henry Africa didn’t have a degree but was in charge of the University of Iowa Linotype school, a field obsolete even in the early 1960s. Henry knew the past and future--teaching me--a graduate student--more about the entire process of journalism than anyone. I learned not to be wedded to technology--that technology always changes, and content is most important. Do things the right way, and learn to adapt.

Terrence Miller Clark, father and artist. He taught me to see beauty, and to apply its principles in everything I work at. He also , by osmosis really--by being around art and always trying to draw something, prepared me for my current passion, watercolor painting.

They’re all dead, but live on in the lives of others. I’m fortunate to be a disciple of these men. It’s sort of sad to think that I’m getting too old to have any more mentors--the years just sort of slipped by. I keep thinking that some day I’ll be described as such by some students, and, after 20 years in the business and 25 in college teaching, I guess  I am  getting to be an old geezer myself. One  former student already saucily addresses me as, "Hey Geezer."

Despite the fancy talk about mentors these days, there isn’t much practical instruction out there for journalism students or journalists. A tragedy in many newsrooms with high turnover  and staff cutbacks and "early retirements " is that there are few long-term news people with enough crust to help out new reporters. The same is true in higher education, or any field.


"You need 'new blood,' but  'old blood' too."

In every organization  and endeavor , you need new blood, but you need old blood too. Everybody  desperately needs old geezers with rich memories to pass on the wisdom and experience not found in books or employee manuals.

As I look out over the students this semester, I’ll tell them, if they want to be a success, they need to latch onto the old geezers--the more wrinkles they have, the more stories they can tell, the more experience and wisdom they have--they’ve traveled enough miles to become interesting.

I hope they’ll take that advice from this old geezer.

Geezer, God chat on top of Black Mesa

Old professor meets God while hiking on top of Black Mesa, Cimarron County, Oklahoma.

"Who are you?"
    "You can call me God, or Allah, or Yahweh or Odin or ...."
"I didn't expect you up here. And where's the long beard?"
     "You're lucky to meet me unexpectedly while you're still breathing. Most people meet me unexpectedly when they stop breathing. And I'm getting tired of the 'beard' thing. What gives you the idea I have a beard?"
"All the artists...."
    "Artists are great creative people, I like them, but I've not sat for one portrait. If you ask me, they took a little too much artistic license for that.  Beard? I've never shaved. Besides, your Scripture says I am a spirit, so what gender is that? A beard is just out of the question. Now what are you doing up here (as if I didn't know)?"

"Consider the yucca...."

    "Looking for beauty, and inspiration, and room to think."
"Have you considered the yucca? ( I know it's not like considering the lilies of the field, but hey, this is Black Mesa.)"
      "Well yes, I did when I brushed too close to it, and one of the spiny leaves struck my leg
"You should have been watching where you're going."
     "I was, but was looking ahead on the trail, wondering how much farther it was."
"So you missed the beauty of the stalk and flowers and the purpose-filled life of the leaves while wondering about the future?"
      "Hmm, never thought about that."
"I thought you said you came out here to think. Did you think about rattlesnakes? They're one of my best designs. Beautiful patterns, occupying areas others don't usually like. They keep those furry little varmints under control--I admit, I underestimated their reproduction ability."
      "Well, yes I did. It is too early for them, so I wasn't paying too much attention to the trail right under my feet."
"That's what's wrong with you Americans and humans--you look too far ahead, or you're always looking back  where you've been."
      "I only stopped at the rim to look back at the view."
"That's not what I meant. All this nostalgia stuff. You've been looking back ever since Moses wrote about the Seven Days. I'd hoped you'd 'evolved' since then (pardon the pun), but no, still hung up on how all this started. Get over it. It really doesn't matter. I'm here. You're here now.  Live now.
     "Hey, I'm a Texan and a Southerner, we grew up looking back."
"Exactly my point. Get over it. You read where you're made in my image? That means living now, not then, or sometime ahead. Present tense."
      "I was trying to do that up here."
"I'll admit you came to a good place to do that. I like high places."
     "Closer to heaven?"
"Stop it, no. I'm here. I know, I know, I made the low places too ( Great tune I put in Garth Brooks' head. and by the way, I have lots of friends like that--remember the 'eye of the camel' thing?), but they're for swamp people, and alligators, and such. Too much humidity for me. I like the free flowing wind and clear skies so I can see more of this masterpiece, especially before you people ruin it."
     "Hard to believe that up here in the middle of almost nowhere."
"Now you sound like that crackpot Senator Inhofe of yours. Honestly--no wait, that's wrong.  The evidence is everywhere, if you use the brain God (uh, Me) gave you. Just too many people--hmm, like those furry little varmints, and without natural predators, I underestimated your humans' love for copulation."
    "Most of us in Oklahoma don't use that word, but a much shorter one."
"I know, but it's much more sophisticated, which fits my personality."
    "So, do you have any more advice for me, other that watching where I put my feet?"
"I've had lots of advice for you people from The Beginning, and you mostly ignore it. Why do you ask now?"
   "I was trying to get you off politics. It's too pretty up here for that ugliness."
"By God (er, by Me), you're right. Enjoy your hike. Watch your present tense step, you might miss something important."

The crowd at Heaven's Bar

"So how long have you been bartending up here?"
"Seems like an eternity."

"There's quite a crowd coming in, and they all seem to crowd around Him, don't they?"
"He's the life of the party, great storyteller, brings smiles to everyone with his jokes."

"That's not the picture we got of Him on earth."
"Yeah, something got lost in the translations, for sure, plus all those preachers and their doom and gloom. Don't get me started."

"Besides Jesus, who's that other dark-skinned guy down there with him?"
"Which one?"
"With the head covering."
"Oh, that's Mohammed."
"They let him in here?"
"Yeah, and that bearded guy next to him? Brigham Young."
"What--Muslims and Mormons too?
"Why not?"
"Well, the churches and preachers...."
"Don't start that again. The  "P word" is off limits. Look, it's God's place, so he can invite who he wants."
"Doesn't that make some people uncomfortable?"
"They get over it when they've had a few and start having a good time--see the skinny guy in the white toga like thing?
"Yes."
"That's Gandhi. Next to him, smoking a cigar, looking like a bulldog? Churchill. Couldn't stand each other...now they're friends."

"Any journalists up here?"
"Very few. They're usually too skeptical to believe in a free happy hour. Takes them a while to come around, but once they get thirsty enough. See the woman in the red robe? That's Helen Thomas. God likes people who are honest enough to ask tough questions. She gave Peter fits at the gate."
"And the women next to her?
"That's Helen Keller--who can see now--and Joan of Arc,  Florence Nightingale, and Pat Nixon. There's a special place at God's bar for those who have suffered and helped much."

"Yeah, I noticed the bar gets longer as more people crowd in. Seems magic"
"It isn't magic. All those special effects of expanding walls and such in Harry Potter books? Where do you think Rowling dreamed that up?"

"She's not up here yet, is she?
"Not yet, but I have it on the highest authority she will be."
"But she was into magic and wizards and things."
"Don't you dare mention the P word again. She got millions of kids to read and have fun. She's coming."

"Speaking of that, I don't see many p...."
"Oh, they're up here, blending in, having a good time--the good ones who cared for people, comforted people, didn't get rich or write books or be on TV or have 'mega-churches'...lots of them out there, but they don't draw attention to themselves up here, any more than they did down there."

"What's that back room with the crowd in it? Looks like mostly women."
"It's for all those mothers and fathers who lost children in those stupid wars men started. Or just parents whose children died before them. He spends a lot of time in there. He knows what it's like to lose a son."

"What about politicians?"
"Very few--most of them sold their souls to the Devil. But Jimmy Carter made it, Abe Lincoln, Margaret Thatcher, Harry Truman, Teddy Roosevelt...but they're rare--tends to be the honest ones--honest with themselves and others, and could laugh at themselves."


"I see old Bob Illidge down there, drinking vodka and playing cribbage. Are their any other professors up here?

"We've got a few professors, as long as they're not conceited about their "publications" and self-important as "senior faculty" with their tenure. God isn't impressed with arcane publications with big words and footnotes that only a few others read. Publication? God pretty well wrote the Book(s). The professors who get in are the ones who were the really good teachers--honest, humble, helping students. And tenure? No tenure up here--look what happened to the "fallen" angels. They want tenure, God tells them to go to Hell."

"And Illidge? What a hoot he is. God actually lets him win at cribbage some times. Illidge says he's waiting on Clark. Said Clark had a surprise coming some day."

Jesus denied tenure--a conversation

A conversation between God and the professors of American "Higher Education."

God:  "What is this? My boy was denied tenure. Even the Jews called him "Rabbi," a universal--and I should know--term of respect for a good teacher."

Tenure committee: "Ur, God, there's more to getting tenure than just teaching."

God:  "I thought you were 'professors"?

"God, that's true, but actually, teaching isn't that big a part of getting tenure. In fact, a lot of bad teachers get tenure every year."

God: "How can that be"?

Tenure committee: "There are several reasons. One is that many places are afraid of being sued. Another is that some whacko will start shooting people. Another is that the professors don't have enough service and haven't done enough research and publication. Or they don't have a terminal degree."

God:  "Service! Excuse me, my boy excelled in service--he healed the sick, made the blind to see, calmed storms, created wine, fed thousands. I mean he literally walked on water to help people...."

Tenure committee: "Ur, God, that's wonderful, but helping people is not the kind of service that counts in "The Academy."

God: "Then what does?"

Tenure committee:  "Well, you know. Serving on committees that draft long reports or study campus issues. Or being elected to the faculty senate. Or working to improve the faculty handbook to assure some form of shared governance. Or getting grants from large corporate sponsors for research or buildings. Things like that."

God: "You mean sitting in long meetings, talking forever, forming other committees, never getting anything done? Sounds like Hell to me."

Tenure committee: "God, it makes us feel important."

God: "What about the students"?

Tenure committee: "Only junior faculty, lowly assistant professors and lecturers usually work on committees involving students. It's not all that critical, especially for senior faculty."

God: "Now what about this research and publication stuff?"

Tenure committee: "Professors must do research in their disciplines, discovering new knowledge that contributes the The Academy. The research must be original, supported by strong statistical analysis, and then published in a book or our refereed academic journals...."

God: "Wait a minute, wait a minute. My boy literally wrote an entire book--a best seller...."

Tenure committee: "Ur, God, frankly we saw his submission, but  it was ascribed to several other authors. He can't claim other people's work. And further, there were no footnotes nor statistical analysis. Its sources were   vague and only roughly qualitative at the most--nothing quantifiable. All that material would have to be attributed.  How could he honestly call it "New"? And really now, the "review of the literature" leading up to that book? Come on God--citing the entire Old Testament won't do. No footnotes to all those previous quotations, no verifiable research that can be cross checked. Even historians question its validity. And frankly, his dossier was pretty thin. Just three years of what he called 'field research' That wouldn't even qualify for a Master's thesis."

God: "His students called him Master, for God's, uh, My sake! Refereed? God kno... uh, Myself knows, I vouched for his work.You're telling me that quoting ME isn't a good enough source"?

Tenure committee: "God--er, Youdammit, we have to follow the standards of the faculty handbook to assure the reputation of The Academy and all our hard work through the years. And frankly, there are a lot of professors who seem to doubt your qualifications.
"And besides, there was his nasty incident in the Temple of throwing out the money changers. God, we can't afford to alienate corporate donors and stakeholders."

God: "Stakeholders? Stakeholders? My boy can tell you something about stakes!

"Speaking of that. This terminal degree nonsense. He certainly had a terminal degree--literally! And besides, you gave tenure to Muhammed--another of my favorites, a step-son really, even if he does call me 'Allah'"

Tenure committee: "Ur God, that was really the final straw . Muhammed has a law degree. It's only a J.D., sure, but it's close enough to a Ph.D., that we can count it. Your boy barely finished grade school."

God: "Pardon me--no, you can't do that--but you guys have a Hell of a system working for you."

God and professors--paradise without tenure

God:  "Welcome to Heaven. Sorry for the memorized formula speech, but we have to read you your rights. You've got your welcome packet, met the lawn crew, read the rules, signed consent and release of liability forms, signed up for health care insurance like Congressmen get, been assigned mansions just over the hilltop with silver fixtures and  streets of gold,  got pass keys to the stables of The Four Horsemen, know where the cafeteria is, gone through training to use the Help-Desk, got security clearance from IT, and have been issued always-clean-no-wrinkle white robes. Any questions?"

Professors: "When is fall break and what office hours do we have to keep?"

God: "Give Me a break. There is no work here,  no office hours. If you can sing, you can join the choir. For others, like Clark, we'll find something else to occupy your time, oops--no time up here either--to keep you busy."

Professors: "It seems we've filled out a lot of paperwork and useless forms."

God: "I figured you university types had lots of experience with that, so I wanted you to feel at home. Don't worry, the forms will soon change and you can do them over."

Professors: "How come the angels have different colored robes? We see some with gold, silver, bronze,  and ours are white?"

God: "The gold robes are for Full angels, silver for Associate angels, bronze for Assistant angels, and white for Lecturers."

Professors: "What? We're full professors. We don't even speak to lecturers."

God: "Up here, we have a real 'higher-ed' system. It's based on service, not snobbery."

Professors: "Service? We've all been on committees and task forces and faculty senates and  ..."

God: "Not that kind of time-wasting mediocrity. We don't have any time to waste. Literally. Up here, service means actually helping people."

Professors: "So what about research?"

God: "Just ask Me."

Professors: "Would you mind repeating that construct so we can dialog  with you as to the impact of this concept vis-a-vis our cognitive post-modern theses..."

God: "Stop it. No profanity up here."

Professors: "About research, God. It was more important that teaching or service down there, and we're specialists in analyzing minutiae so we can publish it in academic journals."

God: "I repeat, if you want to find something out, or do research, just ask Me. I know the answers, all of them. Quantum physics? Philosophy? The name of Shakespeare's dog? --Yes, Shakespeare had a dog. Never would have found out that would you?--Why Conan was really fired?  How the so-called Religious Right's synapses misfire in their brains and the chemical analysis of that?  Literature? Did you know there's a lower level of Hell that Dante forgot about? The one reserved for autocratic administrators and poor teachers.

"Name your discipline--such a silly term for knowledge--and I can give you all the answers, and the statistical calculations and chi-squares, immediately.Where do you think 'Rain Man' got his talent?  I am a know-it-all. No brag, just fact. Nope, no need for 'research' up here, sorry.

"And publishing? That is so 18th Century. Nobody reads those 'journals'  anyway, much less understands all that obtuse academic jargon. They just gather dust.  I'm not interested. Now if you've written something for Mad Magazine, I might be, or if you have an I-phone ap for Mad, cool."

Professors: "Then why are we here?"

God: "Good question. I wonder that Myself. Well, you all must be pretty good teachers. Your dossiers show you actually liked students--even Freshmen. You helped them learn,  weren't boring, didn't talk down to them, learned their names, mentored them, didn't mind being disagreed with, kept your doors open for them, weren't rude or arrogant, kept your office hours, were on time, were usually prepared, had a sense of humor and were secure in challenging them and being challenged."

Professors: "So how do we get to move up to Full Angel. What about 'shared governance' and when do we get tenure?"

God: "I've got a lot of people who need a lot of help. Lists everywhere. Get busy."

Professors: "Uh, about  faculty senate and tenure...."

God: "There ain't no faculty senate or tenure up here. I don't 'share governance.' That's why I'm God. Don't have to. Satan has a faculty senate--meets  and talks forever and never gets anything done...modeled after your systems."

Professors: "No tenure in heaven. Why we thought...."

God: "Ever hear of the fallen angels? No. Hmm, I thought you were educated. You did know Milton plagiarized in 'Paradise Lost,' didn't you? Check out his source, an old book among many I recommend. I've got it on a podcast if you want visuals. It might be apocalyptic for you.

Professors: "Godda...er, Youdammit, God. Tenure...why that guarantees our academic freedom...."

God: "MeDammit. Look, If you want tenure, you can go to Hell. Never have to leave. Never will."

Terry M. Clark who?

I always thought that my name might be fairly rare, but Google says otherwise.

I "googled" myself--something you couldn't do 10 years ago--at least in public without embarrassing yourself as people gawked and thought you were being rude or gross.

Instead of just me, I found a bunch of Terry M. Clarks, some with doctors degrees and professors, others with creativity galore, even more than one Terry Michael Clark.

Hmph. I understand being confused with the cute country and western singer Terri Clark. I had to quit wearing a white hat so people wouldn't get us confused.

And the search also shows the great jazz musician Clark Terry, and if I weren't Caucasian, people would confuse us too because of my terrific musical ability.

So, apparently the Terry M. Clark name carries a lot of creativity and intellectual ability. I guess I need to change my nmae huh?