Booth is a Verb, Epilogue--redux

From 2009

"Can you write about a dead person?" asked a student in The Clark's feature writing class in January, 2009.

"No." The Clark rolled his eyes. The assignment was a profile, and the question came from an older student, with baseball cap on backwards, tattoos stretched over his arms. "How can you interview them?" he sarcastically asked.

Then, for some reason, The Clark also asked, "Who?"

"Bob Illidge."

The Clark is rarely without words, but this was one of them.

Finally, he asked "Why?"

"He's the reason I'm back in school and an advertising major," said the student.

The Clark warned him it would be very hard for The Clark to grade, and that he'd be extra hard on the grading. The student didn't blink, but smiled, accepting the challenge. "It's been almost four years since he died, and I'd like to do it."

Then The Clark starting spouting off stories and people to contact and some of the story of The Booth, much to the delight of the rest of the class, thankful to have him off on a tangent.

The student, completed the story, and it was printed that spring in The Vista.

Here it is:

By Justin Neely

“There was just something there that was special,” Elizabeth Illidge recalls. “People just liked him.”

            Robert J. Illidge, former UCO advertising professor, had an impact on individuals that continues today four years after his death. For those who knew him, thoughts of this gravelly voiced, grey haired man with a beard to match, make people smile and jump at the opportunity to talk about him.

            “He would bring life to the teachings he would deliver,” said Steven Schwartz, UCO alum and advertising major. Other returning advertising majors say that Illidge was the reason they chose advertising as a major and career.

            A breach of contract as the chairperson of Journalism at Wichita State led Illidge to UCO in 1992 at age 61.  His wife, Elizabeth, believed her husband’s age would make it difficult for him to find a job and was a factor during the hiring process at UCO.

            Dr. Terry Clark, professor and chairman of the Journalism Department of UCO, saw otherwise. “Bob had the experience that we valued,” Clark said. “His advertising and teaching experience were who we needed, not just a Ph.D.”

            This new position would require Illidge to drive 300 miles every week while his home and his wife of 39 years, better known to him as his “bride” or “sweet pea,” stayed in Wichita.            

            As a teacher, Illidge had a reputation for being strict and unforgiving, based on his three decades of advertising experience. Those who only heard of him, somehow feared him. As for the students he taught, many will tell you he played a strong role in why they’re in advertising today.

            “He really wanted students to succeed and learn,” said Elizabeth Illidge.

            At the beginning of every semester, Illidge would make one rule clear. Come to class and do not come late. As a result, if a student was late then they were also absent.             
   Illidge had little tolerance for lazy students who didn’t work and even less tolerance for those who were late. Schwartz remembers Illidge talking about a time when he was late for a presentation and was fired. Illidge knew the real world would not accept such behaviors.

            Schwartz became well aware of his seriousness. After being late one too many times to class, he was asked to leave and received an F for the semester. Schwartz apologized and retook Illidge the following semester.

            Today, Schwartz is the Director of Operations for Visual Image Advertising in Oklahoma City. He appreciates Illidge not only for his wisdom but also for his unique mannerisms, engaging personality and “little life lessons”.           

            When people speak of Illidge, one word comes up every time. Humor.           

            Jill Kelsey, professor and department intern coordinator, remembers Illidge using his dry sense of humor, excellent storytelling, and off the wall expressions to uplift and make anybody laugh.

            “He put his unique stamp on everything,” Kelsey said. For Illidge, it wasn’t just about unexpected life changes; it was about the “vicissitudes and vagaries of life” as he put it.

            “He was exactly who he was…life was fun for him,” said Terry Clark.

            Illidge’s humor was just a small part of who he was. For some, the impact he had on others came from his endearing personality, the respect he gave others, and the fact he never took himself too seriously. For others, it was his sense of perspective, honesty, and intelligence. However, for most it was all of the above and much more.

            Some of UCO journalism professors’ favorite memories of Illidge took place at the “the booth.” The booth was just that, at Bennigans Restaurant in Edmond, now Old Chicago. It’s a place Illidge and Clark would occasionally unwind in the afternoon, share stories, and play a few hands of a card game known as cribbage. Within time, the booth became a magnet,  a place for all UCO journalism faculty to unwind and share a few laughs.

            “The booth was the release of the day,” said Jill Kelsey. “It was collegiality at its best.”

            Illidge retired from UCO and teaching in 2004 after a 15-year-long battle with leukemia including three painful years of shingles, a disease caused by the reactivation of the chickenpox virus.

            “He never complained or felt sorry for himself,” said Clark. According to Mrs. Illidge, had it not been for Clark’s persistence to keep Illidge at UCO and encouragement, Illidge would have retired a few years earlier.

            “Keeping busy was a godsend,” said Elizabeth. Illidge would have three farewell parties prior to retirement. 

            During Illidge’s final weeks, his impact on others would prevail more than ever. UCO faculty he barely knew offered their sick leave to him.

            “Correspondence, letters, phone calls, and flowers from students was amazing,” said Elizabeth.

            Robert J. Illidge died at the age of 74 on April 1, 2005 in his hometown of Wichita. 

            Perhaps a big part of who Illidge was came from his own passions and values. His wife and five children came first and foremost. Illidge was a man of faith and valued loyalty and professionalism. Throughout his career, he remained passionate about advertising, teaching, and cared a great deal for young people.

            Illidge, born September 15, 1930, served time as a staff sergeant in the Korean War prior to receiving his Bachelor’s in Journalism in 1958 from the University of Missouri-Columbia. He later went on to work for several adverting agencies in the Kansas City and Wichita area as well as fulfilling his passion of teaching at numerous universities. He received his master’s in 1984 from Wichita State where he later became the chairperson for seven years.

            On his free time, he enjoyed listening to jazz music while hoping to emulate his jazz idols, Dave Brubeck and George Shearing, on his own piano.

            “Music was a big part of who is was,” said Mrs. Illidge. Illidge was also known to be a devoted Notre Dame and Missouri fan and was a “respectable golfer” as his wife put it.

            Today, while the original booth doesn’t exist, when UCO mass communication faculty get together in a new booth they always toast Bob Illidge. “Many departments have legends, Bob’s exceeded that,” said Clark. 

"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…  "

Booth is a verb--Unpublished chapter

(In honor of the Thursday end-of-semester Boothing, written in 2009)

"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 insecure and bloated Mission Control complain to The Clark that he was making departmental decisions in a "bar."

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. To read the epilogue, written by a student after Bob's death, go to the September post on the blog. 

Where "Booth" is a verb, "To Bob"

Yea, verily, a fair number of colleagues, some fair, some fairer than others, and some, like The Clark, not so fair, will "Booth" tomorrow, honoring the close of the semester.
For those of ye gentiles who may be ignorant of the ways, and the story of the booth and how booth is a verb, The Clark will tell you that the first toast of the evening will  be "To Bob," co-founder of "The Booth" in 2002. Friend, colleague, worthy cribbage opponent, and heart of the old Journalism Department, Bob Illidge died eight years ago, and is since toasted and remembered with laughter and stories and tears every time we "Booth," and often when we don't, as long as there is a nearby "adult beverage" as he would call it.

The official plaque of where Booth became a verb.

But forsooth, those few words begin not to tell the tale of the Booth and its influence. Four years ago, The Clark, exiled to the isle of the University Center, did by direct revelation, set down a witty, complete story of "The Booth is a verb, a love story." Thou canst read all if it, fifteen chapters plus prologue and epilogue and interludes on this blog, beginning August 9, 2009 and continuing every few days through September, 2009. The Clark is proud of this essential history and look at what is important in higher education, both because it helped Coffee with Clark win the Best Writing Award in Oklahoma blogs that year, and mainly because he loved doing it to honor his friend.Here's the link to the prologue:  http://clarkcoffee.blogspot.com/2009/08/booth-is-verba-love-story-prologue.html
The booth location tomorrow matters not, other than at Cafe Bravo in Oklahoma City, but it is only the latest in several, because time is fleeting as are bars, Since the "First Booth," the location of Boothing has wandered like the Israelites in the wilderness, as the colleagues sought refuge and salvation from  the wilderness of campus inanitiess like rubrics, points, assessment, syllabus police and other nonsense.
And so to to whet your appetite to perhaps peruse the entire Booth story, the next post is an hitherto unpublished fifteenth chapter, the conclusion except for the Epilogue.

Time and a dripping candle

Time drips away
like wax on a burning candle,
one layer on another,
building up
while shrinking.
Unpredictable patterns
and colors creating
living from dying.
When the flame is gone,
memories remain
like colorful stalactites
in a dry cavern
that once dripped
with water and life.

My friend Bob Illidge, who died 7 years ago, brought this Chianti to a dinner at our house. We toast him every time we're with friends, and the wine bottle-candle holder is a powerful piece of art in our house.

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."

Losing my right arm

"The Execution"

Dr. Roz Miller, Dr. Terry Clark, Dr. Mark Hanebutt, Dr. Sherry Sump

 I call this photo "The execution," taken a year ago outside Alvarado's Mexican Restaurant in Edmond. The Mass Communication Department had just bought me lunch, to celebrate the end of my 19 years as chair, and we were lining up for a group photo. Four of us were lined up waiting for the others, and my speech colleagues have taught me to look at the "non-verbal" communications. Well, the non-verbals speak loudly here, about people and their thoughts. I have no idea what I was thinking about, and I imagine new chair Roz is wondering what she's getting into, but thanks to Susan Clark for this candid shot.

Three office moves and other adjustments later, I'm having fun not having to evaluate professors or deal with student problems or attending time-wasting meetings or filling out unending forms. But I'm not prepared for the adjustment of losing my right arm, when Sherry Sump leaves next week.

 My right arm...

"Ah, you're a little early," I said more than 13 years ago.
"No I'm not. I'm right on time," she said.

Three of us were interviewing applicants for the secretary's job at the Journalism Department at UCO. As chair I could have made the decision myself, but I asked two faculty members, Sherri Massey and Bob Illidge, to interview with me. I respected their judgment and experience and wanted their help because it was such an important job for a growing, student-oriented department.

I looked at the schedule, and, for the first time of many in all the years since, found that Sherry Sump was correct.

She was the second applicant of the day. Right before her, a hot young 20-something had all the right answers and I was lusting before she walked out the door.
After Sherry's interview, the decision was unanimous. Bob Illidge, with 30 plus years experience in the advertising business, was adamant. "We need her experience," he said. Sherri Massey, turned off by hotsy-totsy, agreed. If we'd hired the young thing, we'd have had an office full of male students and faculty gathering like flies as she preened.

Sherry Sump had been an executive secretary for Exxon in Houston. She had a bachelor's degree from Brigham Young. She and her husband Gary had just moved here, where he worked for an oil company. She was precise and professional. And she wasn't afraid to correct me.

In my 19 years as chair of the department, Sherry Sump is the most important person I've ever hired, and my best hire.

We soon found out that she had a sense of humor to go with her efficient organizational skills. She endeared herself to the faculty because she treated us all equally. In fact, that became her trademark--a magnetism of sincere interest in people. She knew all the names of the physical plant staff, those hard-working people who keep any organization alive, yet who are often overlooked or ignored especially in the sometimes pompous, basically insecure world of professors so concerned about their status. As a result, when the department needed something done, we often got preferential treatment. Painters and custodians and everyone else were always welcome to come in on a cold day for coffee, or a piece of candy, or a donut. Hers was a first-name relationship with the staff.

Students always found a mother who would listen and try to help, with patience and a smile. As word of her retirement spread, more and more tributes came in from graduates, about how she helped them survive the red tape of the campus, whether it be enrollment or scheduling or something else.  Other secretaries came to rely on her for advice, and soon, she was one of the "Seven Dwarves," the liberal arts department secretaries. Of course, she was "Grumpy," and she enjoyed the humor.

To the chagrin of some academics on campus, we began calling her "Dr. Sump," thanks to Bob Illidge's dry humor. I almost bought her a desk name plate with that on it. To those who would protest, we'd say she did "hold a doctorate." Every night. Her husband Gary has a Ph.D. in Engineering, and she holds him every night.

She always spoke her mind, which to me was an asset, though some  on campus didn't agree because of her impatience with micromanagement or inane policies or incompetence or unfair pay in administration. Such honesty is often not appreciated by the politically correct, glacially-moving world of higher ed. In the Journalism Department, we loved it.

Not that she and I wouldn't fuss, especially the longer we worked together and became a team. We understood each other. She was always respectful, calling me, "Doctor Clark." She always asked for time off ahead of time. She always followed procedures. She was a meticulous bookkeeper. I'd ask her for an estimate on budget balances, and she wouldn't give it. She'd look it up and give me the dollars and cents.

But we could joke at each other out of mutual respect, throwing good-natured jibes at each other, typical of what I would call "Newsroom humor." One day we were fussing, rather loudly, and a student came in the office with a concerned look. "Are you two married?" she asked.

We laughed and it stuck, Sherry becoming my "other wife." Susan picked up on it, especially when I'd tell her about talking to Sherry about problems in the department or other everyday events. We could talk about anything, and Susan would ask, "Well, what did your other wife say?"

Bob Illidge and I would get to work early, at least by 7 a.m. and sit there in the darkness of the office in the winter months, drinking coffee, sighing and talking. We agreed...she's the best secretary we've ever known, and Bob especially had worked with many. Many times she'd show up early too, and sit and talk with us. I started calling her "The World's Best Secretary," until we merged departments and Charlotte Waddle became our colleague and that's just not fair to another professional.

But I also called her my right arm, and she still is. Every leader needs people like Sherry Sump around. They become part of you, because leadership is not bossing or micromanaging, but  helping other people to succeed, and knowing when and how to make decisions. To do that you need people to trust, other voices, and you need big ears. Literally,  I have big ears, and I'm a reporter, so I have built-in reliable sources, and I know how to read people and find stuff out. But Sherry has been a key part of those ears. She was not a "snitch," but many times she'd say something like,  "You might check...," or "did you know there's a problem...." Her guidance was always to help people and the department. And as a leader, you need someone with the integrity and self-security to tell you when you're wrong. You don't need a cheerleader or "Yes" person.

I attribute a lot of this to her western upbringing, growing up on the Western Slope of Colorado. Those people tend to be self-sufficient, competent, and working-people oriented. I also told her once that if all I knew about the Mormon religion was Gary and Sherry Sump, I could become a member. They don't have a perfect life, with three children and aging parents, but those problems have helped keep them from being judgmental of others, accepting people for who they are.

About the only drawback to her success was her success, because I couldn't get work done  with all the traffic outside my non-sound-proof door.  She was right outside my office, and she was such a magnet for people to come in and talk to. Students, faculty and staff would all come in, to sit and visit, or bring  problems to, and then the phone would ring. I could hear every word. Shutting the door didn't help, and it was sometimes impossible to get work done. The office of the Journalism Department became a popular destination, thanks to her, and that builds a sense of community and success and professionalism.

Her professionalism extended beyond the department, across the state, as she helped me with the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame. She has been the contact for most media people in the state, and they respect and love her as much as our students and UCO staff. I announced she was retiring June 30 to the 250 people from around the state attending the April Hall of Fame ceremony. Many publishers and others came up and asked," what are you going to do without her?"

I don't know.

Booth is a verb, chapter 1

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

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 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…