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."

Letter to Bob from the Old World Booth, Redux

Letter to Bob

"Here's to Bob!" From left, Himself, Mark Zimmerman, Susan Clark, Mark Hanebutt, Gwen Olivier, Bill Hickman, Christy Vincent

Old World, April 24, 2010

Well old friend, sorry I haven't written sooner. Fact is, writing just slipped my mind, but I was browsing through a Charlie Russell book today, "Trails Plowed Under," written by the artist about a year before his death. The Introduction, written by Will Rogers in 1926, was a letter to Charlie in heaven, and I figured, what a great idea. And he started it out, "Old World."

But of course, it ain't as though we've forgotten you, you know that from the many times you've heard us toast "To Bob," in the booth and elsewhere in the five years since you've be assigned to keeping God in stitches. I figure, given the state of the world, he needs you, maybe more than us, but even if not, he does get to pull rank.

I hope you got to see and hear our party for you on our back porch earlier this month. We had a good crowd, and I'm posting the photos with this letter on my blog, just in case. I know you don't understand this blogging stuff--I remember you having trouble with email. Just think of it as a sort of digital diary and newspaper column. But yes, unlike your lead pencil, it does crash from time to time.

Anyway, in case you missed it, I  thought I'd catch you up on things down here since you left. Frankly, the place has gone steadily downhill, most of which is my fault--actually I'd like to blame you because you weren't around to set me straight. Yep, I got this wild-haired idea to merge with the communication department--I know, I can see you rolling your eyes. We needed to get together with the broadcast folks, but the communication people came with the deal. They're good people, but as you said, they were more "touchy-feely" people than us. They do think differently.

That was five years ago, and as a testament to my foolhardiness, I got elected chair again of the whole outfit--22 full time faculty and as many part timers--a huge department--meaning of course, more problems. Then of course, not being able to get my senses straight by playing you cribbage at least once a week, I got bogged down and lost a couple of administrative battles. The result is that I'm no longer chair, having been given the job of running the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame, which I do enjoy, cause I get to work with journalists and don't have to worry about all those personnel problems, and the endless administrative meetings that waste so much time, but which academics just love. But I've moved out of the building and spend less time with students.

And now, the worst news I can tell you...Sherry Sump is retiring in a couple of months.  I can tell by your silence how stunned you are. You and I used to get to the office at 7 a.m. and sit in the darkness and sign and enjoy silence and talk, and we'd often talk about what a great secretary she is...we'd agree she's the best we'd known.

So the department has changed radically since you've left, and when she's gone, it'll sure never have the same character and spirit.  Students, alumni, faculty, everybody likes Sherry. She's been here almost 15 years now--can you believe it? We joke that she's my "other wife," because we're so much alike and I rely on her so much. We were arguing with each other one day--you know, good natured disagreement like all journalists have...and a student overheard it, stuck his head in the door, and asked, "Are you two married?" Ain't that a hoot?

You can be glad you're gone, because there's more and more official nonsense and paperwork--I swear they're trying to make us all clones--and there have been no real raises since you left.Your "Sweet Pea" and family have been down to visit a couple of times, and we keep wanting to get up and visit. I hear the redbud tree we bought is doing well in your front yard.

We think of you often, almost every day, and you'd be pleased to know it always brings a smile.. Went to a NCAA basketball tournament here with son Travis--he says hello, by the way--and Kansas State was playing. Immediately, I thought of you referring to it as "Silo U."

On personal news, I've got six great grandchildren now, and I hear from Liz that your family  and grandkids are doing great things, including being at Notre Dame. Those are the important things, aren't they?

At any rate, at our party for you, I dug out the old cribbage board, your ugly green coffee cup and a photo of you and I playing cribbage in the "Booth." They were on our back porch during the party, and you were toasted many times. I used good Irish Catholic whiskey, Jameson, for the toasts. The booth has moved about a mile south of where we played, but the plaque is hanging there, and we visit it almost every week. But I haven't played cribbage since our last game.

There's some people up there I'd like you to look up and tell them I said "Hello." There's a one legged artist up there, probably doing portraits and landscapes, name of Terrence. Tell him you knew his oldest son, and  that son has taken up watercolors and is pretty good--not as good as his dad, but good enough that a Clark watercolor hangs in the Illidge manse in Wichita. And my Mom is up there too, a tall slender lady with a great sense of humor, and all her brothers and sisters. They're probably located in the East Texas section. Amble over and tell Mom how much I miss her, and share some stories.

Well, I'm about out of stuff to write. I look forward to sitting down with you for another cribbage game, but I'm not in any big hurry to do so, just yet. We think of you often and miss you. Take care of God--he needs all the good spirits he can get these days.

"Himself"

Conversation at Heaven's bar

"So you're open all the time?"
"You are new, aren't you? There is no time up here...we're just open."

"Happy hour doesn't seem too busy."
"Doesn't matter...we get a crowd when between the angels' shift changes."
"So that's when they hurry over?"
"Nobody is in a hurry up here. We've got eternity."

"Who's the big guy down at the other end?"
"I Am."
"Huh?"
"Him."
"Who?"
"You know, The Big Guy."
"You mean, God?"
"That's just one of his names."

"Where's the long white beard?"
"Why would he have a long white beard?
"Well, all the pictures...."
"You know anyone who's seen God and lived to tell about it?"
"Well, I know some preachers who claim ...."
"Preachers! How would they know what he looks like when they can't even get along with each other?"
"So why not a beard?"
"Does he look old to you?"
"No, but...."
"You keep forgetting, there isn't any time up here, so how can you get old?"

"Then why is he frowning?"
"Probably more of those preachers claiming exclusive knowledge of His will...you know, like judging who's a Christian or not, or who's a Muslim or Jew or not, or telling people how God wants them to vote, or getting rich instead of caring for the poor. Stuff like that."
"So what does He do about it?"
"Where do you think the term 'Happy Hour' came from, anyway? He invented it, because he's like anyone else, he needs to get the universe off his mind."

"Does He have a special drink?"
"Yes, his favorite cocktail is called "The Holy Spirit."
"That sounds blasphemous."
"You accusing Him of blaspheming Himself?"
"Uh no, it's just that..."
"Where do you think He got the idea to name The Holy Spirit?
"Did you make it for Him?"
"No, He created it Himself."

"Uh, who's the skinny Jew next to Him?"
"You are really dense. Think a minute."

"You mean Jesus?"
"That's one of his names, yes."
"But sitting at a bar? Drinking? Those churches and preachers claim drinking comes from the Devil...."
"There you go again. Preachers! Why do they spend so much time trying to make people unhappy? That's the Devil's work. The Big Guy likes people to be happy, especially after a hard day, or century or whatever."
"What's Jesus drink?"
"For some reason, he usually sticks to red wine. Told me once it brought back memories of fun times. Makes him smile a lot. And see, The Big Guy is loosening up, smiling, joking with Jesus and those poor people down there. That's why we always have happy hour."

"I need another drink. After all those years in a dry state, this is more than I can say 'grace' over."
"That's the spirit."

Conversation with God, on arriving in Heaven

God: "Ok, 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 a mansion just over the hilltop with silver fixtures and a street of gold,  got a pass key 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 an always-clean-no-wrinkle white robe. Any questions?"

Clark: "Well, it's been a long trip and I'm a little thirsty."

God: "We've got fountains free everywhere, including one from under my throne...."

Clark: "I mean I was sort of wondering where I might get, you know, a real drink?"

God: "You mean a bar?"

Clark:  "Yes, except not one of those Oklahoma ones with 3.2 beer." 

God: "Me Dammit! You mean they still enforce that?"

Clark: "Unfortunately. The Religious Right and the Republicans won't bend."

God: "Of course not. They work for the wrong Guy."

Clark: "Uh, God, about that...."

God:  "Oh yeah, a drink. Well we had to open one for all those Irish Catholics. They thought it was part of the Contract, and wouldn't sign without it. Where'd they get that red hair and temper? Never mind...just remembered."

Clark: "Uh, you haven't heard of my best friend Bob Illidge have you?"

God: "Illidge? Illidge! If I ever hear of the 'vagaries and vicissitudes' again, I think I'll die...oh, that's not possible, but you know what I mean."

Clark: "Do you know where I can find him?"

God:  "He's probably down at the bar playing cribbage waiting for you to show up."

Clark: "Where is that bar? What's its name?"

God: "I named it myself. 'Heavenly Hootch.' Got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Clark: "Just don't try writing any headlines, please. Now where?"

God:  "Right down the street, next to where the choir is practicing. Actually, I prefer the choir stop in there first. It helps them get 'in the spirit,' if you know what I mean"

Clark: "Great. Uh, God, when does Happy Hour start?"

God: "To quote Illidge, 'It must be 5 o'clock somewhere.' Clark, didn't you read the rules? There's no time up here. so there can't be a Happy Hour. All hours are happy."

Clark: "Well I'll be damned. Hell of a place you got here."

God:  "Don't push it.  Texans, journalists and professors who think they're God, aren't,  and don't get special treatment up here. Not even tenure. You were lucky to get in. I had doubts but a couple of cute red-headed angels convinced me. Satan likes you guys almost as much as Republicans, Okies and OU fans."