The Oral
Ralph Moore
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Ralph Moore
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part, in any form, through any medium.
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CHAPTER 1
I’m starting this off with an introduction. I do this to explain why I’m doing this book. I never intended for the story to ever get out. I thought that what I had written for my master’s degree thesis should remain unpublished and even unknown. It was a biographical piece and the subject of the thesis is dead and the story I uncovered should remain untold. Let the dead lie buried and their bad deeds forgotten. But, should some word of the thesis be discovered, I write this introduction so people can read my thesis, if they so desire, and see the true story it exposes and see why I wanted it to be untold. And, to fill a “just in case” necessity, following this is the story of my thesis. It should be read if the thesis is to be read, and please take the story for what it is meant to be.
* * *
There I was, Kenneth Harris, at the end of the third and last quarter of my first year in graduate school. I had completed my classes. Others were now taking exams. My courses this quarter had no exams, just papers, and I finished them well before the end of classes. My degree, the M.A. in Liberal Arts and Sciences, was in the English department and my focus was on literature. As papers for my last three classes I did an essay, a biography, and a short story.
So I finished my class work. Now came the hard part: the thesis. I still had a good two weeks before the summer term began, time enough to get a thesis proposal written. But I had to get to work on it without wasting much time.
I was attending a small private college in Boston, just inside the city limits. It was a good school, with a great faculty and a good offering of what was a kind of “establishment” education. There were some students there on scholarships, but the majority had money or came from families that could well afford the tuition and the cost of living in the Boston area. I don’t think anyone could carry the studies and work for his living at the same time.
I didn’t have money, but my family did. I came from the Chicago area where my father had a manufacturing company making electric motors, some large and many small. I had four uncles who had worked there when it was getting started but who now had their own businesses. Theirs are not in manufacturing. One has a big firm in finance and I am his favorite nephew. One is an M.D.; one is a college professor; and the fourth, the richest, is a V.P. in a large conglomerate. My father paid my college tuition. My favorite uncle paid my graduate tuition. On top of this, when I started college, my father gave me a trust fund which pays me regularly a basic living allowance. He also gave me the freedom to discover for myself what I wanted to do with my life.
I’d known for quite a while what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to have fun, and I wanted to be a writer. The art and craft of writing was what I studied in college. Now I was doing what I thought was the necessary thing for my chosen career by trying to get the M.A. degree in graduate school. When I get the M.A., I can devote my time to having fun and, if I can, to writing about life. I think that would make for an enjoyable as well as productive life, a good employment of the wealth my family had worked so hard for and so generously provided me with.
The school had some good housing possibilities for the many students who came from distant homes. They had two large old houses converted into residence halls, one for men and one for women. They also had a few old apartment buildings in different locations but close to the campus. I shared one of the apartments. I lived there since my freshman year. I had one roommate that year and another in my sophomore year. They were good guys, from good families, and I got along well with them, but they left the school, each for some personal reason. My roommate who came in my junior year was more secure in knowing what he wanted to do, and he stayed through the rest of my undergraduate studies, and he was still there through my first year of graduate studies and planned on staying there through his senior year. I planned on finishing my M.A. in the summer following my first year of graduate classes. My roommate’s name was Ian MacDonald, and he was a good man and a good friend.
Well, I’d finished my morning visit to the campus, checking my results for the courses I’d taken for my last quarter of classes. I faired rather well: three A’s. One couldn’t really ask for more. And how lucky I was that, there being few students enrolled in the courses and the required papers completed and discussed in the classes before the end of the quarter, the professors had been good enough to quickly determine the final grades and to post them on the bulletin boards outside their respective offices. Now I was free to do what I wanted for the rest of the exam week—and for the following week. True, I had to present my thesis proposal before the summer quarter and get it approved. And, of course, I had to write the proposal. After the topic of the thesis was approved, I would be able to start on its research and writing. But in spite of all that, I could, for today at least, afford to take a small break from thinking of academic problems.
I decided to go for a coffee, then to the apartment to clean up things for the coming thesis work. My roommate, Ian, had an exam at ten and would probably be done and back to the apartment before noon. We could talk a bit about his expected exam results and then decide on where to go for some lunch.
So, first, to Mario’s. Fortunately it was close to the building which housed the English department, just a block off campus itself.
I turned to cross the grass, a short cut to the sidewalk along the street in the direction in which I was going, and quickly arrived at Mario’s. It was just about ten in the morning and there were a number of people hanging about its entrance door. I walked through them and in and was surprised to see the place packed. Mario’s was a rather large place, occupying what used to be three retail shops. The part on the east, facing south, on the corner with a side street, had been rebuilt so that in the summer the windows above a low brick wall, about three-foot high, could be removed to provide open air for what acted as an outdoor café. The windows could be quickly and easily replaced at night or in the event of rain, and it would then be as it is most of the year. That day it was still the regular Mario’s.
I walked around and through the tabled portion and saw and greeted a number of friends, but there were no free chairs. A lot of people were standing with their coffees, talking to seated friends. This was all too much for me so I left and headed for my apartment.
I got to the apartment and began to organize my work. I had a system which I employed each year at the end of the last school term, at the beginning of summer, before going home to Chicago. This year I planned to do the summer term. With any luck, that would be my last term of school if I could finish the M.A. thesis during that term. Then it would just be doing the required paper work and document processing to end my formal education. I definitely did not want to go for a Ph.D. I wanted to get on with becoming a writer and living the life of my ambitions.
My method of getting ready for the next stage in my life was somewhat draconian. I set out two precepts for my task. First, “You can’t take it with you.” Second, “It’s stupid to try to acquire things.” These would guide me and also strengthen me.
First, I would pull out all of my papers, of whatever type. Then I would go through them one after another and throw out whatever I felt was not worth keeping or of no future use. That first pass completed, I would do it again with whatever remained. And so I would continue until I got to a pile of papers, notes, and momentos that were of value, or still of use for my next life stage, or were such that I would not let anyone take whatever it was from me without a fight. I applied the same procedure to my books. I was stuck with what remained, in paper or book, and I put all of that into some safe storage area or in a proper place in my filing cabinet or on my book shelves. I applied myself with no mercy, and I got rid of about eighty percent of my books and papers and could then begin acquiring books and papers for my next life stage: in this case that meant things for doing my thesis—nothing more.
I finished collecting the trash for throwing out or giving away—usually to the Salvation Army—just before 11:30. I washed up in the bathroom and changed to some decent clothes for going out to lunch.
At twenty to twelve Ian came through the door. Ian looked like what I thought was a typical Scot. He was very tall, about six one—actually six one and a half. He was well built, with broad shoulders and good muscles. He had big bones in his arms and legs, but his limbs were not large or heavy. He was slim overall, not muscle-bound, and not on any part of him could one see fat. He was very athletic, always ready to join in a game of some kind. But he didn’t participate in school athletics, at least not games of our school with other schools. There were students who did that, and the school was insistent on having only students (no professionals) on the teams. Ian played only in free or intramural sports. He always said, “It’s just a game.” He played for fun only.
As I said, he came through the door, looking rather pleased with himself.
“Well, how did it go?” I asked him.
“I don’t know. Pretty well, I guess.”
“You don’t have any idea?”
“No. And I would rather not think of it. I have the next exam, at two this afternoon, to get ready for.”
“Going to hit the books? I thought you might want to go somewhere with me for a good lunch.”
“No. I’m following the method you taught me. I had a light breakfast this morning and some good coffee an hour before the exam. I’m going to take a nap in a while, and drink some more coffee at one o’clock, one hour before my next exam. I’m not thinking about any exam, or doing any studying before an exam. That’s what you do, and you taught me to do it, and I’m doing it, and I expect it to work out well for me. So, I’m not having lunch. I’m going hungry to the exam. But I might be persuaded to go out for supper.”
“Okay,” I said. “Good enough. I’ll try to get Julie for lunch. And I wish you luck for your afternoon exam, though you probably won’t need any with the determination you have to do things right, or at least as I suggested, before an exam. You’ll probably end up with straight A’s this term. So, I’ll just call Julie from my room and go out quietly while you catch a nap.”
* * *
I called Julie and she was just at that time getting ready to go to lunch with her roommate, Alice, and suggested I was welcome to come with them, to which I readily agreed. They were going for pizza at a little Italian place we often went to, and that seemed perfect for me. Besides, I liked Alice. It was always nice to go out with the two of them, as well as Julie and I with Alice and her boyfriend, Fred. I got some extra money for my wallet, for I truly intended that they be my guests, and quietly crept out of the apartment.
The Italian place didn’t really have a name; everyone called it Luigi’s, the name of its owner and manager. His whole family worked there: his wife in the kitchen, with occasionally the help of a son and a younger daughter, the older daughter helping out waiting on tables or at the cash register. They sometimes employed female college students (usually from some college other than mine) to help wait on tables. Luigi’s even delivered pizzas during the school year, with students making the deliveries. That activity, however, was very limited in customers and Luigi’s could never be big in the business until he got some large, modern, and specially designed pizza ovens. He currently had stone ovens and put pizzas in and pulled them out with a huge wooden paddle. I always feared that if he got too successful it would ruin the charm and atmosphere he had, as it was, and that might ruin his restaurant, his family, even his inner self.
I got to Luigi’s and found Julie and Alice seated at a table in the corner to the far right. They had already had two glasses of wine served them (Luigi had a beer and wine license). I went to the table and greeted first Julie and then Alice and then I pulled back a chair and sat down. A young girl come over to the table and asked if we were ready to order or was someone else coming. Julie said no, no one else was coming. I seized the lull to suggest that the lunch was on me since I had no exams and was as good as on vacation now until the summer term started.
They both said “Thank you . . .” and a few more things and then began to consult the menu to select what they would order. Julie went first, setting the standard for us all, ordering a small sausage pizza. Alice also wanted a sausage pizza, so she suggested they go together for a medium one, to which Julie agreed. I suggested that since I also would enjoy a sausage pizza, why not make it a large one, or two medium ones. Julie said I should decide since between them, the girls, they could only handle one medium. I agreed to one large one, if they had one, or two medium ones. I also asked if she, the waitress, could bring three small tossed salads with vinegar and oil dressing, and I said I would also like a glass of red wine—the wine immediately.
The wine for me served, Julie offered a toast to myself for having completed the class requirements for the M.A. and I then countered with a toast to Julie for having done the same with her B.A. requirements. And then I toasted Alice for being so nice a roommate with Julie. We had only taken sips of the wine so that it wouldn’t adversely affect us for the rest for the day. I knew that Julie had another exam at 2:00 in the afternoon; I didn’t ask about Alice.
We sat back to rest a bit from that activity and Julie announced that she had not finished all of the requirements for the B.A. and would have to stay on in the summer term to make up an incomplete she had in one class. She would still be allowed to go through the graduation exercise. She said that was because she had a very generous teacher who guaranteed that she would make up the incomplete. The incomplete was for when she had been sick for a few days and missed doing an assigned paper. Being sick carried no blame, but everyone else had done the paper, so she would have to do it also. There would be no difficulty in doing it over a weekend, so she, too, knew she would easily do the required paper.
The conversation then switched to me when Alice asked what I had to do for the M.A. I said, “The department gave me a paper with a list of its requirements. Paramount is the thesis. It has to be 25 to 30 pages of text. The project has to be some original contribution in a specific field of inquiry. I have to work out what it would be with my advisor and another professor who will act as the chairman for the final, oral examination.”
Alice asked, “Who is going to be your advisor?”
I replied that, of course, it would be Wallace. “He was my academic advisor for the residency period of my M.A. studies, and a long time friend and advisor in my undergraduate studies. He is a good professor, and strict on a student seriously meeting any requirement of performance in his academic work. He could be hard on me, but I have always been able to meet any requirements he saw, so he and I have had no problems, academically speaking. And . . . fortunately . . . he will give the final approval and grade for the thesis.
“But,” I added, “I still have to come up with a proposal for the thesis topic before the summer term begins. I have to submit it to him for approval as the first item of business for the summer term. After it is approved, I will begin the work of research or writing to get it done as soon as I can so that I can get the M.A. and start that part of my life I’m so anxious to begin.”
“What is that?” asked Alice.
“You’re asking a lot of questions,” I said. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on getting an advanced degree too.”
“I certainly am. You’re not the only one who wants to get up in the world and do something with yourself.”
“Well,” I rejoined. “That’s good for you. Go as far as you like and do what you want. You’re at least doing the important thing for life. You’re planning to live it. Ask anything. It just might help me in finding out for myself what I would like to do, or what I should do, that is, for the thesis. I’ll try my best to produce a good answer, or at least one that might lead to the formulation of a good answer.”
“So,” began, again, Alice, “what is your thesis topic going to be?”
“That,” I said, “I really don’t know yet. I have to sort of discover it. It has to be related to literature. And it has to be somewhat like other theses.”
“Are you hinting that we should suggest some topic?” introduced Julie.
“No, not specifically, nor particularly,” I replied. “I have some ideas of my own which should help focusing in on some acceptable topic.”
“Such as?” asked Julie.
“Well,” I clumsily began, “I don’t like to work, so the project should be easy. I don’t see any particular merit in doing something that entails a lot of work. It is in the product that the value of a project should be found.”
“So,” continued Alice, “Have you some ideas of topics to consider?”
“Not yet of topics. Rather, ideas of work parameters,” I responded.
“What are work parameters?” enquired Julie.
“Well, first, I don’t want to do a lot of work. Then, I would like to finish the thesis in the shortest stretch of time possible. And the project should produce a small product. It has to be no more than 25 to 30 pages long. I should like to do a thesis closer to 25 pages if I can. And, if it can be done, I would like to have some fun in doing the thesis.”
“You’re serious about all of this?” asked Julie.
“Of course! Why shouldn’t doing a thesis be fun? Anything worth doing is best if it is also fun. And if it’s not fun, why do anything? I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”
“It’s not what people generally ask of a requirement for an advanced degree.”
“But if you want doing a thesis to be fun, and it turns out to be so, why should that be undesirable? Anyway, I put in as a condition to that parameter the stipulation, ‘if it can be done,’ didn’t I?”
Alice came to my rescue with, “I think it’s all right to have fun, if it’s possible, so long as you produce a good product. But, if we accede to that parameter, you have to find for yourself what about it would be fun for you.”
“Fair enough.”
“Anything more on your wish list?” asked Julie.
“I think that should be enough to start with, at least for searching for possible topics.”
And just then, suitably ending that conversation, the girl came with one large pizza and the salads. We finished, all eating rather quietly, as if we all were hungry, but it came to me that we were all, including myself, digesting the conversation about thesis parameters—doing it as new information for myself since I really had not thought out any parameters before that lunch. I paid the tab and we all went different ways when we left the restaurant: Julie to her exam, though it was still early for admission to the exam room (she would probably stop to rest somewhere on the way for a while and then, probably at the last moment, enter the exam room); Alice to Mario’s to meet some friends (she said she didn’t have an exam until tomorrow morning); and I to my digs to continue organizing for my thesis work (and to try to work out in more detail the new ideas I had just acquired on thesis parameters, with the anticipation that such detailed considerations might lead a step closer to actually finding a good thesis topic).
* * *
I went from the restaurant to the English department since one of the requirements for the thesis said the finally approved thesis must be registered with the department and placed on file in the office. This, so that scholars could consult the department’s contribution to literature and students could freely consult what prior students had done for their theses.
I spent the next hour or so looking at as many theses as I could, though not really reading what they wrote. I was more interested in the choice of thesis topic and the corresponding form the thesis took as a document. Some were short stories; most dealt with authors and their careers, literature as an art, or the art’s product distribution, both historically and currently or to come in the future. It looked like the thesis as a product was a small thing but based on a lot of work.
Needless to say, I left the department office in a not too happy mood. How was I going to have a lot of fun doing my thesis if it was going to involve so much work?
I went to Mario’s for a coffee: a large cappuccino.
At mid-afternoon, just getting on three, the place was properly packed. Fortunately, I found a chair at a table of friends and joined their conversation, hoping to forget for a while my thesis topic problem.
A good coffee, especially as it is prepared and served in a good café like Mario’s, in good ceramics, always seemed to not only relieve any mental problem but also to give one energy to push on with something in the form of action—the coffee making one alert and eager while at the same time satisfying one’s thirst or hunger, both of which together are assuaged by coffee. And so it was for me.
I then went on to the apartment, ready to tackle my thesis work. So far, Ian had not yet come from his afternoon exam. That meant I had to begin working, doing something. Just thinking of that, I again felt overwhelmed by the necessity to come up with a thesis topic. I sat down to think, and suddenly it occurred to me that the thesis topic would appear by itself after I had resolved what kind of thesis was easiest to do. That would also take care of the thesis being easy and allowing me to have fun in the work. Easy work must be fun in itself. The easiness of doing the thesis would at least give me some freedom of seeing something agreeable in the work.
Of the theses I had seen at the department office, the majority were related to biographies of authors. And they were about a great variety of aspects or actions of the authors or of their works. So authors were open game as thesis subjects. I could pick an author who had fun or whose characters had fun. That might produce a fun thesis. So, that was that. Now I just had to think about good books, good authors, good characters, and good fun.
Meanwhile, I could continue clearing my work space. I had gotten rid of a lot of paper already. Now I could start gathering new paper in the form of reference guides: guides of authors and books. I should start in the library and search the big ones they have. I must keep from stocking up on heavy stuff. I could later, after I’d settled on a possible author or possible authors, take out of the library smaller books which had more detailed information. I had better do that now, I thought, before Ian gets back. I promised him we’d go out for dinner. So, out again: to the library.
When I got back to the apartment, about a quarter to five, Ian was already back. He was changing for dinner, having already showered. He was dressing informally, like a student, which was good because I did not feel like getting too dressed-up.
“How did it go?” I asked him.
“Not so bad. Two more to go. One tomorrow and one the next day, both in the morning. I think I’ll make it.”
“Hungry?”
“A little. Where are we going?”
“I’ve made reservations at Picot’s place. It’s not too formal that we can’t look like students. Besides, they know me well there. We can have a small but first class meal. And it’s on me, so don’t even think about the price. It’s also quiet there, so you can rest a bit. Then I expect you’ll be wanting to get back home early so you can get to bed in time for a good night’s sleep.”
“You’re right about that. I want a long sleep.”
* * *
I woke up the next morning to a quiet apartment. It was 9:30 when I finally was awake enough to get out of bed. At least I had no pressing duties or chores, so I was glad to be—though it was only like being so—as on a vacation. I did, I realized, have something to do. And finally I accepted the idea that I had better get up and get to work on what I should be doing. After all, the sooner I started on my thesis proposal, the sooner I would finish it, and the more time I might still have free before the summer term started.
Ian had left the apartment early. He had an exam at 10:00. Julie also had an exam at 10:00, and she had another at 3:00 in the afternoon. She would be finished with exams today and free to get ready for her graduation from college on Friday. Ian had another exam tomorrow morning, and that would be his last. So I was probably alone for today and tomorrow and could work on my thesis proposal, there not being anything crying out for my attention.
I had some cereal for breakfast and then went to Mario’s for a coffee. The hubbub of Mario’s made me more awake and eager to get working. I had brought with me from the apartment a kind of folder of paper for my thesis proposal work. First was the paper with the department’s requirements for the thesis. Then there were my notes on ideas for parameters. Then some notes I had made from my perusal of theses in the department’s office. Then some notes from my first visit to the library. And finally some blank papers on which to put new notes. With these I went not back to the apartment but to the library. I figured the apartment would be rather lonely and probably depressing. In the library would be other students studying or doing some research or writing, and other people working (on other things) should incite me a bit, if only by example, to get to work on my own problems.
I stayed at the library working for more than two hours and did a lot of thinking and some note taking. The school had a cafeteria. Wanting to get right back to work in the library, I went to the cafeteria and got a salad for lunch. I quickly finished that and dropped by Mario’s for a good cappuccino, then went back to the library to read the notes I had and then continue my thinking and making new notes.
By 3:30 I was ready to quit. I had refined a bit my parameters. I still wanted to have fun, but what I was doing appeared as a kind of fun thing. In that way I could see the work of the thesis itself—as the preparation of a document, or as the composition of a literary work—being fun, so I could probably drop having fun as a parameter. But I would keep open the possibility of other fun, from whatever source. On the whole I felt I was progressing, but I knew that I was still a long way from finishing any thesis proposal.
I had decided on doing something with an author. I hadn’t decided which author, but I felt I could do something with an author. I had to look for an author who wrote well, whose stories had good endings, and whose stories were about good subjects. Dealing with that should open up chances to find some fun in the work. But I could see I would still have to survey a fair number of authors to find a good one. I went to Mario’s for a coffee.
When I finally got home, it was already after five and Ian was there. He was ready to eat, but since he had another exam the following morning, he suggested staying home and eating something simple. That was a good idea for me since I thought I should go back to the library and look at more authors. We settled on sharing a can of soup, making some fried egg sandwiches, and splitting a small tossed salad. Ian was a good man to get along with.
We shared our meager supper and Ian went to shower before going to bed to try to get a good night’s sleep. I grabbed the opportunity to call Julie. She had her last examination in the afternoon and I wanted to ask her how she did. I took advantage of any excuse to keep in touch with her and celebrate where proper any of her successes. She felt that she had done well with her exams, but she wouldn’t know her grades until the next day, Wednesday. That was the day for the grades to be posted for all graduating students. Ian, a non-graduating student, would have to wait until Thursday.
I gathered up my papers into a small briefcase and then knocked on the bathroom door and said goodnight to Ian and that I was going back to the library. Ian had exams and was not doing any studying for them. I had no exams and was already working myself hard for the coming term. No rest for the wicked!
* * *
The next day came, Wednesday, and Ian left for his exam while I remained sleeping in my bed. I got up about 9:30, washed up, had cereal again for breakfast, and went to Mario’s for a coffee before beginning another day looking at the lives of authors.
My hunt was closing in on the prey. And my view of the prey had narrowed a bit. Now I wanted a more modern author, one that I could understand. No Classic or Victorian writer. I wanted someone who lived a life somewhat like what I was living. I wanted as my author someone who had fun or did fun things, but things I myself could appreciate, things I could and might have done myself.
I spent the rest of the morning in the library and went home at noon. Ian was not there, but he left a note for me on the kitchen table. He was having lunch with some classmates. They were probably celebrating the end of their exams. I decided on going again to the school cafeteria and then back to the library. I was working hard though my quest had not yet produced any final result. Still, I was earnestly looking, and getting closer.
There were a lot of authors, and many good ones. I finally narrowed my search more by limiting it to American authors, but of these there were still a lot of them to go over. I quit at mid-afternoon, had a coffee, and went back to the apartment.
Julie was supposed to have all her exam grades posted that afternoon, so I called her. She did have her grades, and they were rather good, except for the incomplete. The others were A’s. For the incomplete there was a note for her at the department office. It was a very short and simple note: the grade of B, and a reminder from the professor about making up the missing paper. It said, “I know you will do it, but I still feel I should remind you of it. Congratulations on your graduation. You’ve done well so far in your schooling and I wish you continued success in your future endeavors. Of course, I know you’ll succeed well in life, in whatever you choose to do.” Three A’s and one B: not so bad at all. I congratulated her on her finally being done, at least with classes, and reminded her about my offer to take her and her family to dinner Friday night. She said she hadn’t forgotten and would confirm it as soon as she could. She was going to talk with her parents that very evening to tell them about her grades and the arrangements for having them up for the graduation.
* * *
Thursday I got up late again, had breakfast, and got ready to go for a coffee and then to the library again. It was getting to be a set routine. The difference this morning was that Ian stayed in bed, and I went off, letting him sleep the sleep of the blessed, or at least of the exhausted.
I first went to Mario’s to have some coffee. I met some friends and sat at their table, talking about a number of things, nothing related to exams or school problems, giving me a break from my own concerns and letting me have a needed rest from my quest and giving my brain if not my soul a bit of respite.
Still, out of this conversation my subconscious gathered some new approaches to my problem. I had at one time the idea of travel associated with my thesis. I did want to get away from the college for a while if I could. But I needed a good excuse to ask my favorite uncle for some travel money. I would have to choose an author who also traveled, and there should be something in the subject matters of his books showing his travel as an important ingredient in the author’s writing. I would therefore have to keep an eye open for a traveling writer as my author. I could then satisfy travel as one of my parameters for the thesis project.
Ian was going to get his grades in the afternoon. I was going to spend the day in the library and I would go to the cafeteria again for lunch. I left Ian sleeping that morning and I would leave him free in the afternoon for collecting his grades. That appeared to be an appropriate schedule for the day.
In the library I discovered that since the end of the First World War, and especially after the Second, lots of American writers left the U.S. and traveled over much of the world. After the Second World War a lot of other people left the U.S. for travel, mostly tourists, but also students and what were called ex-pats: those who found work in other countries, mostly with American companies doing business in other countries or having offices in other countries. And a number of American authors worked at times as foreign correspondents of American newspapers or news services. It looked like there were all kinds of American authors roaming about the world, and writing all kinds of books, about all kinds of subjects.
I looked at as many as I could that day, but it looked like I would end up looking at the subject matters of authors rather than for a particular kind of author. I dropped it all at mid-afternoon and went back to the apartment. There I could at least switch to looking over my notes rather than making any more notes.
While I was there, Julie called and said that going out for dinner Friday was okay. Her parents would be there by mid-morning. The graduation would be in the afternoon and she would see me there. I should pick the restaurant and they would all be ready and waiting about seven or at whatever time I told her at the graduation.
About four o’clock Ian came home. He looked very pleased. He was even smiling.
“So, what did you get?” I asked.
“I’m not up with you, but I got three A’s.”
“Then you are up with me. Did not Gertrude Stein say, ‘A rose is a rose is a rose’? Well, an A is an A is an A. And three A’s is three A’s is three A’s. Gaudeamus igitur! Let’s go out to dinner; my treat. This time to a German restaurant. We need some beer and singing.”
* * *
Graduation day. I slept late because I had nothing to do until the ceremony started at two in the afternoon. Of course I had to get up and get ready before then, and I had to meet before time with Julie and go with her parents to their seats in the audience. Parents and guests were assigned specific seating areas. Graduates were, of course, occupying the middle section, down front.
I was up at nine—early, compared with my wake-up time the last few days. While I was having a quiet breakfast, Ian got up, washed his face and hands, and then joined me.
We ate in silence. I finished first. When Ian was finished, he asked, “What’s the program for the day?”
“Graduation starts at 2:00. We have to be dressed and on our way at 1:00. That should give us time to get there, find Julie and her parents, and get into our seats before things get underway. You’re still going alone?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve got no ties at this time. Free as a bird, ready to take off on some new adventure.”
“Okay, then. I’m going to the library for a bit, but I’ll be here at twelve to shower and shave. I’m wearing a navy blue pin stripe suit. For you, at least jacket and tie. You can go sport coat if you want to. I have to dress up a bit for Julie’s parents. I’m taking them to dinner at about seven. You’re still welcome to join us if you will.”
“No,” he said. “I’ll be getting ready to go home for the week. I can do some more packing now, and I want to get an early start Saturday. It’s a fairly long drive to Pittsfield and I’d better allow as much of the day as I can for the trip.”
“Then that’s the program,” I replied. “I’m off to the library for a while. My summer term has already started.”
* * *
Julie’s parents were from Philadelphia, and they arrived in town Thursday evening and called Julie to arrange a meeting on Friday morning. They said they might go to downtown Boston in the morning and meet with her before two at the place of the ceremony. Julie told them about her program. She explained about the ceremony and about her being allowed to graduate, but with a blank paper as a diploma until she made up the incomplete. She arranged to meet them before the ceremony, behind the area of seating for those graduating.
Ian and I had arrived in good time and stationed ourselves just behind the rear of the area allotted to those graduating, looking about for Julie and her parents. They came at about a quarter to two, cutting it a bit close I thought. We got Ian reintroduced all about, and Julie left to see an usher and get to her seat for the graduation. She looked beautiful, even covered with a black gown and one of those ridiculous looking graduation hats. Julie’s parents looked very establishment. They, Ian, and I made for the section on the left, the area for parents and special guests, where we had some reserved seats allocated to us.
The ceremony itself was predictable. We were all happy for Julie being in it and it being a crowning event which would launch Julie into life in the real world.
The ceremony concluded, Ian bid his farewell to Julie’s parents, saying he had to get ready to leave for his own home and a week’s break from the college. I stayed with them until Julie came, then I left them to their own affairs, saying that I would see them again for dinner. We celebrated the dinner at the fine German restaurant I always went to, where the beer was good, the food delicious, and the music and entertainment fantastic.
* * *
The next day was Saturday. It was a day in which the world sort of came to an end, in a way. Ian went home to Pittsfield in western Massachusetts for a week, to return for the summer term. Julie went home to Philadelphia for the weekend, to return before the summer term. And I stayed alone. Alone: at least for a lonely weekend. But I could look forward to a rebirth of the world when they all came back. I was so lucky to have such friends. Good friends, and good for what friends are for, to support one in his troubles, to help him get on.
CHAPTER 2
I awoke early Monday morning to a quiet apartment. It was like the day before. Ian was gone, and wouldn’t be back for another week. So I would have to face, again, breakfast alone. And so I would again, each day, for the whole week.
It was already past eight. I went to the kitchen and got out some cereal. I also got out milk for my cereal, and some tomato juice. But I planned to still go to Mario’s for my coffee. At least that would give me some social life—though not much, considering that the school was closed for all regular activities for a week, till the summer term started next Monday.
I saw some blueberries in the refrigerator. I added some of them to my cereal and it made my breakfast look much more elegant, almost patriotic. Red, white, and blue. I ate in silence and reflected on where I was and what I was doing and what I should get about doing. Yesterday was the same. I had to recognize reality and that it had a future and that if I was going to share in that future, I had better get to work at preparing for doing so.
Yesterday I went into downtown Boston, walked to the Common, and loafed around there from about ten until noon. It was relaxing and interesting, but I saw that it wasn’t going to resolve any of my problems nor help me get done the work I had to do. Back at my apartment I looked over my notes on a possible thesis subject and thought of how I could get a theme out of whatever subject I might select.
Of course, I was not loafing now, eating slowly a relatively boring breakfast. I was active: thinking. I was now thinking the whole time, trying to construct a thesis proposal. I took notes. I took notes constantly, in a small wire-bound note pad I carried in my pocket. I took notes of every idea that came to me, disregarding whether any would ever prove useful or not. I would go over them all later and maybe there would be some, though maybe only a few, out of all of those I took in any period of time that would turn out either almost good (which could lead to a new idea), or partly good, or even useable in some way at some future time.
I finished breakfast, which was getting to be a ritual to starting the day, each action, and the whole series of actions, enabling me to go properly fortified out into the world. I gathered up my notes and papers into my case and left for Mario’s. And following Mario’s, I began the work part of the day by going to the library to look further into authors and their biographies.
After noon I went back to the apartment with some new data gathered from the library, deciding on scrounging from the fridge for whatever I could find for lunch. It turned out to be a good move on my part, for just after I got in and opened the refrigerator door, the phone rang. It was Julie. She had got in about eleven and had been at her apartment unpacking and wondering what she would do when she decided to call me to report in. I was glad to get the call and I felt that now the world was getting back together again into its proper structure. I, of course, invited her to go out for dinner, saying it gives me a chance to eat a proper meal. She accepted.
* * *
I arranged for a table at Picot’s. We arrived slightly before the time reserved and were led directly to our table by Picot himself. He commented on how nice that I was still on campus and that I hadn’t forgotten old Picot, and wished us both bon appétit. He left and a waiter who had stood slightly to the side of Picot immediately moved into his vacated position and gave menus to Julie and me, and a wine card to me.
We talked about pleasantries and Julie’s trip back home until the food came. The wine was also served, and after a small toast and a few bites of some solid food, I asked Julie about her plans for doing the make-up paper to take care of her incomplete grade. Julie said it would be no big job for her to do the paper. It normally was one of those week-end papers that the students feel the professors gave them to remind them that they are supposed to be studying or otherwise working for their education. She said doing the paper shouldn’t take more than a weekend of time. “I plan to organize later this evening an outline for the paper and do the needed research and writing in the mornings until it’s done. We real ‘writers’ handle such assignments as we expect to do if we end up at a newspaper or magazine, or writing for some politico. The boss orders, we slaves perform.”
I accepted her jibe and said, “I know writing does come easily to some, but not to me. For me, just getting started writing something is an achievement, and when I finish, as with the slave you portray, I feel I’m getting freed of my manacles.”
We had a good meal and I walked home with Julie so she could get to her work of organizing for her paper. Alice had by then arrived, so I turned Julie over to Alice. I said good night to Julie, “See you tomorrow at 10:00 in Mario’s for a report,” and with that I went myself to my own lodging feeling more at ease about Julie and about her paper.
* * *
I had breakfast more easily the next day. Ian wasn’t back, but Julie was. And I was coming along with the work for my thesis. After breakfast I went to the library, arriving just before nine. That was not too early, but it was still a respectful hour to begin work.
At 10:00, after less than an hour of real work, I gathered up my papers and went to Mario’s to meet with Julie for coffee. Julie was already there, with a table, waiting for my arrival. I went to the table first and asked what she wanted, then to the counter to get coffees for the two of us.
Julie reported on her progress with the paper. She said that she had the job well outlined. Her plan for working in the mornings was going well, so she should continue with that, followed by having coffee with me at ten. It shouldn’t take, she said, more than a couple of mornings more and the paper would be completed and ready to turn in. When her report was done, she said, the real job would be helping me to be get my thesis proposal prepared. “So,” she said, “let’s talk about the program for your thesis.”
It was then my turn to lay out my outline for development of the subject proposal for the thesis. I expounded on my thinking concerning parameters for the thesis work and the desirability of those which were still on my list. I then tried to show my notes relevant to what I had so far worked out as important to the thesis structure, and to these I added ideas I had noted which could give value to the thesis.
We then talked of arranging the proposal outline, aimed at a structure of the thesis as a document. Finally, I suggested a work schedule I had made up, with milestones noted, related to the days available for doing the work of deciding on a thesis subject, preparing the different parts to be included in the proposal, and a general program of work on gathering data or descriptions to be included in the thesis. This latter could serve as the beginning of a work program for producing the finished thesis.
We exchanged some ideas on what was laid out. Julie made a few suggestions. Generally, however, we felt that, as a beginning, what we had was good enough to guide the first part of the work of making a draft of the proposal. We could always change it where needed as we went along.
So far, so good. It was already getting on toward noon. At a quarter till, we decided to pack things up and get some lunch. I suggested we go to lunch in the school cafeteria, which we did, both choosing soup and salad for a light midday meal. After lunch I suggested we go to the library to discuss the program. The library had these little sound-proof cubicles or rooms for quiet study, or for discussions among a group of students who were jointly working on a project or such. Some had a kind of desk-like structure against the wall and a chair for one student. Others had small tables and chairs for more than one student. There were a few with one small table and one big enough for as many as six students, and they were supplied with chairs as needed. If there were only two or three chairs in a room, one simply asked the librarian to have a certain number of additional chairs brought. Julie and I took a room with one of the larger tables and four chairs. We thought we could use the larger table to spread papers on, though we didn’t need more than two chairs.
I tried to guide the afternoon’s discussion to practical results or conclusions. First, I talked of my parameters. I insisted that I was finding that my parameters were working out by themselves how they would fit in with the project work, and that many could be ignored or forgotten because they were real parts of the program—because of the work itself or because of the goals or objectives worked for.
To cite a few instances of self-inclusion, eclipsing the idea that the thesis should not be all hard work, it turned out that the work on the thesis was already getting to be fun all by itself, irrespective of any particular topic or any objective or goal. With respect to fun or travel: that would depend on the subject, but it appeared that without overly much work, there should be fun anyway, and there could be travel and it would be fun if it really fit in with the work part of the thesis and with the plot. The subject of the thesis, at least as related to an author, would have a lot to do with any benefits the thesis work itself could provide. If the subject were biographically related to an author, and if such an author traveled in his life and had fun, travel and fun could be a necessary part of the experience of doing a thesis about such an author.
“Then, let’s look again at your list of authors,” said Julie.
“Right,” I said as I passed to Julie the list of authors I had chosen as candidates for possible thesis subject. “If we’re going to do some biographical thing with an author, as I said before, I would like to do something with a modern author, an American author, and one who was more or less in my class, who did things I have done or would have liked to do, or still would like to do. And, for my interests, the author must be male: because I’m male, and I can more easily understand and empathize with a male. So, I vote for one recently dead American male author as author-subject for my thesis.
“Let’s look for a rather recently deceased author of some renown. We should also look for one who has traveled and who has written either about foreign places or about foreign travel as part of the action of his stories. The author should also have experienced important events in his life, and maybe also written about those. As subject matter, events of his life and his stories should be in themselves interesting. And the events might be either untold or unexplained. They would then be events that could be told, or be explained, and thereby provide new and interesting information about the author’s life. It could be even better if such events played an important part in his life and were important to him as a person, but it also could be, for a thesis, good if these events also significantly affected his writing as an art, becoming a part or genesis of his style.”
Julie sat quietly looking over the list of authors. Each author’s name was annotated with data thought necessary to his consideration as candidate for thesis subject. I sat quietly waiting for Julie to finish looking over the list and figuring out what to say either about the list or about a choice for author. She took a good time examining the list, and when she finally spoke, she said something that was worth the wait.
“If you want fun, travel, and an author of some renown, Raymond Henderson fills the bill on all counts. He’s been dead for two years now. He traveled a lot in Europe: Paris, Rome, Spain; and in the Americas: Cuba, Mexico, Peru, Argentina; and here in the U.S.: Miami, Chicago, and New York City. The unusual thing about Henderson—and this is the core of it all—is that he had four wives. We know little about them, other than that they are all dead now. But we do know that he was divorced from the first three wives, and that he remained with the fourth until she died.
“Henderson had a reputation of being a womanizer. We know little of any long term relationships with other women, and we know no details of his behavior with his wives. He himself died only a bit over a month after his last wife died, and he was living with his last wife when she died. That seems to indicate behavior other than that of a womanizer. What was his behavior with his first three wives? Why did they divorce him? Does the divorce of the first three give us any indications of womanizing, or the contrary? According to your notes, Henderson has no biography written yet. What would knowledge of Henderson’s marital relations give to writing a correct biography?”
After a moment of thinking I said, “That’s a good choice for thesis topic. You’re right. It appears to meet all requirements. Let’s take it and I’ll check it out tomorrow morning.”
“It’s getting toward dinner time,” I continued. “I know you have your paper to get back to, and you’ve given me a lot to look over on my thesis proposal. I really owe you for the big jump we made today. I’m sure we’ve got a great subject.