Betrayal 101: A College Saga

By Karl K. Norton

 After being awarded a PhD in mathematics, Ken Russell begins teaching at a state university. Despite his conscientious efforts to help students succeed, they fail at an alarming rate. Many of his students lack mathematical skills they should have learned before taking his courses, and others are chronic absentees. When he is accused of poo

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karl K. Norton
• Release date: Jan 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781734157611

Karl K. Norton

Karl Norton has devoted much of his professional life to the Theory of Numbers, in which the goal is to discover the subtle and far-reaching relationships between numbers. He has served a three-year term on the Council of the American Mathematical Society and taught at three colleges. His research has been published numerous times and he has held visiting research appointments at universities in the U.S. and Europe and at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, New Jersey. He holds a PhD in mathematics from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Oh, Ken, isn’t it beautiful?

He said nothing for a long moment, his arm tightening around her waist as they looked down on the city below and then up at the mountains all around. Here and there, a small patch of white clung to a distant barren peak, but the mountains were mostly brown and gray above the timberline in the August sunshine. He was already imagining what they would look like covered with snow.

After a long automobile trip from the Midwest, Ken and Maria Russell were standing near a highway turnoff on a hilltop overlooking the city of Thornton. The sign a little way back on the road had said Scenic View, the kind of understatement one might expect from a highway engineer. The view was spectacular. In the central part of the city was a large group of sizable buildings with Spanish-style architecture, obviously Thornton State University. Somewhat less conspicuous were a business district and a large shopping mall, and beyond those were residential neighborhoods rising partway up the sides of the foothills, which, in turn, gave way to the great mountains beyond.

It’s more beautiful than I expected, he answered at last. Let’s sit down on that bench over there. I just want to stare at the scenery for a while.

The year 1973 seemed hopeful for Ken Russell. He was twenty-eight and had just received his Ph.D. in mathematics. On the strength of his thesis advisor’s recommendation and an interview at a national conference, he had been hired as an assistant professor by the Mathematics Department at Thornton State, and this was his first visit to the western United States. He had seen photographs of the area around Thornton, but they failed to convey the full magnificence of the scenery. He remembered a remark he had once read in a book about hiking in the mountains: You’ve never felt so small—or so big. That was exactly how he felt now, and the thrill helped him to forget that Thornton State’s was the only good job offer he had received.

His buoyant mood gave way to a reverie about all his preparation for this moment. He remembered the hard work of majoring in mathematics as an undergraduate, a period when he spent most of his time studying. He had graduated with high honors and was accepted by Sherman University, the graduate school of his choice. Once there, however, he found the work harder than ever, the professors distant and sometimes cavalier about teaching, and not a few of the courses disappointing. Disillusioned, he wondered whether he would be able to find a field of mathematics which he really wanted to specialize in for the doctoral degree.

One day in the middle of his second year at Sherman, he was sitting in the graduate-school cafeteria, feeling tense and moody, when a friend introduced him to Maria. She was a pretty redhead working toward a Ph.D. in clinical psychology. There was something encouraging about her manner, and Ken soon found himself telling her about his lack of enthusiasm for his studies. He was surprised to learn that she had experienced the same emotions.

Lots of people feel that way at some point in grad school, she said. You just have to hang on to your self-confidence and plow ahead. I know it’s not easy, but I managed to do it, and I feel a lot better about things now. Jeez, I really wanted to give up a year ago.

Ken was already in a better mood. After a half-hour conversation, he asked her for a date. She accepted, and soon they were seeing each other often. He was fascinated by her intellect and found it easy to talk to her. They shared interests in reading, in politics, in music, and in tennis. Like him, she was usually serious, but she appreciated his sense of humor and laughed easily at his occasional jokes and teasing. She was kind, even-tempered, and sensitive, with an undercurrent of anger at the world’s injustices. Outwardly strong-willed and determined, she had a touching streak of insecurity and seemed puzzled at first by Ken’s interest in her. But when he made it clear that he was really attracted to her, she responded with a warmth unlike anything Ken had known in his limited experience with women. Over the next few months, their mutual admiration and affection deepened into love.

Near the end of his second year of graduate school, Ken took a series of four difficult examinations for the master’s degree. He passed the first three but was floored by the abstract algebra exam, which contained several problems in subjects he had never been taught. Even the remaining problems had a bewildering subtlety, and he was able to solve almost none of them. A few days later, the department notified him that he had failed in algebra and was on probation pending a further test. He spent the next three weeks in suspense, fearing he had lost his chance to get a doctorate and become a professor of mathematics. It was the only career he had ever wanted, and he found it difficult to keep his spirits up.

During this gloomy period, he learned that the algebra exam had been designed by a visiting professor notorious for posing difficult problems to students. Ken could only speculate on how much latitude the department had given the visitor to design and grade the test. Some of Ken’s fellow students also lamented its difficulty, while others mysteriously seemed to have taken it in stride.

Maria secretly worried about Ken but acted especially devoted and reassuring. With her encouragement, he studied hard and managed to redeem himself on a harrowing oral exam. Exhausted but relieved, he was finally granted the degree Master of Science in mathematics.

After a brief celebration, Ken had to decide on a field of specialization for his Ph.D. Not really attracted to any of the areas of mathematics he had studied in his courses, he decided to work in the field of analytic number theory, which he had studied a little on his own and found immensely exciting. He had even written a brief research paper on the subject and succeeded in publishing it in a respected journal.

To his surprise, none of the faculty members in his department showed a genuine interest in analytic number theory or a willingness to direct thesis work in that subject. One of them even tried to persuade him to change his mind by implying that number theory wasn’t worthwhile compared to other areas of mathematics, but Ken was not about to be deflected. He finally wrote for advice to Peter Weissman, a prominent number theorist at Stevenson University, whom he had met at a conference and who had helped him prepare his short paper for publication. Weissman replied by inviting Ken to leave Sherman and study with him.

Ken was already well into his third year at Sherman. He now held a graduate teaching assistantship and was teaching a single class of precalculus mathematics. Intimidated by the prospect of moving to a university with different requirements and financial arrangements, he debated briefly with himself before showing Weissman’s letter to Maria in his room one evening. He was surprised by the vehemence of her response.

"Of course you should go, dear, she said. The people in this math department have given you an awful time! They don’t act at all encouraging, and I think they don’t respect your talent. For God’s sake, how many grad students in math have published an original research paper? Weissman can see you’re special, and I definitely think you ought to study with him."

Her cheeks were flushed, and Ken could see she was genuinely indignant. At this moment, he loved her more than he had ever realized.

But you’ve just started work on your thesis project, and you need your advisor’s help, he protested. And I can’t go anywhere without you.

She stared at him, her lips parted in a faint smile. You can’t? she asked.

He felt the blood rush to his head. He had thought many times about what to say but never felt the moment was right. Now he was certain.

Maria, I love you. I’ve never loved anyone else the way I love you. Will you marry me?

She continued staring at him, still smiling quizzically, looking somehow shy and hesitant. There was a long moment of silence, and Ken heard a clock chiming somewhere.

Are you serious? she asked.

Amazed at the question, he exclaimed, Of course I am!

Suddenly her reserve broke. Oh, yes, Ken—yes! I love you so much I can’t stand it! She threw her arms around him and hugged him so forcefully he could hardly breathe. I was afraid you’d never ask me to marry you. Oh, my God, I feel so wonderful!

She kept holding him tightly and kissed him until his lips hurt. Delighted with her response, Ken hugged and kissed her in return. Finally, out of breath, he paused to think again about their future.

If I move to study with Weissman, what will you do about your thesis? he asked.

I’ll move with you and work on it there, she replied. I can deal with my advisor by mail and phone. Lots of Ph.D. students do that. I’ve finished all my coursework, so I don’t really need to stick around. Besides, she grinned at him, do you think I’m going to let you out of my sight?

I certainly hope not, he said and kissed her again.

Still musing on the past as he gazed down at the town of Thornton, Ken hardly noticed when Maria stood and began to walk slowly around the viewing area, inspecting the wildflowers. He was remembering their wedding. They had decided on a small ceremony, to be held in a chapel at Sherman University, so as to make it easy for their friends to attend. Maria had prevailed on her parents and her sister to travel from upstate New York to help with the arrangements and participate in the ceremony. Ken, on the other hand, had no family members present. He was an only child whose parents were dead. His relatives lived far away and politely declined his invitation to the wedding.

The wedding and reception were infused with the same joyous emotion as when he had proposed to Maria. Afterward, excited by the thought of their new life together but saddened to be leaving their friends, they had moved their few belongings to a small apartment in the city where Stevenson University was located. To help meet their expenses, Maria found a part-time job as a psychologist in the local school system while continuing to write her thesis. Ken immediately plunged into his studies with Professor Weissman.

His courses with Weissman confirmed his initial impression that analytic number theory was difficult, but he found it fascinating, more so than any other mathematical subject he had studied. The field was less burdened with arcane terminology than much of modern mathematics, and many of the main results could be stated rather simply, yet the proofs often required a formidable arsenal of insights and techniques. There were many unsolved problems in number theory that had resisted the best efforts of several generations of mathematicians, but it was clear that progress was still being made. One could see it in the research papers in number theory constantly appearing in mathematical journals. Ken was convinced that he was finally in the right field, and he felt a tremendous desire to make his own contribution to it.

Unfortunately, he still faced several obstacles. The first was his insufficient preparation in number theory, a subject mysteriously slighted by most mathematics departments in the United States. Ken had never had a good opportunity to take a systematic introductory course in the field. He had picked up only some of the basic facts through independent study and now found himself learning the subject from an advanced standpoint in Weissman’s courses. While his talent and zeal enabled him to learn the course material well, he was often troubled by the gaps in his knowledge.

Instead of being granted time to fill those gaps, he was confronted with several new demands. Unlike Sherman University, Stevenson required each of its Ph.D. candidates to take two semesters of a related subject outside the major department. Ken settled on a philosophy course in symbolic logic, a subject entirely new to him. In addition, the Mathematics Department required him to be well versed in mathematical material other than number theory before he could take the oral preliminary exam for the Ph.D. This exam was to be administered by a five-person committee chaired by Weissman. Ken met privately with each member of the committee to discuss what was expected of him, and each assigned him reading on which he was to be examined. He found that he had to undertake substantial and time-consuming reading projects in algebra, complex variables, and algebraic topology.

When he finally took the oral exam after a year and a half of study and coursework, two members of his examining committee asked him a few perfunctory questions about the readings they had assigned and then grilled him on topics he had never heard of. Rattled and humiliated, Ken managed somehow to do well enough on the remainder of the exam to get a passing grade. He never learned the motives of the two who had harassed him.

It was finally time for him to start a thesis, which was to be a lengthy research project based on creative ideas supplied by Ken himself. Weissman assigned him a substantial problem to work on. He suggested that it might be possible to solve it by adapting a method that a famous mathematician had used successfully on a related problem. Ken worked on it for almost a year, trying five different approaches without success before he was able to convince his advisor that the problem could not be solved in the suggested way. Seeing no other means of solving it, he spent a few more months floundering with another unsuitable problem before he finally managed on his own to find a topic on which he had some productive ideas.

In the meantime, Maria was nearing completion of her own thesis. Like Ken, she had suffered a considerable amount of frustration with her work, and they often consoled each other over their setbacks. The process drew them closer together in spite of their occasional periods of low morale. Each admired the tenacity of the other, and Ken especially respected his wife’s willingness to devote long hours to study and writing after finishing her job duties for the day. When at last she announced that her thesis work was done, they celebrated with champagne. She soon traveled back to Sherman University for a final examination and was granted her Ph.D. in clinical psychology.

After several months of successful work on his latest ideas, Ken showed the results to Weissman, who pronounced them to be sound and encouraged him to write them up. With another six months of hard labor, Ken produced a lengthy thesis in which all the new ideas were his own, a source of great pride for him.

Having passed a final examination on his work, Ken received his doctorate. He had spent seven years in graduate school, often feeling insignificant and wondering whether he had the native ability to be a mathematician. Now he had the official confirmation in his diploma, and he was too proud to be worried that Thornton State University was the only school to offer him a decent initial appointment with a good salary.

He felt a gentle nudge in the ribs and again became aware of the city below and the mountains beyond. Come on, pardner, his wife drawled. We’ve got to find a place to stay.

CHAPTER 2

The next three weeks passed in a flurry of exhausting activity. After looking at more than a dozen houses, Ken and Maria bought one of modest size, newly built, in a new subdivision. Their lot had no grass and no real trees, only a couple of scraggly saplings planted by the builder. The road was still unpaved. Yet there was a good view of the nearby mountains, and the house was less expensive than most of the others they had seen. They had lived in a furnished apartment for the past few years, scrimping to save enough for a down payment on a house and some furniture and appliances. Now they found they had just enough money to cover the basic items needed for comfort. As for putting in a lawn, that would have to wait until the following spring.

Taking a breather from the shopping, Ken visited the university, where classes had not yet begun. He found the Mathematics Department housed in an impressive but sterile building, all concrete and glass, metal and linoleum, with severely linear architecture. He introduced himself to the chairman of the department, Franklin Johnson, a tall, stooped, gaunt, elderly man with a demeanor of old-fashioned dignity and courtesy mixed with considerable reserve. His face was wrinkled and weary. He inquired politely how Ken liked the town and his new home, discussed Ken’s teaching assignment, and chatted briefly about his colleagues.

I’d introduce you to some people in the department, Johnson said, but most of them aren’t here now. We’ll have an evening reception for the whole department on Thursday in the second week of classes. Your wife is invited, of course. I’ve invited our graduate students and the junior and senior math majors, too, although most undergraduates are too shy for something like that. Anyway, you can meet a lot of people then. I hope you like big parties.

Oh, that sounds fine, Ken said, smiling affably. I’m eager to meet people, and I’ll look forward to it. After discussing some formalities about keys and filling out the documents needed to add his name to the payroll, he departed with a pleasant sense of anticipation.

The first day of classes finally arrived. Making his way across the campus amid a crush of unfamiliar faces, Ken felt a knot of tension in his stomach. As a graduate student, he had been the instructor of a few sections of remedial mathematics and had never progressed beyond teaching precalculus and analytic geometry. Now he was assigned to teach two of the more advanced undergraduate courses: abstract algebra and introductory number theory. Most of his students would be mathematics majors. In an entirely new environment, he was more than a little nervous about his inexperience.

Fortunately, his classes were of a manageable size: about thirty students each. In each class, he introduced himself and said a few words about his background before taking the roll. He wrote the first week’s homework assignments on the blackboard and made some routine remarks about the textbook, tests, and office hours. He said it was important to study, to do homework regularly, and to attend all the classes. Hoping to stir some interest, he then gave a brief introductory lecture with a preview of the course material and some remarks on the history of the subject.

When he had finished, Ken paused for a reaction from the students. In each class, the room was silent, and he saw only rows of blank faces. When he finally asked whether there were any questions, one or two students wanted to know whether the homework would be graded. He said it would, by a graduate student to be hired by the department for that purpose. Others asked whether the tests would be based on the homework. He replied that there would be a strong similarity between them.

That was all. As he watched the students filing out of the classroom, Ken told himself that school was just beginning and that he couldn’t expect much discussion yet.

The following week, Ken and Maria attended the Mathematics Department reception at the Faculty Club. The emphasis was on introducing new faculty and their spouses to other members of the department, but a number of students were also present in response to the chairman’s invitation. Looking around the room, Ken was reminded that the department had more than three dozen faculty members and quite a few students. He wondered whether he would ever get to know all his colleagues.

Franklin Johnson greeted Ken and Maria when they arrived and quickly introduced them to a cluster of senior faculty: Boris Danilov, Pete Martinez, Al Keating, and Krishna Dumir. Danilov was an expert in number theory, and Keating worked in a related area of research. Both seemed pleased to have Ken as a new colleague and asked him a few superficial questions about his research. Then they introduced their wives, who proclaimed they knew nothing about mathematics and drew Maria aside to talk about other things.

Ken found Danilov and Keating to be a study in contrasts. While both were of medium height and build, they had very different demeanors. Danilov was quiet, soft-spoken, meditative, and somewhat hesitant in expressing himself. His manner was a little distant, as if he were always thinking about something else, yet he seemed gentle and friendly. Ken was just beginning to feel comfortable with him when he found himself distracted by Keating. In contrast to Danilov’s neat appearance, Keating’s hair was distastefully long and tangled, and his clothes were wrinkled. While his face was rather ordinary and could not be called unpleasant, there was nothing in it to suggest kindness or empathy, even when he was smiling. His manner was a little too earnestly good-natured and chummy, and his voice had a subtly condescending quality, which was accentuated by its nasal tone. His laughter seemed forced and harsh. Ken noticed that whenever Keating agreed with another person’s remarks, he would nod in a jerky, overly vehement way. More preoccupied with the man than he wanted to be, Ken felt a disturbing sensation in the pit of his stomach and tried to ignore it.

As Keating rattled on about his travels during the summer and the mountains he had climbed, he frequently glanced at Danilov as if seeking approval. Danilov’s usual reaction was a nod and quiet smile, which Ken thought had an element of amusement in it. Johnson had already mentioned to Ken that Danilov was an accomplished mountain-climber, and Ken suspected that Keating was trying to impress him. Danilov graciously acted as if Keating had, indeed, done things worthy of note.

Martinez and Dumir were standing slightly to one side and talking to each other. Tiring of Keating’s self-centered conversation, Ken edged away and joined them. Martinez was hearty and affable, with a slight accent from somewhere south of the border. Dumir was from India and was speaking rapidly of his recent visit to his homeland.

My God, there is so much poverty there, he said, and too many educated people and not enough jobs for them. There is much more opportunity in this country.

Maybe in some fields, Martinez replied cautiously, but mathematical jobs are getting pretty scarce here. What do you think, Russell?

I think you’re right, Ken said. I had a number of rejections, and I felt lucky to get this job. Some of my friends said the same thing.

It is true that I came to this country some years ago, Dumir remarked. The employment situation was better then.

I think it will improve again now that the U.S. is getting out of Vietnam, Martinez commented. We’ll probably see more spending on education, don’t you think, Krishna?

I hope so, said Dumir.

Anyway, Martinez continued, we’re glad to have you with us, Dr. Russell, and we hope you will like Thornton State. I think it’s a pretty nice place. My biggest objection is that the winters are too cold and snowy.

I don’t think that will bother me, Ken said. I’m used to snow. I might even learn to ski. We didn’t have mountains in the Midwest.

If you like mountains, Martinez said, you came to the right place.

After some further desultory conversation, Ken excused himself and wandered away to meet other faculty members. He approached a group who introduced themselves as Nick Anastopoulos, Vera Masillo, and Alice Mosby, all longtime members of the department. Anastopoulos was tall, swarthy, and barrel-chested, with a craggy face that was somewhat intimidating, although his manner seemed friendly enough. Masillo was also tall, but blond and willowy, with a gracious smile and a confident air. Mosby was a short, nervous, fidgety woman who looked a bit irritable.

We were just discussing the students, Anastopoulos explained to Ken. I don’t suppose you’ve had time to form any impressions of your own.

Well, they don’t seem very lively, Ken replied, but I’ve seen them in class only a few times.

Mine aren’t lively, either, Mosby said. Every year, they seem less interested in learning.

And every year, they know a little less when they start college, Masillo added. I wish I could figure it out.

Too much television, Anastopoulos said with disgust. And nobody expects enough of them—not their parents, not their high-school teachers, nobody.

We do expect better work when they come to Thornton, Vera Masillo asserted. But they act so resentful of that, as if college should be just a routine extension of high school instead of a more rigorous experience.

I think most of them don’t want a more rigorous experience, Anastopoulos said. They just want to have a good time for four years at their parents’ expense.

Some of the students must have jobs to help pay their own way, Ken said.

You’re right, of course, Alice Mosby replied, and many of those students are more mature and study harder. But there’s another problem with them: some spend so many hours working for money that they don’t have enough time for their studies. I had several like that last year.

Well, we grouse about this sort of thing every year, Masillo said, and it never gets any better. I sure don’t have the answer.

We aren’t getting any help from the administration, either, Anastopoulos commented. I think the deans just want everything to be smooth and placid, with no fuss about admission standards or grading standards. Glancing around the room, he asked, By the way, Russell, have you met Reginald Hyatt?

No, I haven’t. Who is he?

He’s the dean of the College of Literature, Arts, and Sciences. Around here, we refer to it as ‘CLASS.’ Anastopoulos smiled sardonically. A pretty confusing acronym, if you ask me.

Is he here tonight? Ken asked.

Right over there. Come on, I’ll introduce you.

As they approached, another person ended his conversation with the dean and drifted off. Ken, who stood six feet three inches tall, found himself looking down at a small, neatly dressed man wearing glasses, with a broad smile and relaxed manner. After introducing them, Anastopoulos announced that he needed to speak with someone else and said he would leave Ken and Hyatt to get acquainted.

Nick didn’t mention it, the dean remarked, but I’m a mathematician, too. We were very pleased to get a promising number theorist like you. I’ve done some work in that field myself.

I heard you were in the department, Ken said, but I didn’t know you had done research in number theory. What topics?

Oh, some sieve theory and prime-number theory, Hyatt responded casually. More recently, I wrote a couple of papers in analysis. Since I became dean, I haven’t had much time for research. He said this with a rueful smile, but Ken detected no real regret in his voice.

You must have a very demanding job, Ken remarked politely.

"It is demanding, Hyatt said. With thousands of students and hundreds of faculty members, there are always headaches. But the job has its rewards, and we keep things going smoothly most of the time."

Two graduate students and two undergraduates came up and introduced themselves. They immediately began to question the dean about a disciplinary case. Ken had read about it that morning in the campus newspaper. On a hot September day the previous year, a freshman had brought a can of beer to class. Although seated in the rear row of a large classroom, he was noticed by the teacher when he opened the can and started to drink. The teacher reported the incident to Dean Hyatt, who summoned the student to his office and told him it was a violation of a university rule to bring alcohol to class. He pointed out that the rule could be found in the Student Handbook, which had been issued to all freshmen when they registered for classes. The student admitted drinking beer in class but said it was a hot day and he was thirsty. He added that he had just recently arrived on campus and hadn’t had time to read the Student Handbook yet. His insouciance evidently overcame the dean’s restraint. Retorting that ignorance of the rules was no excuse, he summarily suspended the student from classes for the fall semester.

With some help from the student government, the freshman appealed to the provost and the president, both of whom upheld Hyatt’s decision. The freshman went home in disgust but returned to resume his college career the following semester. By that time, he was viewed by many students as something of a martyr, even though it turned out he had been underage for drinking. He was interviewed by a reporter for the campus newspaper a day before the departmental reception and complained bitterly that the dean’s decision was unfair, that it had caught him off guard when he had just entered the university. He said it threw his whole academic schedule off and made it more difficult for him to enroll in the courses he wanted.

Ken was surprised by the assertiveness of the four students confronting Hyatt. It was obvious that they felt the freshman’s infraction was minor. There were remarks that the university had too many rules, that other students got away with worse behavior all the time, that the freshman should have been judged by his peers in Student Court.

One of the four asked, Wouldn’t it have been enough to let him off with a warning?

The rules have to be enforced, Hyatt replied, or there won’t be any point in having them.

Is a rule like that really needed? another asked. I mean, it’s not like he did any harm or anything.

If everybody brought beer to class and started drinking, this would be a pretty uncivilized campus, Hyatt rejoined testily.

I guess you need the rule, a third student said grudgingly, but the punishment seems too much. Wouldn’t a hundred-dollar fine have been enough?

Hyatt shot him a resentful look. That’s just not adequate, he asserted. I want everyone to see that this kind of behavior won’t be tolerated. It’s got to be nipped in the bud.

One of the students chortled under his breath at the unintended pun, and Ken was unable to repress a momentary smile that belied his emotions. He had always hated heavy punishments for infractions that seemed to harm no one but the culprit. Spurred by a sense of injustice, he addressed the dean without reflecting. All right, maybe a three-hundred-dollar fine would be more appropriate. But should he have to put his life on hold for four months because he drank one can of beer in class?

The dean’s face was beginning to turn red. In a tightly controlled voice, he said, Putting his life on hold will give him a chance to grow up. He was underage to be drinking and probably too immature to be a student here. And keep in mind why we have that rule. It’s so the faculty can teach without disruption. He stared adamantly at Ken, who realized that he’d better drop the matter. As the students resumed questioning the dean, he quietly excused himself and made his way to the refreshments table.

He slowly ate several canapés while thinking over the conversation and the dean’s reaction, which had made him distinctly uneasy. He was also worried by the insistently aggressive behavior of the students.

Maria came up to him and said, Hi, stranger! We got separated somehow. Who’ve you been talking to?

First I talked to Boris Danilov and Al Keating for a few minutes and then Pete Martinez and Krishna Dumir. Let’s see—then I met Nick Anastopoulos, Alice Mosby, and Vera Masillo, and Nick introduced me to Dean Hyatt. I think I got off on the wrong foot with Hyatt, but I’d better tell you about that later.

Maria said, I had a nice chat with Jill Keating and Susan Danilov. Jill is a pretty energetic, interesting sort of person. She teaches high-school English and told me some amusing stories about her students and their creative-writing assignments. Susan seems to be more concerned with her home and family. She does a lot of gardening, and she has a couple of children who are musically talented. Her daughter is only fourteen but plays the piano at a very advanced level. We’re invited to hear her sometime soon.

I’d like that, Ken said. Maybe I’ll even try the piano again myself someday. Maria knew that he was an accomplished pianist but had given it up when he began graduate school.

Have you met any of the new, younger faculty members? she asked. I see some people over there who look about our age.

No, I haven’t. Let’s go over and talk to them.

They introduced themselves to Mark Sharansky and his wife, Lydia, who were talking to Ralph Metzger. Like Ken, Mark and Ralph were new Ph.D.s who had just been hired as assistant professors. As Ralph appeared to be unaccompanied, Ken asked whether he had a wife. Ralph replied cheerily that he was single but not a confirmed bachelor. While Maria and Lydia chatted, the three men compared notes on their teaching assignments. Mark was teaching advanced calculus and a geometry course for prospective high-school teachers, while Ralph was teaching linear algebra and beginning calculus. Both agreed with Ken that the students seemed lethargic, but Ralph was optimistic that interest would pick up as the semester progressed, while Mark was openly skeptical.

In contrast to her cool, somewhat cynical husband, Lydia was animated and excitable. She had a Ph.D. in sociology and was interested in the group behavior of university students. Although not a member of the faculty, she had managed to get a research associateship in the Sociology Department and was starting a project to study drinking among Thornton students. When Ken told her of his argument with the dean, she said, I agree with you that the punishment was excessive, but it was important for that student to feel really penalized. Student drinking is a serious problem, and it’s getting worse all the time. It leads to so much destructive behavior.

Well, I know it’s involved in a lot of auto accidents, Ken replied.

"You bet, plus a lot of rapes, fights, vandalism, injuries, and all sorts of ugly behavior in public. And quite a few people eventually become alcoholics as a result of drinking habits they picked up in college. I studied this kind of thing for my thesis, and I think a lot of university students aren’t mature enough to handle alcohol. You can drink legally at age eighteen in many states, and this is one of them. That age should be raised, and the law ought to be enforced a lot better than it is now."

I never thought about this very much, Ken said, but I imagine you’re right.

"I know she’s right, Maria declared. It’s just scandalous what a relaxed attitude most people have about drinking and drunkenness, especially among young people. Everybody seems to think being drunk is a big joke. I’m glad you’re working on this, Lydia."

Thank you, Lydia replied. I hope it will do some good. But I have to be realistic about what I can accomplish, because the problem is so big.

But big problems are the only ones that interest you, aren’t they, hon? Mark said, squeezing her arm affectionately. You wouldn’t mess around studying some trivial stuff like war or race relations.

My husband, the comedian, Lydia said wryly. Anyway, I don’t know what my project will show about Thornton students, but I’ll be surprised if they drink any less than students at some other campuses I studied.

Well, it’s been a great party, Ralph remarked, but it’s getting late. I think I’ll have one for the road and stagger out of here. He grinned at Lydia, who made a face at him.

We’d better go, too, Maria said to Ken. With a chorus of Good nights, the group broke up. Ken and Maria thanked Mr. Johnson for inviting them and then departed on a wave of goodwill.

As they were getting ready for bed, Maria said, You know, Ken, I’m a little worried by what you told Lydia about your talk with Dean Hyatt. Deans are powerful people, and it sounds like you pissed him off.

I’m afraid I did, Ken sighed. Jesus, I didn’t say very much, but he just seemed so defensive and dictatorial. I know that freshman behaved like a real jerk, but I think Hyatt gave him an awfully harsh punishment.

It probably didn’t help any that you were taking the side of those students who were bugging him, she added. "I bet he thought you should take his side instead of encouraging their insubordination. I swear, Ken, you puzzle me. I think you’re really kind of shy, but you can be very outspoken sometimes. I just hope he won’t take it out on you someday."

Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. Besides, I don’t think he’ll get the chance to take it out on me.

What do you mean?

Franklin Johnson told me that the Math Department is in a unique position. It doesn’t belong to any college of the university, so it isn’t under the control of any dean.

How did that happen?

Johnson told me they used to have two math departments here. One was called ‘Applied Mathematics,’ which meant that its faculty members were chiefly interested in ways to use math to solve problems in other fields. You know, like physics, engineering, and some of the other sciences. That department was part of the College of Engineering. The other department was called simply ‘Mathematics,’ and that referred to pure math, with faculty who developed the subject for its own sake without much regard for specific applications. That department was under Dean Hyatt in the College of Literature, Arts, and Sciences. Anyway, most members of the two departments became convinced that the distinction between ‘pure’ and ‘applied’ was antiquated, so they figured the departments should merge. But the people in pure math didn’t want to be in Engineering, and the people in applied math didn’t want to be in Hyatt’s college.

Why not?

Mr. Johnson didn’t explain that. I would guess each group thought they would lose status and be under pressure to change the type of research they were doing.

So how did they resolve that problem?

They agreed on a compromise in which the new, merged department would be independent of any college and would report directly to the Vice President for Academic Affairs. Johnson said that both Hyatt and the dean of engineering were opposed to giving up their control, but the faculty members persuaded the higher administration to try the plan for at least a few years. So we’re not answerable to any dean, and maybe it won’t matter so much if I offended Hyatt tonight.

I hope you’re right, Maria said. Let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day.

CHAPTER 3

Ken’s sense of excitement at the beginning of the semester was heightened by the events of the next few weeks. He explored the campus and found it expansive and beautiful, with handsome trees set among buildings of intriguing architecture. There were bosky paths, an arboretum, ponds with ducks, and wide lawns where students played Frisbee or sunbathed with books open before them. The early autumn weather was usually perfect, with bright sunshine and moderate temperatures. He and Maria were shocked one day by a September snowstorm, but others told them that this kind of thing happened only occasionally and that the snow always melted quickly. Indeed, the snowfall was not heavy. Hardly a trace of it remained after three days had passed, and the gorgeous weather resumed.

Not long after the snowstorm, they took their first drive into the mountains, where the splendor of the scenery delighted them. Most of the aspens had turned a brilliant yellow, some verging on orange or shading into vermilion. Against the deep-green background of the conifers, they stood out like golden flames, their leaves quivering in the slightest breeze. Their piquant odor mingled pleasantly with the sweeter smell of the evergreens. Above and beyond them, the great peaks were radiant with the new snow, and a hawk wheeled and soared slowly. Seated by his wife on a rock and surveying the stunning scene, Ken felt a surge of love for her and happiness with his life.

Maria applied for several jobs in the mental-health profession and had some encouraging interviews. Soon afterward, Ken came home from work one day to be greeted with a bear hug.

I got a job! she announced.

That’s wonderful! What is it?

I’ll be a clinical psychologist at the Thornton Community Mental Health Center. I’ll be counseling patients part of the time, and I’m also supposed to test and evaluate divorcing parents who want custody of their children.

It sounds like just what you wanted. When do you start?

Next week. And get this, Ken. She grinned as her voice rose. The Center has a grant to do research on mental disorders associated with domestic violence, and the director said I could be on their research team. If we get some good results, we can publish them. I was hoping for an opportunity like that, but I didn’t think I’d find it here.

Darling, that’s terrific news. I’m so proud of you. It sure is lucky, but you deserve it.

I’m excited, but, of course, I’m a little nervous about starting the job. The staff people seem very nice, though. I think I’ll fit in.

I’m sure you will.

Maria continued to talk excitedly about the job. She had been given an initial caseload of ten clients for individual counseling and was supposed to take on more gradually. She would also help a staff social worker with psychotherapy of a group of adolescents in trouble with the law. The group would meet weekly, and she hoped the interaction would help them to stay in school or find work and keep out of jail.

Her salary and benefits were attractive, and she and Ken would be able to live on a moderately lavish scale if they chose to. Feeling dazed by their good fortune, they celebrated with dinner at an expensive restaurant overlooking the town.

As the weeks went by, Ken’s initial exhilaration slowly gave way to a persistent uneasiness. His work was more difficult than he had expected, and he found himself spending most of his waking hours on the various duties of teaching. He had started the semester with a resolve to keep lecturing to a minimum, as he felt it was often a tedious, inefficient way to impart knowledge and sharply limited the give-and-take between teacher and students. Instead, he regularly assigned modest amounts of reading in the textbooks, expecting that his students would find much to discuss and ask questions about in class. He soon realized, however, that the books were frequently unclear and sometimes wrong, so that he felt obliged to rewrite some of the material and present lectures on it after all. As for the students, they dutifully took notes when he lectured but seldom asked questions about anything he said, nor did they usually seem to have noticed the mistakes in the books.

Having told his classes that written homework was essential to learning mathematics, he gave frequent assignments of homework problems. He was concerned about his students’ workload, so he privately worked out large numbers of the exercises given in the textbooks, trying to choose reasonable quantities of problems at different levels of difficulty. Even this tiring