The student had told me the story at a dinner reception put on by the Intercollegiate Studies Institute, a conservative organization that was hosting a debate between a liberal and myself. The presence of the liberal had attracted several professors who were not conservative. I introduced myself to one of them, a round, white-haired gentleman who looked a little like David Crosby but with sharper features. His eyes squinted at you in a cheerful way that invited a certain informality and trust. I was still upset by what the student had just told me and since he was a professor in the same Political Science Department and seemed approachable I relayed the story to him. I actually had convinced myself that this affable looking fellow might be someone to discuss how to bring this up with the professor in question and get him to change his ways. Or, alternatively, to get a departmental policy that would protect students in the future.
“I don’t believe it,” was his response when I told him the story. “You don’t believe it!” I said in exasperation. “You’re calling this student a liar? You don’t have any interest in finding out what’s going on in your own department?” Instead of answering me, he repeated himself. “I don’t believe it,” By this time my frustration was reaching a boiling point, but I tried to keep my response calm while letting him know exactly what I thought. “You’re a typical arrogant leftist,” I said, at which he exploded: “Fuck you,” he unexpectedly shot back.
Even I, who am used to heated professorial exchanges, was taken aback. This was after all an academic reception in a context — a 200 year old New England school — which did not exactly seem the place for such expressions. On the other hand, since professors dress like truck drivers these days one can probably expect them to talk like truck drivers as well. The outburst caused me a little concern about the repercussions my provocation might cause for the student who was standing within earshot of the conversation. I certainly didn’t want to cause him trouble at his own school, and I knew the thought had come to me a little late. But the student rescued me from my thoughts by boldly stepping forward and taking ownership of the story. He assured the political science professor that he was telling the truth and that it had happened to him at the hands of one political science departmnet colleagues. At the same time he assured me, “This professor” — pointing to my antagonist — “is fair.”
I took the opening this provided to thank the professor who had just shouted an expletive in my face and inferred his student was a liar for being “fair.” Such is the Alice-in-Wonderland scene at colleges these days that a professor like this has to be complimented for being fair and — in the context — probably deserves the praise. My words calmed the situation — we shook hands — and allowed me to go further. “Why wouldn’t you believe this student?” I said. “Even though you are liberal” (he had informed that he was a Democrat moments earlier) “this student is perfectly capable of distinguishing between your fairness and your colleague’s unfairness. Why don’t you let him tell you what happened?” The expression turned sour. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said, and walked away.