*****
“Honey, I’m home!” Before she could
toss her keys, bag, and mail on the hall table, feet could be heard pounding
down the carpeted stairs. “How,” she
thought, “is it possible for such small furry feet to make so much noise?” Two flame-point Siamese twined themselves
daintily around her ankles.
“OK, guys, is that
love or hunger?” A yowl preceded the
dash to the kitchen and she followed obediently behind. Having kibbled their bowls, she ice-cubed a
frosty glass and poured a more than generous portion of icy Ketel One into
it. Four cocktail onions followed (well,
she’d missed lunch—better not drink on an empty stomach) and she was on her way
to the little deck just off the kitchen.
The kitchen she had furnished for practicality, the garden with
love. The hydrangeas were in still in
bloom but becoming a little frowzy with the end of summer but the wildly varied
pansy-beds had survived and were flourishing.
The full-bellied hostas were begun to look a little ragged around the
edges. The black-eyed Susans were
threatening to displace the climbing honeysuckle but together they still looked
rather comfortable together.
Maggie kicked off her heels (how she
hated meeting days in the Ivory Tower) and lowered herself gratefully into the
gravity chair she had recently had delivered.
How could a woman who clicked past the Home Shopping networks with
disdain buy virtually everything except groceries and toiletries online? Because she could, dammit! Truly she hated shopping with a passion
reserved for few other human enterprises.
The first sip made itself powerfully
felt. She went back into the kitchen
for a plate of cheese and crackers and, as a last thought, added an apple. There.
All food groups represented.
She had barely sliced a strip of Gouda
when the doorbell rang. She momentarily considered
the socially approved strategy of going to open it—for a moment. And then making use of the noted projection
range that three decades of acting and of teaching large classes of
obstreperous students had granted her she yodeled: “I’m out back! Come on around!”
In a moment she was surprised to see Ted
Kramer peering uncertainly over the garden gate. Ted usually conformed to the traditionally
personality profile of the professor stage design. Good-looking in an unassuming way, he was a
very quiet presence in faculty meetings, rarely contributing or calling
attention to himself in any way, unless immediately involved in the issues
under discussion, such as the need for a new light board or the unusual
increases in the cost of colored gels.
She could not remember a time when a fellow faculty member had turned up
at her door without having made a previous appointment. He was the last person she had expected to
see.
“Ted!
How nice to see you! I don’t
think I’ve seen you since your return from the Williamsburg Festival. Please, come on in. It’s just a latch.”
“I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come. You are clearly relaxing after a long
day. I shouldn’t intrude.” He started to leave but she stopped him in
mid-flight with a laugh.
“Please! I’ve been almost a hermit this summer. I am so glad to have a real adult to chat
with rather than the talking heads on MSNBC I spend so much time conversing
with unsatisfactorily.”
“Oh.
Do you email them or Twitter.”
“Neither. I just yell at the screen when they annoy me
beyond endurance. Now come one in. Oh, are you pro or anti cat? If anti as so many people are, I’ll cage up
the felines.”
“I don’t have a cat at the moment but
I am very much a cat person. They won’t
bother me at all.”
“Moo is asleep under the big maple
tree at the bottom of the garden and probably won’t bother you but Shoo will
undoubtedly make a bee-line for your lap as soon as you sit. Can I get you a drink?”
“Just water. I have some more work tonight to get ready
for Show and Tell tomorrow.” “Have
a seat and help yourself to the cheese and crackers. I’ll be back in a moment.”
By the time she got back with a tall
glass of iced water with lemon and a more substantial serving of cheese,
crackers, and assorted fruit she discovered her prediction had come true. Shoo was settled comfortably in Kevin’s lap
and the trembling purr issuing from her confirmed that he indeed was a cat
person that knew how to stroke and where.
After they had both eaten and drunk a
little while in comfortable silence she asked,
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“I
don’t know . . . maybe I shouldn’t have come.”
“But
you are here so . . .”
“All
right, stop me if I’m out of line. I
haven’t been doing this for very long and . . .”
“And
I have so . . .”
“So
if my being here and asking some questions is inappropriate I want you to tell
me.”
“Ted, we’ve only known
each other a couple of years but have I ever given you the impression that I
have a hard time speaking my mind?”
“No, Doctor, Professor . . .
Maggie. First of all, I know that it
would have made more sense for me to wait till tomorrow and make an appointment
but . . .”
“But you’re worried about something
and it’s getting in the way of your being able to eat, sleep, or work.”
“Yeah!
How did you . . .”
“I teach undergraduates. Not very articulate undergraduates. If I weren’t able to read facial expressions
and behavior I wouldn’t be a very good director or teacher.”
“See, that’s the problem. I’ve only been teaching a couple of years and
I’ve always taught undergraduates. The
two new design grad students were waiting for me when I came in today. I guess I hadn’t given much thought to how my
relationship to this new project was going to work.”
“Fred didn’t explain it before you
went on vacation?”
“Well, sure. He said I would be doing an independent study
with them the first semester. That they
would be shadowing and assisting me on the first production and then I would advise
them through their first year projects.”
“Yes, that’s right. So what’s the problem?”
“I . . . they are almost as old as I
am! I think the lighting designer . . .”
“Kevin.”
“Yeah.
He’s probably worked with more complex lighting systems than I
have. He’s been working in Vegas for a
couple of years. He was one of the
Master Electricians for Cirque du Soleil.
How am I supposed to teach him anything?
And . . . the design girl . . .”
“Martha.”
“Yeah, Martha. She renders better than I do. I went through their resumes and portfolios
and I started thinking they should be teaching me.”
“Of course they should. And you will be wise to let them. Listen, Ted, I get it. I do.
It’s much easier teaching undergraduates. At first they know almost nothing and it
gives you a powerful feeling of authority.
These people have come here for what is called second tier
training. Either because they hope to
teach one day and they know they’ll need a terminal degree or, their careers
haven’t developed as well as they’d hoped and they know that an advanced degree
is rapidly becoming to the profession what the sorting hat is at Hogwarts. A way of weeding out dozens of applicants
without the necessity of considering their capabilities. A few, like Vanessa come because they just
feel they need to know more.”
“But that still doesn’t tell me how
I’m supposed to teach them. How to get
their respect.”
“You don’t have to get their
respect—assume you already have it. You
have the three little letters after your name that they covet so they assume that
you know more. And you do. I was on your search committee. You weren’t hired because of your mastery
over lighting equipment or how well you render but because of your mind.”
“My mind?”
“Well, perhaps your aesthetic would be
more accurate. Not only do you design
really well as your portfolio attests but you have a very sophisticated ability
to turn a play into a visual and aural context.
And you are able to communicate that aesthetic in plain English and without
pontification. Just talk to them. Answer their questions about your designs,
ask questions about theirs, don’t talk down to them but don’t imagine they know
as much as you do because they don’t.
You can all three benefit from the interaction with each other over the
next three years. Being a professor can
be a very isolating proposition. Oh, you
have colleagues but they are all specialists, chosen for the way as you were
for you complement each other. And design
teachers are even more isolated. Grad
students can provide a very pleasant and productive cohort. And, lucky for you, you are nearly age
mates. You’ve grown up listening to the
same music, seeing the same films. You
will be able to use allusions so much more effortlessly than I can given the
great gap between my age and theirs. Go
out for a drink or two and swap stories about shows you’ve done, disasters
you’ve avoided . . . or not. Pretty sure
this time next week you’ll discover that having grad students is the best thing
that’s happened to you since you’ve been here.” “You
must think I’m an idiot.” “No,
the reason I know what you don’t is because whatever problems you’ve had or
will have as an artist/teacher I’ve had.
And even though it was a while ago those problems were painful enough
that I remember them well.” “Thanks. I feel a lot better. Well,” he said lowering the protesting Shoo
to the deck, “I guess I’d better go.” “Your
more than welcome to stay awhile.” “I’ve
got more work to do on the set tonight and now I think I can do it.” “Let me know in a week or two how it’s going.” “I will.
And thanks again,” he said while letting himself out of the latch gate. Having been disturbed and not yet ready to
abandon the sybaritic comfort only humans are able to provide, Shoo had leapt
lightly into Maggie’s lap. “Shoosie, I
hope I did the right thing. I know it’s
not as easy as I said but he needs to start the process with them making a good
impression. Maybe if he thinks it’s
going to be a sure thing, he will. Time
will tell.”
*************
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