Dr. Marsteller Chapter 10
10
A Japanese
beetle waddled slowly across the edge of his desk near a notebook he hadn’t
used. The notebook was mainly for
show. In graduate school, he went
everywhere with a notebook. And filled
many of them with notes on research he found interesting from conferences,
meetings, talks. And very little of it
amounted to anything; but some of it was glorious. And inspired him. All those notebooks now sat in his
attic. And the notebook on his desk was
empty. Why would he take notes when a
student came to him for advice? That was
his job anyway - giving advice. Would he
take notes on their questions and concerns and feelings of inadequacies? For years he has felt he has been imparting
his knowledge and no one challenged him or told him anything exciting or new. Usually if a student wanted to talk to him,
it was to get his attention and he had to massage this desire for
attention. They needed some
acknowledgement of their importance. And
he was the one in the position to acknowledge their importance. So who was to acknowledge his
importance? They did, and now the whole
world. His cell vibrated. He debated whether to pick it up. It was another request for an interview. He could feel it. He let it go to voicemail. Then he immediately listened to the message.
-Sly, it’s Art Hamilton over in
psychology. I saw you on the news the
other night and was wondering if you were interested in a collaboration on the
cognitive tests you were talking about-
Dr. Marsteller cut off the voicemail and
immediately called him back.
-Hey, Art, how’s it going?
-Not bad, Sly. You have some interesting research coming out
right now. CNN, Jesus. Impressive, Sly.
-Yeah, it’s a fucking circus. So what were you saying about the cognitive
tests?
-Well, I’m sure you already have somebody
working on the project, but I’d definitely be interested in doing something
with these animals and as you know, we have the capability in my lab to do the
studies. Probably the most comprehensive
set up in the university.
Dr. Marsteller realized that this
situation was going to be a delicate one with Art. He couldn’t let Art see the mice that
supposed lived for 10 years. But would
Art ever know how old they were? How
could he? They were all supposed to be
youthful. And if Dr. Marsteller ordered
some young mice, Art would never know.
Art was one
of the top psychologists in the field.
He had excellent equipment, materials and manpower for the
experiments. Dr. Marsteller decided he
needed to think about it for a little bit longer before he committed to
anything.
-Art, I was going to give you a call
about this very thing. We should have a
drink over it and discuss what options you have available.
-Wow, that’s great Sly; it would be
wonderful to be a part of this project.
-Well, you’re the best at it, Art. I’m off on vacation in a week but will be
back by the end of the month.
-Hey, they are having a pub crawl in a
few weeks, maybe we can talk about it then.
-Actually, I’ve been all over the place
and completely forgot about it. That’s a
hell of an idea.
Dr. Finnerty, a professor in the
aeronautical engineering department had organized a bi annually pub crawl in
the bars downtown. Any professor not
averse to having a couple drinks joined him.
They considered it the type of activity to get back to their roots when
they were students and postdocs and came up with their best ideas in the
bars. But they knew in their old age
they couldn’t handle it more than twice a year.
Most of them faded early and headed home after the second or third bar,
but their students kept it going late in the night. The students would put on a good show of
clemency and propriety until the professors turned in. Then things got downright crazy. Dr. Finnerty usually made it through the
whole night. But the students didn’t
care what they did in front of him.
This originally appeared in Dr. Marsteller