Dr. Marsteller Chapter 18
18
Werewolves
of London blared over the loudspeakers in the bar when Dr. Marsteller walked
in. It was 3 o’clock on a Friday
afternoon and the pub-crawl was just starting.
The light outside streamed through the windows and the smell of stale
cigarettes, with few people scattered about at tables having tentatively sober
conversations felt subversive, or a freedom resorted for the truly
independent. People that can drink in a
bar in the daytime have no obligations and responsibilities. The light and the stale smell equated Dr.
Marsteller oddly with some feeling of childhood and happiness. And everyone was in good spirits. He ordered a porter and sat down at a table. Some students sat next to the window. A couple had dreadlocks and braids, dressed
in black clothes, with piercings, tattoos and other accessories. Dr. Marsteller didn’t mind, but they probably
thought he did. Other students dressed
like young republicans sat near them.
And another group with people of various tendencies all sitting together
were nearby. All three groups seemed to
be together. Art walked in soon
after.
-Hey,
buddy, how’s it going?
-Ready for
another Finnerty pub-crawl?
-Yep. Grab yourself a beer.
Art went up
and also ordered a porter and sat back down across from Dr. Marsteller. He took a sip as Dr. Marsteller took a
swig. He caressed the side of his glass. Dr. Marsteller knew his type. He was good at what he did but he had a chip
on his shoulder. Art was probably the
quiet studious type throughout his high school and college career. Preferring to study over a party. Now that he had reached a certain position in
his career, he felt he could let loose by having a beer now and then, but he
had no love for other people, and he hated anyone who betrayed a lack of
self-discipline. He governed his lab
with an iron fist. And it must have been
traumatic for the psychology graduate students who had decided to do a PhD or
masters as an introspective exercise.
Without intelligence, he would have been a cop. Consequently, Dr. Art Hamilton didn’t realize
he was the most manipulative professor in the department. But Dr. Marsteller couldn’t deny the
importance of his contributions to the scientific community in the field of
psychology and it would only strengthen his own research to work with him.
-How you
been, Art?
-Not too
bad, we’re doing some interesting work right now.
Oh god no,
thought Dr. Marsteller, now I have to listen to him brag for a while about his
research. He’s trying to sell himself to
me. As Art rambled about his research,
Dr. Marsteller’s mind wandered and he watched the students. Another student with a pleasant face and long
sandy hair showed up. He was kissing an
attractive girl dressed in black with black dyed hair. They were laughing and drinking and
smoking. Dr. Marsteller smiled to
himself and remembered how wonderful it was to be that age when you think you
can take on the world. He thought of the
people his age that actually did take on the world. He considered their mental state and
worldview, and realized that he wasn’t unfamiliar with it. Only, they didn’t know they had achieved the
position they had aspired to 30 years ago.
They all think there is something greater and grander, like when they
achieved it they’d attain all knowledge and receive all respect. And the 20 somethings now thought our
positions were something to aspire to, something all knowing and great – but
they all believed when they reached these heights, they’d have more energy and
do something more important than us.
We’re unaware we’re actually were taking on the world, he thought, and
he realized it doesn’t take a special talent to have an influence over
anyone. Dr. Marsteller remembered being
impressed with people in a place of power when he was 25 and how he wanted to
become the best at his work and become one of those people. And he realized he failed. The fact he might be an idol to these kids
saddened him. He remembered when he was
younger he thought he needed to impress his professors with his knowledge. And as a professor himself, he realized that
obsequious deference wasn’t what impressed him; Dr. Marsteller liked the brash
humorous students. His mind unraveled
his entire professional past and he knew his advisors when he was in graduate
school were sickened by his ass-kissing and he wondered why he worried so much
when he was young and why he didn’t relax and crack a few jokes with them and
they would have given him anything. As
Art rambled he regarded the man’s air of importance and nearly chuckled. He was a parody of all the good professors we
knew because he all he could do was imitate them and that’s all anyone could
do. Rarely did anyone break through to
some discovery. It’s just a long line of
uncreative understudies maintaining convention and their place in the
institution. And then a pang struck his
brain and he wondered if his thoughts were truth or the jaded ruminations of a
bitter liar.
-So what do
you think, Sly?
-I’m sorry,
what?
-What do
you think about the behavioral studies?
-I think
it’s a good idea. What type of studies
do you want to do actually?
-Well, we
have a variety of tests like I said. The
8-arm maze, the Morris water maze, the rotarod, a video tracking system. I think if you did a comprehensive study with
all these tests you’d have something.
-How long
would it take?
-How many
mice do you have?
-10.
-Not too
long, maybe a couple months. What about
your new mice. Those aged ones that received
the treatment. I’m sure you have a lot
of them.
-Um,
yes…but they won’t be ready for a while.
We have a lot more to look at molecularly and cellularly.
-Of course,
of course.
Dr.
Finnerty walked through the door. He
looked like Kenny Rogers with his white beard and full face and long white
hair. He slouched slightly and his
rumpled clothes hung loosely off his body.
But he was jovial and entertaining and everyone, students included, were
excited to see him as he made his rounds, learning over people and pointing his
finger and saying repeatedly, ‘all right’ and other meaningless interjections
that intimated friendship.
-Well,
well, well, Sly, it’s good to see you.
-Hey James.
-I haven’t
seen you on one a these in a while.
You’ve been in the news. Big
time. Good research. All right.
-It’s going
well James. We have any promising rocket
scientists coming up?
-Oh
yeah. A good crew. One a them over there, with the long hair,
kissing the girl. Best student I have.
More people
filed in out of the sun into the darkness and dankness of the bar. The happiness was inside the dim room, not
outside in the sun, where men and women in business casual went back to work
after break or jumped in their cars to go pick up the kids before going home to
find something for dinner. They were
tied down to their routine. Not inside
the bar. Inside the bar there is a sense
of a happening, an occurrence, an unusual delight that everyone searches for
each second of their lives – collectively.
Like a heard of buffalo before they are driven off a cliff.
James sat
down with Art and Dr. Marsteller and they talked about the university and the
president and the policies they didn’t like.
James complimented him on his television performances and told him that ‘he
was the king of the school for the moment.’
At that point the group began gathering their things. Some of James friends from town, not
affiliated with the university, but local drunks that hang out at the bars
always came to the crawl. After drunkenness
ensued, they caused fights and hooked up with students, but for the first few
hours, they were the life of the party.
Most of the students liked to talk about how they hung out with regular
town people. One man, in particular,
Sean, was a Vietnam veteran who wore a porkpie hat. He would weave tales embellished to the point
of absurdity. People would come and go
from his conversation but his stream of narrative was constant. Sean wasn’t ashamed or tormented by his
experience. He relished it. He knew he did some awful things. He knew he lost his innocence. He knew he broke several of the Ten
Commandments. Had committed murder for no
reason. But he also knew people thought
it was interesting. So he didn’t hide
anything he did, he was open about it, and admitted he should be serving six
consecutive life sentences for what he did and that he’ll burn straight in
hell. And he knew young people loved his
stories if he acted cavalier like there was nothing wrong with them. They loved his honesty and irreverence.
The group
went outside to take a photograph before moving down to Mates, the second bar
on the tour. James took the
picture. He seemed to aim in a
completely different direction from the group, but no one minded and the
procession moved down the street a few blocks.
People paired off, and besides Sean’s porkpie, others wore outrageous
garb as well, beads around their necks and various ‘crawling trinkets.’ James himself had worn a vest and green shirt
he wore on every crawl. They were his
‘crawling clothes.’ Art walked in the
back of the group with Dr. Marsteller.
-You seem
to be quite a celebrity.
-What are
you talking about?
-Well, if
you notice, the students seem to be pointing to you and talking about you.
-Hadn’t
noticed.
-That’s the
humility I like to see. So, he said
angling for assurance, the collaboration is on?
-Yeah, I
think we might give it a try. Send an
email with the experimental design and I’ll hook you up with the mice.
-All right.
With their
business settled by the time the entered the second bar, they could relax and
have a good time. They strolled out of
the sun and into the back of the bar.
The bartender laid out some free appetizers for the group. But seemed overwhelmed by the amount of
orders. Some other students and
professors showed up. And more would
show up throughout the day after they ended up at the 7th and final
bar. Some of the professor’s wives
showed up. But Nichola didn’t see the
point.
Noticeably drunk when they were walking to
the fifth bar, Art began to confide in Dr. Marsteller. He sidled up to him like someone begging for
money. Dr. Marsteller didn’t know what
to make of it. He was amused, as he
buzzed and the sun was going down and the weather reminded him of cool nights
on a porch in the country.
-Sly, can I
tell you something?
-What’s
that?
-Well, I
don’t know how to say it. It’s kind of a
confession.
-Jesus, go
to a priest Art.
-No, no,
this kind of transgression isn’t for a priest.
It’s for a scientist.
Art was
looking down at his feet while he was walking.
Stumbling slightly. Some of his
students were watching and laughing.
-Christ,
Art.
-You want
to hear it?
-No.
-All right,
I won’t say it.
-Good.
They walked
down stairs to Shooter’s Pub. Dr.
Marsteller figured it was time to call his wife for a ride and get the hell out
of there. He was feeling drunker by the
minute and didn’t want to fall flat on his face in front of everyone. He ordered one more beer, asked a surprised
student for a cigarette and went outside to call his wife.
-Honey, I’m
drunk, can you pick me up at Shooter’s.
-Sure, I’ll
be down in around a half hour.
He walked
back inside. Art was flirting with a young student about 22 years old. Dr. Marsteller chuckled to himself. Well, let him have his fun, he thought and
drank his beer next to them while relaxing.
Suddenly, the girl was angry.
-Fuck
you! She said to Art and stomped away.
-What was
that, Art?
-I guess
she didn’t like my proposition.
-Jesus,
Art, you got a wife.
-We’re kind
of having problems.
-Jesus, is
that what you wanted to talk to me about?
-No. I think….I think one of my students made up
his data.
-What?
-A student
who graduated a couple years ago. I
think he made it up.
-So?
-Well, I
accepted it. We published the papers
together. I knew there was something
wrong, but I never checked anything.
-You can’t
control what some student does.
Dr.
Marsteller didn’t know what to think of this confession. Did he know about my experiments? he
thought. What if he knows that I am
making up this stuff and he’s trying to draw it out of me by confiding in
me? What an underhanded thing to
do. I’m not going to tell him
anything. The bastard.
-I have to
tell you, I’ve been a lot more tormented about it than I thought I would
be. I can’t confront the student,
because he’ll just deny it. But here are
some papers out there, published, and considered some of my best. I just don’t know what to think of it. And then I think it doesn’t really matter
anyway. I mean, no one really reads
them. I don’t know.
Jesus,
thought Dr. Marsteller, he’s telling me the truth. Goddamnit, for a guy like him to be living
with this must be awful.
-Take it
easy, Art. You need a ride home? My wife is going to come here pretty soon and
we’ll give you a ride. Here, I’ll order
another shot.
-Sly, what
do you think about this shit?
-Take it
easy Art. Two shots of bourbon
please.
The
bartender poured them out and they did them unceremoniously.
-Sly, what
would you do?
-I don’t
know. I suppose I’d handle it just like
you, what am I supposed to do?
-Turn the
kid in.
-You don’t
want to ruin his life. And plus you
already published the papers. You
already made the mistakes.
-I don’t
know, Sly.
It was now
obvious Art wasn’t trying a subversive tactic but was really struggling with
everything. Dr. Marsteller sympathized
and was drunk and it was on the tip of his tongue to tell him about what he was
doing to save his funding from Mrs. Viscane.
If he just confided in Art and got it off his chest it would be therapeutic. They were really in the same situation. He could tell him right now. He probably wouldn’t even remember it. And he wouldn’t tell on him because he’d want
to save his own ass. Because Dr.
Marsteller knew his secret. However, no
one could probably prove Art had fabricated that research. He was sure the student probably didn’t leave
evidence lying around. But they could
prove that Dr. Marsteller fabricated his if they delved deep enough. And then his wife showed up at the bar.
-Art, come on we’ll give you a ride. Art nodded his head yes, and stumbled out the door with them. They shoved him in the back seat and his head lolled from side to side as they drove down the street past the green lights.
This originally appeared in Dr. Marsteller