Bryce

The Second Semester

Chapter 3 - Checking In

            On Wednesday afternoon, after touching bases with his friends earlier, Bryce stopped by Filson Hall to visit his academic advisor.  He did not need to, as he was already registered for all his classes, and he would not interrupt if it seemed that Dr. Dickinson was busy advising other students, but he thought it only polite to say hello if circumstances permitted.  As he had at the beginning of the previous semester, he approached the professor’s office door and knocked.  This time, when he received the invitation “Enter,” he did so with considerably more confidence than that first time, however.  Dr. John Alcott Dickinson was ensconced behind his desk, looking slightly harried, but clearly glad to see Bryce when he entered.

            “Ah, Mr. Winslow!  How delightful to see you.  My immediately preceding visitor was a junior who still has not learned that putting off registration to the last moment results in not getting the classes one wants.  He was quite put out that he was unable to register for the same class as another student, who I believe to be his lady love,” Dr. Dickinson stated.

            “Several of my friends and I were discussing that phenomenon earlier today, and, I must confess, feeling very smug that we were not involved in the last minute scramble,” Bryce confessed, taking a seat.  “I have no real business, so if another student in distress comes by, I’ll leave.  I just thought I’d stop by and say hello.”

            “Excellent!  Capital!  I am always delighted to welcome you to my office.  If more students were as conscientious as you, the level of stress I endure would recede significantly,” the instructor complimented Bryce.  “I trust your holidays were satisfactory.”

            “More than satisfactory.  I would like to thank you again for taking the time to talk with my father when he visited in December.  That contributed a great deal to a happy holiday, not only for me, but also for Damon, and, I think, for most of my family as well,” Bryce said.

            “You’re quite welcome, but, really, all I did was relate the experiences I’ve had with you, as a student in my class, as an advisee, and as a pledge at the fraternity.  Have you checked in with Sigma Alpha Tau?”

            “Yes, sir.  We had a meeting yesterday evening, which both Damon and I attended, planning the party Friday night,” Bryce replied.

            “Ah yes.  I was unable to attend that meeting because of a family conflict, but Mr. Blankenship stopped by this morning to fill in the blanks, as it were.  He did not, however, include a list of those present,” Dr. Dickinson said.  He then added, “I have noted that your colleague, Mr. Watson, is once again signed up for my survey class.”

            “Yes, sir.  I believe he learned quite a bit last semester, and was satisfied with his grade,” Bryce answered for Damon.

            “My perception is that Mr. Watson has a good mind, but his prior education has been woefully inadequate,” Dr. Dickinson said.  “I am not violating any trust in saying so, as I have shared my assessment with him, and he in turn has informed me that he shares his academic concerns with you.”

            “That is true.  And I agree.  As you know, Damon comes from a section of Chicago which is not well served by the public school system.  He is trying to overcome that background,” Bryce confirmed.

            “Quite.  It has never been clear to me why our public authorities cannot provide good quality education throughout, rather than in only selected schools.  But that’s a problem about which we can do nothing at present.  Your trip back to the Great Plains was successful, then?”

            “Yes, sir.  After his visit, my father seems to have accepted both me and Damon, and my mother and sister were quite positive even earlier.  We had a great time.  It was really great to see Damon enjoy himself so much.  I don’t think he had much in the way of Christmas celebrations as he was growing up.  And you, sir?  I trust your holidays were also satisfactory,” Bryce enquired.

            “Quite, quite, thank you.  Most enjoyable.  And, I must admit, a great measure of that enjoyment was not having to wrestle with the complexities of campus life, including this computer, which, I am convinced, was placed here by one of my bitterest enemies.  Alas, that blessed calm is no more.  As you are here, I should inform you that I will be missing on Friday,” Professor Dickinson informed Bryce.

            “Oh, and why is that, sir?”

            “Some years ago, the American Historical Association chose to move its annual meeting from the weekend between Christmas and New Years to the first full weekend in January.  Unfortunately, the University calendar does not take such matters into consideration.  In consequence, many of us in my department are forced to miss the first few days of each spring semester.  Moreover, our best graduate students, those closest to completing their work, are also at these same venues seeking employment for next year.  You will be entertained on Friday by a first year graduate student, who will do no more than pass out the syllabus and other hand-outs.  It is my understanding that, beginning next year, the Modern Language Association will be doing the same.  Perhaps with English and Foreign Languages joining us, we can influence the autocrats of the calendar to start a week later.”  He gave a heavy sigh at that prospect.  “Here,” the Professor said, turning to his computer, “if this infernal machine will cooperate, I will print out a copy of the handouts for you now, and you will be spared the necessity of attending that period.  In fact, I can do the same for Mr. Watson as well.”

            “That’s most generous of you, Dr. Dickinson,” Bryce said.

            “Tut tut.  There ought to be some benefit from your kind visit, and your conscientious attention last semester,” Dr. Dickinson replied.  He then gave his attention to his computer, which seemed to demand intense concentration.  After one or two false moves, the files for both the course in Hanoverian Britain and the Western Civ survey were found and the handouts printed.

            “There!” Dr. Dickinson announced triumphantly.  “While I am in San Diego, hobnobbing with similarly minded colleagues over the arcana of eighteenth century Britain, you and Mr. Watson can spare yourselves the trouble of showing up for class.  I shall, of course, be back in time for the first regular class period on Monday.”

            “That’s very thoughtful of you, Dr. Dickinson

            At that point, a student knocked on the door.  When invited to enter, she immediately whined, “Dr. Dickinson I can’t get in your English survey class and it’s required for my major.”

            The Professor gave a great sigh.  “Let me guess.  You did not register last semester, and were expecting to do everything today.  You are an English major, and need to take the second semester of the year long Survey of British History.”

            “Uh, yeah,” the student replied, as though that were obvious.

            “I’ll leave you to this student, then, Professor,” Bryce said as he rose to leave.

            “Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Winslow.  Please do so at any time,” Dr. Dickinson said as Bryce let himself out.

            From Filson Hall Bryce walked the short distance to Dumesnil Hall with the intention of paying a similar visit to Dr. Anjot, instructor in the Survey of French Literature sequence Bryce was taking to fulfill his language requirement.  He had taken sufficient French in high school that he was able to by-pass the Introductory and Intermediate courses and go directly into courses in literature or, an option he did not take, into advanced conversation and grammar.  His interest was primarily in the written word, as that would be most useful to him in his historical studies.  As he made the brief transition, Bryce mulled over the fact that he had been unable to make a single friend in the French class last semester.  He wondered whether there was something about his person or presentation which alienated his fellow students.  As he had with Dr. Dickinson, he approached with the intention of not interfering should there be another student needing help, but found the professor alone.

            “Ah, M. Winslow, bon jour,” Dr. Anjot began, speaking French.  The entire conversation was conducted in that language.

            “Good day, Professor Anjot.  I thought I would stop by and say hello, but I will not stay if someone comes who needs help, or if you are very busy,” Bryce began.

            “No, no.  For the moment, everything is good.  You would not believe, M. Winslow, the inanities I have had to deal with today,” Dr. Anjot complained.

            Bryce chuckled.  “I think I would.  I have just come from seeing Dr. Dickinson, and he seems to have a similar problem.”

            “Eh, bien.  There is no limit to human idiocy,” Dr. Anjot philosophically commented.  “So, you had a good holiday, did you?”

            “Yes, thank you.  And thank you for your courtesy to my father when he visited in December.  That undoubtedly contributed to the wonderful holiday,” Bryce added.

            Dr. Anjou shrugged his shoulders.  “It was nothing.  I still regret that I was not told before hand that your father did not understand French, so we might have conducted the class in English.”

            “That was my oversight,” Bryce admitted.  “As you said, there is no limit to human idiocy.”

            “Ah, but my dear M. Winslow, you are usually most reasonable in class, and I appreciate your comments.  I am pleased that you have decided to continue with our survey this semester.”

            “Thank you, Professor.  There is one thing which bothers me about that class,” Bryce said.

            “And what might that be?” Dr. Anjot asked.

            Bryce chose his words carefully.  “There seems to be a certain resentment among the other students, a resentment at my presence in the class.  I cannot recall a single instance when someone in that class spoke to me outside of class all last semester.”

            “Ah!  Yes.  I confess that I noted that as well.  I have no answer to that problem.  Perhaps if you joined the French Club ....” the teacher began.

            “Excuse me, Professor.  But, I am a member of a fraternity, and I just joined another club.  Along with study sessions in history and English, I have little time free for additional commitments,” Bryce inserted when Dr. Anjot paused.

            “I see.  Well, there is nothing wrong with your performance in class, and your grade reflected that.  If anything else occurs to me, I will tell you, but I am afraid I cannot peel back the layers of the American undergraduate and produce a ready explanation of your isolation.  Still, I encourage you to continue as in the past.  Your contributions in class last semester were most helpful in providing a reasonable assessment of the literature, and the ideas it conveys.  Frankly, I confess, some of the others seem content merely to repeat trite clichés without considering the implications.  May I count on you to be the court jester once again?” Dr.  Anjot asked.

            “Court jester?” Bryce asked, not liking the sound of that.

            “Mais, oui!  You know, in a medieval court the jester was the one person who could speak of unpleasant realities without having to bow to the desires of the lord.  In this case, the lord has the name ‘Everybody Knows.’

            Bryce laughed.  “I will gladly be court jester once again.  In fact, it would go against my very nature to be otherwise.”

            At that point, the telephone rang.  Dr. Anjot answered, spoke a few words, and hung up.  “It seems my services are required in the language lab, where several students require a placement examination.”

            “Thank you for your time, and your encouragement, Dr. Anjot,” Bryce said as he rose to leave.  He and the professor walked a short distance down the corridor, then parted at the entrance to the language lab.

            That evening, Bryce presented Damon with his history handouts, and informed him that he would not have to show up for class on Friday morning.

            “Ah, sleeping in.  I think that’s what I appreciated most about your place,” Damon unwarily said.

            “Oh, really?  Not being with me?  Not spending the holidays with my family?  Not the very intimate times we spent ....” Bryce began, only to be interrupted by a body tackle from his boyfriend.

            “Come off it!  Don’t take everything I say so literally.  We’re not lawyers here,” Damon said, sitting on a surprised Bryce.

            “Point taken,” Bryce conceded.  “Now, about those intimate times ....”

            The remainder of the evening was spent in quite pleasant personal relations.

            On Thursday, Bryce reverted to his schedule of the previous semester, and rose in time to spend an hour or so in the fitness center before breakfast and his first class.  There, as he expected, he encountered Curtis Manning, now his fraternity brother in Sigma Alpha Tau.

            “Appreciated you and Damon showing up on Tuesday,” Curtis said.

            “We thought it appropriate, as we’re new brothers, and still feel almost like pledges,” Bryce answered.  “Don’t expect us to do everything you suggest all semester, though.”

            Curtis snapped his fingers in a sham sign of disappointment.  Then the two set to work on their exercises.  At one point, Bryce noticed a brother who had also been a pledge last semester, Beau Lyle, enter the facility.  He was accompanied by a student unknown to Bryce.

            “Who’s that with Beau?” he asked Curtis.

            Curtis looked over to where Bryce indicated.  “Name’s Hunter Matthews.  Don’t know him well, but he’s been in a couple of my classes, so I suspect he’s also a junior and in something requiring ... let’s see, what was it?  Calculus and one of the basic Engineering courses, I think.  Not SAT, or you would have known him,” Curtis kidded.

            “Yeah, yeah.  I did memorize the names and faces of all the brothers last semester.  You want to quiz me?”  Bryce responded.

            “Been there, done that,” Curtis replied with a grin.  “As to Hunter, he seems pretty bright in class, as I recall, but the only time I remember having a discussion with him out of class he only parroted trite ideas copied from some media source.  Didn’t impress me, so I never pursued the acquaintance.”

            “One of these people with his names backward,” Bryce commented.

            “Huh?”

            “Matthew is a fairly standard given name, and Hunter is more commonly found as a family name.  I notice such things.  When we were doing AP American History, we kind of had fun with the 1964 presidential election.  Lyndon Baines Johnson, a guy with three last names, beat Hubert Horatio Humphrey, a guy with three first names,” Bryce said, chuckling at the remembrance.

            “You are definitely weird,” Curtis commented.

            “Sorry.  You had the chance to blackball me last semester, but let me in the fraternity.  Now we are brothers forever.  You’re stuck with me,” Bryce reminded him.

            “Watch out, Brother.  I’m about to drop this weight on your head.  Maybe it’ll jar loose some common sense,” Curtis threatened.

            “Not likely,” Bryce conceded.

            They enjoyed the rest of their workout, then Bryce returned to the dorm, where he woke Damon.  After spending the Christmas break together, it was no longer necessary to resort to the unusual measures employed last semester to rouse his boyfriend, but Damon did still like his sleep, and was not alert first thing in the morning.  At least, he no longer went into attack mode when aroused.  After breakfast, the two departed to their respective classes, Damon to Political Science, and Bryce to Psychology.

            As Bryce had not seen eye to eye with his Psychology instructor last semester, he sought a different one this time to complete his Social Science requirement.  For Psychology 202, he had an instructor listed in the schedule of classes as R. Greene, which he knew referred to Dr. Rebecca Greene, whose specialty seemed to be something having to do with personality or individual development, judging from the classes she taught.  As the class began, it was the same thing as in every other - roll call, self introduction by the teacher, handing out various syllabi and the like, and a brief summary of requirements.  Few classes actually used the entire allotted time on the first day.  Dr. Greene informed the class that they would be considering various factors which influenced personality, and helped or hindered an individual integrating into society.  That sounded at least mildly interesting.

            Following this abbreviated class, Bryce decided to visit Father Miller at the Newman Center.  He walked over, but encountered a different receptionist than Patricia Murphy, the one he was used to from last semester.  Finding her free, he walked up and introduced himself.

            “What happened to Patricia Murphy?  I got to know her some last semester,” Bryce asked.

            “Oh, she’ll be around later.  She has a class this period.  We are students, you know,” the new (to him) receptionist stated.  “I’m Meghan Kreilkamp.”

            “That’s an unusual combination,” he commented undiplomatically.

            “Irish mother, German father,” Meghan casually informed him.  “What can I do for you?”

            “Well, I was hoping to see Father Miller,” Bryce said.

            Meghan looked at the appointment book in front of her.  “I can slot you in at two o’clock.  How about that?”

            “Don’t think so.  I have a Biology lab at one-thirty, and don’t know how long they’ll keep us on the first day, but that’s cutting it too close,” Bryce responded.

            “Next available time is five o’clock,” Meghan said.  “I’ll be gone by then, but Pat should be here to welcome you.”

            “That’s good.  I’ll be back before five, then,” Bryce agreed.

            Bryce returned to the student union, where he met Damon.  They visited the bookstore for some last minute supplies and a change in Damon’s Political Science textbook from the one announced previously, to his annoyance.  Then they had lunch, and went off to Audubon Hall for their common Biology Lab.  Just as last semester, this first session was under the guidance of a graduate teaching assistant, who passed out lab books and made assignments of work places, as well as passing on a few pieces of information already known to those who paid attention last semester.  As they expected, Damon Watson and Bryce Winslow were partnered at the same work station, the assignments being alphabetical.  They dismissed early, but not in time for Bryce to have made a two o’clock appointment.  The next few hours were spent mostly sipping soft drinks and talking at the union.

            About a quarter before five, Bryce returned to the Newman Center to see Pat Murphy, then Father Miller.

            “Hello, Pat Murphy.  How was Chicago?” Bryce greeted the receptionist.

            “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Nebraska.  How was your Christmas?” Pat returned.

            “Wonderful.  Had a great time.  Great snow in Nebraska, you know.  I understand from a good friend that all the snow in Chicago is dirty by the time it reaches the ground,” he teased.

            “Not all.  Most, maybe, but not all,” Pat joked back.

            “How was Christmas in foul, fetid, foggy, fumed Chicago?” Bryce practically chanted.

            “Huh?  Where did that come from?” Pat asked.

            “Sorry.  Suddenly I was reminded of a line from last semester’s production of 1776, except it’s about Philadelphia, which alliterates better with the adjectives than does Chicago, I guess,” Bryce said.

            “You are definitely weird,” Pat pronounced judgement.

            “You’re the second person today who’s said that, so I guess it must be true,” Bryce conceded.

            “Are we going to be seeing you every week, like last semester?” Pat enquired.

            “Don’t plan on it,” Bryce said, “but who knows?”

            About that time, the door to the Chaplain’s office opened, with Father Miller following another student out.  When he saw Bryce, his face lit up, which made Bryce feel very special indeed.  After a brief exchange with the other student, Father Miller greeted Bryce and shook his hand.

            “Well, Bryce.  Glad to see you again.  I was interested when I saw your name on my appointment book.  Come in.  Come in.”

            Seated, Bryce assured the priest that this was a social visit.  He was not experiencing a new spiritual crisis like last semester.  He thanked the chaplain for meeting with his father last month, which he asserted made the Christmas holidays much more pleasant.

            “So, you had a good break?” Father Miller asked.

            “Yes, Father.  Damon and I went home to Lincoln.  Most of the family were very accepting.”  Bryce smiled.  “It was great watching Damon enjoy a traditional Christmas.  I don’t think he ever had much of a Christmas growing up.  Sometimes nothing.  Sometimes an exchange of presents.  But never a real Christmas.  I was just sorry we had to leave before Epiphany, as we had to be here on Tuesday for a fraternity meeting.”

            “Epiphany was the previous Sunday,” Father incautiously asserted.

            Bryce just looked at him.

            The priest actually blushed.  “Okay, for you traditionalists it’s still on January 6,” he conceded.

            “How can you have twelve days of Christmas if the date keeps changing every year?” Bryce asked.

            “Historically, you have a point.  However, very few Catholics paid any attention to Epiphany when it fell during the week before the change in the calendar,” the priest defended the new version.

            “In the ideal society, which I dream about from time to time, there would be a general holiday from December 24 to January 6 every year,” Bryce mused.

            “In which case, the traditional celebration would make lots of sense.  Unfortunately, we do not live in your ideal society.”

            “Boy, don’t I know it?” Bryce replied.

            “Anything in particular bothering you?” the priest asked.

            “No.  Nothing like last semester.  I came by mainly just to say hello, and to thank you for your help last semester,” Bryce said.

            “I’m always glad to see you.  In fact, especially glad.  You’d be surprised at how few people come back to say thanks,” Father Miller ruefully admitted.

            “No, I don’t think I would.  I’m becoming cynical in my old age,” Bryce joked.

            “Please don’t.  We have quite enough cynics as it is,” he was advised.

            After a few more pleasantries, Bryce departed, leaving the priest a few blessed minutes free of commitments.

            Bryce and Damon spent Thursday evening together over dinner and just having a good time, partly at the fraternity house, but partly on their own.  On Friday, Bryce began the same way with his workout at the fitness center and conversation with Curtis.  For the second day, he noticed the student Matthews there, but had no reason to get to know him better at this time.  He went off by himself to breakfast, as Damon had his History 102 class at 9:00, and did not have to go, as he already had all the handouts, thanks to Bryce’s visit to Dr. Dickinson on Wednesday.  Bryce let him sleep, and went to his French class.

            Dr. Anjot went through the usual routine.  Of interest to Bryce, he announced that the first two works they would study were very different expressions of the social disruption accompanying the French Revolution and the Romantic Movement.  They would begin with a work by Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade (1740-1814), La philosophie dans le boudoir (1795), followed by Le génie du Christianisme (1802) by François René de Chateaubriand (1768-1848).  They would make an interesting comparison, Dr. Anjot assured the class.

            As far as Bryce was concerned, the most interesting aspect of this class was the appearance of a new student, one who had not been part of the class last semester.  He answered to the name ‘Rimbault, Marc Antoine.’  After the class was dismissed, Bryce noted the new person walking alone towards the University Center, ignored by the others in the class as he had been, and wondered whether he might have a kindred sufferer from cliquish isolation.

            He had no time to pursue this line of thought, however, as Dr. Anjot had taken most of the period waxing eloquent in his description of the two works with which they would begin their studies.  Consequently, Bryce had to move on to his English class, listed in the catalogue as ‘English 413, Dr. Samuel Johnson and His World.’  This class would be taught by Dr. Daniel Etheridge, who, Bryce knew from his previous contacts in the English Department, was a member of the Johnson Society of London as well as holding office in the American Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies.  Bryce knew of Johnson primarily as the subject of James Boswell’s biography and as a lexicographer, but was looking forward to learning more about the great man and eighteenth-century England, which would complement his history course with Dr. Dickinson.  As he expected, there would be a term paper, to which he had already given some thought.  It remained to be seen exactly what that would encompass, however.  It came as no surprise, either, that everyone was expected to read Boswell’s biography.  Mike Sandoval was also in this class, as was Mandy Moore and several others who had been in the Milton class last semester, so Bryce felt very much at home, unlike the French class the previous period.

            For two hours, between eleven and one, Bryce’s schedule was free, and the English class let out early, so he and Mike walked over to the library.  They had done so separately last semester, but now they were good friends, so they walked together, discussing the class.  Maddy had another obligation, so did not accompany them.  Mike raised the matter of a study group, like last semester.  Bryce agreed that it was a good idea, but reminded Mike that he had fraternity meetings on Tuesday evenings.  They had noted from the syllabus that Dr. Etheridge had scheduled two examinations prior to the finals, both on a Friday, and so the best day for the study group would seem to be a Thursday.  Mike agreed to take the lead in organizing things, as he had last semester.  With no History class until Monday, Bryce considered he would have to wait until after that to know who was in that class before looking into organizing a study group.  That seemed to work well last semester, so why abandon a successful routine?

            In the library, Bryce and Mike spent over an hour becoming familiar with the holdings on Samuel Johnson, both in book and in journal format.  There were also some journals available online which were not held in physical form by the U of C library.  That preliminary work would make the selection of a research topic much easier when Bryce got serious about it, which he intended to do on Saturday.

            After the library, Bryce joined Damon in the University Center cafeteria.  Damon had managed to get himself up in time for his Math class at eleven, even without the loud alarm Bryce had set.

            “Did you wake up in time?” Bryce immediately teased his partner.

            “You did not have to set that alarm.  I fact, I was dressing when it went off, and it scared the bejeesus out of me,” Damon complained.  “I nearly wet my pants.”

            “Should have taken care of that before dressing,” Bryce heartlessly remarked.

            “I did!  This was extra.  That alarm must have been meant for the Fire Department.  It’s loud enough to wake the dead,” Damon complained.

            The two friends lunched together, reviewing their morning, then set off for their Biology lecture at one o’clock in Audubon Hall.  They had the same professor as last semester, Dr. John Harris, a large but friendly member of the Biology Department, who again informed the class that this sequence was for non-science majors, students who did not intend to pursue the discipline further.  Two students got up and left at that point.  The requirements were about the same as last semester, so there was no surprise there.

            As students were leaving, Bryce and Damon stayed behind for a few minutes.  When the crowd had cleared, Bryce approached the instructor.

            “Dr. Harris, I’m Bryce Winslow.”

            “Yes, I remember you from last term.”

            “I want to thank you again for taking the time last semester to speak with my father when he visited.  He was quite impressed with your expertise, and it helped significantly in smoothing some family matters,” Bryce explained.

            “I’m always happy to share any information I have in my area of competence.  That’s what education is all about, at every level.  Information which is hoarded is useless, no matter how important in itself.  Besides, I enjoyed the exchange,” Dr. Harris commented.  “I’m pleased to see you and Mr. Watson in my class again this semester.”

            “Thank you.”  Bryce chuckled.  “If I’m not mistaken, one of those students who left early did the same thing last semester.”

            Dr. Harris looked annoyed.  “I believe you’re right.  It never ceases to amaze me how casual some students are with things which affect their own futures.  If that student wanted the sequence for science majors, he should at least have enough interest to get the right class.  102 is clearly identified in the catalogue and in the schedule of classes as being for non-majors.  All some students look at is the time slot.”

            “I don’t understand it either,” Bryce agreed.

            They parted, with Bryce and Damon returning to Clay Hall to deposit their books, papers, and Bryce’s laptop.  He transcribed his notes, then allowed Damon to use his computer to do the same.  Academic work for the day completed, they wandered back to the University Center, where there seemed to be a good deal of excitement in the air.  Whether this was just high spirits at the beginning of a new term, or something special, was not apparent.  Later that evening there would be the Welcome Back dance sponsored by the Student Government Association, but neither Bryce nor Damon planned to attend.  Instead, they would just take it easy until it was time to go over to the fraternity house to prepare for the post-dance party.