me?”
“What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”
“Didn’t you?”
“That wasn’t my question,” she said, wheeling to her desk. “The question of whether I had anything to do with your carrel being emptied is completely distinct from the question of whether you have any grounds to suggest that I did.”
“For God’s sake, did you or did you not —”
She put up a hand. “Calm down.”
“What did you do? Expunge me from the records?”
“Joseph—”
“I mean, wouldn’t it’ve been easier to have me shot, or—”
“Joseph,” she said, leaning forward. “Stop it right now.”
Though she spoke to me like I was a poodle, I instinctively shut up.
“Thank you. Now I’m going to read you that e-mail, and I want you to listen very carefully. Can you manage that?”
“I’m listening.”
“Good.” She turned to her computer, moused something open, cleared her throat.
Dear Joseph,
“‘It is my duty to inform you that, effective June fifth, your active student status will be suspended. Notice has been filed with GSAS and with the registrar.
“‘I regret that the situation has come to this, and I hope that you will understand why the faculty has found it necessary to take such a measure.
“‘We both know that your work has come to a standstill. Despite having been granted numerous extensions—extensions granted on condition that you submit work—you still have not given me, or anyone else, a single satisfactory dissertation chapter. This is unacceptable. Twice last year you failed to file applications for an academic extension. Additionally, you failed to file a tuition waiver. That in itself would constitute grounds for your removal. However, the faculty and I decided to give you one more chance, and to that end I have repeatedly sent you e-mails—’”
“But that’s absurd,” I said. “I never—”
“‘—none of which you answered. I—’”
“But I never got any—”
“I’m not finished. ‘None of which you answered. I left a letter in your mailbox. This, too, went unanswered. I was therefore compelled to report to the faculty that you had grown noncompliant.
This decision will not preclude completion of your doctorate. For the time being you may retain your e-mail address, along with limited borrowing privileges. Provided you submit all outstanding coursework’”—a long stare—“‘you may still qualify to graduate. However, your name will be removed from the department roster, and your active status suspended.
“‘I doubt this change will affect you much, seeing as how you have already ceased to attend lectures, and have not taught in three semesters.’ ”
“That’s because you told me I couldn’t teach anymore.”
“I’m not finished, please. ‘I understand that you may wish to explain to me the cause of your dereliction, and to plead your case for yet another round of extensions. You are welcome to do so. You may also appeal to GSAS. However, be aware that, having consulted Dean Blevins prior to making this decision, the faculty are not alone in considering the burden of proof to rest on your shoulders rather than ours. Our patience is thinning.
“‘On a more personal note, I wish you to be aware that while I respect Sam Melitsky, I cannot and will not permit his reputation to keep you in clover indefinitely.
“‘Sincerely,
Linda Neiman.’”
She put her manicured hands on the desk. “Several of your cohorts are already assistant professors elsewhere. Gil Dickey is at Pittsburgh. Alexi Burgher is at Stanford. Nalini, as you know, is here. As we speak, both Hudi and Irit Greenboim are interviewing at Oxford. Everyone’s moved forward—except you. How do you explain that? You can’t, so don’t even try.”
I said nothing.
“Listen,” she said, adopting what she must’ve thought of as a gentler tone; it only made her sound more patronizing. “I’m simply saying what someone should have said to you years ago.
“What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”
“Didn’t you?”
“That wasn’t my question,” she said, wheeling to her desk. “The question of whether I had anything to do with your carrel being emptied is completely distinct from the question of whether you have any grounds to suggest that I did.”
“For God’s sake, did you or did you not —”
She put up a hand. “Calm down.”
“What did you do? Expunge me from the records?”
“Joseph—”
“I mean, wouldn’t it’ve been easier to have me shot, or—”
“Joseph,” she said, leaning forward. “Stop it right now.”
Though she spoke to me like I was a poodle, I instinctively shut up.
“Thank you. Now I’m going to read you that e-mail, and I want you to listen very carefully. Can you manage that?”
“I’m listening.”
“Good.” She turned to her computer, moused something open, cleared her throat.
Dear Joseph,
“‘It is my duty to inform you that, effective June fifth, your active student status will be suspended. Notice has been filed with GSAS and with the registrar.
“‘I regret that the situation has come to this, and I hope that you will understand why the faculty has found it necessary to take such a measure.
“‘We both know that your work has come to a standstill. Despite having been granted numerous extensions—extensions granted on condition that you submit work—you still have not given me, or anyone else, a single satisfactory dissertation chapter. This is unacceptable. Twice last year you failed to file applications for an academic extension. Additionally, you failed to file a tuition waiver. That in itself would constitute grounds for your removal. However, the faculty and I decided to give you one more chance, and to that end I have repeatedly sent you e-mails—’”
“But that’s absurd,” I said. “I never—”
“‘—none of which you answered. I—’”
“But I never got any—”
“I’m not finished. ‘None of which you answered. I left a letter in your mailbox. This, too, went unanswered. I was therefore compelled to report to the faculty that you had grown noncompliant.
This decision will not preclude completion of your doctorate. For the time being you may retain your e-mail address, along with limited borrowing privileges. Provided you submit all outstanding coursework’”—a long stare—“‘you may still qualify to graduate. However, your name will be removed from the department roster, and your active status suspended.
“‘I doubt this change will affect you much, seeing as how you have already ceased to attend lectures, and have not taught in three semesters.’ ”
“That’s because you told me I couldn’t teach anymore.”
“I’m not finished, please. ‘I understand that you may wish to explain to me the cause of your dereliction, and to plead your case for yet another round of extensions. You are welcome to do so. You may also appeal to GSAS. However, be aware that, having consulted Dean Blevins prior to making this decision, the faculty are not alone in considering the burden of proof to rest on your shoulders rather than ours. Our patience is thinning.
“‘On a more personal note, I wish you to be aware that while I respect Sam Melitsky, I cannot and will not permit his reputation to keep you in clover indefinitely.
“‘Sincerely,
Linda Neiman.’”
She put her manicured hands on the desk. “Several of your cohorts are already assistant professors elsewhere. Gil Dickey is at Pittsburgh. Alexi Burgher is at Stanford. Nalini, as you know, is here. As we speak, both Hudi and Irit Greenboim are interviewing at Oxford. Everyone’s moved forward—except you. How do you explain that? You can’t, so don’t even try.”
I said nothing.
“Listen,” she said, adopting what she must’ve thought of as a gentler tone; it only made her sound more patronizing. “I’m simply saying what someone should have said to you years ago.
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