Young Duckbutt Learns About Being a College Professor

I was hired by an institution in another state.  Back then, I was in my mid-20's, and had some ideas of what kinds of lofty thoughts and clever sayings were expected of me as a newly minted assistant professor with my recent Ph. D. from the University of Alabama.  I thought I was well-read, kept abreast of current affairs (Hey, I subscribed to Time, had a smattering of philosophy, a limited knowledge of arts, and a lot of brass.)  Yes, I drove a 1967 Volkswagen and had broad tastes in rock music.

My first task on the job, other than filling out a lot of paperwork, was to stand by a door and let students through only if their I.B.M. card had a green stripe on the top where the name was typed.  If they lacked the green stripe, I was to send them down the hall.  I was never told what happened to the green stripers nor the others; the greenies could have been admitted to a wild party or damned from here to eternity, for all I knew.  Oh well, I learned about need to know when I worked for a radiopositioning company.

I guess assistant professors are regarded as in the same category as second lieutenants.

The next day, I went early before classes into the snack bar, met a few fellow faculty members, and thought, "Wow, my first intellectual conversation as a junior college professor!  I hope I can hold my own."

Only it didn't work that way.  The sage elders (pretty nice guys, by the way) were talking about something I knew nothing about.

Cyd Charisse's legs!

Of course!  College professors talk about some of the things that others do.  Actually, they talk a lot of shop, sports, and politics.  Politics?  Up one's wazoo!  Yes, and actresses from before my time.

Anyway, when I took my next teaching job, I was then knowledgeable about Cyd Charisse's legs! Darn it, I was never asked about them.