Me receiving an Appy Inkwell Award for Best Memoir at the Appalachian Writer’s Conference, 2024
About this time last year, I found out that the opening pages of my teaching memoir, Lessons: A Teaching Life, won a contest sponsored by Martin Sisters Publishing, a small press in Barbourville, Kentucky. With the prize came eventual publication. My long year of revising, editing, and polishing began at the beginning of this year. At the end of July, I reached a milestone, finishing my personal revision and editing stage! Now, I’m working with my wonderful editor, Ryan Wineberg, to edit the book and ready it for the publisher. If all goes well, I hope to have my first book published in the first quarter of next year.
My grandfather when principal of Ridge Grove School (far right, back row)
One of the first things Ryan asked me to do was think about adding pictures, which for some reason, I had never thought about doing before. It’s been an interesting process and trip into my teaching roots, especially the pictures I have found of my own and my mother’s family, many who were educators. My grandfather, Gordon Dabbs, died before I was born, but through my mother I have learned what a great principal and physics teacher he was. My grandmother, Katherine, and her sister, Jane Leath, were also teachers as was my mother’s brother Eldridge Dabbs. My father was a principal, teacher, and coach. My mother taught English but spent the bulk of her career as a high school librarian, now retired for many years. My mother’s first cousin Judson Jones became a principal, too, and two of his daughters, Leah and Lori work in education; Lori has her doctorate like her daddy.
My grandmother with her first class at Lanett High School, Lanett, Alabama (front row, far right)
Great Aunt Jane at her retirement celebration (front row, far left)
It’s been great to look back and see pictures that represent this rich legacy that helped shape the value I put on education. For me and my family, it’s been priceless!
I will sure keep you all updated about the book’s progress. In the meantime, I’ll be traveling to the Appalachian Writers’ Conference again in September. Excited to go back and keep learning–as my dad always said, “I’m not going to retire. I’m going to refire!”
In 2014, I started this blog as a way to stay sane as I became increasingly alarmed about the state of things at my institution, a small community college south of Asheville, North Carolina. Since 1995, I had taught English composition, developmental English, British literature, and creative writing. During the first decade or so, I had enjoyed blessed autonomy, trusted to develop my own curriculum that followed limited state and institutional guidelines. I liked it that way, and by all indications, I and other English instructors were effective teachers, especially when preparing students to be successful when they transferred to four-year institutions. We collaborated on the required freshman English classes, using the same textbooks and study materials, but we were still considered the experts when it came to our individual classes and pretty much left to create our own curriculum and assessments.
However, as online instruction and dual enrollment became more popular, the college administration as well as the state sought more and more standardization because, you know, it’s so much easier to collect data and dollars that way and aren’t those the only things that matter? I guess you can tell how I felt about the changes and my loss of academic freedom.
As that first decade of Hey, Mrs. Winkler moved on, I found myself feeling smaller and smaller as an employee, even though I was growing in my abilities and contributions to the college, including the development of four online literature classes—World Literature II (I believe the first online lit. in the state of North Carolina), British Literature I and II, and American Literature II. I also developed accelerated online classes for the two required freshmen English courses, making it possible for students dependent on financial aid to proceed through their courses more quickly.
Even before 2014, I had become deeply involved in the theater department at my college as a writer, actor, director, dramaturg, and publicist. I also collaborated on writing screenplays for short films, one that won the 2008 Asheville 48-Hour Film Project Best Film called Serial Love. I wrote four plays that were produced at the college—a one-act comedy called Green Room, the musical A Carolina Story with music by a former student, Curtis McCarley, a faithful stage adaptation of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, and a play about domestic violence inspired by Robert Browning’s The Ring and the Book called Battered. All four were fantastic teaching experiences as I collaborated with student actors and crew members when writing and revising the scripts.
In 2017, I launched a literary journal called Teach. Write.: A Literary Journal for Writing Teachers, which now has its own website teachwritejournal.com and is a member of the Community of Literary Magazines and Presses. The latest edition is dedicated to the people of western North Carolina and those who came to help us following the devastation caused by Hurricane Helene.
So, you see, Hey, Mrs. Winkler was not only a place to rant, but also about the wonderful collaborations and incredible students I had over the years. I love teaching, and writing the blog, then editing the journal, gave me opportunities to express all the bad, good, and seriously screwed up things that were happening. It helped me survive those last years. Finally, however, I had to leave teaching, probably because I loved it too much. I just couldn’t take what was happening to it anymore. When the opportunity arose for me to retire a bit early, I took it, and I haven’t been sorry.
It’s been over a year and a half since I retired, and although I miss my colleagues and my students, I don’t miss the administrative hassles and definitely do not miss grading essays! In some ways, especially as I work on my memoir, Lessons: A Teacher’s Life, to be published this year or early next, I feel that I haven’t left. Also, my time as a Dramatists Guild Foundation Fellow helped me rewrite A Carolina Story, which had its beginnings at the college where I taught the bulk of my career. Next month, the new A Carolina Story will have a workshop reading at Hendersonville Theatre as part of their series New Works Readings: Page to Stage
A few years ago, when I was still working at a small community college in western North Carolina, I was visiting my mother who lives in rural Alabama. Often times towards the end of my almost 40-year teaching career, I would be discouraged and, I’m sad to say, spent a great deal of time bellyaching about the work environment when I was talking with my mother. But this time, I was happily explaining how a new teaching idea (I can’t remember what it was) had positively affected my students. “Sometimes this teaching stuff works,” I said.
My mom and me about ten years ago–photo by Hannah Winkler
Then, after a moment of silence, my mother said, “I know you’re too busy right now, but when you retire, you really ought to write a book about teaching. You’re such a good teacher, Katie.” I teared up then just like I am right now because those words coming from my mother started healing the wounds from a dysfunctional workplace and dwindling societal respect for educators in general. Slowly, the first writing project of my retirement began to take shape in my mind. I would write a memoir of my life as a teacher, and it would be dedicated to my mother.
I actually began writing the book in the last year of teaching but didn’t get very far. The composing process has never come easily to me, and I struggled. However, once I retired and was freed from the stresses of teaching, especially the heavy grading load, the words just seemed to tumble out of me. I had forgotten why I went into teaching in the first place, but now, no longer fixating on the heavy course loads, bureaucratic frustrations, and student apathy, I began remembering the joy of being in the classroom, the challenges I overcame, and the educational adventures I experienced. I had a rough, rough draft in six months, half the time I had given myself to finish.
Happy me at the awards banquet!
Even though I only had a draft of the book, when I saw the opportunity to enter a contest for a full-length memoir that only required the first 2,500 words, I decided to enter since all of the top three awards would cover the fee to the conference that was sponsoring the contest. I thought I had a shot at 3rd place, but never imagined that I would win the memoir category that came with an additional prize of publication!
So, it is happening! The publisher has assigned my book an editor who happens to be just right for me, someone with community college teaching experience who was the first person to greet me at the conference with the words, “I love your work!”
Unlike composing, editing is a joy for me. I would tell my students this; they would just give me that you’re-such-a-nerd look, but I would protest. “No, no, no! You don’t understand. Revision and editing are at the heart of good writing. That’s when you get to manipulate the words, sentences, and paragraphs–add and subtract until you make the writing sing!”
I doubted that many believed me, so I started saving my students’ diagnostic paragraphs in a folder and handing them back on exam day when they wrote a final reflection paper comparing that first faltering writing to the final essay. Sometimes they would audibly express their surprise with a “It is better.” or even just “Wow!”
I cherished those days just as much as I cherish revising and editing my first book: Lessons: A Teaching Life–coming to a bookstore near you, or online, from Martin Sisters Publishing.
***
Coming soon! The next edition of Teach. Write. I’m dedicating this edition to the indomitable spirit of those who have been impacted by the many natural disasters we’ve been experiencing around the world, especially those here in my region of Western North Carolina. Six months ago, Hurricane Helene tore through our area, causing massive damage and a loss of 106 lives. Now, due to the thousands of downed trees and dry weather, fires are blazing all over our region, including upstate South Carolina. And yet, the resilient spirit of our people stands.
The Spring/Summer 2025 edition of Teach. Write. will be up on my sister site on April 1. On that date, I will begin accepting submissions for the 2025 Fall/Winter edition, so take a look at my guidelines and send me your best work!
Ned Scott Laff and Scott Carlson’s Hacking College: Why the Major Doesn’t Matter and What Really Does challenges contemporary ideas about higher education. The book takes a critical look at today’s overemphasis on majors and predefined academic tracks, instead promoting a more flexible and personalized approach to navigating college. The authors advocate for experiential learning, skill-building, and real-world readiness, encouraging students to “hack” their education by tailoring it to their unique goals and aspirations. They also emphasize uncovering “hidden intellectualism” and leveraging untapped opportunities in the workforce, offering practical advice for students to maximize their college experience in ways that extend beyond rigid curricula.
Reading Hacking College felt like a real validation of the methods I used during my time as a community college educator. Many of the principles the authors outline—like the importance of experiential learning and practical, career-focused assignments—aligned perfectly with the approach I took in my classes. In one of my English composition courses, for example, I required students to interview a professional in their desired field. This assignment wasn’t just about teaching research and communication skills; it was about connecting their academic work to the real world in a meaningful and practical way.
The results were inspiring. Many students said it was the highlight of the course, as they gained invaluable insight into their chosen professions. One student even walked away from the interview with a job! Assignments like this not only enhanced their communication and research skills but also made the value of liberal arts education more tangible.
During my years teaching freshman composition and advising students in associate degree programs, I saw firsthand the importance of integrating the “bread” of practicality with the “roses” of intellectual and personal growth—a balance Terry O’Banion captures so beautifully in Bread and Roses. While a few students arrived with clear goals and preparedness, the majority were either unprepared or had unrealistic expectations. Toward the end of my career, I noticed an increasing number of students seeking only the quickest path to a high salary or transfer to an elite school. Many questioned the value of courses, like English composition, that didn’t appear directly tied to their career goals.
To address this, I instinctively began infusing my curriculum with practical, real-world assignments like the interview project. This approach didn’t just help students see the value in what they were learning—it also created moments of clarity, confidence, and even opportunity, like the student who landed a job from their interview.
Unfortunately, I’ve watched with concern as the “roses” of liberal arts education are increasingly overshadowed by a narrow focus on workforce pipelines. Reflecting on my experiences with students—and on books like Hacking College and Bread and Roses—reminds me why this balance is so essential. Education should prepare students not just for successful careers, but for meaningful and enriching lives. I’m more determined than ever to advocate for this perspective and keep the conversation going.
Service is a dirty word You may have to Wipe inky hands On a blackened rag Beside a bottle Of disinfectant Left over From Covid’s mandatory cleaning days Long deemed Useless by scientists But not bureaucrats.
Service is a dirty word. You may have to Wipe down your desk Of ceiling tile flecks From above you As workers pound on the old roof Of a building That appears new To the press and politicians who don’t see you Back there, serving
Service is a dirty word. You chose this filthy bed you lie in You could have walked away. You could have stayed so much cleaner if You chose business or tech. You really deserve that net decrease in pay. For wanting, longing to serve.
The Brandy Bar + Cocktails — Photo by usarestaurants.info
It’s getting real, y’all. This month I will begin the formal editing process of my teaching memoir, Lessons: A Teaching Life. If all goes well, the book will be published by the end of the year. I’ve been told it’s never too early to get the word out, so I signed up to read a short excerpt from the book at The Brandy Bar+Cocktails.
For the past several years, almost every month, the North Carolina Writers’ Network–Henderson County sponsors “In the Company of Writers” at The Brandy Bar. It’s great. The Brandy Bar is in an old building on historic 7th Avenue in Hendersonville, NC. Writers gather to hear a presentation by a local or regional poet, author, or playwright, followed by an open mic.
Last Wednesday, the evening began with signing up for the open mic and chatting with writer friends to the sound of blues tunes by guitarist Charlie Wilkinson and Hollywood Jonny. Next, came a marvelous presentation by local poet Tony Robles who read from his two volumes of poetry–Where the Warehouse Things Are and Thrift Store Metamorphosis. Tony moved us all as he read poems about the soul-healing power of physical work and the intrinsic value of everyday life and ordinary people. After the reading, Tony answered questions, offering insight into his work and telling us about the novel he’s working on, his first.
The Reading Room — Photo by usarestaurants.info
I was the first to read after Tony. A little nervous to follow such a great writer and eloquent speaker, but I felt so good afterward. One of the best things about reading a work in progress to an audience is when you get affirmation that your work has value. In my case, I also picked up on a few things I needed to revise, which I was hoping for. I used to tell my students to read their work aloud when they were revising and editing. One of the best ways to check for technical errors, sure, but also an opportunity to analyze word choice, sentence structure, and rhythm.
It was also a joy to hear the other readers. Some were writers I’ve come to know very well over my years of involvement with the Network, but I was happy to hear the fine work of writers I’d never met, including quite a few younger writers. In the company of writers is a good name for the event, one of my favorite places to be. Extra nice to be sitting in a comfortable chair sipping on a specialty of the house, Brandy Alexander.
Lava lamp collection by the bar–photo by usarestaurants.info
One of the most moving pieces came from a bearded man wearing a cap, tattoos covering his arms. He wrote about addiction and dealing with it. After the readings, he approached me and asked if I had ever taught at the University of North Carolina–Asheville. I said I had not, but I had taught at Blue Ridge Community College for 27 years.
His face brightened. He had been there, too. He asked about his teacher, my colleague who retired several years before me. I told him that I met with her regularly, that she was doing well and enjoying retirement. He wanted me to let her know that he was at UNCA finally finishing his degree, in English. “Tell her I’m a little late in getting it but I’m getting it.” I assured him I would let her know.
Once long ago, a student gave me a little wooden plaque shaped like a pencil that said, “Time and distance cannot erase the influence of a good teacher.” I think I’ll remind my friend of that when I tell her about meeting her grateful student while reading at The Brandy Bar.
Once again, I sit down to write on Thanksgiving Day. What a blessed life I have! I get to write just about whenever I want to! I know I’ve often used this blog to complain about the state of higher education in the American South and elsewhere, but I’m grateful that I CAN and have always been able to voice my dissent or approval despite my occasional confrontational style and unconventional teaching methods. For most of my career, in fact, I have been free to pursue whatever I thought best for my students, free to encourage, admonish, and challenge them.
Now that I’m retired, I’m grateful for the modern technology that allows me to easily maintain this blog and publish my literary journal Teach. Write. These publications allow me to continue having a voice about education in my country. This upcoming year, however, although I will still acknowledge my concerns, I am going to make a point to seek out more of the good that I come across, the innovative and exciting initiatives that I hear about, the positive use of new technologies, how instructors are not only coping with the times but also finding ways to bring their students back to the place where they are less anxious about their education and excited about learning. I want to find the students who are enjoying their education and discover why. I also want to highlight the activities of educational organizations I’m a part of, including the American Association of University Professors, the Phi Kappa Phi teaching honor society, and the Educational Foundation of Henderson County Public Schools.
Another focus of this new year is continuing to look back and mine the educational gems of my own past as I edit my teaching memoir, Lessons: A Teaching Life. I have been thinking a great deal about my own education as well as my career as an instructor during this time of revision. I have so many things I want to write about, but not all of my stories belong in the book, not this one anyway. The blog will be a good place for my memories, ones that will, I hope, instruct and encourage teachers, students, and parents.
I have so much to be thankful for during this my second year of retirement–family, friends, neighbors, health, security, prosperity. Sure, there are still difficult times like hurricanes and elections, still things to complain about and to work to improve, but all that can wait for another day, can’t it?
Today, let’s just raise a glass and say, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
Samford Hall at Auburn University–Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
I was talking to my nephew Ruben this past weekend. He just started this semester attending Auburn University after getting his Associates at Southern Union Community College in Opelika, AL. He has an interesting perspective on American colleges and universities because, although he has an American father, he was raised and educated in Germany, where my brother has lived and worked for decades as a pastor after making the wise decision to marry my wonderful sister-in-law, who is a German doctor.
Ruben was glad that he attended a community college first so that he could establish residency, improve his already excellent English language skills, and acclimate to the American educational system. He did well and accomplished his goals, grateful for a low-cost alternative for satisfying his general education requirements.
However, at Auburn this semester, he has been able to begin working on his major area of study, graphic design, and that has been the highlight of his time in American higher education so far. Why? Of course, working on projects that are teaching him the skills necessary for his desired employment is one of the reasons. The class is several lab hours a few days a week where students’ work is evaluated and critiqued openly. In addition, students are expected to work on projects outside of class and those who wish to do well will come to work in the studios late at night. But, since Ruben almost always meets his fellow students in the studio, where there’s plenty of talk and laughter, he doesn’t mind the late-night work so much.
As I listened to my nephew, though, I soon realized that the main reason he is enjoying his graphic design so much is the professor. Turns out she’s tough and demanding, expecting students to show up prepared for class and able to take constructive criticism. She roams the studio during class, watching students work, looking at their projects, and pointing out what needs to be improved. She is not all warm and fuzzy, and Ruben likes this. It’s a challenge that he enjoys rising to.
I felt so heartened as I listened to Ruben talk about his class, about working hard and enjoying it. So much of that had been lost in my last few years of teaching. Now that I’m retired over a year, I can see that some of my discouragement came from burnout. I was just so ready to retire. However, some of that burnout came from showing compassion for students who were truly struggling with serious issues of physical or psychological abuse, food and housing insecurity as well as with the subject matter, while shoring up the resilience and persistence of others whose overprivileged lives and faux fragility was crippling them.
Both types of students need a rigorous and challenging hands-on learning experience with a dedicated educator like Ruben’s professor, who demands excellence from her students and yet takes the time to build relationships with them. The ones who have it tough often find hard course work and thinking as an escape, and the ones who’ve never needed to work hard before need it because, well, they need to learn how to work hard for something–we all do. As Dad said, “It builds character.” Of course, the students have to be, like my nephew, willing to accept critique and respect the professor’s expertise. Ruben does not feel that he has nothing to learn, that he’s just ticking off a box. He is approaching the class with diligence and humility, which in turn is, I’m sure, allowing the professor to give more of what she has to give.
I felt better about higher education after talking with my nephew on Saturday. As long as there are teachers who are willing to give and students who will receive, face-to-face and one-on-one, then solid American higher education will continue, and our country will be the stronger for it.
In my last blog post, I wrote about attending the Appalachian Writer’s Conference held at Berea College, but what I couldn’t announce then is that I won first place in the memoir category of the Appy Inkwell Writing Awards sponsored by the conference. Part of the prize for first place is publication with Martin Sisters Publishing!
As I’ve written in other blogposts, I made completing my memoir one of major writing projects of my first retirement year and accomplished that, but the opportunity to enter the Appy Inkwell Awards came up unexpectedly when I went to register for the Appalachian Writer’s Conference. I worked on polishing the first 2,500 words of the book and was quite pleased with the results, but what a surprise!
I celebrated the first-year anniversary of my retirement on August 1 and on August 3 received the e-mail saying that I had won!! I was so happy to tell the good news to my 88-year-old mother, the person who inspired me to write my teaching memoir shortly before I retired. What a thrill!
The awards ceremony came after three days of making new writer friends and learning so much about the craft and business of writing at the conference. Truly an amazing experience. I also enjoyed walking around the beautiful Berea College campus, talking with college students (one of the things I miss about teaching), eating delicious food, and traveling around the Kentucky countryside. I especially enjoyed traveling to New Castle, KY into Wendell Berry country. He’s one of my literary heroes!
Visiting Frankfort, the capital of Kentucky was a delightful spontaneous adventure. I had a good meal at the Cliffside Diner, walked around the city and the grounds of the capitol and took a trip to the Frankfort cemetery located above the Kentucky River to see the grave of Daniel and Rebecca Boone.
That day alone, traveling around the rolling hills and farmland of Kentucky before the conference and the awards ceremony, was a precious time of reflection, thinking about my life and my career. I remember in undergraduate school how I arrogantly tacked a note to the bulletin board on my dorm room door that stated I would be “Future Teacher of the Year and Winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature.” I never accomplished the first and am unlikely to complete the second, but I have had a grand career as a teacher and a writer. I may be officially retired, but I’ll never stop being either one.
August 1, 2023, was my first official day of retirement. I left after 27 years of teaching at a small community college in western North Carolina. Officially, I retired early, but I say I ended my career right on time. Some may say that I was burned out or that I had quietly quit years before, and perhaps both are true. All I know is that I loved teaching, what it really is supposed to be, too much to keep trying to do it with little academic freedom or shared governance. I couldn’t remain in a place that cared more about enrollment and data than individual students and their learning.
Writing and editing, separate from the scads of e-mails I wrote and student writing I graded, are the things that kept me going the last few years of my teaching career. This blog, started in 2014, was the first place I regularly vented my frustrations at the negative changes I saw at my institution. But I also kept my spirits up by writing about teaching itself, some of my victories in the classroom, my memories of great teachers and wonderful teaching experiences I had.
Then, in 2017, after publishing another short story and having published dozens of theater reviews and feature articles for the local newspaper, I realized that risking rejection and criticism by putting my work out into the world not only helped me be a better writer, but it also made me a better writing teacher. I wanted to offer a special kind of professional development opportunity to other writing teachers and Teach. Write. was born. Editing Teach. Write. has been one of the joys of my life and is even better now that I have time to devote to its improvement.
However, even with the blog and the journal, the pressure was getting to me. The worst part of all was realizing how powerless I was to effect any change as I witnessed the autonomy that I had enjoyed at the beginning of my career begin to erode. So, I turned to a writing project that began as a musical but had laid dormant for several years–a satire called CAMPUS.
When it started getting particularly rough, I turned back to CAMPUS and decided, I think with the help of my wonderful daughter, that I wanted to turn my musical into a novel and keep the musical element alive by podcasting it with music. How? How would I do it? First, my daughter, a sound technician, did research on the best podcasting equipment, told my sweet husband, who bought the equipment for me as a Christmas gift. It wasn’t long before I was podcasting this crazy, satirical story about higher education at a small college in western North Carolina.
But not just any college. This enchanted campus has elves, gnomes, moon people, fairy godteachers, vampires, zombies, and a boojum–kind of an Appalachian yeti–oh, and a nazi. CAMPUS is definitely out there, but its weirdness has allowed me to say things I never could have said out loud otherwise. I produced about 13 episodes.
You can go and hear them at most podcasting platforms. Just search CAMPUS: A Novel That Wants to Be a Musical and you will find them. Don’t get too excited–the production value is low because I have no idea what I’m doing, but you know, I’m kind of proud of those episodes. I’m proud of myself for completing them, taking a chance. They helped me survive those last few years of teaching and the isolation of teaching during the worst of the pandemic years.
I want to get back to completing CAMPUS when I finish the other big writing projects on my plate right now, but until then, I will leave you with one of my favorite scenes from CAMPUS, when the discouraged, burned-out faculty makes their debut “Down at the Diploma Mill.”
DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL
At that, in true musical fashion, a slow droning chant arose from across the quad as “They” began to come in. The slow heavy beat of the prison blues, the stomping of feet like the striking of a heavy hammer on a stake. THEM, teachers in ragged clothes and carrying old worn-out books came onto the quad. And they chanted:
ONCE WE WERE SOME BRIGHT YOUNG TEACHERS
ONCE WE WROTE ENGAGING LESSON PLANS
ONCE WE LOOKED INTO THEIR SHINING FACES
OUR STUDENTS WERE OUR INNOCENT LITTLE LAMBS
BUT NOW
BUT NOW
BUT NOW
CHORUS
WE’RE WORKIN’ DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL
LOOKIN’ FOR SOME BRAIN CELLS TO KILL
WE NEVER MEANT IT TO BE THIS WAY
BUT WE GOT NOTHIN’ LEFT TO SAY
DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL
ONCE WE HAD SOME GOOD IDEAS
ONCE WE TRIED TO CHANGE OUR WAYS
WE ALL SHUNNED STANDARDIZED TESTS
TRIED OUR BEST
TO NOT BE LIKE THE REST
BUT NOW
BUT NOW
BUT NOW
WE’RE WORKING
AT THE DIPLOMA MILL
WE’RE WORKING DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL
LOOKIN’ FOR SOME BRAIN CELLS TO KILL
WE NEVER MEANT IT TO BE THIS WAY
BUT WE GOT NOTHIN’ LEFT TO SAY
DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL
ASK AN ESSAY QUESTION
DO A PROJECT INSTEAD
BUT THE DEAN SAID IT WASN’T ASSESSMENT
WE SHOULD GET RETURN ON OUR INVESTMENT
IF IT’S NOT SOMETHING WE CAN CALCULATE
OR THAT’S EASY TO REGURGITATE
THEN IT’S SOMETHING YOU CAN’T DO
DOWN AT THE DIPLOMA MILL
The group begins to hum as they mount the stage and form a line of disgruntled burned out teachers. An old professor in a ragged tweed jacket with torn leather patches on the shoulder, holding a pipe comes to the mic. There is no sign of Dr. DAG. He’s gone off to Dog Hobble to that expensive restaurant only a few residents and the tourists can afford.
The old professor takes the mic as the group hums on. He speaks:
I’ll tell you what I want. Huh, come to think of it, what, exactly, do I want? I used to want to be published in exclusive journals, solicited to speak at prestigious conferences, overseas…in Europe…in Paris, all expenses paid. I wanted to be so valuable to the college I could thumb my nose at the presidents and VPs and deans and especially department chairs like Dr. C. J. Hamilton, who just had to lord over me his award-winning dissertation, the title of which he doesn’t let anyone forget– The Reawakening of Chartism and the Writings of Thomas Carlylse in the Post-Victorian/Pre-Edwardian Epoch.
Do you know what he said when I told him that I had my students all meet me at that great vegan restaurant in Asheville? He said it was stupid! Yeah. My innovative idea! A lot better than sitting around on a bunch of hard chairs in straight little rows listening to Dr. Hamilton drone on and on about Sartor Resartus and Queen Victoria’s increasing seclusion and her fat son’s sickening perversions.
My idea was great! We had a good meal, raised a few organic brews, and it was off to search for the famous O’Henry plaque embedded in the sidewalk near the cafe. We found it. I didn’t tell them that when O’Henry came to Asheville, he was a penniless drunk. How could I tell a group of 20-somethings in a creative writing class that I knew all their dreams would come to nothing?
But then we all drove together over to the Grove Park Inn to find the F. Scott Fitzgerald room. They all wanted to see the place where Fitzgerald didn’t write while he waited for Zelda to slowly lose her mind. We found the room, but I think we had all underestimated the effect of that many beers, organic or not, on our critical thinking skills. We had a hard time finding the room, and when we did and got in there… How did we get in there?
The concierge wasn’t too happy that we barged in on those German tourists. At least one of them was German because I recognized certain select vernacular. Anyway, before the burly one threw us out, I did get a glimpse around the room, a nice room, but ordinary, nothing special about it at all really. I mean why should there be? Fitzgerald just sat there, day in and day out, not writing and drinking himself into mind- numbing oblivion. On second thought, although I can’t tell you what I want, I can tell you what I don’t want. I don’t want to do this anymore.
Hey, Mrs. Winkler! 