Read Online Ivory Tower by K C Maguire - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: K C Maguire
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distributing them to my colleagues. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Apart from anything else, why would they ever take me seriously if I allowed myself to become a secretary?
“We’re circulating the list now, Bob,” Magary said to the speaker, “You want to walk us through it?”
“Sure. This is our list of potential candidates with their bios attached. Unfortunately, we have to scratch one name. Professor Blenheim from Wilmington. Apparently he passed away yesterday.”
The meeting continued as they usually do. Lots of hemming and hawing, and discussion of “process,” desirable credentials and experience, and lots of empty words about the general importance of ideological diversity. Several times I had to bite my lower lip to keep from screaming in frustration, particularly when they started singing Maxwell’s praises. How could they think he would be a better dean than me?
Actually, I knew how they could believe it. He’d never been a department head, never even an acting head like me. He was only a program director. He’d never had the opportunity to make the mistakes I’d made so naturally they believed he would never make them. And if he did, it would be explained away as something he had to do for the good of the school— the old boys’ club in its most basic form. It was okay for a man to skirt ethical boundaries with good intentions, but if a woman made the same decision, she was labeled as inept, or as having questionable morals. I supposed I was lucky they regarded me as the former. That way, I maintained my acting head position—for a while anyway.
When the meeting finally concluded, I was laden with a stack of C.V.s, including Professor Maxwell’s, and a tight deadline for reviewing them. As I attempted to slip past Magary, his words stopped me in my tracks.
“Professor King?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“You do know that we appreciate your service on this committee again.” He sounded so sincere that I almost believed him.
“Thank you.” I turned for the door.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was low now. “It’s not personal. We simply can’t take the risk.”
“It’s not about me.” I whirled back to face him, trying to think of some way to retain a shred of dignity, to remove the focus from my own shattered ambitions. “It’s just that … that we’ve never had a female dean. We’ve never even had a permanent female department head. Don’t you think that’s a problem?” I figured attack may be the best form of defense. And this was a good angle.
“Then you should be thankful to have a place on this committee.” He straightened his tie and slipped his jacket on, brushing the lint from his sleeves in the process. “Maybe you can do something to change that.”
Oh yes , I thought, this is my golden opportunity .
But I only said, “Thank you. I’ll try.”
“I’m serious, Professor King. You find us a qualified female candidate and we’ll give her all due consideration.” The barb was unmistakable but I’d had enough for the day. I simply nodded, turned on my heel and left. I had a date to prepare for, and if recent experience with male colleagues was anything to go by, I had an excellent chance of getting screwed.
In fact, my second date with the newest addition to the bio-chem faculty, Dr. Pete Charlesworth, went surprisingly well. I even used the hackneyed “do you want to come up for coffee?” line at the end of the evening. I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or depressed that it worked. Despite my girl-power mood, or maybe because of it, I had decided to let the chips fall where they may. This new guy was confident and sexy as all get-out, and he drove a flashy sports car. Hardly your typical science geek. When he helped me out of the car, he had pulled me up with a little more force than necessary, so I ended up falling hard against him. He slid an arm around me to
“We’re circulating the list now, Bob,” Magary said to the speaker, “You want to walk us through it?”
“Sure. This is our list of potential candidates with their bios attached. Unfortunately, we have to scratch one name. Professor Blenheim from Wilmington. Apparently he passed away yesterday.”
The meeting continued as they usually do. Lots of hemming and hawing, and discussion of “process,” desirable credentials and experience, and lots of empty words about the general importance of ideological diversity. Several times I had to bite my lower lip to keep from screaming in frustration, particularly when they started singing Maxwell’s praises. How could they think he would be a better dean than me?
Actually, I knew how they could believe it. He’d never been a department head, never even an acting head like me. He was only a program director. He’d never had the opportunity to make the mistakes I’d made so naturally they believed he would never make them. And if he did, it would be explained away as something he had to do for the good of the school— the old boys’ club in its most basic form. It was okay for a man to skirt ethical boundaries with good intentions, but if a woman made the same decision, she was labeled as inept, or as having questionable morals. I supposed I was lucky they regarded me as the former. That way, I maintained my acting head position—for a while anyway.
When the meeting finally concluded, I was laden with a stack of C.V.s, including Professor Maxwell’s, and a tight deadline for reviewing them. As I attempted to slip past Magary, his words stopped me in my tracks.
“Professor King?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“You do know that we appreciate your service on this committee again.” He sounded so sincere that I almost believed him.
“Thank you.” I turned for the door.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was low now. “It’s not personal. We simply can’t take the risk.”
“It’s not about me.” I whirled back to face him, trying to think of some way to retain a shred of dignity, to remove the focus from my own shattered ambitions. “It’s just that … that we’ve never had a female dean. We’ve never even had a permanent female department head. Don’t you think that’s a problem?” I figured attack may be the best form of defense. And this was a good angle.
“Then you should be thankful to have a place on this committee.” He straightened his tie and slipped his jacket on, brushing the lint from his sleeves in the process. “Maybe you can do something to change that.”
Oh yes , I thought, this is my golden opportunity .
But I only said, “Thank you. I’ll try.”
“I’m serious, Professor King. You find us a qualified female candidate and we’ll give her all due consideration.” The barb was unmistakable but I’d had enough for the day. I simply nodded, turned on my heel and left. I had a date to prepare for, and if recent experience with male colleagues was anything to go by, I had an excellent chance of getting screwed.
In fact, my second date with the newest addition to the bio-chem faculty, Dr. Pete Charlesworth, went surprisingly well. I even used the hackneyed “do you want to come up for coffee?” line at the end of the evening. I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or depressed that it worked. Despite my girl-power mood, or maybe because of it, I had decided to let the chips fall where they may. This new guy was confident and sexy as all get-out, and he drove a flashy sports car. Hardly your typical science geek. When he helped me out of the car, he had pulled me up with a little more force than necessary, so I ended up falling hard against him. He slid an arm around me to
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