“Welcome back,” Geoff said as Alex entered the conference room. Baxter, Ogden, and Waters sat at the square table in the break room. The other half of the room contained a large conference table, separated from the coffee area by an accordion divider that was presently closed. Muted voices could be heard from the other side, most likely from a secretarial staff meeting underway.
“Thanks.” Alex went straight to the coffee pot, found his cup on the drain board, and poured it half full.
“How did it go?” asked Baxter.
Alex took the remaining chair. “I feel good about it,” he said, then laughed at a memory. “Got off the plane and went out to the curb for a cab. The guy in line right in front of me was holding a thick neurosurgery text, so I asked if he was there for the boards. He was, so I suggested we share a cab to the hotel. On the trip in, I asked if he wanted to have dinner, but he said he was getting room service so he could spend the night cramming. Can you believe that? Cramming? I mean, if you don’t know the material by then, one night of reading a textbook isn’t going to help. Besides, how can you expect to cover the entire field?”
“You didn’t study that night?” Baxter asked with a sarcastic chuckle.
Alex smiled. “I bought a paperback—Marathon Man—at the airport. You know, something to read on the flight. Stayed up half the night to finish it. Had breakfast with him the next morning. I was one of the lucky ones who were assigned the morning group, so soon as I finished breakfast, I went upstairs to the exam. I finished up before noon and was able to catch an earlier flight back.”
“Any section give you problems?” Waters asked. The orals contained three one-hour sections: cranial neurosurgery, spinal/peripheral nerve surgery, and neurology. Individual candidates rotated from one room to the next every fifty-five minutes. Each session contained two examiners with one observer to monitor the process.
“No, not really—don’t think I dug myself any holes.”
“How about the neurology section?”
Alex shrugged. “Seemed to go okay. Turned out I only had one case: a fifty-five-year-old male with tingling in his feet. The neurologist who presented the patient asks, ‘What would you do now?’ I say, ‘Take a history.’ He says, ‘Go ahead, take it.’ So I started in asking him questions. Went on and on and on like this until I’m down to two probable diagnoses, cervical spondylosis with cord impingement or Vitamin B12 deficiency. The neurosurgeon—I forget his name—was a real bear, too. When we reached that point, he asks, ‘What do you do now?’ I said, ‘Draw a B12 level and then give the patient a shot of B12. I’d have him return in a week for follow-up.’ The neurologist says, ‘You wouldn’t just take him to the OR to decompress that spine? It looks like hell,’ and he points at the X-rays. He says it as if I just buggered his dog, so I think maybe I just blew it. But I decided to stick with my answer, especially this being the neurology section. I told them it wouldn’t hurt to wait for a week before offering the patient surgery. I hoped they’d tell me if I got it right, but just then we ran out of time. I was floored. We spent the entire hour on just that one case. Couldn’t believe it.”
Waters smiled while checking his watch, slapped his thighs, and stood. “Have a conference call in three minutes. NIH. I’ll leave you three to your war stories.” He looked at Alex. “I suspect that was the right diagnosis. You were correct: in the neurology section they’re most likely to discuss a nonsurgical case. They wanted to find out if you could tell the difference between those two diseases since they mimic one another so closely. The board isn’t in the business of certifying a bunch of scalpel-happy cutters. I suspect you did just fine.”
After Waters left the room, Geoff spoke up. “Going to be a much different department without him around.”
Alex did a double take. “Why? He going somewhere?”
Geoff glanced at Baxter, then back to Alex. “You don’t know? He just turned sixty-five. That’s the mandatory retirement age for professors here. You can stay on in emeritus status for two years, but only at the pleasure of the new chair. After that, you’re required to leave.”
Was that a note of anticipation in Geoff’s voice? Alex studied him and saw no sign of sadness or regret. “But he trained you and brought you onto the faculty.”
“So?” Geoff glanced at Baxter with a bemused expression.
Baxter chimed in. “Those are the rules here. For good reason, too. It allows room for younger people like you. This place isn’t like some schools where junior people are forced to play Dead Man’s Boots until a position opens up.”
Showing even more of his glistening gums, Geoff smiled and added, “Dean already formed a search committee.” Throwing it out there casually.
Baxter and Geoff waited for the words to sink in, as if reading Alex’s mind. Stunned by their callous disregard for the man who’d brought them up through the ranks, Alex remained speechless.
“You realize, of course, you’ll probably be interviewed by the search committee,” Baxter added.
Alex was having difficulty paying attention to the conversation now. “No, I didn’t.”
“Count on it,” Geoff said. “They’re bound to ask questions about the department, where you think it should be in five or so years. These days, a department like ours—with a strong heritage of clinician research—simply can’t be sustained. Deans are facing severe financial difficulties, especially when having to support non-revenue-generating departments like anatomy or physiology. They’re forced to use their clinical departments to generate income. So, of course, this means the dean will be tempted to look outside the present faculty for someone who doesn’t hold research with the same respect as Waters has. Faculty such as yourself will be vulnerable. Right, Baxter?”
“Absolutely.” He nodded emphatically. “So when you interview with them, expect to be asked if any of us would make a good replacement.” Baxter locked eyes with Alex. “Or are you considering tossing your hat in the ring?” Blink, blink.
Alex recoiled. “You serious?” When neither man answered, he realized they were. “Of course not. I’m too inexperienced. Why would I even think of that?”
Smiling, Geoff nodded approval. “That’s what I thought. Point is, both Baxter and I are being considered. We encourage you to be extremely circumspect in everything you say during your interview. Think about your lab and all it means to you. Think about how we—the present faculty—cover your salary so you can continue to apply for grant support. Think about how both Baxter and I would maintain the status quo if either one of us became chair.”
Jesus, a campaign speech.
Baxter chimed in. “You don’t have any outside candidate in mind, do you?”
Outside candidate? Of course not. He hadn’t even wrapped his mind around the idea of Waters not being there. A foreboding sprouted deep in his gut. As Baxter just pointed out, he was the only nontenured faculty member, making him vulnerable. Why hadn’t he factored in Waters’s age when considering this job? Too late now.
He realized they were waiting for an answer. To what? Oh yeah—did he have an outside candidate in mind?
“No. If you’ll excuse me,…” He needed to be alone and think.