5
CHARLIE MURPHY HAD earned a reputation at Orange County Community College, not among his colleagues, but among his students (particularly the young women), who encouraged each other to take his sociology courses to fulfill those irritating humanities/social science requirements. It wasn’t that his classes were easy (because they weren’t), but that Charlie was entertaining, handsome, and tall.
His dark, slightly curly hair was a little too long for a man, and when he was nervous, he used his hand to flip it from his eyes. But he was masculine, his thighs and stomach and arms defined and muscular. His eyes were a pretty brownish-hazel color—serious and sad, as if he suffered a special burden. His students could tell that he experienced life deeply. Yet he made an effort to be light and breezy, and they were appreciative. They wondered about his personal life, and unimaginative rumors spread: He’s gay; he’s straight; he’s bisexual; he’s married; he’s divorced; he lives alone; he has a girlfriend in another country. And they often felt as if they were making a complicit agreement, in a strange way, to help him.
He said things like, “I’m not telling you when to do your homework—you’re adults and don’t need a babysitter—but I’m telling you when to have it done. It’s pretty straightforward, right? I really like attendance, and when you’re not here, I miss you: It’s as if we made a date and you didn’t even show up.”
But what really impressed them was when he said, “If you come out of this class and do your work, I personally guarantee that you will become not only better educated, but also a better person.” They doodled in the margins of their notebook paper, and then scribbled over their doodles. They leaned over and whispered to each other:
“He’s so cute!”
“I love his corduroy jacket.”
“How old do you think he is?”
CHARLIE WAS AN adjunct professor, and a movement was gaining momentum to raise his position. His most-talked-about course, Social Class & Inequality, had been canceled due to its controversial subject matter, only adding to its buzz. Brought back by popular student demand, enrollment had tripled, requiring the largest auditorium at Orange County Community College.
A letter was being passed among his students, initiated by a core group of female supporters, to nominate Charlie for an award for most influential professor. If he won, it would be the first time in the history of OCCC that an adjunct had received the honor, which included a monetary stipend of $2,000.
The letter was a blend of admiration, sincerity, bluster, and juvenility:
Dear fellow students,
Charlie Murphy would never ask us to nominate him for anything—he’s too modest. But we know that many of our faculty aren’t as shy or modest (we’ve been asked to do this kind of shit more than once!), and this kind of stuff really looks good on their files or whatever (which is great for Charlie when he gets to be a full professor—ha! ha!). The other profs are jealous and he hasn’t gotten the recognition he deserves, but it’s time for that to change! And we can be the ones to change it, because that’s the only way it will happen.
Which is why we think we should all really sit ourselves down for more than ten minutes and write him the best fucking letter of rec. we’ve ever written any prof, because, at least in our opinion, he truly dedicates his time and effort and makes us think. So let’s sharpen our pencils and blow the dean away, shall we?