Charles Sheffield: Higher Education

“I didn’t know I was doing nothing to a congress-woman.”

“That is the plea of the foolish through all of history: I didn’t know what I was doing. But I, speaking as a teacher, tell you that I have no sympathy for you. Is it better to insult and offend and diminish me or Willis Preebane, rather than Congresswoman Pearl, simply because the punishment is less? That is the logic of a coward.”

“I ain’t no coward!”

The sun was setting in their faces, and Hamel shielded his eyes with his hand. Rick could see the deep lines on his cheeks and around his mouth. Hamel seemed ancient, far older than when he was teaching his class, until suddenly he lowered his hand and turned to face Rick. His eyes were alert and astute, changing his whole face.

“I believe that you are not guilty of conscious cowardice. So now for some good news. Until today you were destined for two more years of schooling here. Did you have any thought of continuing beyond that?”

Rick shook his head. For the past three years he had wanted to finish school and get out of it more than anything. “Mick makes me stay in school because Mom gets the education incentive bonus in the welfare. I’d be long gone if I could.”

“So now what happens to you?”

“I don’t know. Sit around and watch the tube, I guess, until they throw me out. Mick’s goin’ to kill me. The education incentive was nine-forty a month and we only get sixty-two hundred altogether.”

“So your education is a good part of the money. Of course you don’t get it yourself.”

“Naw. Mick takes it. He’s gonna hate losing that nine-forty. Fifteen percent—”

“It is that. You do percentages in your head?”

“Sure. That’s useful, you need it to play the numbers.”

“An undoubtedly valuable skill. Now that you are out you will have more chance to exercise it. But suppose that you had stayed in school. At eighteen, you would graduate. Even with your minimal skills, you would receive your diploma.

Then you emerge and offer your talents to a waiting world. Did you have any plans as to what you would do?”

“Find a job, I guess. There’s supposed to be plenty of jobs around.”

“In laundries, or fast food places. Or running a scanner, there are usually jobs in data entry. There’s also the Job Corps, makework jobs cleaning litter from parks. Plenty of those. That sound good?”

“Naw, but there’s other stuff.”

“Not for you. The fact is that perhaps two dozen of your two hundred classmates—twelve percent, as you will readily confirm—have skills that anyone wishes to pay for. Of course, nearly everyone has the grades to go to junior college.”

Rick shuddered.

“You wouldn’t learn any more there than you have in school,” Hamel continued. “But it would keep you off the streets, and separate you from the genuinely stupid. Better than nothing, but still leading to a dead end.”

“Bigger education incentive, too—it goes up to a thousand a month.”

“A thousand a month, to stay in junior college for two years. At the end of that time would you possess any saleable skills?”

“I don’t know,” Rick protested. He shook his head. “The way you talk, I guess not. So who gets the real jobs?”

“Who do you think? Those who have the real skills. A few of your classmates, perhaps, but mostly students from company schools. People who know something, people who have learned how to work hard.” Hamel shook his head sadly.

“It pains me that I have lived to see the transformation of the United States from a republic to a feudal aristocracy. Not pretty.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do. That’s part of the problem. You ask who gets the jobs. The answer is, people with knowledge and drive. There are jobs for them. Not for an arrogant, semiliterate, unfocused, troublemaking know-nothing. Not for an amoral, idle, cynical waster, which is what you’d be if you stayed here. I told you I had good news. Here it is: you are fortunate to be expelled from this school. Had you remained you would have wasted another two years, and at the end of it you’d have no more knowledge or capability than you have today.”

Rick stood up. “I don’t need to take this crap from anybody. I’m going.”

“Very well. Going where?”

Rick shook his head. “I dunno. Mick’s going to kill me.” He knew how it would happen. When they found out that the education incentive would stop, his mother would scream and her boyfriend—Rick’s “stepfather,” though he certainly wasn’t—would tell her to shut her yap. Then they would start in on each other. Finally when the fight between them cooled off they would gang up and turn it all on him.

“Going home, I guess. I got a truce with the gangs but I can’t be out after dark unless I pay, and I don’t have money.”

“And tomorrow morning, when you get up and school is closed to you?”

“I don’t know. Look for a street job.”

“Selling dope?”

“I don’t know, what else is there?”

“Theft. Shoplifting. Working as a pimp. Admittedly those don’t pay as well as being a pusher, but they stay out of jail somewhat longer. Live longer, too.”

Rick knew what that meant. Most rackets were controlled by gangs, or even by adult mobsters. Mick, his current stepfather, claimed to have good connections, but nobody believed him. Especially not Rick, because he had asked about getting set up in a good racket, and Mick kept stalling him. Rick was sure that Mick didn’t know shit about real rackets. And if you didn’t have connections you wouldn’t last long. You’d get busted or shot, maybe both.

Rick shook his head. “I guess I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“I assumed as much. However, I have a suggestion.” Mr. Hamel handed Rick a small yellow card. “Can you read what is written there?”

Rick stared at the card in the fading light. “Eight-one-five-two.” He paused. The numbers were easy but the words were long and unfamiliar. At last he shook his head. “Not without a reader.”

“Then I will tell you. It says, 8152 Chatterjee Boulevard, Suite 500. Can you remember that, and find the place?”

“Sure.” Rick stared at the card. “Say it again.”

“Very well. 8152 Chatterjee Boulevard, Suite 500.”

“Got it.” Now that he’d heard the words he could sort of read the card, at least enough to remind him.

“If you go there tomorrow there is a possibility of useful employment.”

“A job?”

“Exactly. Not an easy job, but a worthwhile one. The most rewarding jobs are always the most difficult ones. You may keep the card.”

Rick studied the words, silently mouthing them to himself. “I know how to get to Chatterjee Boulevard. If I went there tonight, would someone be in Suite 500?”

“I cannot say.” Hamel stood up. “I must go now. But you have the right idea. Action is usually preferable to inaction.”

Rick stood up too. He wanted somehow to thank Mr. Hamel, but he did not know how. “Why are you doing this for me?”

Hamel paused. “Certainly it is not because I like you, Luban. I do not. As I said, you are a fool. And you are—”

“Ignorant, cynical, amoral, and unthinking. I heard you.”

“Correct. Did I omit to say lazy? But you are not stupid. You are, I think, basically very intelligent. However, all forms of test that might suggest one student is more able or talented than another were long since judged discriminatory, and banished from our school system. Therefore, I have no objective basis for my conjecture. But I do hate waste. You and your friends have been wasting your lives.”

“I still don’t understand. You just told me I’m good for nothing.”