Adrian Pearson - Cow Country

At this Dr. Felch removed his reading glasses from his nose. Pulling out the same handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped away some moisture that had collected in his eyes, then blew his nose into the handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This is not easy for me. It’s been thirty years and after being here so long I feel like I’ve given more than a small part of myself to this college. There is not an inch of ground on this campus that I have not personally traversed. There is not a single project that I have not been privy to in one form or another. There is not an idea implemented on this campus that I have not attended at least twelve separate meetings to deliberate. Believe me when I say to you that over the last thirty years I have given everything I have to our beautiful college. My heart. My soul. My virility. Three of my marriages. I have sacrificed every last ounce of my humanity to our institution. To Cow Eye Community College. To all of you. And it truly has been a great privilege and an honor.”

Here Dr. Felch stopped. In the silence of the cafeteria the ice maker in the kitchen could be heard to start up.

“And here, perhaps, I ought to stop….”

Dr. Felch paused to allow his words to sink in.

But of course he did not stop.

*

“…At this, perhaps I ought to stop. Yet duty compels me to leave you with a few final observations that they might help your generation in some small way as it moves forward through time and space. You see, each of you in your infinite diversity makes up the rich cultural fabric of Cow Eye Community College. In your collective unity is your strength. And this is no less true whether you come from the North, South, East, West, Northeast, Southwest, Northwest, Southeast, Old West, New South, Far North, Midwest, or even from a place as far away — as timeless and ineffable — as California. You are the products of the unique experiences that shape you. But do not let your geographical differences divide you. Nor your diverse backgrounds. Nor your spiritual convictions. Nor your religion. Nor political affiliation. Nor class. Nor race. Nor gender. Nor sexual orientation. Nor even the sectarian loyalties that you so dutifully — and understandably — feel toward your respective academic disciplines. Do not let these contrivances interfere with the greater love that you harbor for your institution — the love that unites you all as faculty and staff of Cow Eye Community College….”

Here Dr. Felch turned serious, his voice acquiring an even deeper sense of gravity:

“…It has been noted — and not only by myself — that in the history of mankind the role of parties is an especially egregious one. Their existence serves only to inflame the innate differences that would separate us. To drive wedges into the crevices of our hearts. To divide our cafeteria into factions: this side of the crowded room for cowboys, that side for Indians. Tonight, however, we are on the threshold of a new era. For tonight we are witnessing a new kind of party. One that is open to inclusiveness. A party that does not divide but rather unites. A party that says to the world, yes, it is possible for faculty of every imaginable ilk to co-exist in harmony and self-respect on the verdant campus of even the most tenuous community college….”

“…As you move toward fulfillment of your regional accreditation — and no, I will not be able to finish this journey with you — make sure to cultivate good relations and harmony with all that you meet. Avoid harmful alliances and allegiances. Love God. Trust love. Worship peace. Pay taxes so that we may one day have an imposing military presence around the world. Do all this and everything else will naturally work itself out — even the most calamitous application for regional accreditation….”

By now Dr. Felch’s voice had grown weaker, almost tremulous.

“….In offering to you, my fellow colleagues, these counsels of an old and affectionate friend, I dare not hope they will make a strong or lasting impression on you. But should they happen to do so — well, that would be super-duper, wouldn’t it! Ultimately, though, that is for you to decide. It is for the next generation to take our college into its shining future. And so it is with a heaviness in my heart, and a pinch of tobacco in my lower lip, that I wish you all the best in the future. It has been a glorious thirty years, my friends. And now all that remains is to bid you a final adieu.”

With these words of resignation still lingering in the air, Dr. Felch stepped away from the microphone and slowly disappeared into the crowd.

*

(…)

Like so many things in life the opportunity to withdraw is all about the timing. Which makes the decision a restless one. Newly bewildered, the longtime community college president may be left to continue blindly with the familiar movements that have brought him to this point in time and space, or, oppositely, to end them once and for all. But when? This is the question that has confused the world’s most certificated minds. For neither ‘why’ nor ‘how’ can stymie the educational administrator like the eternal question: when?

(…)

*

After Dr. Felch’s valedictory the mood in the cafeteria went from electric to subdued. The shock of the announcement came and went and in its place arose a general dullness and acceptance. The barbiturates, perhaps, were doing their duty. Or maybe the peppermint schnapps. Standing at the wet bar I took it all in — especially the peppermint schnapps.

“Thanks for manning the bar tonight, Luke. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, Charlie. It’s been enlightening.”

“Has everyone had their fill of drink?”

“And then some!”

“I’m glad.”

“Everyone but you . What’ll you have?”

“I’m open to suggestions. What do you recommend?”

“The food’s on its way, right? So how about an apéritif while we wait? Would you be open to vermouth?”

“You could say that.”

Luke poured the drink into a plastic cup and handed it to me:

“You might want to drink this one slowly though. She can be a real bitch!”

I drank the bitch slowly. When I was done I thanked Luke for the tip.

“Don’t you want to sit down or something?” he laughed. “You’ve been standing over here for quite a while now!”

“No thanks. I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind….”

And so I did. And standing there with my lime wedge in my hand, I engaged my peers in collegial banter.

“Are you drinking tequila, Charlie?” a passerby would wink.

“You could say that!” I would respond and down the observation in a single gulp.

“And what about cognac?”

“You could say that too!”

“And gin?”

“Yes!”

“And rum?”

“Yes!”

“And sherry?”

“Yes!”

“And zivania?”

“Yes!”

“And mead?”

“Yes!”

“And pulque? And kumis? And baijiu?”

“Oh, yes! I’m open to them all!”

And so over the next several minutes I accepted every invitation handed my way. The peppermint schnapps. The sprightly grasshoppers. The bloody martini. When Vanzetti offered me a margarita, I accepted. And when Sacco handed me a gin and tonic, I did not refuse. When a minuteman gave me the choice of either sweet wine or dry, I chose both. When Justices Byron and Hugo poured me a colorful mixed drink I made sure to down it with gusto. And when Betsy Ross got up on a ladder to add a new star to the large flag on the wall — now there were thirteen stripes and forty- eight stars — I toasted the occasion with a glass of scotch in one hand and a cup of grog in the other. In this way I drank both hard liquors and soft. Both citrus and milk. Happily I drank. Indiscriminately I drank. Dutifully and wearily and boisterously and drowsily and historically and meekly, I drank.