Political Science 101

Chapter Seventy-Four

AS LATE August turned into early September, Dr. Mitchell K. Bradley, professor of political science and department chair of the Merriam University Social Sciences Department, began to settle into his annual first semester routine of balancing his teaching responsibilities with his university obligations. And now that the new university school year was a few weeks old, Mitch was again finding his comfort zone. But this year, things weren't the same.

A soft Mozart concerto was lightly dancing from the small radio in Mitch's office when a knock came at his door. He looked up, expecting the door to open and an eager-beaver freshman face to appear. But the door didn't open. "Come in?" Mitch said, trying not to sound annoyed. The door opened cautiously, but it was not one of his students who stepped into the doorway, but rather, the new president of the university, the man who replaced the late Dr. George McFarlane who was killed in a mysterious (and somewhat scandalous) car accident.

Dr. Selwyn K. Stevens was a thin, athletic, regal, and distinguished man. An avid runner since his youth, his runner's stature and fit appearance gave him a vibrant look of health and vitality. A few unique characteristics set him apart from most people — his crew-cut (almost buzz-cut) hair was exponentially shorter than the well-kept mustache he sported, a mustache that seemed to always remind Mitch of Wyatt Earp, but Dr. Stevens (who insisted on being called Sel, even though he held a duel-Ph.D. in Art History and Educational Administration) looked completely normal with a choice of facial hair which would appear antiquated on nearly anyone else in the world. In fact, as Mitch thought about it, he couldn't seem to envision Sel without his mustache — it would be like seeing Rollie Fingers clean-shaven.

Stevens spent his early professional career as a high school teacher and track & field coach before retiring and working in a running store. But after several years in retail, Sel went to graduate school and earned his advanced degrees, hoping to be a high school athletic director, but falling into the Merriam University president's job by pure happenstance (not to mention the significant pay increase).

As Mitch saw it, Sel was an enigma. His general demeanor was classy, educated, professional, and respectful; but Sel was also one of the nicest and most personable people he'd ever met.

Sel walked in and sat his fit frame down in a chair across from Mitch, leaned back, and crossed his left knee ankle over his right. "Well, Dr. Bradley," he said with a smile, "how are we doing?" Although Stevens insisted on being referred to as Sel, he always addressed faculty by title (Mr. or Mrs. or Dr.) and he seemed to always say "we" rather than "you," which Mitch theorized as a human resources strategy to keep the faculty feeling like a collective team rather than a scattered group of individuals. It wasn't off-putting, it was simply unique.

"We're good," Mitch replied with a comfortable smile. "Just getting ducks in a row, trying not to scare the freshmen, embarking on a frivolous attempt at staying organized."

The two men shared a laugh as they nodded. Something about Sel made Mitch comfortable, as though he could just tell that Sel was a genuinely good person, and in the world of politics he'd become accustomed to, people like Sel simply did not exist — people of honesty and integrity.

"Are we?" Sel said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

"Is something wrong?" Mitch asked, growing more confused by the moment.

"A good question," Sel answered in a tone that seemed cryptic, which was out-of-character for him.

"I don't follow," Mitch said, leaning back in his chair and narrowing his eyes, partly curious about where this conversation was going and partly nervous about where this conversation was going.

"Are you okay?" Sel asked, grimacing with concern. He scratched the corner of his mouth and twitched his nose as though the depth of the conversation was making him slightly uneasy.