I wrote this in early 1991 for submission to UNCW’s literary magazine, Atlantis. I was not surprised when they declined to publish this. Writing is a great way to work through a problem or an idea.
The Professor of the What Was
While most would readily admit that the human intellect strives to obtain knowledge, what is not always so apparent is the nature of an individual to want to give knowledge. This discharge may occur by the answer of a simple question, the intense aid of another, or by the formulation of some opinion about any given subject.
This opinion-giving predisposition innate in most individuals lends itself well to the study of what might have been. In order to understand the causes and effects of situations of the past, one must be able to take what is given or known and integrate it with pre-formulated ideas. This newly transformed thought becomes opinion.
Very recently I chanced to meet a certain Mr. Keats. Mr. Keats was an instructor of the What Was, and a very distinguished one, I might add. The most disturbing feature about Mr. Keats was his age. He was already a septuagenerian by the time I made his acquaintance, and as such he had a certain tendency toward stubbornness. Mr. Keats was soft to speak, totally deaf in one ear, and damned near in the other.
Daily Mr. Keats strictly taught his pupils, pausing once or twice to ask for any thoughts the students might have that would be pertinent to the material at hand. At first the students were wary to venture any thoughts because of the relative newness of their arrival, but in time a few began to feel the need to avail some plausible answers to Mr. Keats’ questions. A certain young gentleman by the name of Laurance was the first to speak up. Without detailing exactly what was said, it would to suffice to say that Laurance’s thought did not sound logical to me. Mr. Keats’ only words were ”NO, I don’t think so.” With this, Mr. Keats immediately resumed his normal lecture.
After a certain number of days many other students gave thoughts and pieces of their wisdom to Mr. Keats only to have them utterly slashed into oblivion by these monotone words ”NO, I don’t think so.” The students’ hatred for Mr. Keats grew exponentially, but as he was an instructor of the What Was, they had no power to change their station.
On a certain day near the end of the term, Mr. Keats walked into the classroom a bit later than usual looking less than healthy. Only a short way into his lecture, he again asked for input from the class. The student who obliged Mr. Keats was greeted with the familiar and hated, ”NO, I don’t think so.” With this, the students began to unconsciously focus their combined hatred upon Mr. Keats. Presently Mr. Keats collapsed backwards upon his desk, and in doing so dislodged an as before unseen hairpiece. The students were too shocked to speak or move, and therefore sat quietly in their places. Mr. Keats begged diligently for someone to help him, saying that he was experiencing some malady of the heart. When his plea had finally subsided, the students in unison and anonymity declared, ”NO, I DON’T THINK SO.” With that, the students orderly left the room, leaving behind Mr. Keats to painfully die, as was his fate.
Posted by Alvin P. Phillips |