Outskirts Press, INC.

Dr. Albert Weismer is in search of the ultimate academic goal—tenure. His student, Sophia Connors, is in search of something more. A happy life? A family of her own? Academic success? She’s not really sure what she’s looking for, but she does know that her life seems to be dependent on outside forces. And this is what she needs to change… Elegant and richly layered, Chasing the Great God Tenure is a vivid portrait of two lonely people, a student and her professor, whose lives intersect in unexpected ways…and with surprising results.

Albert Weismer generally hated being summoned. But being summoned by the dean of academics at Midwest University was the absolute worst. Albert had found the note from Dr. Forley when he checked his mailbox in the communication department office early that morning. The dean was requesting (demanding?) Albert’s presence in his office at 2:00 p.m. the following day. Albert examined his conscience. He hadn’t cancelled any classes this semester. His syllabi met the department requirements. No complaints from female students about sexist language (there’d been three or four of those last semester). Albert had even volunteered to serve on the Facilities Review Committee, one of the most time-consuming committees on campus. Later, he was “drafted” to serve on the Student Status Review Committee as well. What more could the dean possibly want?
Dean Martin Forley saw himself as a seasoned administrator at Midwest. He’d successfully navigated the shark-infested waters of faculty politics through four Midwest presidents. Students referred to Dr. Forley as the “Lion King.” Not surprising since Forley looked more like the jungle beast with each passing school year. His mane of blond hair, highlighted with silver streaks, swept back from his brow in a great arc to nestle snugly on his shoulders. His nostrils flared in a broad muzzle accentuated by a skimpy handlebar mustache. Forley took great pride in his impressive physique—powerful shoulders above a deep chest that tapered neatly into narrow hips. He secretly saw himself as “quite the specimen.” But the aura of distinction he cultivated was offset by small eyes that crossed when he looked intently at a recalcitrant student or an errant professor.
“Sit down, Al,” he said, gesturing toward the straight-backed chair in front of his desk. Many of his administrative colleagues had replaced the old wooden chairs purchased by the university when the administration building was first built. But Martin Forley believed cushy leather armchairs made guests entirely too comfortable. The old wooden chairs were plenty good enough for the likes of those unfortunates who found themselves staring across the desk at the dean, himself ensconced in a huge, black, leather desk chair.
Is there a problem, sir?” asked Albert, suddenly conscious of the perspiration stains under the arms of his old white shirt. “You’re up for tenure this year, right?” Not waiting for confirmation, Forley was warming up. “I’m concerned about your student evaluations. Quite a few of your students made comments about how boring your classes are—their words, not mine, Al. Although you have done some fairly credible research,” he acknowledged, “it’s not groundbreaking. It may not be good enough to compensate for your tepid course evaluations.”
“Are you saying that I may not get tenure?”
“No, I wouldn’t go that far. What I’m saying is that it’s not a sure thing at this point.”
“What can I do?” Albert asked. A note of panic crept into his voice.
“Shake things up a bit. Try something different in your classes. Mary Fowler is using reenactments in her history classes, and students love it. Have you thought of doing something like that?”
“I’m not sure how that would work in ‘Rhetoric of the Ancient World.’”
“How about debates between Aristotle and Plato, with students playing the parts?”
Albert cringed. Not the “toga talk” again. “I’ll think about it,” he said in barely a whisper, knowing full well he wouldn’t.
“You also need to take more interest in some of your brighter students, mentoring them, so to speak. Cultivate some advocates for yourself.”
I’ve actually done that, Albert thought. Look no further than your own daughter, Forley.
The phone rang. Dr. Forley made a great show of adopting a “hail fellow, well met” persona as he mouthed the words “President Evans” and grimaced at Albert. Dr. Evans was the newest head of Midwest University. Rumor had it he was already looking for another appointment after only a year on the job at Midwest.
“Certainly, sir. I’ll look into it. I appreciate you letting me know,” Forley added as he returned the phone to its cradle with a flourish.
“I give him maybe six months. I don’t know what it is with our board of trustees. They keep picking guys that are better suited for small, private schools, not big public universities with problems most of those folks can’t even imagine.” Like I can, he thought to himself. He knew he could whip Midwest into shape, given the chance. For years, he’d played the waiting game, convinced it was simply a matter of time until the board of trustees came to see him as presidential material. Lately though, he found himself doubting this might ever happen. He hated the thought of playing “bridesmaid” much longer to the parade of lackluster “brides” the board seemed to favor.
Albert rose. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Forley. I will definitely do some things differently,” he said noncommittally.