Yo, J.

You wrote:

I'm sure any inscription you create would be more interesting than my suggestions.

*****
I wouldn't necessarily assume that.

******
Did Christopher work with some of the faculty?

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Yes. I don't know names, but he's coming into town on Friday, so I shall ask. He said most all the faculty liked him very much except for one flaming A.H. who had no patience or understanding when, in his last semester, he lost his best friend and roommate, had to find another place to live, and his girlfriend broke up with him, all in the short span of two weeks. He was given no mercy, and as a result, was not accepted into grad school.

C. was their shining star until everything fell apart at the end. Wasn't meant to be.

*****
You make me feel guilty for enjoying the profession,

***
I didn't mean to. Sorry. Your bliss may not be someone else's. Christopher did enjoy it (he was specializing in plate tectonics), but he enjoys jazz piano more. He put together a group and they play gigs all over S. Oregon. This kid is unstoppable on the piano. He sometimes plays for 10 hours a day.

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even though at the moment I have to manage a 100+ person institute and the budget projections are less than stable and benevolent.

****
Yuck.

*****
I guess the flip -side of poor treatment of women is comparatively gentle treatment of the old boys.

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Yup. Especially in the Good-Ole-Boy South. As I've always told my kids, the world isn't fair.

****

My mother, like you, was discontent with the struggle for tenure in a predominantly male department.

****
In which field, and where? Actually, I wasn't struggling for tenure; I was assured by the Dean of the College that I had that wrapped up. He wanted me to stay, even going so far as to promise to fire psychopath in my dept. the following year.

I told them I'd stay if they gave him his notice now, and me an equitable raise. (This was before contract renewals.) He said no, so I said adios.

My friends all thought I was crazy, as in 1984 there was a surplus of hungry Ph.D.s fresh out of grad school, circling like sharks for a teaching job. But even the psychopath with an M.A. was making more than I was, and I was the one who had stupidly hired him.

So I sold my house, packed up my two kids, and came home--in the process, breaking the heart of a (get this) physics professor who'd been in love with me for two years. (The world just got smaller.)

Sorry, but I didn't mail "Rocket City," off today. 'Twill have to wait till Monday. But just to entice you, check out this URL a friend just mailed me:

http://www.selco.lib.mn.us/winona/cult.html

Happy Trails,

C. (Do you suppose lawyers sign off "Happy Trials?")