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confront the inevitable, so at this lo point in my fortunes I sat staring
at the lake and, whi gritting my teeth, resolved to pull myself out of the
rut was trapped in. Mercifully, words spoken in the past can to
console and guide me. The speaker had been Iscovich Temple: 'You have a
quarter of a century left befo retirement. Make those years count.' On
this troubl( evening the invitation he had given that I had so cavalier
scorned now seemed alive with promise: it's a miraculo opportunity to
escape the complacency I've been lulled in and to stretch myself toward
momentous achievements. Jumping from the bench with newborn enthusiasm,
hurried toward my room to telephone Dean Iscovich report my decision, but
there was one more hurdle to pa before I could claim my freedom. As I ran
past the library suddenly stopped and entered the nearly empty main too
from which students had fled for their term break. Noddir to Jenny Sorkin,
who labored in a corner, I asked tf librarian for the Temple catalogue.
Tucking it under m arm, I went to my quarters to study the maps showing
ho the buildings at Temple were distributed haphazard through North
Philadelphia. When I realized that withi this,confined ghetto there would
be no Warmsee, n gardened paths, no rooming houses with spacious quarter
my courage failed: 'God, Streibert! You must be insan Such an unfair
exchange!' But then came a voice as clear if the speaker were at my elbow:
'Take the first step of yot upward climb or forever lag behind.' Before I
could wav( again I called Temple and told the dean: 'Sorry to both(
you at home, but I want to join your program. It sound
better and better,' and he, appreciating how difficult tha decision must
have been, said quietly: 'You'll never regre 33
.......... it.' But when I hung up and looked
out my window to that glorious Wannsee, I knew that in some part of my
being I would regret my decision every day of my life. But the real
world was calling, and I could hardly wait to direct some Philadelphia
sign painter in placing My DOOMED HOUSE OF ATREUS on a Temple wall. The
confusions were past. I would be an honest teacher again, an honest
critic. My first task as a free man was not easy, but it could not
in decency be evaded. Walking briskly across the campus to President
Rossiter's home, I banged on the door and said: 'Please excuse this
rudeness, but I had to tell you before I lost courage. I've decided, Sir,
that it's time I moved on. I'll be leaving at the end of term.'
Having conducted many such interviews, often at his instigation when
firing someone, he showed no surprise, instead he asked me to step inside,
then retreated to the hackneyed statements required in such situations: 'I
knew we wouldn't be able to hold on to a luminary like you forever,
Karl. We wish you a world of good luck in your promotion. Where is it?'
'remple. New program. Solid funding.' He was decent enough not to gasp at
hearing that he was losing one of his stars not to Princeton or Stanford
but to Temple, but his eyebrows did shoot up. 'Well,' he said, recovering
nicely, 'big, stable institution. Doing fine work with inner-city
young people, we hear. You'll have a notable opportunity. Our best wishes
go with you,' and four minutes later he ushered me out. But as I left the
porch he called after me: 'Karl, we'll keep this out of the papers, won't
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we? Student outcries when we lose a popular professor can become
embaffassing, can't they?' and I agreed, for I was happy to be leaving on
any terms. It was in these moments of rebirth that I swore: 'At
Temple, I'll allow nothing to divert me from trying to ste( American
writing on an honest course. The two seminai Iscovich has me scheduled to
conduct, especially Deconstru, tionism, the Pathway to Meaning, will be a
dialogue with m peers,' and I returned to my quarters elated. For
some years I'd been in the habit of reading the medi pages of the Times,
finding bits of inside information thi made me feel as if I were a
participant in the big gamc being played in the publishing community. One
morning found more than I bargained for: Rumors from top sources
hint that the proposed marriage of New York's Kinetic Press to Hamburg's
Kastle has collapsed. Blame is equally allocated, Kinetic wanting more
assurances on policy continuation than the Germans were prepared to give,
Ka stle asking for more business concessions than the Americans could
grant. Experts believe that both parties have moved back to square one,
with every probability that an American white knight will rescue
Kinetic, a house which in the past has published famous native writers and
today boasts a list which is so diverse it contains both the elderly
best-seller Lukas Yoder and the young iconoclast Timothy Tull. One
competitor said: 'It would be salutary if ownership were kept in this
country.' Before finishing the article, I put in a call for Yvonne,
bul had no opportunity to convey my anxiety, for she cried in a voice
of real agitation: 'Karl, thank God you called. Can I come down and talk
with you?' 'How soon can you get to the inn?' When she said she
thought she could make it by eleven, I said: 'Good. Do you
339
want me to assemble Yoder and Tull and maybe Sorkin?' and
she said firmly: 'Only you. And come with all decks cleared. Military
action.' When she arrived she was more nervous than I had ever seen
her and sought to calm herself by ordering an atypical drink: 'Jack
Daniel's on the rocks.' When it came she took a gulp and surprised me by
reaching out to grasp my hands and saying: 'I'm so glad you could see me.'
Then she settled back and said: 'Karl, you could do me a great favor.
You're familiar with this town. If you come upon a really good house
that's for sale, let me know.' 'What's happened? You quit? Fired?'
Laughing nervously, she squeezed my hand: 'No. I'm fine. Just waking up,
as a matter of fact. These are days that send one back to fundamentals,
and I realize that with both my parents dead and no siblings I'm really
alone in this world. I have no real home. And I do not relish the New
York I'm seeing. So much of my life centers on this village these days,
it's become my home. I want to live where there are fields and village
policemen, and a comer store whose clerks know who you are.' She slumped,
averted her eyes, blew her nose vigorously. 'I'm so glad you called when
you did. I need judicious counsel and could think of no one in New
York to give it.' She was so distraught, I decided that this was no time
to tell her about my decision to leave Mecklenberg. She launched into
a detailed unraveling of the intricate corporate moves that had led to the
breakup of the proposed Kinetic-Kastle union. But she had barely begun
when she said abruptly: 'There's a tape recorder in the trunk of my
car. Please fetch it. Here are my keys. I want you to get every word of
this - and accurately. When, I had the machine propped close to us, tape
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