Quinlan let me know he was pleased that I might be joining his department and bringing to the Boston College community my “accomplished wife.” The remark baffled me. Not that the adjective was inappropriate, but it was not the first that would have come to my mind to describe Gail. Cicerone John Mahoney once again intervened. Professor Quinlan had confused me with another person who might be joining the department in the fall, Bob Reiter. And Bob’s wife, Josephine, was a pianist. Professor Quinlan knew this because there had been some vigorous negotiating between the department and the administration regarding the shipment of Jo’s baby grand piano from Ann Arbor to Boston. At the time, Boston College would reimburse moving costs up to $500; the cost of transporting the baby grand exceeded that amount. This was not the case with the only piece of furniture that Gail and I owned: a monstrous Naugahyde recliner upholstered in light brown imitation leather, studded with golden ornamental nails. The trip to Professor Quinlan’s apartment was the last event of my campus visit. John walked me to the trolley stop
across the street. I would be back in Columbia, Missouri, later that evening.
so there you have it, the day of my first
visit to Boston College. We can be sure of one thing: Nothing happened on that day just as I have retold it here, as a series of merry anecdotes. For the past, in James Joyce’s lovely phrase, is “fabled by the daughters of memory.” Beyond these anecdotes, I have questions: What was I like then, what was my younger self like at that busy time in my life, almost a half-century ago? Marriage: After a long bachelorhood, I married at age 30; Benedick, the married man. Well, what was that like, those first months of marriage? Did I miss my earlier carefree life? Did Gail miss hers? What sorts of changes were necessary? Difficult? Delightful? Teaching: My new profession. Did I enjoy teaching? Did I think I was any good at it? Perhaps more important, did my students think I was any good at it? Both Gail and I were English teachers, by the way, but it was customary at
Students walking between McElroy and Lyons halls, in the winter of 1964.
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photograph: Courtesy of John J. Burns Library Archive