CHAPTER 1

The music department at Monongahela University—composedof historians, theorists, composers, and ethnomusicologists—offeredconstant support for the hypothesis I had formed in my previouspositions at Chihuahua State College, The Cloister, and BrookUniversity: academia attracts people too bright not to be in aprofession but too socially challenged for productive interaction withother people. (Nobody in academia considers students to be people.)The concept of the ivory tower as an enclave for intelligent socialmisfits has no inherent contradictions. The problem comes with thenotion of departmental autonomy and self-governance, an idea whosefatal flaws emerged each month at the departmental faculty meeting.

Not only did the four components of the department turnevery discussion into a turf battle, but even colleagues within eachdivision had difficulty finding common ground. When you addedthe perpetual tension between the tenured faculty (mostly deadwood jealously guarding their privileges) and the untenured faculty(full of unbounded ambition for the coveted assurance of lifetimeemployment), it was a wonder that the department ever achievedanything at all, and indeed the most common fate of any proposalwas extended, often acrimonious, debate followed by permanentconsignment to parliamentary limbo. In my second year as amusicologist at Monongahela I was still the "new man," and thereforeassigned to record the minutes of faculty meetings, the departmentalsecretary having better things to do with her time. A typical notationin the minutes would read: Proposal, moved by X, seconded by Y,discussion, tabled.

The music department at Monongahela University occupied theformer studios of WQED, the country's first radio station west ofthe Alleghenies. An historic marker outside the building attested tothat status until the radio station uprooted the sign and transplantedit in front of their current headquarters, a typical example of publicrelations trumping historicity. Department meetings took place in awindowless room with blackboards along two walls and a conferencetable inherited from the university administration when theyupgraded their office furniture. Most of the chairs had seen betterdays—one tended to sit forward to prevent the rough edges fromsnagging pant legs.

On this Monday afternoon in the fall of 1976 the meeting wasled by Professor Sawtooth, the chairman, whose appointment, I wastold, had followed the pattern I had observed elsewhere: interviewthree candidates, squabble over their respective qualifications, thenhire a fourth candidate whose credentials nobody understood verywell. How else explain a man with degrees in mathematics andpsychology as chairman of a music department?

Despite his peculiar background, Jason Sawtooth offereda welcome contrast to the reign of terror under the previouschairman—a mad Machiavellian medievalist—in which actualfisticuffs among formerly phlegmatic department members requiredthe presence of campus security guards to prevent bloodshed.Sawtooth, prematurely gray and hatchet-headed, endeavored tocombine conciliatory democracy with enlightened despotism.

This afternoon we witnessed another semi-coherent tirade byLeroy Bluenote, a jazz trumpeter of some note who continued topursue a professional career while carrying out his modest duties asdirector of the university jazz ensemble and token black man. (HowBluenote ever achieved tenure remained one of the department'smost impenetrable mysteries.) The worthy trumpeter rose in defenceof Chief Uganda, an elderly African reported to be an actual tribalchief knighted by Queen Elizabeth II, and originally brought toMonongahela to chair the Afro-American Studies Department. Afterone year his black brethren in the AASP turned upon the Chief andcast him out. The Dean of Arts and Sciences, knowing a soft touchwhen he saw one, persuaded the inexperienced new chairman, JasonSawtooth, to take the Chief into the music department and give himshelter, tenure, and an easy teaching schedule. After one year themusic faculty had complained bitterly, but no one dared force theissue because the Chief was a black man and the music faculty wereall white liberals. Now, the good Chief having reached the mandatoryretirement age of seventy, the faculty hoped he would simply fadeaway. Then came Professor Bluenote's request that the faculty pleadwith the dean to keep Chief Uganda on for another year. Withbated breath and gnashing teeth, the faculty listened to the jazzman'spowerful oratory.

"Well, first of all, I want to say, quite frankly, that I hope themembers of the faculty will put aside memories of past issues, becausewhile I don't want to get personal and name names, you know thereis a certain amount of politics involved with Chief Uganda, and tobe perfectly honest and straightforward, and Professor Sawtooth canback me up on this since he was there when we were talking about it(although I must confess, I really intend to lay it on the line) and eventhough Chief Uganda has been accused of not taking an interest inthis department because he never comes to faculty meetings, I checkedwith him on that and he said he never received an invitation, but themain point, the main point that I want to make, is that nobody, notonce, asked the Chief how he felt about this, whether he intends toturn seventy just because his seventieth birthday comes next month,and furthermore, and here I want to be completely candid, I checkedwith the dean about this and he thinks it may be true, so I urgeyou to vote in secret ballot, because sometimes people vote withoutunderstanding the whole situation, and while I don't want to getpersonal, it would be better not to vote at all than to vote withoutreally understanding the whole situation, and by whole situation Imean talking to the Chief personally, talking with his students, andunderstanding their point of view."

Professor Bluenote the jazzman concluded, sort of, and all whoheard him were confused. But they had heard the words "secretballot," and this called to mind the last previous secret ballot, whichhad taken place during the reign of terror preceding the overthrow ofthe previous chairman. An associate dean, running the faculty meetingwith the assistance of an armed guard, had instructed everyone towrite his vote secretly, and then to sign his name. The ballots hadbeen secretly collected and then the associate dean had announcedeach vote and the name of the person casting it.

This time, if we were to have a secret ballot, it had better bereally secret. So Professor Sawtooth the chairman instructed eachperson to write his vote on a slip of paper, unsigned, and give it to thedepartment secretary. But, he continued, as an added precaution, theresults of this secret ballot would remain forever a secret. And that ishow we succeeded in pasturing Chief Uganda.

The pride of the Monongahela Music Department was the musiclibrary, fiefdom of Jebediah Fletcher, a thin man with thinning hairwho would have seemed more at home in a Dickens novel than inthe academic world. Nobody knew quite why it was the pride of themusic department: the book holdings were totally inadequate, therecord collection ridiculously outdated (the only recording of theVerdi Requiem was the Toscanini version, recorded in monophonicsound in 1952), the listening facilities just plain hopeless (threecassette recorders, two of them broken, two wind-up record playerswith stainless steel needles). Monongahela subscribed to fewer thanthree dozen current periodicals, including Downbeat and Billboard.Surely we were the only music library in the country to boast acomplete run of The National Geographic Magazine. There was alsoone microfilm viewer, but the librarian kept an "Out of Order"sign on it "to keep people from meddling," he explained. Yet theinscription on the library door plainly read, "The Music Library,pride of the Monongahela Music Department, Jebediah Fletcher,Proprietor."

Shortly after my arrival, the university libraries announced thatthe library budget would be reduced by 2% each year for the next fiveyears. "And yer costs are goin' up by 18-24% a year with inflation,"cackled Jebediah Fletcher, reporting the new policy at a facultymeeting. Fletcher's ultimate goal was to close down the music library.He complained regularly to the chairman about the number of peopleusing the facilities. "How do you expect me to get my cataloguingdone with all these students and faculty members running in andout, asking questions and taking books off the shelves?" He kept arecord of every book used and every person entering, so that he couldsupport his requests for shorter hours with compelling statistics."Lookee here, in the past three months there's been a 32% declinein the number of people using the facility between 2:30 and 3:30 onSunday afternoons. We could close down the library on Sundays andsave a bundle." Fletcher had the full support of all the undergraduatemusic majors, who loved to come to class unprepared, insisting thatthe library had been closed so they couldn't listen to records, followscores, or look up sources.

When a faculty member informed Fletcher that he would beusing certain books with his classes during the coming term, thelibrarian wouldn't put the books on the Reserve shelf, but wouldre-catalogue them and hide them in the Locked Press. "Too manypeople using those books means extra wear and tear. It costs us $3.75every time we bind a book. Of course, if you want to increase thebinding budget and cut the record budget ..."

Some faculty members agreed that the music library was in adreadful state, despite being the pride of the Monongahela MusicDepartment. The chairman, ever responsive to the department's needs,formed a Library Committee. As chairman of the newly-formedLibrary Committee I had to inform the faculty that we had not yetfound an opportunity to meet. A more active department mighthave censured this lack of progress. Monongahela had a differentperspective: since the committee couldn't be expected to deal with theproblem anyway, what difference did it make whether we met or not?

The previous spring, my first at Monongahela, Jason Sawtoothhad taken me with him to the University of West Virginia, aboutan hour away, to hear John Kirkpatrick perform the Ives ConcordSonata. During the drive the chairman had emphasized the urgentneed to revise the undergraduate music major curriculum, beef upthe program, give it some academic rigor. Thrilled at the prospectof playing Robin to Jason's Batman, I listened intently, drew upa draft proposal, and ran it by the chairman, who corrected a fewminor points then urged me to present it to the faculty. Like CharlieBrown, perpetually naïve in his belief that Lucy would really hold thefootball as promised and not pull it away at the last moment so thathe landed unceremoniously on his backside, I brought the proposalto the October faculty meeting. I suppose I should not have beensurprised that instead of considering the ideas on their merits, eachprofessor focused solely on the effect the changes might have on hisown teaching schedule.

Professor Roscoe Biedermeyer, the counterpoint teacher, beganthe attack. Round-faced, balding, with tiny round glasses coveringtiny porcine eyes, he began politely enough. "Axel, there seems tobe an omission here. I don't see counterpoint listed anywhere in theprogram."

"We thought it would be better to combine harmony andcounterpoint into a two-year consolidated music theory strand." Ilooked vainly to the chairman for support.

"In other words, you want me to abandon a course that I havehoned to perfection over two decades?"

"Current thinking favors a linear Schenkerian approach to musictheory," I offered weakly.

"I never could make sense of Schenker," said Biedermeyer, "andI'm too old to start now."

Clement Nazard, the overweight university organist and teacherof the undergraduate music history survey, took up the assault."According to this document, students have to slog through two yearsof music theory before they can take my history survey."

"That's right," I said. "This way they'll have a strong theoreticalbackground that will enable them to study historical works in greaterdepth."

Nazard, who taught the history survey as a series of anecdotesabout composers, performers, and their love affairs, failed to see theadvantage of such an approach. "You're saying I'd have to completelyrewrite my course. And what happens if a student drops out in themiddle of your 'rigorous theoretical preparation?' Why, he'll miss outon history altogether!"

Before any of the others could get their weapons in place,chairman Sawtooth got me off the hook by suggesting that we sendthe proposal to the Undergraduate Program Committee for furtherstudy. The motion carried, and we departed for the afternoon.

I've always found movies to be an effective antidote forfrustration, and "Network" filled the bill. I left the theatre fantasizingof the day when I might stand up in the middle of the faculty meetingand declare, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to put up with thisanymore," before stalking out of the room. I didn't really mind goingto the movies alone, although I would have welcomed some femalecompanionship.

CHAPTER 2

"Publish or perish" might be considered the unofficial motto ofacademic life. I hated to imagine that one might actually accomplishboth ends, but I recalled the words of my Chihuahua State colleague:"If they like you, they'll find a way to keep you; if they don't like you,they'll find a way to get rid of you."

I had secured my appointment at Monongahela with theacceptance for publication of my manuscript on Debussy. Now,along came a heavy box of page proofs from the University ofCalifornia Press, demanding proofreading and an index. I hadalready corrected the galley proofs, which rolled along sensibly onlyto erupt sUDDENLY INTO CAPS FOR A LINE OR TWO ORSwing insensibly into italics without warning or else an entire linewould be repeated like this without warning or else an entire linewould be repeated like this. I began to work on the index, insertingpage numbers as I went along, the goal being to produce an indexso detailed that nobody would have to bother reading the rest of thebook. Naturally the longest entry came at the composer's name:

Debussy, Claude (1862-1918): born in log cabin, 3; drownsfamily cat to obtain gut for cello strings, 7; joins motorcycle gang,"Les Anges de l'Enfer" (see separate entry); brief career as professionalsoccer player, 19-25 [no other book on Debussy included thislittle-known chapter in the composer's life]; sets Verlaine's poetryto music, 30-33; challenged to duel by Verlaine, 34; sexual exploits,34-57; their influence on his music, 58-74; visits London peepshows,69; attempts opera on subject, 70-73; sets Louÿs' poems to music,74-87; end of friendship with Louÿs, 88; conceives La Mer whilefloating boats in bathtub, 92; sets Mallarmé's poems to music,93-101; death of Mallarmé, 102.

The book appeared in the new publications list from the UCP,but at the price they demanded, I doubted whether there wouldbe many takers. The publishers seemed to have discarded thesupply-and-demand principle of pricing in favour of the Arab oilproducers' principle, which says that if demand declines prices mustbe increased in order to maintain profits.

During my first year at Monongahela I had written a textbookon nineteenth-century music for the External Studies Program, underthe supervision of an editor who insisted that I adhere to the protocolof telling students what they could expect to read, giving themsomething to read, and then telling them what they had just read.Thus the chapter on Beethoven began with instructional objectives:

After reading this chapter you should be able to:

1. Identify the classical and romantic elements in Beethoven'smusical style.

2. Describe Beethoven's use of form (especially as compared toclassical conventions) and rhythm.

3. Describe Beethoven's approach to composition.

4. Summarize Beethoven's intent in composing the PastoralSymphony and the internal and external ways through which heachieved his intent.

Six pages of text, composed in strict outline form, were followedby two pages of exercises including terms (ranz des vaches), questions(e.g., In what respects can Beethoven be considered a Romantic?), and anessay (Reread Beethoven's Heiligenstadt Testament and point out examplesof romantic attitudes). A suggested answer was printed upside down atthe bottom of the page.

Lisa, my editor, while insisting on strict adherence to the ESPprotocol, had managed to convey a sense of complicity. If she and Ihad been conversing privately, she seemed to hint, I could have takenshortcuts in my explanations, but external students could never raisetheir hands in class to seek clarification, so I needed to anticipate andrespond to their problems.