Chasing the Wind
Recently, I was at a big hob-nob in the nation’s capital where very smart people congregate to appreciate each other and to be appreciated. This was the annual meeting of the self-described “learned society” of my new industry, The Academy. I sat through many intellectual and theoretical paper presentations and panels. Many were interesting. Several were practical. A few were very good. The best were those that paid special attention to our home still reeling from Hurricane Katrina and one that explored the scriptural basis of moral thinking in socio-economics and amorality of economic legal theory. The one panel that mentioned scripture was in a ghetto, but I was glad it was there at all.
At a luncheon for clinical legal educators, the section devoted to that enterprise bestowed an annual award on a men deemed to be the clinical educator of the year. Clinical law teachers are typically liberal activists with a soft heart for social justice and unpopular causes on behalf of the poor. For that, I am glad to be in their ranks, because that seems a high calling of the variety of Matthew 5 or Isaiah 1:17. The man receiving the award is a Star on the First Tier, as I discovered, who innovates, publishes, works harder than anyone else, and carries the standard of clinical education with aplomb into The Academy and makes everyone else look bad by comparison.
The presiding officer introduced the Star’s introducers.
Four people introduced him, his former teachers, current Dean and colleagues. Count them; four people introduced the Star.
The Star stormed the stage and began his acceptance.
Ten minutes later, as he continued, the hotel conference staff proceeded to clean away dirty dishes from before the assembled Teachers. We had finished dessert, after this very staff had placed it before us, after they had cleaned away our entrée dishes which they had set before us after they had cleaned up our salad plates. As they worked without a word, the plates clinked. The glasses chimed. The silver clanked.
The Star interrupted himself, “Excuse me. Excuse me! Servers! Excuse me! I know that you have a job to do, but it’s very loud. I know it will inconvenience you, but could you please stop, just stop for five or ten minutes. Just be quiet a little bit. This is my Warholian moment, and I want to enjoy it.”
He accepted his award for 15 more minutes.
I don't remember his name.
(CLARIFICATION: Someone asked me if I were referring to the prominent dean of a certain western law school. I am not. I really don't remember the guy's name receiving the award, and this award would hardly be that dean's "Warholian moment.")
At a luncheon for clinical legal educators, the section devoted to that enterprise bestowed an annual award on a men deemed to be the clinical educator of the year. Clinical law teachers are typically liberal activists with a soft heart for social justice and unpopular causes on behalf of the poor. For that, I am glad to be in their ranks, because that seems a high calling of the variety of Matthew 5 or Isaiah 1:17. The man receiving the award is a Star on the First Tier, as I discovered, who innovates, publishes, works harder than anyone else, and carries the standard of clinical education with aplomb into The Academy and makes everyone else look bad by comparison.
The presiding officer introduced the Star’s introducers.
Four people introduced him, his former teachers, current Dean and colleagues. Count them; four people introduced the Star.
The Star stormed the stage and began his acceptance.
Ten minutes later, as he continued, the hotel conference staff proceeded to clean away dirty dishes from before the assembled Teachers. We had finished dessert, after this very staff had placed it before us, after they had cleaned away our entrée dishes which they had set before us after they had cleaned up our salad plates. As they worked without a word, the plates clinked. The glasses chimed. The silver clanked.
The Star interrupted himself, “Excuse me. Excuse me! Servers! Excuse me! I know that you have a job to do, but it’s very loud. I know it will inconvenience you, but could you please stop, just stop for five or ten minutes. Just be quiet a little bit. This is my Warholian moment, and I want to enjoy it.”
He accepted his award for 15 more minutes.
I don't remember his name.
(CLARIFICATION: Someone asked me if I were referring to the prominent dean of a certain western law school. I am not. I really don't remember the guy's name receiving the award, and this award would hardly be that dean's "Warholian moment.")
posted by JRB at 9:41 PM
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