I told you that I would share the story so I shall.
As some of my longer term readers are aware, I lived with a large and diverse cast of characters during my four years of grad school. Several of the roommates continued to live with me when we changed houses from a nine bedroom house near the Chapterhouse bar to a seven bedroom house in a more quiet North campus neighborhood. One of the longer term roommates was an MFA writer; I don't know if it was our friendship or my dangling hook that the new house had previously been inhabited by E.B. White that reeled him in. Half Ojibwa, an incredibly gifted blues guitarist and not to mention a fantastic writer, he always kept life interesting. He drank too much, smoked too much, and carried on with too many women from a much too small group of other MFA's. It was no surprise that I was drawn to him; much more surprising was the fact that he found me to be interesting among all the lively people who stuck to him like teflon. We used to sit on the porch sharing one of his cigarettes while he relayed tales of his recent exploits.
A recurring character in his recollections was a former writing professor. This man was a living legend among the students and staff, spoken about in the same name dropping sessions that mentioned Nabokov and Morrison though he was not nearly as famous. In another time he would have been called a rake but in his waning years during the 21st century he was called "sketchy." My roommate both worshipped him and rolled his eyes at him.
Professor X was a notorious womanizer, even in his esquire years. Once my roommate brought a young woman with him to Professor X's house to visit. The woman was skittish because Professor X was leering at her. The old goat told her not to worry because he was too old to bother trying anything on her. "But if there were two of you..." he smirked.
As a burgeoning feminist I had read Melissa Bank's The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing. It is often referred to as chic-lit but anyone can read it because it contains a witty collection of short stories that capture the essence of growing up and coming of age. I had suspected that the collection was semi-autobiographical due to the main character's similar occupation to Ms. Bank's. Now years later my roommate gave confirmation.
Ms. Banks and Professor X had engaged in a tumultuous relationship while she was a student at Cornell. Apparently it had ended badly and she had taken her revenge with a New York Times Bestseller that was read by millions of people. She portrayed him in the book as an impotent editor. The most fictional part was that in the story she simply moved on but in reality she served him with a literary masterpiece that underlined his, er, shortcomings.
Their story would have been known by a generation of writers who had knowledge of the relationship but it would not have continued to be passed down through each generation if it weren't for Professor X's complicity in sharing the story. "He busted himself," my roommate told me when sharing the story. After a few rounds of whiskey and several joints he had indignantly revealed that he was the editor character though of course the impotence thing was a work of fiction. "Why would he bust himself?" Why indeed.
Professor X shared the story for the same reason that people playing "I never" make strangely specific statements that only they need to drink to: because they enjoy the attention as much as those around them enjoy the scandal. Professor X's ego overruled any embarrassment that he may have felt. Ms. Bank's efforts to extract revenge have only added to Professor X's much enjoyed notoriety. These days I would bet that he shares the story more often that she does and with far more glee.
I recall that the movie Suburban Girl was based on The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing; I wonder if Professor X watched the movie and if he was pleased with the actor portrayed him.
As some of my longer term readers are aware, I lived with a large and diverse cast of characters during my four years of grad school. Several of the roommates continued to live with me when we changed houses from a nine bedroom house near the Chapterhouse bar to a seven bedroom house in a more quiet North campus neighborhood. One of the longer term roommates was an MFA writer; I don't know if it was our friendship or my dangling hook that the new house had previously been inhabited by E.B. White that reeled him in. Half Ojibwa, an incredibly gifted blues guitarist and not to mention a fantastic writer, he always kept life interesting. He drank too much, smoked too much, and carried on with too many women from a much too small group of other MFA's. It was no surprise that I was drawn to him; much more surprising was the fact that he found me to be interesting among all the lively people who stuck to him like teflon. We used to sit on the porch sharing one of his cigarettes while he relayed tales of his recent exploits.
A recurring character in his recollections was a former writing professor. This man was a living legend among the students and staff, spoken about in the same name dropping sessions that mentioned Nabokov and Morrison though he was not nearly as famous. In another time he would have been called a rake but in his waning years during the 21st century he was called "sketchy." My roommate both worshipped him and rolled his eyes at him.
Professor X was a notorious womanizer, even in his esquire years. Once my roommate brought a young woman with him to Professor X's house to visit. The woman was skittish because Professor X was leering at her. The old goat told her not to worry because he was too old to bother trying anything on her. "But if there were two of you..." he smirked.
As a burgeoning feminist I had read Melissa Bank's The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing. It is often referred to as chic-lit but anyone can read it because it contains a witty collection of short stories that capture the essence of growing up and coming of age. I had suspected that the collection was semi-autobiographical due to the main character's similar occupation to Ms. Bank's. Now years later my roommate gave confirmation.
Ms. Banks and Professor X had engaged in a tumultuous relationship while she was a student at Cornell. Apparently it had ended badly and she had taken her revenge with a New York Times Bestseller that was read by millions of people. She portrayed him in the book as an impotent editor. The most fictional part was that in the story she simply moved on but in reality she served him with a literary masterpiece that underlined his, er, shortcomings.
Their story would have been known by a generation of writers who had knowledge of the relationship but it would not have continued to be passed down through each generation if it weren't for Professor X's complicity in sharing the story. "He busted himself," my roommate told me when sharing the story. After a few rounds of whiskey and several joints he had indignantly revealed that he was the editor character though of course the impotence thing was a work of fiction. "Why would he bust himself?" Why indeed.
Professor X shared the story for the same reason that people playing "I never" make strangely specific statements that only they need to drink to: because they enjoy the attention as much as those around them enjoy the scandal. Professor X's ego overruled any embarrassment that he may have felt. Ms. Bank's efforts to extract revenge have only added to Professor X's much enjoyed notoriety. These days I would bet that he shares the story more often that she does and with far more glee.
I recall that the movie Suburban Girl was based on The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing; I wonder if Professor X watched the movie and if he was pleased with the actor portrayed him.
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