Читать книгу Destination Love - Gwynne Forster - Страница 8

Sheri Stephens walked down to the chairman’s office suite and took a seat in the conference room. As usual, she was the first of the professors to arrive for the dissertation committee. The other faculty members already had tenure—a fancy word for a permanent job—and she expected to receive tenure when she returned from summer vacation. They wouldn’t like what she was going to say, and neither would the doctoral candidate. But right was right and she’d made up her mind. She watched the chairman stroll in, along with Dalton Wright Hobart, the Ph.D. candidate, chatting as if the two were equals, but that wouldn’t sway her, either.

As soon as the department faculty had settled into the conference room, the chairman voiced his approval of the dissertation and his appreciation for the quality of Dalton Hobart’s academic accomplishments. Each of the professors asked questions and were satisfied with Hobart’s answers. Sheri knew that the graduate student was smart and possessed a superior mind. But, in her view, his job was to present his theory in terms applicable to the average American family.

“I don’t agree,” she said when it was her turn to speak. “It is certainly above-average work, and that is precisely why it should have practical applications. Unless Mr. Hobart revises his approach so that the average adult will find his conclusions useful, I cannot recommend this dissertation.” She ignored the reaction of the other professors.

“But that means he won’t receive his Ph.D. in June,” one professor said. “This seems a bit harsh to me.”

Sheri shrugged. “But you will have to admit that I have a point.”

She glanced at Dalton Hobart, whose dissertation she had just derailed, and saw that his eyes flashed fire. Indeed, she had never seen such hatred.

The chairman polled the group, but she knew the results before he questioned the others: no economics professor would deny the legitimacy of her position. Too bad, she thought, since Dalton was an otherwise brilliant economist. But the fierce anger evident in his demeanor was unsettling. What did he want from her? She’d given her honest opinion based on a sound academic approach, and she refused to give quarter.

Dalton Wright Hobart sat listless, in shock. The youngest and only untenured professor on his advisory committee had rejected his dissertation. The chairman and every other member of the committee had approved his work. But to be awarded a Ph.D., everyone on the academic advisory committee had to approve his dissertation or he wouldn’t receive his degree. And if he didn’t graduate in June, he could forget about that fellowship at the Brookings Institute. He doubted he’d find another one that was as prestigious. He couldn’t remember ever having been as angry with anyone as he was with Sheri Stephens.

Grin and bear it, man, he said to himself. If you’re mad, you can’t reason.

After the chairman dismissed the committee, Dalton fell in step with Sheri Stephens as she walked to her office. “Professor Stephens, I know that I’ve done a good job with this. My research is original, and my analysis sound. By insisting that I do more work, you’ve made it impossible for me to graduate, and I’ll have to inform the Brookings Institute that I can no longer take the job they’ve offered me.”

He stopped talking while she unlocked the door to her office, and he followed her inside. “Seeing me at commencement with that cap and gown would make my parents proud. They have sacrificed everything for me.”

She turned her back and walked toward the window. He sensed that he was fighting a losing battle, but he continued. “No one in my family has graduated from college, let alone earned a Ph.D. I…This is devastating. Can’t you approve it and allow me to make the revisions this summer? Opportunities like the one at Brookings are rare.”

She turned and faced him. From the set of her jaw, he knew he may as well leave. “I have to do what I believe is right. If you want the degree, you have to revise your dissertation. That’s my last word on the subject.”

He didn’t say anything to her, because nothing pleasant would come out of his mouth. One thing was certain, he would never forget Professor Sheri Stephens. He walked past two doors to the department chairman’s office and waited to speak with him.

“I’m sorry, Hobart, but Professor Stephens is within her rights, and I can’t overrule her unless I plan to dismiss her. Too bad you have to give up that job at Brookings, but don’t fret about it. You’ll never be out of work.”

“I’d like permission to turn my revised dissertation in to you.”

“Yes, of course you can do that. Do you think you can get it done by the end of August?”

“Certainly. If she had told me last week, I could have done it by now.”

“Don’t be bitter, Hobart,” the chairman said. “This is just another bump in the road. Five years from now, this little setback won’t have made a significant difference in your life.”

Maybe not, but his parents would never see him march across Harvard Yard to Tercentenary Theatre. That hurt him more than having to add some petty nonsense to his dissertation.

“Bitter? Fortunately, I have the ability to control my rage. Forgetting is another matter.” He walked out into the spring sunlight, oblivious to everyone around him. He’d lost count of the times he had climbed from rock bottom, times when hardship hadn’t fazed him, because he knew the way up. But this time he’d worked and fought his way to the top and hadn’t been able to enjoy the fruits of his reward.

“I’ll show them. Damned if I’ll be a victim! She hasn’t heard the last of me.”

The door closed behind Dalton Hobart, and Sheri dismissed the affair with a shrug. She’d done the right thing, and she was not about to apologize for it. Things were correct or incorrect, finished or incomplete, and the man’s dissertation was not finished. A person should be rewarded for what he or she accomplished. Sentiment had no place in evaluating the work of grad students. Her parents had raised her that way—to take her medicine. They hadn’t spared her or coddled her when she didn’t meet their expectations.

She telephoned the office of the department chairman. “This is Professor Stephens. Which one of us is to review that dissertation after Hobart makes the revisions?”

“I will.”

Hmm. So the chairman wasn’t pleased with her. Too bad. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad.” Well, the whole thing was behind her, and she liked it that way.