Chapter Twenty-One - Richard Bellamy
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Richard Bellamy
RICHARD BELLAMY SAT in the large, cavernous conference room, his fingers gripping the long glass top table. His sleepless eyes strained in the dim over head lighting. Having not slept properly in days, his stomach roiled. Bellamy’s appetite was nil and the only thing he had ingested today was a large cup of black coffee.
His eyes searched the room as thoughts of his time on the tenure and promotion committee came to mind. Meetings that decided the fate of his junior colleagues occurred in this very conference room. At one time, he had sat at the head of this table and led a committee of senior colleagues through meticulous and sometimes contentious examination of faculty dossiers. Junior faculty spent five years amassing publications in prestigious academic journals and compiling teaching evaluations to submit for the possibility of tenure and promotion. Deciding the fate of junior faculty was a duty Bellamy relished, he reveled in the power of it.
But, now, perhaps it was ironic, that he awaited his fate in the very same room where he determined the fate of the colleagues that sit before him. Their expressions ranged from neutrality to outright contempt. Life as a faculty member was not without its perils, Bellamy was a well-regarded and highly published public intellectual and academic. A reputation he had garnered through hard work and political machinations. While his colleagues did not respect his work, his reputation exceeded that of Summit State University.
This did not come without jealous colleagues.
Bellamy adjusted his tie, the atmosphere was oppressed, suffused with a quiet hostility that Bellamy had not anticipated nor was he acquainted with. While he had his dissidents and rivals, even having picked up a nemesis or two, Bellamy felt he was generally liked on campus. Yet, the panel before him today — a semi-circle of faculty, administrators, and university officials would suggest otherwise, and at the center of this inquiry was Dr. Larry Hazelton, a rival of Bellamy’s and a weasel-faced Associate Professor from the Department of Neuroscience.
Hazelton’s eyes gleamed barely concealing his glee at the firing squad Bellamy had been hauled before. He rifled through the stacks of papers, his demeanor smug. Bellamy swallowed hard at the thought of Hazelton being at the center of this orchestrated campaign to systemically dismantle his career and discredit him.
“Dr. Richard Bellamy,” Hazelton began, his voice dripped with faux cordiality, “we appreciate your attendance to these proceedings. I trust you have reviewed the findings of our committee.” He finished gesturing to a large three-ring binder before Bellamy. “We have reviewed your recent publications, laboratory activities, and use of university research dollars.”
Bellamy forced a tight smile, but his teeth ground together. His jaw ached. “Of course, Dr. Hazelton. Thank you for your thorough inquiry into my work.”
Hazelton nodded in response, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I understand you have prepared a statement for the committee before we render our findings?”
Bellamy nodded and glanced at the dark-haired woman seated beside him, Dr. Pamela Royce. A faculty advocate provided by HR — young, bright-eyed, and wildly inexperienced. Bellamy barely acknowledged her. Dr. Royce, a new Assistant Professor in the College of Education, had only recently been hired on at Summit State University, wore a pantsuit that severely needed tailoring, and her over-drawn lipstick stained her teeth. More accustomed to wearing overalls and working with elementary school students, Dr. Royce was very much out of place in these stuffy proceedings. Bellamy thought of her as nothing more than a glorified intern. He felt HR’s commitment to appearance outweighed their commitment to substance.
Royce cleared her throat, glancing nervously between Bellamy and the panel, “Dr. Bellamy has cooperated fully with all the university’s requests and maintains that his research adheres to the highest academic standards —”
“Adheres to standards?” Hazelton interrupted, scoffing. He held up a printed copy of one of Bellamy’s papers, a title bold, almost accusational in its appearance: Retrocognition as a Viable Neuropsychological Phenomenon. “This is the work we’re discussing, yes? The same paper has garnered complaints from donors and government agencies— who I might remind you serve as substantial funding sources for this university. This paper qualifies as ‘pseudoscientific psychological mysticism’ per external peer reviewers. Dr. Bellamy’s work has led to questions about this university’s reputation as a credible research institution. The university president and Dean Kerrigan are committed to enhancing the national research profile of our university and tripe like this has no place here.”
Royce cleared her throat, “While we concede that Dr. Bellamy’s work is…’ theoretical’ in nature, it does…” She said , losing her gumption as she searched for the words.
Bellamy leaned forward, his voice sharp, “It is theoretical work, Larry. Speculative? Yes. But it is grounded in established neuropsychology.”
Royce peered at Bellamy, a vein bulging from his neck.
Hazelton raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise, “Established? Tell me, Richard, how exactly does hypothesizing time travel as a potential function of the developed hippocampus contribute to science? This isn’t science. It’s science fiction, and last I checked, you’re not a professor in the SSU Creative Writing program.”
A murmur rippled through the room. Bellamy’s cheeks burned, but he withdrew maintaining his composure. Royce shifted uncomfortably beside him.
Hazelton was not done, “And then there’s the matter of your laboratory practices. The committee has reviewed multiple accounts from former doctoral graduate students alleging you pressured them into unethical experimentation, overworked them without proper documentation and oversight, and forced them to sign non-disclosure agreements extending beyond the standard university intellectual property protocols.”
“I won’t dignify that allegation with a response,” Bellamy snapped, his voice cracked, “My research was approved by the Institutional Review Board, a committee many of you all sit on, I might add.” Bellamy finished, brandishing an accusing finger across the panel. Some of them looked abashed.
Smirking, Hazelton continued, “Be that as it may, the accounts are troubling. But then, of course, there is the matter of Naomi Halston.”
Hazelton was winding up for the pitch. The air in the room grew electric. Bellamy’s stomached churned. He glanced at Royce, who hesitated before speaking, “Dr. Bellamy has already been interviewed by campus police regarding Ms. Halston’s disappearance. He has fully cooperated with—.”
“Perhaps,” Hazelton interrupted, again, his voice sharp. “But the timeline is damning, wouldn’t you agree? Ms. Halston, a graduate student under your supervision, disappears. Security footage placed her entering the Henderson Building late that night, but no record of her leaving. The last known interaction she had was with you.”
“I wasn’t even in the building that night!” Belllamy shot back in retort. His voice rose.
“Convenient,” Hazelton countered. “And yet, several of your students have noted your change in demeanor. You’ve become paranoid, erratic, even hostile in the weeks since her disappearance. As I understand it, you’ve canceled several of your public talks around the country all to be on campus.”
“That is conjecture and has no bearing on the assertions put forth today!” Bellamy barked, his composure cracking. “This is a witch hunt, plain and simple. You’ve been trying to undermine me for years, Larry. Now, in a disgusting play, to further destroy my credibility, you use this tragedy to do it.”
Hazelton leaned back in his chair, he appeared indifferent to Bellamy’s barbs. “The committee has reviewed all of the evidence, Dr. Bellamy,” he said, his voice taking a tone of finality, “We’ve reviewed your research, your lab protocols, and your conduct. While we await further detail into Ms. Halston’s disappearance, this panel finds your methods questionable, your work lacking quality academic merit, and your general conduct concerning. Considering these findings, we believe you to be a liability to the university and have recommended funding all projects under your direction to be immediately frozen pending a comprehensive review.”
The words struck Bellamy like a punch to the chest. He stared at the faces of the panel, searching for any glimmer of support. He glanced at Royce, she looked down avoiding his gaze.
“You can’t do this to me,” Bellamy said, “This is my life’s work. This is all I have left.” His voice broke.
Hazelton stood, gathering his papers with deliberate precision. “The university has a reputation to uphold, Dr. Bellamy. We cannot afford to associate our credibility as an institution with your unscientific speculation and scandal.”
Royce murmured something about appealing the decision and gave Bellamy a tight smile scurrying away.
As the meeting adjourned the panel dispersed, Bellamy remained seated, stunned into silence. His mind raced, his research was stalled, his funding gone, and the police were circling closer every day.
Hazelton was last of the panel to exit the conference room, as he strode lazily towards the door, he sneered down at Bellamy, whispering “You’re lucky I didn’t bring forth the accusations made of you at Harvard. I’d say you got off easy.”
He took his leave from Bellamy.
As the door closed, Bellamy sat alone in the sterile conference room, he felt his hands trembling. The walls felt as if they were closing in. Always thriving under pressure, Bellamy felt this was different. This was annihilation and could not go unpunished. “I’m too close, they can’t take it away.” He muttered to himself, his fist clenched, his knuckles white.
“Too close.”