Chapter 28 Alternate Route
ALTERNATE ROUTE
On the seventh day of September, I rode my bicycle down University Avenue.
The orderly rows of plane trees marched along like soldiers, and I was grateful for the shade.
All the same, I was rather damp by the time I reached the Stanford campus, and spent some time in the toilets putting myself to rights before venturing down a long hall and entering the office at the end.
The office of the Dean of the College of Letters and Sciences; a most imposing place.
The secretary looked up from her typing at my entrance. “Yes?” she asked. Middle-aged, and a very efficient-looking person.
“Good morning,” I said, and did not offer my hand. “My name is Marguerite Stark. I have an appointment with Professor Webster.”
“Yes, Mrs. Stark. You may go on in. Just knock first.”
“Thank you.” My mouth was rather dry. This was foolish; it wasn’t even my first time meeting the professor! I added, “You type very quickly.”
“Thank you,” she said.
I nodded, walked through the office, and tapped at the inner door, then entered at the bark from inside. I thought it had been “Come in.”
“Good morning,” Professor Webster said, standing to greet me. I offered him my hand—surely it was appropriate in this context?—and at his motioning me to sit, did so.
He said, “To what do I owe the pleasure? Looking for another class, are you? I think we may be able to accommodate you. Your final essay, I must say, was fine work. Fine work. If only I could convince the rest of my female students to take their studies as seriously as you do.” He sighed.
“But they seem most interested in meeting young men instead. The MRS degree, we call it.”
“Pardon?” I asked.
“Looking to become a Mrs. instead of a Miss.”
“Oh.” I hesitated, and he said, “Go on, let’s have it. I’ve seen that look enough by now to know that you have something to say.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “it’s that their studies are not likely to bring them as much reward as is true for the men.
This is one reason I haven’t wished to pursue a more serious course of study.
It’s very difficult for a woman to find a position outside of certain fields, and I don’t wish to work as a nurse or a secretary or a teacher.
I’m not precisely patient, you see, and I believe I may lack a certain … facility for taking orders.”
“In other words,” he said, so clearly laughing inside, “you’re a princess.”
“Alas,” I said, and we both smiled. “But to answer your question more seriously: A woman who wishes to be a scholar, for example, or a scientist … what is her path? In such circumstances, might a woman not think marriage a more attractive option?”
“Well,” he said, “that’s one thought, certainly.”
“You think me ungrateful for the opportunities you’ve given me,” I said.
“This isn’t so. I’m very aware of my good fortune.
For women in Germany under Hitler, it was all Kinder, Küche, Kirche.
Children, the kitchen, and the church. A married woman was required to remain at home, a good German Hausfrau.
Not even the demands of the war could justify her moving from that sphere.
No Rosie the Riveter or Land Girl for her!
For preference she would be earning her Ehrenkreuz der Deutschen Mutter—The Cross of the German Mother.
Bronze for four or five children; silver for six or seven; and for eight or more, gold.
Clearly, the United States is very different, but not, perhaps, as different as it might be. ”
“Hmm.” Professor Webster’s blue eyes were dancing. “Your husband is studying law, I believe.”
“Yes. Joe is a most diligent and intelligent student.”
“Well, I can tell you one woman who should be a lawyer,” he said. “But I won’t try to change your mind. Small chance of that, I’d say. Have you had a good summer? No classes, I noticed. I’ll admit I was a bit disappointed to see that.”
“I’ve been working all day, you see,” I said. “Earning money for Joe. He’s no longer receiving his twenty dollars a week now that he’s been discharged from the Army for more than a year, and we don’t yet … But you don’t wish to hear about this.”
“On the contrary,” Professor Webster said. “I’m always eager to hear the next thought out of your mouth.” I flushed, and he said, “No, no, I’m not mocking you. So. You’ve been working. Something interesting?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve been employed at the soda fountain in Woolworth’s.
Not precisely interesting, perhaps, and rather cold at times, when one must dig the ice cream from the bottom of the tub, but it does afford one many opportunities for observation.
This job has ended now, however, as fewer people come for ice cream once the summer is over.
Of course, this isn’t the reason I’m here, to speak to you about the scooping of ice cream.
What I wonder is: can you tell me how I might possibly audit a class in accountancy, and also in …
I believe it’s called ‘Economics of Enterprise’?
This would cover financial matters, would it not? ”
Professor Webster blinked in surprise. “Well, yes, those classes are offered.” He spoke rather slowly. “But you’d have to see Professor Franklin, the chairman of the Economics Department. May I ask the reason for this sudden interest in finance?”
This was awkward indeed. I’d tried to think of how to put it and hadn’t succeeded, so I merely plunged in. “I’m selling an item. An heirloom of my family. Once I’ve done so—it may take some time—I would wish to invest the money, and I wish not to be as … as ignorant as I now am about such things.”
“Not what I was expecting,” Professor Webster said. “Best of luck, of course, and all that. A stockbroker would be the normal route, though. Ordinary people, you know, can’t trade in stocks and bonds, and those sorts of things are mainly for the well-to-do anyway.”
“But if I wished to learn anyway?”
He made a sort of shrugging motion with his head, as if to say, “Rather odd, but then, you are rather odd,” and said, “I’ll give Professor Franklin a ring right now. Stop by his office, and if he’s in, you can talk to him. No time like the present.”
Professor Franklin was, as they say, a different kettle of fish.
I was struck first by his most Aryan appearance: tall, lean, and fair-haired, his features rather chiseled.
When he said hello and shook my hand, however, it was the coldness in the blue eyes I noticed most. I had a sudden uncomfortable image of an SS officer, but surely this was merely my fancy.
One couldn’t expect a professor of economics to be as humanistic as a man of letters.
“Dean Webster says you want to audit a class,” he said rather abruptly. “A bold request, wouldn’t you say? You realize that our students normally pay for the privilege of studying here.”
“Yes,” I said, “I do understand that, and I’m most grateful, truly, to have been given the opportunity to learn.
My schooling was rather interrupted—by the war, you know—but several professors have kindly allowed me to sit in a few classes—entirely quietly, I assure you, unless I’m invited to speak.
Oh—my husband is a student here. He’s doing a combined degree in History and Law. ”
“Yes, I heard. You’re not American. Not English, either.”
“No. I’m German, from Dresden. I met my husband in Germany. Dean Webster perhaps mentioned this?”
“Yes. And that your husband is a Jew who interpreted for the Army.” I didn’t much care for the way he said the word “Jew,” but I may have been too sensitive.
“At the Nuremberg trials.” I said. “The first one, of the most important figures, and then the Doctors’ Trials. This work was most difficult for him. Before this, he was an infantryman, which was difficult also.”
Professor Franklin was tapping both ends of a pen against his desk blotter, back and forth. “And the class you want to audit?”
I explained, and he said, “Why on earth would you want to study economics?”
“I wish to understand investments,” I said, “and business recordkeeping as well. I’m selling an item, you see, and would like to invest the money once this sale occurs, and to manage these investments responsibly.
I kept the ledger for the bakery for which I worked in Germany, but it was quite simple, you know—money received and paid out only.
I believe that other businesses are more complex. ”
He snorted. “You could say that.”
“And study in these areas is different,” I said, “from merely reading a book, as one can do in order to learn about history and literature, although the lectures offer much more insight, of course. I’ve taken out books from the library, but they don’t explain how to do the things, not with paper and pencil.
Also, I suspect there may be mathematics involved.
My education hasn’t progressed as far in this area as in such things as literature, but my husband has more knowledge of this and can help me, as I’ve helped him in other areas. ”
“You’d think he’d know what to do with money,” Professor Franklin said. “Why do you need to learn?”
“You mean,” I said, keeping my voice steady with an effort, “as a Jew.”
He shrugged.
I said, “I see. You think this is …” I couldn’t think of the word. “Too large a favor.”
“Well, yes, frankly, I do.” He looked at me, unsmiling and unblinking, rather like a blue-eyed reptile. “I suggest, Mrs. Stark, that you concentrate on looking after your husband. And if you want to go to college—in English, I assume—that you stick to the normal route and apply for admission.”
This time, I did not go home and cry on Joe’s shoulder. I rode instead past Woolworth’s once more—but not for ice cream; I found my taste for ice cream had diminished considerably—and on to a certain storefront office with photographs of houses in the front window.
“Is Mrs. Willingham available, Irene?” I asked the secretary at the front desk.