Free Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red by Harry Kemelman

under contract. Same with the AAUP. No, this is a clear case, and we’ll get to work on it.”
    “Please, Al, do me a favor. Mind your own business. I don’t want to get into a fight with the administration.” He put a hand on his shoulder.
    Herzog shrugged him off. “I don’t understand you. If there was one guy on this faculty I could count on to fight for his rights, it was you, that’s been the trouble with teachers all along; they think they’ll get better treatment if they lie down and let administrations walk all over them. But you’ll find that practically every time the union puts up a fight on this kind of matter, it wins. I’m going to call a meeting of the executive –”
    “No.”
    “Look. Fine, it’s not just you. If the administration can fire a fully qualified guy and hire somebody else to take his place, what in hell happens to the seniority rule? Answer me that?”
    “Screw the seniority rule. I’m asking you as a personal favor, al. I just don’t want to get into a hassle with anybody now.” He lowered his voice. “You see. Edie is pregnant. I don’t want her upset.”
    “Hey; that’s wonderful!” exclaimed Herzog. “Congratulations! All right. Rog. I get the picture. I’ll talk it over with the guys and tell them what you said, we’ll do what’s right.”
    But the next day there was a new table set up on the Marble with a large poster with a picture of an outsize baseball bat: “SIGN FOR FINE! HE WENT TO BAT FOR YOU – NOW GO TO BAT FOR HIM!”
    Seated behind the table, urging passersby to sign the petition, was Nicholas Ekkedaminopoulos, called Ekko by all who knew him, even his instructors, he was older than his classmates, having already served in the Army; and he stood out from among the other students because he was clean-shaven – not only his swarthy face but his entire head, as he explained. “My old man is bald, my uncle is bald, and now I’m getting bald. It runs in the family. My old man, he combs the few hairs he’s got on the side across the top and plasters them down. My uncle, he’s a swinger with a pretty wife, so he spends a fortune on all kinds of treatments and oils and grease – and he’s still bald. But me. I figure why fight it? So I shaved it all off.”
    Roger Fine knew him well; they were the same age and had both served in Vietnam, they had become close friends, they worked together on recruiting black students, and Fine had invited him to Barnard’s Crossing during the summer.
    Walking across the Marble, he saw the sign and hurried over to the table. “What the hell is going on. Ekko?” he demanded. “Who put you up to this?”
    “Now. Rog, it was officially decided by the Student Activists.”
    “Don’t give me any of that official crap. Ekko. You know goddam well that the Student Activists are just the half dozen of you on the executive committee. I want to know who put you up to this. Was it Al Herzog?”
    “That windbag? Jesus no.” Ekko lowered his voice. “Things are getting tough. Rog. Three years ago when I was a freshman, get up a petition for anything you can think of and before lunch was over you’d have five hundred signatures, they wouldn’t even look what they’re signing. But here we been sitting since the beginning of school trying to line up some support for our program and we’re lucky if we got fifty signatures, they got all sorts of cop-outs, the coed dorm? Chicks say they can’t put their name down, because it’s like advertising they’re an easy lay. Or even voluntary exams. You’d think anyone would go for that, but no, they say if they got to take exams why shouldn’t everyone? Then the administration goes and shafts you. So we figured here’s a great opportunity. You’ve got lots of friends in school and we could get lots of signatures. So at the same time they’re signing the petition for you we thought – what the hell – we’ll get them to sign the S.A. Resolution, too, and it worked!” he said