Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:04):
Welcome to the ten minute Storyteller. That's me Bill Simpson,
your host, narrator and author. We hear at the ten
minute Storyteller endeavor to entertain you with tall tales or
rendered swiftly and with the utmost empathy. We pledge to
(00:25):
pack as much entertainment, emotion, and exploration into the human
condition as ten minutes will permit. Many novels on steroids.
This week we meet James. More than a century ago,
James penned a critically acclaimed bestseller. Hollywood even made a
(00:50):
movie out of the novel, starring al Pacino. The success
of the book helped James earn tenure at the university
where he taught, and writing tenure put James on easy street,
or did it tenure? His routine never varies. Up at
(01:17):
six long hot shower, including a slow, meticulous shave, James
might pass over particular areas of his chin and neck
three or four times until the skin is as smooth
as a baby's butt, depending upon the weather. It doesn't
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ary much in this temperate city. James dresses in either
shorts or sweatpants T shirt with maybe a sweatshirt and
new balance sneakers over the years. His wardrobe has changed considerably.
During the first decade and a half of his teaching
writing career, when he felt it necessary to make an impression,
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James wore expensive, custom made Italian suits with fine silk
neckties and the finest leather footwear. Eventually, he loosened up
and went with chinos, an open collar, button down shirt,
and a blue blazer. He traded the finest leather footwear
for loafers, and then in his mid forties, not long
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after he received tenure, James started to pack on a
little heft around the midriff and his blood pressure numbers
began to climb. His doc told him a few less
calories and maybe a little exercise, So that's when he
stopped eating pretzels with Hershey Bars. He just loved the
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salty and sweet all mixed together, and he started walking.
And he simplified his wardrobe even further by going with
loose fitting khakis, cotton sweaters, and for the first time
time in his life, sneakers. To this day, he prefers
the New Balance nine fifty five size ten double wide.
(03:11):
Eight or ten years ago, the khakis and cotton sweaters
gave way to his present ultra casual wardrobe shorts or
sweatpants with a quick dry t shirt, usually black or
navy blue. James cooks a cup of oatmeal, toasts a
piece of multi grain bread. He spreads organic peanut butter
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on the right side of the toast, folds it over,
and consumes the peanut butter sandwich in three well chewed bites.
While the oatmeal cooks, he combs his thinning hair, pulls
on his nifty watch that keeps track of his health,
heart rate, blood pressure, steps taken, miles, walk to calories, burnt,
stuffs his hearing aids into his ears, and gathers the
(03:57):
things he'll need for the morning while it cash clip keys.
After eating the oatmeal, he tidies up, brushes his teeth,
and prepares to go. His wife left him years ago
because of his unrelenting obsession with Whitman, so he has
no one to say goodbye to as he leaves the house,
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not even a dog or a cat or a goldfish.
The walk to his office takes ten minutes. When he
gets to his small office on the third floor of
the Liberal Arts building, he makes a cup of tea,
and while the tea brews, he lies on the rug
in front of his desk and does his core exercises.
(04:41):
He does some stabilization work, some crunches and planks, a
few bird dogs. Then he puts a tiny spoonful of
honey and a dollop of milk in his tea and
settles in at his desk. James is a tenured professor
at the college, has been for a goodly number of
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years decades now. Every so often a wee kernel of
doubt creeps into his thoughts and he thinks, maybe tenure
wasn't such a great gift. Maybe in fact, it was
the worst thing ever, worse than a trust fund. A
gazillion years ago, before tenure, James wrote a novel that
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was both a smashing commercial success and a grand triumph
with the critics, earning him a Best First Novel of
the Year award and a National Book Award nomination. Reviewers raved,
and readers bought hundreds of thousands of hardcover copies and
millions of soft covers. It still sells, though not like
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it used to. It was even made into a movie,
storing a still youthful al Pacino. And now for the
past twenty seven seven years he has been working on
his second novel, no one asks him about it anymore.
No one ever, although remarkably he still has a valid contract,
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despite the fact that over these three decades, the publishing
house holding his contract has been bought and sold three times,
and six different editors have been assigned to oversee the novel,
which bears the working title Whitman. Though James recently decided
he prefers Witman. It would be folly for us to
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attempt to describe Witman Witman in this space, constrained as
we are by the author's ten minutes or less to
read dictum, So let us just briefly say Witman Witman
tells the tale in something approaching a cour order of
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a million words of a Walt whitmanesque character with a
long graybeard who pens lengthy narrative poems. Though the protagonist
does not necessarily live during the mid nineteenth century, he
is timeless and possesses more knowledge and wisdom than God,
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and fears not only for humanity but also for our
lovely little planet, spinning away as it does in some
forlorn corner of a forgotten galaxy. Apart from a twice
weekly evening class limited to just eight students. James no
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longer teaches. He is novelist in residence, and because of
his one hit wonder, no one dares ask, so exactly
what up with that? Dude? I mean, really, what's he
up to? Well? James spends the morning revising the paragraph
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he wrote yesterday afternoon. By the time he's done, nothing
of the original material remains, and not much of the
revision either. No matter, no matter, James's path is clear.
He lives without doubt, without circumspection. Though he might not
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admit this, he believes, and has believed for years, for
decades forever, that he is in the hands of God,
or if not God, then in the loving arms of
a creator who brought him here to do precisely this
work at this time. This is what he is meant
to do, and nothing, nothing will change that. It is
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written in stone, it is providence, it is destiny. He
is one hundred percent certain he will complete his task
before he falls feeble or is buried inside the earth.
And so he writes on and on and on and on.
At noon, he walks home for lunch. A can of
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bumblebee tune, a solid weight with a wee spoonful of
Helmans and a few shakes of black pepper on two
pieces of multi grain toast, a glass of water, a
handful of pretzels, a dozen unsalted pistachios, and then another
ten minute walk back to the office. It may be destiny,
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who knows who's to say. It may be God's will
for him to spend thirty, forty, even fifty years writing
his master work, his magnum opus. It may even be
true that God's going to keep a close eye on
him until he gets the damn fool thing finished. But
still James takes no chances. He watches his diet, he
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keeps his weight down, takes his meds, gets plenty of sleep,
walks at least five miles a day, ten thousand steps.
You can never be too careful, he tells the few
people who will still engage him in conversation. In the
middle of the afternoon, Bent over his exhausted pages, his
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eyes droop and he begins to feel a little drowsy.
No problem, he knows what to do. He stands up,
and he takes a little walk around campus. Stretch the
legs and fill those lungs with air. Out he goes.
The wind is up at lunchtime. The air was as
still as the pea green pond on his Vermont farm
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on a sultry August afternoon. But now suddenly the trees
are alive, Branches swoosh back and forth, last year's leaves,
and balls of litter blow across the Liberal Arts squad.
His hearing age chirp, an alert that the batteries will
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soon go dead. He only faintly hears the chirp. So
noisy is the wind blowing through the gaps in the
ivy covered buildings. Still, he walks on marches, head down,
deep in thought, and suddenly it occurs to him that
Whitman Witman might in fact not be his protagonist at all.
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Witman Witman might well be the novelists antagonist, and sweet
Evangeline Whitman's Witman's long suffering bride, the true heroine of
the novel. My God, this, he knows, could be the
breakthrough he's been hoping for, waiting for the key to
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Act three. Now, overhead, in one of the towering and
ancient elms that line the campus, a thick and mighty
limb cracks and splits and begins its earth bound journey.
It crashes through other mighty limbs and lesser branches as
it picks up speed and power. The tenured Professor is
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lost in thought, practically giddy with the discovery of Evangeline's
true calling. His hearing aid batteries go entirely dead. He
doesn't hear a damn thing going on outside his brain, nothing, nada,
and so it's quite a shock when that three hundred
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pound limb slams into the top of his head, drives
him into the earth, and just like that snuffs out
in a heartbeat, his life and his story both as
yet he thought unfinished. Thanks for listening to this original
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audio presentation of Tenure, narrated of course by the author.
If you enjoy today's story, please take a few seconds
to rate, review, and subscribe to this podcast, and then
go to Thomas William Simpson dot com for additional information
(13:27):
about the author and to view his extensive canon. The
Ten Minute Storyteller is produced by Andrew Pleiglici and Josh
Colotney and as part of the Elvis Duran Podcast Network
in partnership with iHeart Productions. Until next time, this is
Bill Simpson, your ten Minute Storyteller.