ent,
the lovely old brick and stone buildings sat around the campus,
complaisant and secure, full of pride and tradition.

The library building, squat and solid, redolent with the collected
tomes of the ages, stood as a testament to humanity's progress. Works
of ancient poets and philosophers, sinners and saints filled the
shelves co-mingling with the more recent and modern books. Here were
the records of man's highest achievements and his inhumanity to man but
as yet, this building cataloged few, if any, records of woman's highest
achievements and man's in-humanity to woman. The former being seldom
recorded or remembered; the latter too usual and customary to remark
upon.

Whistling softly to himself, Jonathan Bambridge, Professor, Ph.D.,
Faculty Ombudsman left the sidewalk and entered the administration
building. He proceeded directly to the Vice President's office and
entered through a door already open.

"Jonathan, good of you to come on such short notice," greeted the
Academic VP, waving Jonathan toward the inner office.

One wall of the office was devoted to 'art'. The entire grouping
reminded Jonathan of different aspects of the same road-kill.

"On a day like this, it is a pleasure, Henry. Looks like the weather
is cooperating for graduation this year."

"Well, it's about time. Two years in a row we've been rained out.
Drop your bag, grab a cup of coffee and sit down."

Henry Tarbuck, Academic Vice President picked up his own cup from his
desk and went to the conference chairs arranged for conversation in the
office alcove. From here he eyed Jonathan reflectively. Good man, he
thought. Saved us a batch of trouble by coming to me right off.

Tarbuck adjusted his six foot two, rather heavy-set frame more
comfortably in the chair. Young for his position, barely in his
thirties, he directed seasoned professors twice his age and experience.
This along with his imposing height and bulk had caused some resentment
but Henry just ignored it.

As first assistant to the president of Belmont University, he reveled
in power and position and firmly believed that those that can, do (like
him) and those that can't, teach (like faculty).

He covered this attitude with a hearty, down-to-earth, back slapping
manner that fooled no one but himself.

Bambridge joined him in the alcove, holding his coffee cup out ahead of
him like an offering. "Damn good coffee, Henry. Must have made it
yourself."

At fift