"It is the mentor's job not to dominate the mentee, but to help acclimate him/her to the university. The mentor will guide, advise, and inform the mentee of what she/he needs to know to function smoothly, to fit in and feel comfortable at the university and to take a rightful place among the other professionals with whom the mentee will be working."
Richard Henry David was 33 years old, and had been teaching for nearly 15 years. Patric Collins was in his late 40's. The college assigned Patric Collins mentor to Richard Henry David.
"Dr. David, I understand you are to be my mentee this semester! Welcome! I am very glad to meet you."
"Thank you. No "doctor," please. It seems pretentious, especially here."
"Oh, all right, if you like. But there are many PH. D.'s on the faculty. Some ever on staff. And most of them like the titles."
"Oh, I like the title, but I don't want to use it, not now. Not here. At least not among us."
"Fine, fine. No problem. Shall I call you 'Richard?' or 'Rich?' '_d_i_c_k_?'
"'David,' actually. 'David will be just fine. And you are........?"
"Patric Collins. 'Pat,' or 'PC.' Whatever you like, 'My Lord' is always nice."
"Ah, a-ha, I see, a joke. I see. Well, I think I'd be comfortable with Pat. So, Pat, what would you like to tell me about the college that I didn't read in the catalogue?"
"Let's take a walk around the campus, and I can just babble on. And you can ask questions."
A student wearing braids each tipped in a different color bead, red, yellow, blue, green, brown, clear, and others, and carrying a skate board under his arm brushed past the two men as they moved through the doors through the front doors of the Academic Office Building and turned to the left heading for the newly opened Technology Building. Richard Henry David hesitated, blocking the door for a moment, while Patric Collins stepped aside to let the student through.
"What percentage of your students attain A's, Pat?"
"A's? Oh, I don't know, less than 15% I would say."
"Ah, as many as that?"
"Well, yes, I guess so. Why do you ask?"
"Does the college frown on that, or expect that number? Are there any guidelines about the curve?"
"The curve? Um. No, not at all. There is no mention of the curve. You establish your own standards, announce them in your syllabus and stick to them."
Richard Henry David stepped aside to avoid a stickyfisted 2-year-old boy who sat with three young women and around one of the concrete benches outside the Technology Building. Patric Collins smiled and touched the boy, who kept putting something, a cookie or teething tool in and out of his mouth, on the head and stepped around him.
"I see. And what about attendance, lateness, missed deadlines?"
"You make the rules for your classes, and so long as they are in the syllabus, the students in your classes are bound by them."
"This makes some instructors much more, "popular" shall we say than others?"
"I don't know. Perhaps. I have never thought about it."
"I see."
The tour continued through the Technology Building, the Student Union Building, the Information Building, and ended at the Gym.
"There it is, AOB, TB, SUB, IB and GYM. The Campus, The Temple of Learning."
"Ah. Very impressive."
In a former era, the faculty dining room had housed a chemistry lab. Now, the lab tables, plumbing and other fixtures gone, only the long narrow windows belied it as a classroom by their identity with all the other classroom windows on campus. At 4PM on the first Friday of the semester, Richard Henry David and Patric Collins had the entire dining room to themselves. The remains of their sandwiches, soups and salads would stay on the table until after they left when a student worker would pick them up.
"How long were you at your last university, David?"
"Well, 10 years as a teacher, but 13 all together."
"What did you do there besides teach?"
David snapped his gaze back from the scene outside the slit window and looked directly at Patric. "Study."
"Oh. As a grad student?"
"Yes, graduate studies. Yes. For my degree."
"I see. I have been here 12 years. I spent 15 in high school."
"Teaching?"
"Yes, teaching English."
Richard Henry David nodded and looked at the nails on his outstretched right fingers.
"What do you find to be the biggest lack among the students at the community college level?"
"Discipline. They seem very undisciplined some times. Like the boy who nearly knocked us over as we left before."
"Or the women an I presume their child with the cookie?"
"Exactly."
Patric Collins wiped his lips again with his napkin, gently crumpled it and laid it on the plate.
"Discipline. Discipline is essential to success."
"Yes, we can all use discipline."
Richard Henry David looked up through his eyebrows directly at the older man.
"Yes indeed."
Now Patric Collins took a moment to look at the nails on the fingers he held curled into his palm.
"Does that," Richard Henry David paused, "include you?"
Patric Collins continued to look at his nails. Then suddenly looked directly at the younger man. "On occasion, yes."
A student poked his head out of the kitchen door and looked at the two men. He frowned slightly, glanced at the clock, shrugged his shoulders and closed the door. Richard Henry David and Patric Collins sat in silence.
"On what occasion or occasions do you need discipline, Mr. Collins?"
"Every now and then, Richard. Every now and then."
"The beginning of discipline is obedience."
Richard Henry David was again studying his fingernails when he said "Give me your underpants."
Patric Collins stood and started to walk to the back corner of the dining room where a shielded door led to the men's room.
"I did not tell you to leave the table."
The older man resumed his seat and looked at the younger man for a long silent moment. The younger man raised his head and looked without emotion into the older man's eyes. The older man began to unbuckle his belt.
Less than a minute later, the older man zipped his pants and rebuckled his belt as the younger man wiped his mouth with a pair of white, warm boxer shorts, size 34-36 and put them in his jacket pocket.
"Well, I have to get back to my office, Pat. I have some e-mail to write, and I want to get my papers in order for Monday. Thank you for the tour, and the lunch. And for the insights. I will see you again, I am sure."
"Yes, David, certainly. On Monday."
Richard Henry David turned and walked toward the door of the dining room. He stopped about 10 feet from the table and turned back. "If one of those 'occasions' should arise, Mr. Collins. Do not hesitate to contact me."
"No, I won't hesitate, Richard. Not at all."
Patric Collins sat for some minutes after the footsteps of the young PH. D. had faded from the terrazzo of the hallway. Then he stood, shook his head, moved his shoulders in small circles to "reset them" and went to his office.
The tiny red flag in the upper left corner of his computer screen blinked that there was one piece of e-mail waiting. Patric Collins sat and manipulated the buttons to bring it up without turning the lights on in the room.
There was no salutation or closing. The sender's identity hid behind his e-mail address rhdav095@fa. ctcc&etc-int. It was 9 words long:
"I will be in my office for one hour."