Seeing no altar in the empty room to offer an awkward bow to, and wondering if he was too early, George prepared to wait outside until others arrived, when an usher, with a grave and practised gesture of open hand and bowed head, indicated where he was to sit. He did so, and consulted the programme he had been given, only to discover to his horror that the eulogy was to be given by Superintendent Armitage Royce, a man notorious for speaking ‘an infinite deal of nothing,’ as Gratiano was known to do in The Merchant of Venice, and for taking forever to say it. Since his retirement from teaching ten years before, George had had little cause for annoyance, so he sat back, permitted himself a shiver of virtue, and prepared to endure what Lulu would call ‘a time of testing’. He reflected, not for the first time, on his dealings with his departed Principal.
Jinkinson had never suffered from a lack of self-regard. ‘I’m Doctor Jinkinson, not Mister,’ he had barked at a new teacher, before he sent him home to change his shirt and find himself a more sober tie. ‘ Don’t ever forget that!’ Under Ontario law, he had admonished a staff meeting, ‘only the Principal promotes; the word is an adjective, not a noun. I am the Principal Teacher; you are all Assistant Teachers.’ George always wondered idly who he was supposed to be ‘assisting’. Where were all the real teachers?
The music ceased abruptly; whispers and shuffling behind him stopped. Superintendent Royce, tall and magisterial, full of gravitas, spread his notes before him on the lectern.
‘Family, friends, and colleagues, I come not to bury Erasmus Jinkinson, but to praise him.’ Was this inept and unapt levity intentional or not? George could not say, but no-one laughed. ‘We are gathered together to honour the memory of a distinguished pedagogue, and to celebrate his remarkable life of achievement.’ Turning slightly, George was surprised to see how few were in attendance. He recognized the widow in black; there was a small family group of a son and daughter or two, with assorted spouses and children. Behind him he could sense a scattering of older people, a few apparently well into their dotage, and none of whom he recognized. One looked confused; another was either already asleep or dead. I don’t look like that, thought George, at least, not yet… I am out of place here. Why did I come?
‘Erasmus was a pillar of the public education system. It was he who inspired so many of our young people either to pursue knowledge for its own sake at our publicly-funded universities, or to develop their talents by apprenticing, or undertaking courses of self-improvement at our community colleges.’
George could recall no student ever crediting the departed with inspiration of any kind. Quite the contrary. Most of them did not even know who he was, as he spent most of his time behind closed doors in his office. He was known simply and anonymously as ‘Doc.’
