Sophistry
By Jonathan Marc ShermanIn this scene, philosophy teacher, Whitey McCoy talks to Robin, a reporter for the school paper. She asks him what he plans to do, now that he has been fired from his job for alleged sexual molestation.
WHITEY:
I phoned a moving company today to find out how much it would cost to move my belongings into storage. You wouldn't believe the amount I was quoted. Gods should do the moving for the money they ask for. I have to pack up all the beautiful books on my shelves. My library. I can't afford to move my books. I don't know where the money will come from. I could never save money on my salary. If only I had been born into a wealthy family, I could have actually afforded to teach here. Only the wealthy can afford to teach, and only the wealthy can afford to study. It's all about money.
Eighteen years of teaching, not once has anybody so much as thought to accuse me of such a thing. Along comes this self-hating baby who can't come to terms with his own sexuality, whose name can't be printed in your paper because he's the supposed victim. He is no victim. I am the victim here. Two people know the truth, I know the truth and that crazy liar knows the truth, and our words conflict. Based on that, a decision was made by their committee, but they stalled it, waited until graduation was done when all the students had left for the summer, two days after graduation, they told me. They knew all along. But they didn't want to create a stir. No fuss, no mess, because, you see, I'm mess. Nobody sticks their neck out on my behalf, because they're terrified their jobs will be the next to go, these supposedly fearless academic minds, cowering in corners, afraid of being spanked. (Beat.) This is my life. I know the truth.
Don't apologize. I appreciate your effort. Don't apologize. (Beat.) Better late than never. Right? Better late... you know, that, that... that young man would always walk into my class a little bit late. Five minutes, fifteen minutes. There are always a few students who cant seem to get there right on time. I'd always think to myself, as they straggled in, "Better late than never." But with that young man, in hindsight, I think it would have been better the other way around.
In this scene, nearly a year later, Whitey speaks at an AA meeting.
WHITEY:
Hello, my name is Whitey, and I'm an alcoholic. (Sips some coffee.) Somewhere, there's a room filled with coffee addicts drinking bourbon out of cardboard cups, telling caffeine horror stories, I just know it. (Beat.) Umm, I've been sober now for a hundred and fifty days, and it's still... it's still very difficult, which shouldn't come as a surprise to anybody here. I lost my job and at that time, when I needed clarity more than ever, I turned to booze instead. (Beat.) Booze. I like saying "booze" more than "alcohol" or "liquor..." ...or "spirits." (Beat.) Booze. It just sounds right. (Beat.) Anyhow, I was a fantastic rationalizer. I got into the habit of quoting Keats - to others, to myself, it didn't matter.
"Give me Women, Wine, and Snuff
Until I cry out, 'Hold, enough!'
You may do so sans objection
Till the day of resurrection;
For, bless my beard, they aye shall be
My beloved Trinity."Damn fine poem. Even better with some whiskey sloshing around inside you. (Beat.) A college campus is one of the best places to cultivate and sustain a drinking problem. I'd swear there were usually more drunks at one of our college faculty meetings than there are in this room right now. Suffice to say, I would start drinking, and... well, I drank. And drank. Taught classes I don't remember teaching because I was so tanked up, so loaded. Things certainly don't get easier as we get older. (Beat.) I was a very pretty child. (Beat.) On his way to dying - a bit before he died - my great-grandfather cracked a bit, fell a touch insane and claimed to be - actually, -insisted- he was God. Demanded we call him God. Wouldn't answer to anything but "God." Ever since, when I hear the word "God," what first comes to mind is this image of a mad old incontinent Irish relative. (Beat.) So a few of the Twelve Steps were tough for me at first, since God as I understood Him was my great-grandfather. (Beat.)
At the beginning, the pressure my lawyers put upon me to get sober was a big part of it. They forced me to admit to myself that, yes, I was an alcoholic. I am an alcoholic. I had to set aside more than just the booze. I had to set aside my ego, my pride, my instinct to talk down to people, to teach. But now, I admit it willingly. I'm a grateful alcoholic, with five months of sobriety behind me. (Beat.) I've heard that if a person forces a smile long enough, chances are good that person will end up happy.
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