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you wish,” replied Dr. Eldren quickly, “but your face is flushed with tension. We can wait until next week or you can tell it now.”

      “I prefer to do so now if I may,” said Gilda, “while it is all fresh in my mind.”

      “Okay,” said Dr Eldren, “but it isn’t easy on a person recalling an unpleasant past. We can have a five minute break to allow you to simmer down.”

      They all stood around chatting until Gilda was much more at ease. Then she continued with her story.

      “On the Friday of the third week of my absence from university, which was the day after I had revealed to my parents my plans to return to university, I was up and away from home early and heading toward the university offices. I went directly to the office of the dean of the science faculty and asked to see the dean. After a brief wait I was granted an interview.

      “He was a neutral sort of man, a scholar no doubt, not unpleasant but neither did he impress me as one who would be in command in a difficult situation. Nevertheless, I told him I had been absent from classes for three weeks with a mild type of nervous breakdown; that I was ready to return now, and wondered whether this would be satisfactory to the faculty. He asked questions concerning my past scholastic record, and seemed pleased with what I told him.

      “I would suggest.” said the dean, “that you see each of your professor’s individually. If they each are of the opinion that you can still benefit by continuing after this absence, then I also will agree to your return. You can ask them to contact me.”

      “‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, ‘that’s what I’ll do.”

      “First I went to the three professors who had not taken a dislike to me, and with whom I had been getting along quite well. They wholeheartedly agreed to my returning, and we discussed ways and means as to how I could best catch up on the work. They were very helpful. Secondly I went to the professor who hadn’t really tried to put me down as far as my work was concerned, but who, you may remember my telling you, had just by her attitudes and related actions, shown a great dislike for me, and had, as I said, snooted and scorned and that sort of thing.

      “She was cold towards my approach. I think she thought I was gone and out of her hair for good. When I explained to her my problem, however, she quite suddenly took on a very pitying attitude towards me, which I soon learned was coupled with a very superior attitude on her part as well. Now she had reason to feel superior to me, so she accepted me back, open arms, so to speak, but with an approach that was to not only belittle me in her eyes, but before the whole class as well throughout the remainder of the year.”

      “She could look down on you now!” exclaimed Collin.

      “Yes,” replied Gilda, “that’s it. From then on she felt she had reason to look down on me because I had been sick. I received fair treatment scholastically throughout the class, but her attitude was always one of pity towards this poor thing who now needed help so badly. She became the pitying mother of this poor helpless girl. Needless to say, it was very humiliating. However, I learned to take her with a grain of salt.”

      “What about the professor you referred to as the hawk?” inquired Owen, “how did you make out with him?”

      “Oh that’s quite another story,” responded Gilda as she perked up in her chair. “I purposely went to him last. I told him my story, as I had told the others. His response was cold. ‘Well, that’s too bad I’m sure, about your sickness,’ he said, ‘but this is a very difficult course, and I would strongly advise you to forfeit it and perhaps try again next semester. No, you should not try to catch up on this course at this time.’”

      Collin asked, “Was that course really a difficult one, Gilda?”

      “Not really,” replied Gilda. “Actually it was one of my better math subjects. I felt sure I could catch up, and there was tutoring available.”

      Gilda continued, “I insisted to him that I could, and wanted to continue with the course this semester. He took offense and stated that he didn’t want anyone telling him what could or couldn’t be done in his classes.

      “Well,” I said, you are telling me what I can and cannot do. Can I not even express what I feel I myself can do and am willing to do?”

      “The professor fumed. ‘You are the student, and I am the professor,’ he said, as he stretched his shoulders upward. ‘I have made my decision,’ he snapped, ‘and it is final.’”

      “‘We’ll see about that,’ I snapped back, and I turned and headed straight for the dean’s office again.

      “I told the dean how four professors had accepted my return and one had not. I told him how the fifth professor had been cold and snappy.

      “‘I am sorry about that,’ replied the dean, ‘but he has made his decision, and you will have to abide by it.’

      “‘Abide by it!’ I retorted, in a mixture of surprise and anger. ‘Abide by it? You mean you won’t even take the matter up with him?’

      “His eyes shifted from side to side, avoiding mine. He was either a fence sitter or a coward. Whichever it was, I wasn’t going to be the same way.

      “I would have to learn now to cope in university, as I had learned to do so in high school. Coping here wouldn’t be quite the same. It was on a different level. I would upgrade my coping too, I decided then and there.

      “‘You won’t take the matter up with him?’ I asked again forcefully.

      “He hesitated as he stumbled for words.

      “I couldn’t wait. ‘Look here, sir,’ I said, ‘that professor has been very discriminatory towards me ever since the beginning of the semester. Now four other professors are willing to accept me back. Only one is not willing, and when all is boiled down, cut and dried, the only reason the fifth one has not accepted me is because he is prejudiced against me. I don’t intend to be pushed out of university, and out of my career, by a person like that. Now sir, do I get re-admitted, or do I get a lawyer to take up my case for me and fight this matter right to the very end.’

      “There was a pause.

      “Then I continued, ‘There are people in that lecture room who know I was discriminated against by the actions and attitudes of that professor.’

      “The dean kept his outward composure. ‘Miss Emerson,’ he said, ‘there is no need to go to such extremes. The same course you have been barred from is being taught simultaneously by another professor. She is a very good person. I will speak to her, and I am sure she will be glad to have you in her class.’

      “‘Why can’t you speak to the professor who has rejected me?’ I asked, pointedly.

      “His eyes shifted from side to side again.

      “‘Listen,’ he said, ‘you will get the same instruction in this class I wish to get you into. Why go through all the fuss of trying to get back to your former class?’

      “I knew then and there,” continued Gilda, “that I would have no support whatever from the dean in any effort I may make to get into my former class. I thought the matter over briefly. Since there was an opportunity to join another class in the same course, I decided to take that opportunity. But I didn’t let go easily. ‘All right sir,’ I said with a tone of dissatisfaction, ‘I’ll transfer to the other class when you make the arrangements, but I would like you to know I am not very pleased at having to do so. I have made some pleasant acquaintances with students in the former class. That will be a loss to me now. Also, having to change classes is a further disruption to my work and just adds to my problem. Nevertheless, since there is another class open to me, I will take it. But if there was no other class open to me I would fight the matter to the end by all possible means.’

      “The dean’s face was expressionless. He was covering up his feelings. I was to learn, as the years went by, that he was not alone in taking such an attitude in matters such as these where there is a

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