Bob Hope Goes to Collage

Meredith Styles?”

“Here,” said the tall redhead Andy spotted when he first came in.

“Elizabeth Tucker?”

“Here?” said a girl in the same row as Andy but toward the other end. Andy leaned forward and she caught him looking at her. She smiled at him quickly and then faced forward again. Andy leaned back in his chair.

“Shelly Westerfield?”

“Here, ” said Shelly Westerfield standing in front of the door she had just walked through. She closed the door softly and trotted up blue carpeted steps past the first six rows of students. She looked at Andy and he made room for her by half standing, but she turned the other way and sat in the first seat across the aisle.

“Tardiness will be allowed today, being the first day of class, but fair warning people! Do not be late to my class after this. It will not be tolerated in the future... Now then, Lawrence Zimmerman?”

“Here.”

“Okay, that's that.

Andy took this moment to duck across the aisle to sit directly behind the seat that Shelly Westerfield sat in.

“Anyone's name I didn't call?” the teacher asked in a very nasal voice.

The class was silent. Andy leaned forward and said, “Spencer Tracy,” into Shelley Westerfield ear. Then he said, “Jerry Lewis, Art Garfunkel."

Shelly wiggled her hand high in the air and pointed her thumb behind her.

“I believe I called your name, Ms. Westerfield.”

“Yes sir, but this man's not on the roster...”

Everyone in the classroom looked at Andy.

“Who's name did I not call?” the teacher asked staring directly at Andy.

“Bob Hope's,” said Andy.

The teacher checked his roster. “I have no Bob Hope registered for this class. Are you intending to add-on?

“Yes, sir!”

“Well, see the Registrar.”

Andy moved his foot slightly and kicked the back of Shelly's chair. She turned fully around and glared and then snapped back in disgust and shook her head.

The teacher was writing his name on the white-board in large letters:Doctor Markov.

Andy leaned forward, “You don't look happy,” he whispered.

“Are you following me?”she asked, her voice much less a whisper than his had been.

“I got here before you did, Miss tardy-one! How could I follow you?”

Dr. Markov turned around and glared at the upper rows of students. His eyes rested on Andy who was sitting back in his seat now looking attentive and ready to learn.

“This is American Literature,” went on Doctor Markov. “We will be discussing Hemingway, Steinbeck, Bellow, among others. What do these three men have in common?”

Several hands rose in the air and Andy's hand was one of them.

“Mr. Hope?”

“They're all Americans?” Andy said.

“Well, that is correct, they were all born in America, but I'm afraid I was looking for something a bit more insightful,” he picked another student, pointing this time at someone in the front.

“They are all Pulitzer Prize winners,” a girl Andy said from down in the front.

“That is correct,” said Doctor Markov.

“Kiss ass,” Andy whispered.

Shelly turned half way around in her seat. “Nice try,” she said.

“So you want to go out for a cup of coffee after school?”

Shelly opened her notebook and turned to the first page. She wrote, American Lit. Doc. Markov with fluid, feminine penmanship at the top of the first page. Andy was watching over her shoulder. She had the kind of handwriting where you often saw the ayes dotted with a heart.

“Chocolate malted? I'll buy you a malted, would you like that?”

Shelly got up with a great sigh and moved across the aisle, sitting in the seat Andy had vacated.

“The American literary landscape is a lush and fertile ground,” Dr. Markov was saying.

Andy switched seats again to the one behind Shelly.

“If you have not yet purchased The Grapes-” He looked at Andy and walked forward to the edge of the raised platform. “Is there a problem up there?” He was talking to Andy and the class turned around and looked at him again.

“Are you a registered student here at Cal, Mr. Hope?” Dr. Markov asked in that voice that was starting to get on Andy's nerves.

Dr. Markov waited a beat for Andy to answer and when he didn't, he turned and went to his computer at his desk. “Bob Hope, is it?”

The classroom tittered.

“I have no 'Bob Hope' registered at this University."

“He's dead, sir,” Andy said.

The class laughed, but not like Andy expected. In high-school they would have had been rolling in the aisles.

“I am afraid you must leave, now!”

Andy got up and went down the steps and out the door the love of his life had just closed.

After class he found her again walking across the quad.

"Shelly!" he called running up to her.

"Andy, what are you doing here?"

"Shelly, I just want to--"

"We broke up!"

"I wanted to--"

"Andy! We broke up!"

Andy stood where he was and watched Shelly Westerfield walking quickly across the grass.

He was going to marry that girl, she just didn't know it yet."

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