You sit down and stare at the brass monkey. The brass monkey stares back. The little brass plate on its base reads "The Higgins Memorial Commemorative Brass Monkey."^A You sigh and sip your scotch.

 When you signed on as President of a smallish, urban liberal arts university with a modest but proud tradition, you had no idea that there would be psychological duress to this degree. I mean, can you imagine living in a world where everything is named after someone, and always someone is richer, more powerful, and more interesting than yourself? People really don't understand you, or your pain.

 It's 7pm, Sunday night, and you're just settling down for a nice evening of the "Dukes of Hazard." Tomorrow's Monday, and that means one thing: fund-raising. You'll drink to that. At least Orientation's almost over, so soon the university officials can get on with the arduous job of ignoring students for the next 51 weeks. You never really understood the whole Orientation concept, but it seems to please parents. That's a good return on the small investment of having to fake smiles for one cheesy reception each August.^B

 Lost in Hazard county, you almost don't hear the doorbell ring...

Continued...