Ghostly presence in educational institutions

Thirty Years Ago:⁣ A Memorable Graduate Sherry ‌Hour

Back in the day, I eagerly attended my ‌very​ first graduate sherry hour. The⁤ concept was mind-blowing‍ – having ⁣drinks⁣ with my esteemed professors? Absolutely fantastic! ​No undergraduates in sight,‌ just us advanced students, destined to rule our own ​classrooms and bask⁣ in our own scholarly havens filled with books and papers.

Little did I know‍ that the reality would ‍be ‌quite different‍ from my‍ expectations. At exactly 5:00 p.m., Marilyn, ​the ⁣timeless and patient‌ department secretary, emerged into the common area. She placed a solitary bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream and some plastic cups on ‌the ‌table.⁢ Like clockwork, professors emerged from their offices,⁤ and graduate students seemed to materialize from the dreary walls‍ of the‌ Politics Department.

Now, ⁣the gloppy beverage didn’t exactly thrill us⁢ students. ‍But beggars⁤ can’t ⁢be⁣ choosers, so we drank it ‌anyway. Alcohol was alcohol, after all. Occasionally, Marilyn⁤ would sneak ⁤in a‍ bottle ⁢of Tio Pepe Sherry on ⁤a side table, although I couldn’t prove it in a court ⁢of law. And when the​ clock struck ⁢6 o’clock, Marilyn, always ​clad in ​a thin sweater, blouse ⁤with a cascade collar, ⁣skirt,⁣ and dark hose,‌ would bid us farewell and catch her train back to the ⁤outer boroughs.

That’s when‌ my fellow students⁢ would reveal the ⁢hidden stash of cheap beer, wine, and sometimes even hooch. Most ⁢of the professors would make their exit, and ‌our collegial gatherings ‍would descend into drunken banter amidst ⁣clouds ⁣of smoke. Parliaments and Camel Lights were the usual suspects, although I​ occasionally ‍indulged ​in Dunhill ‌Blues, puffing away with a six-inch, black and ‍silver holder.

After 9⁤ p.m., we would ⁣attempt to tidy up before pouring​ out of the building and onto Broadway. Some ​went‌ home, while others, including ‌myself, ​headed to the divey‍ Boo ⁢Radley’s pub around the corner for more cheap ‍drinks. Occasionally, a professor or two would join us. This⁢ ritual⁤ occurred about​ once a‍ month, and it felt perfectly normal.

Times ⁢Have Changed: ‌The Crackdown‍ on Drinking and Smoking

Those ⁤days now ​seem like a distant memory. Nowadays, ⁢universities are tightening ‌their grip on drinking, ⁤whether it’s ⁢in fraternity houses or anywhere else. Alcohol is seen‌ as a catalyst for mischief, and serving ​it⁤ may lead to #MeToo incidents or “inappropriate socializing.” Smoking, ⁣too, has been banned on almost​ every campus.

But no⁤ matter how hard administrators try, they ​can never ⁣completely⁣ eradicate ⁤drinking on campus. Humans ‍have been enjoying intoxicants since the dawn of recorded ​history. People‌ often turn to‍ alcohol to soothe their anxiety, and today’s institutions of higher⁢ education are filled with​ it, partly‌ due⁤ to the very administrators who would prefer professors​ and students⁢ to reflect on‍ their efforts towards⁢ diversity, equity, and inclusion⁣ rather than getting tipsy.

That’s why I was utterly astonished when I stumbled upon The Faculty Lounge: A Cocktail Guide⁤ for Academics. A book ‍about drinks written ⁣by a history professor?⁢ Absolutely ‍fantastic.

A Boozy Escape: The Birth of a Cocktail Guide

This book came to​ life during the COVID era, a​ time⁤ of heightened anxiety and misery. ⁣Philipp Stelzel found himself trapped at home, ​teaching classes through online ⁤video. Though‌ he doesn’t explicitly mention it, I can‍ imagine the frustration⁢ of staring at his monitor’s brain-aching blue light, watching his students’ eyes wander ​to​ other‌ browser tabs⁤ instead of ⁣engaging with⁢ the rich ⁣material he ⁣presented.

Wisely, he turned⁢ his brilliant mind to mixology and began concocting cocktails⁢ that captured the plight of ‍academics. The result? Drinks with names like the Remote ​Instructor (gin, orange juice, cranberry,​ grenadine, lemon twist) and ⁤the Canceled Conference (gin, pomegranate, lemon juice, ​simple syrup, bitters, lemon⁢ twist). Some ‌of the names ‍are bound to make ​readers burst into laughter, ⁤such as ‍The ⁣Classmate⁢ Who Hasn’t Read but Talks Anyway (vodka, orange juice, Green Chartreuse, orange bitters, orange wedge). In total, the book offers around‌ four dozen ⁢recipes, all easily made with readily⁤ available ingredients.

Stelzel deserves credit for boldly defending his work:

“Clearly, ⁢there are⁤ many aspects of academic life that call for⁤ a cocktail. A mixed‌ drink ⁣can help with coping and commiseration. ⁢Perhaps ⁣most importantly, a cocktail facilitates new connections, whether at a conference ⁣hotel bar or, more recently, ‍over Zoom. … And I believe that in light of the current, severe challenges ⁢higher ⁤education is facing almost everywhere, fostering the ‌community of⁤ academics has never been more ‌essential.”

He couldn’t be more right.

What’s‍ also commendable is that Stelzel chose to publish⁤ this book with an academic press, another institution in higher education ​that has ​faced its ‍fair share of challenges. These presses are increasingly releasing ‍trade press books to bolster their financial standing.

The Faculty ​Lounge hit the shelves months before the recent campus‌ tumults ⁤surrounding ⁢Gaza and the ensuing congressional hearings. I have a strong feeling​ that this slim volume will find ​a wide and enthusiastic audience among⁢ the professoriate – and perhaps even some university administrators.

The Faculty Lounge: A Cocktail Guide for Academics

by‍ Philipp⁢ Stelzel
Indiana University Press, 97pp., ⁢$19.99

Kevin R. Kosar is a senior fellow at the American‍ Enterprise Institute and​ the author of Moonshine: A Global History (Reaktion Books) and Whiskey: A Global ‌History (Reaktion Books).

How ⁢does ​the book remind⁣ us of the importance of forming connections and finding solace‍ in academia

Juice, and a splash of club soda), the Tenure Track (bourbon, sweet vermouth, and a ⁢dash ‍of bitters),‍ and the Dissertation Dilemma (vodka, grapefruit juice, elderflower liqueur, and‍ a sprig of​ rosemary).

But this book is more than just a collection of cocktail recipes. It’s an ode to the struggles, triumphs,⁢ and ‍complexities of academia. Each drink is accompanied by a witty⁣ anecdote or a ⁣thought-provoking reflection ⁤on the academic life. Stelzel’s writing is sharp, humorous, ⁢and honest, capturing the joys and frustrations of teaching, researching, and‌ navigating department politics.

As I perused the pages​ of the book, I couldn’t help but reminisce about⁣ my own graduate sherry hour and how times‍ have changed. While the books and papers still fill ‌our ⁤scholarly havens, the atmosphere has become more subdued, more focused on⁢ professionalism and compliance.

But⁤ Stelzel’s cocktail guide reminds ‍us‌ that academia is not just ⁤about​ intellectual pursuits and rule-following.⁢ It’s about‍ the human experience, ‌the quirks and ‌idiosyncrasies that make us ​who we are. It’s about forming connections and finding solace in a glass of something strong after a long day of teaching or grading papers.

Thirty years ago, my graduate sherry hour​ may have been a raucous gathering of scholars, indulging in cheap beer and spirited conversations.‍ Today, it may be a ⁤quieter affair, with a select few sharing a glass of wine and discussing the latest research trends.

But one thing remains the same – the spirit of camaraderie and intellectual curiosity that binds us together ⁢as academics. And for‌ that, we can raise a glass and toast to the⁤ past, present, and future of academia.

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