McMaster University - 1964
Alistair Rogers straightened his tie for the umpteenth time while he waited for Dr. Emerson – his two o'clock appointment. He wasn't sure why, but Professor Prospero had always intimidated him. It was laughable really, a man as old and frail as Emerson making him feel like he was a naughty schoolboy. The two men had started off on the wrong foot when the librarian had foolishly asked to touch the professor's precious volume of Shakespeare. The affront had carried through their relationship no matter how accommodating or ingratiating Rogers had tried to be.
That was about to change. He was sure of it.
Then there was a knock at his door and the eminent Professor was before him.
"Dr. Emerson," Rogers stood and came around his desk, hand outstretched. "I'm so happy you could meet me today."
"Mr. Rogers," the older man greeted, emphasizing the mister in his usual disdainful tone. He put out his hand and allowed it to be shook, but it was clear that it was a polite social gesture only.
Rogers chose to ignore the attitude and waved a hand to the empty chair in front of his desk. "Please sir, have a seat."
Emerson sat with a rickety grace, putting his worn leather briefcase on the floor with delicate care.
"Well Professor, I'll get right to the point," Rogers began, settling into his own chair. "As you may have heard the library has just acquired the new Xerox 2400. It's the latest in high volume copying technology. We now have the ability to preserve some of our oldest texts so we don't have to handle the originals and can make them available to a much wider student base for research purposes. We would be most honored if we could borrow your volume of Shakespeare's works for the inaugural copy."
Rogers took a breath, waiting for the pleased, perhaps flattered, reaction to his proposal.
The silence was long as Emerson's face turned a deep hue of scarlet.
"I was unaware this institution was supporting mass copyright infringement," Professor Emerson finally replied, his tone cold, almost horrified. Reflexively, he reached for the briefcase, bringing it to his lap.
Rogers noticed the movement and guessed the edition in question was within its depths. "It's Shakespeare, sir. His work is in the public domain. It belongs to the world now, and is not restricted by modern copyright laws. None of the classics are." The librarian noted Emerson's hold on the briefcase, the wringing of the bag's straps under gnarled white knuckles. "I assure you, no harm will come to the book.”
Emerson rose, clutching the bag to his chest. "It is not merely a book, Mr. Rogers. This edition is a precious treasure. I certainly wouldn't expect you to comprehend its value.”
Rogers stood as well. This was not going well and he had, yet again, offended the sensitive man. "But surely, Professor Emerson, you recognize the significance of making such a classic available to everyone."
"Such classic, unique editions should not be available to everyone!" Emerson turned to leave.
"With all due respect sir, Shakespeare wrote for the masses. It would be a shame to deny this generation such a treasure."
The professor turned back. "Shakespeare wrote for royalty, Mr. Rogers. And the masses of Elizabethan England were far more civilized and worthy of such art than the barbarous hordes of today with their long hair and loose clothing and rock and roll. Good day sir!"
The slamming of the door behind him punctuated his departure.
Rogers sighed as he sat back in his chair. His colleagues had laughed at him when he had made the suggestion at the last board meeting. They warned him against approaching the crotchety old eccentric, especially about anything regarding his precious volume of Shakespeare. He hated hearing "I told you so." Rumor had it that the old man was nearing retirement. Picking up the receiver of his phone and dialing the extension number of Frank Letts, the board chair, Rogers thought that day couldn't come soon enough.
Aksara