During my MA, I took a class with a scholar who was nearing the end of a long career. Well written and well read, this scholar assigned a book that they had authored to our class. This book was out of print. That meant the only options to get it, really, were to go through the bookstore which had a decent stock still via buyback from previous semesters… or to hunt.
I found a copy on Half.com for 50 cents. I didn’t want this professor to know how cheap the book was, as I felt that would be a bit insulting. I kept that under my hat.
As it turned out, there was a “star” student the professor had taught years earlier who was mentioned frequently in class. This student was the person the professor was most proud of in the world, the heir to the teaching throne. Every class discussion, this student surfaced in one manner or another.
When we got to the part of the class where we read the professor’s book, I came quickly to a startling revelation: my 50 cent copy of the book was the one that the professor had personally inscribed to the star pupil, the very student we’d heard about every single week.
I decided, just as I’d hidden the price, I wasn’t going to reveal that I owned that specific copy of the book. We read it over a three week span, and it was during the third week that my cohort and classmate noticed that my book was inscribed. She pointed this out, to my horror, as the professor was walking past us. “Oh, is that a signed copy?” the professor asked. “Let me see.”
I handed over the book and I looked away. When I looked back, the professor was clearly shaken. “Where’d you get this?”
I thought about lying, but that never seems like the right option.
“I bought it on Half.com. I didn’t know who was selling it at the time.” My response probably revealed that I had been secretly fearing this revelation.
“How much was it?”
I thought for a long time about lying here, but again… I mean the book had the word “Ethics” in the title. I couldn’t bring myself to lie. Sheepishly, I said “Fifty cents.” The packing slip was in the book as my bookmark, which the professor was already looking at; if I had noticed that, I could have avoided the embarrassing moment.
The class went on break right after that, and ten minutes later, the professor seemed okay, more-or-less. I offered to let the professor have the book, and I suggested that maybe it accidentally fell in with a stack of books that were being resold. “You never know; I’ve lost track of as few of my books over the years, too.”
The professor was never as arrogant with us after that, and that student didn’t come up again.
I felt awful, as the professor was a pretty good person. I can only imagine how I’d feel if one of my favorite students sold a copy of my book that I signed for them for less than a dollar on the internet. But it’s a reminder not to get lost in our own arrogance. If we don’t build something up, there’s no way for it to blow us down.
Even though I’ve never actually read from the book since that class (I keep good notes and haven’t needed it), that copy of that particular book stays on my bookshelf with my other cherished editions. Love and respect went into that inscription. It deserves to be treated with care.