Sure, contractual obligations are legal, at least the ones that don’t violate the law. The law, hah! The thought of what constitutes legal (the law is at its most interpretated best or worst depending on which end of the verdict you reside). The law is just so many words written over the ages by scholars representing a valiant attempt to memorialize the tenants that embody civilization.

This is how the law professor opened the inaugural lecture every semester. He was a gray beard; given to prosaic diatribes. His colorful approach to sometimes mundane subjects galvanized the students into learning. Five feet four inches of legal scholar, he was once considered a candidate for several government posts. When rumors swirled about a run for District Attorney he quickly dismissed them. When the same rumor mill churned out an Attorney General of the United States short list achievement he allowed that one to germinate. Before long he was being approached by the university population to congratulate him on the honor.

Make no mistake; Orville Hammerstrom would have made a fine Attorney General. Doctor Hammerstrom was a centrist. He taught the logic of the law. “Law, in its most raw and unadulterated form, was never intended to stand alone.” He preached. Very rarely was his instruction called teaching. He insisted on developing converts. He cranked up the ‘passion’ dial to boil. Heated discussions could turn friends into adversaries. Lectures would spill into the hallway after class. He was so popular that his debates were touted as labs. His first year law class was the only one to ever garner four college credits.

“Orville, this is a real problem.” The chairman of the law department spoke softly. He was a Theodore Rooseveltian. “I think your approach is too far right for the university to sit idly by.” Hammerstrom watched his boss. Below the surface he cogitated; his blank expression (poker face) revealed nothing.

“Chas, I have no idea why this is a problem.” Orville said. “Nothing has changed; nothing at all.” He continued. “Why suddenly is this earth shattering?” Steepled fingers shaded his mouth as he spoke. The department chairman shifted in his seat. He was department chair because he brought donors to the university. They endowed a chair in his name, The Charles Reynolds Law Chair.

“Things have changed. Not all at once. The change has been subtle; like the movement of the continents. Each year the change is negligible. Taken over time the shift is more than noticeable.” The chairman said. Orville sighed as he absorbed. His response, no matter the temperature in the room, was always measured. A warm smile hid the sharp wit and explosive intelligence that buried anyone who challenged him.

“Chas, you know it is impossible to maintain complete inertia. Even objects at rest experience some change.” Orville said. The chairman was unhappy with the way his subordinate reacted.

“Damn it Orville, I’m trying to help you. If you continue to dismiss that help I will be forced to address the matter in a way that will be unpalatable to you.”

“Is that a threat?” Orville asked. Reynolds’ eyes burned with frustration. He wasn’t a negotiator, he was an administrator. That role placed him squarely between university administration and the rank and file professors.

“You know I don’t make threats, at least not idle ones.” Reynolds smiled; a tension breaking tactic. Hammerstrom rose and paced in front of the desk before retreating to the windows overlooking the courtyard between the two oldest buildings on campus.

“Beautiful day; the stateliness of the architecture accentuated by the gentle sun of early autumn.” Orville was a master of subject change; another disarming tool. Reynolds turned his chair to face his colleague.

“Come back and sit down. I’ve got scant time to clean this up. After I explain my expectations I’m certain you’ll understand and accommodate my wishes.” Reynolds said. Orville stood with his back to his dean his arms folded in the shape of an “L”; the index finger of his right hand tapping his lower lip. “Orville, are you heeding me?” The word ‘heeding’ struck a chord. Orville’s mother used that word when she chastised.

Turning on his heels Hammerstrom shot a deadly look at his dean. “I don’t appreciate your approach. I’m not flattered by the way you’ve sold out your constituents.” Emotion infiltrated Hammerstrom’s body. He began to move as if he was afflicted with a lethal combination of Turrets Syndrome and Parkinson’s disease. “Do you understand any of what you are saying?” His eyes burned with intensity. Reynolds looked past his colleague until he was prepared to engage.

“You don’t understand the pressure I’m under to conform. There are forces beyond anything we can fathom coming to bear on this situation.”

“I understand; more than you realize. You’re a sell out; a soiled sell out.” Orville said. Reynolds’ complexion acquired color. He stood slowly. The combatants would do battle fully erect – two human swords prepared to clash.

“The odds are stacked against you. The board of governors and the faculty senate have already blessed the action I am taking.” Reynolds spread his arms as if to plead. The intercom buzzed. Reynolds lifted the handset and punched the flashing button. He listened before answering. Dropping the handset into the cradle his expression serious, turned ashen.

“Are you alright Reynolds?” He waved off Hammerstrom’s question. Dropping heavily into his chair he sat, summoning strength.

“That was the Provost.” Reynolds said. Hammerstrom knew her.  A snot of a woman; rail thin and gangly – almost gaunt. Her pride was only exceeded by her vanity. He despised everything she was about. She was three years into a five year contract. Orville thought she made more enemies than friends. Her tactics of pressure and leverage to increase the endowment were creating subterranean shifts. Orville thought she would be removed before she completed the contract term.

“She’s playing the game.” Orville said.

“It’s not a game. She’s serious; intending to hold you to the letter of your contract.” Reynolds said.

“It’s just ink on paper; blots on an otherwise utilitarian byproduct of the forest industry.” Orville replied.

“You love to twist the law for your own ends. This time it’s not going to work.”

“What are you telling me?” Hammerstrom pulled a bottle of water out of the refrigerator in the corner of the office.

“There’s no wiggle room here. You signed on agreeing to abide by the university charter as well as the faculty handbook.” Reynolds reminded.

“Interpretive reading; that’s what I conclude. I’ve had some of the brightest legal minds read that contract. I have their opinion, which I value more than the legal beagles this institution employs.” Orville sipped as he watched Reynolds’ reaction. His attention was broken by the knock at the door. As he turned he felt constriction in his chest. The door opened as he collapsed into one of the guest chairs. Reynolds watched him as Hammerstrom’s world slowed. He tried to speak but the words were filtered through molasses.

Deprived of vital oxygen Hammerstrom blacked out. When he awoke he was prone in a hospital bed tethered to intravenous lines. Standing next to the bed was Emalene Tannenbaum, the Provost.

“How are you feeling Orville?” Her tone was a mixture of gravity and sincerity. He blinked several times as if the rhythm of his eye lids opening and closing would trigger verbalization.

“Fine, I feel fine.”

“You aren’t fine. You suffered a heart attack. You are lucky to be alive.” She said.

“How did I get here?” He asked.

“By Campus EMS; they saved your life.” His face contorted. The thought of life abandoning him without warning raised perspiration on his forehead. Tannenbaum pulled a tissue from the table beside the bed and mopped his brow. He thought about the action; she wasn’t as bad as he thought. Her presence and attention to minor details painted a different picture of her. Hammerstrom regained composure.

“Your presence here, well it’s totally unexpected. You must have moved heaven and earth to clear time in your schedule.” His tone was apologetic, as if he had been caught in an indiscretion.

“Doctor Hammerstrom, I assure you my presence here is strictly business. I have come to exercise, on behalf of the university, the clause in your contract that effectively terminates your employment if your health is in jeopardy. Clearly the magnitude of the heart attack is considered a jeopardy event.” As she spoke she extracted a one page letter from her briefcase. She held it up for Hammerstrom to read. The tones emitted by the heart monitor climbed steadily until the ICU nurse stepped into the room.

“I think the doctor has had enough excitement for one day. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The nurse watched as Tannenbaum lifted her briefcase and moved towards the door.

“This is not the end, it’s the beginning.” Hammerstrom called after Tannenbaum. As the words left his lips his world slowed again; this time accompanied by alarm tones and shouting. As he lost consciousness he heard the nurse call for the resuscitation team.

Tannenbaum walked deliberately out of the hospital knowing she would have no further problems with Orville Hammerstrom.