A Thanksgiving's Tale

During the days of grad school in the land of Stanford, there was a time when I made my dwellings with 3 other men (known as the apartment-mates) in an on-campus abode. The dwelling was in the Rains apartment complex. Rains, in those days, was the holy grail of Stanford University graduate student housing; every graduate student wanted to live there. It was not as ancient as Escondido Village and had a brighter ambiance, with its stylish design and fresh painted white walls and ceilings. Walking around Rains, my feet would acquire an extra spring, a sort of lightness. Maybe it was just in my head, or maybe there was really a slight flexibility due to anti-earthquake design features; in any case, I enjoyed living there.

What are four men living in beautiful Rains to do about food? The year before, my first year in the land of Stanford, I had ventured to be an "eating associate" at a special undergraduate abode called "East House"; East was a Chinese-themed dormitory with Chinese food for dinner everyday. The food at East was alright, but it wasn't cheap being an eating associate. Meanwhile, the four of us in Rains, after some discussions, decided it might be worth trying to take care of ourselves. We took turns shopping and cooking, and divided the costs four ways. Eventually, the arrangement broke down, due to unhappiness over the eating habits of others, the cooking styles of others and so on. There were rumors in the air that "the deLicious Word drinks milk like water", plus murmuring over the wisdom of some people's food shopping choices ("why should we have to share the costs for this fellow's purchases of his favorite snacks?").

However, in the early days of the cooperative eating arrangement, before we went our separate ways (foodwise), there was one meal that we would be long in forgetting. It happened the first Thanksgiving Day. Unlike the millions of others in the Land of America who would be making pilgrimages to the abodes of their kin in order to partake of the traditional meal together, we in Rains did not go anywhere that Thanksgiving. Kenny volunteered to prepare the traditional meal, the Thanksgiving Dinner, that in the absence of our kin, we might at least partake of a special meal with one another. In addition to the mandatory turkey, there were also to be found on the dinner table the almost mandatory corn, stuffing and so on, plus less mandatory items like green peas. After having waited from morning till mid-afternoon for this special meal, and having skipped lunch, I found the food to be wonderful. The fellow could cook, too, which didn't hurt, and he had put a stick of butter into every side dish, which certainly didn't hurt either.

The pen is famously known to be mightier than the sword. Slightly less well-known is the might of a stick of butter. After the meal, we felt the power of a stick of butter. More precisely, we felt the combined might of a stick of butter in every dish. It compelled me to lie down in bed and laze away the rest of the day. It was helped by the fact that it was a day when resistance was weakest, since Thanksgiving Day and the day after Thanksgiving are traditionally holidays, and are always on Thursday and Friday, leading to a nice long weekend. So there we all lay, each in our own beds, defeated and contented.

That day, however, out of the depths of lethargy and slumber arose a new hero. Jerry was already known far and wide for his work ethic; it was said that his normal position was in front of his desk. Still, this same Jerry now accomplished a feat that would be talked about for ages to come.

It is the lot of aspirant to the title of Ph.D. candidate that the aspirant must find a professor who would be willing to take him on as one of his or her apprentices. Upon successful completion of this quest, the aspirant enters into membership of that professor's "research group", and the professor becomes his or her master, adviser and guide. In order to successfully woo his desired professor, an aspirant might embark on heroic quests to win the admiration of the master. So it was that Jerry arose and went forth on such a quest. That Thanksgiving Day, Jerry labored past midnight; he continued the following day and completed an epic 26-page research paper. The results of his labor were presented the following week to the professor in question. It was a staggering feat of will-power, self-control and determination that would long be talked about even though Jerry eventually entered into membership in another professor's research group. The rest of us were in awe and felt honored to be witnesses to such heroism.

Such were the tales that were told. Men and women of valor, striving against impossible odds to achieve honor and glory. Some whispered of a Ph.D. candidate who had been in the land of Stanford for 18 years... and counting! If the storyteller was pressed for details, he might, given the right mood and occasion, reveal the rumor that this student had once actually gone for a Ph.D. thesis defense. This was said to have been 9 or 10 years ago. Unfortunately, it had been revealed that someone else had already done the same work, and so this student had had to start all over again. And there were other such tales.

In addition to the challenge of gaining membership in a research group, the aspiring Ph.D. candidate was also required to pass a test. The official name of the dreaded test was the "Ph.D. qualifying exam", but among aspirants it was known as the "quals". But enough for now - the quals will be the subject of other tales.