I cling on desperately to the one or two things that I am still good at. I am walking along the precipice of adventure, risking the slip into boring old fartdom. The sun has gone and it’s cold and raining outside, probably global warming. Then, to add to my misery, this mail arrives from The Netherlands, a small, flat country north of Luxembourg. Britt van Tom, a brilliant young Dutch lady who manages my Website, instructs me that I should revise my CV, as it makes me appear to be a boring old fart. I sit and think back on my turbulent and twisted life and add a couple of unpublished sentences to my CV. The 1970’s now reads: “On the Thursday I was promoted to Senior lecturer and the following day back to lecturer —–”. There was shock and indignations in Britt’s follow up mail; “What happened, what did you do?” vibrated across cyber space.
So here then is what happened. In 1975, three men and myself were appointed as lecturers in the first official photographic diploma course in South Africa. It was started at the Natal Technikon in Durban. Our head was a short cocky man who fought with the Chindits in Burma. He hated mediocrity as much as the Japs. I called these chaotic and vibrant times ,‘The Hotazel Years’. In those years I drove a ‘souped’ up yellow Morris Minor that was fitted with a 1600cc Mazda engine. The damn little thing kept on taking me places I didn’t want to go.
One day I was promoted to Senior lecturer for over enthusiastic lecturing, fairly decent and sober behaviour. The day was warm and clear with twittering birdies flying all around in the blue sky. That afternoon —- a Thursday, I remember well, the Mother, Father and Mad Uncle of all parties was held to celebrate my ascension on the academic ladder of tertiary education. Driving home that evening, the Morris Minor was on autopilot. Along the road were a number of female student residences. To my sudden surprise, I found myself chasing young women all over the place. Their screams and shrieks, as they fled my joyful, maniacal attacks still echo in my distant memory. I was having pure harmless fun, but they thought I was Count Dracula from Transylvania. Doors slammed, windows banged shut and all the birdies shat themselves. When all the female students had barricaded themselves in, I turned my monster attentions to the matrons. The yelling, screaming and shrieking continued. When the police sirens started to wail in the distance, I slipped back into my Morris Minor with a growl of satisfaction and quietly drove home.
The next day, pure hell descended on me. Expressions of pure disgust were etched on all the humans and students at the Natal Technikon that morning. Even the pigeons were restless as they looked down on the unfolding drama. It’s strange how a little bit of innocent fun can shift your axis on earth. I was marched to the supreme head of the college and placed on a red carpet in front of a deathly pale governing body. I was overcome by a feeling of forlorn despair and felt myself —- falling — and falling —- down from the precipice into the dark place for dammed souls.
Dr Allan Pittendrich was the supreme Head of all the departments, a kind of academic ‘Capo di tutti capi’ of the college. We knew each other quite well and had shared a couple of beers on the odd occasion, often discussing my future in academia. Complete silence filled the large room like the moment before the judge delivers his verdict in a murder case. “Death by hanging”, I thought, staring down at the carpet. Then old Pittendrich slowly uttered a funny, low gurgling sound. This escalated to a giggle, a chuckle, then into a full on roar of laughter that escaped the room, spread over the campus and scared all the pigeons into flight above the city of Durban. A surreal hush fell over the entire campus. After five minutes he stopped and wiped the tears from his cheeks, chin and blazer. “ This is truly amazing,” he said, “ a day of celebration and fun, heh?!!!! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,” his roaring laughter started all over again. This time the sombre and pale Governing body joined in with meek smiles. Then came his verdict: “ I hereby demote you back to lecturer. You will forever hold the record in South African tertiary education for being a Senior Lecturer for —– mmmm—,“ he paused to look at his watch, “—-eighteen hours.”
