Slap my butt and call me Betty: Dr. Bailey memories

I promised some Dr. Bailey memories. I will share the ones that have been on my mind over the past few days ...

***

I worked summers at Saint Martin's, and one sunny summer day, a tall, handsome young man walking around the campus caught my eye. And then I saw him meeting with Dr. Bailey.

"Interesting," I thought. I went back to my office with Deanna and Holly and told them about the mysterious stranger. Holly said she'd get to the bottom of it (seeing as she and Dr. B were close).

Dr. Bailey came up to the office a short time later. Holly asked about the stranger and said something like, "Kate's kinda got her eye on him." And Dr. Bailey said, "Bah. Him? He wears shiny shoes."

I should've listened to Dr. Bailey on that one.

***

I had a nickname for Dr. Bailey -- B+ Bailey. He tended to give most of my papers a B+. The perfectionist in me got pretty annoyed.

One day I asked him, "Why do you keep giving me B-pluses?" He smiled and said, "When you write me an A paper, I'll give you an A." And he smirked as if to say, "Got you on that one, Kate."

I remember the last day of the last class I took from him. He handed back two papers to me. There was a smile on his face. "Look at them."

The first one, of course, was a B+.

The second? An A. I squealed and jumped up and down.

"You earned that. That was an excellent paper," he said in his direct, mentor-ish tone.

The note on the last page of that paper said, "A. Well done, an interesting perspective I'd never considered before."

I kept that paper.

***

I used to joke (perhaps theorize) that Dr. Bailey could find sexual overtones in any piece of literature. Perhaps it's because we were often talking about Victorian-era lit when so much was repressed.

Nonetheless, I was in a class once with many older women and, I believe, my dear friend Angie Rhodes.

We were discussing a novel or short story, and Dr. B reads a passage. "What do you think the author means by this?"

One of the women raises her hand and says something. "Possibly," Dr. B says, "But I don't think that's what he's getting at. Anyone else?"

I'm in the front row. I smirk. I know what he's getting at.

"Miss McEntee, would you care to enlighten the class?" Dr. B says.

"Well, he's talking about sex."

And there was a gasp. The other women in the class, including the one breastfeeding her child right next to me, were enraged. "I don't think that's what this story is about!" someone said.

I'm pretty sure I heard Angie laugh.

"Kate," Dr. Bailey said in that deep, gravelly tone of his, "please explain further."

And I did. And Dr. B seemed awfully proud.

Why? Because I was right AND it was about sex.

***

And lastly ...

I, perhaps, took my own sweet time writing my senior thesis. Deadline, schmedline.

Every time I saw Dr. Bailey he'd let me know he was waiting.

One day I dropped it off on his desk when he wasn't there.

I got an e-mail later that day.

"Well, slap my butt and call me Betty! I have a senior thesis here from Kate McEntee."

Only from Dr. Bailey ...

And I eventually got my diploma and put that English and theatre arts major to good use.

***

Thank you, Dr. Bailey, for pushing me to do my best, for pushing me out of my comfort zone and for making me laugh so many, many times. Your wisdom and guidance were a blessing to me in college and beyond.

You can find The Olympian's news obituary for Dr. Bailey here.