Jack Sheehan remembers UNLV’s English Department, long before the recent accolades

Sunday, Aug. 19, 2007 | 1:15 a.m.

You've come a long way, Baby.

That old Virginia Slims cigarette slogan came to mind recently when I heard the good news about UNLV's English Department.

The school's masters program in fine arts was rated in the August issue of Atlantic Monthly as one of the country's five most innovative college programs. The university's doctorate program in creative writing was also rated in the magazine's top five.

That unexpected acknowledgement was music to many ears.

Former UNLV President Carol Harter, who now runs the literary think tank Black Mountain Institute, was overjoyed at the news, as were the two esteemed novelists, Douglas Unger and Richard Wiley, who deserve much of the credit for the cultural advances both at the university and the institute.

For UNLV to be mentioned in an article titled "Best of the Best" in company with esteemed literary institutions such as the University of Iowa, where Unger and Wiley studied, and Brown University and USC, is pretty tall cotton for a school that once was known only for its hoop dreams and as a place where valet parkers and cocktail waitresses could pick up a few college credits when their graveyard shifts ended.

As an unobtrusive member of the UNLV English Department 30 years ago, I can tell you that the school didn't earn a lot of academic accolades back then. You'll understand why when I explain how I was hired to teach the core freshman and sophomore classes designated English 101 and 102, which are basically introductory courses to composition and literature.

In the former class each student is assigned a weekly 500-word essay, with an emphasis on grammar, punctuation, diction and logic. In the latter they study short stories, drama and poetry. These courses are required of all students, and generally are about as popular among young people as a colonoscopy is for those who us who have moved farther down the road of life.

In the late summer of 1976, I was dealing '21' on the swing shift at the Four Queens downtown, and I was miserable. Although the technique of pitching cards from a double deck and calculating 3-2 payoffs on blackjacks didn't give me much trouble, the hours drove me crazy, as did the notion that all my years of studying literature were going to waste as I flicked plastic cards across the green felt.

A friend who had tired of listening to my griping said he'd introduce me to a prominent casino owner, "Wildcat" Bill Morris, who might be able to help improve my station in life.

When the meeting took place at the Holiday Casino (now Harrah's on the Strip), Wildcat kindly listened to a brief synopsis of my situation and said, "I can help you in one of two ways, Jack. I could hire you to deal here at the Holiday, for significantly more money than you're making downtown, or I could put in a call to Dr. Donald Baepler (who was then the president of UNLV) and get you an interview as a part-time instructor in the English Department."

Morris gave me fair warning. "They don't pay much to part-time instructors over there, but at least you'll be using your education and doing what you love."

It was one of those turning points, that ol' fork in the road that we all face in our lives, when we know that the choice we make will have repercussions for years to come. The decision was easy. After just two days of deliberation I asked Wildcat to put in a call to the university. It was time to hang up my dealer's apron and return to the classroom, even if it meant I'd have to get a smaller apartment and live on a diet of ramen noodles and tomato soup. Fall semester classes were set to begin the following week.

When I arrived for my interview with the director of the English composition program, he laughed and said it was the first time anyone had employed the president of the university to intercede for such a low-paying job.

"You didn't really need 'juice' to get this job," he said. "We need writing instructors immediately. We don't even have time to verify your credentials, but you look like an honest young man so I'm going to assume you have indeed attained your masters degree."

"I have the diploma at my apartment," I said. "I can be back here with it in 15 minutes."

"Not necessary," he said. "If you're unqualified to teach the class we'll hear soon enough from the students."

"So I'm hired?" I said.

He nodded . "Enrollment is up this semester so we can give you three classes. You'll start day after tomorrow. Turn in this paperwork when you return. Your first class begins at 7 a.m."

I was elated to be out of the casino and back in the world of academe. Not wanting to complicate an interview that had achieved its objective, I quickly got up to leave.

"Oh, one other thing," the director said. "You're going to be attracted to some of your students. Don't sleep with them."

The interview had offered no probing questions about Shakespeare or Chaucer or even Robert Frost, nor was I required to define past participles or gerunds or the subjunctive mood. Just a directive not to get busy with the coeds. How strange, I thought, but I was elated nonetheless.

By the end of the first month of school I realized that Wildcat Morris wasn't kidding when he talked of the low pay. I received $900 per semester per class for teaching one of the most important skills a student can possess: the ability to express himself in writing. That meant for the four months of the semester, I received a total of $2 , 700 before FICA, or $675 a month. The net amount came to under $500. With 90 essays to grade each week, nine lectures to prepare, plus office hours, preparing and grading exams and other tasks, I was earning about three bucks an hour. That was far less than the woman who lived in the apartment next to mine. She was a change girl at the Golden Goose.

Despite the poverty - scale wage, I loved teaching and interacting with students and other instructors so much that I stayed at UNLV for four years . Thirty years later, I still think taking that job was the best decision I ever made.

I only hope that these new honors for my old department will surface other benefactors like casino mogul Glenn Schaeffer, who has put his money where his mouth is and given generously to the writing programs at UNLV. And that some of that support will trickle down to the good people in the trenches, who are responsible for teaching the next generation how to use a semicolon and interpret a poem.

Those may not seem like tremendously important skills in this high-tech world of ours, but anyone who has to read business correspondence or e-mails on a daily basis will tell you just how undervalued they are.

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