It occurred to me while perusing this story -- and particularly the introduction -- the "harmless" little arrangements most of make with morality in our lives, often without really noticing. Of course, what happens in this story is "harmless" writ large, but I wonder how many of you have a story like this:
I never sold term papers in college, like Mr. King, but in high school I did write a book report for a friend of mine. This kid -- let's say his name was Ken -- was no great shakes as a student. I was an indifferent student myself, but I excelled in English classes and I was something of a protege to a certain teacher (much like Morris in Finders Keepers). Anyway, Kenny had a report due on this particular day -- on Catch-22, if I remember -- and he hadn't done it. I had taken the Comedy elective the previous semester and knew Heller the way a high school kid would. So I told my friend that not only could I write his paper for him, but I could guarantee him an A.
Needless to say, he liked the sound of that, so I spent third period that day ignoring the droning of Mrs. Murphy in her desperately dry U.S. History block and churned out what was, for me, a cookie-cutter analysis of Yossarian and his buddies. And this is where we get to what was in it for me. I had been assigned this teacher -- McGruff, let's say -- in a blind draw as an incoming freshman and proceeded to dazzle him with my particular brand off b.s. I did so well that when I was allowed to choose my own instructors (where possible) I always took his blocks as a means of making my life easier. I had achieved such a level of consistency with McGruff that I began to wonder if I was simply coasting on name recognition. So I wanted to see what would happen if I were to be graded objectively, blindly, so to speak. You know adolescence. It's a bit arrogant.
So I write the paper and I give it to Ken and I say, "Look! You have to rewrite this in your own handwriting or McGruff is gonna recognize it." It never occurred to me that he graded hundreds of papers a week and probably barely looked at most of them, but that was my worry. Of course, Ken didn't do that. He was lazy. As far as he was concerned, his homework was done. He put his name on my paper and handed it in. When he told me that was what he'd done I thought we would both be in trouble. But nothing happened. McGruff didn't notice the two distinct handwriting samples (or that this deaf mute in his class had just turned in the work of someone who would have had to have been paying attention). The paper got a perfect mark and Kenny had to dance around a couple content questions he couldn't really answer (he hadn't even read it), and I got my validation and everybody won.
Even so, despite the fact that there really was no measurable damage, and even all these years later, I still feel a little squinky about that when I read a story like Morality. It's all just a matter of degree, isn't it, right and wrong?
I never sold term papers in college, like Mr. King, but in high school I did write a book report for a friend of mine. This kid -- let's say his name was Ken -- was no great shakes as a student. I was an indifferent student myself, but I excelled in English classes and I was something of a protege to a certain teacher (much like Morris in Finders Keepers). Anyway, Kenny had a report due on this particular day -- on Catch-22, if I remember -- and he hadn't done it. I had taken the Comedy elective the previous semester and knew Heller the way a high school kid would. So I told my friend that not only could I write his paper for him, but I could guarantee him an A.
Needless to say, he liked the sound of that, so I spent third period that day ignoring the droning of Mrs. Murphy in her desperately dry U.S. History block and churned out what was, for me, a cookie-cutter analysis of Yossarian and his buddies. And this is where we get to what was in it for me. I had been assigned this teacher -- McGruff, let's say -- in a blind draw as an incoming freshman and proceeded to dazzle him with my particular brand off b.s. I did so well that when I was allowed to choose my own instructors (where possible) I always took his blocks as a means of making my life easier. I had achieved such a level of consistency with McGruff that I began to wonder if I was simply coasting on name recognition. So I wanted to see what would happen if I were to be graded objectively, blindly, so to speak. You know adolescence. It's a bit arrogant.
So I write the paper and I give it to Ken and I say, "Look! You have to rewrite this in your own handwriting or McGruff is gonna recognize it." It never occurred to me that he graded hundreds of papers a week and probably barely looked at most of them, but that was my worry. Of course, Ken didn't do that. He was lazy. As far as he was concerned, his homework was done. He put his name on my paper and handed it in. When he told me that was what he'd done I thought we would both be in trouble. But nothing happened. McGruff didn't notice the two distinct handwriting samples (or that this deaf mute in his class had just turned in the work of someone who would have had to have been paying attention). The paper got a perfect mark and Kenny had to dance around a couple content questions he couldn't really answer (he hadn't even read it), and I got my validation and everybody won.
Even so, despite the fact that there really was no measurable damage, and even all these years later, I still feel a little squinky about that when I read a story like Morality. It's all just a matter of degree, isn't it, right and wrong?