Monday 14 November 2011

Professor Cold Feet (London / Japan)

(This blog is inspired by Valerio, professor of mathematics in New Orleans.  I'd commented on a photo of his, taken at his wife Natalie's exhibition, in which he was sporting a bow tie, saying he looked so smart.  His response was that the tie was crooked and the shirt probably had a few holes somewhere.)

As an undergraduate student, I used to go and do my prepping in the Japan Reading Room because it was quieter, and I could spread out my notes and have all the reference books to myself.  

One day, I found a chap in there — in sandals, sans socks, in spite of the fact that it was early spring.  He turned out to be a Leeds University Ph.D. student of Buddhist history who was down in London to use our library because we had the best Oriental collection.  

After seeing him a few more times, I plucked up courage to ask him if he didn’t feel cold, going about without socks.  His answer was, “Oh no, I even go sockless in winter!”  So I gave him the nickname of Cold Feet.
Fast forward six or seven years and I was back at SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London) as staff working on two Chinese computer research projects.  

One day, when the lift that bore me arrived on the third floor, the first sight that greeted me as the doors opened were two sandal-clad, sockless feet in front of the Japanese Department notice board.  I instinctively cried out, “Cold Feet!”  The body that went with the feet turned round immediately, and it was indeed the Leeds University Buddhist history student from those earlier days.  He recognised his moniker!
He told me that, after he graduated from Leeds, he got a job in a Japanese university.  A few years later, they offered him a professorship.  

His response was: he would accept it only on the condition that they allowed him to continue going around in sandals, minus socks.  He told them he was even prepared to wear a jacket and put on a tie for the above-table façade at meetings, but there was no way he was going to confine his feet in shoes and socks.  Not even for a professorship.

(London 1978/9 and 1986/7)


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