A Scripta

Dean Joseph Griffin looked up at the soft knock on the doorframe. A short, bald man, dressed all in brown and tans, peered into his office. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

Dean Griffin raised his head and studied the man. He looked to be about his mid-thirties, was bald, with piercing grey eyes. He seemed well-built but short. “Yes, Dr. Thontius, please come in.”

Thontius went in and closed the door. Griffin still watched him as he sat down. “Okay, Doctor, I have no idea who you are.”

The man chuckled. “Professor Harrison asked me to step in for him while he’s ill.”

“He didn’t ask me. You’re not even on the payroll, and no where do I see your name on the faculty list.”

“Oh?” Thontius looked surprised. “Then what do you need to know? You can take a look at my Facebook page, my resume is there.”

Griffin blinked. “A Facebook page?”

Thontius tilted his head. “Doesn’t everyone have one?”

“No.” Griffin folded his arms. “I assume your doctorate is in history?”

“University of Athens, 1999, specialty in Greco-Roman Influence in War and Culture.”

“You don’t have an accent.”

“I’ve been here for close to 10 years, lecturing here and there, so I’ve lost it for the most part. I’m published in Military History of the West, American Journal of History, Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies, Journal of Interdisciplinary History—“

“Okay, I’ll assume they’re on that Facebook page?”

“Yes, links to my articles are there.”

Griffin couldn’t understand this. He had heard of other professors calling in substitutes for one or two classes, and they would do it gratis, but for an entire semester? And undergraduate basic world history, when this man was obviously an established professor of ancient history?

Griffin sighed. “I did hear your lecture on Alexander the Great.” Thontius opened his lecture with the statement, “Alexander the Great was gay and a drunk” which grabbed everyone’s attention right from the get-go. He then proceeded to explain things in detail in a story-tale fashion, writing down the sources on the board as he went along. He explained how natural and normal it was for homosexuality between military men and how normal it was for Macedonians to have all-night drinking parties at that time. He compared it to modern values and made it seem that the modern view was skewed. “However, you didn’t touch upon the textbook.”

“They can read the book. That’ll be on the exams.”

Griffin had been burnt out by teaching undergraduate history and was more than happy to pass it on to professors newly entered into graduate school. This guy was a doctorate. Had been at it for years. And wasn’t burnt?

“I guess it seems all right,” Griffin muttered.

The man smiled. “You’re not paying me, right? I’ve done this many times before.”

“We must follow the undergraduate curriculum, Dr. Thontius.”

“Sure, on the exam. My lectures, though, don’t have to.”

“Are your lectures on the exam?”

“Of course.”

“That will get them confused."

"It will keep them intersted."

"Dr. Thontius, your job is not to get them interested in history but to get them through this class.”

He smiled again. “You never know, there may be a couple of budding historians there, or at least a few buffs.” He got up. “Take a look at the Facebook page when you get a chance, that might alleviate your fears. And email the other colleges I’ve worked for, their contact information is there too.” He nodded to Griffin. “Have a nice day, nice to have met you.”

Griffin watched him leave, slightly confused. “Well, might as well take a look at it.” He signed onto Facebook, and searched out the name of Erik Thontius. A picture of a Greek postage stamp of the first King of Athens greeted him in a small square. He clicked around, found the articles and other schools he had worked for, all around the country and in Canada. His last placement was in Yale as a guest lecturer on Greco-Roman weapon construction. There was a picture of him with a portable forge, making spearheads.

Griffin tapped his fingers on his chin as he did when he was thinking. There was no harm to the university to have this man here; in fact, it could be positive. But he seemed to want to skirt under the radar for some reason. The page linked to critics as well, but there was nothing more scathing than the possible misinterpretation of some Latin sources, which was typical of nitpicking historians.

“Doctor?” paged through his administrative assistant, “you have a call.”

He took the call, and promptly forgot about Dr. Erik Thontius.