Then there was the journalism side of the house. Here I knew I had struck the mother lode. The finest, the sharpest, the grandest. They were the best. Boy did they teach me how to write the news. And how to investigate the facts of a story. Check every fact three times come hell or high water. I don’t care if your mother says it’s true ~ go behind her back and check it anyway. Dig down to the bare metal. Check public records. Get it right. “A journalist is in the business of truth-telling.” Those were my marching orders. And they sent me all over the city researching public records, investigating an assigned target. I came up with the goods, fleshed out the narrative and learned how it worked. They taught me hard. They taught me good.
Upon reporting to the professor my experience with the disrespectful Jewish student and his vulgar outburst, she said that she would speak to him about it. I confronted her after graduation to learn that she never did. She seemed intimidated by her Jewish students.