The signature ink was barely dry on my Ph.D. when the Community College of Baltimore gave me my first teaching job in 1976. I remember how I stood at the Harbor Campus that September morning (I would be the professor at last—today), the seagulls shrieking all around me, my fingers gripped bloodless on my new briefcase. I'd spent about 15 years preparing for this.

Last week, the Department Chairman—Dr. Knott—called me into his office about my syllabus.

"Number one. No Benito Cereno, no "In the Penal Colony," and don't even think of Malone Dies."