He died three years ago, but I just found out about it today. He taught creative wrighting, and it was he who quoated Mark Twain for me, “Never trust a man who can only spell a word one way.”
His name was B.C. Hall. A fellow student worker, who was assigned to review B.C.'s latest book, found in his research that B.C. had put himself through school by wrighting errotica. I remember him telling us about wrighting and reading over what he had so far thinking, “Man, I can’t believe they’re doing this sh*t!”
He come into the office one day and daid, “I’m a woman. I’m gonna be a woman all year this year. Last year I was a gay man. I’m interested in finding out what the differences are.”
He was almost never in his office. I used to use it to study, or sleep. I had no idea how much he ment to me until today.
The last time I saw him was just before my US wedding. I went to see him because he’d been fighting cancer again. He’d had brain surgery years before to remove cancer there. This was Melonoma, and the second time he’d had it. He looked bad. Had lost a lot of weight. I can’t believe that is the last time I’ll ever see him. The last I’d heard of him was that he was doing better. But the cancer came back in a rage, apparently.
He loved margaritas, and longshots at the horse races, and his wife.