Cheating at Stutts

Reading the Times' recent expose on collegiate cheating—short version: it’s rampant, and they use iPods and other elder-mystifying technology to do it—made me wonder about the state of affairs at my alma mater, Stutts University. Not surprisingly, cheating at Stutts is state-of-the-art. Very surprisingly, it’s fully condoned by the university! “We’re just about to open an entire building dedicated to it, called the Center for Competitive Advantage,” said Kitty O’Shea. Kitty runs the Poor & Unimportant division for the Association of Stutts Alumni; she’s my first stop whenever I want to get the skinny on what’s going on up in Great Littleton.

Kitty put me in touch with University Provost Patrick Rivington, Stutts’ head honcho for anything having to do with dollars and cents. “Our students are our customers, Mike,” Rivington explained. “Whatever they want to learn, we want to teach. When a consultant told me that our students spent, on average, 17% of their entire Stutts career cheating their brains out, the next step was obvious: let’s turn it into a major. That’s what being customer-focused is.” When I mentioned that other schools might disagree, Rivington said, "Other schools' opinions don't really concern us."

The Alternative Moralities (“AltMo”) major was instituted at Stutts four years ago, but it’s already one of the most visible, powerful departments on campus. Though it started out as a branch of the Philosophy department, its wild popularity with the students—along with some Machievellian dealings by the AltMo professors themselves—soon made it one of the most voices inside Stutts. Proof of this came on April 23, 2003, when CHEATSTAR-1, the first-ever satellite dedicated solely to academic malfeasance, was lifted into geosynchronous orbit.

“There are times in life when the standard paradigm does not work,” President Rivington said in his pre-launch remarks. “That’s why we encourage our students to seek out new solutions, wherever they might be. Studying for a test, memorizing the information—that’s one solution. Uploading your entire textbook to CHEATSTAR, is simply another, more efficient solution…We know our students could ace any test if they wanted to—they’re Stutts students. That’s why nobody gets anything lower than a ‘B,’” Whitbread said, “and that’s why we’re launching CHEATSTAR.”

Naturally, there’s been a tremendous amount of interest in AltMo coming from the business world, and where corporations go, money inevitably follows. In July, Stutts will unveil the 30,000-square foot Wouk Center for Competitive Advantages, paid for by Kenneth Wouk ’67, CEO of Energon. According to a press release, Wouk’s first priority is to “develop a new version of the artificial intelligence software that allowed Energon to manipulate the world’s electricity supply so very effectively. My second priority is not to get caught this time.”

“‘Kenny Kilowatt’ is a full-stop, flat-out genius,” Rivington told me. “He’s already talking to the Physics department about quantum cheating technology. That’s going to make it possible for Stutts students to cheat on multiple tests at the same time. It’s a really exciting time,” Rivington said. “Money’s just pouring into the Center, because it’s a great way to hide your profits. We can’t wait for Kenny to come onboard,” Rivington said. “Three-to-seven years max, less with good behavior.”

Great Littleton's biggest used bookstore closes

Stutts is closed for the summer, but life goes on in Great Littleton—by which we mean it continues to get worse. Last week, local bibliophiles were saddened to hear that Shabby’s, the campus’ legendary used bookstore, was closing after 40 years of service to the local community. The move wasn’t a surprise; the future of the warren-like retailer had been in doubt ever since the recent passing of its larger-than-life owner. In March, Bill Shabby suffered his nineteeth heart attack, and decided to succumb to it, just to punish a customer for asking if there was a restroom.

“That was Bill,” said Sharon White, 57, a longtime Shabby’s customer and one of the few who could decipher Shabby’s rapid-fire barrage of swears. “It wasn’t about money to him. But it wasn’t about selling books, either,” White said. “I’m not exactly sure what it was about. Vengeance?

“He said to me more than once, ‘I want every moment in this store to be as unpleasant as possible.’”

Sales had been slumping for years, never having recovered from October 1997’s lethal shelf collapse. Nevertheless, for four decades, Bill Shabby was as much a part of Great Littleton as summer malaria. Looming over his shop like a sweat-sour, shirt-sleeved volcano, Bill fostered friendships: students and townies bonded in the high-stress environment forged by the owner’s incomprehensible patterns of abuse. Booklovers flocked from all over New England to hunt for bargains at Shabby’s regular “Water Damage Sales” (there was a Turkish bath directly upstairs), only to be disappointed when Bill insisted everyone still pay full price. And pawing through the “Moldy--Read at Own Risk” boxes outside the front door became as much a Stutts ritual as throwing up food from the dining hall.

Generations of Stutts students won’t forget spending hours pawing through Shabby’s dust-rimed, vaguely alphabetized stock. Many also recalled nestling in the rotting easychairs scattered randomly throughout the store. “You did that exactly once,” said Kevin Kleiman ’02. “The chairs put a funny smell in your clothes. I had to burn my favorite shirt.”

Tests are still being done to determine the nature of the smell, but many believe it came from the cats that prowled the store. “Usually, I like a cat or two in a bookstore,” said Tracy Gilbert ’88, “but these cats were scary. They were feral, incontinent, and I swear one was rabid. I remember being trapped by a big tabby, and having to fight my way out with the Compact OED.”

Sharon White laughs at the memory of the cats. “I don’t know whose they were,” she says. “Bill always denied they existed. I’d say, ‘There it is, Bill, mauling that girl,’ and he’d just grunt and keep watching that TV of his.”

On an average day, one could find Bill behind his desk, surrounded by piles of books, watching TV on a small, wavery black-and-white held together with tape. One student remembers, “He had to hit it about every five minutes to make it work. I was there the day it finally broke. That was scary.”

Indeed, fear seems to be the commonest reaction to Bill Shabby, who was at least 300 pounds, and perpetually enraged. “I saw him pick up a Girl Scout--she was selling cookies--and throw her out into the street,” said Fanton Mandrake, head of the University Museum and one of the few administrators brave enough to go into the store. “I think all that mold and dust and cat urine did something to his brain.”

“He was perpetually throwing up into his mouth, and it dribbled onto his beard,” said Constance Cornish, owner of The Lonely Scone next door. “He believed that burdock and dandelion soda made it better, so he was always coming over and stealing some. I couldn’t fight him, so I went over and stole books in recompense.”

The only people Bill Shabby ever got along with were “the two old guys playing chess in the reference aisle,” White said. “And when I say ‘get along with’ I mean, he didn’t hit them. At least I never saw him hit them.”

In the 1960s, Shabby’s was a center for the Free Speech movement at Stutts—at least until Bill Shabby found out. “He literally chased us out of the store,” said David "Che" Rodriguez, ’69. “He kept calling me ‘John [effing] Steinbeck’ for some reason. There was a big sign in the store: ‘I will NOT sell you any John Steinbeck!!!’, just like that, multiple exclamation points and everything,” Rodriguez remembers. “I think he was insane.”

So while there is nostalgia, the passing of the man and his store has an unmistakable undercurrent of relief. “In this era of online bookstores and antiseptic corporate behemoths,” Mandrake says, “Shabby’s was a real, old-time used bookstore. Bill was a true Great Littleton original, and having said that, I’m truly glad he’s dead.”

Has anybody else gone to Disneyland lately?

Uh, I don't know if there's been a shareholder revolt or something, but I have to say I was shocked to see that it's been turned into a shrine to H.P. Lovecraft. Where's Mickey? Where's Minnie? According to the guy on the tram, "all were driven insane after seeing things no mortal could withstand." For some reason, Pluto's still around, but now he's called "Yog-Sothoth." The "happiest place on Earth"? More like the crappiest.

I asked woman wearing a Disney badge, "Is this like a special thing for the 50th anniversary?" and she said, "No, it's permanent. Don't you love it?" I didn't like the look on her face, so I nodded yes and walked away quickly. At least I spoke English--a lot of the foreign people were confused; I can't tell you how many times I had to explain the difference between "the Deep Ones" and "the Old Ones." People from Red States were clearly put-off, and it scares the sh*t out of kids. And aren't kids what Disneyland is all about?

Not anymore. Now it's all about "mind-shattering terror" and "non-Euclidean geometry." The Matterhorn is now "The Mountains of Madness." "Pirates of the Caribbean" has been turned into "Callin' with C'thulu," starring Rick Moranis. Main Street has been transformed into Innsmouth, and every night at 7:30, "those who have interbred with the Deep Ones caper and cavort in an obscene parade." (We left long before that idiocy started.) People in freaky polyp costumes are always popping out at you, screaming "Cthulhu fhtagn!" I nearly hit one of them. The only good thing is that the "tentacle hats" are a lot cooler than those stupid mouse ears.

I could go on, but you get the picture. The whole place is incredibly depressing, and for children, pretty damn scary. Two thumbs down!