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Scary Things

Professor of the Year Acceptance Speech
by Michael Arnzen

Friday, May 13, 2011

President Boyle, Provost Gawelek, distinguished members of the stage, cherished faculty colleagues, dear staff, close friends and -- most importantly -- future alumnae of Seton Hill University…I thank you all for this dubious honor.  I also want to thank two other major figures in my life, without whom I would not be here today:  first, my wife, Renate, who chose to move from Germany to America just to be with me in 1987 and has been more supportive of my work than my very own backbone ever since.  And secondly, I have to thank that special group of people who have always been there for me, giving me everything I ever needed during my entire career, and that would be the Starbucks Coffee Company. 

But seriously, again, I thank all of you for this significant award and I will gladly accept it, but only on behalf of all the faculty gathered in this room, for each and every one of us is a Professor of the Year, to someone in our own special way.  It isn't fair that I am singled out when so many at Seton Hill work so tirelessly to contribute to your education, so I would ask everyone assembled to take a moment to think about a specific teacher (or colleague) who made a difference in your life this year, and I ask you to applaud those professors of the year right now.  

[  ]

Today is very special to me.  Not only because of this honor, which is great, but because it's Friday the 13th and everyone is dressed in black.  Now if only you were all wearing hockey masks, too…then it would be perfect.

You've been here for four long years.  I'm sure you've loved it for the most part, and you probably can't believe it's finally over. But it's also been hard.  Just a few days ago you were probably wondering if the madness would ever end.  There may have been days when you felt trapped, isolated, homesick and scared.  Now, tomorrow you will be set free.  We'll still be here, but you'll be gone, and the place will seem empty without you.  No, not empty.  Haunted.  So I wrote a poem for you.  It's called…

The Hotel La Setonia \\
 \\
On a dark Lincoln Highway,  
cool wind in my hair  \\
Warm smell of Velveeta,  \\
rising up through the air  \\

Up ahead in the distance,  \\
I saw a sycamore hill \\
My head grew heavy as I approached Admin, \\
then my heart stopped with a chill. \\

A griffin stood in the doorway; \\
I heard that grandfather clock's bell. \\
And I was thinking to myself, \\
is that lion or eagle poop that I smell? \\

Then he lit up an ipad  \\
and he showed me the way. \\
There were voices down the corridor, \\
thought I heard them say: \\

Welcome to the Hotel La Setonia \\
We wear a cap and gown \\
The fun stuff is downtown \\
Plenty of room at the Hotel La Setonia \\
Now's "your chance to shine," \\
if you can park in time. \\

The mascot's smile was twisted \\
up inside of his beak \\
with lots of pretty, pretty teeth… \\
you know, it's kind of a freak. \\

And then we walked toward McKenna,  \\
sweet griffin sweat. \\
Pot holes to remember,  \\
Mud lots to forget. \\

I called out to the students, \\
"Fear nothing but a closed mind!" \\
But Griff said, "we haven’t used that slogan here  \\
since two thousand and nine." \\

And still those voices are calling from far away, \\
They wake you up in the middle of the night \\
pounding on Steinways, singing... \\

Welcome to the Hotel La Setonia \\
Logging on is rare, \\
in the Griffin's Lair \\
They livin’ it up at the Hotel La Setonia \\
What a nice surprise,  \\
breakfast with curly fries! \\

Workouts before the sunrise \\
Night classes run late, \\
And Griff said "we are all just prisoners here,  \\
behind the Griffin Gate." \\
And in the Greensburg Room Annex, \\
They gathered for the feast \\
They cut the budget with their steely knives, \\
But tuition's still increased! \\

Last thing I remember, I was \\
Hazarding Yet Forward; \\
I had to find the passage back \\
To where I first met that weird pawed-bird \\
"Relax," said the Griffin, \\
"We are programmed to achieve. \\
Grab a shuttle any time you like, \\
But you never can never leave!" \\
 \\
[Griffin plays a 20 minute guitar solo with his paw] \\
 \\
I probably should say a few more words, because I don't want you to leave Seton Hill with the impression that your professor of the year is the Weird Al Yankovich of Higher Education.  

Oh no, I'm much weirder than that.  Many of you know I write and teach horror fiction, so I want to share a few lessons from my study of dread, to offer you something resembling parting advice.

The first is a reiteration of that famous line from Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton:  "Fear nothing but a closed mind."  I love this slogan.  We live in a world of scary things, where everything from terrorists to tornados threaten to topple our security.  If you've been paying attention to the news, then you know that the 21st Century has so far been one big never-ending horror show.  But the truth is that life is and always has been unpredictable -- the problem, I think, is that we're just more aware of it than ever.  It's easy to become hypersensitive to threats and respond with paranoia -- or to be completely desensitized and react with zombie-like ennui.  Fear is always the cause of closed-mindedness. You can't let fear immobilize you.  You combat it with reason, ingenuity, and education. 

The phrase "ignorance is bliss" is a lie.  Ignorance is a third grader behind the wheel of a car, blissfully barreling down the road during rush hour.  The ignorant don't know any better -- and always learn their lessons the hard way.  The good drivers aren't just people above the age of three; they are the defensive ones; the ones who know how to predict where danger might lurk.  But still they drive. That's what the phrase "hazard yet forward" is all about.  Make it your roadsign on the journey of life.  

I firmly believe that the only way to really solve the world's problems is through education, and believe or not, I feel the horror stories I write also have educational value, even if it's just tips for outwitting a maniac with a chainsaw.  Our goal as educators has been to shine light in the dark places where scary things lurk.  To point a light into the abyss of the unknown; to illuminate it.  There's a reason vampires fear sunlight.  Their power lies in the unknown, in the dead of night and the darkness.  So tear down the curtains of ignorance and make the vampires who would suck the life out of you fizzle.  Be enlightened.

However, know that you can't ever really know it all.  Even the highly-educated can still be close-minded.  Know-it-alls are the scariest people in the world, actually.  Their arrogance is their evil; their hubris is their fatal flaw.  

I write horror stories and teach horror fiction because I like to remind readers that for all our strengths as human beings, our power has its limits.  In every horror story, people die often not because they are innocent, but because they are ignorant, or make bad choices.  And evil villains are always marked by one trait:  their arrogance.  

If you want to see human nature, go to the horror movies, but look behind you too. Peer at the audience, and in the darkness and you'll see that people cover their eyes with their hands during the scary parts.  We play peekaboo with this stuff.  The phrase "I can't believe my eyes" comes to mind.  And that is the second lesson I have for you:  don't ever believe your eyes.  At least not entirely.

Are you familiar with the surrealist painter Magritte? You might recognize his painting, Son of Man, which simply depicts a generic man in a gray suit wearing a bowler hat, with a large green apple strangely floating in the space in front of his face.  When asked why he blocked out his subject's face so weirdly, he said something simple but profound:  "Everything we see hides another thing; we always want to see what is hidden by what we see."

I love this because it relates so closely to both horror fiction and the quest of education: to look beyond the obvious.  Horror, even the blood-and-guts kind, is much more than morbid curiosity.  Rubbernecking a car accident on the roadside -- that's morbid curiosity and it's also an ugly component of human nature.  But horror is art and -- with the exception of my terrible poem at the beginning of this speech -- art is not a car accident.  Art asks us to understand our world differently.  That's one of my missions as an author.  I'm not saying you should be a horror fan, but I think our world should pay more attention to art.  Because art is paying attention to things that the world chooses to ignore.  We always are limited by our own perception, but art -- even the scary kind -- allows to see differently.

Weirdness will always make us uncomfortable.  But you have to be courageous.  Don't fear the weirdness.  Embrace it.   Hug your inner freak and kiss it on the mouth.  And give a firm handshake to the strange people in your life.  You can always use hand sanitizer.  It's worth it because these strangers --- no matter how scary they might seem at first -- have lessons to teach you.  If you are scared by someone who is different than you, then that fear is a sign that you have a lot left to learn about them.  The truth is, everyone's weird, but few have the courage to admit it.  So to the class of 2011 I say:  "Courage, Weirdos!"  
Which brings me back to my weird mythical friend, the Griffin. 

Behold the Griffin, always smiling, with its wings and claws.  It is a freak of nature par excellence and I don't know what unholy matrimony would give birth to such a creature, but I really love what it symbolizes.  
Think about it:  an eagle with a lion's body.  Luckily the eagle owns the head, because it would probably eat itself it was the other way around. 

But I'd like to leave you thinking about what power the griffin has.  Claws to fight, wings for flight.  A symbol of power.  But is this not also the embodiment of fear?  Fight vs. flight -- as any psych major in the room will tell you -- is how we respond to a threatening stimulus.  When you're scared, and your senses go on alert, your body is telling you that you need to make a choice.  Attack the problem, or run away.  Approach or avoid.  There are other options, too.  Hopefully your education has taught you that it's sometimes wiser to risk thinking through your options than to hastily choose the easiest one.  Sometimes not moving at all is the best option.  But whatever you do, you must choose.  True terror is not being able to decide -- to freeze and be caught immobile.  I hope your education has helped you to choose wisely.  But when all is hopeless, and all your options are up, and you really don't know what to do?  I know what you should do.  Laugh.  That is my final advice to you.  When in doubt, laugh in the face of the scary things.  Or in the very least try to smile.  Because laughter is contagious, and maybe whatever it is that's scaring you will either smile before it kills you, or laugh along with you and pat you on the back.  

Happy Friday the 13th.