11 a.m.
When you sign up for a class on literature and the occult, “wouldn’t you kind of suspect you were going to be reading spooky stuff?” Professor William Heim asks his students.
Sure. But Heim has to write a course objective, summing up his subject, that “someday, when you have time, you can read through,” he tells his class of 25 students.
That summary reads, in part, “Our rational, scientific century has displayed an enormous revival of interest in the occult, one that shows no sign of disappearing. What is it? The term ‘occult’ simply means, something that is hidden.”
Heim sighs. “If you were to turn that paragraph in to me, you’d get a D-minus,” he says.
He holds up a few books. “Has anybody read H.P. Lovecraft?” No one raises their hands. “Has anyone read Henry James’ ‘Turn of the Screw?’ No.
He moves on.
He talks to students about the university’s parking issues. “What is like out there?”
“Like hell,” one student replies.
The silver-haired professor doesn’t list too many demands. But he doesn’t stand for cell phones ringing in his class. “I never had to say this before, and I know you’re extremely important people.”
But, “if it goes off during an exam, I’ll make you eat it.”
“The exam or the phone, sir?” says a student wearing a shirt with lyrics from The Doors’ song, “People are Strange.”

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