I chuckle. I can get on board with that.
“Do you know where the name of the school came from, Dr. Keller?” Philomena asks.
“I do. Does anyone know the name of the founder?” I ask.
“Edward Bovey, in 1911,” Sarabeth answers. “He named the school Dorset University. But he wasn’t from Dorset County. He was from Stratford-upon-Avon, which is not within Dorset County nor within the southwest at all.”
“Very good. Edward Bovey’sclose friend and longtime roommate until his death in 1923, Charles, was from Dorset county and his family was well known for their dorset sheep,” I tell them.
“Roommate,” Xile sputters.
“I bet it’s noted how sad it is that neither man ever married,” Sarabeth comments.
“Tragic that after his close friend Charles’s death, Edward was so overcome with grief at losing his friend he remained a bachelor until his death eight years later,” Zarek comments.
I grin. I’m not surprised that Zarek knows the story. He’s a damn brilliant man. While he’s with RDU for his mathematical inclination, there’s no limit to the depths of knowledge he proves to have.
While I don’t roll my eyes, several of my students do. I don’t necessarily condone eye-rolling as a proper form of displaying your displeasure or disagreement, but in this case, I’m definitely rolling my eyes with them. Only I’m doing so internally.
“Why was ‘rainbow’ added to the title?” Philomena asks.
“In 1980, when Provost Jeannette Williamson accepted the mantle, the school began a true move forward in pushing queer acceptance. In a move to honor Edward and Charles, she added Rainbow to our school title—an overt and brave move to not only announce to the world that we, as queer folk, were here and proud, but also as a beacon to young queer people that there was a place for them to learn in safety,” Zarek answers.
“I love this school even more,” Mercy says, sighing.
Beside me, Brevan nods. “That’s beautiful.”
“I think there should be a monument to Edward Bovey and Charles on campus somewhere,” Xile says, frowning. “There are so many, but not for our queer founder.”
I hum, nodding in agreement. “I agree, and it’s something we’ve tossed around for years. We could do something predictable like a statue or a painting, right? Plaques? But none of that feels big enough for the legacy he created. I would really love to do something that makes everyone stop by to learn about Bovey and his lover. Something that people can’t, won’t be able, or want to overlook. I’ve yet to think of or hear of anything that truly captures that spirit. I don’t plan to retire anytime soon, but it’s on my list of things I truly hope to accomplish before I do.”
“That’s a great idea,” Wendy says. “Have you considered putting it out to students for suggestions?”
Byndley bows her head to hide her smile.
“I have,” I say. “The reason I hesitate to do so isn’t that I don’t want your opinions—I absolutely do. But I feel that if I ask students to submit their ideas, I’m leading into the expectation that I need to choose one from the submissions. If I don’t see the right idea, then I don’t want to be forced to make one come to light just because I opened the project to submissions.”
“I like your passion about this, Dr. Keller,” Xile says, “and I hope you don’t take offense to this, but I think you’re overthinking.”
Now Byndley covers her mouth with her hand, and when her eyes meet mine, they’re filled with mirth. Ugh. I’m not going to hear the end of this later.
“Oh?”
“I think you made your argument really clear to us, right?” They look around the group, and everyone nods. “Which means I think you can make it really clear to everyone.”
“Xile’s right. Tell the story of Edward and Charles just like you did. Maybe expand on it if you know more. Then put it out there that you’re open to ideas for honoring them, but until you’re convinced you’ve found the right one, submissions will stay open.” Corwin presses his lips together. “More eloquently than that, maybe.”
Byndley nods her agreement. “Thank you for that encouragement. Maybe you’re right.”
Conversation remains entertaining and light throughout dinner. I enjoy their chatter and the range of topics they move between. I especially love that there aren’t half a dozen smaller conversations breaking out over the table, but how they’ve made a point of conversing together. Perhaps they’re doing so unconsciously. Whatever the means, I enjoy getting lost in it.
When dinner is over, everyone gets to their feet and begins bundling up.
“It’s still too early to sleep,” Sarabeth notes. “Want to wander around town for a bit? See what there is to see to pass the time until it’s appropriately late enough to sleep?”
The question is for the entire group. Almost everyone agrees. I keep an eye on Brevan out of the corner of my eye. He doesn’t answer until he sees that Anna and Philomena intend to go with the group, so he backs out.
“I might hang around here,” he says quietly.
