"The line between passion and mania is thin." - Albert Einstein (or was it Lincoln?), as quoted on Facebook.
--
It's another May day in Tower Hall 2139. On the far side of the tall cracked window, the sun is shining. A fresh blanket of snow sparkles on Daisy Hill. Inside, McNair Director Troy Abfalter stands in repose, staring off at the sun shadows playing on Lake Superior this morning.
To his left, atop a standing desk, his computer monitor awaits a response to an email. Something about an annual report for the division. Some documents to review. An invitation to an assessment meeting.
I'm in his office to do an interview for the campus newspaper, The Script. Five minutes ago, I asked him a question about what he does here at the college. He's been staring out the window ever since.
Finally, he replies. "You know, resting as awareness brings a beautiful sense of inner clarity and peace."
I nod my head, though I'm not quite sure what to do with this. So I soldier on.
"I see on the McNair website that you all help students do research and apply to graduate school. Can you tell me more about that?"
Two minutes pass.
"I appreciate you and your question," he says. "I don't help students. I enliven human potential."
"The universe has been unfolding for 13 billion years. It's a beautiful thing. Each of us is born as a mighty force, a love child of all that has passed and all that may be, alive here in this moment."
He pauses, tilts his head, and looks into my eyes. Is he expecting me to say something? This is really awkward.
Finally, he continues, "You have all that you need already inside of you." Making airy hand gestures, he adds, "I can point my finger at the moon. I can be a reflecting pond. I can voyage with you into the wilderness."
Returning his gaze out the window, Abfalter takes a dramatic inhale and exhale.
"That is what I do at the college," he concludes, nodding his self-satisfaction.
Turning back to me, a big smile suddenly comes across his face. Something about it isn't quite right. His mouth is crookedly curled upward, his eyes look confused, as if they are not sure what to do.
"Go, my friend. Become who you are. I can't wait to celebrate with you!"
--
I left that interview with some unanswered questions. Well, that's not quite accurate. I left that interview with all unanswered questions.
However, as a highly skilled investigative reporter, I did collect one piece of information from that interview that was actually useful. Next to his desk was a yellowed article from the old student newspaper, The Cable. The article at top was titled, "Al-Bob Found Amid Controversy."
Hitting the institutional archives the next day, I discovered that Abfalter was in fact a student here (long ago). Most mentions of him were respectable enough: cross country team captain, Webster scholar, blah blah blah. Not very interesting.
The puzzle pieces didn't quite line up. As an ace reporter with an incredible sense of intuition, I just knew: there is something wilder going on here.
Scanning the archives and cold calling various alumni, all I could muster were shadowy allusions and hearsay rumors. Students spelunking under campus buildings. Someone rappelling off Tower Hall. Construction equipment mysteriously moving across campus in the middle of the night. The Master Key - as in THE Master Key - simply disappearing.
As best I could tell, all of this happened when Abfalter was a student here. Could this be simple coincidence, or is this guy shadier than we are led to believe?
In 2005, Abfalter disappeared without a trace for a decade. An anonymous source tells me that he spent those years high in the mountains, riding llamas, studying Eastern philosophy, and working through his disappointment that he was born too late to attend Woodstock.
Fast-forward to August of 2015. Through some ineffable series of events, Abfalter returns to Duluth and is hired by the college.
"It was a tight job market," explains Vice-President of Student Affairs Steve Lyons. "He was the only alumnus to apply for the job."
--
Last week, I sat down for an interview with McNair staff members Rachel Phelps-Horton and Julian Vela.
"Working with Troy is kind of unique," says Phelps-Horton. "At first he seems like a straight-laced administrator. He's always harping on data entry procedures, timely submission of our reports, stuff like that. But then we go to a work conference, and he is the first one out on the reception dance floor, and I'm like whoa."
"I used to work in the corporate world," adds Vela. "So I'm not used to starting a meeting with meditation or talking about my spirit and inner wisdom on a performance review. He's kind of a strange director."
"Julian, do you remember that time when Troy started doing yoga in the middle of our meeting?"
"Yeah, so get this. We're talking about usual meeting stuff - I think plans for the summer program or something - when he just lays down," replies Vela.
"Of course, we were sitting in an open 'talking circle' so he is laying on the floor between us. Then he says its time for shavasana to 'quiet the mental chatter and listen for a heart-felt solution,' or something like that."
"He laid there for about ten minutes," says Phelps-Horton. "I thought he fell asleep."
"I personally don't mind all the meditation and yoga stuff during meetings. I usually just shut my eyes and catch a quick nap," adds Vela with a yawn.
"Troy always 'invites' us to work as 'whole human beings.' So we talk about all sorts of fun things at our one-on-one meetings: cooking, world travel, miniature horses, living off the land," says Phelps-Horton.
"He just sits and listens. Although sometimes I wonder if he is actually listening or do some sort of meditation."
"And then the work day ends," Vela concludes. "He's usually in his office with the door closed when I leave. Who knows what happens next?"
--
Yesterday, I went for walk on the trails behind campus. Despite the spring snows, small bits of green poked through the mud and brown leaves.
On a sunny hillside, I came across Abfalter, hunched near the ground. I said hi and - you know, just out of curiosity - asked what he was up to.
"I'm harvesting wild leeks because I am going to Woodstock tomorrow."
Of course he is.
It is official, Troy Abfalter lives in his own world.
Abfalter playing air guitar at a faculty-staff meeting
No comments:
Post a Comment