As January 2002 drew ever closer to closure, Matt was in a state of utter panic. His final paper for Applied Ethics, which he hoped would be an eloquent defense of the eating of handicapped Irish babies, was still far from completed. He was stuck in the middle of a logical conundrum on the appropriate gravy to be served with the dish, and could find no solution in sight.
It was approaching 3 a.m., but Matt knew he could depend on the help of his trusted preceptor, Mitch. Mitch was like an older brother to Matt, only Mitch doled out wisdom in lieu of noogies. The man was almost painfully brilliant and dashingly handsome. Every guy he met wanted to be Mitch, and every woman he met wanted to sleep with him. In short, Mitch was the typical Princeton graduate student. Though he spent his days crafting philosophical treatises of weighty historical import and his nights in the company of an endless stream of jaw-droppingly beautiful companions, Mitch always found time for Matt when the junior was in trouble, be it academic or otherwise.
Always, that is, until the one night when Matt needed him most. Mitch lived about 20 minutes away from campus in Lawrenceville, having been driven from Princeton by the lack of university housing for graduate students. Or so Matt believed when he called him that fateful early morn.
"Hi, is Mitch there?"
"Sorry, kid. Mitch doesn't live here anymore."
"Huh? Is this Biff, Mitch's gruff but ever-loyal roommate?"
"Well, it's Biff, kid, but the loyalty has run out. Mitch couldn't meet the rent on his meager stipend, what with the local real estate market the way it is. Rents have gone through the roof since the University started admitting ever-larger numbers of grad students each year without increasing the capacity of the University housing available to them. I had to kick old Mitchie out."
"How could you?"
"Don't blame me, kid. Blame Princeton. As GSG press secretary Karthick Ramakrishnan said in a 'Prince' article a little more than a year ago, 'It is inhumane for the University to expect students earning $10,000 a year to spend $800 a month on housing.' "
"Where is Mitch now?"
"Don't know. He isn't in University housing, though, I can tell you that."
Despondent, Matt wondered out into the streets of Princeton. A Wa Boli might have calmed his frazzled nerves, but it had been at least a year since anyone had seen such a savory treat within the boundaries of the borough. As he came to realize that he would be spending another night chowing down on an Italian Shortie, Matt nearly tripped over a huddled figure leaning against the side of the Wa.
The man was half asleep, curled into something resembling an upright fetal position under his layers of stained and stinking rags. At first, Matt was shocked. If he wanted to go to school in a town filled with the homeless, he would have attended the University of Calcutta or Yale. Intrigued, Matt stared at this unusual presence for a moment. A frayed knit cap covered the pauper's unwashed hair, as the unmistakable stare of a once-proud, now-broken man could just barely be seen below. He was holding a cardboard sign, whose hastily scrawled message Matt could make out only when he dared to inch closer: "Willing to pursue the greatest good for the greatest number for food."
"Mitch!" Matt cried, half in tears for his fallen idol, half in jubilation that he would finally be freed from his philosophical block. "Thank goodness I've found you. You've got to help me with this one problem in my paper."
"Cough," Mitch coughed. "Cough."
Quite obviously, the cold and the hunger had robbed the former star graduate student of his senses. Matt was heartbroken for his dear mentor, but remembered the lessons Mitch had taught him in days of yore, and quickly deliberated as to what course of action would maximize the general utility. Mitch clearly needed nothing more than to be put out of his misery. Matt, for his part, was still quite hungry, and was growing tired of the post-Boli offerings at the Wa. So with unparalleled moral courage and a dignity becoming the solemn occasion, Matt mournfully killed and ate his beloved preceptor. The term paper defending this noble act would have received an A, but no one was left to grade it. Michael Frazer is a politics graduate student from Riverdale, N.Y. He can be reached at mfrazer@princeton.edu.
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