Who was Mr. Clyde?

The most common questions readers have asked me about my book are : “Who was Mr. Clyde? Why didn’t you give his real name?”

One person wanted to know if he was a real person; someone else asked if he was one person or a combination of people. Yes, he was real. And yes, he was just one man. And, finally, yes, he wrote lousy poetry and played the guitar -- at a place called the Garage Door. If you really want to know his name, check out the notes at the end of my book. Follow up with the articles in the News Record, The New York Times or the Post-Times Star. You won’t miss him. I tried to contact Mr. Clyde while writing the book. I wanted to hear his side of the story; I wanted to see if he had changed; I wanted an apology; I wanted permission to use his name. I used every search engine possible and queried the university. It was like he had fallen off the map. Knowing him as I did, I was certain he would give me permission. He bathed in publicity. When his antics at the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra were reported in the New York Times, he was thrilled. I knew he had children. He was separated from his wife and a small child was still with her. There were campus rumors that he had a daughter at the university, but that was probably just urban legend. Nobody on our staff had ever met her. Since I could not get his side of the story, I was only able to tell my side. It was, as most of you know, rather negative. I considered his Jesus remark blasphemous. I also believed he was a Pied Piper. As an aspiring teacher, I felt his grading policy to be unprofessional. I did not want his children to feel the shame of his tale. So, I felt it best to use a pseudonym. A few days before my book was finally presented to the publisher, Bruce Rheins contacted me. Bruce had read my document and written the foreword. Bruce had contacts I did not have. He was able to “find” Mr. Clyde. Mr. Clyde had died about 10 years before I began writing my memoir. At the time of his death, he was no longer teaching and had moved back to Texas. Apparently, he claimed that he had hidden Abby Hoffman in his attic at one time! He also claimed that he had been fired from every teaching position he ever had. Should I have named him? Many writers would probably have done so. I just kept thinking of those young people—now adults—and wondering: Are they good people? Are they Christians? I put myself in their shoes. I also thought that he had received enough publicity. Why give him more? Why make him a martyr?