The Carriage House bar in New York City -- (59th between 2nd and 3rd. If you hit the East River, you've gone too far...) This little slice of alcoholic paradise is where this somewhat strange nickname was born.
In 2001, after a failure of a stint at a bigger failure of a public relations agency, I decided to shift gears and become a NYC public school teacher. The city was still reeling from the events of 9/11, and I suddenly realized that promoting investment options for big pharma wasn't enough to satisfy me professionally.
(Working for a fake, name dropping socialite and a frigid bobblehead with the personality of drywall didn't make leaving any more difficult, either...but I digress...)
At the time, I spent a good amount of my waking hours at this little Irish pub in midtown. It was perfect. Soon after befriending the staff and becoming a regular, the owner's wife decided one night that it would be better to start calling me "Professor..." I mean, I was a teacher and all...but the name "Professor" just sounded so much better with an Irish brogue. It stuck.
In 2011, a full nine years later, I am no longer in New York City. I no longer frequent the Carriage House (though we are all in regular contact). And I am no longer a teacher. But the name remains. Today, friends and colleagues from far and wide have taken to calling me this, though very few really know why. I love the nickname, regardless of how appropriate is now...or ever really was. I'm no academic, but for some reason, it just fits.
Caroline from the Carriage House had no idea what she was doing when she started calling me "Prof" all those years ago. And I can't thank her enough for it.
