Even Joseph of Genesis and "Dreamcoat" fame might misinterpret last night's nightmarish dream. I was back in my Kingsbury Hall office (I retired in 1990) when a fistful of foragers brazenly broke in, scattered my paperwork and pillaged my desk.
When their conduct worsened, I escaped — ostensibly to buy supplies, but actually to seek police protection.
Upon my return, my handful of looters had grown to hundreds who'd spilled out campuswide. Buildings were in shambles. The stadium had floated onto the quadrangle. I found flaming buildings and grotesque mirrors distorting many once-stately structures. From all sides I heard shouted criticism of the regents, the governor, even the U. president, who had carried a feathered drum to Indianapolis, but not a single positive suggestion. A young law student proposed taking the violence to the Supreme Court, but rumors persisted that the chief justice was dead.
About then I awakened.
The campus (whew!) was intact. No butler, no baker, no Joseph — but the air rang with pointless criticism of the pharaoh. How easy to find fault, how difficult to offer meaningful assistance!
Salt Lake City