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Diary Entry: October 18, 2024

At 8 a.m., the seminar was already underway. I was nominally embroiled in the finer points of bankruptcy law, presented by a panel of academic luminaries. The room, as expected, was performing its requisite buzz, the audience rapt. Little did they know that my mind and soul were operating on a different clock. All my focus was fixed on 10 a.m., when I was scheduled to make my digital appearance at the JSD seminar.

Today’s topic was “Managerial Judges” — a potent critique of the disturbing pathology, one I observe in my own native Georgia, where judges devolve from arbiters of justice into mere “administrative functionalists.” I had spent the entire night listening to the audio of the article, analyzing it — an indulgence that cost me dearly in the cold Chicago dawn. No matter. I was eager to join.

At 9:50, I gathered my small laptop and notes and executed a quiet retreat. Professor Pigou was holding court across the room, sitting at a separate table flanked by other professors and various “important people,” his gaze fixed intently on the presenters. I was quite certain my exit went unnoticed.

In the hall, I approached the reception desk. My request for the room that had been arranged for me was met with blank stares. After a brief pantomime of explanation — Zoom, seminar, professor — they grasped my need. They could, they said, usher me into an empty room where I could “do my job.” I was grateful.

The “cabinet” they designated for my joinder was, from a viewpoint perspective at least, the most palatial office I have ever inhabited. It was a glass box of staggering opulence, with huge panoramic windows overlooking the entire Chicago skyline, the lake, and everything beautiful about the place. I felt, for a moment, like a senior partner. I half-expected Donald Trump to walk in, seeking my expert counsel on his latest round of bankruptcy debt discharges.

As the time approached 10 a.m., however, nothing appeared on my laptop. No email, no message, no Zoom link. I sat in my throne room, waiting. When nothing happened, I dispatched a volley of emails to the JSD seminar professor, asking, pleading, for the link.

Silence.

Soon, a WhatsApp message buzzed. It was from the very student who had invited me to Chicago. “Where are you?” it read. “Professor Pigou is looking for you.”

I was surprised. I was, after all, sitting in the very room he had designated for this exact purpose. But as the minutes stretched on and my inbox remained empty, the truth settled. I was not going to join the seminar today. I picked up my little laptop, abandoned my panoramic view, and went back to the conference room.

As I approached, I nearly collided with Professor Pigou himself. He was just outside the door, moving fast, his head held slightly up, clearly out looking for something — or someone.

He stopped short when he saw me. “Leo, where have you been?”

“I was trying to join the JSD seminar,” I explained. “But I couldn’t. The professor never sent the link.”

He looked at me, his gaze unreadable, and delivered that powerful, minimalist reply.

“Sure.”

And with that, we went back into the bankruptcy seminar.