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Morris sips his bourbon (as we are told again) and talks of the book he is about to write. Being gregarious where Faulkner was aloof, Conaway writes, "Morris quickly established himself as a presence in Oxford." He "auditioned the bartenders around town" and picked his favorite. His classes were bizarre but popular. They are no longer sponsored by the English department, though its head says, "The publicity he has brought the university could not be purchased at any price." Some on the faculty thought him a prima donna. Morris counters: "They hate writers." The director of the journalism department, a friend, calls Morris "a major asset. He draws famous people to conferences."
Morris is going on sabbatical to write his book, which in alternate chapters will contrast the Southern experiences of himself, "a middle-aging man, and a 19-year-old black athlete," Marcus Dupree, a University of Oklahoma football star who comes from Mississippi. Morris "invites a reporter to have a final drink at the is Inn" with waiting friends, who have a head start. The bar is noisy with "Morris on a 6-ft. video screen, but then comes a pause. "Morris turns to the reporter and says, 'I'm talking to my friends, and you're taking notes . . . I'm just a writer. I'm trying to write a book, and I'm scared.' " A local insurance man "invites the reporter to step into the back room. 'I'm 'a do you a favor,' he says. 'Willie's not himself tonight, he don't feel like talking.'" The article's final paragraph is "Morris does not look up as the reporter leaves."
It was as if Morris had let the reporter down, this reporter who gives the impression of having come to ingratiate and had stayed to harpoon. The real question is why, a paper like the Washington Post should publish across two pages, full columns in all, a long and wounding hatchet job. Ben Bradlee, executive editor of the Post, says, "I thought it was an incisive, good piece."