When Adriana Briscoe's professor accuses her of cheating, she scrambles to save her reputation and her spot on the biology lab's field trip.
Adriana Darielle Mejía Briscoe is an evolutionary biologist and lepidopterist. Her research has been featured in The Los Angeles Times, The Philadelphia Inquirer, U.S. News and World Report, National Geographic, Scientific American, and on public radio. She is a fellow of the American Association for the Advancement of Science and the California Academy of Sciences, and was recently honored with the Distinguished Scientist Award from the Society for the Advancement of Chicanos/Hispanics and Native Americans in Science, the first woman and third person overall to have been given all three of these awards. She is working on her first book, a memoir about butterflies.
This story originally aired on September 6, 2019 in an episode titled “Proving Myself.”
Story Transcript
I’m standing on a mountain, looking at a meadow of alpine tundra with a butterfly net in my hand. I've stopped to look at the flowers at my feet and at the pine trees in the distance and I think, “I could spend the rest of my life catching butterflies.”
Standing in that meadow, I’m so grateful for that moment because, less than a few weeks before, there seemed to be someone with power and a grudge who didn’t want me to be there.
I was a junior in college. I had just started working in a lab, learning new techniques so I could apply to graduate school. But I was also taking too many courses, two in Biology, two in Philosophy, and one in Physics. Why was I taking so many courses, I don't know. I was young and foolish. But I knew if I passed them at the end of the term, I'd have something amazing to look forward to.
My biology professor, Dr. Watt was taking his entire lab, which included me, to the Rocky Mountains. I had heard the mountains were spectacular so I was excited. It was going to be my first time chasing butterflies in the wild. I couldn’t wait to get out there net in hand.
There was just one thing standing between me and my first paid research gig, and that was passing my five courses.
I wasn’t worried. Actually, I was worried, especially about my Philosophy as Science course. This course was taught by a visiting professor. Let’s call her Dr. H. I was worried about this course because Dr. H seemed angry all of the time. The way she talked down to students in class made me uncomfortable.
I tried talking to Dr. H after class without success. I was pretty sure she didn’t like me, which sucks because I had a paper to write for her.
To finish our final papers, my friend Miranda and I stayed up all night working side by side in the campus-wide computer cluster. The next morning, Miranda finished first. She walked across the room to the printer queue, found her paper, printed it out and left to turn it in.
I stayed for a few more hours and, when I was done, I did the same thing. I walked across the room to the printer queue, I found my title page and text, I printed them out, I stapled them together and I left to turn them in. Yes, I was one step closer to the Rocky Mountains.
That weekend, I packed up my dorm and put it away into storage and went to stay with another friend. The next week, I was in lab when Dr. Watt walked in and said, “Dr. H just called and wants to speak to you.”
I thought, “Oh, my gosh. This can’t be good.”
I excused myself and started running to her office. When I arrived, my teaching assistant was sitting in the office with her. Dr. H said, “Just a moment,” and shut the door.
I was standing in the hallway catching my breath, wondering what this was about. The door opened, I walked in.
Dr. H handed me my paper and Miranda’s paper and said, “How do you explain this?”
I looked at both papers and felt myself flush with embarrassment. They were identical, except for the cover page.
I said, “That’s not my paper. I must have printed out a copy of Miranda’s paper by mistake.”
And she said, “I don't buy your story.”
I said, “Please, let me go find my floppy disk with the copy of my paper on it and give it to you.”
And she said, “I don't want to look at it. I don't want to have anything to do with it. I’m handing this whole matter over to the Judicial Affairs Office.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and so I ran out of her office across campus to my friend’s dorm room where I was staying and looked for my floppy disk, a piece of technology that doesn’t even exist anymore. And I couldn’t find it.
To make matters worse, the rest of my things were packed away for the summer in a dorm called the Enchanted Broccoli Forest. I had to go find someone in the Enchanted Broccoli Forest with a key to open up the storage room where my things were held. And when they opened it, I tore through my boxes and there was no floppy disk.
I could see the Rocky Mountains slipping away from me. I needed to calm myself down and think. Where else could I have put it? What if I threw it away?
So I went behind the dorm and jumped into the dumpster. I was that committed. I was going to go to the Rocky Mountains. But I didn’t find my floppy disk and ended up smelling and feeling like trash.
I was in tears at this point, out of ideas so I called home. My father answered the phone. He's not always the most patient of men.
He listened to me tell him that I had turned in Miranda’s paper as my own and yelled, “Adriana, you have screwed up.”
I got off the phone as quickly as I could, feeling abandoned and alone like the screw-up my father said I was.
I was hysterical. I decided to walk to Dr. Watt’s lab and tell him what I had done and I ask him what I should do.
When I arrived, he took one look at me and said, “I already know what happened because Dr. H called me.” And, apparently, all my other professors too.
When I heard this, I was mortified. I wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. I was convinced there was no way I was going to graduate school. My reputation was ruined. My career was over.
And he said, “But I believe you. I know you wouldn’t do something like this intentionally.”
And hearing those words, for the first time since my nightmare began, I felt grateful and relieved. It was so nice being believed.
Later that evening, even though I looked there a million times before, I looked in my backpack and found my floppy disk. I was delighted.
I called Miranda and Dr. H and arranged to meet them in Dr. H’s office the next day. I told myself, “Everything is going to be fine.”
I went to sleep exhausted but optimistic.
The next day, Dr. H didn’t show up. After waiting in front of her office for two hours, Miranda and I asked the department secretary to call her. And when Dr. H answered the phone she said, “I have decided to turn the whole matter over to the Judicial Affairs Office anyway.”
She hadn’t bothered telling anyone she wasn’t coming in. That’s how little she thought of me.
The next day, I turned in my floppy disk to the Judicial Affairs Officer who examined the text, the dates, and the time stamps. A few days later, Dr. H agreed to grade my paper. I got it back with an A together with a stern letter of warning from the Judicial Affairs officer.
Here’s what Dr. H said about my paper. “This is quite a good analysis. You've elaborated and clarified an important point made in class, unfolded it into a coherent, well-written, sensible essay. Too bad it was such a hassle getting it to me.”
That summer, I collected butterflies for the first time as a member of Dr. Watt’s lab, butterflies which I continue to study nearly thirty years later and which fly freely in my greenhouse today.
I’m a professor and I get to teach people how marvelous butterflies are, how they sail through rainforests, navigate long distances and are critical indicators of the state of our environment. And when I think back to that alpine meadow and what it took to get me there, I know the most important lesson I learned that summer was the emotional support and confidence I received from a professor was more important than any grade. I strive to do that now with my students. Thank you.