ABSTRACT
As a young doctoral student in Texas some three decades ago, I longed for the time when I would enter the “academic world.” My first real experience with the academic community occurred when my professor invited me to attend with him the yearly meeting of the American Historical Association. Here, I reasoned, would be an opportunity to meet some of those luminaries I knew only by their writings. In particular I was eager to meet a famous U.S. historian of Argentina, Arthur P. Whitaker. After all, Argentina was a subject close to my heart since my mother had been born in Buenos Aires and I also had been doing research on the Peronista movement. I asked my mentor to introduce me to Professor Whitaker as soon as he could. The second day of the meeting we were lucky to find Professor Whitaker and I was duly introduced as one of Don Worcester’s finest doctoral students in Latin American history. To my surprise, Professor Whitaker hardly said hello and instead continued talking to other colleagues.
