Age 18, June 1968, post-graduation

the unpaid bill
 

Famous baseball player Yogi Berra once exclaimed that it is never over till it's over.  Sage advice.  I had assumed the Senior Prom was the concluding event of my high school career, but I was wrong.  On a Monday night two days after the Prom, my mother met me at the door when I came home from work at the grocery store.  I knew she was upset by the expression on her face.  When I asked what was wrong, she handed me a bill from St. John's bill.  $350. 

I turned white.  $350 was a lot of money back in those days ($3,000 in 2020 modern-day terms).  With a sense of dread, I asked, "Is this bill what I think it is?"

My mother nodded silently.  Although my scholarship spared the burden of tuition, my mother was responsible for schoolbooks and lunch meals.  Frowning, I asked, "Mom, when was the last time you paid this bill?"

"October."

I was completely taken aback.  We had barely spoken the entire past year in the House of Horror, also known as Little Mexico.  Consequently I had no idea my mother had not been paying this bill.  Obviously she had ignored the bill ever since my father stopped paying child support back in October.  I knew Mom was broke, but I didn't know she was this broke.  Sensing the seriousness of the moment, I asked, "Did they threaten you?"

My mother winced.  "Of course they did, Richard.  All the time.  In fact, two weeks ago some nasty man on the telephone had the nerve to warn me you would not be allowed to participate in the graduation ceremony.  He was so harsh, it sounded like he was serious."

I gasped in alarm.  "What did you just say?"

My mother averted her glance.  She was too embarrassed to look at me.  "The man on the phone assured me you would not be allowed to graduate with your classmates unless the bill was paid in full prior to the ceremony.  He insisted this was not a bluff."

When my mother said this, I became incensed.  Considering my mother had no idea whether the man was bluffing or serious, she should have at least warned me so I too could evaluate the threat.  Is my mother incapable of doing anything right?  As it stood, I had participated in the ceremony blind-folded to the possibility of being removed by a security guard.  Holding my temper in check as best I could, I replied, "But, Mom, I did participate.  No one said a word to me."

"I know," she replied.  "I took a gamble the bill collector was just bluffing."

Considering my feelings of inferiority, it would be an extinction-level event for some security guard to come over and ask me to leave the premises.  I could just see myself being led away as everyone nodded there goes the Creepy Loser Kid.  This was unacceptable.  Only my idiot mother would take the chance of setting me up for further humiliation without a word of warning.  Livid, I abruptly put the bill in my pocket and stomped upstairs to my room.  The next morning I drove to the SJS business office and cleared the debt using grocery store money.  As I handed over the check, I asked myself who would have the authority to call off the bill collector.  Probably Mr. Salls.  Who else had the right to remove the strongest incentive to force my mother to pay up?  Perhaps Mr. Salls had intervened to save me embarrassment at the Graduation Ceremony.  If so, then I should be grateful.  Sad to say, I had graduated assuming Mr. Salls hated me.  He had been gruff when he handed me Ralph O'Connor's phone number, angry but silent during the gym equipment interrogation in his office, and curt at graduation.  Assuming he carried a grudge over cheating on the German test, Mr. Salls had every right to be disgusted.

With a deep appreciation for irony, I had a grim smile as I left the office.  They say be careful what you wish for.  I had longed for some way to be special at my school.  Today I had gotten my wish.  I was probably the only student in SJS history to clear the final bill out of his own pocket in order to graduate.  This curious moment served as the perfect bittersweet ending to High School Hell. 

My ignoble status as the poor kid who did not belong at a rich kid's school would haunt me for years to come.  I doubted I would be missed.  Who could blame them?  Tormenting Mr. Salls and Mr. Murphy with one irritating headache after another, no doubt I had worn out my welcome. 

However, when Mr. Murphy berated me for my 'glaring absence of gratitude' during Murphy's Curse, he was wrong about me.  Underneath my miserable exterior, I nursed a burning desire to express my gratitude to the school.  Fortunately Mr. Salls knew me better than Murphy and was able to see I also had a decent side.  Today I had paid my financial debt.  Someday I hoped to repay my immense spiritual debt as well.  Deep down I was as loyal as any student who ever graduated.  I understood the kindness of the SJS faculty was the only reason I survived my difficult childhood relatively intact.  St. John's had given me a fighting chance and I would never forget that as long as I lived.  As I left the premises, the color of my blood would be Red and Black forever.

Following my morning visit to St. John's, I had another appointment.  As I drove to meet my friend Walter Freeman, I was deep in thought.  By my count, I had dodged five bullets during my Senior year.

•  Mr. MacKeith had looked the other way when I was caught out of bounds in the Faculty-only restroom.

•  Mr. Salls had looked the other way when I was caught cheating.

•  Coach Lee had looked the other way when I was caught stealing.

•  Mr. Murphy was determined to suspend me, maybe even expel me, but had mysteriously failed to follow through.

•  Someone had looked the other way to allow me to graduate despite my mother's enormous debt.

What was the meaning of all this?  Something did not add up.   I suppose if I had given this train of thought more time, I might have solved the Mystery right there.  However I had something more important to attend to.  That morning I had called my friend Walter Freeman to ask if the offer to move into his garage apartment was still good.

Walter was a classmate at St. John's.  I met him when he started SJS in the 7th grade.  Walter had two brothers and three sisters.  All six kids went to St. John's, so they ranked right behind the Ballantynes for the largest family.  His father was a meteorology professor at St. Thomas University.  Walter's family lived comfortably, but they were certainly no competition for the wealthy River Oaks crowd.  For that reason I suspected all six children received half-scholarships.  I also imagine Walter felt some of the same social isolation I did.  Over the years I would meet up with Walter and his brother Jack to play sports on the weekend.  Walter's parents were really nice to me, so I felt welcome in their home.  I had spent a lot of time hanging around their house over the years, but in particular the Freeman home had served as a temporary refuge on days when I needed a safe haven from my problems at Little Mexico.

Recently St. Thomas University had offered Dr. Freeman a house closer to the campus as part of his employment package.  However, since the family would not be moving in until the end of summer, both the house and garage apartment would stay unoccupied for three months.  By offering me the garage apartment for the summer, I could keep an eye on the place.  This was perfect.  The apartment was within walking distance of my grocery store job.  After all the din and racket at Little Mexico, the absolute quiet took some getting used to, but I would try my best.  I took a long breath and grinned.  Gee, what would I do for entertainment without Little Mexico? 

As for my curiosity regarding the unpaid bill, I was so excited about my chance to escape the House of Horror, I forgot all about it.  So why did it take me 40 years to solve the Mystery?  It is tough to solve a Mystery when you don't realize there is a Mystery to solve. 

solving the mystery, first clue

1968: who is Ralph O'Connor?
 

So how did the truth finally come out?  Slowly.

Every year I spent at Johns Hopkins, I got another clue that I was missing something.  As we shall see, the Epic Losing Streak with women that started at St. John's continued at Johns Hopkins.  Due to my miserable luck with women, I decided to take a siesta.  This left me with a lot of free time on my hands. 

Back in high school, I had substituted basketball for dating women.  Now I did the same thing here at Hopkins.  I played at least an hour of basketball five days out of seven as a way to deal with the loneliness and frustration.  Without basketball, I can't imagine how I would have retained my sanity during Freshman year. 

Each afternoon as I laced up my basketball shoes, I would remember when Mrs. Ballantyne once told me she didn't date much in college.  Instead, she played a lot of tennis.  With a grimace, I realized her words were starting to make a lot more sense.  Here I go following in her footsteps again.  My decision not to date in college was one parallel to Maria Ballantyne I would have preferred to avoid, but it is what it is.

Every day I went to play basketball, I was fascinated to note the basketball gym was named for Ralph O'Connor, my Hopkins benefactor.  Every time I passed by his name, I speculated Ralph O'Connor had to be pretty important.  Not only did Johns Hopkins display his name prominently on their sports complex, the school had given me a college scholarship based on his word alone. 

Before entering the gym, I would nod to the name 'Ralph S. O'Connor' emblazoned at the entrance and thank him again for arranging my scholarship to college.  Mr. O'Connor was my hero.

Ralph O'Connor had given me the greatest gift of my life, a college education.  His Act of Kindness affected me greatly because I was a complete stranger to him.  To put things into perspective, my $16,000 scholarship would be worth $135,000 in 2020.  Which is another way of saying this was quite a gesture.  

I often wondered who Ralph O'Connor was.  Why would a stranger give so much money to a kid he did not even know?  He had to be important to get Hopkins to give me a full scholarship on his word alone.  It was not until the Internet came along that I would learn his full biography, but I received a fascinating insight in 1970.

The Hopkins campus newspaper reported a Texas businessman named Ralph O'Connor had used his Hopkins alumni connections and Houston business connections to arrange a lacrosse game between Hopkins and Navy at the then-famous Houston Astrodome. 

At the time, Johns Hopkins was the national lacrosse champion and Navy was their biggest rival.  Mr. O'Connor was quoted in the paper as saying he arranged this game because he wished to popularize the sport in the state of Texas.  Up till now, only Eastern colleges took lacrosse seriously, so O'Connor wished to act as a pioneer. 

The article added that Ralph O'Connor (Johns Hopkins '51) had enlisted his good friend Dr. Denton Cooley (Johns Hopkins '50) to help promote the game.  Dr. Cooley, the eminent heart surgeon, persuaded several fellow heart surgeons to help sponsor the game.  Once Dr. Michael DeBakey, Cooley's famous rival, agreed to help, the funding was secure.  The Big Game was on.

Although I was disappointed when the Navy Midshipmen downed Johns Hopkins 9-6, in the larger scheme of things the game was a huge success.  Co-sponsored by the Texas Heart Association here in Houston, the Hopkins/Navy game attracted over 18,000 fans.  That impressive total set a single-game attendance record for lacrosse that stood for 20 years.  Indeed Mr. O'Connor had accomplished his goal.  The famous 1971 game has been credited with bringing lacrosse to Texas.  However, I was mystified.  Mr. O'Connor was very well-connected.  After all, Cooley and DeBakey were the two most famous doctors in America.  So who is Ralph O'Connor? 

solving the mystery, second clue

1968: Doug and Charles
 

In September of my Freshman year of college I ran into a boy named Doug.  I forget his last name but it may have been Bailey.  Johns Hopkins was not a large school, 2,000 undergraduates, so it was inevitable our paths would cross eventually.  I thought I recognized Doug and I was right.  Doug was a member of the 1966 St. John's graduating class. 

I was in the 1968 Class, so Doug was two years ahead of me at St. John's.  I asked Doug what brought him here to Hopkins.  When he said that Mr. Salls had been extremely influential, I rolled my eyes.  I wondered if Mr. Salls had used the same corny line on Doug he had used on me.  "In my opinion, this school is a perfect match for your talents."

Surprised to discover a fellow St. John's graduate, I asked, "So what do think about Hopkins?"

"Oh, it's okay.  Too bad there aren't any girls here.  I feel like I'm on a deserted island."

Doug definitely got that right.  I was not having any more luck than he did.  Noting how shabbily he was dressed, obviously he took his deserted island metaphor seriously.  My next question was somewhat sarcastic.  "So, Doug, are you planning to look for a girlfriend?" 

"Are you kidding?  At this place?  All I ever do is study.  What else is there to do?"

I nodded.  My sentiments exactly.  We chatted for a moment longer, then Doug said he had to get to class.

Not long after that I ran into a guy named Charles Kuttner.  Charles was a member of the 1967 St. John's graduating class.  Charles was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.  Charles quipped, "Boy, it's getting pretty crowded up here with St. John's Rebels.  Have you seen Doug yet?"

I said yes and we briefly exchanged polite small talk.  I didn't ask Charles about his love life because he hadn't shaved in a month.  He was so grubby, that spoke for itself.  After we parted, I found myself agreeing with Charles.  It was really odd to see two other boys from St. John's here at Johns Hopkins.  Kind of a small world, yes?

Since Doug and Charles were ahead of me at SJS, I did not know them very well.  However I did happen to know they were mediocre athletes.  Total klutzes.  Since St. John's was a small school, every able-bodied boy made an effort to support the school by going out for a sports team.  However, those who had no chance of making a team were required to take the mandatory Physical Education class three times a week.  Charles, Doug, and I had participated in the same daily Phys Ed class for several years.  Another thing I knew was they were not particularly popular.  I knew that because they sat with their respective nerd group during lunch time. 

Here at Hopkins, their appearance was terrible.  Doug and Charles did not shave, they dressed in shabby jeans and tee-shirts, and their hair was longer than mine.  I understood the reason they looked so bad was the absence of women.  Without a single woman in sight, why should these guys care how they looked?  With a frown, I acknowledged the lack of women was a real curse.  Now that I thought of it, why would any boy in his right mind come to this place?   And that's when it hit me.  I would have bet the farm those two boys were here on scholarship just like me.  They had to be!

The only reason for a Texas boy to come all this way would be a scholarship.  Looking at these two guys was like looking in a mirror.  I recalled that back at St. John's, they had been at the bottom of the social totem pole just like me.  We all fit the profile... low self-esteem, never talked to girls, hung out with the eggheads, studied like dogs.  Furthermore, now that Charles and Doug no longer wore the disguise of a St. John's uniform, my instincts told me they didn't come from money either.  For the first time, it occurred to me that they had probably been on scholarship at St. John's like me.

Not for a moment did I believe it was a coincidence that three St. John's boys were here at Johns Hopkins.  I suspected all three of us were in great debt to Ralph O'Connor.  This guy was richer than King Midas.  Who on earth is Ralph O'Connor? 

solving the mystery, third clue

2008-2009: realities of financial aid
 

Now we skip forward 40 years.  As I said previously, it is very tough to solve a mystery when you don't realize there is a mystery to solve.  I had been briefly suspicious 40 years earlier when I learned the threat to have me removed from my Graduation Ceremony over an unpaid SJS bill had been carried through.  I have heard of second chances, but this was the 5th time I had dodged punishment.  Mystified as to they never dropped the boom on me as I deserved, I wondered if I was missing something.  However, I was so relieved to move out of my mother's madhouse that I quickly forgot about it.  Now 40 years later, I became suspicious again. 

I was nearing the end of my 32-year career as owner of Houston's largest dance studio.  For most of my career, money had never been an issue.  One reason was my low rent.  I was the beneficiary of an extremely favorable long-term lease.  Alan and Rosie Kwan had come to Houston to escape the Chinese takeover in Hong Kong in the mid-90's.  They promptly purchased the strip center where my studio resided.  Rosie Kwan was the landlord every tenant dreams of.  However in 2005 Rosie and her husband sold their property to doctors who became the landlord every tenant despises.  After building a small hospital on an adjacent property, they confiscated half my parking lot to service the hospital.  Why they did this baffles me.  Their plastic surgery business operated by day, my dance business operated by night.  There was no reason why we could not have shared the parking lot, but they hired a security guard to shoo people away.  You have no idea how infuriating it was at night to see half the parking lot empty while my students complained they had nowhere to park.  As it stood, I no longer had sufficient parking for all my customers unless the late-comers were willing to walk an extra mile.  It came as no surprise when our attendance tapered off.  So did my income. 

Now that my once profitable business was barely breaking even, the monthly struggle to pay my daughter's $20,000 tuition at Duchesne became a much tougher burden than usual.  There was no way to make ends meet.  I had three choices.  Send Sam to public school, dip into savings or ask for financial aid.  Transferring Sam to public school was unthinkable.  She loved her school too much.  Fortunately Sam only had one more year before college.  I could dip into savings if necessary, but first I considered asking for a half scholarship.  I would explain the change in my business circumstances and ask the school to help with tuition.  So I contacted the school.  All I wanted was a simple interview, but I was told no interview was possible until the mandatory financial aid form was filled out in advance. 

A few days later a thick envelope arrived in the mail.  The moment I saw the size of that envelope, I shook my head in dismay.  It contained a lengthy twelve-page form to fill out.  The length of that form was depressing enough.  It could take up to two days to complete it.  The final straw was the essay part.

•  "Why is the parent unable to pay full tuition at this time?" 
•  "Why does the parent feel this student deserves a scholarship?"

Those questions were worded in a way that would cost me my pride to answer.  Why couldn't they just take my word?  Over the past 13 years, Duchesne had learned I was a reliable, conscientious parent who always paid his bill on time.  Based on my history with the school, I had established a good reputation.  All I wanted was an interview so that I could cordially discuss the problem and see if they thought my problem merited help.  Instead I received this impersonal package in return.  I was disgusted.  There was no way I was going to spend two days filling out these forms.  I wasn't too keen on begging for money in the first place and this mountain of paperwork convinced me this was not an avenue I wished to pursue.  I decided I would rather pay the full $20,000 than go through this ordeal.

solving the mystery, fourth clue

2009: the return of Maria Ballantyne
 

By an odd coincidence, not long after I became suspicious about the way my Hopkins scholarship, my friend Maria Ballantyne decided to pay me a visit. 

I love my story about meeting Mrs. Ballantyne in the parking lot.  It remains the closest thing to a religious experience I have ever had.  It was this event that led to the development of my spiritual side as well as my preoccupation with Fate.

In my heart I was never able to shake the feeling that Mrs. Ballantyne was sent by someone special to put me out of my suffering.  Nor did I believe that 'someone' was a human being.

At the time I believed our meeting had been arranged by a hidden hand.

This belief became the foundation of my belief in God as well as Fate. 

In January 2009 I received a request from Dr. Christie Ballantyne for private lessons.  Christie graduated three years behind me at SJS.  I gave a series of Swing lessons to Christie and Yasmine as well as his sister Katina and her husband Gil Jackson.

One night I had a surprise guest.  Gil and Katina could not make the lesson, but Mrs. Ballantyne decided to tag along with Christie and Yasmine to say hello.  Seeing the look of surprise on my face, Mrs. Ballantyne had the biggest grin on her face.  Recovering quickly, I exclaimed how happy I was to see her and gave her a big hug. 

I have a theory about that evening.  Mrs. Ballantyne watched me like a hawk as I spent the next hour teaching Christie and Yasmine.  During that time, I think all sorts of St. John's memories related to our 1968 parking lot meeting passed through her mind.  I say this because Mrs. Ballantyne was practically bubbling over with things to tell me. 

Meanwhile I could hardly wait to talk to my illustrious guest.  Towards the end of the lesson I asked Christie and Yasmine to practice on their own so I could go chat with Mrs. Ballantyne.  As I sat next to her on the couch, Mrs. Ballantyne reached for my hand.  There was a definite fondness between us. 

Now we began to chat.  Or should I say Mrs. Ballantyne began to chat?  She always did 98% of the talking.  Mrs. Ballantyne immediately brought up the issue of Katina's Jones Scholarship.  She repeated exactly what she had told me forty years earlier.  Mrs. Ballantyne said she was constantly scrounging for any financial aid assistance she could find to help make ends meet.  It was hard to explain to people who looked at her beautiful River Oaks home that her family was strapped for cash.  She added the task of sending seven children to expensive private schools and colleges was overwhelming. 

She was so apologetic, I swear I wanted to hug her!  I said, "Good grief, Mrs. Ballantyne, what are you worried about?  You cleared this up in the parking lot 40 years ago.  You had seven children and money was tight.  Without scholarships, your children had no way to attend St. John's and then college." 

Then I added how I had recently run into a similar 'money's tight' situation with my daughter Sam's expensive tuition at Duchesne.  "Now that I am in the same position as you, everything you told me in the parking lot makes complete sense."

Mrs. Ballantyne smiled and said she was grateful I understood.  She was such a sweetheart!  Although I had never said a word about it, I think she had guessed how upset I had been at the time when her daughter got the award instead of me.  Now Mrs. Ballantyne began to reminisce about the St. John's years.  She started by saying, "Back in the old days I knew you without knowing you".  She was referring to the 4th and 5th Grade when my locker was next to the Commons Room where she met her friends for afternoon tea and coffee.  I had been so fascinated with Mrs. Ballantyne's outsized personality that I would stop and stare at her like she was a movie star.  Apparently my hero worship had not gone unnoticed.  Mrs. Ballantyne said she occasionally noticed a young boy who always seemed to be studying her from a corner of the room.

"Was that you, Rick?"

Turning red, I sheepishly admitted it was.  I was embarrassed.  I had not realized I had been that obvious, but then I guess kids always think they are a lot sneakier than they turn out to be.  I should have known better.  I don't think Mrs. Ballantyne ever missed a thing. 

Mrs. Ballantyne continued.  "When I was trying to place where I knew you from there in the parking lot, I did not realize you were the same person as my secret admirer from long ago.  However, when I got home that night I put two and two together and wondered if you were the same boy.  What I did know is that I felt very drawn to you in the parking lot.  That might explain why there was such an immediate depth to our conversation."

"Did you ever wonder why I watched you all the time?"

"I have a hunch, but why don't you tell me?"

"I was a little boy, 10 years old.  My parents had just gotten a divorce and my mother fell to pieces.  She went off the deep end and married this guy who had just gotten out of prison.  He was a horrible man.  He drank heavily and beat my mother.  I was an only child and I was scared to death by my mother's instability.  When I saw you, I wished fervently I could have a mother like you instead of her."

Mrs. Ballantyne smiled, but did not comment, probably to spare my feelings.  What I wanted to add was why I thought it was remarkable that of all the people in the world to come to my rescue during my Senior year crisis, it was her.  However, that was just way too personal, so I stopped there.  When I failed to continue, Mrs. Ballantyne resumed talking.

"Over the years, I liked to look and see if my secret admirer was anywhere around.  I never knew your name or what grade you were in, but I knew that some unknown boy liked to watch me.  However, like I said, I did not realize until after our parking lot talk was finished that you were probably the same person.  That got me thinking tonight.  I seem to recall there was a high school boy who never failed to glance at me in the hallway.  Was that you?"

For the second time I turned red with embarrassment.  I was stunned to discover Mrs. Ballantyne had noticed how my interest in her had continued into high school.  Every now we would pass each other in the hallway going in the opposite direction.  I would glance at her in an effort to draw eye contact, but not once did she acknowledge me.  Now for the first time I realized she had noticed.  I was impressed.  Mrs. Ballantyne had quite a poker face.

"When you passed me in the hallway during high school, I never realized you were the same boy who had watched me in the Commons Room.  But I did notice you.  Although I did not know anything about you, I could tell you were in pain.  I could see it in your sad face.  I suppose that is how I finally recognized you in the parking lot.  I was certain I knew you from somewhere.  When you told me in the parking lot about feeling like an outsider looking in at St. John's, you reminded me so much of my own difficulties growing up.  I had great compassion for you because I too led a secluded and stressful life as a teenager."   

With her next comment, Mrs. Ballantyne flipped my world upside down with astonishment. 

"I can still remember the day I asked my friend Charlie what he knew about you."

My ears perked up.  "My friend Charlie..."  Oh my God!  Did I really hear what I thought I had heard?  "Charlie" was the name Mr. Salls went by with his friends.  

"Not long after I ran into you at Weingarten's, Charlie and I were sitting in my living room.  I don't remember why, but he may have dropped by to pick up his daughter Elissa who was best friends with my daughter Marina.  I decided to ask him about you."

My eyes grew even wider.  Her living room?  I had suspected that Mrs. Ballantyne and Mr. Salls knew each other pretty well, but I had no idea they were this close.  This was quite a revelation.  My heart began thumping so hard it nearly popped out of my chest. 

"As we sat on the couch, Charlie told me that you were an excellent student.  Then he added that he often worried about you.  He explained your history at the school to me, then remarked that he had heard from one of your teachers that your home situation was pretty miserable."

I had no idea that Mr. Salls had taken an interest in me.  I had assumed he had been furious with me throughout my Senior year.  In fact, on Graduation Night, I was convinced he hated me.  Now I was starting to wonder if I had misjudged him. 

Mrs. Ballantyne spoke very warmly about Mr. Salls.  I listened with fascination as Mrs. Ballantyne described her friend to me.  Although Mr. Salls passed away in 1985, she still carried a real fondness for the man.  

Mrs. Ballantyne called "Charlie" a "softy" and marveled at "how down to earth he was".  Mr. Salls seemed like such a stern man to me.  I was certainly scared to death of him.  However, when Mrs. Ballantyne spoke, she revealed a warm side to my Headmaster that I was never privileged to see. 

With that gruff, gravely voice and that fierce demeanor, Mr. Salls seemed pretty tough on the outside.  However, Mrs. Ballantyne knew Mr. Salls as a kind man who deeply cared about his school and took his responsibilities to his students seriously. 

I had to laugh.  Who would have ever guessed Mr. Salls was a softy!  However I already knew he was "down to earth" from my own observation.  There was nothing phony about Mr. Salls.  For that matter, "down to earth" was the same phrase I often used to describe Mrs. Ballantyne.  That probably explains why the two of them got along so well.  They were the unpretentious ones in a world of wealthy, self-absorbed people.  Given their humble origins, it was only natural they would be drawn to one another.  But how did they discover their similar background?  Very odd.

I marveled at the things Mrs. Ballantyne told me during our conversation.  This was the first time anyone had ever said a word to me about the man behind the mask.  I wondered why it had taken me 40 years to discover Mr. Salls did not hate me after all.  

Perhaps this would be a good moment to add that Kim Salls Jr, son of Mr. Salls, contacted me in 2015.  In addition to sharing intimate details of his father's difficult childhood, he confirmed everything Mrs. Ballantyne told me during our 2009 meeting.  I was amazed when Kim pointed out how Mr. Salls, an only child who lost his father and worked after-school jobs to help his struggling mother, regarded his Harvard scholarship as the luckiest break of his life.  Coincidentally that was the same thing Mrs. Ballantyne had said about her own scholarship.  It was unnerving to realize how much I had admired Mr. Salls and Mrs. Ballantyne without the slightest idea they had walked the same path as me.  It really is not my place to say for sure, but I often wondered if the three of us shared a spiritual link. 

During my St. John's days, Mr. Salls and Mrs. Ballantyne were Olympic Deities to me, Zeus and Hera sitting on their throne.  Consequently it was difficult for me to visualize them as normal people.  I would have never guessed that Mr. Salls and Mrs. Ballantyne were close friends.  It certainly made sense.  I had seen them side by side many times in the SJS hallways.  In fact, Kim Salls told me the Salls family and Ballantyne family had neighboring beach homes in West Galveston.  Surprise after surprise after surprise.  

Back to the 2009 conversation.  It was time for the biggest bombshell of all.  I listened in stunned silence when Mrs. Ballantyne returned to the subject of the Jones Scholarship.  She mentioned Mr. Salls had spoken to her during the year about giving the Scholarship to Katina. 

"Mr. Salls understood it would be difficult for Katina, the daughter of a prominent physician, to obtain a scholarship due to her father's considerable income.  There was no guarantee Vanderbilt was going to help Katina.  More likely they would insist on loans.  Since Mr. Salls had control over the Jones Scholarship, why not give it to Katina to defray at least some of her expensive college tuition at Vanderbilt?"

Mrs. Ballantyne paused for a second to make sure I was following carefully.  Trust me, I was following carefully.  Nor was I breathing as she revisited an ancient wound.

"Mr. Salls was certainly quite the mastermind.  He made sure everybody was covered! He took care of Katina, he took care of you, and no doubt behind the scenes he took care of many other deserving St. John's students as well."

I froze upon hearing those words.  "He took care of you..."  "You"... meaning 'Me'.  How had Mr. Salls taken care of me?  My mind was spinning. 

Unfortunately, that is where the conversation ended.  Christie and Yasmine had been practicing their Swing patterns.  They had been kind enough to give us 20 to 30 minutes, but now they came over to say it was time to go.  Mrs. Ballantyne and I rose from the couch to say goodbye and give each other a farewell hug.  I watched her leave with a great deal of regret.  Typical Mrs. Ballantyne.  My much-admired friend had just revealed some truly astonishing news only to leave me hanging with a million unanswered questions.

2009: mystery solved

My senior year blind spot
 

After my visit with Mrs. Ballantyne, I thought long and hard about what she said.  Mrs. Ballantyne made it clear that Mr. Salls was far more aware of my home situation than I realized.  That surprised me greatly.  Face to face, over a four-year period Mr. Salls had never once indicated any special interest in me.  That said, Mrs. Ballantyne had suggested Mr. Salls made a point to watch out for me.  If that was the case, then all sorts of things began to make sense for the first time. 

Who let me off the hook when I cheated on my German exam? 

Who let me off the hook when I stole that gym equipment? 

Who gave me the German achievement award despite a serious accusation of cheating on the German test? 

Who allowed me to graduate despite an enormous unpaid bill?

Who kept a pit bull like Mr. Murphy from suspending me despite my continual insolence and disrespect toward him?

Who else could it be?  Who else had that kind of authority?   It had to be Mr. Salls.

Mrs. Ballantyne's words were flashing across my mind in bold letters.

"He took care of you..."

mystery solved: my unknown benefactor
 

Do I have proof?  No, but I have a lot of circumstantial evidence.  I believe each year Mr. Salls would recommend a student.  If the student was needy, Mr. O'Connor would turn around and make sure Hopkins would handle the tuition.  Mr. Salls and Mr. O'Connor had probably done this with Doug in 1966 and with Charles in 1967.  So who would their candidate be for 1968?  I imagine Mr. Salls already knew I was in precarious financial trouble before my Senior year even started.  Surely he picked up the phone and called his good friend Ralph O'Connor.  I imagine the conversation went something like this...

"Listen, Ralph, I have a very good student who is perfect for your school.  This young man has been with us for nine years and I know him well.  He has good grades, good SAT scores, and studies hard.  I am positive he can handle the academics at Hopkins.

In addition, this boy works his tail off.  I have information from Ed Curran, one of our teachers here, that this young man is really worried about college finances.  In fact, he has been working a grocery job after school for the past two and a half years due to trouble at home.  In all my time at St. John's, I have never heard of a student going to these lengths.

Confidentially, this boy has the most screwed up parents of any student we have ever had at this school.  There is no way this boy can afford to go to your school without a scholarship.  Do you think you can help him?"

Now that my veils of confusion had parted, I believed that Mr. Salls had his fingers all over my scholarship.  Imagine my chagrin to realize it had taken me 40 years to figure this out.  Until now, I never once guessed that Mr. Salls had secretly chosen to solve my financial crisis with help from his generous friend.  I also gained a further appreciation of Ralph O'Connor's clout at Johns Hopkins.  Over the years Mr. O'Connor had donated well over a million dollars to the school.  My guess is the school was more than happy to issue a scholarship to Rick Archer based strictly upon his recommendation.  And now we know the full story of how a Simple Act of Kindness handed to me by these two men changed my life. 

Can you imagine someone giving you a college scholarship and not having the slightest idea?  Without Mrs. Ballantyne's help, I would have never guessed Mr. Salls was my unknown benefactor.  Thankfully I was finally able to realize my great debt to Mr. Salls.  If I had been given the opportunity to speak to him before he passed away in 1985, I would have told Mr. Salls that I too became a Headmaster.  It might take some imagination to compare my situation to his, but the day would come when 1,400 students per week would pass through the doors of my studio and I would employ a staff of nearly 100 part-time dance instructors.  You have no idea how many fires I had to put out each week and how many complaints I had to deal with.  Every time I ran into a problem, you guessed it, I would ask myself what Mr. Salls might have said or done.  Mr. Salls was the most skilled educator I have ever had the privilege to know.  It is testimony to the respect I held for him that I used him as my mentor throughout my dance career.

Unfortunately, I learned of my debt 40 years too late to thank him personally.  The moment Mrs. Ballantyne cleared up the 'Mystery', I knew exactly what I wanted to do.  There is a concept known as 'Pay it Forward'.   If you cannot repay the person to whom you owe a great service, then extend that favor forward to someone else.  In addition to Mrs. Ballantyne, Mr. Salls had been the source of great inspiration to me.  Why not share that inspiration with others?

In 2009 I began writing a book dedicated to Charlie Salls and Maria Ballantyne.  I called it A Simple Act of Kindness. 

RICK ARCHER'S LIST OF SUSPECTED SUPERNATURAL EVENTS
 

Suspicious

Cosmic Blindness

Serious

Coincidence

Serious

Suspicious

Suspicious

Serious

Ultra-Serious

Ultra-Serious

Suspicious

Suspicious

Serious