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PAY IT
FORWARD
CHAPTER THREE:
intervention
Written by Rick
Archer
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SENIOR YEAR
CRISIS
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 20,
1968, Age 18, 12th Grade
ASTONISHMENT
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I was drowning and
there was no one to save me.
Sure, there were people I could have
talked to, but then I would have to
confess how I cheated on the German test
and let them see how stupid I had been.
Tough to win sympathy when you have no
one to blame but yourself.
I was carrying around a considerable
amount of shame and self-hatred.
Unwilling to reveal what a fool I had
been, I avoided my teachers. I
refused to say a word to anyone and kept
the lowest profile possible. To be
honest, no one had the slightest idea
that I was trapped in this gloomy
dungeon.
I was mired in the
most serious crisis of my life and I had
no idea how to stop this free-fall.
In my lowest moments, usually in bed at
night, scary thoughts of suicide would
float through my mind and I could not
seem to stop them. Then one night
I felt Terry lick my face.
I looked over at
Terry and he had such a worried look on
his face. I pulled him close and
started to feel better. From that
point on, whenever I got scared, I would
bring Terry close. He pulled me
through the worst nights. I was
very depressed. One more bad break
is all it would take for the yawning
Abyss to claim its next victim. One step from the brink,
nothing could save me now.
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It was Wednesday,
March 20. Six days had passed since
the newspaper announced Katina's triumph.
I was a beaten kid. All fight was
gone. Exhausted and barely
able to function, over the past week I
had somehow forced myself to carry on.
Every day was a blur. I spoke to no
one unless I had to. At 4 pm I walked
into my grocery store. After emptying
the trash, I took my post at a register
prepared to sack groceries for the next
customer.
Fifteen minutes after
I arrived I noticed a woman walk into the
store. I did a double-take. Was
that Mrs. Ballantyne? No, it couldn't
be. I had worked here for nearly three
years. Not once had I seen Mrs.
Ballantyne in here. But it sure looked
like her. Sad to say, I was so
confused, I was not sure I could trust what
I saw. My reality-testing equipment
was so shaky, for a moment there I actually
thought I was seeing things. However,
as the woman drew closer, there was no doubt
about it. My mouth dropped open in
astonishment as my longtime idol walked
right past me to grab a grocery cart.
The arrival of Maria
Ballantyne at my grocery store was so
shocking that I temporarily snapped out of
my funk. Was Mrs. Ballantyne here to
see me? No. She had walked right
past me as if I was invisible. Nary a
glance. I was very disappointed to
realize she had no idea who I was.
Did I have the sense
to greet her? For goodness sake, I had
wanted to speak to this woman for nine years
just to see what she like. Here was my
chance. Alas, the cat got my tongue.
Why didn't I say something? Because I
was mad at her. Strangely enough the
one thing that had kept me going this past
week was my outrage
towards Mrs. Ballantyne for helping her
daughter steal my Jones Scholarship. For nine years, she had been
my nominee for the most talented mother in
my school. But now I hated her guts.
It's the oldest story in the book. The rich get
rich while the poor kid gets the shaft.
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Truthfully, it was my
own fault. However a diseased mind has
great trouble accepting full responsibility.
Sure, I had opened the door by cheating, but I was
also
certain Mrs. Ballantyne's considerable
influence had something to do with her
daughter's good fortune. After
watching her guide the Mother's Guild group
for nine years, I concluded long ago
that Mrs. Ballantyne could be very
persuasive.
Not a week went by when I did not see her speak with Mr. Salls in the
Commons Room or walk with him side by side
in the hallway. It was obvious the two
were buddies. Which made
perfect sense. Credit Mrs.
Ballantyne for raising seven of the finest
students in the school. If Mr. Salls
was going to do someone a favor, who better
than Maria Ballantyne?
Fortunately I had
modified my thinking in the last couple days. I
no longer thought that Mrs. B had 'stolen'
my scholarship. A mother has every right to
help her children succeed in life. I just
wished I had a mother capable of similar
accomplishments.
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So what was Mrs.
Ballantyne doing here? With seven mouths
to feed, more than likely she had
noticed my store on her way home.
Although my store was nowhere near her
house, I suppose it was as good as any
in a pinch. I watched as she
pulled out two empty carts, then head
towards the Produce section.
Assuming I would see her again when she
checked out, I got back to work.
Given that Mrs. B been
prominent in my thoughts after the Jones
Scholarship disappointment, her sudden
and quite unexpected appearance was
beyond weird.
There
was no
way Mrs. Ballantyne could have known she
was my secret nominee for best mother in
the school.
Chalking up the
considerable achievements of her gifted
children to her skill as a parent, I had
long admired this woman. To my
surprise, that was the predominant thought
in my mind right now. As usual
whenever I saw her, the ancient lament began
playing in my mind. God only knows
what I could have accomplished at St. John's
if I had a mother like her.
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Instead I had turned
into a complete loser. My mother
favored the Mexicans over me. My
father favored his other two children over
me. But the thought of letting
Mr. Salls down was at the center of my
collapse.
Given that Mr. Salls knew me better than my
own parents, he was in a
position to judge my character. The
verdict was in and he had found I lacked
integrity. By denying me that
scholarship, my status as a rotten kid had been affirmed by the most important man in
the school. The resulting despair
ate me alive.
Oh well, there was nothing I could do about
it now. What is done is done.
Another year stuck at Little
Mexico was exactly what I deserved for being
an idiot. All that work down
the drain and it was my own fault for being
stupid!
My thoughts returned
to Mrs. Ballantyne. She
did not know me from Adam.
I had always
wanted to meet her, but there had never been
an opportunity.
Too shy to introduce myself, we had
never spoken. Nor had we shared a
glance. Not once in nine years had
I caught her eye. However, today I had
my chance. Desperate to ask
Mrs. Ballantyne how a rich girl
like Katina had won the scholarship, I
conspired to speak to her. When I
explained to the other boys who sacked
groceries that I knew this lady from school,
they were glad to cooperate. When Mrs.
Ballantyne was finished collecting her
groceries, all I had to do was move to
whatever checkout counter she chose. I
smiled when she showed up pulling up two
overflowing carts. She probably spent
half her life feeding all those kids.
As I patiently sacked her mountain of
groceries, not once did she look my way.
Hmm. I guess I am still invisible.
When Mrs.
Ballantyne paid the checkout lady, I
offered to take her
grocery carts outside. To my
relief, she said okay. Despite my
intense depression, I was keenly interested
to see if she would talk to me.
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THE PARKING
LOT CONVERSATION
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My visit to her car
was quiet and uneventful. However
there was one odd feature. I followed
her to farthest corner of the parking lot,
more distant than any customer I had ever helped.
Once I saw her expensive car, I assumed she
had parked here to avoid dents. Good
grief, we were a
football field distance from the store.
There was not another car in sight.
Well, let me take that back. My used VW Beetle
was reasonably close.
Considering her car was twice as big as mine, the
difference spoke volumes about our relative
position on the social totem pole.
Mrs.
Ballantyne
stared into space as I put the groceries in
her trunk. When I finished, she
handed me two quarters, offered a pleasant
smile, then turned
to go. Far too introverted to say
something,
I grabbed the two carts and headed
glumly back to the store.
Just
then I heard her voice. "Young man,
could I speak to you for a moment?"
When I turned
to look, she said,
"Do you
by some chance go to St. John's?"
Stunned, I
stopped in my tracks as if struck by a bullet. It took me a while
to figure it out, but Mrs. Ballantyne had just noticed I
appeared to be wearing the St. John's
uniform. Although she did not
recognize me, she was curious to check out
her hunch. When I answered yes,
that broke the ice. Mrs. B was
obviously proud of herself for guessing right, but then she frowned. By definition,
St. John's students are highly privileged.
So why is this boy working a menial job for
one dollar
an hour?
As I answered her series
of probing questions, Mrs. Ballantyne
quietly reached several
conclusions. One, I was poor.
Two, I was deeply disturbed. Three, I
reminded her of her own difficult childhood.
Yes, believe or not, I was about to discover
this distinguished woman had experienced a
difficult childhood remarkably similar to my
own. I had expected that once Mrs.
Ballantyne satisfied her curiosity, it would be time to go. But I
was wrong.
To my
astonishment, Mrs. Ballantyne leaned back against her car, then
proceeded to tell me how she had faced great hardship as a young girl.
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"This
might come as a surprise to you, but
things were very tough for me back when
I was growing up. Like you, I had
a similar experience of growing up
around wealth even though my own family
was not particularly well off."
Mrs. Ballantyne
told me she had grown up in nearby Galveston, Texas.
Her mother was wonderful, but she died tragically of a
sudden stroke when Maria was 11. Her father went
off the deep end. Breaking his leg
in a car accident shortly after his wife's death, he was
no longer willing to care for his children. He
told his two older sons to get lost and find jobs in Houston.
He farmed his son George, 13, out his brother on the
other side of Galveston island. He bullied his
sister-in-law into taking Maria. Then he disappeared
from sight to feel sorry for himself and do some
drinking while his leg healed. When Maria's father
finally resurfaced, he was too busy gambling and chasing
women to come see his young daughter.
Maria was stunned
by his abandonment (sound familiar?). In a matter of months,
Maria had
lost her mother, her father, and her three brothers. Maria's aunt had problems of her
own.
Fighting to keep her restaurant afloat during the
Depression,
the woman was overwhelmed. She had three children
and was pregnant with a fourth. Feeling orphaned, Maria learned
to keep to herself.
Well aware she was unwanted, the worst
part was being
separated from George, her only friend. The
ensuing year was the toughest of her life. Forced
in many ways to raise herself, she felt abandoned and
totally alone in the world.
I could see why Mrs. Ballantyne
said I reminded her of herself. As I listened to her sad tale, I was
haunted by an air of unreality. Given where
we started in life, realistically neither of us belonged
at St. John's. The odds that either one of us
would end up at St. John's was a long-shot at best.
But for both of us to land in Shangri-La? Don't be
ridiculous. Only Charles
Dickens could get away with writing a coincidence as
far-fetched as this. However, that was not the
only thing on my mind. I was mystified why the
most prestigious woman at my school would take an
interest in a nobody kid like myself. This was a
busy woman. Why waste time on me? Why would she tell her life story to a
complete stranger? Why should she care?
Although I had no clue why she had
opened up to me, I thanked my lucky stars that she had
decided to
befriend me. In Hindsight, I believe Mrs.
Ballantyne was startled to discover a young man from St.
John's whose childhood was just as difficult as her own
had been. Seeing herself in me created an odd
feeling of kinship. Not just that, her difficult
childhood gave her the empathy to sense what I was going
through. I might her skill as a
parent helped her realize the jeopardy I was in. Sympathetic to my plight, I believe Mrs.
Ballantyne had made a snap decision
to
take me under her wing.
I could not help but
wonder how Mrs. Ballantyne had escaped poverty to be
transported to the
idyllic Xanadu of her current life. I
understood the rags, but how did she attain the riches?
Almost as if she could read my mind, Mrs. Ballantyne
shared a deep secret. Mrs.
Ballantyne whispered that a Galveston mobster she barely
knew had
unexpectedly offered to pay her way to college.
She said this ticket out of the poverty trap was the luckiest
break of her life. I hoped she would tell me more,
but that is where she ended her story. Now she
looked me square in the eye to get my attention.
"Rick, as you have
surely guessed, I have told you my story
for a reason. Your unusual
background reminds me very much of my
own childhood. I had it tough.
If it weren't for all sorts of lucky
breaks, I might be waiting tables in a
Greek restaurant or taking
dictation. You sack groceries?
Well, guess what. When I was a
kid, I was no stranger to washing
dishes. But I made it out of
there. If I can overcome
adversity, you can too. In fact,
it looks to me like you are well on your
way. I have been around St.
John's a long time and I have never
heard of a student working a full-time
job after school. Never. St.
John's students have every privilege
imaginable, so I never expected to find
a young man like you earning money for
college. You are definitely one of
a kind. Things are tough for you
right now, but I strongly encourage you to
hang in there. You have too much
going for you to stop now."
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I felt incredibly uplifted by her praise. What
Mrs. B said made sense, so now I understood
why she had shared her tale. Mission
accomplished, I
expected her to leave now. However, to my surprise she
lingered. I am unsure what made her stick around, but my
guess is she sensed how fragile I
was. How do I explain this? Previously I had been totally
numb, but now I was starting to feel again.
That was not necessarily a good thing.
The thawing process allowed my intense pain
to resume haunting
me. My head was spinning and these
hurtful feelings I had suppressed demanded release.
Holding back a mountain of tears, I was
having fits keeping my composure. I was
just about to burst into embarrassing gut-wrenching
sobs when the strangest thing happened.
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"Rick, did
you know my daughter Katina recently won the
Jones Scholarship?"
What!?!
At the mere mention of the Jones Scholarship, a lightning bolt
flashed through me.
Did Mrs. Ballantyne really say
that?!? Was
she rubbing this in my face??
The shock was so
intense my flood of self-pity vanished on the spot. It was
replaced by hot anger as my
eyes grew wide with disbelief.
It was like
she could read my mind. Did Mrs. Ballantyne
know the Jones Scholarship had triggered my
crisis? Unlikely. But even if she did guess,
where did she get the nerve to broach this Forbidden Subject?
I could not believe
Mrs. Ballantyne
had the guts to bring this
dangerous topic
out in the open.
Good grief, I was an unstable teenage boy who
towered over the lady. I was bigger than most
football players, but she never blinked. Stunned by her
boldness, I don't
know what came over me. At first I was furious, but my
rage disappeared when I realized she had not said
this to hurt me.
The anger was replaced by the
strangest feeling that this conversation could not be happening.
Mrs. Ballantyne had just escalated the overall
improbability of this weird conversation into some
sort of distant universe. Convinced this had to be a dream,
Twilight Zone music began playing in my mind.
If this is a dream, when do I start flying?
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Truth be
told, I was too stunned by the 'Totality' of this woman
to be angry anymore.
My mother and father had never spoken directly about problems in
this manner. No one... repeat no one... in my world
had the guts to openly discuss painful, controversial subjects
with me. No one, that is, except Mrs. Ballantyne. She
was apparently fearless.
Even if she had manipulated in some
way to obtain that scholarship for her daughter, I didn't care
anymore.
I did not know what to
make of this woman.
I had never met anyone like her.
It
struck me that this conversation rivaled
UFOs, Nostradamus and alien abduction for weirdness. Shocked that
Mrs. Ballantyne had brought up the Forbidden Subject at the exact
moment I had been thinking about it, I stared at her with a mixture
of confusion and awe.
Was Mrs. Ballantyne from
another Universe?? I pictured her as an omniscient creature who comes to
Earth to tell everyone to calm
down and stop bickering.
Convinced this
perceptive lady had powers I had no explanation for, I simply surrendered. I gave up trying to figure out what was
going on. Instead I began looking around the parking lot for a white flag to
wave.
Mrs. Ballantyne was the most impressive human
being I had ever met. Or maybe she was immortal. I had
the exact same feeling one might have if Zeus or Hera strolled down
from Olympus to say hello.
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At this
point, the Parking Lot Conversation entered a new
stage.
Noting
I was too tongue-tied to respond, Mrs.
Ballantyne launched into an explanation of
how and why Katina won the scholarship. She
began by saying that
although it was true her husband was a
well-paid doctor, much of his time was
spent in research rather than treatment.
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"Rick, people at
St. John's are completely fooled by my
family. My children and I laugh
about it all the time. So many
people think we are rich that it has
become kind of a joke to us. Big
house, fancy neighborhood, huge oak
trees, seven children at an expensive
school. They assume my husband Jay
must be rich as King Midas.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Jay makes a good income, but his pay is
fixed because he works for the
University of Texas.
Jay treats cancer at
MD Anderson and some research as well.
His salary is much lower than surgeons in
private practice. I suppose he could
ask for more, but he had refuses to engage
in self-promotion. Unwilling to
renegotiate his salary, his income is
nowhere near as lucrative as people
think. In many ways, this situation works
against him because it caps his earnings
considerably. Opposed to the kind of
money physicians can make in private
practice, Jay has no obvious way to expand
his cash flow. However, he loves his
job so much he would not dream of leaving.
Despite my
family's
seeming
affluence
and nice home, my husband's salary can only
stretch so far. In other words, there
are degrees of rich. The Ballantyne
finances are strictly budgeted. Money
is very tight at home. If it wasn't
for my brother George, I don't how we would
make ends meet."
Seeing me stare at her with incredulity,
Mrs. Ballantyne laughed in amusement.
"I have seen that
look before and I know what you are
thinking. But I'm serious.
We have everyone fooled.
You may not believe
this, but even my own children think we
are kind of poor.
When my
oldest son Michael first went to St.
John's, he came home convinced he was
the poorest kid at school. He and
I argued all the time, but
Michael
kept saying right up
till the day he graduated that he was
the poorest kid at St. John's. All
his brothers and sisters took his side.
Clearly we are not poor. However,
since everything is relative, it is true
we are out of our league compared to the
wealth of other families at St. John's."
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Although I was too
flustered to speak, at least my mind worked. This was the most
fascinating information I had ever heard. It also made sense.
I
had never considered that even rich
people
have to struggle to make ends
meet. Seeing the incredulous look on my
face, Mrs. Ballantyne decided to drop a bombshell.
"People see our
beautiful house in River Oaks and jump to conclusions.
They have no idea this house was a "welcome-back-to-Houston"
gift from my brother George when Jay got his job at MD Anderson.
Furthermore, this might come as a surprise, but every child in
my family is receiving financial aid. Katina is on
scholarship at St. John's just like you."
What?!? Katina
is on scholarship?
I was dumbfounded.
"Someday
when you become a father and raise children, you will
begin to understand that it is very expensive to give a
child a good education. But you will also remember
your St. John's education and realize that giving a good
education to your child is the most important gift of
all besides love."
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Mrs. Ballantyne paused to let
her words sink in, then continued.
"Yes, my husband is a very successful doctor
with an international reputation, but if people
only knew! Based on my husband's fixed
salary,
it would be impossible
to
simultaneously send
SEVEN children to an
expensive private school like
St. John's without
financial help. Every
one of my children has a partial scholarship."
I could not help but think of
my father. When we had met for lunch
back in December,
he had complained how hard it was to pay full price
to send my half-sister and half-brother to private
school. Given that my father lived in a very
expensive neighborhood, I had assumed he was
sandbagging with plenty of money to spare. Now
I realized he was probably caught in the same money
crunch as the Ballantyne family. Nevertheless,
that was no excuse for breaking his promise to pay
for my college education.
He had six years to save money and the best he do
was $400? Pathetic. I immediately felt
my blood boiling again. No doubt my father was
thrilled to get rid of me. Now maybe he could get
the Mistress off his back.
I could almost read his mind.
"I
am so glad I don't have to pay child support
anymore. Let's give the kid a few hundred
bucks for college and maybe my wife will finally shut
up."
I was about to let my bitterness
take over, but just then
Mrs. Ballantyne resumed her
explanation.
"College is far more expensive than St. John's.
My son Michael is already in college at
Stanford. You have no idea how expensive
Stanford is. Thank goodness Michael is
brilliant. Yes, he is on scholarship. So
is Dana at Vanderbilt. Now Katina is ready
for college as well. After that it will be
Marina, then Christie, then George, then
Lisa. I lose sleep wondering how we will afford
their education. Paying for college can be
very complicated."
Mrs.
Ballantyne
was so animated, I could tell she had considerable
energy on the subject of college finance. If I
did not know better, the subject of financial aid
was just as stressful for her as it was for me.
She was getting a burden off her chest at the same
time she was enlightening me.
It had to be exorbitant to give
seven children a quality education at the same
time.
"What do
you mean by 'complicated', Mrs. Ballantyne?"
"Katina
will need help with her tuition next year at
Vanderbilt in much the same way you will need
help going to Georgetown. The problem is
that college administrators look at our affluent
River Oaks zip code and my husband's prestigious
position at MD Anderson and jump to the same
conclusion as everyone else... 'The
Ballantynes must be rich!'"
"I have
always assumed you were rich, so I can see why
people at Katina's college would reach the same
conclusion."
"You
are right, but that's what makes me so mad. If I
hear one more administrator throw how
rich we are in my face again, I will scream.
I argue with them all the time. For some
reason, all these men can do is see one child at
a time, the one who is applying to their school.
They say my husband makes far too much money
to justify a scholarship for Katina. Why
can't they see how hard is to pay for seven
children at once? Believe it or not, Jay's
salary will make it impossible for Katina to get
a full scholarship. Thank goodness she won
the Jones Scholarship. It is a huge
blessing. I have never felt so relieved in
my life."
My
friend David had been right... a parent's salary
affects a student's scholarship status. That
meant Katina was in a similar fix as me. Her
father's paycheck undermined her chances of getting
a scholarship. Thank goodness Mrs. Ballantyne
had cleared this up. I would have never
guessed the truth in a thousand years.
The
one thing Mrs. Ballantyne did not explain was her
personal role in Katina's award, but it did not
matter. Although I remained convinced that her
political clout had
something to do with Katina winning that scholarship,
my sense of fairness was restored. As long as
Katina also needed the money, I could not think of a
more worthy candidate.
My thoughts shifted from Katina
back to Mrs.
Ballantyne. It was amazing to see how
skillfully this lady dealt with the sensitive topic
of why Katina won the scholarship instead of me.
Her candor stood in stark contrast to my father who
refused to deal with the same subject openly.
With barely enough money to pay tuition for two
children, Dad had elected me odd
man out. He handed me $400 and pretended he
had kept his word. Did he bother to explain
why he had short-changed me? No. He
avoided the subject. Truth be told, I would
not have been in this crisis if he had confided in
me. His cowardice paled in
comparison to Mrs. Ballantyne. She had to know
how shaky I was, but that did not stop her. Ignoring the
chance I might lose my temper, she raised the
subject of financial aid specifically because her
intuition guessed I was yearning for an
explanation. For the millionth time, I could
not help but note how fortunate Katina was to have a
mother like her.
My
burden was gone. All this time I was under the
impression that rich and greedy Mrs. Ballantyne
wanted Katina to have the prestige. Nothing
could have been further from the truth.
Feeling sheepish, I didn't care any more that I had
lost the scholarship. As my mind adjusted to
the new facts, I accepted that Katina was equally
deserving.
If someone
else had to win, I was glad it was Katina. I
had always liked her. Katina was the kind of
person you could build a world around... decent,
responsible, considerate of other people. Just like her mother.
For the first time in ages, I began to smile.
What a relief to realize my cheating mistake was not
the reason I had lost the Jones Scholarship.
With that thought, the shackles of my intense self-criticism
dissipated. To my relief, I
magically regained my
confidence. My eyes were completely dry and I
stood up straight. I was overjoyed to find my
ability to speak had returned.
"You
know what, Mrs. Ballantyne, I am glad Katina won
that scholarship. I wish I had won, but
it's okay. I am so grateful to know what
happened. I really appreciate that you took
the time to help me understand."
I smiled
as I said this. And I meant it too. I
spoke from my heart. Now that Mrs. Ballantyne
had healed me with her soft touch, I wasn't mad any more. The world wasn't such a
bad place after all. Forget the crisis, forget
the drama, it was time to move on. I
had my whole life ahead of me. One little
detour would not keep me down.
Mrs.
Ballantyne was positively beaming. The
sincerity of my words meant a lot to
her, I was sure of it. Bless her heart, she
gave me the oddest smile. Perhaps Mrs.
Ballantyne had felt a little guilty. Until she
met me, she had no idea there was some other kid at
St. John's who was just as keen to win that
award as Katina. I imagine Mrs. B sensed how
difficult it must have been for me to lose that
scholarship. I could barely believe this had
happened. Mrs. Ballantyne was special. I
felt so lucky to meet her.
Seeing me strengthen, Mrs.
Ballantyne proceeded to wrap things up.
"Rick, I know you must be frantic about money
for college, but I wouldn't worry too much.
With your grades, I imagine whichever school you
choose will seriously consider you for a
scholarship. I think you have a great
chance."
My
eyes grew wide. Did she know something?
Feeling my pulse race, I asked, "What do you mean,
Mrs. Ballantyne?"
Mrs.
Ballantyne was more than happy to elaborate.
"After
taking care of Michael, Dana
and Katina,
I know quite a bit about
how college scholarship money
works. In my experience, the combination
of great grades and great need will guarantee
you scholarship money at any well-endowed school
in America. In addition, your St. John's
pedigree is a powerful asset. Any college
would want a student like you. I imagine
college loans and work-study jobs will bridge
any further gap.
I say
relax. You need not worry. I
would bet the farm that
whatever school you apply to will take care of
you. Stop worrying about money. It
will take care of itself."
I stared
at her with my mouth hanging open. I wasn't
convinced. Mrs. Ballantyne probably didn't
know my father's salary would be a serious handicap
to getting a scholarship. Nor did she know
about the cheating incident. Or did she know? Had Mr. Salls told
her something? Whatever the story, Mrs.
Ballantyne seemed to be hinting at something she was
not at liberty to share. One could only hope.
However I dismissed the thought as wishful thinking.
Mr. Salls hated me Or maybe not. After
all, he had looked the other way when I cheated.
Feeling my confusion return, I brushed my
speculation aside.
More likely she was just trying to cheer me up.
Now that Mrs. Ballantyne had finished explaining how
college scholarships were handled, her
work was done. She took my right hand into hers and squeezed it affectionately. We
shared a big smile, then it was time to go. To
be polite, I opened the car door for her.
Mrs. Ballantyne rolled down the window. "Don't worry
about the money.
I promise things will work out
for you."
She waved goodbye and off she
went. I was unable to move afterwards.
I stood there
for ten more minutes trying to make sense
of it all. Our conversation had lasted 45
minutes. Amazingly, no one from the grocery
store had come looking for me. That was kind of odd.
Or more
likely they couldn't find me out here in Parking Lot
Siberia. I was
incredulous at what Mrs. Ballantyne's pep talk had
accomplished.
The
weight of the world had been lifted from my
shoulders. The
grudge over losing the Jones
Scholarship
was gone. The envy
towards my privileged classmates had vanished.
I was amazed to discover my vast cesspool of
self-hate had magically drained. Even my fears
about college tuition were gone. So I would
have to sit out a year. Big deal. I
could scarcely believe how relieved I felt. I
had a sense of optimism for the first time in ages.
In the process,
my
darkness had been replaced by
pure admiration for my hero. For the first
time I understood why I had watched her for all
these years. I had been drawn to Mrs.
Ballantyne because my instinct had sensed how
remarkable she was. I thanked my lucky stars for
the good fortune to meet this dynamic lady today.
|
WEDNESDAY,
APRIL 10,
1968, Age 18, 12th Grade
A NEW
DEVELOPMENT
|
The Crisis was over. In the days that followed
my parking lot meeting with Mrs. Ballantyne
I no longer worried about college.
Now that I was no longer angry at the world,
the thought of living at Little Mexico for
another year no longer bothered me. I
guess I was used to living there by now. I
figured I would reapply to the University of
Texas and spend the next year
sacking groceries.
I might even try dating some of the young
ladies I
met at the grocery store. Best of all,
I would not have to say goodbye to Terry
when I left for college, a move I had been
dreading. For the past ten years, Terry
had been my best friend. How would I ever explain to my
loyal
dog why I was abandoning him? The
chance to spend one more year with my beloved
border collie would be special.
Three weeks after the Parking Lot
Conversation, I was doing homework in Study
Hall when a voice came over the school's
intercom system. "Richard Archer,
report to the Headmaster's office
immediately."
I was stunned.
After nine years at this school, I knew the
intercom system was rarely used in this
manner. Every class in the school had
been disrupted by the brief message.
That meant whatever it was, it had a 'Voice
of God' ring to it.
Taken completely off
guard, I was very worried. What did
Mr. Salls want to see me about? Deeply
alarmed, I got up and checked out of Study
Hall.
|
I was very tense
as I entered his office.
Mr. Salls had been a daily fixture as my German teacher
during the 9th, 10th, and 11th grades. However, he had disappeared
in my Senior year to assume
the role of Headmaster. This visit marked only the
second time I had spoken to him all year. Seeing no
one else in his office, I breathed a sigh of relief.
No disciplinary firing squad was present to deal with the
cheating episode.
However, Mr. Salls
was very brusque. No eye contact, no smile, no cordial
greeting. In fact, he
didn't even bother to look up.
Continuing to read something on his desk, he whispered,
"Mr. Archer, please sit
down. I will be with you in a moment."
What was this
about? Unable to relax, I sat poised at the edge of my
chair. Filled with anxiety, I fought the wild urge to beg forgiveness.
Plagued by guilt, I wanted to apologize for the
cheating incident in the worst way.
Unfortunately,
never in a million years did I have the guts to bring up the
painful subject of cheating on my own. Mrs. Ballantyne
might have the courage to discuss Forbidden Subjects, but
not me. The shame was just too great. To begin
with, I would die if Mr. Salls asked me to tell him the
truth. In fact, that's probably what this visit was
all about. But then I dismissed the thought. If
Mr. Salls wanted an answer, he would have asked six weeks
ago. Worried sick,
I sat there in
silence awaiting my unknown fate.
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Finally Mr. Salls
finished whatever he was doing and looked up. Mr. Salls had
his stern mask on today. No smile, no pleasantries. He
was very formal, curt and frowning. No 'how are you?',
no warmth, just his dark, inscrutable face and penetrating eyes.
Given how cold his manner was, I
decided Mr. Salls was still angry at me
for cheating.
Who could blame him?
With a sinking
heart,
I
realized I would be angry
too if I was in his place.
Mr. Salls spoke up.
"I understand you have been accepted at Johns Hopkins University.
Is this correct?"
Without changing
expression, I smiled to myself. Aha! So this was not
about the cheating incident. What a relief. It
also crossed my mind that this was an odd way to begin a
conversation. I assumed that news of my Georgetown acceptance had come to him
as well. What is with this man's fixation on Johns Hopkins?
I quickly became very curious.
"Yes, sir. I have been accepted at Johns Hopkins."
Mr. Salls continued.
"Very good. Are you still interested in this school?
Because if you are, I would give this school my highest
recommendation. Johns Hopkins is a fine institution."
Still
interested? Give me a break. I was
never interested!
However, I was careful not to say that out loud. No
point in being rude. However, my
heart was still set on Georgetown, a stone's
throw across the Potomac River from Aunt Lynn and Uncle Dick. Over
the years, they had been wonderful on several occasions. Since
they were the closest thing to a real mother and father I ever had, the
chance to be near meant everything. Desperate to be part
of their family, I fervently wished I still had a shot at Georgetown.
Hmm. While I was here, maybe I could ask Mr. Salls about
Georgetown. Or maybe he could pull strings and help me attend UT
in the fall.
|
Just then I looked up
and noticed Mr. Salls was waiting for a reply.
Embarrassed, I realized I
had been lost in thought. Mr. Salls had just inquired
if I was interested in Hopkins. What should I say?
Should I tell him the truth? No way. A very bad idea. Even though I
had never been remotely interested in Johns Hopkins, I was very
interested in where this meeting might be headed. I decided to tell a
little fib.
"Mr. Salls, I don't
know much about Johns Hopkins, but from what you told me last fall,
yes, sir, I am very interested."
"Little fib"? Guess
again. I had just uttered the worst bald-faced lie of
my life. I resisted the urge to touch my nose to see if it had
grown longer. I suppose Mr. Salls caught the insincerity
because now it was his turn to grow silent. When
Mr. Salls began to stare at me intently, I stopped breathing.
It felt like he was conducting some sort of telepathic mind probe to discern
the truth. Uh oh, what if Mr. Salls was just as psychic as
Mrs. Ballantyne? Could he sense what a phony I was? The suspense was brutal. 30 seconds? A minute?
Why so long? Maybe he was thinking about bringing up that cheating incident.
Feeling a huge surge of anxiety, I prayed he would not talk about
that. Finally Mr. Salls gave a shrug of sorts. I assumed he
had made up his mind.
"Very well.
In that case, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to
call an old friend of mine, Ralph O'Connor. Mr. O'Connor
is the Houston-area representative for Johns Hopkins University.
I would like for you to meet with him and learn more about his
school."
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Mr. Salls presented a
card with Mr. O'Connor's business number on it. As I rose to
receive it, he glanced at the
door. I got the message. No more words were exchanged as
I departed. I left with the distinct impression that Mr. Salls
had mixed feelings about sharing that card.
Before visiting Mr. O'Connor
at his palatial River Oaks home one night
later, I took time to look at a map.
Hopkins was located in
Baltimore about an hour's drive from
Lynn and Dick's house. I
wasn't thrilled about attending a men's
school. However, sensing where this
might be headed, I was becoming more
open-minded. Mr. O'Connor spent 20 minutes or so
extolling the strong points of a Hopkins
education. After he summarized, Mr.
O'Connor asked me to explain my financial
status. I spoke for 5 minutes.
When I finished,
he nodded. Without asking another question, he rose to shake my hand.
Escorting me to the door, Mr. O'Connor said he would
be in touch. As it turned out, we
never spoke again. However, one week later I received
a letter in the mail from Johns Hopkins.
Tingling with excitement, I ripped it open.
I had just been awarded a tuition-free four year
scholarship to Johns Hopkins, a grant worth
$16,000. I was so grateful to
Mr. O'Connor, I
could not see straight. I would later
learn he was the leading philanthropist in
Hopkins history. It was very weird being handed a
college scholarship by a man who was a total
stranger.
I was on Cloud Nine.
First Maria Ballantyne had solved my Crisis, now
Ralph O'Connor had solved my college finance problem. As
my anxiety began to subside, my thoughts
turned to Mysticism. I was convinced
something very strange was taking place in
my life. First my mother screws up my
Senior year with Little Mexico. Then my
father betrays me in a very cruel way.
Bob Franklin appears out of nowhere to
catch me cheating and I lose a college
scholarship that rightfully should have been
mine. Mrs. Ballantyne appears out
of nowhere to talk me down from the ledge.
Now Mr. O'Connor appears from nowhere
to hand a boy he has never met a
scholarship to an elite Eastern
university based on my 5-minute explanation.
Charles Dickens was known for his convoluted
plots, but there was no way he could have written a weirder story
than my Senior Year Crisis. Dickens was known for his
miraculous happy endings. Oliver Twist, for example, was a
destitute orphan who inherited a great fortune after being revealed
as the lost child of a wealthy man. I decided I was the St. John's
version of
Oliver Twist. After
the kind of trauma I experienced throughout my Senior
year, only in Hollywood or a Charles Dickens novel does one
encounter a tidy last-minute rescue of this magnitude.
If this had not been a true story, I wouldn't have believed it myself.
|
THE HIDDEN HAND OF GOD
Chapter
four:
MIRACLE
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