WHO IS RICK ARCHER?

Rick Archer's Note:

The tale of Brother and Sister is an excerpt from A Simple Act of Kindness, a memoir of my childhood years. 

Before we begin, I need to explain why it is important for me to tell this story.  Although I never met George Mitchell, I became a confidant of his sister Maria Mitchell Ballantyne.  Through the gift of hindsight, I uncovered a wonderful secret about Mr. Mitchell that probably belongs to me alone.  In my opinion, this revelation is far too important to keep to myself. 

The key chapter in A Simple Act of Kindness told the story of how Maria Ballantyne, 48, rescued me from a deep despair.  My crisis was so serious, it included frequent and quite disturbing thoughts of suicide. 

This event took place in my senior year of high school.  Mrs. Ballantyne's contribution was significant in two ways.  Her advice gave me the courage I needed to break through my depression and carry on.  Second, the near-miraculous circumstances surrounding her intervention led to my keen interest in Fate. 

Odd as it seems, the story George and Maria Mitchell begins with my own story.  As for Mr. Mitchell, please be patient.  In due time...

Fast-forward to my Senior year.  The promised land was near.  Just one more year till I got my freedom.  Determined to be near my beloved aunt and uncle, I set my hopes and dreams on Georgetown University in Washington, D.C.  Their home in nearby McLean, Virginia, was a stone's throw across the Potomac River from Georgetown.  But how was I going to pay for it?  Back when he stopped paying for St. John's in the Sixth Grade, my father promised to pay for my college education.  In February of my Senior year, my father handed me $400 and said that was his one and only contribution.  Since four years of room and board at Georgetown hovered around $24,000 at the time, I felt betrayed.  As for my hapless mother, forget it.  She was so broke, I was forced to pay the final textbook and lunch bill at St. John's out of my own pocket just to graduate. 

So what was my backup plan?  Although my father had promised to pay my way to college, I did not trust him.  Fearful my pathetic father was not good for his word, during my Sophomore year I got a job after school as a grocery sacker.  I anticipated I would have $2,000, maybe $2,200 by the start of my Fall 1968 college year.  I assumed a scholarship would pay the rest.  That made sense.  If I could get a scholarship to St. John's, surely Georgetown would recognize my need and reciprocate. 

Shortly after my father's betrayal, a friend named David made me aware of a fatal mistake I had made at the start of my Senior year.  In the unlikely case I did not get into Georgetown, I had intended to apply to a state school as a backup.  However, something strange happened at the start of the school year.  Mr. Salls, the St. John's Headmaster, had insisted I apply to Johns Hopkins University.  I had never even heard of this school.  When I read the brochure, I realized it was a men's school.  Forget that!  Since Mr. Salls knew I had my heart set on Georgetown, I could not understand why he practically demanded I apply to Hopkins as well.  When Mr. Salls added "as a personal favor to me," I said I would comply.  However I seethed inside.  Not only was the tuition at Hopkins equal to Georgetown, it would cost me $75 to apply.  To put things into perspective, $75 was two weeks of work at the grocery store for a school I could care less about.  Furious at my Headmaster for bullying me into this costly promise, I skipped applying to a state school to save money. 

David and I were at lunch one day in early March.  After sharing my fear I could not afford Georgetown, David asked a question.

"Rick, why didn't you apply to a state school?  Then your problems would be over." 

Stunned, I asked David to explain.  David told me about his brother who went to the University of Texas, tuition $1,000 a year (as opposed to Georgetown $5,000 a year).  My jaw dropped.  I was so angry I could not see straight.  In my defense, with no one to turn to for advice, I had been woefully ignorant regarding college finance.  I had no idea state tuition was so low, but I was out of luck.  It was too late to apply.

But I could still get a scholarship to Georgetown, right?  David said he doubted it.  Over the past nine years, my father's career had taken off.  Dad was a genius.  He designed electrical systems for cranes that launched space capsules at Cape Canaveral.  So Dad is rich, but not rich enough.  Even rich people have their limits.  Irony of ironies, my father was sending his two children by the mistress to private schools just as expensive as St. John's.  Stretched thin, Dad decided to cut me loose.  It was cruel to realize this is why he had betrayed me. 

Bitter, I exclaimed, "So what?  My father more or less disowned me.  Why should my father's salary crunch affect me?"

"Because," David said, "colleges don't see it that way.  They expect parents to fill out lengthy financial forms to qualify for scholarships."

I turned white.  Not only would my father's hefty salary disqualify me from a scholarship, there was no way he would consent to fill out a financial form.  When he handed me those four $100 bills, he was done with me.  You're on your own, kid.

David's bad news triggered my crisis.  With three months left in the school year, the thought that I had no way to pay for college sent me spiraling into oblivion.  For nine years I studied as hard as I could to use college as my escape route.  Now my fondest dream would have to wait till the following Fall of 1969.  The thought of waiting another year drove me out of my mind. 

For eight years, St. John's had been my sanctuary.  But no longer.  Forced to listen to my privileged classmates brag about which fabulous college had recently accepted them blah blah blah, every day was an agony.  It drove me to madness knowing every classmate went to bed at night secure in the knowledge that Daddy's money guaranteed their college education.  Everyone but me, that is. 

They say depression is rage turned inward.  In addition to hatred towards my parents and envy towards my classmates, I hated myself with a passion.  Growing up alone, no one had ever explained state school tuition was so incredibly cheap that even a lowly grocery sacker could save enough money to attend.  I also hated my Headmaster.  His demand that I apply to Johns Hopkins was the reason I no longer could pay my own way to college.  This realization was a knife through my heart.

However there was one last hope.  The Jones Scholarship.  Based on need and academic performance, this scholarship went to one senior at every high school in Houston.  To my surprise, I found out that included a rich kid's school like SJS.  Wow.  In that case, my good grades plus serious need made me a shoo-in.  Hey, I'm the only poor kid in the school.  When compared to my wealthy classmates, this seemed like a done deal.  So I checked the amount of the award.  $1,000 per year.  Hmm.  Nowhere near enough for Georgetown's $5,000.  But I had an idea.  Maybe I did not have to pay the full $5,000 up front.  Maybe I only needed $2,500 for the first semester.  I had $2,100 grocery store money, my father's $400, and the Jones Scholarship $1,000.  Once I got my foot in the door at Georgetown, maybe an impassioned face-to-face plea with an administrator could result in financial aid.  It was worth a try.

However, my far-fetched plan pivoted on one thing.  I had to win the Jones Scholarship.  That was my last chance.