“Well, Mr. Stuart, I’m waiting for your explanation.”
Desperately Adam shrugged and said, “I have no justification, Sir.” He hesitated for only a moment and said, “I suppose some of us just have difficulty adjusting to college life.”
“I see.” The bleak, brief statement gave Adam no hope. Zimmerman stared at the young man and despite the hard expression on his face felt a moment’s sympathy. In truth, he was not a man without compassion, but he had come up the hard way. He had grown up in a Germany that was suffering after the Great War. His father had died in that struggle, and Zimmerman had been the sole support of his mother as soon as he was old enough. He thought suddenly of his mother, and pain shot through him. She was still in Germany, but he had not heard from her. News of the SS taking Jews off the street and hustling them into concentration camps were filtering through to America. Zimmerman had tried desperately to reach her, all to no avail. He, himself, was the victim of prejudice among some of the faculty and the students. It was not popular to be a German these days. Still, the obvious waste of the young man’s life before him seemed to him very wrong. He folded his hands, leaned back in the chair, and said, “Mr. Stuart, I am always at a loss to understand why young people fail to appreciate their advantages. Not everyone has them. I, myself, didn’t.”
The personal remark caught Adam’s interest. “You had a hard time of it, Dr. Zimmerman?”
“I grew up in a world that showed no pity, and we had nothing. My father was killed in the Great War.”
Adam almost responded by saying, “So was mine,” but managed to fight the statement down. It gave him a strange feeling, this sudden kinship that had been revealed with Zimmerman. He glanced at the picture on the wall of the woman and asked, “Is that your mother, Dr. Zimmerman?”
“Yes.” The dean hesitated for a moment and said, “I’m very concerned about her. She’s in Germany, and this is not a very good time for Jews to be in Germany.”
Adam had read the reports of the atrocities against Jews, and suddenly his own problems seemed very small. He sat there silently, and Zimmerman said heavily, “I’m afraid there’s little I can do for you.” He reached out and tapped the records before him and said, “If there were only one problem, we might find a way to keep you in school, but you have multiple problems.”
“But Dr. Zimmerman—”
Zimmerman shook his head. “Your grades are terrible, that’s one thing. Your attendance, that’s enough to lead to your expulsion. You’ve already missed more classes this semester than would permit you a passing grade, and your disciplinary problems do not help.”
“They weren’t really serious offenses, Dr. Zimmerman.”
“Perhaps not, but combined with the other factors, I have no option but to send you home.”
The words came to Adam like the closing of an iron gate. Here at UCLA he had his freedom, and now he wished desperately that he had performed better. He hated the thought of failure, and he could see in his mind now his mother’s face. She would not show much, for she was a trained actress, but he would know that she was hurt by this—and so would his stepfather be, who took great pride in him.
“Isn’t there any way, Dr. Zimmerman, that I could make it up?”
Zimmerman hesitated, then shook his head. “Not for now. There’s no justification at all, Mr. Stuart, for this kind of behavior. I usually don’t make personal comments, but in your case, I might say that there’s a special tragedy here. You have everything that a young man in this country would want to have. A fine family, money, prestige—you are intelligent, a fine athlete. There’s no reason for your failure here—except in your own character.”
Anger flared through Adam, but it was anger at himself rather than at Zimmerman. He stood to his feet and said, “That’s it then? I have to leave?”
Zimmerman stood. He nodded his head sadly and said quietly, “If you would care to apply for readmission in a year, I would add my recommendation. You have a great deal in your favor, Mr. Stuart. I hate to see a young life wasted frivolously as you have wasted yours.”
The words came clearly to Adam and his face turned crimson. He could not deny the dean’s words, nor could he feel anger at the man. He said, “You’re right; I’ve fouled up, Dr. Zimmerman.”
Zimmerman had been expecting anger, resentment, and perhaps even worse. Adam Stuart had a reputation for attacking his professors fearlessly, if sometimes foolishly. This was his first encounter with the young man—though he knew him by reputation. He resisted the impulse to reverse his decision but grieved over the needless loss of this young man.
Adam nodded saying, “Good-bye, Dr. Zimmerman.”
When the young man reached the door, Zimmerman said, “Try again next year, Stuart; I’d like to see you give it a better shot than you have this time.”
Adam turned and studied the smaller man with interest. He had heard so much about the man’s hard character and hard ways that he had not expected this. “Maybe I will, Sir—and thank you.”
The door closed behind Adam, and Zimmerman stood still for a moment. He had much on his mind, and his own troubles were greater than people knew. Nevertheless, a wave of pity touched him, and he muttered under his breath, “What a loss! What a loss!” He turned and went back to his desk; as he sat down, his eyes went again to the picture on the wall.
Adam left the administration building almost blindly, not noticing the admiring look of the receptionist. He went at once to his room where he found his roommate, Jake Greenberg, lying on his bed. Looking up from the book he was reading, Greenberg asked, “You’re cutting biology again?”
“I’m cutting everything.”
Greenberg, a lanky young man of twenty, put the book down and stared at his friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve been kicked out.” Adam grabbed a suitcase and threw it on his bed. Opening it, he began throwing his clothing into it. He looked up to see Greenberg’s shocked expression. “It’s not the end of the world, Jake.”
“Wait a minute—what’s this all about?” The long, sensitive face of Greenberg showed confusion, and he got to his feet at once. “You mean you got a warning from Zimmerman?”
“I mean I got booted out. No appeal—just out.” Adam tossed his textbooks on the bed, glared at them, then shrugged, and moved to get his things from the bathroom. He explained his meeting with the dean and shook his head when Greenberg protested that there had to be a better way.
“Not this time, Jake. I ran my string out.” Adam had finished packing and paused to go to his roommate. “Sorry to run out on you, Jake.” Actually Greenberg had been his only friend at UCLA, though he knew many people. The tall young man had been one of the few he could actually talk to—about things that really mattered. The two of them had spent endless hours together, and now it was a distinct pain to leave Greenberg.
“Adam, you can’t go like this,” Jake protested and for some time argued that there had to be a way. Finally he gave up, saying sadly, “I won’t have a soul to talk to after you’re gone. I’ll probably get a jock with a thick neck for a roommate!”
Adam tried to smile as he put his hand out and grasped Greenberg’s. “I’ll miss you, Jake. Let’s keep in touch.”
Greenberg suddenly reached out and embraced Adam, something he’d never done before. He squeezed hard, then stepped back, saying thickly, “Well, get out of here before I begin blubbering!”
“So long, Jake.”
Adam left the room, surprised at the emotion that had charged the farewell. He’d not known until this moment how fond he was of Jake Greenberg. Going to miss that fellow, he thought as he left the dorm and got into his Buick. As he pulled away, he glanced up and saw Greenberg standing at the window watching him. Adam waved, but the figure remained still, and Adam’s last glimpse of him he never forgot.
He shoved the pedal to the floor, roaring off campus, breaking every traffic law on the books. As he pulled out onto the main highway heading out of t
he campus, he suddenly realized that he had few choices. Quickly he put together the possibilities in his mind.
First, he could go home—but somehow the thought of facing his parents with nothing but failure was repulsive to him. “I’ll dig ditches before I’ll do that,” he spoke aloud, dodging around to avoid a slow-moving cement truck. He pulled back in the line of traffic and slowed down, trying desperately to think of something to redeem himself.
Not much I can do, he thought. At least not that pays anything. He listed his skills, which included driving a car almost with professional skill; he could fly a plane, having been given lessons for his high school graduation present; he could run the hundred-yard dash better than most and even did well in some of the medium-distance races, but nobody was paying for that.
He deliberately turned away from the route that led to his home and drove out to the ocean. He found a bay that was not crowded with houses and people, got out and walked down to the beach, sat down on the remains of a tree that had been washed in, and sought desperately for some remedy.
The gulls found him soon and circled around him, crying harshly. He admired their sleek bodies and how they maneuvered, almost motionless in the air, waiting for scraps that he did not have. He got up and began to walk, leaving footprints in the damp sand. The sea stretched out endlessly, making a hard knife edge against the horizon where it met the blue sky. It was cold, and a shiver took him as the breeze came in off the water. He took a deep breath, enjoying the tang of the salt air, then turned and walked back down the beach. For over an hour he paced up and down seeing little that was before him. Once he bent down and picked up a shell that had washed ashore, admired its perfection, then tossed it to the ground again.
Finally, he made his way back to the car. Sitting in it without starting the engine, he tried to think of a job he could do. Being brought up in a wealthy home had not put him in touch with many possibilities. He sighed and hardened himself to the idea of going home. “I guess I’ll have to face the music,” he said. He started the engine, and as he got back on the highway and headed home, he thought, I’d better stop and get the oil changed. It must be time. The instant that came to his mind, another thought joined to it.
Oil! The thought of oil brought to his mind his Uncle Pete Stuart in Oklahoma, who owned a small oil business. Adam had visited there once and seen the rigs and the men busily working on them, and it had interested him.
Uncle Pete would give me a job!
He had barely enough money to make it to Oklahoma, but without a moment’s hesitation, his mind was made up. He stopped only long enough to buy a postcard and write to his parents.
Mom and Dad,
Bad news. I’ve been expelled. I guess it’s too hard to face you with it. I’m going to Oklahoma to try to get a job with Uncle Pete. I’ll write you when I get there.
He hesitated, added, “Sorry,” and then signed his name. He dropped it in the box, feeling cowardly, for he knew he should go home and explain his failure or at least call.
He got into the Buick, headed out of the service station, and promised himself, I’ll call them as soon as I get to Uncle Pete’s. It’ll give me time to sort things out in my mind, and they’ll have time to get adjusted, too.
Shortly he was on Route 66 headed east. He knew he had to find himself a new life, and he gritted his teeth firmly saying, “I can make it; I won’t lose this time!”
The only thing Adam liked about the oil business was his cousin Mona. She was a very exciting young woman, and she liked Adam very much.
Actually, he liked his Uncle Pete, too. Pete Stuart had given Adam a job the day Adam arrived in Oklahoma. Pete had also given him a warning: “This business isn’t for everybody, Adam. I don’t think it’s for you, but you can give it a try.”
Adam had taken his uncle’s warning lightly, but he had soon discovered that nothing about the oil business pleased him. He had started out on the rigs and had hated every day of that, then he had been turned over to the office of his cousin Stephen, and he liked the business offices even less. Stephen, he felt privately, was a stick who thought nothing of money grubbing.
It had been a boring time for him, and now as he moved toward his uncle’s office, he had the feeling that the news was not going to be good.
“I think I’m having déjà vu,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s like going to see Dr. Zimmerman again.”
But when he went inside, Pete smiled at him and said, “Hello, Adam, how did it go today?”
Adam had put in a long, boring day going down columns of figures under Stephen’s hand, and he smiled ruefully. “Don’t ask Stephen about that. He’ll tell you I’ve got a real thick head!”
Pete laughed and leaned back in his chair. He had worked hard all of his life, and it showed in his hands and in his neck, which was creased and burned by many a blistering Oklahoma sun.
“I know what you mean. I can’t stand keeping books myself. I’d rather be out on a rig.”
“Well, to tell the truth, I didn’t do too well out there either, Uncle Pete,” Adam said. “It was good of you to try me out, but I’m just not cut out for this kind of work.”
Pete had brought Adam in to talk to him because he sensed Adam was dissatisfied. He had dreaded it, for he liked this nephew of his very much, but now that Adam had brought it out he was vastly relieved. “You know, Adam, a man has to like what he’s doing or life’s not worth much. Me, I always liked playing around with oil rigs and things, although I don’t like the business side.” He thought back over the years he had drilled dry holes and the long, hard battle to win a place for himself in the wolfish world of oil. He thought of Lylah, with whom he had spoken on the phone several times since Adam had come, and was sorry that it had not worked out. He said carefully, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, Adam—but I suspect you don’t like it enough to make a career out of it.”
“You’re right about that!” Adam slumped in a chair, and for a while the two men talked. Pete asked gently, “Is there anything you would like to do? I’ll be glad to help you, Adam; anything I can do.”
Adam flashed a smile, and it made him look younger and more pleasant. He didn’t realize how much he was frowning these days, and he laughed suddenly saying, “The only thing I’ve done is have a good time with Mona!”
A worried look crossed Pete’s face. “I’m worried about her, Adam.”
Adam was truly surprised. “Why’s that, Uncle Pete? Why, she’s got everything.”
“She’s attractive enough, but there’s more to life than that.”
“She’ll be Miss Oklahoma someday; wait and see if she’s not.”
“And you think that would make her happy?” Pete frowned. “I haven’t read anything about these beauty queens setting any records for successful living. What do you think of her, Adam? You’ve spent a lot of time with her. Her mother and I just can’t understand her.”
Adam thought about the time he had spent with Mona and said, “I guess she’s like most young women her age. They like a good time, and they talk about clothes and makeup too much, but she’ll settle down.”
Pete shook his head, his lips drawn tightly together. “I hope you’re right,” he said, “but far as I can tell, she has no more thoughts than a goose. But we’ll hope you’re right.” He stood up then and came around to sit down on the desk and study his nephew. “Will you be going back to college next year?”
“I just don’t know, Uncle Pete. I could, I guess. The dean would help me get in, I know.”
“Well, if you can stand it, I think you oughta go back. At least you can tread water.” A thought came to him and he said, “What about this draft thing? You may get drafted into the army.”
It was an unpleasant thought and Adam shook his head. “I hope not! Can’t think of anything much worse than that. I’d rather dig ditches!”
Pete wanted to ask if the fact that Adam had a German father had anything to do with his distaste for it, but he felt h
imself ill fitted to begin such a conversation. “Well, what will you do now? I take it you’ll be leaving Stuart Oil Company.”
“I’m wasting your time and mine, Uncle Pete.” Adam stood up and said reluctantly, “I’ll have to go home again and face the music.” He laughed shortly saying, “I was such a coward I couldn’t even face Mom and Dad, but I’ll have to now.”
“I think that would be good.” Pete hesitated, then said, “I’ve got something for you.” He moved back behind his desk, opened it, and pulled out a checkbook. As he scribbled a check he said, “This is your severance pay, and you know I never did give you a proper graduation present when you graduated from high school. I’m making it up with this. You’ll have enough money to get back home and to tide you over for a little while.” He tore off the check, moved back around the desk, and handed it to Adam. “Happy graduation, Nephew!” he said.
Adam glanced at the check, and his eyes opened wide. “Why, this is too much!”
Pete Stuart clapped his nephew on the shoulder, then gave him a quick, affectionate hug. “Not a bit! Let’s go out tonight and celebrate, then you can get a good start in the morning.”
“Thanks, Uncle Pete, this will help a lot.”
Adam enjoyed the trip back to California. He drove rather slowly, and he made a couple of side trips just to see things that he had heard about, such as the Petrified Forest. But as he pulled into Los Angeles, he was still apprehensive about seeing his parents. Time had healed some of the humiliation, but he was a sensitive young man, and he knew that he had behaved badly. “I guess I might as well go get my spanking,” he said and drove at once to his home.
Winds of Change Page 8