by Andrea White
Chapter Thirty-Nine
In Mrs. Ellsworth’s office, Principal Cullen’s paddle is gone. Two diplomas and a photo of six grandchildren hang on the wall in its place. The grandchildren, who are dressed in matching red vests, are all trying to touch a Great Dane.
“Mrs. Davis said that Sam would be at school tomorrow,” Mrs. Ellsworth says.
“Sam is so excited,” Miss Perkins says. “He wanted to start today, but his mum convinced him to let her take him shopping.”
“Was there anything in particular you wanted to discuss? Because, if not…” Mrs. Ellsworth’s gaze fixes on the clock on her desk.
10 a.m. My goodness, Miss Perkins thinks. I have been here for a while, haven’t I?
“I just wanted to make sure. You see, Sam’s been through so much. I know that Mrs. Riley, the P.T.A. president …”
Sometimes, despite all her words, Miss Perkins thinks, she has as much trouble communicating as Sam.
Mrs. Ellsworth nods. “The P.T.A. was upset about Sam. Luckily, we have an enlightened superintendent. When the newspaper story broke about Sam’s prize, Superintendent Dewitt called and demanded an explanation as to why Sam was no longer at Stirling.”
Miss Perkins catches a hint of steel behind Mrs. Ellsworth’s smile. “If any parents are upset about Sam, they’ll need to talk to Superintendent Dewitt,” Mrs. Ellsworth says.
Miss Perkins lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m so grateful. I can’t…”
“If you arrive by 8:15,” Mrs. Ellsworth interrupts, “we’ll still be in assembly, and I’ll welcome Sam.”
“Thank you so much,” Miss Perkins says.
“Times are changing, Miss Perkins. Soon, I believe that even crippled kids will be entitled to a public education,” Mrs. Ellsworth says.
As Miss Perkins gathers her purse to leave, she does feel hopeful. More hopeful than she’s felt in a long time.
The next morning, Sam rolls across the parking lot in back of Stirling Junior High. The trees are bare now, and the wheelchair crunches dead leaves. Due to the cold, Sam sees the puffs of Miss Perkins’ breath, small clouds. He hears the band playing The Star-Spangled Banner. The school must be having an assembly. He’s never been to one before, and he’s excited. Along with his coat, he is wearing a new pair of blue jeans and tennis shoes. He’s refused a haircut. All to get ready for school.
He stares at the double green doors. He’s really returned to Stirling. He’s escaped from the bad food, the smell of pee and the noisy front room. He’s heard of people who stay in school for their whole lives, and at that moment, he wants to be one. He’ll gladly memorize thousands of prepositions now.
When he and Miss Perkins arrive at Mrs. Martin’s room, the classroom is empty. As they pass by the open door, he eagerly soaks up the sight of the potted plants and the dusty blackboard.
“Mrs. Ellsworth tells me that not only was Principal Cullen fired, but he can’t ever teach school again. He hit Bobby Sur so hard that he broke the boy’s rib. All because Bobby was blowing a gum bubble.” Miss Perkins pushes Sam past the classroom doors down the long hallway. The other classrooms are empty, too.
Inside the auditorium, Sam sees a petite woman with white hair standing on the stage. She is holding a microphone.
Sam takes it all in. The kids wiggling in their seats. The band on the stage. The flagpole. The box marked lost and found. The red and white banner—Stirling Tomcats, Tournament Champs. Unlike the noise at Mannville, this din sounds happy.
“Those who want to go on the field trip need to turn in their permission slips,” the woman says into the microphone. Sam decides that the speaker must be Mrs. Ellsworth, the new principal. “I repeat. No one can attend who has not returned their form.”
“Our final announcement.” Mrs. Ellsworth gestures towards the back of the auditorium. Sam doesn’t even have time to straighten in his chair. “Sam Davis, our League of Women Voters award winner, has returned to school today.”
The kids start clapping.
“TThank You,” Sam murmurs.
If you can’t have the world’s applause, a whole school’s is pretty good, Winnie says.
For once, Sam is tongue-tied inside and out. He can’t think of anything else that he even wants to say to the auditorium of cheering kids.
Sometimes, short speeches are best, Winnie says.
Chapter Forty
After the special assembly is over, Miss Perkins pushes Sam down the hallway. Kids throng on either side of him. A boy pretending to play a guitar walks behind him. Two kids are arguing over a locker.
Marigold hurries past, her arms swinging at her sides. He hears another set of footsteps, and Ann joins him. She has on the same red and white dress that she wore the first day Sam met her.
“I’m excited that you’re back,” Ann says.
“NNot hher.” Sam raises his finger and points at Ann’s dance partner and friend.
“Marigold will be fine. I just have to remind her that I can have two best friends,” Ann says.
As a question, Sam points at himself.
Ann nods. “You and I are best friends.” She grabs his hand and squeezes it.
Sam grins. He’s never had a best friend before.
What about me? Winnie asks.
Ann’s a real best friend, Sam thinks.
Can you talk to a “real” best friend anytime that you want? Winnie asks. Can a real best friend read your thoughts? No. The advantages of a “real” best friend are limited, he points out.
Sam realizes that Winnie’s pride is hurt. If Ann can have two best friends, I can too, Sam tells Winnie. But as Ann grips his hand and Sam stares into her blue eyes, he’s not sure that he means it.
Charlie rushes up. He stares at Sam for a minute before punching him playfully on the arm.
Sam points outdoors. “YYes,” he says.
A few minutes later, Ann parks Sam right in his spot next to the court. She is wearing her blue coat. It’s a cold but sunny day.
“Marigold and I are going inside. It’s too cold out here,” Ann says.
“TTThanks, Ann Riley,” Sam calls.
“Brrr,” Ann says. “You’re welcome, Sam Davis.”
“You shouldn’t be out here either, Sam,” Miss Perkins scolds.
“PPlease,” Sam says.
Their eyes meet, and Miss Perkins’ face melts into a smile. Sam knows she is remembering Mannville Institution, Ralph and the bad food. She buttons Sam’s coat. She unlocks his seat belt and removes a blanket that Sam has been sitting on and drapes it over his legs.
Before she drapes it over him, Sam catches a quick view of his legs. He is amazed at how skinny they’ve become.
“We won the championship game.” The day is so cold that Charlie Simmons rubs his hands together as he tells Sam this amazing fact.
Charlie motions toward Mickey. “All because of our new point guard.”
Mickey dribbles the ball up to Sam. He stops and stares at him. “Thiinks, Sam.”
Did Sam hear Mickey right? Did Mickey just thank him? Mickey’s taunt is still fresh in his memory. Vindow Boy. Luckily, Mickey doesn’t wait for a response but passes the ball to A.J. Watching Mickey run back onto the court, it occurs to Sam that people change. Losers become winners. Like the Tomcats. Like Mickey. Like himself. Now, Sam is an award winner. A Window Boy no more.
Do people change, Sam wonders, or is it just the way we think about them that changes? After all, Mickey was always a good basketball player, and Sam was always smart.
Charlie leans closer to Sam. “At first, I thought you were our cheerleader, but now I know better. Got any other tips, Coach?”
Sam smiles.
Is that it? Winnie asks. Is that all you’re going to say or do? You have no sense of the dramatic.
What should I do? Sam asks.
Why, old chap, surprise all of them, Winnie orders him. Stand up and say something big!
Why not? Sam thinks as he grips the arms of the wheelchair. His legs f
eel shaky, but they’ll bear his weight for a few seconds. Then, he remembers his seat belt.
I can’t stand after all, he tells Winnie.
You have no excuse. Winnie reminds him. Miss Perkins removed your seat belt when she got out the blanket.
Sam grasps the handles of the chair and shifts his weight onto both legs.
“What are you doing?” Miss Perkins asks, but he ignores her.
“Be careful,” she cautions him.
Charlie and the other kids gawk at Sam. They are probably noticing his trembling legs.
Sam lifts his pointer finger. “PPPlay Ball,” he bursts out.
Afterword
I. The Man
After that day in the playground, I never heard Winnie’s voice again. At least, not in the strong personal way that I did during my days of watching from the window—before I went to school and had friends. Once I lost my imaginary friend, I asked myself many times: who was the voice who talked to me? The voice that gave me hope? The voice that I trusted?
For many years, I was confused by the fact that Winnie’s voice was a man’s. It couldn’t be my father’s. I had never known him. A boy’s idea of God? Then, the night of my graduation from high school, Miss Perkins had a bad cold. When she hugged me, she rasped into my ear,
“You made it, old chap.”
And I did.
With the help of physical therapy, I have regained the use of all my fingers on my right hand. I can:
Operate an electric wheelchair—I no longer have to wait to be pushed.
Type—I can now communicate even complicated thoughts quickly and easily.
Feed myself—I love not having to eat peas when I don’t want to. And I can perform simple chores, like pulling on my pants by myself.
Although I read many books, both fiction and non-fiction, I still want to learn as much as I can about Winston Churchill. I remain fascinated by him, partly because I believe that my life was shaped by his.
Just to mention one example: without him, I wouldn’t have become a sportswriter for the Boston Tribune.
First, let me say, it wasn’t easy getting out of junior high, but with Mrs. Martin’s help in Math, I graduated. I went on to high school with Charlie, Ann, and Mickey. Ann and Charlie showed me how to use my electric wheelchair. After I got my typewriter, I used to type papers for friends, including Mickey.
I don’t remember Mickey’s grade on his paper—A Startling Moment—but this is still true: nothing gives me more pleasure than helping a friend. In 1979, I received a full scholarship to University of Massachusetts, and graduated cum laude with a degree in journalism.
Even though our lives are very different, I’ve stayed close to my friends from high school. I’ve been in all three of Mickey’s weddings. I rejoiced with Ann when she was admitted to medical school at age thirty-nine. I’m the godfather to Ann’s oldest daughter. Charlie is a sports car salesman living in Rhode Island, but every year or so, we meet in Boston and go to a Celtics game. As for Mrs. Martin, a few years ago, she was diagnosed with throat cancer. In a major reversal of our fortunes, I am the one who is able to speak to her now. We remain good friends.
Back to my point. The first time that I applied for a job with the newspaper, I was turned down.
In a last-ditch attempt to secure employment, I asked for an interview with the managing editor, Mr. Tom Rains.
Tom Rains had a reputation as a tough manager. I was just out of college, very scared, and I had no idea what arguments I was going to use to convince him to hire me. As I wheeled into his room, I happened to glance at his bookshelves and spotted two volumes of works by Winston Churchill.
I tapped on the old-fashioned screen that I used back then to communicate and wrote one of my favorite Winnie quotes: “We’re all worms, but I do believe that I am a glowworm.”35
Tom Rains leaned over my shoulder and looked at my screen. “What? What are you talking about?” he growled.
“I’m quoting Churchill,” I answered him.
“Oh, are you a Churchill fan?” Mr. Rains asked me.
We stopped talking two hours later.
I got the job and have worked for the Boston Tribune ever since. I live with my mother and with Miss Perkins. I’m proud to say that I support our whole family. My mother retired a few years ago when her arthritis got so bad.
I’m most comfortable with batting averages, NFL statistics and turnover statistics, but I believe that because I’m disabled I think about abstract ideas like fate more often than the average sportswriter.
If Miss Perkins had not read to me about Churchill, I doubt that I would have had the courage to go to Stirling Junior High.
If I hadn’t gone to school, I wouldn’t have written the award-winning essay.
If I hadn’t written the essay, I might have lived long enough for my mother to rescue me from the Mannville Institution, but then again… Who knows?
Although I don’t pretend to understand this, I take comfort in the fact that what Miss Perkins always told me was right.
I was meant to live and to live exactly as I am.
Diary entry 9/17/1986
Sam Davis
II. The Caretaker
To the editor of the Stirling Banner:
For most of us Englishmen and women who suffered through the war with Winston Churchill, he was the greatest man in the world. And we’ll never forget him or change our opinion.
Therefore, I was shocked when your paper carried news of Winston Churchill’s death at 79 on your second page and reduced his remarkable life to only TWO paragraphs. I hope that you will print my letter and allow me to remind your readers of his long full life.
Winston Churchill was born on November 30, 1874, in a palace. He talked with a stutter and was a poor student. As a boy, his parents never paid much attention to him. But he had a wonderful nanny named Mrs. Everest. Her love and support made him the great man that he was.
Your article spoke of Churchill’s role during World War II. However, even before he became prime minister, he led a fascinating life. When the Boer War in South Africa broke out in October 1899, a London newspaper hired Churchill as a reporter. He hadn’t been in South Africa long before the Boers ambushed an armored train that he was riding in and imprisoned him. He made a daring escape. Overnight, he became famous, a hero to the English people, and he was only twenty-five.
In 1901, Churchill took his seat in the House of Commons—his first political success. In 1911, Churchill was appointed First Lord of the Admiralty and began working to strengthen England’s navy. In August of 1914, due to his efforts, England entered World War I, better prepared.
In your article, you mentioned that Churchill made a terrible mistake in World War I and resigned in disgrace from the Admiralty. It is true that as a way to break the World War I stalemate, Churchill urged an attack on the Dardanelles and the Gallipoli Peninsula, both controlled by Turkey. He was hoping to open up a route to the Black Sea. However, I do not believe that Churchill should have been blamed for the disaster. The plan of attack that was followed by England was very different from the plan that Churchill had approved. In any case, his exile from mainstream politics just makes his comeback all the more remarkable.
During the years between World War I and II, unlike the rest of the world’s leaders, Churchill paid attention to the Brownshirts marching through Berlin. He listened to Hitler’s speeches urging all Germans to revere the Fatherland. Even though few people paid attention, Churchill gave talks and wrote articles about the need to stand up to Nazis. While Great Britain’s own prime minister, Neville Chamberlain, urged appeasement, Churchill was a lonely voice warning of the dangers posed by Hitler.
Unfortunately, as we all know, Churchill’s predictions were right. On September 1, 1939, German troops marched into Poland. On September 3, England and France declared war on Germany. In April 1940, when Germany attacked Denmark and Norway, Neville Chamberlain lost his job. The whole country breathed a sigh of relief when C
hurchill took Chamberlain’s place. Churchill was sixty-five. He wrote: “I felt as if I were walking with destiny and that all my past life had been but a preparation for this hour and for this trial.”36
It was a terrible time. Great Britain was underequipped, not ready to fight the war. We all were secretly afraid we were going to lose. Churchill perfectly captured our country’s plight when he said, “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.”37 Soon Belgium surrendered to Germany, and we were certain that France was going to be defeated. Churchill made us all feel brave when he told the House of Commons that even though all of Europe might fall, “….we shall not flag or fail. We shall fight in the seas and oceans...we shall fight on the beaches…”38 On June 22, France surrendered to Germany.
We all expected the Germans to cross the English Channel. But first they had to defeat the Royal Air Force. In July, the German Luftwaffe began to bomb British shipping and ports—the Battle of Britain. In September, the Luftwaffe began nightly air raids on London. I myself am one of the lucky ones; I lived through those raids. My next-door neighbors were not so fortunate.
While the Battle of Britain raged, Churchill traveled everywhere. He went into the streets as the bombs fell, holding up two fingers in a V-for-Victory salute. I actually knew people who saw him with their own eyes. By ignoring the danger, he gave us all courage. Although the Royal Air Force was outnumbered, our pilots fought bravely and finally defeated the Luftwaffe. Churchill praised the Air Force for all of us when he said, “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.”39
During these years, Churchill developed a close relationship with President Franklin Roosevelt. After Japan attacked Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, the United States finally entered the war. Germany surrendered on May 7, 1945. There were parties in the street, parades, strangers kissing strangers on that joyful day, almost five years after Churchill became prime minister.
Soon, an election was held in Britain. It was a terrible thing the British people did to him. We voted him out of office. Churchill lost his post as prime minister.