by Alexa Kang
“Go! Go, go, go, go, go!”
“Come on, Anthony, faster, faster, go!”
In the pool, all the shouts and shrieks of Anthony’s teammates blended into background noises along with the ripples and splashes of the water. He couldn’t hear them. Nothing they said or did would help. It was all up to him.
Their relay team started off with Brandon in the lead, but somehow, their second and third swimmers lost the edge. By the time he dived in, they were fifteen seconds behind the leader. The leader in the next lane had pulled a daunting distance ahead.
Anthony swung his arms and kicked with all his strength. This competition would determine whether they would qualify to advance to the finals. Everything now depended on him. He could not let everyone down.
With sheer force of will, he pushed ahead. When he caught up with the leading swimmer, the swimmer increased speed, giving him no choice but to push even harder. His arms and legs burned but he refused to let the swimmer regain the lead. The end was in sight, only inches away. He reached out his arm. His fingertip touched the wall of the pool, ahead of his opponent by a mere second.
Anthony entered the locker room with the rest of the swim team cheering him and slapping him on the back. The relay was close, but they had done their job. They would advance. Moreover, Hal and Richard had posted personal best times in their individual events. Their team members advanced in every category.
“Great job, boys,” he told the rowdy bunch when the swim meet was over. “Don’t forget practice at seven a.m. tomorrow.”
Their victory was a huge relief to Anthony. Being the team’s standard-bearer after Lloyd Pearson was no easy task. Thankfully, everyone rallied behind him.
“Time for beef!” Hal shouted. Anthony had just walked out of the shower. “Hey Anthony, you should be the one rounding everyone up.”
“Right.” He was still adjusting to his role, and didn’t even think of being the one to lead the team’s tradition of going to Marconi’s for Chicago beef after a competition. “Who’s up for Marconi’s?” he shouted to the rest of the team.
A chorus of “me” answered him. He hurried up and put on his clothes, ready to take everyone out for a celebratory meal. Before they left, he scoured the lockers. “Where’s Brandon?”
His teammates looked around. A few shrugged and shook their heads.
“He left a few minutes ago,” Stanley said.
“He left?” Anthony looked at the door. What could be so important for Brandon to skip their beef sandwich victory dinner?
When he returned to his dorm room, Brandon was already getting ready for bed.
“Where’d you go?” Anthony asked.
“I had an appointment to get to,” Brandon said.
“It was that important? You missed all the fun at Marconi’s.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that. It was a great win today, wasn’t it?”
“Sure was,” Anthony said, excited. “Stanley’s time for the butterfly was amazing. He must’ve practiced over the holidays. I wonder…”
“I got to get some sleep.” Brandon climbed into bed and turned off his lights.
Anthony held back, surprised Brandon didn’t want to talk about their competition today. He didn’t seem all that excited. “What appointment did you have tonight?” He was curious.
“I’ll tell you about it later. It’s late. We have to wake up early for practice tomorrow.” Brandon turned toward the wall. “Good night.”
Anthony didn’t say anything more, but he wondered why Brandon seemed so odd today.
# # #
Of the classes offered during the spring semester, American History garnered the longest waiting list. The reason for that was Garrett Collins. A visiting professor from Harvard in his early thirties, he related to the students better than most of the other faculty members. The line between them often blurred whether inside or outside of the classroom.
“Joining us for another basketball game tonight, Prof?” asked a male student passing by to take a seat.
“Not tonight. Got a History Department meeting,” the young professor said while he organized his notes behind the lecturer’s podium.
“Professor, can we schedule a time to meet with you? We need help with our term papers,” asked a female student with her friend standing behind her.
“Sure. My office hours are three to six, Mondays and Thursdays. Sign-up sheet’s posted outside my office.”
The girls returned happily to their seats.
When class began, he stood at the podium and pushed his lecture notes aside. “Let’s put our reading aside for today. We have a more urgent topic to discuss than the Louisiana Purchase, important subject as that may be.”
Paper-shuffling sounds and mumbles filled the room as everyone closed their books. Collins walked away from the podium.
“There’s nothing better than to live our lessons when significant moments of history fall upon us.” He picked up the newspaper on the table in the front of the lecture hall. “The House of Representatives today passed the Lend-Lease Bill.” He held up the newspaper to show them the headline. “You all have been thinking about the war, I’m sure. So. The war. Let’s talk about it.” He sat down on the edge of the table facing them. “I want to hear what you all think.”
The students smirked at each other, the way they did when they thought their own opinions were superior to others.
“You know we are mobilizing, right? Doesn’t matter what the government and the press keep telling you. We are preparing for war. You’re all smart enough to know that.”
His declaration invited only confused whispers.
“Universities across the country are preparing students to go to war.” He watched for their reactions. “Students such as yourselves. The school administration is sadly not as frank as they should be, but you don’t need everything spelled out for you. You see what’s happening. Your curriculum has changed. Military officials are visiting the campus. Why are they here?”
No one volunteered to speak. Some of them threw each other nervous glances.
“Because faculty committees are actively collaborating with the U.S. Military. They’ve been doing so for months.”
The mood in the classroom changed from playfully smug to sober. Everyone had heard the rumors. Their school had subjected the students’ interests to the Army’s priorities. They had all whispered about it. They had all guessed it even if no one in the school administration would confirm it. Collins’ open admission cemented the rumors into reality.
“Your university leaders believe intervention is inevitable. What do you think? Is American intervention inevitable?”
No one raised their hand. The subject of the war made them uncomfortable and no one knew the right thing to say.
“Well, you better have an opinion. When we declare war, your generation will be the ones most affected.” He looked at the naive and confused faces before him. His eyes settled on one whose easy self-assurance had caught his attention since the first day of class. The young man exuded confidence, but at only nineteen, he had no awareness yet of his natural ability to draw people to follow him.
“Mr. Ardley.”
“Yes,” Anthony answered. In the seat next to him, Brandon raised an eyebrow with the corner of his lip turned up. He could almost hear Brandon say, “Poor you.”
“Do you think intervention is inevitable?”
Everyone’s eyes turned to Anthony. Too modest to take pleasure at being the center of attention, he retreated slightly back into his seat. “I hope not.”
“Why is that?”
“Because…” he glanced down for a moment, then gazed up directly at Collins. “I wish I could give you a more intelligent answer, but the truth is, my family lost my uncle to the last war. I don’t want them to go through that again.”
“Hmm.” Collins held his hand to his chin. He hadn’t expected this response.
“I know it sounds selfish…”
“No,” Collins in
terrupted him. “It’s a valid answer.” He picked up the newspaper to show them the headline again. “In the coming months, you’ll hear many arguments for and against American involvement. Political arguments. Economic arguments. Ethical arguments.” He put down the newspaper. “But remember this. If America goes to war, your generation, all of you who sit here in this classroom today, will be the ones to bear the bulk of the burden and consequences. The question is, are you ready?”
The class remained quiet. Some averted their eyes and others pretended to take notes. No one wanted to deal with the question.
“I’m not ready,” Collins said, not letting go of the issue on account of their unease.
“You side with the isolationists?” Brandon spoke up.
“No,” he said. “I’m actually appalled at how callous they are about what’s happening in the other parts of the world. I’m not against intervention. I’m against war.”
“What’s the difference?” Brandon asked.
“The difference is as Mr. Ardley said.”
Anthony shifted in his seat, self-conscious at the uninvited attention.
“War. It’s an ugly business,” Collins continued. “It takes a human toll. It breaks families apart. It displaces people. Destroys them, physically and mentally. War is never the answer.”
While the class thought about what Collins said, Brandon held up his notebook to Anthony, showing him the word “Coward” written in large letters and an arrow pointed in Collins’ direction.
Anthony frowned. That was an unfair assessment. Collins was right. War was brutal and didn’t usually change anything. “Professor,” he said, “what if we’re called to fight?”
Collins smiled. “That’s the ultimate question, isn’t it? What will be your choice if the call comes?”
Anthony didn’t know. He looked at Brandon. Brandon was no longer listening. He had his head down and was scribbling something into his notebook. Anthony never found out what he was writing, but the look of contempt on Brandon’s face remained for the rest of the class.
# # #
Two weeks later, Brandon announced he would quit the swim team to devote more time to writing op-ed columns for The Daily Maroon, the University’s student newspaper.
“Is this necessary?” Anthony asked. “You’ve been doing both since our freshman year and you handled everything fine.” Taking over the role of captain from Lloyd Pearson was hard enough. The last thing he needed was to lose another strong swimmer like Brandon.
“My heart’s not in it anymore.” Brandon tossed his book onto the desk and flopped down on his bed. “When I think of all the things happening in the world, swimming doesn’t feel all that important.”
Anthony sank into his chair. He didn’t know how Brandon could say that. They had competed together since junior high school. Swimming was an integral part of who they were. They planned their lives around it. Besides, he and Brandon were best friends. They had grown up together and were now roommates at school. The swim team wouldn’t be the same without him.
More than that, why didn’t he know anything about what Brandon had been thinking? Why hadn’t he said anything about this until now?
“We Americans are turning a blind eye while Hitler is taking over Europe. Everyone says they don’t want to get involved, that they want peace. You know something? There is no peace. How can we have peace when democracies are being destroyed?”
Anthony crossed his arms and listened. Uncle Leon would have a fit if he heard this.
“The people arguing against intervention have dominated the debate for far too long. Everyone hears only one side because our chancellor supports them. It’s time we all hear something else.” Brandon sat up on his bed, his eyes fired up the same way they always did during a swim meet. “I’m going to make sure everyone hears the other side, loud and clear.”
Anthony looked away. Good thing he hadn’t mentioned anything about America First. He had no idea Brandon felt this way. “I don’t see why you have to quit the swim team. You’re a good writer. Writing articles for the Maroon can’t take that much time. Why quit now? We need you on the team.”
Brandon shook his head, the way he always did when he was losing his patience. “It’s not just the newspaper.” He took a flyer out of his book bag and gave it to Anthony. “Some of us are starting a new advocacy group to support American involvement. We’re going to turn opinions around.”
Anthony took the flyer. It called for America to defend Britain. Beneath the call, a giant foot in a black boot marked with a swastika was about to crush the Statue of Liberty.
“Our first meeting is tomorrow night. You should come.”
Right, he thought. If Uncle Leon found out, all hell would break loose. “Brandon, do your parents know what you’re doing?” He needed to ask. The Lowes had been his neighbors for years. Their parents were good friends. Mr. and Mrs. Lowe practically watched him grow up with their son. With conscription now in effect, they would be worried for sure if they knew what Brandon planned to do.
Brandon shrugged and didn’t answer.
“Are you going to tell them?”
“Look. This isn’t about my parents.” Brandon avoided his question. “The important thing is, we have to convince people to do what’s right.”
The passion in Brandon’s voice and his dismissive attitude about his parents worried and surprised Anthony.
“Come to our meeting tomorrow.”
“What?” Him? Go to the CDA meeting? Was Brandon out of his mind?
“We can use all the support we can get.”
“I can’t do that. You know what Uncle Leon thinks about this.”
“It doesn’t matter what he thinks. He’s him and you’re you.” Brandon pressed on. “One meeting. Come.” He looked Anthony in the eyes. “Don’t you trust me?”
Anthony hesitated. Trust had nothing to do with anything. It was a noble thing to care about what was happening in the world, but he cared more about the people close to him. He didn’t want anyone he knew or loved to get directly involved in the war, least of all Brandon. Why would he want to push for more American involvement? Why couldn’t they all leave things be and let everything take its own course?
He wanted to refuse, but he didn’t know how to decline without upsetting his friend.
“You know,” Brandon said, “sooner or later you’re going to have to decide which side you’re on.”
# # #
The first meeting of the new pro-intervention group attracted only ten people. Brandon, along with Nate Sanders and Gretchen Moore, led the meeting. Anthony knew Gretchen, but not well. Like him, she was a sophomore, and she had been in his archaeology class last year. He had seen Nate, a junior, around campus, but they had never met.
Part of him regretted letting Brandon talk him into coming tonight. He hadn’t given Uncle Leon an answer yet about starting a chapter of the AFC, but here he was, at a meeting for a new group advocating the exact opposite. If anyone else but Brandon had asked, he most certainly would have refused. He came for one reason only, to find out what his friend was up to. Brandon had never been politically active about anything. What brought this on? Why the sudden interest?
Except it wasn’t a sudden interest. Watching him interact with Nate and Gretchen, it was clear the three of them were more than mere acquaintances supporting the same cause. They talked over each other like old friends. Brandon would know what Nate and Gretchen wanted to say before they finished speaking. Sometimes, they would laugh at jokes only they could understand.
Brandon used to act this way only with him.
Searching his memory, he tried to remember if Brandon had acted differently or shown any changes last semester. Nothing came to mind. Brandon never even mentioned Nate, Gretchen, or anything about their pro-intervention work. Was Brandon hiding this from him? Or was he himself the one to blame? Had he been so engrossed in himself that he overlooked what Brandon had been doing?
“Thank you all for com
ing.” Nate Sanders took to the front of the classroom. At five-foot-six, slightly chubby and with beady eyes, he didn’t look the part of a leader of a political movement. Brandon would’ve made a more convincing leader. Why was Nate the one in charge?
Nate cleared his throat. “We formed this group as the University of Chicago branch of the National Committee to Defend America.” Behind him, Brandon wrote “CDA” in large letters on the blackboard.
“For now, our objective is to call for more military aid to Britain.” Nate puffed out his chest and stood straighter as he spoke, perhaps trying to compensate for his lack of height. “We do not rule out support for direct military intervention. If Britain falls, American security will no longer be guaranteed. We must prepare ourselves. Starting now.” Strangely enough, when he talked, everyone paid attention and listened. It wasn’t the substance of what he said, but how he said it. He spoke with a provocative sense of urgency, sounding almost a little shrill. With just those few sentences, he spurred a round of applause.
His style of speaking. Anthony had heard it before, but where? It was all quite disturbing. He crossed his arms and drew back into his seat, trying to figure Nate out.
“One by one, countries in Europe have fallen. At this rate, Britain will not hold. It will fall! If we don’t do something, America will be next. None of us will be safe. It is now up to us to take up the mantle of freedom and democracy.” Nate paused and made eye contact with each person in front of him as though he was speaking personally to each of them. Slick move. Senator Reinhardt always did that too whenever he was introduced to new campaign donors.
That was it. Senator Reinhardt. Nate spoke like Senator Reinhardt. Only Nate was worse in the way he was fanning fear.
“We must take a stand against German fascism and dictatorship. Neutrality is not an option.” The urgency in Nate’s voice heightened. A few students shouted out their agreement.