It would have taken more than a distant war to break Kay’s gracious hold on him. She remained first and foremost the rejuvenating elixir of his life, his daily contact with a world of tenderness and care. When they were alone with each other in the world they shared between them, it was as if no other world existed. Of course, these hours of deep happiness came and went, but they were always there to return to on a regular basis.
He loved her more each day and wasn’t shy about saying so. As the days stretched into years, his admiration for her grew apace. He found her quick mind ever more able to pick up the thread of complex concepts he happened to drop in her presence, sometimes of a technical nature, sometimes of a metaphysical nature. In this way, little by little, she developed into a partner with whom he could share many things he would otherwise have had to keep to himself. He probably never realized what effort this took on her part, the library books and articles she studied in order to communicate with him more nearly at his level. But his obvious delight in her in this facet of their relationship was reward enough for her.
His ongoing concern for detecting positive results from scientific progress opened a door in his mind which, if Kay found it ajar, was receptive to any insights she might supply him from her daily life as an elementary school teacher. Sometimes he was even aggressively curious about the details of what to her seemed like an insignificant incident from her day which she happened to mention to him in passing, as though he could not hear enough from her about the mind-set of the younger generation. When he was in that our-hope-lies-with-the-younger-set mood of his, she would have to tackle all sorts of questions from him about the attitude and values of her students. She enjoyed this, as it made her think, even as it drew her more deeply into the soul of the man she loved.
Moreover, each day Kay grew more beautiful in his eyes. Her sparing table habits, her enforced exercise regimen, and her overall enthusiasm for life surely contributed to this. Her bright and hopeful spirit made her a delight to be around and indicated an underlying reserve of courage which she could call on to get her through tough times.
No, the war did nothing to loosen Kay’s gracious hold on Steve.
Nor could the war undermine the joy and consolation he found in worship and adoration. The deeper the world pressed him into the bosom of the Church, the more he encountered Her rock-solid foundation and Her sublime constancy. Let the world disembowel itself in its madness and fury! In its very midst stands the Church, steadfastly looking to the eternal God whose goodness always has the last word. The world must stand speechless before Ultimate Truth as expressed, for example, in Bach’s “St. Matthew Passion” or in his “Mass in B Minor,” both of which were gloriously presented at Christiana during the Korean conflict. The world was powerless before that which it could neither fathom nor produce of itself—pure adoration of God from a people He would never allow to be confounded.
And in that faith in God and that hope for the future, Stephan Pearson went on teaching and inspiring his students year in and year out.
VII
For more than a decade life moved along from day to day with few bumps and much satisfaction. It is true that the return of the veterans from the Korean War brought with it a tiny worm that burrowed itself into the new core of Stephan Pearson’s soul, but this worm was so often content just to lie dormant that it escaped detection. Since he himself was so slow to acknowledge its presence, we too shall disclose it gradually by describing one particularly annoying Friday late in the spring of 1956. Kay must have unloaded it on Mary who took me through that day as I was preparing this book.
The day began in a most promising way. The sun rose glorious over the freshly sprouting cornfields. Steve and Kay were out in the yard by 5:30, cleaning dead leaves from under the shrubbery. They loved this sort of work at this time of the day when the air is fresh and the smell of human activity is faint, a time of new beginnings and hopeful prospects.
At 6:30 Kay went into the house to change clothes and fix breakfast. At 6:45 Steve went in to change clothes and enjoy breakfast. At 7:00 Steve suggested to Kay, “Why don’t we flick on the radio for a few minutes and get some news about the convention in Minneapolis. Cecil Hartman should mention it.”
“Good idea. Maybe something has been decided about the merger.”
She reached back onto the counter and turned the knob. Within a few seconds the urgent voice of an announcer was summoning the two tranquil breakfasters to rally round the cause:
“Mr. and Mrs. America! How are you able to live without ABLE? ABLE! The brand-new, all new, dependABLE washday product you have all been waiting for! ABLE, friends, is capABLE of washing any washABLE with remarkABLE ABILity. With your dainties it’s adorABLE, with your work clothes it’s unbeatABLE, with your dishes it’s irreplaceABLE, with your floors it’s unscuffABLE, with your walls it’s unmatchABLE!! I repeat, friends, how are you ABLE to live without ABLE? The only washday product that is all seven in one—dependABLE, remarkABLE, adorABLE, unbeatABLE, irreplaceABLE….”
-Flick-
“…deplorABLE…”
“…and insufferABLE!”
“My gracious, dear! Now we know what’s wrong with our marriage!”
“Just think! Without ABLE we’ve missed out on what could have been ten years of bliss!”
“I shall pick some up on my way home from school this very day. Fear not, my dear! From this day forward, we shall no longer be disABLEd!”
Kay flung her arms out theatrically in a sweeping gesture of triumph, sending Steve’s glass of milk caroming to the floor with a crash.
“Well,” he replied sardonically, observing the milk creep out over the linoleum. “The first thing to which we can apply its magic touch is the floor next to the table.”
They burst out laughing as Kay scurried to get the mop and bucket to clean up the mess. In a moment she was back at the table with a fresh glass of milk for Steve.
“Do you want me to turn the radio back on?” Kay wondered.
“No. How can they expect a person to recover from that torrent of asinine verbiage in time to listen to the news with dignity and discernment?”
“That’s a good question,” Kay replied, taking a bite of toast.
Dr. Pearson’s first class was not until 8:50 on this particular day, and there was no Matins because of the convention, so he decided to spend the first hour in his office on campus. There was a little stack of papers he had to get around to marking one of these days, but first, he reasoned as he walked up the arbored lane to the hill, he’d have to try to settle some knotty problems that had been on his mind lately. There appeared to be a relationship between those two…. But was it real or just coincidental?… No…. No…. The graphing was too consistent to be accidental. Perhaps the key lay in the—
SCREECH! - HONK! HONK!—BEEP!
What in the…?
Dr. Pearson swung around to face the racket. A car had come speeding over the rise just as he was stepping into the lane, had swerved violently, and screeched to a halt to avoid the professor sunk deep in thought. Two more had barely escaped colliding with it from the rear. There he stood, surveying the chaos occasioned by his mere presence on campus: one car skidded sidewise directly in front of him and the other two gunning their engines impatiently behind it.
“Er, G’morning, Doctor. Sorry for the … ah … close call,” flustered the blond Nordic specimen in the first car. “Kind of on pins and needles, I guess you’d say. Big race this afternoon.”
The professor was going to tell him not to worry about it when someone hollered from the last car, “What’s the hold-up? I’ve got to make a 7:50 class on the other end of campus!”
Instantly the first car peeled off, leaving him standing in a cloud of blue exhaust. The other two whizzed by in bright blurs before he had time to collect himself. Gathering up his shattered train of thought, he retreated to his turret.
“A man takes his life in his hands walking across campus these days,” he mutte
red.
Normally the noise from below did not bother him, but today he had to shut his office window to cut off the distraction of passing cars.
“Every useful invention is subject to travesty,” he mused as stock cars, presumably gathering for the “big race,” roared by showing off their skillfully mutilated mufflers.
But it is man’s good fortune to have pleasant moments interspersed in the most annoying of days. The rest of the morning passed without incident except that in place of the regular chapel period, someone had managed to schedule a twenty-five-minute harangue from a special itinerant speaker warning everyone about the dangers of creeping socialism.
At noon as he was eating lunch in his office, one of the papers on his desk caught his eye. Sparing as was his normal use of the red pencil, this paper was so decorated with scarlet that it looked as though he had sliced off the end of his finger over it. It was that poor Gary Amundsen’s last test paper! The professor had promised to return it so that he could study for the big test on Friday afternoon, and today was Friday! Well, there were still three-and-a-half hours left before the test. The young fellow would certainly appreciate getting that paper back now so he could see where he went wrong. There were several errors he had consistently committed throughout the test which five minutes’ attention would rectify.
So he left his half-eaten sandwich and clambered down the staircase to the administration offices located on the main floor. There he learned that Gary Amundsen resided in Kildeer Hall and that his entire afternoon was free to study for the test. Paper in hand, Dr. Pearson penitently headed for Kildeer Hall.
It was not that the young man was incapable of the work. From the way he talked in class, he evidenced the commendable ambition of qualifying as an engineer like his father and joining him in the family business. Besides, he would never have got as far as differential equations if he had not shown some native intelligence along the way. True, the course was giving him some difficulty, but Dr. Pearson did not regard his problems as insurmountable. With a bit of application, he had it in him to become a fine engineer. In class he always had such an earnest look on his face, as if he’d do anything to please you.
“The poor fellow is probably studying his head off at this very moment, and here I am with this paper that could be a real help to him.”
Dr. Pearson swung open the big glass door and entered the reception area of the new dormitory where he ascertained the number of Gary’s room. He mounted the broad staircase to the third floor, Room 317.
These are magnificent accommodations they’re building for students these days, he thought. I understand Harold had a hand in this one. If he were here now, he’d be explaining to me the scheme of this structural feature or the meaning behind that fixture. You could count on that. Good old fellow….
Here he was in front of Room 317. He knocked. No answer. Again he knocked. Again no answer…. Of course! He’d be over in the library. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
“Good afternoon, Dr. Pearson,” he heard from a door not far down the hall.
“Hello, Len.” It was one of his chemistry students.
“Are you looking for someone?”
“Gary Amundsen. But he must be over in the library.”
“Before you go over there, sir, it might be a good idea to check the lounge to the left of the reception desk as you come in the main door.”
“Okay, Len. Thank you.”
There had been a large, yes, a very large open area to the left of the reception desk, he now remembered. Strange he hadn’t thought to look in there before trudging all the way upstairs. Time was of the essence for the young man.
Descending the last flight of stairs, he was able to see through the glass wall into the lounge from above. There were perhaps a dozen men gathered around a TV set watching a baseball game. Not much chance he’d find Gary among them when so much was at stake for him in this test. Still, Len had said to check there.
The puzzled scientist slipped into the lounge. The TV set was in the far corner. The young men had their backs to Dr. Pearson as he cautiously entered and approached the group for a better look. Scanning the back of their heads, he was about to turn and leave when a mop of red hair resembling Gary Amundsen’s popped over the top of a roomy upholstered chair. Moving closer to the chair, he angled off to one side for a view of the young man’ profile. It was Gary! His elbows resting on the arms of the chair with his head propped up in his hands, he was peering at the screen with rapt attention. A few moments later he gave a little jerk and slouched way back into the chair, staring distractedly at the ceiling. His eyes wandered over to the windows and gazed into the distance, finally roaming back to the TV screen.
A man in the TV announced, “The score at the end of seven innings is Milwaukee nine, Brooklyn one.”
Gary Amundsen stretched and yawned.
The little professor was nonplussed. Was this the lad who in class seemed so eager to learn, almost too eager? Was this why his eyes were always watery and more or less bloodshot? Was he totally unaware of his plight? Didn’t he care that three hours of studying could make all the difference between a pass and a fail on that test?
He walked meekly over to the lad and held out the paper.
“I told you I’d get this paper back to you before the big test today. You still have time to make good use of it.”
“Wha…. What?” Gary jolted around in his chair, coming to abrupt academic attention.
“Oh, hello, Dr. Pearson. What was that?”
That earnest look came over his face.
“This last test. There are some mistakes on here that you could easily avoid repeating later this afternoon.”
“The test? Oh yes. For this afternoon. Thanks a lot. I’ll look it over as soon as this game is over. Only two innings left.”
Dr. Pearson was pensive as he left the plush lounge.
“That lad doesn’t know what’s good for him, that’s all.”
The embracing spring air rushed through the doorway and met his warm face. Right next to the dormitory he spotted a large empty baseball diamond spread out under the sun.
“At least he might have been out here,” he said to himself, shaking his head.
Then he ambled slowly back toward his office.
On the way across campus, he stopped at the post office to collect his mail. The box was stuffed with envelopes of varying sizes. Among them were two letters of departmental interest, one personal reply from a colleague in Milwaukee, and half a dozen advertisements. Two of the latter were addressed to “Box Holder” and were soliciting subscriptions to third-rate magazines. Another was an invitation from a Book Club to purchase $52.49 worth of books for $0.99 complete with a ten-day trial period with no obligation if returned within the ten days. The other three he tossed into the overflowing wastebasket without bothering to look at them.
That evening, Kay noticed that he was having a hard time being cheerful. It was as if something was eating him.
“Are you feeling well, my dear?”
“Not exactly. Let me explain why.”
Then he told her of his experience with Gary Amundsen and finished by remarking that the results of his test that afternoon made it clear that he had paid little, if any, attention to the returned test paper. And he had arrived to take the test with those same bloodshot eyes that had previously given Dr. Pearson the impression he burnt the midnight oil studying.
As he talked, Kay grew sullen.
“Marvelous as this TV is,” she put in, “I sometimes wish it hadn’t invaded every home the way it has. In the last few years I’ve noticed a marked—you could say—regimentation in the way children respond in class. They all seem to be thinking the same thoughts in the same patterns. How is Dandy Duck going to get out of the mess he got himself into just as yesterday’s program was ending? We’ll know at 4:00 if we rush right home after school. And isn’t Mr. Filibuster awful? He wouldn’t let Johnny Squirrel set up his acorn stand so he could
earn a thousand dollars and retire. All this sets off alarms in some of us teachers, who grew up in an era when children made and solved their own adventures, to listen to this kind of thing all day long.”
“Well, honey, don’t you know that those programs sell Choco-Milk Sweetener by the case? Isn’t that all that matters?”
“It also sells a few other things, like TV teeth, for example. That’s what Dr. Jensen called it the last time I was in to have my teeth checked.”
“TV teeth?”
“Yup. There’s something about the way kids hold their heads in their hands while watching TV that pushes the teeth out of place in their soft jaws.”
“You don’t say.”
“But the worst part of it comes on a beautiful day like today when they’ve all got to run home so as not to miss Hello There! In the winter it’s bad enough. But when children would rather sit indoors and watch TV than play outdoors on a glorious day like this, something is really all out of kilter.”
“It probably keeps the kids out of the streets in the big cities.”
“Maybe. But where is the corresponding decrease in the rate of juvenile delinquency? I often ask myself if all the violence on TV doesn’t actually inspire lawlessness. The kids sure talk about it enough. TV almost normalizes it for them, I’m thinking.”
They sat there in silence for some moments. Then Kay spoke up more cheerily.
“Gladys Evans told me today that they’re moving into that big new house under construction north of town.” All at once her voice dropped and a quizzical expression came over her face. “I wonder why….”
“They only have two children, don’t they?”
“Yes, and they’re about ready to leave home. I always thought their present house on Christiania Avenue was lovely, especially with that big fenced yard.”
“Well, now that he’s head of the Psychology Department, perhaps….”
“Perhaps. I suppose we shouldn’t criticize or judge the motives of others. I wasn’t sure what Gladys meant by ‘We have to keep moving up, right?’ but it bothered me, I’ll admit.”
A Grain of Wheat Page 28