After his forty-minute address, no one mistrusted the administration’s decision to call upon Dr. Pearson to keynote this year’s “Looking Ahead Day.” He really was different.
That noon the Pearsons were the guests of Sally Larsen again. After showing them through the spotless cafeteria, she shuttled them off to a private dining room where they were scheduled to lunch with the student council. This body of leading personages about the school had prepared a list of questions to guide its informal discussion with their guest of honor during the meal. For the first several minutes, however, it appeared that the discussion would revolve around the food, not the other way around.
“Not this old stuff again.”
“It’s the second time this month.”
“Chow mein on ‘Looking Ahead Day’!”
“To serve to our guests!”
“The government must be unloading its surpluses on us poor students again.”
When nobody seemed to be touching the food, Dr. Pearson quietly suggested that someone say grace. A lad at the far end of the table, who thus far had said nothing, obliged. And with that, most of the student councilors commenced to pick at their plate of food, some first removing the celery, others first clearing the “mess” off the rice before tackling any of it that was not contaminated.
“Dr. Pearson,” spoke up the handsome football player on his right, reading from the prepared list of questions, “as president of the Reedville High School Student Council, I would like to throw open our discussion by asking your professional opinion on an issue that is quite a hot topic around here these days. Who will get to the moon first, the Russians or us?”
Someone snickered near the end of the table.
“That`s difficult to say at this point,” ventured the professor. “In what way would this particular issue be of concern to the students here?”
“Well,” supplied a redheaded lad jauntily, “if the Russians get there first, they`ll turn it into a Communist satellite.”
A few suppressed chuckles showed that his wit was not wasted on everyone.
“Oh, they`ll never get there first,” asserted a brunette with conviction. “There`s too much bureaucracy in Communism. We learned that in modern problems.”
From there the conversation took off on everyone`s opinion of Communism, the race to the moon, and the armament race.
“They wouldn’t dare pull anything on us.”
“We’d clobber them.”
“That Sputnik just caught us off guard.”
Steve and Kay, and that quiet lad at the far end of the table, had cleared their plates long before most of the rest of the diners had made an impression on theirs.
With five minutes of the allotted discussion time remaining, the president offered another question for the consideration of the group. “Dr. Pearson,” he read, “would you please tell us what your … your con—fession is of the supercity of tomorrow, its con—veniences, its … novelties, its general—”
He tossed the paper aside. “What we want to know is, what do you think will make it hop?”
“Here, let`s see that paper, Goofus,” needled the girl sitting next to him. “That’s ‘conception,’ Mr. Pearson, not ‘confession’—‘your conception of the supercity of tomorrow.’”
“Yeah, that’s just what I said: ‘your confession of the supercity of tomorrow.’”
“O stupid!” exclaimed the brunette, throwing the paper back at him. “That’s ‘its conveniences, its novelties, its general attractions,’ sir.”
The little professor looked up from his empty plate, a strained expression on his face, and asked, “That too, I suppose, is an issue of collective interest to all of you?”
“Everyone wants to know where tomorrow’s kicks are coming from. Don`t you?” volunteered a long-haired chap on the left.
The guest of honor looked down at his plate. His mind was as blank as the surface he was staring at. His tongue stuck to his gums. But the proverbial bell came to his rescue. Sally Larsen jumped to her feet as most of the assembled gathering was making for the door, conveyed to him the group`s thanks for his time, and wouldn’t he please come back real soon? In a flash the room was nearly deserted.
“I`ll just leave you two to wander around at your leisure,” she said, patting Dr. Pearson on the arm. “We have a real keen school building, the keenest I`ve ever seen.” And then she hastily added, “But I’ll bet Christiania is even keener! Well, I’ve got to run along now to another one of those meetings. Sometimes I wish I weren’t so popular. See you later!”
And she dashed out of the room.
The two guests of honor looked at each other. “We might just as well go back to our ‘home for the day,’” Kay suggested. “It won’t be long until they’ll be wanting you for this afternoon.”
They were about to leave when the quiet lad who had been sitting at the far end of the table cautiously approached them and, looking down through the floor, said, “I … I’m sorry for this noon. I was hoping it would go in a better direction.”
The contrast between these words and all the other words spoken during the meal gave the Pearsons quite a jolt. A moment of awkward silence followed. Then the gentle scientist walked over to the young fellow, who was now blinking fast, put his hand on his shoulder, and said, “I was hoping so, too.”
The boy`s eyes rose and met Dr. Pearson`s. Nothing more needed to be said.
Kay sensed at once what was needed. “We are just heading over to a private office set aside for us today. Why don’t you come and join us? Your teacher won’t mind when you explain why you aren’t in class.”
The lad`s face lit up at the thought.
“Yes, of course,” said Steve. “That’s a fine idea.”
On the way over to the office, Steve was surprised to learn that the young man had read virtually all of his postwar articles of general interest, and some of his prewar writings as well. Where had he got hold of them? Oh, the Minneapolis library had almost everything!
They entered the office from the corridor in order not to disturb the principal. Steve was as excited about having at last discovered a spark of real promise as his new young friend was at being in the presence of the great man he had admired for so long. Eagerly they drew their chairs around so they could talk facing each other. The boy`s mind was obviously teeming with questions he wanted to ask.
At that very moment, there was a tap on the door connecting them to the principal’s office. It swung open and Mr. Pfister strode in. “I heard you come in and before you settle down, I was just going to mention….
“Rolph! How did you get in here? You’re supposed to be in class, not pestering our guests in their private suite. Now run along!”
Dr. Pearson and Rolph stared at each other incredulously. Then the former stood up and turned toward the principal. “Really, Rolph and I were just about to have a little….”
“Yes, I know. I know. You’re too gracious to admit he’s imposing on you. But trust me, if you let one of them get away with it, before long they’re crawling all over you. Now run along, Rolph. And don’t forget to stop at the office for an admittance slip. You’re already four minutes late. Run along now.”
The crestfallen lad got up. “Thanks anyhow, Dr. Pearson. Thanks very much.”
“We’ll get our little talk in yet,” the professor assured him.
And the young man disappeared.
“Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile!” declared Mr. Pfister. “That Rolph Eriksen is one of the most maladjusted boys I’ve ever seen. He has no conception of how to behave in society. Everything Sally Larsen is, that poor boy is not. Sally can fit in anywhere, but that lad fits in nowhere.”
“Indeed…. Everything that boy is, Sally is not,” Steve intoned softly, as though to himself.
“Ah yes…. Well, I was just going to mention that we have some twenty minutes before we are expected in the science wing, so feel free to relax here for a little while. While you’re gone with me,
Doctor, Miss Bailey will introduce your charming wife to our girls in the Home Economics Department. We mustn’t have you bored during your stay with us.”
“That is very thoughtful,” replied Kay politely.
The principal ducked back into his office.
They sat back down in silence for a few minutes. Then Steve stood up.
“I think it’s more than my age.”
“I`ve never felt more like a dinosaur,” concurred Kay, stepping into the washroom. She decided not to avail herself of the bathtub or of the shower, or even of the collapsible massage table folded up against the wall, tempting as it was.
X
Fifteen minutes later there was a rap on the door and Mr. Pfister walked in followed by a pert young teacher. The Pearsons stood up to greet them.
“Well, I guess it’s time for us to be getting over to the science wing. Miss Bailey, may I introduce you to Dr. and Mrs. Pearson?”
“Welcome to our school,” she said, extending her hand first to Steve and then to Kay.
“Thank you,” they replied together.
“I certainly enjoyed your convocation address this morning, Dr. Pearson. The girls in Home Ec are dying to meet the wife of someone as amazing as you. Won’t you come with me, Mrs. Pearson? I’m sure you will find your afternoon with us most enjoyable.”
“I’m sure she will,” Steve put in quickly, winking at Kay. “But she’s the amazing one, as you will see.”
“Thank you, Miss Bailey,” replied Kay, brushing off Steve’s compliment with an affectionate wink back at him. “It will be good to meet you all.”
The teacher took her arm and escorted her from the room.
“Well, sir,” began the principal guiding Dr. Pearson out through the door. “The science wing is right this way. In the afternoon, we have five physics classes and two chemistry classes in session. Of course, three of the physics classes are what we call applied physics which is designed for those students who really do not need to know the fine points to succeed in life. It enables them to fulfill their science requirement and gives them a broad general exposure to the whole field. It’s a shame that it’s taking so long to convince good colleges and universities to give credit for this class. What can we do to convince them that not everyone who goes on into higher education is cut out to become a scientist? I had a bit of trouble myself with science courses back in my high school days, and look how well I’ve done! What does it take to overcome prejudice?
“Well, as I was saying, that makes four stops for us this afternoon. Right now there is one regular physics class and one chemistry class in session for us to visit, and one each next hour as well. We’ll plan on spending fifteen or twenty minutes with each class. Our first one will be a physics class taught by Anthony Ivesson, head of the Science Department, a remarkable man. We’re fortunate to have him. He’s been offered collegiate positions all over the nation, but he stays right here with us. Of course, to keep men like him we have to pay them well. Our salaries are among the highest in the state. But the Board agrees with me—it makes no sense to have the last word in facilities if we do not have the last word in teachers to go with them. A small price to pay for the future of our youth, I always say.”
By this time they had walked the length of the east end of the building and were rounding the corner into a long broad corridor.
“Here we are—our wing devoted to science. These first rooms on either side are biology and hygiene classrooms and laboratories. We have excellent instructors in these areas too, on a par with our men in physics and chemistry. Ah,” he stopped and peered through a small window in a door marked Biology Laboratory. “From here you can see our roomy greenhouse on the other side of the lab, facing south. See?”
He gestured for Dr. Pearson to feast his eyes on the scene.
Looking through the window, Steve sensed that some words of admiration were due. “Most practical. Very nice.”
“Well, on to the Physics Department. In erecting this precedent-setting school, we decided against constructing a separate physics laboratory. Rather, we incorporated a complete lab into each of our three classrooms. Of course, only two are in use at the moment, but one must always plan for the future. You should have seen the cramped space we had to put up with in the old school. As we enter Mr. Ivesson’s classroom, the first thing that will strike you is the practical arrangement of things. At the front of each theater is a large demonstration desk, fully equipped, for the teacher’s use. The theater is arranged in tiers to give every student an unobstructed view of the teacher’s large desk while providing him with a smaller well-equipped desk of his own on which to replicate what the teacher is doing or to conduct his own experiments. Each theater is furnished with a movie projector and a pull-down screen just behind the teacher’s demonstration table. I feel it is a capital arrangement. I might even have enjoyed my high school science classes in a well-conceived environment like this.”
“It sounds as if you’ve foreseen almost everything.”
“Yes, yes. I think we have. But we’re always open to suggestions for improvements. Here we are. We’re a bit early, but they’ll be expecting us.” He pushed the door open and ushered his guest into the theater.
Although Mr. Pfister had made no attempt to conceal the noise of their arrival, not an eye in the entire classroom turned to look at them as they walked in. Everyone’s gaze was riveted on a very curvaceous blushing brunette in a tight fire-engine red sweater standing in bright lights in full profile at right angles to the screen behind the demonstration desk, motionless except for her batting eyelids and bright quivering lips. Dr. Pearson’s first innocent impression was of the masterful discipline Mr. Ivesson maintained in his classroom.
As soon as he saw them, Mr. Ivesson, a young man of medium height and slight build, hastily tiptoed over to them and rasped in a semiwhisper, “We weren’t expecting you quite yet. We’re in the middle of an unforgettable—er—demonstration pertaining to our present unit of work on complementary colors. In exactly one minute and twenty seconds, Jean will duck down behind the desk and every eye will remain glued to the screen behind her. The students will then see her—ah—her generous natural endowments in blue against the pure white screen. Can you imagine a better way of impressing this unit indelibly into the eager minds of young students?”
“Ah, most effective, no doubt, Mr. Ivesson. May I present you to our special guest, Dr. Stephan Pearson, of Christiania College.”
“Very pleased,” rejoined Mr. Ivesson, extending his hand to their guest. “It is always a particular pleasure to meet someone whose level of thought runs parallel to one’s own, as was clear from your talk this morning.”
“Truly,” replied Dr. Pearson.
“Only twenty more seconds to go,” whispered the teacher. Silence hung thick in the air.
“Down you go, Jeannie!”
The thoroughly scrutinized girl sank to her knees out of sight behind the desk as ejaculations of glee erupted from the class.
“She’s perfectly blue!”
“All of her but her head!”
“That leaves everything that matters.”
“Don’t give me that! Can’t you see her lips there too?”
“Sure enough! Hanging there all by themselves detached from her pretty face.”
Mr. Ivesson allowed these comments to run their course for a minute or so before stepping up to the front of the class.
“Okay, Jeannie. You may return to your seat. You get top marks for this experiment. No one will forget what you taught us. So, class, when the retina, that is, the end of the optic nerve, has been drained, so to speak, of its ability to perceive red, to what color does it necessarily turn?”
“Blue!” shouted those who had heard him over the continuing din.
“Correct. Now that you are aware of this fact, you will encounter it often in your daily life. That’s why we call this course “applied physics.”
He paused to let the full impression of what th
ey had just learned sink in.
“Now, class, we have a special treat for you today…. Class, I am asking for your attention…. Your attention! You get to meet face to face our guest who gave us that amazing talk this morning, the famous physicist and author, Dr. Stephan Pearson. He has kindly consented to spend fifteen or twenty minutes with us this afternoon to talk about science’s contribution to and role in our future, especially in response to your questions. I am sure he would be grateful to have you pelt him with those questions, whatever’s on your mind. And so, without further ado, Dr. Pearson.”
Two or three fellows in the last tier began clapping with mock enthusiasm, but they were soundly reproved for it by a couple of girls with horn-rimmed glasses sitting directly in front of them who turned around and scowled a hole through them.
Dr. Pearson cautiously advanced front and center, taking up a position behind the demonstration desk. The elegance of the room with its gleaming furnishings, its stainless-steel desktops and up-to-date equipment, and its custom-built lighting fixtures gave him a ray of hope that something good might come of the next twenty minutes. And so, with the room still buzzing in several quarters, he kicked off what he hoped would become a good discussion with the following words.
A Grain of Wheat Page 30