by Leigh Perry
Chapter Twenty
Like most colleges, Bostock provided year-round guided tours of the campus as part of their never-ending recruiting efforts. December wasn’t exactly a prime time, so when I went online to see if any tour slots were available, I was able to sign us up for one the very next day. That meant that on Wednesday, I left work, picked Madison up at the high school, stopped by the house, and headed back to Bostock.
I’d only booked seats for two, but then again, they weren’t going to know Sid was accompanying us. Or at least part of him was—his skull ready to observe everything from the confines of the sugar skull bag, and his hand was holding his phone in case he wanted to text me.
For once I could avoid the parking deck and the shuttle because guests got to park at the visitor’s center. When we went inside, Madison and I were met by a familiar-looking man in his midthirties with blond, fiercely trimmed hair and a sport coat over his Bostock sweatshirt.
“Hi, I’m Edward Humphries, and I’m in charge of recruiting here at Bostock. You must be the Thackerys.” He looked at me curiously as he handed us name tag stickers and brightly printed info packets. “Have we met, Ms. Thackery?”
Now I remembered where I’d seen him. He’d been part of the provost’s contingent at the adjunct meeting. Since I didn’t know his views on my speech, I decided not to draw his attention to it, and instead said, “I’m an adjunct here, so you may have seen me on campus. I’ve been telling my daughter all about the school, and she just had to come visit. I’d have shown her around myself, but I didn’t want my enthusiasm to sway her too much.” I patted Madison’s shoulder. “Kids need to make their own decisions.”
“Absolutely—I wish all of our parents felt that way. Now is it Madison, or do you prefer Maddie or Mad?”
“Madison is fine. You’ll know when I’m mad.”
He chuckled. “What are you interested in studying, Madison?”
“I’m still undecided,” she said, “but I definitely want something in business. I mean, why would I go to college if I couldn’t get a job afterward? Am I right?”
We all chuckled that time, and I reflected that Madison’s numerous roles in school plays were paying off in a way I had never expected.
“Well, you’ll find plenty of great programs here in all the business disciplines.” He checked his watch. “Shall we get started?”
“Are we getting a private tour?” I asked.
“As matter of fact, you are. We don’t get many prospective students right before Christmas, especially not at this time of day. That’s also why you’re getting me as a guide instead of one of our students.”
“Now I feel guilty about dragging you away from your desk.”
“Not to worry. It’s always a pleasure to talk to a prospective student about the Bostock Difference.”
Apparently, the Bostock Difference was their recruiting slogan—it was all over the info packet he’d given us and printed on the scarf he wrapped around his neck before we left the building.
One Bostock difference I’d noticed since coming to work there was that the campus was much larger than most of the schools where I’d taught. The buildings were spread out over gently rolling hills, which is why the shuttle bus system was so important. It was scenic, but since it was thirty degrees that day, I was relieved when we walked outside and saw a shuttle waiting for us at the curb.
“Business is all about efficiency,” Humphries said, “and that means getting where you need to go in a hurry. Joe here is going to drive us around campus.”
Joe and I had a nodding acquaintance, meaning that we’d never exchanged anything more than nods. We did so once again as the three of us climbed on board. When Humphries cleared his throat pointedly, Joe pasted on a smile and said, “Welcome! I hope you’re ready to hear all about the Bostock Difference.”
With just two of us, it seemed silly to sit in the same seat, so Madison and I sat on opposite sides of the aisle. That left me room to put the sugar skull bag next to the window. The bag was moving slightly, so I could tell Sid was already wiggling around to look at everything.
Though Sid always said he was perfectly content with his life with us, even if it was mostly spent in the house, he got the biggest kick out of things that were mundane to the rest of us. Not only was he excited about seeing Bostock, but he was even enjoying riding a shuttle bus.
I admit I didn’t pay much attention to the spiel Humphries rattled off as we drove away from the visitor’s center and past a selection of classroom buildings, most of which he described as having state-of-the-art facilities and design. I didn’t know about that, since the equipment in my classrooms was fairly standard, but it was a handsome campus, heavy on brick and with enough trees to decorate without obscuring. We stopped frequently so we could walk through a couple of classroom buildings, view an obviously staged dorm room, stick our heads inside the library, and visit various other points of interest. We ended up at the student center, where Humphries gave us hot chocolate and cookies in a private room and promised to tell us about the biggest Bostock Difference of all.
“It’s been said that the only way to learn about business is to do business,” he said, “and that’s what happens here. By the middle of sophomore year, each student will be ready to go to work with a vetted business plan for a product or service that meets a need here on campus. There are businesses that do student laundry, run errands, and deliver groceries. We have a co-op store for selling just about anything a student needs or wants, two restaurants, and even a bar.” He pointed to Madison’s info packet. “Our recruiting materials? Designed and written by students. Those cookies you’re eating? Baked by students. The shuttle bus we were just in? Driven, owned, and maintained by students. They provide on-campus transportation and drive students to Pennycross for shopping, movies, and special events. It’s called Bus-Stock Shuttles.”
He paused as if hoping for another chuckle in appreciation of the clever title.
“How could students afford to pay for buses?” I asked.
“Bostock provides business loans, which have to be repaid by graduation, which means students are very careful about setting goals and working out how to meet them. They can choose to create a sole proprietorship, a partnership, or a corporation. They can even acquire an existing business from a graduating senior. Several companies are on their third set of owners, and a couple are even older.”
He paused for us to express our admiration and Madison played her part with vim and vigor before asking, “Do student businesses ever fail?”
“Of course, but that doesn’t mean a failing grade. After all, as you’ll learn in Business 101, the vast majority of startups of any kind go bankrupt. Analyzing why a business fails and then building on that to create something new is an invaluable learning experience. Of course, there are rewards for those whose business are particularly successful. Not only higher grades, but business owners keep any money earned above and beyond expenses, which can help offset college tuition costs. Assuming that they tell their parents about it, of course.” He gave us another one of those chuckles, which I was beginning to think were produced in a lab on campus.
After that, he offered to answer questions, and having been around colleges her whole life, Madison knew the kinds of things she was expected to ask. What was the social life like? What kind of organizations were there to join? How was the cafeteria food?
My role as a parent was to check into financial aid and security. The security part was the part I was actually interested in, and I was disappointed that it wasn’t provided by students. I was ageist enough to think I might be able to fool student security guards. I’d have asked about the janitorial staff but didn’t think that would have been covered in Humphries’s training about the Bostock Difference.
While Humphries was telling Madison about the array of outside experts Bostock invited to explain the workings of the real business world, I snuck a look at my phone to see if Sid had
sent any additional questions to ask, but he hadn’t.
Once our hot chocolate and questions had been disposed of, I checked to see if it was okay for Madison and me to roam around on our own.
“Absolutely,” Humphries said. “Whenever you’re ready to go back to the visitor’s center parking lot, just head for a shuttle stop. They come by every ten minutes in the afternoons, and any of the drivers will be happy to take you back to your car.”
After exchanging handshakes and accepting Humphries’s business cards in case we had any more questions for him, we were on our own.
As soon as we went outside, I pulled out my phone and held it as if it were on speaker, which gave us effective camouflage as long as nobody was close enough to realize Sid’s voice was coming from the bag and not the phone. “Sid, did you get anything out of the tour?”
“Not much, other than the fact that Madison is getting to be an excellent actor,” he responded.
“You’re too kind,” she said graciously. “Did you like that part about college only being worthwhile if I get a job afterward?”
“Education is valuable in and of itself,” they said in unison, making me think that perhaps I’d said that too often.
“Look at me,” Sid said. “I take lots of classes, and I’m never planning to get a job.”
“Not that a job isn’t a good thing,” I pointed out.
“You mean you aren’t expecting me to move into the attic with Sid and play video games 24/7?” Madison said in well-feigned amazement.
“Don’t scare your poor old mother that way!”
She snickered. “I have to admit that as business colleges go, this one seems pretty good. It’s just not for me.”
“Whatever you choose will be fine.” I’d been careful to keep from pointing her toward or away from either my alma mater or any of the many schools where I’d worked. Since she hadn’t decided on a major, that had been easier than it might have been otherwise. “Anything particular you want to see, Sid?” I asked.
I felt him twisting around in his bag to get a better look around. “I don’t think so. The students that knew Annabelle will have graduated by now, and we don’t know if she cleaned anywhere regularly other than the dorms, so there’s no reason to try to buttonhole any instructors. Unless you know any custodians we can talk to—”
“Nope, though Charles said he’d try to make a connection or two.”
“Then we may as well…Wait, what’s that?”
“Where?”
“The little building to your right.”
He was directing me toward a small wooden building. It was isolated from the rest of the campus, with a steep incline on one side and a service road on the other, and from a distance, I’d taken it to be some sort of storage building. From this angle, it looked like an old church.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t on the tour, but I think there’s a map in the info packet.” I handed Sid off to Madison and found the map I remembered seeing. “It’s labeled the McClelland Museum.”
“What do you think? Ancient Egyptian ledger books, Roman abacuses, and colonial adding machines?” Madison said.
“Displays of deposit slips over the years and pictorial histories of innovative accountants?” Sid suggested.
“Or we could go look,” I said, walking in that direction while they came up with even more ludicrous ideas.
The building really did look like a rustic chapel, which made it more than a little out of place on the mostly modern college campus. There was a sign on over the front door that said John Albert McClelland Museum and a less grandiose plaque said Open 1 to 5 Weekdays Only.
“They should be open for another hour,” I said and tried the door. Unsurprisingly, it creaked loudly as it opened. “I’m hanging up now, Sid,” I said, and tucked the phone away.
I felt pretty safe in assuming that the woman we saw as we came in the door was a student. She was the right age, was sitting at a book-and-paper-cluttered desk, and was typing furiously on a laptop. Without lifting her head, she said, “Students are free with ID. Adults $5. Please sign in. We close in an hour.”
“What about people on the campus tour?” I asked, tapping at our visitor badges.
She looked at us briefly. “Bostock Difference tour visitors are free. Please sign in. We close in an hour.” And back to typing.
I’d intended to ask what the collection was like before committing ourselves, but with a welcome like that, how could we resist going inside? I wrote Madison’s and my names down in the thick guest book on the desk.
There was a wooden holder on the wall next to the set of heavy-looking double doors in front of us. It may have been intended for hymnals or missals, but now it held black-and-white brochures titled, “Highlights of the McClelland Collection.” I took one as Madison heaved the door open, making another mighty creak, and we entered the exhibit room.
“Wow,” she said as the door slammed behind us.
“Wow,” I agreed.
I’ve got a fondness for eccentric museums like the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston, the New England Pirate Museum in Salem, and the Plumbing Museum in Watertown, but this one might just win the prize for eccentricity.
It was one large room with long glass-and-metal display cases breaking it up into aisles. Had I not seen the identifying cardboard tags in front of each item, I’d have thought it looked like an extra-large booth from the famous Brimfield flea market, only one that had been stocked by a dealer who hadn’t made up her mind about what kind of merchandise to specialize in.
In my first glance, I saw ship models, two suits of armor, various kinds of pottery, a battered steamer trunk, animal skulls, what I thought was a chamber pot, embroidered gloves, and taxidermy birds under bell jars. And that was just the stuff in front.
“How did this happen?” Madison asked.
I opened the brochure. “According to this, affluent businessman John Albert McClelland began collecting ‘exotic objects’ as a child and stored and displayed them in an abandoned church on his estate grounds. When he died, he left a generous financial bequest to Bostock, his alma mater, on the condition that they move the building and his collection to the campus and maintain it.”
Madison ran her hand over a dusty display case. “That maintaining part could use some work. Is all of this from that one guy?”
I read a little further. “Nope. His plan included providing space for curios and valuables gifted by other alumni.” I looked around. “It’s my guess that when Bostock grads end up with oddities they don’t know what to do with, they give it to the school for a tax write-off.”
Since nobody else was in the room, I figured it was safe to talk to Sid directly. “Sid, are you seeing this?”
“Seeing but having a harder time with the believing. Can I come out?”
I looked around for security cameras, but while I didn’t see any, that didn’t mean there weren’t a dozen hidden by the masses of stuff. “Better not, but at least we can talk.”
“Then hold the bag up higher. Is that ship model made of matchsticks?”
I lifted him and looked more closely myself. “I believe it is. The label says it’s late eighteenth or early nineteenth century.”
“Sure it is,” Sid said.
“But it’s from McClelland’s own collection.”
“McClelland was either amazingly gullible or had horrendous eyesight.”
“Agreed.”
Madison had moved on to a different aisle. “Mom, do you think I can take pictures?”
“I don’t see any signs that say not to, and there’s nothing in the brochure. Just don’t use a flash.”
“And airdrop the pictures to me,” Sid said. “I’m going to want to glory in them later.”
She pulled out her phone while I moved on to a pair of paintings of geisha hung on the wall. “I believe these are paint-by-number.”
“How can you tell?” Sid said.
“I can see the lines, and everything that’s yellow has faded so much I can see the numbers under those sections.”
“You say McClelland was a successful businessman?” Sid said in amazement.
The bizarre part was how genuine antiques and artifacts were scattered in amongst the dreck. I knew a real skull when I saw it, and if it wasn’t from a hippo, it was from an even more unusual animal. Some of the Native American baskets looked authentic, Madison assured me that the shelf displaying padlocks included several unusual specimens and classic Rabsons, and I’d seen enough blunderbusses in other museums to be reasonably sure that the one there was real. Of course, the Egyptian stool was only a replica of the one from King Tut’s tomb, but it was made of ivory and bronze and dated back to the 1920s. The contradictory part was that standing next to an early or mid-nineteenth century medicine chest was a decorative suit of armor that was clearly modern—I’d seen one just like it on sale at the mall.
We had intended to just take a quick look, but the sheer scope of the collection kept us there until the attendant came to the door and said, “I’ve got to lock up.”
“Sorry, we got involved,” I said.
“Yeah, there’s a lot to see,” she said with absolutely no trace of enthusiasm. She guided us out, grabbing her already packed backpack on the way, and locked the door behind us with an old-fashioned iron key before heading toward the student center.
Madison waited until she was gone to look at the lock. “Some security! I could open that thing in a couple of minutes.”
“Why so slow?” Sid said. “I could do it in a minute, easy.”
“I could do that fast, too,” Madison said. “I just take my time so as not to scratch up the locks, unlike some people.”
“Hey, you try picking a lock without scratching when all you’ve got is bare bones.”
“I’m sure either of you would do an excellent job of breaking and entering, but it’s time to go.” I started off for the nearest shuttle stop, ignoring Sid’s comments that I was just jealous because I couldn’t pick locks as well as he could.