PAY IT
FORWARD
CHAPTER TWO:
PARKING LOT CONVERSATION
Written by Rick
Archer
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SENIOR YEAR
CRISIS
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 20,
1968, Age 18, 12th Grade
CONFUSION
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It was Wednesday,
March 20. Six days had passed since
the newspaper announced Katina's triumph.
I was a beaten kid. All fight was
gone. There was nothing left I could
do to rescue my dream of college for this
coming fall. Exhausted and barely
able to function, over the past week I
had somehow forced myself to carry on.
Every day was a blur. I spoke to no
one unless I had to. However, the
arrival of Maria Ballantyne at my grocery
store was so shocking that I temporarily
snapped out of my funk. Was Mrs.
Ballantyne here to see me? No.
She walked right past me as if I was
invisible. Nary a glance. I was
very disappointed to realize she had no idea
who I was.
Oddly enough the
one thing that had kept me going was my outrage
towards Katina's mother.
I was beyond livid. If you had asked
me the week BEFORE Mrs. Ballantyne stole my
scholarship, I would have been full of
praise. For nine years, she had been
my nominee for the most talented mother in
my school. But now I hated her guts.
It's the oldest story in the book. The rich get
rich while the poor kid gets the shaft.
I
had lost the Jones Scholarship by
cheating. However, I was
certain Mrs. Ballantyne's considerable
influence had something to do with her
daughter's good fortune. After
watching her guide the Mother's Guild group
for nine years, I had concluded long ago
that Mrs. Ballantyne could be very
persuasive.
Not a week went by when I did not see her speak with Mr. Salls in the
Commons Room or walk with him side by side
in the hallway. It was obvious the two
of them were buddies. Which made
perfect sense. It wasn't just the
immense tuition she paid to send seven
children to SJS. Credit Mrs.
Ballantyne for raising some of the finest
students in the school. If Mr. Salls
was going to do someone a favor, who better
than Maria Ballantyne?
However I had changed
my mind in the last couple days. I
decided Mrs. Ballantyne had every right to
help Katina. Even the fact that she
had somehow persuaded Mrs. Salls to give the
Jones Scholarship to her daughter did not
change my opinion. In fact, it had the
odd effect of improving my respect.
That is what a good mother is supposed to
do, look out for her children. I just
wished I had a mother capable of similar
accomplishments.
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With seven mouths
to feed, more than likely Mrs. Ballantyne had
noticed my store on her way home.
Although my store was nowhere near her
house, I suppose it was as good as any
in a pinch. I watched as she pulled out two
empty carts, then disappeared
towards the Produce section.
Assuming I would see her again when she
checked out, I got back to work.
In
three years, I had never seen her in
here. Given that she been
prominent in my thoughts after the Jones
Scholarship disappointment, her sudden
and quite unexpected appearance was
beyond weird.
There
was no
way Mrs. Ballantyne could have known she
was my secret nominee for best mother in
the school.
Chalking up the
considerable achievements of her gifted
children to her skill as a parent, I had
long admired Mrs. Ballantyne. To my
surprise, that was the predominant thought
in my mind right now. There remained a
lingering grudge, but at this point mostly
I just blamed myself for cheating.
Given my fall from grace, Mr. Salls had
every right to bypass me in favor of Katina.
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My father's broken
promise
to pay for college was bad enough, but the thought of letting
Mr. Salls down was at the center of my
collapse.
Given that Mr. Salls knew me better than my
own father, he was in a
position to judge my character. The
verdict was in and he had found I lacked
integrity. By denying me that
scholarship, my status as a rotten kid had been affirmed by the most important man in
the school. The resulting despair
ate me alive. I felt
like such a loser! How will I
ever get rid of this awful feeling?
Oh well, there was nothing I could do about
it now. What is done is done.
All that work down
the drain and it was my own fault for being
stupid! Another year stuck at Little
Mexico was exactly what I deserved for being
an idiot. Maybe this summer I would
take a Spanish course at the local
community college. Then I could give
those Mexicans a piece of my mind when that brat
kicked my dog.
My thoughts returned
to Mrs. Ballantyne. She
did not know me from Adam.
I had always
wanted to meet her, but there had never been
an opportunity.
Too shy to introduce myself, we had
never spoken. Nor had we shared a
glance. Whenever I passed her in the
hallway, she walked by as if I did
not exist. Not once in nine years had
I caught her eye. However, now I had
my chance. Desperate to ask
Mrs. Ballantyne how a rich girl
like Katina had won the scholarship, I
conspired to speak to her. First I
explained to the other boys who sacked
groceries that I knew this lady from school.
They were glad to cooperate. When Mrs.
Ballantyne was finished collecting her
groceries, all I had to do was move to
whatever checkout counter she chose.
As I patiently sacked her mountain of
groceries, not once did she look my way.
Hmm. Still invisible.
When Mrs.
Ballantyne paid the checkout lady, I
offered to take her
grocery carts outside. To my
relief, she said okay. Despite my
intense depression, I was keenly interested
to see if she would talk to me.
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SENIOR YEAR
CRISIS
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 20,
1968, Age 18, 12th Grade
THE PARKING
LOT CONVERSATION
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My visit to her car
was quiet and uneventful. She led, I followed...
and followed... and followed. I was
amused to see Mrs. Ballantyne had parked further
away than any customer I had ever helped.
Once I saw her expensive car, I assumed she
had parked here to protect it
from dents. Situated at the furthest
edge of the parking lot, we were nearly a
football field from the store.
There was not another car in sight.
Well, let me take that back. The
nearest car was my small used VW Beetle.
Considering her car was twice as big, this
spoke volumes about the difference in our
status.
Mrs.
Ballantyne
stared into space as I put the groceries in
her trunk. When I finished, she
handed me two quarters, offered a
smile, then turned
to go. Far too introverted to say
something,
I grabbed the two carts and headed
glumly back to the store.
Just
then I heard her voice. "Young man,
could I speak to you for a moment?"
When I turned
to look, she said,
"Do you
by some chance go to St. John's?"
Stunned, I
stopped in my tracks as if struck by a bullet. As it
turned out, Mrs. Ballantyne had just noticed I
appeared to be wearing the St. John's
uniform. Although she did not
consciously
recognize me, something told her she knew me
from somewhere. When I answered yes,
that broke the ice. Now Mrs.
Ballantyne was curious. By definition,
St. John's students are highly privileged.
So why is this boy working a menial job for
one dollar
an hour?
As I answered a series
of probing questions, Mrs. Ballantyne reached several
conclusions. One, I was poor.
Two, I was deeply disturbed. Three, I
reminded her of her own difficult childhood.
Yes, believe or not, I was about to discover
this high and mighty woman had experienced a
difficult childhood remarkably similar to my
own.
To my
astonishment, Mrs. Ballantyne leaned back against her car, then
proceeded to tell me how she had faced great hardship as a young girl.
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"This
might come as a surprise to you, but
things were very tough for me back when
I was growing up. Like you, I had
a similar experience of growing up
around wealth even though my own family
was not particularly well off."
Mrs. Ballantyne
told me she had grown up in nearby Galveston, Texas.
Her mother was wonderful, but she died tragically of a
sudden stroke when Maria was 11. Her father went
off the deep end. Breaking his leg
in a car accident shortly after his wife's death, he was
unwilling to care for his children. He told his
two older sons to get lost and go find jobs in Houston.
He farmed his son George, 13, to his brother on the
other side of Galveston island. He bullied his
sister-in-law to take Maria. Then he disappeared
from sight to feel sorry for himself and do some
drinking while his leg healed. When Maria's father
finally resurfaced, he was too busy gambling and chasing
women to come see his young daughter.
Maria was stunned
by his abandonment. In a matter of months, she had
lost her mother, her father, and her three brothers. Maria's aunt had problems of her
own.
Fighting to keep her restaurant afloat during the
Depression,
the woman was overwhelmed. She had three children
and was pregnant with a fourth. Maria soon learned
to keep to herself.
Well aware she was unwanted where she lived, the worst
part was being
separated from George, her only friend. The
ensuing year was the toughest of her life. Forced
in many ways to raise herself, she felt abandoned and
totally alone in the world.
I was starting to see why I
reminded Mrs. Ballantyne of herself. As I listened to her sad tale, I was
haunted by an air of unreality. Given where
we started in life, realistically neither of us belonged
at St. John's. The odds that either one of us
would end up at St. John's was a long-shot at best.
But for both of us to land in Shangri-La? Don't be
ridiculous. Only in a coincidence-filled Charles
Dickens novel. I was also mystified why the
most prestigious woman at my school would take an
interest in a nobody kid like myself. This was a
busy woman. Why would she waste time on me? Why would she tell her life story to a
complete stranger? Why should she care?
Although I had no clue why she had
opened up to me, at the time I thanked my lucky stars that she had
decided to
befriend me. In Hindsight, I believe Mrs.
Ballantyne was startled to discover a young man from St.
John's whose childhood was just as difficult as her own
had been. Seeing herself in me created an odd
feeling of kinship. In addition, her difficult
childhood gave her the empathy to sense what I was going
through. I might her skill as a
parent helped her realize the jeopardy I was in. Sympathetic to my plight, I believe Mrs.
Ballantyne made a snap decision
to
take me under her wing.
I could not help but
wonder how Mrs. Ballantyne had escaped poverty to be
transported to the
idyllic Xanadu of her future life. I
understood the rags, but how did she attain the riches?
Almost as if she could read my mind, Mrs. Ballantyne
shared a deep secret. Without being asked, Mrs.
Ballantyne whispered that a Galveston mobster had
unexpectedly offered to pay her way to college.
She said this ticket out of the poverty trap was the luckiest
break of her life. I hoped she would tell me more,
but that is where she ended her story. Now she
looked me square in the eye to get my attention.
"Rick, as you have
surely guessed, I have told you my story
for a reason. Your unusual
background reminds me very much of my
own childhood. I had it tough.
If it weren't for all sorts of lucky
breaks, I might be waiting tables in a
Greek restaurant today or taking
dictation. You sack groceries?
Well, guess what. When I was a
kid, I was no stranger to washing
dishes. But I made it out of
there. If I can overcome
adversity, you can too. In fact,
it looks to me like you are well on your
way. I have been around St.
John's a long time and I have never
heard of a student working a full-time
job after school. Never. St.
John's students have every privilege
imaginable, so I never expected to find
a young man like you earning money for
college. You are definitely one of
a kind. Things are tough for you, but I strongly encourage you to
hang in there. You have too much
going for you to stop now."
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SENIOR YEAR
CRISIS
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 20,
1968, Age 18, 12th Grade
THE
forbidden subject
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I nodded when Mrs.
Ballantyne said that. What she said made sense. I
expected her to leave at this point, but to my surprise she
lingered. I am unsure what made her stick around, but my
guess is she suddenly realized how fragile I
was. Previously I had been totally
numb, but not anymore. Her encouragement
had brought my intense pain back to haunt
me. My head was spinning and these
hurtful feelings I had suppressed demanded release.
Holding back a mountain of tears, I was
having fits keeping my composure. I was
just about to burst into embarrassing gut-wrenching
sobs when the strangest thing happened.
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"Rick, did
you know my daughter Katina recently won the
Jones Scholarship?"
What!?!
At the mere mention of the Jones Scholarship, a lightning bolt
flashed through me.
Did Mrs. Ballantyne really say
that?!? Was
she rubbing this in my face??
The shock was so
intense my flood of self-pity vanished on the spot. It was
replaced by hot anger as my
eyes grew wide with disbelief.
It was like
she could read my mind. Did Mrs. Ballantyne
know the Jones Scholarship had triggered my
crisis? Unlikely. But even if she did guess,
where did she get the nerve to broach this Forbidden Subject?
I could not believe
Mrs. Ballantyne
had the guts to bring this
dangerous topic
out in the open.
Good grief, I was an unstable teenager who
towered over the lady. I was bigger than most
football players, but she never blinked. Stunned by her
boldness, I don't
know what came over me. At first I was furious, but my
rage disappeared when I realized she had not said
this to hurt me.
The anger was replaced by the
strangest feeling that this conversation could not be happening.
Mrs. Ballantyne had just escalated the overall
improbability of this weird conversation into some
sort of distant universe. Convinced this had to be a dream,
Twilight Zone music began playing in my mind.
If this is a dream, when do I start flying?
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Truth be
told, I was too stunned by the 'Totality' of this woman
to be angry anymore.
My mother and father had never talked directly about problems in
this manner. No one... repeat no one... in my world
had the guts to openly discuss a subject as controversial as
this. No one, that is, except Mrs. Ballantyne. She
was apparently fearless.
Even if she had manipulated in some
way to obtain that scholarship for her daughter, I didn't care
anymore.
I did not know what to
make of this woman.
I had never met anyone like her
before.
This conversation had become weirder than
UFOs, Nostradamus and alien abduction. Shocked that
Mrs. Ballantyne had brought up the Forbidden Subject at the exact
moment I had been thinking about it, I stared at her with a mixture
of confusion and awe.
Was Mrs. Ballantyne from
another Universe?? I pictured her as an omniscient creature who comes to earth to tell everyone to calm
down and stop bickering.
Convinced this
perceptive lady had powers I had no explanation for, at this moment
I simply surrendered. I gave up trying to figure out what was
going on. Instead I began looking around the parking lot for a white flag to
wave. Mrs. Ballantyne was by far the most impressive human
being I had ever met. Or maybe she was immortal. I had
the exact same feeling one might have if Zeus or Hera strolled down
from Olympus to say hello.
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SENIOR YEAR
CRISIS
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 20,
1968, Age 18, 12th Grade
ENLIGHTENMENT
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At this
point, the Parking Lot Conversation entered a new
stage.
Noting
I was too tongue-tied to respond, Mrs.
Ballantyne launched into an explanation of
how and why Katina won the scholarship. She
began by saying that
although it was true her husband was a
well-paid doctor, much of his energy was
spent in research.
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"Rick, people at
St. John's are completely fooled by my
family. My children and I laugh
about it all the time. So many
people think we are rich that it has
become kind of a joke to us. Big
house, fancy neighborhood, huge oak
trees, seven children at an expensive
school. They assume my husband Jay
must be rich as King Midas.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Jay makes a good income, but his pay is
fixed because he works for the
University of Texas.
Jay treats cancer at
MD Anderson and some research as well.
His salary is much lower than surgeons in
private practice. I suppose he could
ask for more, but he had refuses to engage
in self promotion. Unwilling to
renegotiate his salary, his income is
nowhere near as lucrative as people
think. In many ways, this situation works
against him because it caps his earnings
considerably. Opposed to the kind of
money physicians can make in private
practice, Jay has no obvious way to expand
his cash flow. However, he loves his
job so much he would not dream of leaving.
Despite my
family's
seeming
affluence
and nice home, my husband's salary can only
stretch so far. In other words, there
are degrees of rich. The Ballantyne
finances are strictly budgeted. Money
is very tight at home. If it wasn't
for my brother George, I don't how we would
make ends meet."
Seeing me stare at her with incredulity,
Mrs. Ballantyne laughed in amusement.
"I have seen that
look before and I know what you are
thinking. But I'm serious.
We have everyone fooled.
You may not believe
this, but even my own children think we
are kind of poor.
When my
oldest son Michael first went to St.
John's, he came home convinced he was
the poorest kid at school. He and
I argued all the time, but
Michael
kept saying right up
till the day he graduated that he was
the poorest kid at St. John's. All
his brothers and sisters took his side.
Clearly we are not poor. However,
since everything is relative, it is true
we are out of our league compared to the
wealth of other families at St. John's."
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Although I was too
flustered to speak, at least my mind worked. This was the most
fascinating information I had ever heard. It also made sense.
I
had never considered that even rich
people
have to struggle to make ends
meet. Seeing the incredulous look on my
face, Mrs. Ballantyne decided to drop a bombshell.
"People see our
beautiful house in River Oaks and jump to conclusions.
They have no idea this house was a "welcome-back-to Houston"
gift from my brother George when Jay got his job at MD Anderson.
Furthermore, this might come as a surprise, but every child in
my family is receiving financial aid. Katina is on
scholarship at St. John's just like you."
What?!? Katina
is on scholarship?
I was dumbfounded.
"Someday
when you become a father and raise children, you will
begin to understand that it is very expensive to give a
child a good education. But you will also remember
your St. John's education and realize that giving a good
education to your child is the most important gift of
all besides love."
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Mrs. Ballantyne paused to let
her words sink in, then continued.
"Yes, my husband is a very successful doctor
with an international reputation, but if people
only knew! Based on my husband's fixed
salary,
it would be impossible
to
simultaneously send
SEVEN children to an
expensive private school like
St. John's without
financial help. Every
one of my children has a partial scholarship."
I could not help but think of
my father. When we had met for lunch
back in December,
he had complained how hard it was to pay full price
to send my half-sister and half-brother to private
school. Given that my father lived in a very
expensive neighborhood, I had assumed he was
sandbagging with plenty of money to spare. Now
I realized he was probably caught in the same money
crunch as the Ballantyne family. Nevertheless,
that was no excuse for breaking his promise to pay
for my college education.
He had six years to save money and the best he do
was $400? Pathetic. I immediately felt
my blood boiling again. No doubt my father was
thrilled to get rid of me. Now he could get
the mistress off his back.
I could almost read his mind. "I
am so glad I don't have to pay child support
anymore. After I give the kid a few hundred
bucks for college, maybe my wife will finally shut
up."
I was about to let my bitterness
take over, but just then
Mrs. Ballantyne resumed her
explanation.
"College is far more expensive than St. John's.
My son Michael is already in college at
Stanford. You have no idea how expensive
Stanford is. Thank goodness Michael is
brilliant. Yes, he is on scholarship. So
is Dana at Vanderbilt. Now Katina is ready
for college as well. After that it will be
Marina, then Christie, then George, then
Lisa. I lose sleep wondering how we will afford
their education. Paying for college can be
very complicated."
Mrs.
Ballantyne
was so animated, I could tell she had considerable
energy on the subject of college finance. If I
did not know better, the subject of financial aid
was just as stressful for her as it was for me.
She was getting a burden off her chest at the same
time she was enlightening me.
It had to be exorbitant to give
seven children a quality education at the same
time.
"What do
you mean by 'complicated', Mrs. Ballantyne?"
"Katina
will need help with her tuition next year at
Vanderbilt in much the same way you will need
help going to Georgetown. The problem is
that college administrators look at our affluent
River Oaks zip code and my husband's prestigious
position at MD Anderson and jump to the same
conclusion as everyone else... 'The
Ballantynes must be rich!'"
"I have
always assumed you were rich, so it is likely the
people at Katina's college will do as well."
"You
are right, but that's what makes me so mad. If I
hear one more administrator throw how
rich we are in my face again, I will scream.
I argue with them all the time. For some
reason, all these men can do is see one child at
a time, the one who is applying to their school.
They say my husband makes far too much money
to justify a scholarship for Katina. Why
can't they see how hard is to pay for seven
children at once? Believe it or not, Jay's
salary will make it impossible for Katina to get
a full scholarship. Thank goodness she won
the Jones Scholarship. It is a huge
blessing. I have never felt so relieved in
my life."
My
friend David had been right... a parent's salary
affects a student's scholarship status. That
meant Katina was in a similar fix as me. Her
father's paycheck undermined her chances of getting
a scholarship. Thank goodness Mrs. Ballantyne
had cleared this up. I would have never
guessed the truth in a thousand years.
The
one thing Mrs. Ballantyne did not explain was her
personal role in Katina's award, but it did not
matter. Although I remained convinced that her
political clout had
something to do with Katina winning that scholarship,
my sense of fairness was restored. As long as
Katina also needed the money, I could not think of a
more worthy candidate.
At this
point, my thoughts shifted from Katina to Mrs.
Ballantyne. It was amazing to see how
skillfully this lady dealt with the sensitive topic
of why Katina won the scholarship instead of me.
Her candor stood in stark contrast to my father who
refused to deal with the same subject openly.
With barely enough money to pay for two
children, not three, Dad had elected me odd
man out. He handed me $400 and pretended he
had kept his word. Did he bother to explain
why he had short-changed me? No. He
avoided the subject. Truth be told, I would
not have been in this crisis if he had explained his
financial difficulties last summer. Instead he
blind-sided me with the bad news AFTER it was too
late to apply for a less expensive school like UT.
His cowardice paled in
comparison to Mrs. Ballantyne. Ignoring the
chance that I might lose my temper, she raised the
subject of financial aid specifically because her
intuition guessed I was desperate for an
explanation. For the millionth time, I could
not help but note how fortunate Katina was to have a
mother like her.
My
burden was gone. All this time I was under the
impression that rich and greedy Mrs. Ballantyne
wanted Katina to have the prestige. Nothing
could have been further from the truth.
Feeling sheepish, I didn't care any more that I had
lost the scholarship. As my mind adjusted to
the new facts, I accepted that Katina was equally
deserving.
If someone
else had to win, I was glad it was Katina. I
had always liked her. Katina was the kind of
person you could build a world around... decent,
responsible, talented. Just like her mother.
For the first time in ages, I began to smile.
What a relief to realize my cheating mistake was not
the reason I had lost the Jones Scholarship.
With that thought, the shackles of my intense self-criticism
were broken instantly. In the process, I
magically regained my
confidence. My eyes were completely dry and I
stood up straight. I was overjoyed to find my
ability to speak had returned as well.
"You
know what, Mrs. Ballantyne, I am glad Katina won
that scholarship. I wish I had won, but
it's okay. I am so grateful to know what
happened. I really appreciate that you took
the time to help me understand."
I smiled
as I said this. And I meant it too. I
spoke from my heart. Now that Mrs. Ballantyne
had healed me with her soft touch, I wasn't mad any more. The world wasn't such a
bad place after all. Forget the drama, it was
time to move on. Even if Spanish class at a
community college was my next step, so what. I
had my whole life ahead of me. One little
detour would not keep me down.
Mrs.
Ballantyne was positively beaming. The
sincerity of my words meant a lot to
her, I was sure of it. Bless her heart, she
gave me the oddest smile. Perhaps Mrs.
Ballantyne had felt a little guilty. Until she
met me, she had no idea there was some other kid at
St. John's who was just as desperate to win that
award as Katina. I imagine she sensed how
difficult it must have been for me to lose that
scholarship. I could barely believe this had
happened. Mrs. Ballantyne was special. I
felt so lucky to meet her.
"Rick, I know you must be frantic about money
for college, but I wouldn't worry too much.
With your grades, I imagine whichever school you
choose will seriously consider you for a
scholarship. I think you have a great
chance."
My
eyes grew wide. Did she know something?
Feeling my pulse race, I asked, "What do you mean,
Mrs. Ballantyne?"
Mrs.
Ballantyne was more than happy to elaborate.
"After
taking care of Michael, Dana
and Katina,
I know quite a bit about
how college scholarship money
works. In my experience, the combination
of great grades and great need will guarantee
you scholarship money at any well-endowed school
in America. In addition, your St. John's
pedigree is a powerful asset. Any college
would want a student like you. I imagine
college loans and work-study jobs will bridge
any further gap.
I say
relax. You need not worry. I
would bet the farm that
whatever school you apply to will take care of
you. Stop worrying about money. It
will take care of itself."
I stared
at her with my mouth hanging open. I wasn't
convinced. Mrs. Ballantyne probably didn't
know my father's salary would be a serious handicap
to getting a scholarship. Nor did she know
about the cheating incident. I felt encouraged
nonetheless. Maybe she knew something she was
not at liberty to share. Had Mr. Salls told
her something? One could only hope.
However I dismissed the thought as wishful thinking.
Mr. Salls hated me (or so I thought at the time).
More likely she was just trying to cheer me up.
Now that Mrs. Ballantyne had finished explaining how
college scholarships were handled, her
work was done. She took my right hand into her
hands and squeezed it affectionately. We
shared a big smile, then it was time to go. To
be polite, I opened the car door for her.
Mrs. Ballantyne rolled down the window. "Don't worry
about the money.
I promise things will work out
for you."
She waved goodbye and off she
went. I was unable to move afterwards.
I just
stood there in the parking lot trying to make sense
of it all. Our conversation had lasted 45
minutes. Amazingly, no one from the grocery
store had come looking for me. That was kind of odd.
Or more
likely they couldn't find me out here in Parking Lot
Siberia. I was
incredulous at what Mrs. Ballantyne's pep talk had
accomplished.
The
weight of the world had been lifted from my
shoulders. The
grudge over losing the Jones
Scholarship
was gone. The envy
towards my privileged classmates had dissipated.
I was amazed to discover my vast cesspool of
self-hate had magically drained. Even my fears
about college tuition were gone. So I would
have to sit out a year. Big deal. I
could scarcely believe how relieved I felt. I
had a sense of optimism for the first time in ages.
In the process,
my
darkness had been replaced by
pure admiration for my hero. Now for the first
time I understood why I had watched her for all
these years. I had been drawn to Mrs.
Ballantyne because instinct had told me she was a
remarkable woman. I thanked my lucky stars for
the good fortune to meet this dynamic lady.
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WEDNESDAY,
APRIL 10,
1968, Age 18, 12th Grade
A NEW
DEVELOPMENT
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The Crisis was over. In the days that followed
my parking lot meeting with Mrs. Ballantyne
I no longer worried about college.
Now that I was no longer angry at the world,
the thought of living at Little Mexico for
another year no longer bothered me. I
guess I was used to living there by now. I
figured I would reapply to the University of
Texas, spend the next year
sacking groceries and learn Spanish.
I might even try dating some of the young
ladies I
met at the grocery store. Best of all,
I would not have to say goodbye to Terry
when I left for college, a move I had been
dreading. For the past ten years, Terry
had been my best friend. How would I ever explain to my
loyal
dog why I was abandoning him? The
chance to spend one more year with my beloved
border collie would be special.
Three weeks after the Parking Lot
Conversation, I was doing homework in Study
Hall when a voice came over the school's
intercom system. "Richard Archer,
report to the Headmaster's office
immediately."
I was stunned. I
had been here nine years, so I knew the
intercom system was rarely used in this
manner. Every class in the school had
been disrupted by the brief message.
That meant whatever it was, it had a Voice
of God ring to it.
Taken completely off
guard, I was very worried. What did
Mr. Salls want to see me about? Deeply
alarmed, I got up and checked out of Study
Hall.
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I was very tense
as I entered the office. During the 9th, 10th,
and 11th grades, Mr. Salls had been a daily fixture as my
German teacher. However, he disappeared after assuming
the role of Headmaster. Today's visit marked only the
second time I had spoken to him all year. Seeing no
one else in his office, I breathed a sigh of relief.
No disciplinary firing squad was present to deal with the
cheating episode.
However, Mr. Salls
was very brusque. No eye contact, no smile, no cordial
greeting in German today. In fact, he
didn't even bother to look up.
Continuing to read something on his desk, he whispered,
"Mr. Archer, please sit
down. I will be with you in a moment."
What was this
about? Unable to relax, I sat poised at the edge of my
chair. Filled with anxiety, I fought the wild urge to fall to my knees
and beg forgiveness. I wanted to apologize for the
cheating incident in the worst way. Plagued by guilt, I
still felt terrible for letting this man down.
Unfortunately,
never in a million years did I have the guts to bring up the
painful subject of cheating on my own. Mrs. Ballantyne
might have the courage to discuss Forbidden Subjects, but
not me. The shame was just too great. To begin
with, I would die if Mr. Salls asked me to tell him the
truth. In fact, that's probably what this visit was
all about. But then I dismissed the thought. If
Mr. Salls wanted an answer, he would have asked six weeks
ago. Worried sick,
I sat there in
silence awaiting my unknown fate.
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Finally Mr. Salls
finished whatever he was doing and looked up. Mr. Salls had
his stern mask on today. No smile, no pleasantries. He
was very formal, curt and frowning. No 'how are you?',
no warmth, just his dark, inscrutable face and penetrating eyes.
Given how cold his manner was, I
decided Mr. Salls was still angry at me
for cheating.
Who could blame him?
With a sinking
heart,
I would be angry
too if I was in his place.
Mr. Salls spoke up.
"I understand you have been accepted at Johns Hopkins University.
Is this correct?"
Without changing
expression, I smiled to myself. Aha! So this was not
about the cheating incident. What a relief. It
also crossed my mind that this was an odd way to begin a
conversation. I assumed that news of my Hopkins acceptance as
well as my Georgetown acceptance had come to him automatically.
But maybe not.
I quickly became very curious.
"Yes, sir. I have been accepted at Johns Hopkins."
Mr. Salls continued.
"Very good. Are you still interested in this school?
Because if you are, I would give this school my highest
recommendation. Johns Hopkins is a fine institution."
I groaned. Still
interested? Give me a break. I was
never interested!
However, I was careful not to say that out loud. There was no
point in being rude, but I am sure it was written on my face. My
heart was set on Georgetown, a school situated a stone's
throw across the Potomac River from Aunt Lynn and Uncle Dick. Over
the years, they had been wonderful on several occasions. Since
they were the closest thing to a real mother and father I ever had, the
chance to be near meant everything. Desperate to be part
of their family, I fervently wished I still had a shot at Georgetown.
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Just then I looked up
and realized Mr. Salls had been staring at me waiting for a reply.
Embarrassed, I realized I
had been lost in thought over missing out on Georgetown. Hmm. Mr. Salls had just inquired
if I was interested in Hopkins. What should I say?
Should I tell him the truth? No way. A very bad idea. Even though I
had never been remotely interested in Johns Hopkins, I was very
interested in where this meeting might be headed. I decided to tell a
little fib.
"Mr. Salls, I don't
know much about Johns Hopkins, but from what you told me last fall,
yes, sir, I am very interested."
"Little fib"? Guess
again. I had just uttered the worst bald-faced lie of
my life. I resisted the urge to touch my nose to see if it had
grown any longer. I suppose Mr. Salls caught the insincerity
because now it was his turn to grow silent. When
Mr. Salls began to stare at me intently, I stopped breathing.
It felt like he was conducting some sort of telepathic mind probe to discern
the truth. Uh oh, what if Mr. Salls was just as psychic as
Mrs. Ballantyne? What if he sensed what a phony I was? The suspense was brutal. 30 seconds? A minute?
Why so long? Maybe he was thinking about bringing up that cheating incident.
Feeling a huge surge of anxiety, I prayed he would not talk about
that. Finally Mr. Salls gave a shrug of sorts. I assumed he
had made up his mind.
"Very well.
In that case, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to
call an old friend of mine, Ralph O'Connor. Mr. O'Connor
is the Houston-area representative for Johns Hopkins University.
I would like for you to meet with him and learn more about his
school."
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Mr. Salls presented a
card with Mr. O'Connor's business number on it. As I rose to
receive it, he glanced at the
door. I got the message. No more words were exchanged as
I departed.
Before visiting Mr. O'Connor
at his palatial River Oaks home one night
later, I took the time to look at a map.
Baltimore was at most an hour's drive from
Aunt Lynn and Uncle Dick's house. I
wasn't thrilled about attending a men's
school. However, sensing where this
might be headed, I rapidly became more
open-minded. Mr. O'Connor spent 20 minutes or so
extolling the strong points of a Hopkins
education. After he summarized, Mr.
O'Connor asked me to explain my financial
status. I spoke for 5 minutes.
When I finished,
he nodded. Without asking a single
question, he rose to shake my hand.
Escorting me to the door, Mr. O'Connor said he would
be in touch. As it turned out, we did
not speak again. However, one week later I received
a letter in the mail from Hopkins.
Tingling with excitement, I ripped it open.
I had just been awarded a tuition-free four year
scholarship to Johns Hopkins, a grant worth
$16,000. I was so grateful to
Mr. O'Connor, I
could not see straight. I would later
learn he was the leading philanthropist in
Hopkins history. Alas, our paths would not cross
again. It was weird being handed a
college scholarship by a man who was a total
stranger.
I was on Cloud Nine.
First Maria Ballantyne had solved my Crisis, now
Ralph O'Connor had solved my college finance problem. As
my anxiety began to subside, my thoughts
turned to Mysticism. I was convinced
something very strange was taking place in
my life. First my mother screws up my
Senior year with Little Mexico. Then my
father betrays me in a very cruel way.
Bob Franklin appears out of nowhere to
catch me cheating and I lose a college
scholarship that rightfully should have been
mine. Mrs. Ballantyne appears out
of nowhere to talk me down from the ledge.
Then Mr. O'Connor appears out of nowhere
to hand a boy he has never met a
scholarship to an elite Eastern
university based on a 5-minute explanation.
Charles Dickens was known for his convoluted
plots, but there was no way he could have written a weirder story
than my Senior Year Crisis. Dickens was known for his
miraculous happy endings. Oliver Twist, for example, was a
destitute orphan who inherited a great fortune after being revealed
as the lost child of a wealthy man. I was the St. John's
version of
Oliver Twist. After
the kind of trauma I experienced throughout my Senior
year, only in Hollywood or a Charles Dickens novel does one
encounter a tidy last-minute rescue of this magnitude.
If this had not been a true story, I wouldn't have believed it myself.
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SENIOR YEAR
CRISIS
THURSDAY,
MAY 30,
1968, Age 18, 12th Grade
GRADUATION
FROM sT. JOHN'S
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My graduation ceremony
should have been special, but it was just
the opposite. I had mixed feelings
when Mr. Salls announced I had won the
German award as the year's outstanding
student. Talk about a hollow victory!
Or should I say 'Tainted Victory'? My bad mood
got worse when Mr.
Salls scowled as he handed me my award. Assuming he was still mad at me,
I was full of regret as I walked back to my
seat with the other Seniors.
When some of my German
classmates gave me frowns as well, I burned
with shame at the thought that Bob Franklin
had told them the story. Three
months had passed, but I still had no idea
what had caused my insane decision to
cheat. In my heart I knew I was not a
cheater, but try telling that to my
classmates.
No doubt there had
been
rumors, but seeing me win the German award
served to amplify the injustice. I had
graduated fourth in my class, but the only
thing these young men would remember is that
I blatantly cheated and got away with it.
In addition I had deprived a more worthy person
of the honor. Every time I saw one of
them look at me and whisper, I realized the
stigma would never die. My regret that
night was unbearable.
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During my Graduation ceremony
I noticed Mrs. Ballantyne in the large crowd
of parents seated apart from the section where the
Seniors sat. I had not spoken to her a single
time since the Parking Lot conversation. This
was my fault. I kept expecting to run into
her, but for some reason every time I noticed her I
was late for class and she was too far away.
Now I was down to my last chance.
Perhaps I
could catch up to Mrs. Ballantyne at the end of the ceremony.
Seeing her tonight reminded me of something she had said in
the parking lot. Mrs. Ballantyne
had told me her life
story specifically because I reminded her so
much of herself. She had concluded her
tale by saying a gangster she barely knew
had offered her an unexpected college
education. Now that a man I had never met
had done the exact same thing, another dramatic
parallel had been added to our seemingly linked destiny.
The coincidence was impossible to ignore. Curious to see if she
agreed with me, I could not wait to tell
Mrs. Ballantyne
about my Hopkins scholarship. However,
she got lost in the crowd and
disappeared. I assumed I would never
see her again. What a shame. I
really liked her.
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Since I was unable to get Mrs. Ballantyne's
viewpoint on the amazing coincidence that
brought her to my store, I was forced to
analyze the
Supernatural overtones on my own.
To me, the entire episode seemed ripped from
Cinderella. Cinderella
has reached the
lowest point of her life. Poof!
A Fairy Godmother appears out of nowhere and
encourages Cinderella to pour her heart out.
The Fairy Godmother listens sympathetically to her story,
then waves her magic wand. Poof!
Cinderella is transformed and regains her
confidence.
Poof!
Her
duty done,
the Fairy Godmother
vanishes never to be seen again.
The same could be said for
Mrs. Ballantyne. She made a brief but powerful
cameo appearance in my life. She worked her
magic, then vanished. Whoever said
that Fairy Tales do not come true??
Her unlikely
disappearance served to enhance the
mythical aspect of our conversation.
I
was desperate to know HOW and WHY the woman
I had secretly selected nine years ago as
the world's best mother had appeared as if
by magic to release me from a terrible
burden. Alas, my personal Fairy
Godmother was gone and
I
feared I would never speak to her again.
Fortunately I
was wrong. Our paths would cross again
in ten years.
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THE HIDDEN HAND OF GOD
Chapter
THREE:
IMPACT
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