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Email feedback can be sent to trager2275@gmail.com. © 2015 by Eric Trager.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
January 2016
2015 rang out on an unevenfully good note. Life seemed to settle down to a splendidly serene routine for all the boys.
Tim and Brett shown in their first semester at UW-Madison, both pulling down perfect 4.0 GPAs without a problem. As well, they enjoyed having their own home, and the occasional extra- curricular fling, sometimes together, sometimes alone. Brett saw one other guy a few times, but when he began to demand more of Brett than friends-with-benefits status, Brett simply reminded him that his husband had a good saying, and that is that those who cannot manage their affairs don't deserve to have them. It was the last time Brett saw the other guy. When he told Tim of it, Tim simply shrugged and laughed, "Yep, that's how it goes... Too bad, though. He was a nice guy, but if he couldn't understand the ground rules, oh well..." Neither one of them dwelt on it, as their relationship worked for them, and no matter what anyone else might think, they truly worshipped each other, and remained as deeply in love as they were on the first day they met.
Sean and Andy sailed into the home stretch of their Senior year in High School, both posting grades that would likely insure their graduation with honors. Gladly had Sean returned the football program to Coach Slater's leadership even though in the end the team did not repeat as State Champions. No one had expected them to. But they did win the Big Eight Conference for a second year in a row, and were eliminated in the playoffs only after making it to the Final Four. They contented themselves with the fact that the team that beat them out in the end, the Green Bay Preble Hornets, went on to win the Division I State Championship and therefore the Cougars had the right to claim the number three ranking in the State.
Coach Slater remarked to the team once it was all over that he was proud of them, that they should hold their heads high as it was a better finish than he'd predicted before the season began, and that the loss of players due to graduating Seniors would not be large this year. He ended by letting the team know that next year's team would start, on paper, at least as high in quality as the previous year's championship team, and inviting the team to give a round of applause to Sean, who in Coach Slater's words, "...made the whole shing poshible. And you learned a leshon, men, and zhat izh when the chipsh were down, you all shtood together. You are a good team."
John and Kathleen settled down into a rhythm of their own. Their mates in the Junior class all said that they were the couple most likely to get married. She was a firecracker, and he was the earnest, steady one. Like her late sister, Kathleen was a good student, but unlike her sister she was also a good person whose sparkling personality and social confidence made up for what John might lack in those departments. John went out for the wrestling team again, surprising no one but himself by being promoted to the Varsity squad, this year at the 132lb weight class. He hadn't grown much in height, standing 5'6" but weight training had bulked him up a bit, and the Coaches considered him well-placed to win, or place at his weight class in the Big Eight Conference, and certainly to win a letter in his own right.
Kevin Masterson and Scott Branson made the rounds at school as a couple now that the football season was over. Being out as school was easy for them. Kevin had the cachet of being the starting Quarterback on a Conference-winning Varsity Football team, and Scott had his all- around nice-guy reputation as well as having kept several of the Football players on the team through his tutoring efforts in English and History. Both were delighted that they'd been accepted into the upcoming Freshman class at the University of Minnesota. Kevin was especially thankful that being out at Craig High School didn't carry with it, as it had at Madison West, the unspoken requirement to become a social justice warrior and annoy his fellow students. Kevin and Scott spent a glorious Winter skiing and simply enjoying each other's company. They were a well-suited couple, both being unflashy, solid and reliable, though they could be a little mischievous and still fly in under the radar, and they knew it.
Even Brad made progress. Sean and Andy had taken him under their wings academically discovering that in the wake of the death of his parents, Brad understandably neglected paying visits to his school Counselor, and therefore his class selection became a hodge-podge. They discovered two other things, and those were that although slow in ability for almost every other subject, on aptitude tests Brad demonstrated an outstanding facility for logic. It was also discovered that Brad was unaware of how many of the credits required for graduation he had already accumulated. He only needed four more credits to graduate. Oddly enough, given Brad's aptitude for logic, the credits he was missing were in Math. Sean inveigled Principal McVay to give a wink and a nod and allow Brad to fulfill the Math requirements by taking two Accounting courses to be completed from home. Sean's reasoning was that since Brad was now twenty years old, he was over the state-mandated age for education requirements and therefore should not be required to physically be on campus. Additionally, Sean insisted that when the Class of 2016 graduated, Brad be allowed to walk with his class on Graduation Day.
Brad actually smiled at Sean's plan, saying, "Like that better. I can work more n' make more money n' shit. Don't wanna spend nonner at money from sellin' th' house. Sall I got." Then Brad looked at Principal McVay and said, "Guess we done now... I'll go see the teacher n' see how I get online fer class n' see what they want n' shit... Guess I tell the other teachers I ain't gonna be in their classes no more. I can do at myself. `S works good fer me."
John was glad to hear about Brad's plan, too. He had branched Sean's old business out to include residential snow removal as well as yard work, and if Brad wanted more work, John was happy to let Brad manage the business over the Winter while he concentrated on wrestling and his school work.
That night at home, Andy gave Sean a sly look. "Pretty slick the way you pushed McVay around like a shopping cart today when we were in there with Brad..."
"Well, I got a plan..."
"HOW did I know that..." Andy chuckled, rolling his eyes. "You gonna tell me what it is, or do I hafta fuck it outta ya?"
"Well, we can make use of Brad."
"Are you out of your fucking mind! Don't you remember last year when all he thought was that everyone wanted to fuck him? He'll freak out!"
"I didn't mean THAT way, Brown Eyes..."
"Yeah, but you like Brad. I can tell."
"I do. I mean, when I met him that day he was standing there with his shitty clothes, and shitty haircut taking shit from those fucking douche bag greasers that were taking his money. He had no family, a shitty job, hadda turn tricks for money to make ends meet, a shitty house to pay the insurance and taxes on, and it didn't seem to really bother him. He seemed resigned to it all. You know how Juan always says all he wants is a chance? Well, the Bambino was smart enough to want a chance. Brad just looked like life had beaten it all out of him... Any chance of hope... And through all of that he never asked anyone for anything. I thought maybe someone needed to give him a chance, that's all... Hafta admit, he's come a long way..."
"OKOKOKOKOK! What's your plan for Brad, then..."
"He's gonna get proper training after he graduates, I'm figuring Blackhawk Tech,* and he's gonna be our bookkeeper."
"WHAT?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, I've seen the way he handles the accounts for Juan when he does. He doesn't miss a fucking penny. Not one. He's efficient, and he makes sure the customers pay on time, too. Besides, he said it himself, he stays in his own lane. We pay him well, give him good bennies, and it's not gonna even register in his mind where money is coming from, or going to - he'd consider it to be none of his business anyway. He'll keep a balanced set of books and then when he's done for the day, he'll go home and crack a beer and watch TV. I'd think that's all he'd want. And he would never chance throwing it away, either."
"Sean-o... You MUST KNOW that you can't have him working on finances that are going to be as complex as ours will be. I mean, c'mon, he can do simple, yeah, but not like we're gonna have..."
"I know that, but I got an idea for that, too."
"Oh, Jeez..."
"Yeah, here's the deal with that. You remember Ginny said there's gonna be an offshore corporation set up? And all the real estate holdings and stuff? Well, I don't think any of us are capable of managing that kind of money the way it should be. Certainly not with all the foreign and tax implications that would prolly come up. I mean, it would be a fucking disaster. So, my idea is that when the time comes, we hire Kevin Dix for that."
"Kevin's already got a job, dearest heart..."
"Yeah, for NOW he's got a job. He doesn't like living in Chicago. Peggy told me that. Maybe she was hinting... Anyway, someone like Kevin living in a ginormous city like Chicago? No, that ain't ever gonna work out long-term. Besides, he's Dix's brother. We KNOW we can trust him. We find out what his compensation package is at BMO Harris and we offer him more. Plus, it costs about half as much at the most to live in Janesville as it does for the same lifestyle in Chicago. We'll sell him a condo at the Monterey. It'd be perfect for him. He could walk to work. We can get Kevin for sure. Kevin and Brad would make a great team. We'd have the quietest Accounting office in town. Neither one of them says more than a dozen words a day..."
"I guess..."
"Well, we're gonna hafta have a CFO anyway, and that's not Brad. And you can't have a CFO doing the drudge work that a day-to-day like a bookkeeper does. I think it's win-win. For us and for them. Besides, none of us are money guys and do we really want an outsider?"
"Well, let's just see down the road if we can pull that off."
"OK, but Brad's gonna get a training anyway. I don't wanna see the guy going through life with no skills. Whatever else he is, or isn't, he's good-hearted and he's honest. And even if he doesn't end up being with us, he can be SOMEONE'S bookkeeper. Shit, if I end up on the City Council, I'll get him in with the fucking City if I have to even though I'd rather he worked for us. I guess that's my good deed for the day..."
"That it is, Blondie. You're a kind person. Brad's lucky he met you."
Sean winked at Andy, then dragged him by the hand upstairs.
The next afternoon once school was out for the day, Sean and Andy trooped down to Janesville City Hall to pick up their nomination papers for City Council and School Board, respectively. Looking the papers over, all they had to do was to fill in their personal information and then get ten other people from Janesville to endorse the application.
For them, getting ten signers would be short work. The Dicksons signed, the Dowlings, a handful of classmates that they asked, and in an extraordinary move, on Saturday morning when they knew he would be there, Sean and Andy marched through the ravine behind the Alamo, walked up to the front door at the home of the Speaker of the United States House of Representatives and rang the doorbell.
Surprisingly, the Speaker himself answered the door. Sean and Andy both thought that for a man in his mid-forties, the Speaker was quite handsome; about 6'1" tall, slim but athletic, with a full head of thick, brilliant black hair, sky-blue eyes, a mischievous smile, and youthful Irish good looks.
"Hey, guys!' the Speaker called out in his usual self-deprecating, chipper style, speaking through his trademark almost-naughty-little-boy laugh. "What brings you by my place this morning?"
"Mr. Speaker," Sean began, "I'm Sean Wyman and this is Andy Churchill. We live just through the ravine over on the corner of Court and Garfield."
"Selling something?" the Speaker teased. "Anyway, I remember you, Sean, from the Championship game last year, never mind the new haircut and the glasses... Too bad you couldn't play this year, butcha did a helluva job taking over for Coach Slater, I gotta hand it to ya... Say hello to Coach for me the next time you see him..."
"Thank you, Mr. Speaker, I will" Sean answered with a half-smirk.
Both boys warmed to the Speaker's friendly manner. "Mr. Speaker," Andy picked up where Sean left off, "we're here because I'm going to run for the School Board, and Sean's going to run for the City Council. We're here to ask you to endorse our nomination papers. So, I guess, yeah, we ARE sellin' somethin'..." Andy adopted the Speaker's friendly, chipper manner, looking the Speaker straight in the eye, and hoping it would win them what they came for.
"Well, guys, you certainly learned the first lesson of retail politics, and that's that all politics is local. Know who said that? It was a guy by the name of Tip O'Neill, another Irish Speaker of the House. He was Speaker back when I was in High School. He learned that lesson the hard way when he lost his first race because he didn't think he needed to ask people to vote for him, and then he was surprised when they didn't. Tell ya what, guys, come on in. We'll go to my office for a couple minutes. You guys want a coffee, or something? Maybe a donut?"
"Coffee's fine for me," Sean said, "Just black."
"Same here," Andy said.
"OK, I'll show you in. There's a Keurig in my office, and we'll be all set."
Andy and Sean followed the Speaker through the entrance foyer of the large, classic red-brick Colonial mansion once owned by the Parker family of Parker Pen fame, then turned left, down a hallway and into the Speaker's office which appeared as if it originally was a very large sun porch with full-length windows on three sides. It was a comfortable room, finished in a style that could have been original to the home. The Speaker got them each a mug of coffee, took a seat behind his large, federal-style, piled-with-paperwork, dark mahogany desk. He bade Andy and Sean to each take a seat in the forest green, leather wing-back chairs facing his desk.
"Guys, tell me why you're running and if I'm satisfied, I'll sign. Sean, you go first."
"OK," Sean said, "Wow! I feel almost like I'm giving a campaign speech. Anyway, Mr. Speaker, I have a project I'd like to do. Plans have been drawn up and I've got the money. I want to buy the old Monterey Hotel and renovate it into high-end condos. The City doesn't seem interested. When the idea and a synopsis of the plans have been suggested, or presented to them, they do nothing. And they're losing out on tax revenue which costs everyone in the City who owns property money. It's a disgrace. That's a beautiful building. That's number one..."
"OK, I'm sold..." The Speaker grinned, winking at Sean. "Andy?"
"Mr. Speaker, we just went through, pardon my French, a shit show with the School Board when Sean-o took over for Coach Slater. It exposed some corruption, and some just plain back- stabbing on the part of at least one Board member. Also, there's the matter of the Superintendent and the student activity accounts. I won't go into that now, but perhaps you are aware of it. I'm a Senior at Craig, and I'm also a businessman. Did you see the renovation that was done on the Kennedy home? I was the General Contractor on that, and also for those homes down in the Fourth Ward that Sean-o financed the renovations and worked with the City on. I'm not a person who would put up with the way the Board and the Superintendent have been running things down there... And if you can, I'd like a letter of recommendation to MSOE, too..."
"Jesus Christ!" the Speaker exclaimed, again through his naughty-little-boy laugh. "OK, guys, I've heard enough. Hand over the papers and I'll sign. And, Andy you email me and I'll send you the letter of recommendation. Include a copy your grades in the email, OK? Never mind, here's my card. Just give it to Principal McVay and ask him to send them to me... Gimme about a week on that, OK?"
The Speaker signed and dated both forms, handed them back, and at that moment his desk phone rang. Eyeing the phone to see who the caller was, the Speaker looked up. "Sorry, guys, but I gotta take this call. It's the Majority Leader of the Senate. Let me put him on hold, and I'll see you out..."
The Speaker walked the boys out, and bid them good bye. "Thanks for stopping by, guys, and gimme a call if you need any pointers. Good luck!"
Returning to his office, he picked up the call on hold. "Hey, Ginny! Well, guess what..."
"Don't tell me. Sean Wyman and Andy Churchill came by to see you..."
"Yeah, they were just on their way out when you called. I put you on hold so I could walk `em to the door..."
"You signed for them?"
"Yeah, I mean, they seem like a couple of fine young men."
"They are. And they are also my protégés."
"How did I know that..."
"Well, I never hadda go down that road with you because I knew your dad, God rest his soul, when he worked for the Dicksons. Besides, you never needed my help, and you didn't wanna be tied down to me. I can't blame ya... Now, even though we've worked together a lot over the years, I'm just gonna bottom line it for ya here: these guys, and some others whose identity you'll find out soon enough are gonna be taking over for me in the next few years. They're all capable. You can betcher ass I made sure of that. Anyway, I'll make sure the appropriate introductions are made in the appropriate way at the appropriate time. One of `em is George Dickson's youngest..."
"The old iron fist in the velvet glove, hey? You never change, Ginny..."
"No, I don't. These guys will treat you right, so you make sure you treat them right, too, just like you and I have always done. That's all I'm sayin'."
"Don't worry, Ginny. I sized up those two when they were here, and if the others are like them I'm sure I'll be impressed. And that Andy got a letter of recommendation to MSOE out of me, too..."
"Those kids don't fuck around."
"They're both Joe Wyman's kids, aren't they...?"
"Sean is Joe's son. Andy is Joe's ward. Well, I guess I can't say `ward' anymore since he's eighteen. It's a long story, and it's heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time, so let's just say that you're pretty much right about that."
"I kinda figured. OK, well, I guess I'll just wait to hear from ya then... Maybe we can meet up one of these times and that way I can get the lay of the land. You know how neither one of us likes surprises, Gin..."
"No, we don't like surprises... Just let me know one of these weekends when you're around and we'll meet at my house for a little lunch and we'll catch up then. OK?"
"That's fine. Should I set aside an hour?"
"An hour would be more than enough."
"Great. And I'd like your input on some of the legislation that's comin' down the pike. I gotta spend some time on that now, anyway. Not only do I have to deal with the assholes in the Democrat party, I gotta deal with the assholes in my own party, too. Sometimes I think I needed this job like I needed a Goddamn hole in the head..."
"More Socialism no one has the balls to tell people isn't free, no doubt?"
"You never DO change, Gin..." the Speaker laughed. "Just call me and we'll get together."
"You bet."
The two hung up, knowing that their long relationship would not be roiled by Ginny's announcement that she planned to go in a few years, and that there would be a new gang in town. The Speaker had a pretty good idea through his own research who all the new guys might be anyway, and he was confident that from where he stood it wouldn't really mean much of a change. Had it, he wouldn't have gotten the call from Ginny. While allied with Ginny, the Speaker wasn't one of "her guys." She didn't own him, and that's the way the Speaker wanted it. He adored Ginny, but couldn't afford to have his name alloyed with big-money players in his heavily blue-collar district.
For her part, Ginny understood that and made sure that while her ample contributions to the Speaker were made ostensibly by others, in the end the Speaker knew the source. She knew the Speaker knew that, and like Ginny herself wanted it all to be discreet. For the Speaker, it was not only discretion he valued, it was that any amount of money, no matter how seemingly innocent and while completely legal, also be untraceable when it came to potential opposition troublemakers. He was a good man, but he was also savvy. He wasn't about to be spending his time answering questions from those whose motives he did not trust, least of all the press. And he was fine with that.
A week later, once the filing deadline for the Spring Election passed, an article appeared in The Janesville Gazette:
SPRING ELECTIONS BRING YOUNG CANDIDATES
The Spring City Council and School Board elections are lively this cycle with many candidates, and some young ones.
Among the City Council candidates is Sean Wyman, 18, an honor roll Senior at Craig High School. Wyman quarterbacked last year's Craig Cougars to the Division I State Championship and served for half of this year's Big Eight-winning football season as the Cougars' Acting Head Coach. Recently, Wyman has been involved with residential housing renovation projects in the South Jackson Street area of the Fourth Ward.
Andrew Churchill, also 18 and an honor roll Craig Senior, is running for a seat on the School Board. Churchill was the Manager and Statistician of the Craig Varsity football squad the past two seasons. Churchill gained a commendation from the Janesville School System last year for his work running the offices of Rock River on North Main Street, an organization dedicated to the elimination of bullying in schools.
Both Wyman and Churchill reside at 908 East Court Street on the city's near east side, and both indicated they welcomed the opportunity to debate their opponents in a town-hall forum.
At the time of closing for candidates' paperwork submission, there are seven candidates running for three seats on the City Council and three candidates running to fill the School Board seat recently vacated by former Board President James F. Petras.
Joe asked Andy and Sean if they felt they were ready, especially for a public debate. Sean had a ready answer.
"I'm pretty sure we are, dad. I mean, we both took Debate last semester, and since we're in school we hafta learn new stuff every day. I don't think we have anything to fear from people that haven't been trained in debating..."
"No, no ya probably don't," Joe agreed, "butcha might want to be a little less combative than in a formal debate setup. No doubt your opponents will at some point say something stupid. Just sit back and wait for it. When they do, dismiss them with humor, not invective. If you get the audience to laugh at your reply to your opponent, what they'll really be doing is laughing at your opponent. And above all, don't forget this is a blue-collar town. You're not gonna win votes with esoteric arguments that take three, or four sentences. You'll win votes with points that hit home in a single phrase."
"I think we can manage that," Andy said. "If nothing else, it'll be fun, anyway..."
"And, Andrew... You come see me," Joe said, "once Ginny gets you that audit report. Yes, I know all about that... We'll need to go over it and see if we can pick out three things, no more than that, that are juicy and make the current Board look like they can't manage the schools. Don't worry, it's government, there'll be a lot more than three, but we just need to pick out the glaringly obvious ones. Sean, you come see me, too, once we know when the candidate debates will be. And don't forget, both of you, when you're on the stage with your opponents, you will want to go last. People always remember more of what the last person to speak says."
"Can I taunt the others a little bit?" Sean smirked.
"If they deserve it," Joe winked.
Satisfied that they were ready for their opponents, Sean and Andy settled down to organize their campaigns. For Sean, picking Brad to manage his campaign was an easy choice. He wanted a circumspect man of few words, which Brad was, and someone who could keep his eye on the money and the schedule. For Andy, his first thought was to ask John, but he quickly thought the better of it as John was busy with wrestling, then he thought about Scott, but realized that it might be best to forego another Craig student altogether as it would give the appearance of running for Student Council, and Andy knew that this was the Big Time. Then it hit him: Peggy Dickson.
"Hey, Blondie..." Andy said.
"What's up love?"
"I'm gonna run over and talk to Mrs. Dix. I'm gonna ask her to be my campaign manager..."
"Wow! That's brilliant! I mean, did not Ginny say that Mrs. Dix knows where all the skeletons are? God, I hope she says yes..."
"She will. I'll be back in a while..."
"Smell ya later..."
At the Dickson home, George answered the door. "Well, Andrew... What brings you over here today?"
"Hey, George. This might be a first, but I'm not here with a legal problem. For once..." Andy laughed.
"C'mon in, Andy! How about a beer?"
"Don't mind if I do... Anyway, is Mrs. Dix around?"
"Sure thing. I think you'll find her in the family room."
"Thanks, George..."
Finding Peggy, Andy called out, "Hey, Mrs. Dix!"
"Well hey there, Andy! Now, I toldja before you call me mom, don'tcha know!"
"OK..." Andy laughed. "So...wanna be my campaign manager?"
"I was hopin' ya'd ask me, there, sweetie! Now, you listen to me for a couple minutes. I know both of the people yer runnin' against... Now the first one, that Angela Muldoon, she's a crackpot. She's always on the ballot for something, or other, and nobody votes for her. She'll lose and ya don't got nuthin' to worry about there. The second one, that Marvin Krause, well, he's a real beaut, lemme tell ya there once! He's run before and he's gonna go on and on about how he's got a Master's in Education Management and a PhD `n' blah, blah, blah. Wanna know what his PhD is in? Sociology. That's right, and he's a Professor over at Whitewater. He's never run a business, or done anything. Empty suit is what he is. He might be some competition, but I don't think so. Any time he goes off on one of his Sociology tirades, and I'm tellin' ya, he's gonna do that, don'tcha know, just let it pass. No one is gonna understand a word he says anyways because it's just a crock of horseshit."
"You make this sound easy..."
"Well, I know how yer gonna win it. See, don't forget I'm in the Teacher's Union. I'm the Secretary this year and past President twice. You do what I tell ya, and I guarantee you 80% of the teacher's vote. Maybe 90%. And if you can even get 40% of the rest of the vote, you'll win in a walk, my dear. Just leave it to me."
"It's that easy?"
"Look, Andrew, this is the Janesville School Board. It's not like it's Obama versus Hillary Clinton, ya know. And you let me know when they schedule the debate for, and I'll have ya ready. Don't worry, now..."
"Wow! Thanks, Mrs. Dix! I mean, mom!"
"I'm here to help ya, Andy. All my boys are gone now, and I just guess I'll never stop bein' a mom... C'mere and gimme a big hug."
Andy hugged Peggy tight. Both Peggy and George walked Andy to the door letting him know he had nothing to worry about.
Once the door was shut, Peggy turned to George. "He's gonna win in a landslide. He just don't know it yet."
"I see... You seem pretty cock sure, there..."
"Oh, I am... See, George, everyone in town knows who Sean is. He's got his race in the bag. Nobody knows who Andy is, butcha know, he'll bury that Krause asshole. And now thatcha mentioned `cock sure' why don'tcha cornhole me there once ya old Coot!"
"Race you to the bedroom..."
The next day at school, Sean was summoned to a meeting with Coach Slater. At this time of the year, Sean had no idea what Coach wanted, but he felt he owed the man loyalty and respect. Sean made his way to Coach's office, and the customary knock at the door, and Coach's reply was given.
"Coasch Wyman, shank you for coming. Pleazhe, shit down."
"Thanks, Coach. What's up?"
"This meeting izh jusht between you and me. I want you to know that nexsht year'zh gonna be my lasht sheazhon. I think I can make it shrough one more."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Coach, but I'm sure you've thought it all through. You're only like what, only fifty, fifty-five years old, or so?"
"Fifty-four. Yesh. Yesh, I have shought it shrew. I can go out on dishability. We've got plenty in shavings, sho we'll be fine. Anyway, hearzh zhe reazhon I ashked you in here. Shee, I could name you Acting Head Coasch this year becauzhe zhat'sh only a temporary pozhition. I'd like you to take over azh Head Coasch someday, but you gotta have a Shtate Shertificate for that, and you'd need a College Degree."
"I follow, and I kinda don't follow, Coach..." Sean said.
"OK, look, Coasch Schmidt is probably gonna take over from me, and he'll want you back azh Quarterback Coasch becauzhe you're good, but he's gonna retire in probably five yearzh himshelf. In five yearzh I want you ready with a Teasching Shertificate and to be ready to take over azh Head Coasch. You can do the education part from home. What shay you?"
"I will have other commitments Coach, but I'll be ready. Would I be required to teach any courses in addition to coaching?"
"Azh it stands now, yesh. However, that could alwayzh be shanged down the road."
"Well, I can get a degree in something I can teach, then. Problem is, I get really good grades, but none of it really interests me... I mean, it's like, OK, I have to study some shit, and I do, but it's not like I'm ever really crazy about any of it... I do it because I'm expected to."
"Bingo!"
"Sorry, come again, Coach?"
"You shaid yo do shit becauzhe you're exshpected to. You develop a couple courshes in Leadership, and that'sh what you teasch. You're a natural. Have it open to shelected Juniorzh and Sheniorzh. You'd have a lot to offer thozhe kidzh... There'zh no courshes like that now... Or maybe you'd want to teasch something elshe, but jusht be ready."
Sean scratched his chin, brow furrowed.
"I like that idea, Coach. I'll look into it. And as far as next year, I'll be back as Quarterback Coach."
"Very good. Izh there anything elshe?"
"Yeah, I'll do what you asked on one condition."
"Jezhus Chrisht! Everything with you izh a fucking negotiation... What izh it..."
"I'll do everything you asked of me..."
"If..."
"If we can get you named Emeritus Head Coach. See, I look at it this way: when I came here, you promised me a fair shot. That was it. And that's what I got. Last year, Dix was our starter, and that was the right choice. Doesn't matter if it was the right choice for me, or even for Dix. It was the right choice for the team... In the end we won, didn't we... And it's right that you get recognition for your service, Coach."
"Yesh, we shertainly did win... Now, about thish Emeritush thing... Don't shweat zhat. When I go, it'll be time for me to get off zhe shtage. I never believed in doing repeatsh of lasht good- byezh. I don't want it. Coasch Schmidt hazh zhe right to do hizh job without me standing zhere looking over hizh shoulder."
"If that's your wish, Coach, I'll respect that."
"Jusht be ready in five yearzh."
"Will do, Coach and I won't breathe a word to anyone."
"I know you won't. Dishmished."
Leaving Coach Slater's office, Sean was in a mental quandary. Teaching was the last thing he would have had on his mind as a career choice even if he needed the money. He shrugged. He'd keep his promise to the old Coach. It would either work out, or it wouldn't.
On his way down the hall, Sean spied one of the announcement boards and since he was going to be late to class anyway he stopped to look it over. One announcement, on a tear-off flyer, caught his eye, as he was having difficulty keeping busy after the events of the past year resolved. For Sean, just going to school every day and turning in his homework on time was a rather boring existence. He tore off one of the strips at the bottom of the notice and made a note to visit the location on the strip during his afternoon free period.
The rest of the morning went by as normal, and so did lunch where Sean, Andy, John, Scott, Kris, Kevin, Kathleen and others assumed their normal table and their standard lunchtime banter. Sean showed the flyer strip to Andy asking him what he thought.
"Sounds fine to me," Andy said. "But you sure you wanna get involved with something like that, though? I mean, it's not like you have any experience, or anything..."
"I'll fake it," Sean smirked.
When teased by everyone else at the table about what latest big idea he had, Sean tucked the strip in his back pocket merely telling everyone else, despite their fierce teasing, that he wasn't going to say. All he did was laugh and say, "You guys are a bunch of fucktards!"
The period after lunch was Sean's free period that normally he used to prepare for games during football season, or to get a jump on daily homework. This day, he made a detour.
He found himself entering a hall at the rear of the auditorium area. The school had two auditoriums, a small one used for lectures which sat about 300, and a large one used for productions and larger meetings that sat 2,500. Finding the room number given on the flyer strip, Sean entered the room, finding a couple another student busy with something. Not having noticed him, Sean cleared his throat.
One of the students turned around, instantly giving Sean a death look.
"Well, well, well... Look who we have here... Why, if it isn't the most unapproachable asshole in the entire school, Sean Fucking Wyman..."
Sean did a double take. He had no idea who the other student was.
"Excuse me, am I in the right room? I'm looking for..."
"Save it, Prince Charming. You're in the right place. There isn't anyone else down this way at this time of the day. The question is WHY are you here... Looking for some votes for the City Council, are we? Well, if you are you can get lost. I'm only seventeen and can't vote, and even if I could..."
"Have we met before?" Sean asked, totally flummoxed.
"Does it matter? If we have and you don't remember me then it just proves what I said: you're an asshole. And if we haven't, am I really missing anything?"
"OK, well, I guess I must've made a mistake, then... Have a nice day." With that Sean turned to leave, and as he turned, he felt his elbow being grabbed, and his body being turned around.
"Not so fast, Golden Boy. I'm the boss around here. See?"
At that, Sean burst out laughing. The other student looked at Sean with a combination of hate and embarrassment. "What's so fucking funny..."
Still laughing, Sean replied, gasping, "That! Sounded like! Something! James Cagney! Would say! What's Next! Are you gonna call me a Dirty Rat?"
By this time, Sean was doubled over with laughter and having difficulty breathing.
"Fine! Score one for the King of the Jocks! You're still an asshole..."
Laughter subsiding, Sean simply looked at the other student. "I honestly don't know who you are... Look, if we met before and I did something to make you think I was a jerk, I'm sorry, but I don't think I've ever seen you before. What's your name?"
"All in good time. Like I asked before, why are you here?"
"I want a try-out."
"A try-out' you say... How fucking quaint... Unfortunately, I can't tell you no, or I would. Because you are an asshole. Be here tomorrow ten minutes after school lets out and you can have your try-out.'"
"Alrighty then! I'll see you tomorrow, guy who won't tell me his name." Sean smirked, still wondering just what this guy's deal was. He left the room shaking his head.
On getting home, he cornered John. "Hey, Bambino! Go get your yearbook from last year, will ya? There was this guy I ran into today, and he was like unreal. I wanna find his pic and see if you know him. I don't think he's a Senior..."
"OK, how didja run into this guy, anyway?"
"I went to see about something. Don't wanna say just yet, or I'll never hear the end of it..."
"Wait here, I'll go get it."
Returning with his yearbook, John handed it to Sean who began thumbing through last year's Sophomore class. After a few minutes, Sean got the aha! look and turned to John while pointing at a photograph.
"Here! This looks like is the guy! You know him?"
"Oh, Jeez... Yeah, I know him... That's Tory Trager. You remember that Eric Trager dude that was all over Dix's shit last year, and wanted to keep you guys out of the gay club?"
"It's the LGBTQ-Straight Alliance, Bambino."
"That's a retarded name. It sounds idiotic. If they add any more letters they'll use up the whole fucking alphabet. It's the Gay Club, and that's cool, but that's what everybody calls it, just so ya know... I mean, it's not the Chess Club... So anyway, yeah, I know the guy. He was in one of my classes last year, and one this year, too. He's kind of snotty, but he's harmless. How'dja meet him anyway?"
"Never mind. He told me I was an asshole."
"Well, I can tell ya Eric never liked you much. He thought you thought your shit didn't stink."
"Whatever. I don't think I ever had occasion to say three sentences to Eric Trager after I joined the Gay Club, I mean the LGBTQ-Straight Alliance..."
"See, even you think it's a retarded name..."
"Well, it is a bit of a mouthful..."
"Anyway, his name's Victor, but he goes by Tory."
"OK. Maybe I shouldn't say this, but he did kinda seem like kind of a pretentious little shit."
"Look, Eric was a self-righteous ex-closet case and Tory's a flamer. He's got a mouth on him, and an attitude a mile long, but like I said, he's basically harmless. Want me to put in a good word for you?"
"I guess it couldn't hurt... No, on second thought, don't. He'll prolly quit being a dick after a while..."
"Just lemme know how it goes. I gotta jet, I'm goin' over by Kathleen's."
"Speaking of Kathleen, did she strap one on and pork ya yet?"
"None o' yer business..." John retorted, flipping Sean off.
"I'll take that as a yes," Sean laughed not failing to note his younger brother turning beet red.
Just then, Andy walked in. "Sup?"
"Sean ran into a guy at school today who, shall we say, wasn't charmed," John teased.
"Oh boy..." Andy sighed. "Wanna tell me about it?"
"It was pretty much nuthin'. I went down to see about that thing I toldja about at lunch and this Junior guy is the one I hadda talk to. Never met him before and he came at me like I killed his first-born kid, or something. And guess what else... He's fucking Eric Trager's brother. I didn't even know Trager had a brother until five minutes ago. I guess he's gay, too, and he acted like a sour, old Queen if ya ask me..."
"So, you sure you still wanna do that, then?"
"Well, yeah! I mean, I wanna do it anyway, and I'm not gonna let some piss-ant little shit-ass get under my skin. He can kiss my ass. Or he can act like a normal human being. His choice. Doesn't affect me any..."
"No, I s'pose ya can't let him get under your skin. So, you gotta go back?"
"Yeah, after school tomorrow, why?"
"I'm gonna go with ya. I gotta see this..."
"Just don't egg the guy on, Brown Eyes," Sean laughed, poking Andy in the ribs.
"OUCH! He was right! You ARE an asshole!"
"But I'm your asshole, so why don't you fuck it?"
"Let's go!" Andy said, both of them bounding up the stairs.
"Bloody hell!" Mrs. Cheadle yelled out. "You two wake up the little ones and I'll have your bollocks for earrings! Sir."
"Sorry," Sean said. "We're going to read to them in a little while, anyway..."
"Give them one hour. And you can feed them, too. Your father gave me the night off. I'll be back by nine o'clock. Can you manage without me, Sir?"
"Yeah, we'll be fine. Enjoy yourself. I think you've earned it... Say, have you seen my dad?"
"He telephoned earlier to say he was going to be late tonight, Sir. Something at the office, I think... Anyway, I have their dinners all ready, and fresh nappies out, too, if they need a change. They'll eat fast because, you know, they've got teeth now. Make sure they practice chewing! They still eat like little piggies!"
"OK, well, have a good time!"
"Thank you, Sir. A little time off does a body good."
Once in their bedroom, Sean turned to Andy, waggling his eyebrows. "Well, husband, I guess we have the place to ourselves for a little while..."
When their hour to themselves was up, they fed their two little boys and Sean suggested putting them on the floor about six feet apart but facing each other. Sure enough, once done, both little boys started creeping toward each other, and while making baby noises it seemed almost as if they could understand each other. When they were about half way toward each other, both simultaneously began to crawl.
"Just let `em crawl around and see what they do," Andy said.
Like lightning, both boys crawled over to Andy, hugged his leg and began to cry.
"Time to put them back to bed," Sean said.
"We still gotta read to 'em. Go to the library and bring up that Rudyard Kipling book. I'll get them settled into their chair."
"OK... God, they're growing so fast," Andy replied. "Sean-o, what are we gonna do with them when they get to be like real kids? I mean, wow..."
"We'll be fine. Before you know it, they'll be in school..."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Andy chuckled.
Once settled in, Sean and Andy took turns reading the Kipling poem Norman and Saxon.**
The two little boys fast asleep, Sean and Andy themselves retired for the evening, leaving Mrs. Cheadle a note that they'd been properly fed and put to bed.
After school the next day, Sean, with Andy, trooped back down for his `try-out' wondering if Miss Thing, as he nicknamed Tory Trager, would be as warm and friendly as he had been the day before.
Upon entering the room, there were at once accosted by Miss Thing.
"You're late! And why did you bring someone else with you?"
"This is Andy Churchill, my husband, and according to the clock on the wall, I'm three minutes early..." Sean replied dryly. "I want you to know that I am always punctual. I am never late. Let's get on with it, shall we?"
"Fine. Far be it for me to expect someone like YOU to go by my rules... Here," he said handing Sean a piece of paper. "Read this."
Sean took the paper. He read it, looked up, and handed the paper back to Tory. "I read this last night..."
"NO!" Tory barked. "Were you REALLY hit in the head THAT HARD last year! Jesus Christ! Read it fucking OUT LOUD! I don't fucking BELIEVE THIS!"
"That's not what you said. You said you were the boss around here when I came in yesterday. Now, today you hand me a piece of fucking paper and tell me to fucking read it. That's what I did. I read it. Just like you said to. What the fuck did you think I was gonna fucking do, bake a fucking cake? I mean, can we get real here?"
"Dear, dear peasant... Go up THERE..." Tory said, pointing to a lectern, "and just read out loud what's on the paper. Read it INTO THE MICROPHONE! I swear, you are working my last good nerve."
"At least I'm working SOMETHING. With that personality you got, it's probably more than you've EVER had worked I'd bet a hundred bucks..." Sean said in a tone that brooked no nonsense.
"Just Puh-LEEEEASE go read it already... And do it like I just said how to do... Can we do that?" Tory said in a generously overdone sigh, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
"Fine!" Sean glared, saying "Asshole!" under his breath.
"I heard that!" Tory said.
"You were meant to," Sean replied. "Look, I'm gonna read this out loud now, so why don't you just sit down, shut the fuck up, and listen until I'm done. Or is that too much to ask... Don't answer..."
Sean rose, went to the lectern, adjusted the mic, and read out flawlessly the same poem he read to his sons the night before.
Before leaving the lectern, he looked Tory Trager straight in the eye, asking him if he'd like a historical interpretation of the poem, or if it was simply `a bunch of words.'"
Trager had no reaction.
"Very well," Sean said, "and it may interest you to know that the author won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907. Did I pass?"
Again, no reaction from Tory.
"Look, am I on the fuckin' team, or not?" Sean asked, right hand held out palm up. "I wanted something to do to give back to everyone else. I can't play sports any more, and I'm not used to sitting on my ass, so if it ain't gonna be this, it's gonna be something else. So, am I on the team, or not? I'll play any position. Yes, or no..."
"The team..." Tory responded, this time only half-condescendingly. "Tell ya what. I've got some decisions to make. I'll letcha know tomorrow. And don't worry, it isn't because I want to see you again. You annoy the fuck out of me."
"You annoy the fuck out of me, too," Sean laughed. "Look, here's the deal, dude... I'm already married, so I ain't gonna be askin' you out on a date here, now or ever. And I don't even know if we're ever gonna be friendly to each other. I'd like it if we could be. All I'm askin' for is to make a contribution to your team and I don't really fucking get why you don't seem to understand that..."
"I said I'd letcha know tomorrow." Tory ended. "You can go now."
"Sure thing. I'll see ya tomorrow."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Jesus Christ!" Andy exclaimed after they cleared the door of the room, "what the fuck is his problem?"
"See, that's what I don't get..."
"So, you think you made it?"
"Yeah! Miss Thing asked me to come back tomorrow. He wouldn't have done that if I wasn't good enough. He would have insulted me – AGAIN – and told me to fuck off."
"How you gonna work with a guy like that?"
"It'll be fine. I worked with worse... Remember Brades from Tremper?"
"How could I forget..."
"So, yeah, I worked with worse. He'll come around."
"You read the paper and handed it back to him on purpose just to rile him up, didn'tcha..."
"Of course I did! He was being pompous. He said to read it. He didn't say how to read it. He deserved it. For being rude."
Unseen by either Andy, or Sean was that Tory Trager overheard Sean refer to him as Miss Thing. A tear ran down his cheek.
Just then, Sean and Andy saw two students approaching them coming down the hall. Sean did a double take.
After they passed, Sean poked Andy whispering, "Hey, those two are the same guys that were taking Brad's money last year."
They stopped and turned around in time to see the other two entering the room they had just come out of.
"Should we do something?" Andy asked.
"Yeah, I think we should."
END CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
*Blackhawk Tech: Blackhawk Technical College. Technical school in Rock County, Wisconsin and a part of the Wisconsin Technical College System. Serves primarily the cities of Janesville and Beloit. Offers up to an Associate Degree, Technical Diploma, Certificate, or Apprenticeship.
**Saxon and Norman AD 1100, by Rudyard Kipling
"My son," said the Norman Baron, "I am dying, and you will be heir To all the broad acres in England that William gave me for my share When we conquered the Saxons at Hastings, and a nice little handful it is. But before you go over to rule it I want you to understand this:—
"The Saxon is not like us Normans, his manners are not so polite. But he never means anything serious till he talks about justice and right. When he stands like an ox in the furrow with his sullen set eyes on your own, And grumbles, `This isn't fair dealing,' my son, leave the Saxon alone.
"You can horsewhip your Gascony archers, or torture your Picardy spears, But don't try that game on the Saxon; you'll have the whole brood round your ears. >From the richest old Thane in the county to the poorest chained serf in the field, They'll be at you and on you like hornets, and, if you are wise, you will yield.
"But first you must master their language, their dialect, proverbs and songs. Don't trust any clerk to interpret when they come with the tale of their wrongs. Let them know that you know what they're saying; let them feel you know what to say. Yes, even when you want to go hunting, hear 'em out if it takes you all day.
"They'll drink every hour of the daylight and poach every hour of the dark, It's the sport not the rabbits they 're after, we've plenty of game in the park. Don't hang them or cut off their fingers. That's wasteful as well as unkind, For a hard-bitten South-country poacher makes the best man-at-arms you can find.
"Appear with your wife and the children at their weddings and funerals and feasts. Be polite but not friendly to Bishops; be good to all poor parish priests. Say 'we,' 'us' and 'ours' when you're talking instead of 'you fellows' and 'I.' Don't ride over seeds; keep your temper; and never you tell 'em a lie!"