Nicholas's Story
Copyright© 2025 by writer 406
Chapter 20
The Pulitzer Prize ceremony was held at Columbia University’s Low Library, a neoclassical building with imposing columns and a grand rotunda that seemed designed specifically to make people feel small in the presence of intellectual achievement. Nicholas arrived in a car the publisher had arranged for him, wearing the suit the models had selected for him. Eleanor met him at the entrance, elegant in a simple black dress and pearls, her usual professional demeanor slightly elevated by the significance of the occasion.
“You clean up nicely,” she observed with a small smile, adjusting his pocket square, which had apparently shifted during the ride. “The suit is perfect.”
“I had expert help,” he replied.
“So, I gathered from your text. Fashion models as style consultants—that could only happen to you, Nicholas.”
They entered together, joining the flow of people moving into the rotunda. The space was impressive—marble columns, a domed ceiling with elaborate moldings, the kind of institutional grandeur that communicated centuries of tradition and importance. The room was arranged with round tables covered in white linen, each set with fine china, crystal, and elaborate floral centerpieces. Place cards marked assigned seating, organizing the literary and journalistic elite of America into carefully considered social groupings.
Eleanor guided him toward their table near the front. David was already there, looking pleased and slightly nervous, along with several Hartwick executives who had flown in for the occasion. They greeted Nicholas with an enthusiasm that seemed genuine, if somewhat heightened by the circumstances.
“Nicholas, congratulations again,” David said, shaking his hand firmly. “First Pulitzer in Hartwick’s history—this is a momentous day for all of us.”
He nodded, accepting the congratulations without comment. It still struck him as strange that his observations about everyday excellence—ideas he’d developed for himself, written primarily as a way of processing his own experiences, had also become an institutional achievement for the publisher, a marketing angle and a point of pride for people he barely knew.
As they took their seats, Nicholas looked around the room with his usual attention to detail. The attendees represented a cross-section of American intellectual life—journalists who had documented wars and political scandals, academics who had produced groundbreaking research, novelists who had captured some essential truth about human experience, poets who had found new language for ancient emotions. Among them moved the administrative staff—event coordinators, waiters, photographers—whose skilled labor made the celebration possible.
Conversations flowed around him, introductions were made, drinks were served. He responded when spoken to, answered questions about his book and background with his usual economy, neither elaborating unnecessarily nor withholding information. Nicholas noticed the surprise that often registered on people’s faces when they learned he was both a handyman and a writer, as if these identities existed in separate categories that shouldn’t overlap.
Eleanor remained close by, occasionally intervening when conversations threatened to become awkward or when people pressed for details about his past. She had become skilled at navigating the gap between his straightforward manner and the more elaborate social expectations of literary circles.
“Remember,” she murmured at one point, “you’ll need to say a few words when they present your award. Just a brief acceptance, nothing elaborate required.”
Nicholas nodded. He had prepared some remarks, though not in the way most might have. He hadn’t written a speech or rehearsed specific phrases. Instead, he had given a lot of thought about what mattered most about this recognition, what truth it might allow him to articulate about the value of everyday excellence. The words would come when needed.
The formal ceremony began with welcoming remarks from Columbia University’s president, followed by a brief history of the Pulitzer Prizes and their founder. Then came the awards themselves, presented category by category with a short description of each winning work. Each recipient approached the podium, accepted their certificate, and offered brief thanks. Some were emotional, some witty, some political, all were clearly moved by the recognition.
When they reached the General Non-Fiction category, Nicholas felt Eleanor’s hand briefly touch his arm in encouragement. The presenter described “The Excellence of Ordinary Things,” as “a work that transforms how we perceive the dignity and meaning of everyday labor, combining philosophical insight with precise observation to reveal the hidden value of work well done.”
He stood and walked to the podium, conscious of the eyes following him, but not particularly concerned with the impression he made. The presenter handed him the certificate—a simple document that somehow carried the weight of cultural validation—and shook his hand with a warm smile.
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