Chapter 15

"What's a muckraker, Sean?" he asked as the class began. I wonder what my leg was doing down there, folding up on me. Very odd. Never done that.

The boy shook his head but raised his hand. "What happened at lunchtime, Mr. Thompson? There must have been a dozen cop cars out there."

"I don't know, not really. Nothing serious. One of the kids, a junior, got into some bad stuff I think, some kind of drug, maybe one of those you-know, prescription things, nobody hurt, window broken I think."

The boy nodded. "Muckraker, oh yeah, a writer who dug up bad stuff, scandals I guess."

"Name one?"

The boy shook his head, and one of the girls raised her hand. He nodded at her.

"Somebody said he had a gun, the boy."

"Yes, think so, but nobody got hurt. Just some broken glass. Know any muckrakers?"

She nodded, blinking. "There was a woman, Ida something."

"Right, Ida Tarbell, magazine writer mainly, she said that with imagination, anything was possible, something like that. That's a neat idea. Imagination. What did she do; whom did she write about? Charlie?"

"Standard Oil, Rockefeller." The bright boy stayed slumped down in his seat, pretending disinterest. "John I think, John D. Rockefeller."

"Exactly. So? What happened? What about Rockefeller? Who's he? Go on Charlie."

A young woman, a student in a long skirt, entered the classroom and handed him a pink note. He read it and shook his head. "Tell them on my free period, hour and a half from now." Hm, felt a twinge in his leg, very strange.

She left with her note, and the eyes of several boys followed her.

"Where were we, oh, Rockefeller. Jimbo, what business was he in? Pretty famous name, Rockefeller." He wrote it on the whiteboard. "Rich man, one of the richest at the time, number one or two I think.

The boy shook his head.

"Really. Ever hear of Esso? How about Exxon?"

"Sure," he said, "gas stations."

"Right and what's now called Exxon and used to be called Esso, one of his companies, well, it used to be, some time ago. Esso means what?" He wrote "ESSO" on the board and then an equals sign and an S and an O.

The school principal was at the classroom door beckoning to him.

The teacher sighed, cleared his throat and said, "Okay, read, if you haven't finished chapter eleven do that, otherwise it's free reading. Oh, and Jim, since it's right beside you, get the T encyclopedia and see if they have anything on Tarbell. Stay in your seats. Yes, sir?"

"Come, they want to talk to you," said the man, looking very unhappy.

"Won't it keep?"

He shook his head. "I'll find somebody to cover this class."

The teacher followed his principal down to his office and sat where he pointed. There were three other people in the room, two males and a middle-aged woman. The principal introduced them; a policemen wearing sergeant's stripes, a balding lawyer and the student's mother, Mrs. Porter.

"How is he?" the teacher asked, holding her hand.

She nodded and sniffed.

"All right," said the principal, "now they want to know what happened out there. You tell them. I was down in the cafeteria"

"I didn't see it. I heard it. Two shots, real booms. I went out and there was Michael with a gun, a big pistol in his hand. There was some smoke in the air, the smell of it at least. I got him to put the thing down and help me with the drinking fountain, it was spraying water, distracted him I guess, then the police came and took him away."

"That's all?" asked the principal.

The teacher nodded.

"Did he point the gun at you??" asked the policemen.

"Nope," said the teacher, shaking his head.

"Did he threaten you?" the lawyer asked.

The teacher shook his head again. "He was upset, confused, maybe drugged, high on something. That's what it looked like to me."

"How do you know?" asked the cop.

"I've known him for, for what, I don't know, six, eight months, since last year. He's a good kid, kind of moody, but hard working, a plugger and a good boy." He paused. "And I've seen other kids on various drugs, now and then. Kind of sad, that business."

"Mr. Hamilton, our school security office, told me that he thought the boy had put the gun in his mouth, that so?" the principal raised an eyebrow.

"He might have, briefly," said the teacher. "I'm not sure." He closed his eyes and pretended to think. Equivocation said his mind. You ducked that one.

"Well, did he or didn't he?" asked the lawyer.

"Must I answer all these questions? I'm sure Michael can tell you what happened. I have a class to teach."