Chapter 3

Randolph Jefferson Atterbury had arrived in New York for the first time in his life, five days prior. Accompanied by his father, William Jefferson Atterbury PhD., he had attended an association dinner honoring his father for the latest innovation produced in their laboratory and factory. Randolph Jefferson Atterbury understood little of what his father's company produced and absolutely nothing about this latest innovation. His presence at that dinner was to serve as his introduction to many of the customers and competitors that he would encounter in years to come.

Randolph Jefferson Atterbury is the sole surviving child of Helen and William Jefferson Atterbury. An avalanche in the Swiss Alps four years previous had killed his two younger siblings. He was born in the United Kingdom and lived with his parents in their home in Swindon, in the south central part of England. He attended the primary grades locally but was then sent to an exclusive boarding school in the north, one not heavily infected with the children of socialists, nor overrun by the offspring of the monarchy. It is a small school, very well regarded and free of the pettiness and tomfoolery so often associated with boarding schools. Randy's mother is an American citizen, and as such, Randy is automatically a citizen of both countries. Because of that, some of Randy's classmates affectionately gave him a nickname of "Yank". After the accident that killed his siblings, his classmates had closed quickly around him to provide support for him in his time of grief. The bond that formed between them was quite powerful.

His father had been privately disappointed following a meeting with the guidance counselors at Randy's school. He had hoped that his son would pursue a degree in chemistry, as he had, or in mechanical engineering, as he had done secondarily, but the counselors advised against those pursuits. "Randolph's strengths," they had told him, "were in literature and the languages. His creative writing talents are outstanding, superior to most others, even those older than he. His command of languages is the best in the school. He is already proficient in at least four continental languages and will master some of the African languages soon." With that news, William Atterbury asked of his son only that he obtain a degree in a field of his own choosing. Career planning for Randy Atterbury required no imagination. After graduation he would return to his parents' home in south central England and devote himself to learning the business that his father and grandfather had begun years ago.

Randy Atterbury is tall, six feet four inches tall, with blond hair that never seems to want to remain in place and a natural, warm smile that soundlessly says "Hi" to everyone he meets. He is lanky but in excellent physical condition, having participated in several athletic programs in school, the vast majority of which are not contested in the United States. He has no knowledge or understanding of baseball, nor of the American event called football, and, having been subjected to hours of hotel television during his brief stay in New York City, he really does not understand professional wrestling. He was definitely looking forward to "move-in" day, his first real experience of life out from under the protective clutches of his mother. He understood why she worried so, following the deaths of his younger siblings, but as an eighteen year old young man, he needed "space". He was very glad that he had chosen to enroll in an American university.

Randy arrived in Scranton just before noon, in the heat and humidity that seems to attend every "move-in" day. His father had arranged for a "car" for the two and one half hour drive from Manhattan, and Randy was somewhat embarrassed when he discovered that his "car" was directed to a special lane reserved for limousines. His driver, an older man, dressed in a black driver's uniform and cap, seemed ill prepared to carry Randy's luggage much beyond the curb. The problem was resolved, almost immediately, by the arrival of the upper-class volunteers, but not before one of them, looking at the six matching Louis Vuitton all leather suitcases neatly aligned on the curb, asked, "Are you sure that you brought enough stuff?" Randy had no idea how to respond, and the three volunteers each carried two suitcases up to Randy's room in the dorm.

Standing in front of the door to his room, he paused for a minute and took a deep breath. "Here I am," he thought, "about to begin a brand new chapter in my life." Full of confidence and standing proud, he opened the door. It was a surprise, to be sure. Randy stopped immediately and looked again at the number on the door, verifying that it indeed did match the room number assigned to him by the housing office. "Pardon me; I believe this is supposed to be a single room, assigned to me."

"Yes, it is. That is what I was told also, but then the woman at the desk pointed out the fine print that says that they reserve the right to double up students in case of housing shortages. Nice, huh? She said that we can expect a refund from the university for the extra that we paid for a single room, but I wouldn't hold my breath on seeing that cash any time soon. I'm Jeff Myerly, by the way. Nice to meet you."