Chapter 10: Pursuit

Friday, July 8, 1983

I had two more notes this morning. The first was a request to be at a particular office at two PM to meet with ... someone. The handwriting was bad. Fortunately, I could figure out which office.

The second was a note that several newspapers were attempting to contact me, and that I should let Northwestern handle that for now, and point anyone who approached me to Dr. Danforth. They were, after all, acting ‘in loco parentis,’ so they probably didn’t want to get blamed if I shot my mouth off and embarrassed my parents or Northwestern or whatever else.

My day was back to normal. No mention in the assembly, no weird comments. I did get a minute (literally) alone with Angie and told her about Laura stalking me. She said she’d keep an eye out.

This was adding up to another call with Jane, but I figured I’d give it a day or two. I’d just about run out of patience with Laura and was going to tell her that.

In practice, that was an empty threat, and she would know it. What exactly was I going to do? Force her to have an open and honest dialog with me? Yeah, right. If she wouldn’t talk, we weren’t going to talk.

I told Cammie that I had an afternoon meeting, probably related to the Reagan speech and reporters. She said ‘Sucks to be you!’ and told me she’d be at the library with Carrie and Suzie and maybe another couple of girls.

I’d already noticed that some boys were giving me looks that I suspected related to the number of girls I hung out with. Sorry, guys!

Jas, Angie, and Paige were abuzz at lunch. They’d been told that the plan for the last four weeks was to audition for, cast, rehearse, and perform ‘Guys and Dolls’. They’d be performing it five times, with five different main casts.

Casting was by secret ballot from the other students. That could be good, or it could be a train wreck. Most likely the people running things knew what they were doing.

I told my afternoon instructor that I had a meeting to attend at two, and was going to leave earlier. As expected, that wasn’t a problem.

The meeting turned out to be with Northwestern’s Dean of Students, Tom Brigham. Tom seemed an affable enough guy. I guessed he was in his mid-50s, and he had the tweed jacket look down. If you called Central Casting and asked for a Dean of Students, this was the guy they’d send.

Dr. Danforth was also present, along with a few other Assistant Deans of Something-or-other. I wrote down all their names, but it was clear that it was Dr. Brigham’s meeting, with Dr. Danforth second in command. The others were flunkies, at least from their perspective.

I shook hands with everyone, then took the offered chair. They’d set chairs up in front of the desk, which was a good move. There was no question of the power dynamic in the room, but speaking from behind a desk puts people on edge, not at ease.

“Thanks for coming by, Steve,” Dr. Brigham said. “And call me Tom. This isn’t anything bad, and even when it is, I try to be on a first-name basis with students.”

“You’re welcome, and thanks, Tom,” I said. “By pure coincidence, I’ll have a teacher next year who wants to be called Tom, too.”

He chuckled. “That would be Tom Myerson.”

That surprised me. “You’ve done your research.”

He chuckled a bit more, but then so did one of the flunkies. “Oh, I have, but not for the reason you think. It’s just a lucky coincidence. My academic studies are in business, specifically in financial markets. I specialize in hedge funds. Some of Tom Myerson’s writings are classics. It stunned quite a few people when he quit and went to teach high school.”

That made me feel like a bit of an idiot. Why hadn’t I thought to look him up in any of my library trips? Why hadn’t any of us? I guess it’s because he was a ‘high school teacher’ in our minds, but we knew he was independently wealthy and a financial wunderkind. My first thought was that we needed to fix that. My second was that Tom wouldn’t like it if we spread it around that he was ‘somebody.’ He wanted to just be ‘Tom, the cool government teacher.’ If we knew, it’d be fine, maybe flattering, but he wouldn’t like ‘celebrity’ any more than I did, and probably less.

“I didn’t know that,” I said. “That’s quite a coincidence.”

He nodded. “Say hello for me. Anyway, we’ve gotten off track. I’m sure you can guess why we’re meeting.”

“Gotta be the Reagan speech — unless I’ve done something I didn’t think you’d catch me at.”

He laughed, loudly. “Good one! Yes, it’s the Reagan speech. I know Matthew — Doctor Danforth — sent you a note as well. We don’t want to frustrate the media, but this is the first time we’ve had the external media chasing our students, and it’s an opportunity. It’s also a challenge. We’d really appreciate it if you point anyone who contacts you to my office or to Matthew, preferably my office. I should say that we’re not worried about you making a fool out of yourself, or a fool out of us. You’re too sharp for that. We just want to help. Of course, part of that is because it’ll benefit us, too.”

I nodded. “Makes sense to me. I’ll point anyone who asks to you.”

“That’s part one. Part two is ... Sandy?”

A woman stood up, stepped forward, and offered her hand. We’d already shaken hands, but I’d missed her name last time. I rose and shook hands as she said, “Hi. I’m Sandy Kenner, Matthew’s counterpart over in the Journalism program.”

That probably told me what was up.

She grinned, sitting down. “I think you’ve probably guessed what I want.”

“Practice interviews?”

“Yes! We go out of our way to get our students opportunities to interview people who are meaningful in one way or another, but we’ve never had anything like this dropped in our lap. A student involved in a national story? Even if it’s not a big story, it’s unique. We’d be very grateful if you’d help. We’re only asking for a few hours. Only a few students will get to participate, but it’ll be in an auditorium so the others can watch.”

“I’m happy to help. I’m used to being cross-examined, so it should be fine.”

“Thanks!”

Tom looked around the room, then said, “We’re overnighting some extra papers down to your parents. Everything we need is already covered in the standard student agreements, but this is unique, and ... well, as I said, we want to do it right, and to make the whole thing a learning exercise.”

“Can I get a copy of them, just so I can see what’s up?”

“Sure.” He reached over and pushed a button on his phone. “Kim, can you get me an extra set of the press agreement we’re sending to Steve Marshall’s parents?”

“Sure, Tom. Happy to! It’ll be just a few minutes,” the voice on the other end of the phone said.

He hit another button, then turned to me.

“That’s all we have, unless you have any concerns?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. This is all a big surprise. I’d thought the story had died down back in May.”

“It probably will turn up next year around Prom season,” Dr. Kenner (I assumed she was a PhD, anyway) said. “Until some school outdoes you, you guys are the model. Well, you and those kids in Rhode Island, since that case dominates the law, but since your school’s solution doesn’t have the legal entanglements, quite a few principals will be hoping they can replicate what happened at Memorial.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

“The bigger thing for you is ... you,” she said, smiling. “Your comments have now taken on a life of their own. Reagan certainly wasn’t directly referencing your Prom, so none of that really matters for you. Some speechwriter, at least, thought you struck the right note on people respecting differences, and Reagan thought it sounded good enough to go with it, so ... now it’s just a question of whether this has any legs. It’s a nice feel-good story: ‘High school kid quoted by the President of the United States!’”