PART THREE CHAPTER THIRTEEN Y: The sun is our light, for by that light we sit, work, go out, and come back. J: When the sun sets, what is the light of man? Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, ch. 4* The news of the day: Men Walk on Moon: Voice from Moon; “Eagle has landed.” Houston: Roger, Tranquility, we copy you on the ground. You’ve got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We’re breathing again. Thanks a lot. A powdery surface is closely explored. Men have landed and walked on the moon. Two American Astronauts of Apollo 11 steered their fragile fourlegged lunar module safely and smoothly to the historic landing yesterday at 4: 17: 40 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time. . . Neil A. Armstrong declared as he placed his foot on the moon, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” The New York Times, Front page for July 20th 1969 SEÁMUS and his father, Andrew, were sitting in their family room watching the baseball game on television. The Dodgers were playing the Giants in Candlestick Park. Two great pitchers were on the mound: Claude Osteen for the Dodgers and Gaylord Perry for the Giants. As the game was just getting underway, the network news broke in and said that the United States space craft, Apollo 11, * Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, ch. 4. Tr. Eknath Easwaran (Tomales, CA: Nilgiri Press, 1987). had landed on the moon. When they cut back the announcers said that Maury Wills had singled on an infield hit and had been driven in by Manny Mota’s triple to right field. “Aw Dad,” began Seámus, “why did they put on that newsbreak? We missed a score!” Seámus got up and went to the refrigerator for a coke. When he returned Len Gabrielson singled to right center, scoring Mota (Parker, who had walked while Seámus was getting his beverage, went only to second). Seámus then watched Tom Haller, the catcher, send a rope to center scoring Wes Parker. “Doggone it all!” intoned Andrew at the score. It was 3-0 and only the top of the first. Flyouts by Sizemore and Osteen ended the inning. While it was on commercial break, Andrew asked Seámus, “Do you really think they’ve landed a space ship on the moon?” “Sure. Don’t you ever watch Star Trek?” Andrew scratched his short-cropped graying hair. “No, I haven’t. But what does that have to do with anything? That’s just a tv show.” “Dad, don’t you know that they base these shows on stuff that really happens or is about to happen?” Seámus took a long swig of Coca-Cola. The thick hourglass bottle seemed custom made for his teenage hand. “Seámus, a television show is a work of fiction—unless it’s a news show or something—and even then,” Andrew cleared his throat. “But Star Trek just came out of someone’s head. This moon landing really happened. I mean, Seámus, you were a Boy Scout. You did a lot of camping. What did you think about when you looked at the moon in the sky?” “I don’t know. I thought it was a big rock in the sky that the sun shone upon so that when we looked at it on earth that reflection made it look full, half, crescent—you know.” Andrew got up and stood directly in front of his son. “Don’t you realize how far away the moon is? Don’t you realize what it means to put an American on the moon?” “Does that mean we own it?” asked Seámus. “Own the moon?” “Yeah. In the Age of Discovery when the Europeans went around the world discovering new lands, they planted their flag wherever they went. That meant that they owned it because they discovered it.” Andrew didn’t respond. “I didn’t make this up. It’s in my history book.” “I believe you. But I don’t think anyone can own the moon.” “Why not? The British took over Australia and that’s a whole continent.” “I don’t know. No one owns Antarctica. Besides, the Moon is an entire planet. I just don’t think it makes sense to me.” “Why do you think Kennedy wanted us to get to the moon?” “I don’t know,” replied Andrew. “Was it to show the Russians that Capitalism was superior to Communism?” “Those are economic theories, Dad. They have nothing to do with science. In fact, I think the whole thing is only about building an empire: first the Earth (our world) and then the Moon. Mark my words, Mars is next!” Andrew decided to pour himself a cup of coffee. The Giants didn’t score in the bottom of the first. Andrew wanted to say something to his son about the ‘man in the moon’ or of it’s being said to be made of ‘green cheese’ or the perfect aether that could neither be created or destroyed. He didn’t know what to say to his son, who was now making Jiffy Pop popcorn on the oven-top. The Giants didn’t get on the board until the third. Willie Mays and Willie McCovey got into the act, putting San Francisco on top. Even Gaylord Perry (the notorious spit ball pitcher) hit his first home run in the effort. Everything in the game was surreal for Andrew. Dick Tracey. The Green Hornet. Captain Marvel. Journey to the Center of the Earth. Putting a man on the moon. Fiction was becoming real. Seámus was right, but in the wrong way. The final score was 7-3 Giants. Neither team seemed headed for the Pennant. But there had been something magical about the game to Andrew. *** 1969 was also the year that Seámus was heading for his final year of high school. Andrew wanted to talk to him about going to college. Liam had gone to college—several colleges, in fact, before getting his degree at the University of Washington while living at home with his folks in Seattle. He received his master’s degree in experimental psychology in June of 1969. That event exhausted his student draft deferment. Liam felt as if he had two choices: wait to be drafted and go in at the lowest level or enlist with his master’s degree and try to get into a commission. The advantage of the second option was that it would take longer to get into combat, and when he got there he would be in a leadership role. (Liam didn’t know that in World War II low-level officers were often the first to be shot by snipers.) By August, Liam had been commissioned as an Ensign in the U.S. Navy. Because he was going into the Medical Services Corps, he didn’t have to report to OCS. Still he had to report to Pensacola, Florida. As a flight human factors expert (because of his psychology background), Liam had to take the emergency training required of anyone who would be up in the air on a regular basis. This included learning how to escape from being enmeshed in a parachute underwater, escaping from a flight cockpit underwater, speed water slides, and other skills that could mean the difference between life and death during an accident or enemy fire. Some of these tests were, themselves, rather dangerous. Many of the flight and para flight personnel used to joke that it was more dangerous to go through training than it was to go through combat. Liam survived. He didn’t have to go into the theater of combat because his job in the great scheme of things was to help assess how user-friendly the flying instruments were in times of distress. Did they make pilots more or less efficient? This meant administering various pen and paper tests with pilots in training in flight simulators, and occasionally in the air with those who were proclaimed fit to die for their country after training. Liam enjoyed the work. The routine of running tests and writing up the results pleased him. It was solitary work. This pleased him, too. What didn’t please Liam was the high testosterone, roughly jocular, hard-drinking lifestyle of the pilots (the group with whom he was most associated). One night when he was at the Shoot the Moon Tavern with some top gun aspirants, he became the object of general interest. “Say, professor. Why don’t you move away from beer and drink a real man’s drink?” The man proposing the challenge was a lieutenant junior grade (j.g.). The top gun wantto-be was six-foot and two hundred pounds of muscle. Liam, a short scrawny lad with black horned-rimmed glasses holding thick lenses, tried to force a smile. But the result only prompted laughter. “No, professor, you don’t smile at the drink. You send it down the hatch,” barked the antagonist. The guys started laughing and one lad with a crew cut out of the early sixties slapped Liam on the back and then lifted the glass to Liam’s lips and tried to pour it down his throat. Liam struggled a little, but that only made the game more humorous for the crew. Liam’s glasses fell to the floor. Crew cut retrieved them but held them at a distance. “You have to drink one of your own to get them back.” Liam was very near sighted. He could hear the words but beyond that everything was a blur. He felt the drink in his hand and started to sip it. “Down the hatch! Down the hatch!” the group chanted. Liam was able to finish the shot in two more attempts. The glasses were placed back on his face. There was a huge thumb print on one lens. Liam didn’t dare take his glasses off to clean them. He had already had two beers before this onslaught. His vision was getting blurry. Another glass was put into his hand. He started to drink it. The liquor went down quicker this time. Liam looked up after he finished. The group was onto a different subject. No one paid him any attention. Liam wanted to go home. He tried to get up, but felt unsteady. Liam put his head down to try to clear it. Things only got worse. His head was spinning. That was the last thing he remembered. Liam awoke in his bed the next morning after reveille. He had a headache. He had never been drunk before. He made a vow then and there that he never would be again. *** When Seámus started his senior year of high school, he was (for the first time) entering the same school for the fourth year. The normal pattern had been to move every two or three years. This odyssey life-style was instigated by his father’s success at business. When Seámus was born, the family had been living in an apartment in Rogers Park on the north side of Chicago. Then when Seámus turned three, the family moved to a suburb that was on the Northwestern Rail Line: Park Ridge. It was the first house that the family had owned. They bought the three-story house (that had been built in 1922). The new price was $ 14,000: $ 10,000 down and a $ 4,000 mortgage. It was the dawn of the age of network television. The family decided to buy a TV and hired a carpenter to create a pine cabinet for the set in the semi-finished basement (a finished family room and unfinished workshop and laundry room, separated by a sheetrock wall covered by stained-pine quarter-inch paneling). The cabinet also contained book shelves and storage areas. So large was the cabinet that it ran half the gambit of the wall. This created a new, diminished sense of space. There was a large sofa that could fit the family and two side stuffed chairs for guests. Upstairs they had the family radio that was also contained within its own mahogany cabinet. It was 1955 and the real media attraction was network radio. Such shows as Gunsmoke, My Little Margie, NBC Radio Theater, Lum and Abner (re-runs), The Lone Ranger, Suspense, and Andrew’s two favorites: Dragnet and Perry Mason, were the staple of family entertainment. That is why the radio was adjacent to the two main level rooms (between the front room and the dining room). After dinner, the boys and Andrew would retreat to the front room to listen to their favorites while Moira did the dishes and then joined them while she did her mending. But while the family preferred the radio, Seámus was taken with the television. He couldn’t very well go downstairs when Gunsmoke was on. It would be unsupportive of the family. No. The only two times that he was able to watch the television was on the weekend. The first of these was at 4: 30am when Seámus would naturally wake-up. Seámus was an early riser. On weekdays his parents were, too (getting up at 5am). But the parents hated getting up so early. They did it so that Andrew could catch the 7 o’clock train to Chicago so that he might walk through the door before 8. “A manager should always be the first one there and the last one to leave,” Andrew used to say. “That’s what they pay me for. And I’ll be jiggered if I’m ever going to cheat anyone out of a single penny if I can help it.” So though Seámus would wake-up at 4: 30am every day of the week, it would do no good to sneak downstairs because television did not begin until 5am (when the parents woke up). But on Saturdays things were different. The parents slept in until 9: 30am. Liam always slept until he was awoken. That left a large span of time. Seámus would get out of bed and tip toe downstairs to the main level of the house and into the kitchen. There he would slide a chair over to the refrigerator, open the door, get on the chair so that he could reach the aerosolcharged can of whipped cream. From there he would apply three or four inches of whipped cream to a coffee cup saucer. Armed also with a spoon, he would make his way downstairs to turn on the television. Now, at 4: 45am, the only thing on the tv was the test pattern. In this case it was the image of a Native American in headdress enclosed in a circle with a “9” atop the circle. This was WGN, channel 9. At 5am was a half-hour army training film: The Big Picture. Seámus would take in the images of heroic army soldiers and normal life in a peacetime army. The host and narrator was Master Sergeant Stewart Queen. After The Big Picture, the whipped cream was done and Seámus crept upstairs again and cleared out the dishes from the dishwasher and placed his own used dish inside (with all traces of whipped cream licked off the plate). Then it was downstairs to watch cartoons until the parents woke up and made breakfast. The only other time that Seámus watched television was when the Chicago Cubs or Chicago White Sox were in town. WGN televised all their home games. Jack Brickhouse was the play-byplay announcer. The baseball games on the weekend drew the three males together. Moira didn’t like baseball and only watched when the White Sox went to the World Series in 1959. Andrew offered to buy his wife a mink stole if the Sox didn’t win. Fortunately for Moira, the Sox lost to the new Los Angeles Dodgers in six games. *** One day in late spring when Seámus was five, he was walking home from morning kindergarten with his cadre of five friends. One chum in the group, Johnny Hansen, suddenly broke away from the group. He raced forward to Seámus’ house. The group of five-year-old boys was moving forward very slowly. This was because they were entertaining each other with songs, stories, and performing little dances that included hopping about. It was a procession that would sometimes walk past someone’s house before there was recognition of their incremental task. Today was different. Johnny ran back to the group yelling, “Seámus, Seámus!” There was no reply because Johnny was outside of the magic circle. However, when he pierced the sacred space he merely became a part of the general theme of the daily going home ritual. “Seámus!” Johnny grabbed his friend by the shoulders and shook him. Seámus grabbed Johnny in return. “You’re moving, Seámus!” “Of course I’m moving, Johnny. How else could I get home?” The group started a song about moving on the railroad that they had just been taught in school. The cadre sang with emotion as they neared the 1020 N. Hamlin home. When they got close enough, Seámus spun away from the group, twirling like a helicopter maple seed on its way to earth. Then Seámus’ foot became entangled and he fell. Falling was not something unusual to Seámus. He did it with some regularity. But this time something was different. The big blue eyes that were adorned with unusually long eyelashes looked up at his tackling antagonist and saw that it was a metal sign that was planted in the ground with two thin metal pipes. The sign was white with striking bold red letters: FOR SALE: D.C.H. Reality. Then Seámus felt confused. He looked again to his house. It was still there. The sign was on his property. Then he remembered Johnny. Then he got up and started screaming as he ran into the house to confront his mother. *** After lunch, Seámus decided to go bike riding. Hamlin Street was a low traffic neighborhood. First of all, only about half of the residents owned cars, and second, it was not a convenient by-pass for people who were stuck in traffic on Northwest Highway or Oakton Street (both busy roads). Seámus got onto his bike and started off toward Marguerite Street where Johnny Hansen and Billy Pinkston lived. These were his two closest friends. They were only two blocks from his house, but Seámus decided to ride his bike. He had gone no more than thirty feet when a stray dog started barking and running at Seámus. Normally, Seámus was not disturbed by dogs. His own dachshund, Stretch, was a great friend. But at this moment, Seámus was rattled and ran his bicycle into a parked car bumper, and Seámus fell to the cement. The dog came up to Seámus and licked the remaining peanut butter and jelly that were still on his face. Seámus didn’t get up right away, but the dog stood his ground, guarding the child. The whimpering sounds of the dog made Seámus climb to his feet. He looked down to his pants— sure enough, he’d ripped a hole around his knee again. His mother bought patches by the dozens so that she could repair the consequences of his forays into the world. Seámus then looked at his bike. It was fine, as was the bumper of the car he ran into. Perhaps it would be better to walk to his friends’ houses. Seámus dropped his bike in his front yard and proceeded by foot to Marguerite Street. *** “It’s not going to be far away,” said Seámus as he turned his spot over to his friend on the tire swing: a large truck tire that was secured by three ropes that attached at triangular points on the tire and was tied to an overhanging tree branch. “Mommy said that they would buy me a bunk bed so that I could have my old friends over for sleep overs.” “Will you still be going to Oakton School?” It was a good question, but it was one that he hadn’t asked. “I don’t know.” “Too bad if you don’t go to Oakton School.” Then Seámus pushed Johnny out of the tire swing and Johnny fell to the ground crying. Then Seámus ran away. When he got to the street Seámus realized that he was crying, too. Seámus started walking home when he saw an empty soup can lying on its side. He ran up to kick the can as hard as he could, but his timing was off and the can only suffered a glancing blow. *** It took longer than Seámus had imagined to move into his new home on Cherry Street. The old house wasn’t on the market long, but then there was some problem. Some of the neighbors came over to the house after dinner. Seámus’ mother told him to go to bed. “But I haven’t had my story yet,” was his reply. “You might not get a story tonight, Snuggles. You’ve got to be a team player.” So Seámus went upstairs: a team player. However, after Seámus had put on his pajamas, he crept to the top of the stairs just beyond the bannister post so that he could hear what was going on. Seámus surmised that his brother wasn’t home— or if he was, then he was nowhere in sight. He was riveted by the drama downstairs. Seámus couldn’t follow all of it, but the neighbors were mad. First of all, there was that man Hal Matter. He was from the South, and he hated dogs. He once tried to kill the family dog, Stretch, with some steak that was full of rat poison. It was on the O’Neil property just near the fence between the yards. Seámus had found the steak first and took it to his mother. She smelled it and called the police. There was an investigation, but they couldn’t prove anything. Anyone could have done it, but since Hal Matter was always calling the police himself about Stretch’s barking and his precious nap time, the family was certain that it was him. Mr. Matter was quiet at first and then started yelling, “Nigger neighbors!” Seámus wasn’t sure what a “nigger” was. Maybe it was someone from a foreign country? Seámus wondered if they were angry at his father wanting to sell the house to someone from a foreign country. Mr. Matter and the other neighbors were angry. This confused Seámus because in school they said that all Americans came from foreign countries. So what was the big deal? Seámus’ father started screaming back. He said he was a Marine who fought for our country and he would sell his house to whomever he wanted. This was America: a free country. There was more yelling. Another man said he had been in the army and that he could take Andrew then and there in his own living room. Then Seámus’ dad said that he kept his service revolver in the hall drawer. He walked over to the chest of drawers and put his hand on the handle of the drawer. Then the neighbors decided to leave. Seámus scrambled back to his room as quietly as he could. After a while, he heard his father climb the stairs and walk into his room. Seámus closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He didn’t want a story that night. *** Seámus had to change schools when he went to Cherry Street. Within three years, they were in New Jersey. The wheel continued to turn. Moving about was Seámus’ fate. It didn’t ever stop because then there wouldn’t be change. When Liam came home from Vietnam, it was time for Seámus to go to college. Seámus had applied to two schools: Yale and Pembroke (an excellent small college in Minnesota). Seámus got into both. Seámus had been born in the Midwest. Seámus chose Pembroke. Pembroke College is a small liberal arts college located 45 miles south of Minneapolis-St. Paul. Seámus was keen to revisit his roots in the Midwest, having lived on the two coasts for a time. It was also close to where his mother and father lived. They had met at Macalester College in St. Paul. In fact, Seámus wanted to visit St. Paul to get a sense of where his parents had met. These are the expectations that Seámus had upon arriving to college. For a city boy, Pembroke was out in the middle of nowhere. Seámus felt a little nervous. He arrived a day early and entered his room. It was smallish and very hot. Seámus took a walk into town and bought a small fan which he placed on a chair next to his bed. The next morning his roommate arrived, parents in tow. Seámus, who had come in by air the day before to Minneapolis and took a shared van to campus, was intimidated by the presence of the family—especially the mother, who gave Seámus the sort of look that seemed to suggest that Seámus wasn’t good enough to room with her son. Mrs. Teebie also didn’t like the way Seámus had arranged the room. Before she left, she instructed the men, including Seámus, to construct the convertible beds into bunks: one atop the other. Then she arranged the one desk so that it was under the window for light and the two dressers next to the small closet. She even declared that her son, Irwin, would have the left-hand side of the closet because they voted Democratic. Seámus went along with everything. In the afternoon was the new-student convocation in the Chapel (which was larger than any church that Seámus had ever attended). The new president of the university (an alumnus of Princeton) spoke in grand tones about his aims for the college. The subject and manner of delivery were white noise to Seámus. Instead, he fixated on the stained-glass arched window behind the President. There was a figure of Jesus with his arms spread and lots of people below him—looking up. What particularly struck Seámus about the figure of Jesus in the window was what appeared to be a small circular break in the glass around the lower ankle tendon. Seámus wondered why they hadn’t fixed it. After all, this was supposed to be a wealthy school. “Now I want you freshman to look to your right and then to your left. I’ll stop for a moment: do it!” The President reached out and pointed his finger at his audience. Seámus didn’t like to be ordered about, but he complied on a minimum level (turning his head only a few degrees). “Now if you all did this—save for those sitting on the aisles, though I suppose you could look across the aisle if you are in the middle—you have a group of three. A group of three. Well, I’ll tell you this about Pembroke: we run a tough school here. One of you won’t be here to graduate. You’ll flunk out either because you’re stupid or lazy. I don’t care. A diploma from Pembroke means something, and it’s only for the elite!” There was some assorted clapping and a mandatory bar-b-que that they were to attend in order to meet their classmates. Seámus decided to go back to his room and skip dinner.” CHAPTER FOURTEEN The Man has a thousand heads, a thousand eyes, a thousand feet. He pervaded the earth on all sides and extended beyond it as far as ten fingers.* The Creation Hymn The news of the day: Troops and Rioters Battle House-to-House in Belfast, Detroit Free Press. July 4, 1970. The top pop song on July 4, 1970 was “Mama Told Me Not to Come” Three Dog Night AS the summer ran on the corn grew higher. Knee High by the Fourth of July. It was an expression that her father and her mother’s father used to discuss. “I want waist high—not knee high,” said William Hart as he started rocking in his bright red rocking chair on the front porch. The Harts owned a house that William had built with the help of a few farmer friends when he first moved in. The project took eight months. They just beat the cruel Michigan winters. “But, Dad,” began Dylan in the way he liked to address his father-in-law. “Everything I’ve read says that knee high is just fine. Waist high is an old myth. You needn’t have waist high for a good crop.” Dylan was sitting on a straight-backed conventional chair. Before them were the 40 acres that William owned with his wife, Madge. “And how many years have you been in the farming business, Dylan?” Dylan stretched a smile on his face. This was not a conversation that would have a productive endpoint. But as Dylan let the input cross his brain he finally said, “You know the answer to that, Dad. * The Creation Hymn, 10.90, from The Rig Veda, tr. Wendy O’Flaherty (New York: Penguin, 1981). But I can read. And after our last visit I went to our college library and read a few things.” William took a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and lit it. He extinguished the flame with his finger before tossing the match away. From where they sat on the porch, they could see 20 acres of the 40-acre farm in rural Michigan. It was a warm July day, but not too humid. If Dylan and William had been attentive, they would have seen two heads bobbing up and down amongst the short corn stalks. The heads were of Lynn Marie and Dylan Jr. who were playing hideand-seek in rows between the corn stalks. If they were to play this game near to harvest, it would be next to impossible to catch someone because of the vegetable cover. But now, on the Fourth of July, it was a snap. They had to change the rules so that one wasn’t caught unless the other physically “tagged” them by a touch on the shoulder or head. Because it was so difficult to conceal, the game had an added attraction as brother and sister darted around the field. When they had been smaller, it was easier to hide any time. Many teenagers might give up such rural pastimes as they mature, but not Lynn and Dylan, Jr. (sometimes called DJ). There was a magic about the farm. When they had been younger, Lynn and D-J would climb to the loft in the barn and jump down into the hay pile that fed the small number of cattle that grandpa raised. There was something amazing about jumping down twenty feet in the air. It seemed like a hundred. A half-second seemed like an eternity. The hay gave way and one sunk down until they were almost immersed. Yes, for exurban kids living just west of Chicago, their visits to the farm were akin to going to Disneyland. It was with this spirit that brother and sister continued their traditional hide-and-seek game. Then the pair heard giggling in the cornfield that caught their attention. . “Ain’t they something?” put William. Dylan nodded and smiled. And that was that until Madge called for dinner. *** Lynn Marie was a blond-haired, thin girl. She was the only blonde in the family. This was often the cause of jokes about blonde milkmen in the 1950s. But on the Evans’s side of the family (they lived in a nearby town—New Zeeland, Michigan), grandpa Glyn created a notebook with details on family history. They were farmers in the north of Wales, not too far from Snowdonia. These folk in the north were close to the Scots and the fair-haired Irish. It was perfectly natural, said Glyn, that Lynn Marie would be blonde with pale skin and little body fat. That was her ancestry. And who we are has a lot to do with where we came from. Or so proclaimed the blunt Glyn. Even though he was a defender of his granddaughter, Glyn was a habitual teaser of all female kind. There was hardly a moment when he would be still. Once, when Lynn Marie was just 13, the family was visiting her father’s parents in Zeeland, Michigan (only a half-hour away from the Hart farm). They were having dinner in a diner. The waitress came over to give them their menus. “That was done pretty good, there sweetie,” said Glyn with a smile. Eluned frowned at her husband. “Thank you, sir,” said the twentyfive year old waitress. “Is there anything I can get you at this time?” “How about another grandchild? We like our grandchildren.” Glyn smiled broadly at his humor. No one else at the table smiled. Lynn quickly glanced at everyone without moving her head much. The family was breathing audibly and displayed atypical facial expressions. “I’m sorry sir, we do not have any grandchildren on the menu. Might I suggest our hamburgers? They are very popular.” The waitress smiled and lifted her paper tablet and pencil so she could take our order. “I would not trade a grandchild for a hamburger,” announced Glyn as he took his hand and spanked the waitress. The waitress put on a forced smile and then exited the scene. Eluned said, “Oh Glyn, you scamp. You’ve driven her away. Now how are we to get our dinner?” Lynn wanted to melt under the table. *** Lynn favored the Harts over the Evans as grandparents. William Hart and his wife Madge were simple people. They loved their black and white television. William used to sit and watch Detroit Tigers games. Since he was the only one who liked baseball these television interludes were attended by her father and William. Dylan would be asleep before the end of the first inning. The children were free to roam about the farm. Another television favorite of the whole family was Bonanza. Everyone in the family would watch the show and then turn off the set and reenact the episode with a few changes. Mother, Wilma, would often play a man’s part because there weren’t very many women on the show. (Madge refused to play a man’s part.) William often played the “bad guy.” He would light up a corncob pipe and use it to gesture. Everyone stayed in their chair, but Lynn and D-J would often stand on their chairs because they felt the need to move. The reenactment was always better than the show itself. Then they’d go to sleep and get up and go to church before heading home to Illinois. In the car, the children would listen carefully to Mom and Dad’s recounting of every conversation that came up— along with a commentary. They also would review the health of the wider clan to see who needed a letter or a card of cheer. The two Michigan venues were a homeaway-from-home that they visited four or five times a year—generally for the weekend only, but in the summer they would spend a week. That included a trip to the sand dunes. Running down the dunes until their legs would no longer hold them and they tumbled the rest of the way was pure excitement. They always finished with a splash in Lake Michigan. *** The Evans and Hart families were always in close contact. It wasn’t until Lynn’s senior year in high school that there was any health difficulty. That was when William had a stroke. Dylan and Wilma decided to load up the wood-paneled Ford station wagon to see what they could do. However, there was one problem: Lynn was the editor of the school yearbook and it was due out first thing Monday morning. It was Friday. The crew had scheduled with their faculty advisor a work session that night until ten, and then two twelvehour days to “put it to bed” on Saturday and Sunday. It was one of the most important jobs at Wheaton Central High School. If Lynn went to Michigan, then she would have to resign as editor of the yearbook. Lynn had put in perhaps 120 hours on the project already: assigning the photo shoots, choosing and cropping pictures, creating copy with the help of her area editors, et al. It had been the most time-consuming task she had ever undertaken. Her family had supported her, too. They had let her cut down her hours as a waitress at Around the Clock: A Family Restaurant (really a diner) in downtown Wheaton. Lynn had to work and turn over her paychecks to her mother to help with family bills. (They also housed two boarding students from Wheaton College where Dylan taught English Literature.) But college teachers were not well paid—especially college teachers at religiously affiliated colleges. When Lynn was in junior high school, her mother (who had a primary school teaching certificate) took a job teaching kindergarten. It was then, for the first time, that they were able to put a little money away. “Of course you’re going to see your grandfather. Why, he might die. Do you want to have that on your conscience, young lady?” asked Wilma to her daughter. The two women were in the kitchen. Wilma had her back to the sink, and Lynn had her back to the entrance to the living room. “But how could my going make any difference in that? I’m no doctor.” “Well, you want to be,” said Wilma, who began wagging her finger at Lynn. “A child psychiatrist,” corrected Lynn. “Well, that’s a doctor. And a doctor has the best interests of his patient always at heart.” Wilma walked forward and grabbed her daughter’s shoulders. “Well, I’m not a doctor now, Mother. You don’t know what this weekend means to me.” Wilma paused. Her hands were still on her daughter’s shoulders. Then she said, “Well, I’ve always said that these sorts of choices are up to you. I’m not going to force you to see your grandfather on his death bed. He has always been very generous to you; he’s always given you a Christmas present.” Lynn nodded. She broke eye contact with her mother and said in a softer voice, “Yes, those three years of Tinker Toys were fun. DJ liked his, too.” This response made Wilma pause again. She cleared her throat and took her arms off her daughter’s shoulders. “All right. If you want to disappoint your mother and work on your selfish project at school, then go ahead. You can ride your bike to school; it’s only four miles. There’s plenty of left-overs in the refrigerator. But I really hope that you don’t make that choice. You know on the road of life there are events that test who we are. I believe that this is one of those events, missy.” Mother and daughter were in full eye-contact now. Then Wilma squinted at her daughter as if she were peering into her soul. “So this is it: tell me whether you are going with us to see Grandpa in his hour of need?” Lynn paused, then pursed her lips. “I’m staying here,” she said right at her mother. Then she pivoted and left the room. Before she made it to the front door she stopped and turned. Wilma involuntarily gasped. “I hope you have a safe trip, Mother, and I hope Grandpa pulls through.” Then Lynn left the house for school. *** Lynn Evans directed the production of what her faculty advisor said was one of the best yearbooks at Wheaton Central High School in many years. William Hart recovered and lived five more years before dying at the age of 84 of another stroke.” CHAPTER FIFTEEN He who is awake in those that sleep, The Person who fashions desire after desire— That indeed is the Pure. That is Brahman. That indeed is called the Immortal.* Katha Upanishad The news of the day: Goggles, Gloves, Go! Mapping the Snowmobile Trails RTA eyes 6-county Gasoline Tax Carter Plans Tax Rebate: $ 50 payout tied to size of family. Sub-standard tankers roam the high seas: ‘Flags of Convenience make controls difficult’ Racial Mix of Teachers Continues to Improve: Student Integration Continues to Lag Iron Workers in Chicago back Bilandic for election. Cold snap reaches 30 days. The Chicago Tribune. January 26, 1977 IT was a terrible snow storm. It lasted two days. It was one of the worst storms in memory. Seámus O’Neil lived in a decrepit graduate student housing studio flat on East 57th Street. It was a threestory building with two apartments on each floor: one studio and one single bedroom. Seámus lived in #3-B. Seámus didn’t talk much to the other residents of the building. He knew that in #3-A was a family from Korea. He didn’t know whether they were from the North or the South (though he assumed * “One’s Real Person (self), The Same as the World Ground” from Katha Upanishad , tr. Robert Hume, The Thirteen Principal Upanishads (New York: Oxford University Press, 1921). the latter). Still, they acted very frightened. This caused Seámus to reflect. Seámus never had contact with those on floors 1 or 2. Seámus knew about the storm due to his transistor radio that fit into the palm of his hand. It was powered by two AA batteries. There was a jack for ear phones in case he wanted to listen to music loudly. Seámus occasionally listened to music, but most of all he liked to make his own music. He had a reasonably good voice and could play most sheet music on the clarinet (a B-flat instrument). His other recreation was running. Seámus was a mediocre middledistance runner who was just good enough to join the graduate track club at Chicago University. Seámus was attracted to the attitude that Chicago University had about sports. At one time, they were a Division I school (the highest rank in United States college athletics). Then in the mid1930s they started to re-think their position. As at so many fine schools the new role of college sports created a fork in their journey. One path led to becoming a top sports school in the country. Various schools in the 1930s were heading that way, like Yale, Fordham, Notre Dame, Michigan and several of the southern state schools. Chicago was in a conference called The Big Ten (meaning the schools involved thought themselves pretty big stuff: their title said so). But Chicago was to go down a different path. They resigned from the Big Ten. Their last star football player, Jay Berwanger, won the first Heisman Trophy (the highest prize for a college football player) but never played professional sports. At the end of the decade, Chicago University decided to leave the Big Ten and tore down their large stadium named for their illustrious football coach, Amos Alonzo Stagg. In its place was a field of grass that later acquired a running track. This was to represent their dedication to education over sports. But in the late 60s to the early 70s, the field became a drug hang out. Crime arose and threatened the university. The deft administrators acted quickly and put up a 15-foot chain link fence to protect the field. But to no avail. The druggies used wire cutters to gain entrance and created a central station for the drug business on the South Side. This activity on the campus of Chicago University threatened the safety of the university. What could they do? A higher fence? Armed gunmen ready to kill the drug traffickers? There was much debate. Enter Ted Haydon. Ted had been the captain of the track and field team in 1933 when they were a powerhouse in the Big Ten. Then he got a Ph.D. in sociology. He also worked with Saul Alinsky. It was time for him to step forward. For Haydon, the path was clear: you must use your community to help you solve your problems. This was Hyde Park, Chicago. There were more vibrant, positive people in the white, black, and Latino communities than there were druggies. So Haydon got a mandate and took down all the fences. No more fences. At the same time, he used his community organizing skills that he had learned from Alinsky to get neighborhood groups to use the property as recreational space when the University wasn’t using it. Grandmothers and aunts would take their young charges to the long-jump pits to play in the sand. There was also some lowlevel playground equipment that was set up at the corners. This was a boon for the poor folk in Hyde Park in the day and night time. Grandmothers and their surrogates patrolled the place as a safe haven for youngsters and teens. And soon the drug business and vandalism went elsewhere. Who can compete with grandmothers and aging aunts of all races united? The track and its surrounding field now was now run by the neighborhood. Though Chicago had only intermural sports, Haydon had another vision: Division III sports (no scholarships, no special treatment for athletes). He also created the track club for graduate students and independent athletes. Haydon was a talented coach. That was why he was named the U.S.A. middledistance Olympic coach. His athletes would come to the neighborhood track around 4 o’clock each afternoon after finishing their day jobs. This was the era of amateur sports. Seámus loved to be on the same running track with these talented athletes. Sometimes he could run part of their workouts with them. For example, he once ran a workout with the world record holder in the half-mile who was training for two events in the 1976 Olympics. This athlete wanted to do an interval workout of 10 x 440 at 55 seconds or better. Seámus could run one 440 at that rate. It was his personal record (p.r.). He entered the workout on quarter mile number 3. The athlete took his little competition to run a 48 second quarter. He thanked Seámus afterwards for pushing him. It’s so hard to work out when no one is in your class. Now I wanted to go on further with this story, but my producer, Bon, said that people weren’t so interested in the history of track and field and that I should go on with the snow storm. And so I will. Side note: the 800-meter world record holder lost to Alberto Juantorena from Cuba in the 1976 Montreal Olympics. (Juantorena was technically a member of the military and so had subsidized training). *** But now we are back in 1977 and the snow storm. Seámus knew the outlook was bad. He also knew that he hadn’t been to Mr. G’s on 53rd street for a while. He was low on food. Perhaps it would be a good idea to venture out and get some food before it became impossible to walk there. Because Seámus tried to be at least a semi-rational being, he got dressed-up in his parka, gloves, stocking hat, and his nearly rundown boots. With a strong resolve, he descended the stairs. However, when he got to the first floor, he was arrested by a tenant in 1-A. The doors on the stairwell are set-up with economy of space in mind. If the doors to 1-A and 1-B were to be opened at the same time there would be about four inches of clearance. Now in this case only 1-A was opened, but with the imminent exit of the tenant of 1-A, that more than took up the space available. Thus, Seámus had to stop on the last stair. The tenant was a 5’ 5” woman with blond hair and light skin. It was Lynn Marie Evans. She was about to grab the front door when she noticed that there was a man on the steps who had stopped in order that she might pass. Lynn nodded her head and was out the front door. Seámus was two steps behind, but turned left adding an extra block to his route because he did not want to appear to be a stalker. It just so happened that the two inhabitants of 910 E. 57th Street were both going to Mr. G’s to get some food just in case the snow storm turned out to be as bad as predicted. It had already been snowing for an hour, but the sidewalks were still pretty clear. It was a 6-block walk to the grocery store. When they got to the deli counter there was a question as to who was next. Seámus motioned to Lynn to go. But she motioned back. “You let me leave the building first, now it is my turn to be polite.” Seámus smiled and ordered his cold cuts and sliced cheese. When they were at the checkout Lynn waited for Seámus to pay. Then she raised her right hand with her index finger straight up as if she were making the number one. “You know, it’s faster if you go to the right. The way you went makes you walk an extra block.” Seámus smiled and said, “I’ll follow your lead. Or at least your footprints. The snow is getting worse.” And so they walked back together. Lynn discovered that Seámus was a third year graduate student in ancient Greek history. He was about to take his qualifying test that would allow him to begin his dissertation. Seámus discovered that Lynn was a second year student in English Literature specializing in the English Victorian Novel. She was gearing up for her “seventy-five book exam.” “I’ve heard that is one of the toughest tests ever,” said Seámus. “Oh, I don’t know,” returned Lynn. “You just have to create a list of seventyfive books that covers all genres and types along with critics. And then you have to be able to answer detailed questions on any of the books.” They both laughed. When they reached 910 E. 57th Street, they parted ways, with Seámus going up to 3B and Lynn taking 1-A. Twenty-four hours later the snow was so high that no one could exit by the front door; it was blocked by snow that went half-way up. However, there were still the fire escapes. At the back of the building was an old wooden fire escape that was painted light blue. The construction style of the fire escape meant it was covered with a roof all the way down. There was still snow that had blown on the steps, but it was considerably less than on the sidewalks and streets. Seámus decided that he would take it upon himself to sweep the snow off the steps all the way down. When he got to the bottom he saw Lynn, who tapped on the window. She was mouthing something that Seámus could not fathom. Then she opened her back door, “What are you doing?” she asked. “Well, I’m on the top floor and the thought of this becoming impassable was making me nervous. So I thought I’d give us all an escape route in case we needed it.” Lynn nodded her head abruptly. “That’s rather neighborly of you. Now it’s my turn to return the good deed. Would you like some hot chocolate?” Seámus smiled. “I’d be delighted.” And so Seámus kicked off the snow from his boots and entered Lynn’s kitchen. The apartments in 910 E. 57th were semi-furnished. That is, the studios contained a table in the kitchen, a sofa and a desk and chair in the large room, and a Murphy pull-down bed in the same room. The only thing that separated the ground floor apartments from the other two floors were all the bars on the windows. Though this was Hyde Park, it abutted a high crime area only three blocks south. Seámus commented on the similarity in the apartments. Lynn said that she didn’t mind about the similarity but that she could lose the bars on the windows in a minute. She said that it made her feel as if she were in jail. The snow accentuated this. “Well, I must say that you are very tolerant then.” “Oh, I don’t know about that. But it’s nice to be living away from home. I lived with my parents when I went to college.” The two were sitting at the kitchen table sipping the hot chocolate. “That must have been rough.” “Yeah, it was the only way my parents could swing it. My dad is an English professor at Wheaton College. By going to Wheaton, I could make good on the tuition-benefit to faculty.” “And by living at home you wouldn’t cost them anything, either.” “Exactly.” Seámus finished his cup. Lynn poured him another. “I went to Pembroke College in Minnesota. My parents were living in Seattle at the time. The only time they saw the college was when I graduated. They drove cross-country.” “I’ve heard of Pembroke. That’s really hard to get into.” “Yeah. I don’t know. I may have had a regional advantage in admission. They try to get students from as many states as possible. Washington State is a long ways away. If I’d been from Minnesota I probably wouldn’t have gotten in.” “Well, you never know?” Then Seámus got up to leave. “Wheaton College is a Protestant Christian school, right?” Lynn first shrugged her shoulders and then nodded her head. “Yes it is. A little too strict about what students can and cannot do for my taste. But it was free and I got my B.A. without any debt. That was fine.” “And after the first year here at Chicago, everything’s paid for by a research assistantship or some grant or other.” “Yeah. That’s nice.” “Well, I gotta go. Nice meeting you, Lynn.” “Likewise, Seámus. I wonder how long we will be snowed in.” “Well, I’ll sweeping the stairs again tomorrow if it’s impassable outside.” “My box of chocolate is only half-way down.” *** There were two more days of chocolate reward. The pair planned a date to the international film night that they held each Wednesday in Cobb Hall. The movie was free. The school even provided popcorn. Soon Seámus was going to English Department events and Lynn was attending events in History and in Classics. At Chicago University, there were lots of interdisciplinary concentrations. Seámus was studying ancient Greek History. Therefore, he had to have both a background in History and take courses in the Classics—especially ancient Greek. After a year, they decided to get married. They announced the news to Dylan and Wilma by phone and to Andrew and Moira by letter. Dylan and Wilma wanted to invite Seámus to a dinner—rather a grilling, and not hamburgers. “So, you’re a Catholic?” asked Dylan nervously as he sat with Seámus in their living room, munching on some peanuts and lemonade before dinner. “Well, kind of,” returned Seámus as he took in a small handful of peanuts and started to gag. “Kind of?” Seámus took a drink to clear his throat. “Yes, my father was raised Catholic. But the nuns used to box his ears at school so that he’s partially deaf in one ear. He stopped going to mass when he became independent. And then my mother is Baptist.” “Ah, Baptist,” said Dylan as he nodded his head and smiled. “Yes. So they compromised and became Methodist.” “Methodist? And that’s a compromise?” “Well, I’m no expert on these issues, myself. But as a history buff I know that the Anglican Church—called Episcopal in America—was built on the notion of divorce. Otherwise it was just the Catholic Church with the King or Queen as the head. So if the Methodist Church was an off-shoot of the Anglo-Catholic Church, then it is a nod toward a sort of compromise, I guess.” Dylan took a deep breath. “I don’t know if you are aware of the fact, young man, that I went to seminary—one of the best in the country—and so know quite a bit about these matters. I would hardly call the mainline Methodist Church as Catholic in any sense.” “Yes sir. I was speaking historically only.” “Well, I’m not sure you’re right about that either.” Dylan leaned forward in his chair. Seámus grabbed his hands together and pulled up his shoulders. This wasn’t going well. It was time for another handful of peanuts. This time Seámus intended to eat them one at a time. Dylan peered at Seámus above the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. Seámus thought he was in a court of law looking up at the judge. All that was missing was the black robe. “It seems to me, young man—Seámus—that you are very confused about the role of our Lord Jesus Christ in your life.” Seámus gagged again. This time it took the last of the lemonade to cure him. “I’ve never gone to seminary, sir. I’ve told you my background. Lynn seems fine with it. We’ve attended a Lutheran Church on occasion in Hyde Park.” Dylan began shaking his head. “I think it’s time we go into the kitchen. We don’t want to keep the women waiting.” *** Seámus O’Neil and Lynn Marie Evans married in Wheaton, Illinois in a private chapel within the Episcopal Church. There were a dozen people present, including Andrew and Moira O’Neil who came by jet plane all the way from their new home in San Diego to see their son get married. The newlywed couple spent the weekend at a Holiday Inn and then went back to 910 E. 57th Street apartment 3-B. Seámus and Lynn were working on their dissertations at the same time. Seámus was a teaching adjunct at two area colleges and Lynn worked at the cheese shop on the 4th floor of the building called Classics. All told they just covered expenses. Since they were only two blocks from the main library, they established certain working areas there so that the other could locate their mate—where else could they be except in the library, at their job, or in the apartment? Seámus continued his A.A.U. running. He said that it helped him concentrate. *** After more than a year of this schedule, Seámus got an additional job of typing dissertations for other students. Seámus was ¾ done on his and was working at a steady rate. Lynn worked rather differently. She would assemble a compendium of notes and then when the moment was right would dive in and write for two days straight, crash, and then start a new pile of notes. Oddly enough, Seámus’ typing skills made his dissertation typing the highest per hour job he had. He got paid a dollar per page and he could type 10 pages per hour. He could charge more if he had to proofread. Even more if translation was involved: Seámus read French, German, Latin, and Greek (in addition to English, of course). Seámus dedicated all of the dissertation typing to a special bank account that was for savings and paid a higher interest rate. In the end, they both got degrees. In a perfect world they would have found university teaching jobs at the same school. But that’s not what happened.” CHAPTER SIXTEEN I cannot see what could dispel my grief, [this] parching of the senses* Chapter 2, Bhagavad Gita The news of the day: DePaul loses to Boston College in the NCAA Tournament Egypt’s Mubarak calls off his state visit to Israel Haig to Russia: Join the Latin Talk: Secretary of State Alexander Haig called for talks with the Soviet Union to ease tensions in Central America. Floods in Ft. Wayne force 2,500 to evacuate Hottest book in Japan details WWII atrocities. The Chicago Tribune, Front page March 15, 1982 IT was the Ides of March. Seámus commented at their kitchen table that a change was about to occur. “Certainly not the death of Caesar,” commented Lynn. “D’accord,” replied Seámus. The couple still lived in 910 E. 57th St. But that would have to change. Lynn had defended her dissertation and they would have to move by early June. That meant that they would have to become gainfully employed (as opposed to putting together many small part-time jobs to pay the bills). There is a tide in the time of men . . . . This had to be the tide. “So my job prospects are nil for the full-time tenure track positions,” said Seámus. “I always get several interviews at good places but then just a few on-campus interviews and no offers.” “I haven’t really tried yet because I took longer than you did to write the damned dissertation. What I suggest is that I look at high school jobs since the MLA jobs are already taken. I could teach a * Hindu Scriptures, tr. R.C. Zaehner (New York: Dutton, 1966): II. 8. couple of years and then try to publish a few of my chapters of my dissertation as articles in journals. If they look good, then maybe I could get a tenure track job.” The couple was in the kitchen around the standard-issue table and chairs. They were having breakfast: black coffee for Lynn and granola on yogurt with coffee for Seámus. “That sounds like a plan. If my memory is correct, the middle of March is when most high school districts have to let faculty know if they are riffed (fired).” The couple didn’t say a word further until they had finished their portion. Then they hurried over to the library along with a new legal pad of paper to copy down the names of high school districts that they were willing to move to. The list included the western and northern suburbs of Chicago. They had fifty-five prospects. Then, together they created a “file.” This included a resume, a statement of teaching philosophy, teaching evaluations for the four courses Lynn had taught as a teaching assistant at Chicago University, an abstract of her dissertation, and the address of the place where they could request letters of recommendation from her dissertation committee. Much of the file could be typed once. Seámus did this. He then went to one of the new “photo copy stores” on the near north side to make their copies at 10 cents a page. The application letters had to be typed one-at-a-time. Seámus did this. *** Lynn was successful. She was hired at a prestigious high school in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. This was fortunate, but it created a new problem. Milwaukee had a good bus system, but it wasn’t as comprehensive as the Chicago Transit Authority. They needed a car. Lynn’s job was in a rich area in the upper East Side. They could only afford to live on the West Side. They needed a car. Seámus called Andrew about this situation. Andrew noted the various points at stake and then took a couple of weeks to think about it. In the end, Andrew offered to give Seámus their twelveyear-old Buick Skylark if he could come out and get it. It would be a stretch, but Seámus had created an emergency savings account and this sounded like an emergency. They would accept the job. They would put their goods into the Evans’s house until after they flew to the O’Neil’s (who were now in Santa Barbara, California), and after a short visit they would drive the car across country to Milwaukee and their new home. *** It all worked. They found an upper duplex twobedroom for rent. It was near a park where Seámus could exercise. Seámus connected with Marquette University as a tutor in Greek, History, and Mathematics. This money stream was light, but it allowed them to pay their bills with a small amount left over. Lynn drove the car to her work. Seámus bought a bicycle from The Lighthouse for the Blind’s thrift store for $ 10. He eventually put 15,000 miles on that bike before they moved again. Seámus and Lynn were in an interesting historical bubble. And they weren’t alone. After the war (the Big One, WWII) the United States passed the most extensive G.I. Bill for educational benefits ever. There was a tremendous investment in human capital in the form of grants to cover college tuition and living expenses, both at the undergraduate and graduate levels. A G.I. could go anywhere in the United States, from Pottsville U. to Harvard. In fact, as careful readers of this account may remember, Dylan Evans took advantage of these provisions in order to finish up his B.A. degree at the University of Michigan and then get an M.A. degree in English Literature, also at the University of Michigan. Finally, he received a D. Div. from Fuller Theological Seminary. Altogether, the government of the United States paid for 7 years of schooling for his 3 years of military service. This may seem overly generous on the government’s part, but I have been told by Bon (who is more up on these facts than I am) that in the subsequent 30 years, the public investment in human capital was actually paid back due to the recipients getting higher paying jobs that necessitated paying higher taxes. The government recovered its original investment with interest! Andrew O’Neil did not go back to school to get his law degree. At any rate, the surge in people enrolling in public and private colleges and universities during the late 40s and 50s under the G.I. Bill created a big demand for faculty. The minimum requirement to teach at the tertiary level was supposed to be a master’s degree. But the demand was so high that those with bachelor’s degrees and some other outstanding feature were often hired, as well. The 1960s played this out in a big way. M.A. and Ph.D. programs swelled. Demand for qualified teachers was high. Lots of people received degrees and got good jobs. But then there was a moment of diminishing returns. By the mid-70s the tide was turning. And then a few years later, the mandatory retirement of tenured faculty was overturned by an Act of Congress. It was considered age discrimination. This had a dramatic effect. The unemployment rate for Ph.D.s in all areas within the academy began to soar (some people can work in business outside the academy— especially scientists). Seámus and Lynn hit the job market at this time. Where only a few years before there had been only 5-6 applicants for every tenure track job, now there were 200! As they say in real estate, timing is everything. Lynn’s plan was to try and publish chapters of her dissertation and so improve her chances among the 200. Seámus’s plan was to publish his dissertation, whole, and write a few new articles on the side. Both of them tried to execute their plans. Seámus couldn’t publish his dissertation, but did get an article accepted for publication. Lynn also got an article accepted for publication. Nonetheless, the result was that all of their limited resources were devoted to going to the national conventions in their disciplines for one or two nights for interviews and then to come home and scrimp for several months waiting to be invited to an on-campus interview. Unfortunately, these never came. Seámus got a big part-time job at the Milwaukee Natural History Museum. Seámus was not a scientist, but he did have a degree in History and so he could segue to public history. And popular history is what museums are all about. This move gave the couple a bump in pay. They decided to have a baby—to be born in the summer when Lynn didn’t work. Toward the middle of May, Lynn was at 7 months and getting bigger. Her health was fine. Often she felt better than at any time in her life. There was one drawback; she was getting tired of teaching high school. “Why don’t you talk to folk at the museum about becoming full time? Then I could quit my job and be with my baby.” It was the beginning of a conversation that repeated itself daily. Seámus talked to his boss and found that there might be an opening, but the pay would be less than their two jobs together. Seámus asked his boss to let him know when and if the full-time job opened up. Seámus wanted to be supportive, but was a little disappointed, too. They had scrimped for so long together and were finally with a little breathing room and now they’d be down for the count again. However, it was true that the baby would need looking after. Daycare was too expensive and there was no relative in town to watch the child. The couple went through numerous discussions on the matter—many of which ended up in yelling. *** It was the 11th day of June when Seámus drove his bicycle up to their duplex. He had a spring to his step. He unlocked the side door and bounced up the stairs two at a time. Lynn heard her husband and walked over to the staircase. “Hello?” She said, though in a moment Seámus was there and giving her a hug. Seámus took off his bicycle backpack and undid the top flap. With one smooth motion he took out a white rose that he had bought her. “What’s the occasion?” asked Lynn. “The end of your school year?” put Seámus. “That was Friday.” “Your birthday?” “Try again.” “How about a job in Washington, D.C.?” Lynn tipped her head to the right. “Come again?” “You’d better sit down.” The couple moved over to their sofa (a hand-me-down from a thrift store covered with a red throw rug). It almost seemed chic next to their red carpet remnant and re-finished coffee table (Seámus thought he had some talent in woodworking—though he was quite alone in that judgment). “Well, do you ever remember me telling you about Jorge Diaz?” “The guy who tore apart your paper at the History meeting a couple of years ago?” “Yeah, he hated my methodology. Didn’t have much to say about my conclusions if you accepted the way I was going about things, but yes that’s the guy.” “What about him? Did he have an accident or something?” Seámus laughed. “No way. I mean, not a bad accident.” “Is there such a thing as a good accident?” Lynn touched her belly as the baby began kicking. “Well, as a matter of fact, there is. They call it a research grant. Professor Diaz has gotten a three-year grant at the Free University in Berlin to work on their Pergamum artifacts. They are doing a permanent exhibit at the Staatliche Museum and Diaz will get a book publication out of the whole thing.” Lynn tilted her head the other way. “That’s very nice for Seῆor Diaz, but what has this to do with us?” “Only this: I went to check my mail at Marquette. There in my mail cubby was a letter from Notre Dame-Loyola of Washington, D.C., and Diaz had put his last name below the printed return address. Well, the letter was short. He wanted me to phone him. I got permission from Marquette to call from the bull-pen adjuncts office.” “And did you get through?” “Oddly enough, I did. You know university professors are generally only in their offices for the three hours of posted time a week. They are notoriously hard to contact by phone.” Lynn straightened up her head and began stroking her belly. “So I got through. He was quite the gentleman. Apparently, in his home country of Chile, it is a great compliment to tear someone apart at an academic conference. He didn’t think badly of me at all. In fact, he was sympathetic that I’ve never had a full time academic position.” “Easy for him to say,” put in Lynn. “Not so fast. It gets better for us. They are going to offer me a three-year non-tenure track position teaching ancient Greek History in the History Department. Then I mentioned you and wondered whether there might be something for you—after a year or two, according to how you are doing.” “A term appointment for me, too?” “Yes. That’s what I asked for. I told him about the baby and how you wanted to be at home for at least the child’s first year—but maybe the first two years. He entirely understood and said he’d look into it.” “What’s the pay?” “Well, that’s the good part. Since Diaz is well paid and since the grant will entirely cover his salary, the University is prepared to be very generous on his recommendation. We will make a little more than we are right now counting your high school salary, my museum pay, and my Marquette pay.” Lynn leaned over and gave her husband a hug. “This is wonderful news, but what will we do about the baby?” “Well, the university will pay for our move. We can do it before you deliver or after. We’ll have to consult your doctor about which is best for the health of all concerned.” Then there was some silence. Seámus got up to hang up his things and take off his shoes. As he was engaged in putting away his things Lynn chimed, “Notre Dame-Loyola, isn’t that a basketball school?” “Well, they are in a transition period,” said Seámus with a grimace. Then the baby started kicking hard. *** Though Lynn was very tired of teaching high school English and had determined to give up her job so that she could be with her baby for a few years, she was not keen on having things shoved down her throat. She didn’t like it that it was now all revolving around Seámus. He had never held a full-time job in his life. He was always putting together various combinations of part time jobs. It was she who had done the heavy lifting that allowed the marriage to be financially solvent. This was the way it had always been. What would happen next? Would the credit cards start showing his name instead of hers? The job came through. It would be a three-year job with no possibility of a fourth year. But by then, they would be in Washington, D.C. and wellpositioned to find something for their next leg in life. Lynn decided that she wanted at least two years at home with their baby and would decide by March of the second year whether she would accept a one-year position on top of Seámus’ third year. The obstetrician and Wilma Evans determined that the baby should be born in Milwaukee and then brought down to Wheaton for two months. This was because the first two months of life were the most dangerous for the child. Wilma related countless cases of injury and death in the early months of life. “When the child is six months old, he or she will have reached a significant milestone.” And Wilma as a certified kindergarten teacher knew quite a lot about young lads and lasses. Whenever the birth would happen (sometime in July) Seámus would have until midAugust before he had to drive to Washington, D.C. He would stay with a family friend of the Evans’s, who used to live in Wheaton and taught with Dylan. From there, Seámus would go on a hunt for an apartment. He would check in by phone each night (though rather quickly as it was a long-distance phone call). And so it happened. When Lynn’s bag of waters broke, Seámus drove her to the hospital. The labor was long: 19 hours. The nurses waited until 17 hours before calling the obstetrician. She came in a flash and Bridget O’Neil was born at 5: 00 am on July 12, 1984. She was 21 inches and 7.5 pounds. Mother and father were captivated by the miracle. Sure, they had both taken classes in biology in college. They were not stupid people. But who could be prepared for the presentation of an entirely new life: screaming and kicking her way into the world. Bridget was already making her mark. *** With the consent of the landlord, they altered their plan some. The new parents found a moving company who would store their things until September 27th and then deliver them to the “to-be-decided” location in Washington, D.C. On July 30th the movers came in and on the next day Seámus took his wife and daughter down to Wheaton, Illinois for a couple of weeks. Dylan was very happy to have his new grandchild in the house, but he also wanted to make a couple of things perfectly clear with Seámus. “You know, Wilma and I are very happy for your child. We welcome her into the world and we want to support your move. In 35 years we have only moved twice.” “You certainly have been very stable,” replied Seámus. The two men sat at the kitchen table sipping some tap water without ice. “Yes. Stability is a virtue. We should all strive to cultivate virtue.” Seámus nodded and finished his glass of water. “Now, you will be here for two weeks and Lynn will be with us for another six weeks.” “It is very generous of you. We thank you.” Dylan peered at his son-inlaw over his glasses. Seámus was getting a little uncomfortable at the silence. “We are almost flat broke, or I’d pay you rent for the time.” Dylan nodded his head, “Humph.” “If you’d like, we could work-up a loan contract for the rent we should be paying you for my two weeks and Lynn and the baby’s two months.” Dylan started strumming the brown Formica-topped table with his fingers. “We’d never charge the baby. She’s not taking any food; she’s nursing. But I could work out something for you and Lynn. No rush, just pay us when you can.” “Whatever you say is fine with us. We don’t have many options.” “Not now you don’t.” Seámus was not quite sure what that meant. Did that mean that they should have never gotten married unless they had a strong financial footing? Did it mean that they should have not gotten pregnant? Did it mean that they should have stayed in Milwaukee? Did Dylan know that Lynn was going to quit her job teaching high school? It was a decision she made after becoming pregnant. At that time they did seem fiscally solvent: Lynn had a full time job. Seámus had an adjunct teaching job, some tutoring, and the parttime job at the museum. If Lynn earned a dollar, then Seámus earned fifty cents. They were more than able to pay their bills. It was not a financially irresponsible thing to do at the time. After all, it was not an unknown phenomenon in the history of humankind for married couples to have children. And for Reform-minded Presbyterian Dylan, Seámus might have noted that Mary and Joseph weren’t the most fiscally solid parents, and that was with the consent of God Almighty! Seámus said none of this but replied, “And of course for my two weeks here I will be happy to take on your chores: mowing the lawn, minor repairs, taking out the garbage . . .” Dylan stood up, prompting Seámus to stand up. Dylan extended his hand to his son-in-law, “I’m happy that you have taken this attitude, Seámus. It’s in keeping with the way I’ve always seen you.” “Thank you, Mr. Evans.” Seámus turned to exit the kitchen when Dylan said, “And by the way, you can go over the back yard for dog droppings from our beagle, Prince. The shovel is by the garage door.” *** And so it was. Seámus drove to the east coast in the old Buick Skylark. The car had 120,000 miles on it and sometimes overheated when in heavy traffic. Fortunately, there wasn’t any heavy traffic along the route which Seámus drove in one stint—around 18 hours. Seámus arrived in the Washington, D.C. neighborhood of Tenleytown. The family friends of the Evans’s (who used to live a few doors down from them in Wheaton), the Crows, were very hospitable—despite the fact that they were going through severe marital difficulties that in five months would end in divorce. Seámus parked his car on the street. The Crows lived four blocks from the Tenleytown Redline Metro Stop. There were food stores, a movie theater, and a Sears Department Store all within the same walking distance. The location seemed like heaven to Seámus. Also, because Washington, D.C. was predominantly African American, and because real estate prices are often driven by racism, rents were reasonable. Seámus’ roles were twofold. First he had to check in at Notre Dame-Loyola so that they knew he had arrived. He also wanted to get signed up for payroll (health and dental insurance, TIAA/ CREF retirement plan, and reimbursement on his moving expenses—including the drive east). Details, details . . . a horror for most, but Seámus was not a man who despised details. His academic work in History was all about details: a codex for an ancient manuscript, all the variant interpretations of crucial passages that were essential to building some overarching vision to explain what it was all about. And that, after all, was the purpose that people were put on earth. Second, Seámus had to get a list of three properties that he felt confident about and then get on the phone with Lynn to discuss them. Money was very limited but Notre Dame-Loyola’s pay system gave him his first paycheck two weeks after arrival. This allowed Seámus to make use of the new technology of direct deposit. No more having to get your check and take it to the bank and wait three days before being able to use the funds. No. If one were to be paid on the 30th of the month, with direct deposit one could start using the money after 8am on the 30th of the month—a savings of almost a week over the old system! *** Seámus got through the detail work with ease. He had a shared office with three other term-appointment History instructors. The campus of Notre Dame-Loyola was situated in the historic section of Washington called Georgetown. The front part of the campus was splendid in a mixture of Gothic/ medieval-revival and brick Federalist architecture. The first weekend after his arrival, he had to travel by university bus to their retreat house on the eastern shore of Maryland. On the retreat for new faculty at the university, he met a poet, Anthony Hecht. Seámus knew the poet who had come to D.C. on his being named Consultant to the Library of Congress, a title that was soon changed to Poet Laureate of the United States. He also met a few other individuals who were on the tenure track and so were going through the ritual with a different sort of expectation than Seámus had. Still, Seámus loved to dream. In his wildest fantasies, he would do such a good job in his three years that they would promote him to a tenure track position. After all, the fairly new president, Father Healey, spoke at the retreat on how he was going to change Notre Dame-Loyola from a 150th place school in the United States to a top 20 school. This would mean that there would be lots of encouraged retirements (encouraged by financial incentives). Thus it was not irrational to think there might be opportunity for Seámus and for his wife, Lynn. How wonderful that would be! *** Though Seámus searched far and wide for a rental opportunity in the Washington, D.C. area, there always seemed to be something wrong when Seámus talked to Lynn by phone. The Crows were very generous in allowing Seámus to use their phone for a 10-minute long-distance call. Though Seámus offered, they never took reimbursement. Cara Crow even went the mile further by looking in their neighborhood for rentals. She found one just three doors down that was from a foreign service person who had just been posted to Mongolia for five years. It wasn’t forever, but because everyone knew each other, the deal was done at an affordable price. In fact, Cara had the crew over for dinner to seal the deal. Lynn was very happy about this. It was only the second property she said she was willing to move into. On October 1, 1984 the three O’Neils moved into a small house in Tenlytown, Washington, D.C. *** The first thing the O’Neils noticed about moving to Washington, D.C. was that the normal cost of living was much higher than in Milwaukee. This was particularly true with food. In Milwaukee, they bought fresh fruit and vegetables at a store two blocks away, and name brand groceries at a big store. Now in D.C., they bought few fresh fruits and vegetables and went to a bargain grocery store to buy generic goods, and still their bill was 50% higher! “How can they take farm food from Mexico or Chile and sell it for so much more? The shipping distance is comparable,” said Seámus when they loaded up their car and drove home. It was a standard tirade which only changed with the countries involved. It was also one of the few instances each week in which they used a car. Washington, D.C. was not friendly to bicycles, so Seámus gave up riding the streets. He’d rather be inconvenienced than dead. Instead, Seámus walked to the Tenleytown Metro station and took the Red Line to Dupont Circle, and from there took the free shuttle that Notre Dame-Loyola provided for its students, staff, and faculty. The whole trip took around an hour one-way (a good deal of that time was waiting). But despite the strain of a higher cost of living, the O’Neils made good use of their location. Washington, D.C. in this era had many free venues. For any age, there were the art museums (the National Gallery, the Freer, and the Hirshorn), the Smithsonian Museums of American History, Natural History, the Castle, and the popular Air and Space Museum, and the national monuments. None of these cost a cent. Then there were the free dramatic productions on Saturday morning at the National Theater and the Kennedy Center. And everything was very accessible by Metro. Lynn became the grand scheduler. Aside from the three days a week that Seámus had to be at the college, she created weekly adventures. These also included children’s bookshops like The Cheshire Cat that was partly owned by the famous poet, Linda Pastan. They would host readings by famous writers and housed it all in a child-friendly space. These bookstores were located far and wide—from Alexandria to Reston to Baltimore: this meant the car. It was a very happy time for the O’Neils. Young Bridget was very stimulated and her development went apace. She walked at a year (one day after her first birthday party in which other neighborhood children six months to a year older were walking). The parents noted that Bridget was a competitive lass. When they had been there a year and a half, Lynn came forward for her one-year position starting in September. Everything worked out as planned. Lynn was welcomed into the English Department. It was especially good timing as their Victorian-Modernist person was going on sabbatical. No muss, no fuss. Lynn got an office of her own. It had a view of the back side of the campus: the Jesuit graveyard and the sports stadium. Because of the flexibility of class scheduling, they were able to arrange their schedules so that when Lynn taught, Seámus was at home with Bridget and vice versa. Everyone was a winner. Life was grand! The couple took a Fall outing to Skyline Drive in Virginia. It was so beautiful in autumn that there was a back-up. This started getting Seámus very worried. Their Buick was approaching 150,000 miles. The couple kept it up-to-date as best they could at a local service station that didn’t try to rip them off. Now and again they had talked about getting another car—either a new one or a used one. Right now, things were in the black. They had a new income to live on. They felt giddy. But Seámus was a cautious sort of person who had convinced his wife to put their extra money into a house fund. It would be the down payment on the future house they wanted to own. After all, owning a house is part of the American Dream. You haven’t made it until you could buy a house. The O’Neils made it to the park all right. It was raw, natural beauty. The fall foliage was intense. So many primary colors all created via the natural rhythms that inhabit time. The park was set up for either a slow drive through, or one could stop and get out and walk a bit. The O’Neils chose the slow drive through. Lynn would exclaim to Bridget, “Look at that yellow tree! Look at that fox over there. Look at the hawk in the sky.” Occasionally Seámus would become so entranced with Lynn’s commentary that he would take a look and almost rear-end the car in front of him. However, on exiting the park in the stop-and-go stream, steam started rising from the hood. Seámus looked at the temperature gauge and it was on red. Seámus pulled over at a rest area. He knew the danger of opening up the radiator cap too soon. He did not aspire to have second and third degree burns over his face, hands, and arms. So they waited two hours for the engine block to cool. Lynn and Bridget took the opportunity to engage in a game on some playground equipment while Seámus sat back and watched. After about forty-five minutes, the parents switched roles. Lynn and Seámus approached play with their daughter rather differently. Lynn wanted to see what Bridget could do on the playground equipment. She encouraged her daughter to stretch her physical prowess. Always an attentive mother, Lynn was there to catch Bridget when she let go of the monkey bars. Seámus rather preferred playing make believe games based upon stories that he told her when she would go to sleep each night. Some of these were fantasy and some were based upon Ancient Greek History (another form of fantasy). In these games, father and daughter would assume some dramatic role and play it out with imaginary swords, horses, and costume. Between the two, young Bridget was thoroughly challenged: mens sana in corpore sano. After Athens had won the Peloponnesian War (because they listened to Socrates over the hoi polloi), it was time for Seámus to fill up the radiator with water. He went to the latrine and filled their two large soda cups with water and took them to the car. Seámus used a towel to open the radiator cap (there was no steam) and dumped it in. He had no idea how much water it would take. It looked like close to a gallon. That meant four trips. Then Seámus tried the engine and it turned over and the temperature gauge was within normal limits. Though the couple had recently joined the American Automobile Association (AAA) for just such situations, they didn’t need a tow. Instead, they made it back to Tenleytown in one piece. Two weeks later they purchased a new Ford Taurus station wagon. They dipped into their house fund for the down payment. They knew that they could make the monthly payments easily with their new financial arrangement. In order to celebrate their new car, the three O’Neils took a day trip to Baltimore to visit the Inner Harbor and then go to the Lexington Market for a pick-up dinner. Baltimore was a city in transition. It had become one of the most depressed cities in the MidAtlantic region once the big industries of the 40s-70s started drying up big time in the 1980s. This put thousands of middle class factory workers out of a job. The houses they had purchased as part of the American Dream were now being foreclosed. Most of these poor souls were African American. Though the percentage of African Americans in Baltimore and D.C. at that time were comparable, still there was more work in D.C. because of the supporting jobs associated with the Federal Government: jobs in the cafeteria, jobs in landscaping, jobs in maintenance of the Mall, and jobs in the Smithsonian, etc. Baltimore’s answer to combat unemployment was the construction of a tourist attraction: the Inner Harbor and then a new baseball stadium that was in the plans. Seámus tried to put these events into a context. What historical trends were occurring in Baltimore and the upper-Midwest? Were they similar since both were manufacturing jobs? It was as if someone were trying to re-define America. But who would hire these individuals skilled in an economy that seemed to be traveling to Japan or China? Could you really blame a manufacturer for moving the plant somewhere else where the workforce would do the job for pennies a day? Well, probably not if profit for shareholders was the sole aim of business. It didn’t have to be. It wasn’t in Scandinavia. These issues bothered Seámus a lot as he tried to make sense of everything. Because things were going so well in their own personal lives, Lynn did not like to enter into conversations about these topics. Instead, she cajoled Seámus to be a team player and extol over the Baltimore Aquarium and his sandwich from the Lexington Market. *** “So what’s wrong with being happy?” asked Lynn to her husband as they lay in bed together. “Nothing. Aristotle says in both Books 1 and 10 of the Nicomachean Ethics that happiness is the only thing that people seek for its own sake and not for the sake of something else.” “Exactly. And I know you like Aristotle. I like Aristotle. At Chicago University, he was revered as the foundation of literary criticism.” “So that means we are on the same side, once again.” Seámus leaned over and kissed his wife. She returned his advances. Life was good right now. Forty-five days later, the Walgreens’ pregnancy test had a dot inside the circle. *** Christmas in 1987 was joyous at the O’Neil household. Seámus had a chance to think about how many students of his had expressed gratitude in the way he presented material in his classes, and he was directing two undergraduate theses and one M.A. thesis. These were students who were excited by the way he presented his lectures. Seámus found ways of making the events in the Ancient World seem relevant to their lives today. Along the way, he had a theory of how history progressed and then regressed, according to economic status, military conquest, and the role of religion. Seámus was not original, but he combined the work of several others into a unique way one might confront what was going on before them. Without being a positivist, he believed in certain verities of historical inquiry. He thought that the essential quest of humankind was to separate the wheat from the chaff. What is it all about, anyway? And how can we get there? *** Lynn was also doing splendid in her teaching. They had just finished the fall term of her one-year contract. In her three-class load of 60 students, she had inspired 6 to become English majors. She was a passionate advocate of her vision of destiny as set out by Thomas Hardy in Hap. If but some vengeful god would call to me From up the sky and laugh: “Thou suffering thing, Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy: That thy love’s loss is my hate’s profiting!” Then I would bear it, clench myself, and die, Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited: Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I Had willed and meted me the tears I shed. But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain, And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?—Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain, And dicing Time for Gladness casts a moan . . . These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain. Though Hardy went to his local parish for services, he did not buy into a Divine Plan. Instead, he saw the dross of everyday life, the maya, as randomly forming the environment we are forced to live in. Right now, things seemed fine. They had a three-year-old baby girl who was a joy. They had paid off the note to her father for the rent incurred before their move, and they had even put a down payment on a new car. It was the first new car they ever had together. Even the sale of the old car went well, though the Ford dealer would not give them anything for the 1968 Buick Skylark with high mileage. “If you give me $ 100 I’ll take it off your hands for you,” declared the salesman. Seámus had demurred. He put up some post cards on bulletin boards at Notre Dame-Loyola and someone working in maintenance called in two days. Selling price was $ 200, cash: “as is.” Seámus drove the deal. Lynn was amazed at the way her husband could negotiate with someone who was so different and yet be on a fair and level plane with him. Like many of Irish heritage, Seámus was loquacious and had an exact vocabulary. The buyer was also a mechanic and had carefully looked under the hood and said with assurance, “I can get another hundred thousand easily out of this baby.” Seámus smiled. They shook hands, and exchanged money and title. The deal was complete. Despite their new car, the O’Neils didn’t change their routine much. They only used it for shopping and for destinations outside the city. Inside the city, there were the Metro and city busses. It was a rather schizophrenic approach to the transportation worldview. In his heart, Seámus wished he could still ride his bike. But with narrow streets and hypercompetitive drivers, the risk was too high. He had two people who needed him and one on the way. *** It was Thursday March 17th, St. Patrick’s Day, that both of the O’Neils received letters from Notre Dame-Loyola. Lynne had prepared corned beef, cabbage, and soda bread for dinner as a celebration meal. Even Bridget had agreed to eat it (though she hadn’t last year). Lynn had chosen a flat cut of the corned beef. She used nine inch-wide strips of beef, a spoonful of brown sugar, a spoonful of clover fed honey, a clove of garlic, and a head of cabbage cut into ½ inch wide strips. In her own special way (as opposed to the recipe) she added two carrots cut into 1 ½ inch strips julienne. She would boil the meat, fat-side up for a couple of minutes, drain the water, then get a new bit of water going and repeat—up to three times. This got the salt out of the meat and made it easy to separate the fat from the meat. Then on the oven in a saucepan she would brown the rest and then add the beef strips, coating it with the honey and brown sugar, finally covering the saucepan at low heat for ten minutes. At the end, there was a concoction that was sweet and moist. The dry soda bread and creamery butter made a good combination. It was all served with a pint of Guinness for the adults and root beer for Bridget. The dinner was celebratory. Seámus read a story to the family about the Red Branch. He and Bridget had already prepared a dramatic presentation to come after dinner. Lynn was a great audience. A good time was had by all. After Seámus had finished with the dishes, he took his little girl to bed to read her a story and sing a few songs together. Lynn had already had her play time with Bridget while Seámus was doing the dishes. As Seámus and Lynn headed to bed, Lynn asked, “Have you read the mail today?” “No, I’m pretty tired. Let’s look at it tomorrow.” “D’accord,” responded his wife. *** The next morning over breakfast, the two opened their letters. It was no real surprise in one sense. Bad news. They would both be out of a job when the spring term ended. In one sense, this shouldn’t have been a surprise as they had both signed term contracts for teaching. Seámus’ had been for three years, and Lynn’s had been for one year. However, this was not what was primary in their minds. They both expected that since they had performed at the highest level, then they might be kept on. Wouldn’t that make sense for a university that wanted to be highly ranked? “I was one of three nominated for teaching honors among the entire faculty of 26. I also got more students to declare English majors than any other: tenure track or otherwise. I know we signed a contract, but I exceeded my expectations by a mile. I’m doing better than anyone in my teaching, and wasn’t it Father Healy’s idea that Notre Dame-Loyola would take a different track than other aspiring national universities? Instead of creating a powerhouse group of publishing scholars, it would emphasize undergraduate teaching. Well, goddamn it, that’s me. I made it in high school teaching. If you can make it there, you’ve got what it takes,” Lynn got up and started circling the room. It was her turn to go to class. Seámus would watch Bridget. Then, Seámus got up and hugged his wife. After a moment, he pulled away slightly so that he could look her in the eyes, “Let’s see if we can fight this.” “How?” “Let’s start with the department chair and then go the academic vice president. We may not win this one, but we owe it to ourselves to try.” Lynn looked back with a thoughtful expression of her own. There was a silence and then she kissed her husband. *** When Lynn left, Seámus woke up Bridget. His little girl was a good sleeper. So many people complain when they have a baby that they take a year or two away from sleeping uninterrupted. That had rarely been the case with Bridget. Her morning routine was breakfast (some Irish oatmeal with some brown sugar atop and orange juice) and then some puzzles to get the mind moving. After that, Bridget would curl up next to her daddy and they would both look at their books. Bridget was not a reader yet, but was steadily incorporating more words into her consciousness. At the end of the morning they would take a walk to the neighborhood playground and indulge in make-believe games using the playground equipment as props: airplanes, rocket ships, ladders over molten lava, etc. Then it was off to home for lunch. After lunch, Seámus read Bridget a story and then she played dress-up in her room while Seámus went back to work. It was a peaceful existence. This had to be the way of life for Seámus and Lynn. Seámus was sure of it. Sure, they had a roadblock ahead: they were both to become unemployed. But this was noise. He was mindful of Tennyson’s take on the Odyssey: The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks; The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep Moans round with many voices. Come my friends, ‘T is not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die . . . To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. For Seámus, the mission was clear. The details and distractions of life’s vicissitudes (maya) should not cause one to stray from his natural mission. It was clear, certain, and God-given. And Seámus was determined to keep on course. *** As expected, both Seámus and Lynn were turned down for an extension of their teaching contracts. They had signed legal documents that were perfectly clear in their language. It did not matter how well or poorly they had done. A contract is a contract. On the bright side was the fact that they finished teaching in early May and they continued to receive paychecks until July 31st. That gave them two months to shift about. If that didn’t work, there was always unemployment insurance that would extend their pay (albeit at a lower level) for six more months. These facts lightened the blow for Seámus. They weren’t relevant to Lynn. After all, their paychecks ended on July 31st and their baby was due on August 15th! What could be worse? And after July 31st they would no longer have health insurance! Lynn went into depression. Seámus started buying the newspaper to look for a new job.” CHAPTER SEVENTEEN To give up works dictated by desire, Wise men allow this to be renunciation; Surrender of all the fruits [that accrue] to works Discerning men call self-surrender. Bhagavad Gita, XVIII. 1* The news of the day : Navy Missile Downs Iranian Jetliner. A U.S. Warship fighting gunboats in the Persian Gulf yesterday mistook an Iranian civilian jetliner for an attacking Iranian F14 fighter plane and blew it out of the hazy sky with a heat-seeking missile, the Pentagon announced 290 persons aboard the European made A300 Airbus and that all had perished. The Washington Post July 4, 1988 SEÁMUS O’Neil was perplexed. Most of the jobs that he had applied for in his life had been part-time jobs. Part-time jobs were so much easier to get than full-time jobs. He had several deal points. First, he had to make enough to pay his rent, buy groceries, and pay utilities. Second, he needed health insurance. His policy with Notre Dame-Loyola would run out on July 31—less than a month away. Lynn was due in mid-August. All other things being equal, Seámus would prefer to work at a museum in the capacity of an historian. After all, his Ph.D. was in History and he had worked both at the university level and at the public museum in Milwaukee. When Seámus started his search, he was very optimistic. Washington, D.C. and environs had a number of museums that featured History. Shouldn’t that make getting a job a snap? Unfortunately not. Many people...
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