All-American (13 page)

“Yessir. It sure did.”

He smiled. “Let’s see now. You’ve been here four, no five months nearly, haven’t you? Tell me, how do you like us on the whole? Do you like this school?”

“Yessir, I like it. I like it now.”

“H’m. I imagine it must have been hard for you at first. Different from the Academy.” He looked down at the ruler in his hand. He glanced at the papers on his desk and rearranged them. He looked over at the window with the shade half pulled. But he never looked straight at you the way the Duke did. “H’m. Tell me, Ronald, what do you think of your report card this period?”

The question startled him. “Not so hot.”

“No, it wasn’t, was it? What seems to be the matter?”

“I really don’t know, sir.”

“Study habits? You surely don’t need to be told how to study. You’ve been taught that already. We’ve had several boys from the Academy; they all had first rate study habits.”

“Yessir, I mean, nosir.”

“Now it’s probably true, you had more individual attention in your work at the Academy.” Ronald found himself breaking in to explain how things were.

“See, at the Academy you had to do your homework because you had a two-hour study period in Hall every night.”

“Exactly. Here you have no study hall at night. You can go to the movies. Or listen to the Aldrich Family or see your girl. Here you’re on your own. We can’t watch you, we can’t baby you. We don’t want to. In this school, Ronald, every pupil has to be responsible for himself. That’s one of the principles of a democracy, isn’t it?”

Well, yes. Yes, he had something there. Obviously this diffident man, so unlike the Duke, had much more on the ball than you’d think at first glance. He wasn’t a personality. Yet...

“Now there’s one thing you’ve got to learn, everyone here has to learn. In this school you’re on your own.
You
are lucky. You don’t need to be taught how to study. You’ve been taught that. But in a democracy each citizen is on his own. It’s up to him. You must get used to being on your own and you better do so here, now.”

“Yessir.” He understood. The man behind the desk leaned back, his hands behind his head, and looked at the shaded window.

“You know, it’s a funny thing, I remember you so well last fall in that football game. You were a fine player, and I hope you’ll be just as good on our team next year. You were a great little fighter out there, that’s why you licked us.”

Well, maybe so. Not exactly. But then, yes, maybe.

The principal paused a minute. “I can remember once in that last quarter watching you go through our line—and our line was plenty tough last fall—with Stacey and Goldman on your neck and...”

Suddenly he was back. Back on Academy field, and his cleats were digging into the turf, and his heart was pounding, and clutching hands were grabbing at him, and he could hear Goldman’s tense breathing in his ear... “huff... huff... huff...”

“...and that’s the way you must be in your work, too. You’ve got to be aggressive, you’ve got to lick your studies. Or they’ll lick you. Have you been really fighting your studies this way in the last six weeks?”

From a feeling of warmth and satisfaction, from the field behind the Academy he came back to earth and the principal’s room at Abraham Lincoln High. With him came an uneasy feeling of what was coming. Ronald’s respect for this quiet man grew. Nope, he wasn’t a personality like the Duke. His clothes, for instance, weren’t at all like the Duke’s, and somehow he didn’t wear them the same way. But he had something.

“Nosir.”

“Have you been neglecting your work at all the last few weeks, do you think?”

“Nosir, yessir, maybe...”

“What for?” Ronald was now bewildered. This man was amazing the way he pinned you down to things, the way he got things out of you.

“Do you think possibly you haven’t been working as much nights as you should?”

“Yessir, possibly.”

“Well, what have you been spending your time on? Girls?”

“Yessir, I mean nosir, I mean, maybe so.”

“Any one girl?”

“Yessir.”

“It wouldn’t be Sandra Fuller, would it?”

There! It was out now. The principal was tapping the ruler gently on the desk and looking down hard at it. Ronny felt warm all over, and he knew red was coming up into his face. But the man behind the desk still stared at the ruler.

“Sandra’s a lovely girl. I don’t blame you for liking her. Been seeing a good deal of her, do you think, lately?”

“Yessir.”

“How much, since you came out of the hospital?”

“Two, three times a week.”

“Or more?”

Hang it, this man had something, he really had something. “Yessir, I guess... well, maybe.”

“I guess so, too.” He laughed. Ronald laughed. This made things easier. “Yes, I guess so, too. Tell you why; reason is I’ve seen you twice in the last month at the Empire with her, and several times in at Walgren’s drinking cokes. Right?”

“Yessir.”

“Now see here, Ronald. Sandra’s a fine girl. She’s a swell kid. But just think a minute. You know, I can remember when your father was in Yale, and I remember seeing him play in the game in the Bowl in ’22, was it? No, ’23. The one when he ran way out to the side and grabbed the lateral pass in the last minute of play. Right down the field for a touchdown. What a game that was! A heartbreaker for us to lose. When I watched you on the field last fall I could see your dad every minute; same way of holding your head, of handling the ball, of waiting until the last minute to chuck a pass. Look! That’s what you’re risking, all that. Yale, that’s your job. Just imagine how your dad would feel if you failed to get into Yale. Imagine!”

He leaned over, and for the first time looked Ronald squarely in the face. “You could, you know, if you keep on this way!” Then quickly he leaned back and began turning the ruler over and over in his hands, and staring down at it silently.

Well, there really wasn’t much you could say to this sort of thing. He hadn’t thought of it that way, never.

“I’m mighty glad you like Sandra. She’s one of the finest girls in this school. I’m glad you like us; we like you. You’re part of the school, you’re one of us. It’s true, I know, you had a hard time at first; the boys were a little tough on you. Because you came from the Academy they suspected you, they had to get to know you. There’s cruelty here. It’s a kind of primitive cruelty that’s hidden away in us all, I guess. We try to keep it down, yet every once in a while it does crop out, and you happened, as I say, to be the victim. But that’s over. We all like you and respect you and want you to like us. And we want you to do well here. Only you must do your part. You’ve got to think first of all of getting into Yale.”

“Yessir.”

“Just imagine how you’d feel a year from now, how Sandra would look at you if you failed your College Boards. If you want to see Sandra, that’s fine. See her weekends and see her then as much as you like. But keep your evenings all week for work. You had baseball in the afternoon, and you just weren’t doing the work. From Monday to Friday, remember, you have a full time job on your hands. Getting into Yale.”

“Yessir.”

“Don’t forget, I can’t study for you; neither can your parents or your teachers. You’re old enough now to be on your own. You’re a citizen of a democracy. You have responsibilities. See you live up to them.”

He stood up. He held out his hand. He looked you in the face, just the trace of a smile on his lips.

“Yessir, I will. You bet I will, Mr. Curry.” They shook hands, a firm, hard fist. Ronny liked him, liked everything about him. ’Course, he wasn’t a personality as the Duke was. But just the same, he was some gent.

“Oh! One thing more.” Ronald turned at the doorway. “Naturally you’re ineligible to play baseball until your marks come up in the next period. You understand, that means no more extramural sport this year.”

He stumbled from the room. He hardly saw the girls typing away behind the counter in the big room outside. He moved into the corridor, bewildered. He was dizzy. No more extramural sport! He couldn’t play on the baseball team!

Jeepers! That meant he couldn’t play next week against the Academy!

“Hey, Ronny.”

“Hullo there! What’s up?”

“How ’bout the flickers tonight?”

“Can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause I gotta work.”

“Work?”

“Sure. Work.”

“Aw, c’mon. Cagney and Joan Fontaine.”

“Nope. I made a rule I just wouldn’t go out again nights until I got my marks back.”

So it was work. Work every evening in the week. Latin. History. Other things, too.

“Look, Ronny! Hey, Ronald Perry, have you got your tickets for the Junior Prom next week?”

“Nope. Can’t make it, Jane.”

“But you must. We all want you to come. Why a couple of seasoned rug cutters like Sandra and you...”

“I know. But I gotta study. I made a rule with myself....”

“Oh, you
must
come. Casey’s band. It’ll be snazzy.”

“Sorry. I’d like to. But I just can’t.”

“Look, if you change your mind will you buy your tickets off me, please?”

“I will, sure I will; only you better not count. I really hafta work these nights.”

It was work. Work every night in the week. Latin. History. Other things, too.

“Ruth, what’s the matter with Ronald and that girl these days?”

“What girl, Dad?”

“That girl he used to be seeing every evening. Fred Fuller’s daughter, what’s her name? He used to be over there almost every night.”

“Well, I guess he’s worried about his work. It shocked him being kept out of the baseball game against the Academy although he hasn’t said much. But it was a big disappointment to him, I know. He’s made a rule with himself he won’t go anywhere at night during the week until he’s raised his marks. So far this period he’s stuck to it.”

“Fine! Good enough. I noticed he’s upstairs almost every night recently. Do you imagine he’s really studying though, or listening to the Aldrich Family? Well, his marks will tell the story soon enough.”

For it was work. Work every night. Latin. History. Other things, too.

“Oh, Ronald. Been looking everywhere for you. Buy your tickets offa me, will ya?”

“Tickets? What for?”

“Senior Play next week.”

“Nope. Can’t make it.”

“Sure you can. You’ll have to go. Why, it’ll be super.”

“No, Jerry, honest I can’t. I must work tomorrow night.”

“Work!”

“Uhuh, work.”

“What’s the idea? You better be careful or you’ll make the National Honor Society. Is that what you’re after?”

“No, all I’m after is, can I make the football team and play next fall against the Academy. See?”

So it was work. Work every night. Latin. History. English. Other things, too.

June came; warm, soft nights when you wanted to be anywhere except at a desk with a French book or a Cicero or a Muzzey’s
History of the United States
. It was the next to last week in school. It was the end of the period. The same noises, the same clatter, the same squeaking of chairs as Mr. Kates stood there again with the report cards in his hand.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Standing beside his desk he glanced over the crowded room and tapped for order. “Quiet please, quiet. Keep it down.” For a minute he watched the forty seats, each occupied by a nervous boy or girl—one, Ronald’s—by an extremely worried boy.

Gee, if I don’t pick up, if I don’t do well this period, I maybe won’t get to play against the Academy next fall. Not playing in the baseball game was bad, that was bad all right. But if I don’t get to play in the football game! Why then most prob’ly I wouldn’t get to Yale, either.

Mr. Kates came slowly down the aisle by the window. Eager hands reached out. Subdued murmurs of delight or deep silence even more meaningful greeted the cards. He walked down the second aisle toward Ronald.

Gee, if I don’t pick up this period, I won’t be able to play against the Academy. I wish now I’d worked weekends, too. I did work Friday nights. I wish I’d worked Saturdays and Sundays. I maybe won’t make the football team.

He came a step nearer. Then he leaned over, whispering, “Will you please step into Mr. Curry’s office a minute before you leave today, Ronald?”

Jeepers! There it was! No football team. No Yale. Disgrace!

Sweat came out on his forehead. He was suddenly warm all over.

After that work, after that studying, too. I certainly wish I’d worked Saturdays and Sundays, I sure wish I had.

He took the small folded card in his hand and opened it; but his eyes were blurred and he couldn’t read it. Naturally not, it was upside down. Then Jim, half-turned in his seat, looked at it and spoke.

“Boy! Boy, are you hot, Ronny!”

Mr. Kates came back down the aisle. He leaned over again and whispered, “You see what you can do if you really try, Ronald.”

“Yessir.” He looked at the report card again, this time reading it. 95 in Latin and History. In the others he was 85.

Half an hour later Mr. Curry was greeting him with that look which might mean a whole lot or nothing at all. “Come in. Come in, Ronald. I shan’t keep you a minute.” His tone was not pleased, his face as immovable as ever. He looked at the window shade, at the ruler in his hands. You couldn’t tell what this man was thinking.

“You’ve got your report card for this period, haven’t you? Well, now you see what you can do if you really try, Ronald.”

Older folks were like that. They weren’t very original. In the evening after dinner his father called to him as he came downstairs to go out.

“Ronald! I’ve just signed your report card for the last period. Glad to see that pick up. It’s better.”

“Yessir, it’s better.”

“You see now what you can do if you really try, don’t you?”

Migosh! That’s the third one. Well, if Dad felt so good about it, this was the moment to ask for the car.

“Uhuh. Say, Dad, can I have the car tonight, can I?”

His father laughed out loud. A good sign. “Yes, I guess you can tonight. But see here now. I want you to keep this record up next year, understand. No sloping off when football starts. You’ve shown us what you can do when you really try.”