Dawn of the Unthinkable (19 page)

Jordan was quick to reply, “No, no, I’m just
saying with a doctor there’s usually something controversial in
their background, and I really don’t feel like being the one that
helps turn it up.”

Kincaid studied his aide’s face. It was
unlike him to not engage any type of situation as if it were a
battle to be won with as little force as possible. He didn’t need
Jordan going soft now, as for the first time in many years, he felt
a real threat to his position. “Well, just stay in the background
then, let the dogs of war find out what they may about her,” he
said, referring to the campaign managers, who would hire private
investigators to analyze her. “Didn’t she get scrutinized during
her state senate race?” Kincaid asked.

“Not much, she ran against a gentleman
farmer who stuck pretty much to local issues. He lost badly. I tell
you, to the women of this state, she’s a saint,” Jordan
answered.

Kincaid sighed. “Okay, well let’s find out
what we can. It’s starting to get late in the game. Damn, I hate
campaigning,” he said as he turned towards his calendar book to
check his appointments for the day.

Jordan got up and left the office. He didn’t
want to tell the senator how much he would really rather see the
doctor win the primary. His loyalty to him, which was really based
on Kincaid’s strong support of POW/MIA issues, was starting to
fade. Rudi’s older brother Tom had been a POW in ‘Nam who had
supposedly escaped but had never been heard from again. Jordan had
been to Da Nang where he was last seen several times but had come
no closer than talking to some old coot who insisted he had served
him beer one time. As Jordan realized he would never see his
brother again, nor would any of the other two thousand some
families with lost relatives, he began to sense the futility of
pushing Kincaid, who was starting to lose interest in it,
anyway.

One last time
. Maybe he would see the
senator safely into office one last time, then get out of
Washington altogether. If you didn’t love politics, this town could
burn you out. He sat down at his desk and started to map out a game
plan for defeating a woman that he had more respect, far more, than
his own candidate.

Fall 1991

Ryan got approval from his boss to take the
course on the government’s tab. He could have gone anywhere, but he
chose Temple. Having gone there for his undergraduate degree, he
felt most comfortable there and had a high degree of respect for
its teachers. Even if the president of the university hadn’t
responded to his article, Ryan didn’t hold that against the school.
As far as he was concerned, it was just a good urban school and was
convenient to his job. He could walk to the building the class
would be held in two nights a week.

He had looked over the list of history and
political science classes carefully. As a novice poli-sci guy, he
didn’t want anything that was going to be too involved or
theoretical. He just wanted to get a nice overall snapshot of
different types of government and political systems and how they
effected the cultures they were a part of. He got the course
synopsis for Political Science 101, and while it did say that it
would “…examine the interaction of various political systems
throughout Western civilization,” it appeared too factual and
objective. He needed something with more soul. He looked at a
couple of History courses, but most seemed either too narrowly
focused or too broad. Then he saw a course called Political Science
201 - The Effects of Government on its Citizens. The synopsis
sounded just right, with an examination of how the actions of
governments had effected ordinary citizens throughout the course of
time. Though Poli-Sci 101 was a prerequisite, he found he could
enter with the permission of the professor. He had never had to do
that before and was beginning to wonder if it was all worth it. But
he had already started the paperwork to get the course approved,
and he hadn’t seen anything else that had appealed to him. So he
decided to at least give the guy a call and see what he said.

The teacher’s name was Wayne Cunningham, and
the course catalogue had his phone number. Ryan started to dial
then realized he wasn’t sure what he was going to say. What reason
would he give this guy about why he should be allowed to enter the
course? After all, he wasn’t going to pursue a degree; he probably
wouldn’t take anything beyond this course. So what would motivate
this guy to let him in? Since he wasn’t sure what to say, he
decided to make the call and wing it, consoling himself that he was
pretty good at improvising once he got into a conversation.

He called the number and waited for an
answer. A voice that sounded like a young black male picked up and
mumbled an unintelligible greeting. Ryan asked hesitantly, “Yeah,
hi, is Mr. Cunningham there?”

The voice came back a lot clearer this time.
“Yes, this is Professor Cunningham.” Ryan was caught by surprise;
he was expecting a white guy.

He tried to keep the surprise out of his
voice but did not do a good job of it, saying, “Oh, ah, hi
Professor, uh, my name is Nick Ryan and I was wondering if I could
have a minute of your time?”

The professor had apparently had this happen
to him before, and he answered with a little annoyance, “Yes, well,
just a minute. I have to get to class.”

Ryan could hear papers being shuffled and
knew he had gotten off on the wrong foot. “Yes, well, what I wanted
ask you, or, ah, see if you would let me attend your Poli-Sci 102
course, I mean, 201 course?” Damn! He sounded like a complete
idiot! This guy was going to think he was a moron.

Fortunately, Cunningham apparently wasn’t
listening too closely because he got back on and said,
“Hmm?...what?…did you take 101?”

Ryan had finally collected himself, and the
confidence came back into his voice. “No, sir, I’m not a regular
student, I mean I’m not a full-time student. I just want to take
this course to see if I’m interested in coming back for a Poli-Sci
degree,” he said, stretching the truth a bit.

This apparently caught Cunningham’s
interest, as he said, “Why, how old are you?”

Ryan responded, “Forty-six.”

“What was your major, and where did you
go?”

“My major at Temple was Business
Administration, and so was my Master’s Degree from Central Michigan
University.”

“You have a Master’s? Why would you want to
take an undergrad course, then?”

“Because I’m not sure I want to go back for
a new degree and I thought I’d just start with one course to see if
I’d like it.”

“Hmm, I see. What do you do now?”

“I’m a building manager for the federal
government”

“Oh, yeah? What agency?”

“The General Services Administration,” Ryan
answered.

“Ah, the government’s landlord, eh? Well, I
don’t usually take non-matriculated students into my class, but I
guess we can fit an ex-Owl and current G-man in…welcome aboard.
You’ll have to stop by and get my initials on your registration
card or they won’t let you in. I’m in room 603 in Beakman Hall. You
remember where that is?”

“Well, it’s been a while, I must admit, but
I’ll find it. Thanks, sir.”

“No, problem, and you don’t have to call me
sir. Wayne will do.”

“Ok, thanks, Wayne. I’ll drop by
tomorrow?”

“Fine, I’ll be here from nine to eleven.
Gotta go, bye.” He hung up.

Oh, well, I’m committed now
. He
fought back a twinge of nervousness that he always got when he felt
he could not handle something. He hadn’t taken a college course in
many years, and his brain could use a little work, but what if did
horribly? He hoped he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew and
that this guy wasn’t going to load him up with a ton of homework.
Homework
. That was a concept he hadn’t thought of in terms
of himself for quite a long time. Wait till his kids got a load of
him struggling through tests and papers; he was sure they would be
their usual distracting selves. He wondered how much the book would
cost; GSA didn’t pay for the texts.
Money
, he thought
ruefully, shaking his head.

The next day, Ryan went back to Temple
University for the first time in years. He couldn’t believe he had
been out of school that long, but hell, he had went to his
twentieth high school reunion a few years ago, so he guessed he was
getting old. The campus was much as he remembered it, located in
the heart of North Philadelphia, an oasis in an otherwise gritty
neighborhood. The buildings were old but comfortable, and attempts
were made to upgrade when possible, but the partially state-funded
school never received the multi-million dollar gifts that its more
famous neighbor, Penn, did. It still had the ubiquitous lunch
trucks parked all over. As a hungry young man, he reckoned he had
probably dropped thousands of dollars into these purveyors of high
cholesterol, fatty snacks. All in all, it was good to be back.
Those were somewhat happy, carefree days for him.

The kids were a blast, riding skateboards
all over, their skinny bodies covered with huge jeans. Most of them
smoked cigarettes; quite a few had some type of piercing on their
bodies. The tongue studs amazed and disgusted him; didn’t that
hurt
? Some of the girls were stunning beauties, but this
being a gritty, urban school, they wore little or black make-up
giving an impression of a tribe of the undead. He didn’t follow
much of their conversation, sprinkled liberally with curses, and
lots of “Yo, dude” and “Man, I was wasted,” which he did
understand. Oh, well, he wasn’t going to try to make the social
scene, and besides, he was going at night so he probably would run
into fewer kids.

He found Beakman Hall, which he hadn’t
really spent much time in as it didn’t have any of the business or
computer classes he mainly took. He had to sign in as a visitor
without a student ID and marveled at how security was more of a
concern than when he attended. There had recently been several
rapes and attacks of students in unsecured buildings and everyone
was on edge over security. Some of the perpetrators had been caught
and were found to be criminals from the local neighborhood, but
others had not been apprehended, and could only be assumed to be
students who could move around the buildings with their passes.
This suspicion had lessened the trust of fellow students in each
other and was probably one of the downfalls of an urban university.
On the other hand, it probably prepared students, in a more
realistic way, how to deal with the outside world better than some
of the more rural campuses.

He went up to the sixth floor and found room
603. It was like most of the professor rooms that he passed going
down the hall, small and overflowing with books and paper. His
building manager sense kicked in, assessing that if anyone dropped
a match, the place would go up pretty well until the sprinklers
kicked in. Cunningham was at his desk talking on his phone, but he
looked up when he saw Ryan and waved him in toward a chair
tottering with blue book exams. He and Ryan both moved to move
them, and several toppled off the top of the pile. Their covers
floated open as Ryan picked them up, and he could see the grades on
the inside front cover. Two 63s and a 54!
Oh, no, don’t tell me
I picked a hammer
. He didn’t suppose that this guy marked on a
curve, so those three tests were probably all failures. He didn’t
want the ignominy of flunking an undergrad course after having done
so well in grad school. Well, he’d just have to dig in his heels
and work hard. It was important to him to ace this course, as he
felt it would help validate his idea.

Ryan sat down after the tests had been moved
to a new perch and looked around the room while Cunningham
continued his conversation. There were books everywhere, jammed on
shelves, windowsills, another chair, and on top of an electric
space heater, which probably wasn’t a good idea. The heater was
necessary though, as there seemed to be a bad draft coming from the
ancient window. The building was at least forty years old and
apparently in need of rehab work. Whatever tuition increases were
being gouged out of the students was not being plowed into the
teacher’s offices. He thought of his own comfy cubicle at work and
felt bad for the guy. He turned his attention to examining the man
himself. He was a bit smaller than Ryan, looked to be about five
eleven, but it was hard to tell with him sitting down. He was
powerfully built across the shoulders, chest, and arms, which gave
him an ex-football player look. His color was light brown, hardly
black at all, and the rest of his features suggested some Caucasian
background. He had a moderate Afro haircut and glasses that gave
him a professional look. His conversation on the phone was quiet
and measured, punctuated by occasional bursts of powerful laughter.
He apparently has a sense of humor, which will be a help once he
sees my work
.

He concluded his conversation and turned to
Ryan with a smile. “Mr. Ryan, I presume?” he said with hand
outstretched.

“Yes, how are you doing, sir?” Ryan replied
with his usual politeness.

“Just call me Wayne, that’s fine,”
Cunningham replied and shook Ryan’s hand firmly. “Did you bring
your registration card with you?” he asked.

“Got it right here,” Ryan replied and handed
it to him.

“Okay, I just have to remember where to
autograph this. They’re always changing the damn things,” he
said.

“I think they said right on this line here,”
Ryan said, pointing at a line on the card.

“Well, since it says, ‘Authorizing professor
initial HERE’, I guess that would be the one, huh?” he said with a
smile.

“I tell you, there’s no puzzle too great
that a couple of Temple boys can’t figure it out.”