Miracle Man (18 page)

26

T
he next morning at ten, Bobby placed a call to Robert Walterberg, the Dean of Graduate Studies at Tufts University in Boston, the school where Joe Manzini had been Chair of the Biochemistry Department for nine years before he retired to care for his sick wife. Walterberg’s secretary answered the phone.

“Hello, Dean Walterberg’s office. How may I help you?”

“Is the dean in? My name is Robert Austin. I’d appreciate if I could speak to him.”

“And who are you, sir?”

“I’m a graduate student.”

“Here at Tufts?”

“No.”

“Perhaps someone else can help you and I can direct you to them?”

“Thank you, but I really do need to speak to the dean.”

“Alright then, I’ll give him the message. Is there a number you’d like to leave?”

“I’d better call back. My cell service is going to be disconnected.”

The secretary neglected to give Walterberg the message. Two days later, when she was reviewing her message pad and going over unreturned calls with the dean, she said, “Oh yes. And there was this call from some grad student named Robert Austin. He didn’t say what it was about or leave a number. And then, we haven’t yet responded to the invitation you received to attend the University of Pennsylvania Biology Symposium Dinner, or the Mayor’s fund raising benefit for the expansion of the zoo.”

Dean Walterberg stopped her. “What did you say about a grad student? What was that name?”

“Robert Austin. He sounded very young.”

“Did he leave his full name?”

She flicked through the pages of calls. “Oh yes, the second time he called, he said Robert James Austin.”

“He called twice and you didn’t tell me?” the dean said.

“He sounded very young and seemed very nervous and wouldn’t say why he was calling. It seemed unimportant.”

“Rebecca. If he calls again, don’t let him hang up. Keep him on the line. I don’t care who I’m with, what I’m doing or where I am. Find me and get me connected to him. Is that clear?”

Bobby sat under a tree in the most remote part of the Institute’s gardens. He had just been told that his cell phone would be turned off in two days. He was embarrassed to call Dean Walterberg again, as it was apparent to him that the dean wasn’t interested in speaking to him, but he felt he had no choice but to be a pest. He dialed the number again.

“I’m sorry to disturb you again. It’s Robert Austin. Is there any chance the dean is in?”

Rebecca reached Walterberg at a breakfast meeting at the Yachtsman Club where he was trying to get a pledge from a prospective donor. She conferenced Bobby in.

“This is Dean Walterberg.”

“Hello dean. Thank you so much for taking my call. I apologize for interrupting whatever you’re doing. My
name is Robert James Austin. I’m a graduate student.”

The dean interrupted Bobby. “Mr. Austin. If you are who I think you are, you need no introduction and need not make any apologies. Are you the Robert James Austin? The Dr. Robert James Austin who is affiliated with MIT and Harvard?”

“Well, yes and no, sir. I am Robert James Austin, but I’m no longer affiliated with MIT and Harvard as of a few days ago. That’s why I’m calling you.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to speak with you. How can I help?”

“To put it bluntly dean, I need a new university at which to do my research. I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but I came to MIT and Harvard by way of the Institute for Advanced Intelligence Studies in Newton. I’ve separated from the Institute and that had the effect of terminating my relationships with MIT and Harvard.”

“Dr. Austin. This is far too important a matter to discuss on the phone. May I suggest a personal meeting? Are you available to come to my office—let’s see, I’m out tomorrow. How about Thursday morning at eleven?”

On Thursday morning, Bobby arrived on the Tufts campus by nine. He wasn’t taking a chance on being late. No matter how much water he drank, his mouth felt dry. He noticed the tremor in his hands. If this didn’t work-out, he didn’t know what he’d do. At 10:55 AM, Bobby walked into Ballou Hall, an imposing Federal style brick building with a large white pillared portico. He looked on the building’s directory and found his way to Dean Walterberg’s office. He stood in the building’s corridor staring at the door and took a deep breath. “Well, here we go,” Bobby said to himself. He opened the door and entered the reception area. Rebecca greeted him warmly.

“So I was right. You are very young. I thought so from your voice. How old are you anyway?”

“I’m twenty.”

“A whiz kid and a hottie too.” Rebecca laughed heartily. “Too bad I’m old enough to be your mother.”

At the mention of ‘mother,’ Bobby’s face paled as he thought of being hoisted into a dumpster.

“Let me show you in. They’re waiting for you.”

Rebecca opened the door to Dean Walterberg’s office and Bobby walked in. To his surprise, the room was
crowded.

Walterberg left the head of the conference table at which he had been sitting and walked over to Bobby. Extending his hand, he said, “Welcome Dr. Austin. On behalf of all of us here in this room, I can truly say that it’s a pleasure and honor to meet you.”

Bobby blushed a deep red and shifted uneasily.

“Thank you sir. I appreciate your taking the time for this meeting. If you can do me one small favor—please call me Robert. The Dr. Austin thing is scaring me.”

Nervous laughter came from the men assembled around the conference table.

“Let me introduce you, Robert,” said the dean as he presented each of the seven men at the table, the youngest of whom was in his late forties and the oldest of whom appeared ready for life support. Each of them shook Bobby’s hand enthusiastically and genuflected in some manner to signify deference to him. The assembled were the chairmen of the Graduate Departments of mathematics, physics, biology, chemistry, astronomy, biochemistry and computer sciences.

Dean Walterberg said, “So Robert, tell us what brings you here and what we can do for you.”

“Well, dean. My mentor—a man I love deeply, was a professor here for a number of years. His name was Joseph Manzini. He always spoke highly of Tufts.”

“Robert — all of us here knew Joe well and are aware of his relationship with you. Joe kept a close bond with this University after he retired and when we would get together with him, he spoke of you frequently. He was a wonderful man, and a brilliant scientist.”

“He was very precious to me,” Bobby said softly as he looked down at the table.

“I was surprised that I didn’t see you at Joe’s funeral,” the dean said.

Bobby blushed. “I wasn’t well at the time. I couldn’t attend.”

“I see. So —you were saying.”

“Right, well Joe impressed upon me the importance of using my abilities in a socially productive way—particularly for medical research. Since his death, that has been my sole focus and it will continue to be.”

“That’s admirable.”

“Only in certain circles,” said Bobby. “The Institute’s mission statement is related to military applications and aerospace. When I told them of my intentions, I received an ultimatum which was supported by MIT and Harvard. They threw me out as of last week.”

“Surely they’ll come to their senses.”

“No they won’t. So I’m going to be blunt. What I need is a cubicle to work in and around the clock access to your
high-speed computers, library and laboratory archives, and when needed, access to the grad and medical schools’ research laboratories and assistants. Oh—and just to put all my cards on the table, I also need a dorm room to live in, because I get evicted tomorrow.”

As Bobby spoke, Walterberg was busy making notes. He then looked up and said, “Robert, after our call the other day when you told me you were looking for a new home in which to do your research, I met with the president of this University in preparation for today’s meeting. He authorized me to make whatever arrangements were necessary to bring you into the Tufts family. We’re an institution that takes great pride in our academic independence from outside influences including the government, and while our resources are not as grand as those of Harvard, we’re not poor. We can satisfy your needs.”

In what appeared to be an involuntary response to Walterberg’s comments, the chairman of the mathematics department clapped his hands several times, like a little kid bursting with enthusiasm.

His face flushed, Bobby said, “dean—and chairmen—I can’t thank you enough. This is the best news I’ve had in a long time.”

“Robert, here’s how we envision this working. Tomorrow, we’ll have a studio apartment ready for you in the graduate dormitories so you can move in. It’s not fancy, but I think you’ll find it adequate. Effective immediately, you’ll be awarded a graduate fellowship stipend which will cover your food requirements and put a little spending money in your pocket.”

“That’s wonderful dean. Extremely generous.”

“As for the cubicle, I think we can do a bit better than that. We’ll find an office for you in the computer sciences lab, which will afford you enough room and complete privacy so that you can work undisturbed and keep whatever hours you want. Of course, twenty four hour access to our supercomputers and laboratories is not a problem. You’ll coordinate all of this through Professor Charles Alan, our chairman of Computer Sciences who is seated here at the conference table.”

Professor
Alan raised his hand and nodded in Bobby’s direction.

“How does that sound, Robert?” asked the dean.

“I only hope I’ll be worthy of your faith in me.”

“We have no doubt that you will be, Robert. We admire your goals. Welcome to Tufts,” said the dean.

The seven professors rose from their chairs and broke into applause. Bobby’s face turned deep red. He made his way around the table, grasping each one’s hands and thanking them profusely.

As Bobby walked out of the building, he murmured to an invisible listener, “Okay Joe, we’re back in business.”

27

W
hen Bobby returned to his dorm at the Institute, his doorway was blocked by stacks of large disassembled moving cartons, rolls of bubble-wrap, and spools of packing tape. He shook his head.
These guys are all heart.
He kicked the cartons and batted the bubble wrap out of his way. “It’s just a school. Who cares? I’m finally free of Varneys,”
Bobby muttered.

He shoved his key into his door lock, but it wouldn’t open. Jiggling it frantically, he pulled hard on the knob as he kicked at the door. “I can’t believe it. The assholes changed the lock. They locked me out of my own room,” he hissed as he slammed his weight into the door. Suddenly, the door opened. As the heat flash that had coursed through his body began to dissipate, he shook his head, realizing just how upset he was.

Hoping to ward off an impending migraine, Bobby walked over to Copernicus Hall to get some lunch. Was it his imagination or did it get very quiet in the cafeteria when he walked in? Was everyone looking at him? As he filed along the cafeteria line, one of the food servers said to him as she heaped extra gravy on his hot turkey sandwich, “So today’s your last day. Don’t worry, you’re a nice kid, you’ll do okay.”