An hour later, we were walking out the back doors, Charles rubbing his eyes and me lost in thought. I had been extremely surprised by the reverence of the service. Reverence had never been a part of my experience of God. Fear, guilt, boredom—all of these words came to mind. In spite of the best efforts of the sleepy, fidgeting students to spoil the service, the pastor was not deterred in his mission to create a sense of wonder. His preaching seemed to well up from the depths of his being as he expounded on the day’s text from the Gospel of John, chapter 1: “Behold the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Behold him who is infinite and eternal, come to save men from their sins. Behold him who created all things, who became flesh and was killed by those he loved and created.” He painted a picture of such beauty and kindness. I watched as he stood, arms outstretched, with tears in his eyes as he looked out upon those lost sheep filling his pews. This man did not belong at Locklear. His genuine spirit was awkward and out of place here. He spoke to the rich of their need for a Savior, and they mocked him with their unmoved silence. They did not believe. Money was their god. To them, this was just another extravagant building devoid of sacred meaning. They gave the holy man his hour, but they rejected his pleadings and scoffed at his tears.
Chapel was followed by brunch for all incoming freshman and then, of course, there were to be speeches by the faculty, the board, and, last, the dean of students. I was only interested in hearing Dr. Groves, so I tuned out the rest. Finally, he took the stage, gripping the podium with long bony hands. Tall and sinewy, he looked down upon us and smiled uncomfortably in a sly sort of way. This was not a man prone to belly laughter or good humor. His appearance was almost sickly with his black, greasy hair combed back onto his head as he stared at us with watery yellow eyes. He licked his thin ribbon lips and began to speak in a nasally voice, and for some reason I imagined that he smelled of sour onions.
“Students, we welcome you to Locklear University. You are all embarking upon a great adventure. Each one of you has been given the opportunity to succeed, should you take it. But the choice is up to you. If you wish to rise above, then listen carefully. Discipline, gentlemen, is the key to success. Be disciplined in your studies. Be disciplined in attending your classes. Be disciplined in getting to bed at a decent hour. Be disciplined in all things and you will not go wrong. Discipline, gentlemen, is the key to success.
“But for those of you who find discipline too demanding, know that rule-breaking will not be tolerated. Disrespect, tardiness, cheating, gambling, drinking, skipped classes, practical jokes on your fellow students or professors, and other non-academic nonsense will not be tolerated.” At this point, he stopped to again lick his lips and stare at us with his stern gaze, as if trying to steal the life from within us. He tried to come across as a man not to be trifled with. “If any of you have further questions, you may consult the student handbook. Good day, gentlemen, and good luck.”
With that, we were dismissed. “He’s a real wringer, huh?” Charles said, nudging me. “Dr. Groves, the dean of students, the little black storm cloud who just showered the room with his misery—he’s a dinosaur. Been here for over forty years. You’d best hope that you never get called to his office. That is the kiss of death.”
“Yes, he’s not exactly a charmer,” I agreed. “Hey, I’ve got to run, Charles. I’ll catch you later.” It was time for my meeting with Dr. Emory.
Mr. Calhoun met me at the door in his awkward, bumbling way and led me through the house to Dr. Emory’s study. When I entered, Dr. Emory turned around in his chair. “Aha, you have arrived. I can see by the look on your face that you have recently been in the presence of Dr. Groves. He has the ability to sour everything he comes into contact with. Let me guess that he gave you his ageless speech, ‘Discipline, gentlemen, is the key to success!’” He raised his right index finger into the air, waving it about to imitate the ancient dean. “But of course our dear Dr. Groves would never have done something so undignified as to raise his voice as I just did. God forbid he be seen to have emotions. I tell you Tom, that man is a machine. I sometimes wonder if he is human. I have heard that same speech for thirty years without even the slightest change. He is an anomaly. You can see, I will assume, why the two of us were never the best of friends.”
“Yes, sir. Not too difficult to see that. I can imagine that you probably gave each other fits.”
“Oh yes, we certainly did. But enough about miserable old Groves. What do you think so far of Locklear?”
“Well, my roommate’s not half bad: he’s Charles Montgomery.”
“Pardon my interruption, but is he from THE Montgomery family?”
“I believe so, sir. His father is the head of the board.”
“My, my. That is rather interesting. I do believe that Dr. Groves might have set you up. He and Mr. Montgomery are in bed together (excuse the expression). What sort of a chap is Charles?”
“He seems like a decent fellow, but not overly bright, and he has a tendency to get into trouble. From what I gather, he’s quite the opposite of his brothers.”
“Yes, well, that would be the case. They both lived by Grove’s rule of discipline. Those two lads had about as much personality as a pair of wooden boards, and it’s not hard to see where they got it. Hopefully, Charles proves to be a little bit better entertainment. You mustn’t underestimate the value of good entertainment. Otherwise, you end up like Dr. Groves.”
Changing the subject, I inquired, “Dr. Emory, what do you know about the secret societies?”
“Aha, now there is an excellent question that I am well suited to answer, seeing as I used to be in one when I attended Locklear. Yes, it’s difficult to believe, but contrary to Dr. Grove’s beliefs, one can make a little mischief and succeed in the grand adventure of life at the same time. Because you are not in one of the secret societies, there is only so much I can tell you. There are rules about these sorts of things, secrets to be maintained. There is a constant competition between the three societies to outperform the others. In recent years, the challenge has been to see who can most greatly infuriate Dr. Groves without being caught. Those unfortunate few who have been caught have all been expelled, so it is a rather high stakes game.”
“Dr. Emory, when do students usually get picked—if they are so lucky, that is?”
“Usually it is late freshman or sophomore year. If you don’t get picked in your first two years, then your have missed your chance.”
“Is there any way I can increase my chances of making it into one of the societies?”
“Well, not too much, I’m afraid. You do have to be likeable and all, but more than anything, it’s about knowing the right people. You are walking into a world of connections, many of which go back multiple generations. I would say don’t worry too much about the societies. If you are the right fit, they will come and find you.”
The next few days of freshman orientation slipped by, and before I knew it, the first day of class was upon us. I visited the bookstore and realized immediately that I could not afford any of the books. In fact, I could barely afford to buy a few binders and pens. Thankfully, Charles and I had a nearly identical class schedule, so I fully intended to borrow his books. Most likely, he would not be opening them on his own. With each passing day, I realized more and more just how little Charles was interested in his studies. He was here on the sheer merit of his family name and their large financial contributions to the school.
CHAPTER 9
A Working Man
I HAD TAKEN IT UPON myself to seek a job on campus and managed to secure a part-time position at the library. The work was minimal, allowing me plenty of quiet time to study between my dull tasks of checking out and re-shelving books. The library was perhaps the most remarkable building on campus. It was four stories overflowing with books of all shapes, sizes, and colors. The words of authors from across centuries and continents were carefully bound and catalogued for all to read. I had never seen so many books in all my life,
row upon row of books, many of which were so old and dusty that it was obvious nobody had checked them out in years. The top floor had large windows looking out over the campus and featured busts and carvings of famous people. Old, cracked leather couches sat against the walls with long tables alongside for studying. There was a giant globe of the world surrounded by atlases and other collections of maps. Down one floor, there were more private study rooms and, of course, more books. The first floor had a grand central room boasting marble columns and a black and white checkered floor that made you think you were walking across a giant chessboard. The checkout desk was tucked away in a far corner, obviously to avoid detracting from the overall look of the room. To get to the bottom floor, one had to walk down a spiraling black steel staircase as if descending into a submarine. There in the dim lighting, shelves were spread out in all directions. The basement was larger than a football field. With its heavy green carpet under foot, one could tread silently through the labyrinth of shelves as if in another world. I loved the feeling of the room. The air was cooler than up above and had a faint, musty odor. There was a deep stillness and silence that felt almost unnatural; the books and carpet seemed to soak up all the sound. I soon found out that students came down to this level only when they wanted to partake in private activities. The rest I will leave to your imagination.
Locklear started out as an all boys’ school, and it wasn’t until after the World Wars that women were invited to attend, but on a limited basis. Not wanting to become a “heathen” school like so many others around the country, Locklear built a separate set of dorms and school buildings for the women, where they spent the majority of their time. Women were allowed to attend men’s classes with special permission from the dean, and they were entitled to use public facilities such as the library, but they were most definitely not allowed in the men’s dorms. It really should go without saying that male students were not allowed in the women’s dorms under penalty of expulsion. Locklear was to be a place of the utmost moral character. Men and women were not to hold hands, and there was certainly to be no kissing or other promiscuous behavior. Of course, these strict rules only encouraged both male and female students to break the rules, and the library became the primary destination for acts of indiscretion. Dean Groves saw it as his personal calling in life to uphold decency and help students focus on the discipline of academics rather than romance. He always seemed to be lurking with his gaunt features and yellow eyes.
I spent most of my evenings at the library, while Charles was off gallivanting around with his rich cronies, trying to win the favor of the Locklear damsels. Knowing that I was but one misstep from being given the boot, I buckled down and worked harder than I ever had before in my life, but I could not help noticing the female students coming into the library in small giggling groups, sporting elegant patterns and polka dots in their always-matching outfits. Even their shoes seemed to shimmer and shine as they walked. With their hair piled in curls and lips rubbed red with lipstick, they were visions of beauty. They frolicked and flaunted their God-given curves with every step, knowing they had the full attention of every man around. They would giggle, laugh, and point, making an absolute scene and leaving chaos in their wake. Men weakened in the knees as they floated by and blew kisses. They were indeed the forbidden fruit. Sweet and supple, they dangled before us, seemingly untouchable. How we longed for them!
Outside of classes and work, I had a weekly visit with Dr. Emory to chat about Charles and other students I met, to talk about school, and, most importantly, to discuss my writings. In spite of my busyness, I made it a priority to keep writing. With all my new experiences, it wasn’t difficult to find topics to explore.
Much of my writing focused on my contempt for the utter frivolity and wastefulness of my fellow students. There were a few exceptions here and there, but overall the men were pompous bores, having been bred to believe they were the cream of the crop simply because of their wealth. I could not stand this attitude and mocked them at every possible turn, though not to their faces for fear they would gang up on me. Most of the time, I was silent while they jostled with one another, vying for attention in their never-ending game of king of the hill. I was a peasant, so I had no incentive to dream about being king. I contented myself with a resolve to find other ways to make my mark.
Two weeks into the first term, I was shocked to find a note in my box, summoning me to the dean’s office. I groaned when I read it. What had I done? Was the old coot going to kick me out already?
That afternoon, I made my way up to his office and was shown in by his personal secretary. Dr. Groves sat behind a mahogany desk large enough to seat a family of fifteen people for dinner. He looked at me disparagingly and motioned for me to sit in a small wooden chair by the desk. I sat and waited quietly, looking at the floor. After saying and doing nothing for an awkwardly long time, Dr. Groves broke the silence, ready to proceed.
“Tom. It is good that you came promptly to see me. I have been rather busy, but of course you cannot be expected to understand my line of work.” He cracked his milky knuckles one by one with great precision, all the while staring directly at me. “You are probably wondering why I summoned you today. Word has reached me that you are rooming with young master Montgomery. I suspect that arrangement has been up to your standards thus far?”
He had a way of dragging out his words to make every sentence drip with condescension and belittlement, as if somehow my very presence here was beneath him and he could call at any second to have me carted out and thrown into the trash. Each word was like the grating of fingers on a chalkboard.
I blocked out his tone and attempted to grovel appropriately. “Yes, Dr. Groves, everything has been very satisfactory. I am exceedingly grateful for my chance to receive an education here at Locklear.”
“As you should be. Locklear is a sacred place, and its reputation is not to be sullied. And that, my lad, is exactly why I have called you here today. I heard from a close friend of mine who made your acquaintance recently, and whose name will remain anonymous, that you came across as cheeky and obstinate. That sort of behavior will not be tolerated, and so I have taken it upon myself to keep a special eye on you should you choose to step out of line. You would do well to remember that your presence at Locklear is a privilege, not a right. You are here because others thought you to be a pleasant project, but I am not one of them. I do not believe in charity. It only encourages laziness, which I believe to be the most horrific of vices. Discipline. Now that is the building block of greatness. Should you fail to meet all of my expectations, it will bring me no sadness to have you shipped off. In the future, I expect that you will be on your best behavior to avoid any further missteps. You may leave now.” He stared at me with those horrible, unblinking yellow eyes.
I left without saying a word. Infuriated by Groves’ condescending manner, I had no doubt that Charles’ father had ratted me out. I would find a way to repay the rich buzzard.
I told Dr. Emory about my run-in with Groves, and he just nodded his head. “Oh yes, there he goes, playing his little power games. He just wants you to know that your fate is in his hands. He is intoxicated with his own power, I’m afraid. He is a bully, a scrawny, self-indulgent bully who preys upon young men like you. What a miserable existence he has. Just mind your business, Tom, and hopefully he will forget about you.”
CHAPTER 10
A Twist of Fate
AFTER A FEW MORE WEEKS into my eminently forgettable existence at Locklear, the unexpected struck. I was doing my final round of the library all the way at the far end of the basement, when I heard some muffled voices. Normally upon hearing voices, I would turn around, not wanting to interrupt any rendezvous taking place. But this time I distinctly heard multiple male voices. Slowly creeping forward on the padded carpet, I leaned up against a bookcase and listened in.
“I now pronounce this meeting of the Secret Sevens to be in order.” I gasped when I heard this. The Secret Sevens Society was t
he oldest and most legendary of the secret societies. They were a perennial burr in the side of Dr. Groves and his staff. Already in the first few weeks, I had seen signs of them at work around campus. They were always rearranging furniture in the buildings, painting 7s on windows, and doing other odd tricks.
A second voice spoke up. “I think we need to do something big. No more puny antics like those we’ve engaged in thus far. We need to remind Groves that we are still here and that we mean business. I have heard that he plans to cancel the Fall Ball for who knows what reason. He’s been trying to get rid of the ball for years and surely would have succeeded if it were not such an established tradition, supposed to prepare us for social life in high society. That man is misery incarnate. We cannot allow him to spoil all the fun at Locklear! ”
Another voice chimed in. “Well, William, what do you suggest we do about it?”
“Well,” said William, “I suggest we throw an undercover party for the whole campus, including the women. Of course, Groves must not catch a whiff of this. He would be scandalized to know that there was uncivilized and unchaperoned dancing on his watch. He has his little spies all over the place. Thankfully, from the sound of it, Charles Montgomery won’t be a snitch like his other brothers. He comes from a different mold.”
Just then, I heard footsteps heading toward me. I leaned up against the bookcase, hoping not to be seen in the dim light, but as I slowly looked up, I saw a large boy staring at me with an angry scowl on his face. He grabbed me by my collar and dragged me around to the other side of the bookcase.
“Well, boys, sorry to be late, but look what I’ve found.” I saw six students look up at me, each with the same angry expression on their face. “It seems we’ve got a bit of an eavesdropper.”
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