Mind Change
Page 5
He whirled and charged toward a glassed-in partition that obviously served as his office.
When the three of them were seated, he asked Barnes:
“What the hell is going on?”
“She fired everybody.”
“This is not a joke?”
“It’s not a joke. Here––”
Barnes produced the manila envelope.
“––here are the letters.”
He then ripped one of them open and read aloud:
Dear Sir/Madam:
The university wishes to thank you for your services rendered in the past. We will not be needing you after today. Good luck in future endeavors.
Sincerely,
Lucinda Herndon
There was, for a time, silence.
There had to be, she remembered thinking, silence.
Who could say anything to that?
Finally, Penn Robinson sat on his haunches, so that his face was a little lower than Nina’s. He put his palms on her knees. With exaggerated calmness as though he were trying to verify that the D-Day Invasion had, in fact, begun, he asked: “She fired how many people?”
“Twelve hundred and sixty three.”
“Oh, my God. Has she lost her mind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why were you even at this meeting, Rick?”
“She called me a couple of days ago and asked me to attend.”
“Why didn’t you tell anybody?”
“I didn’t think anybody would be interested. I just thought she was making some announcement about adjuncts getting more courses to teach, so the full-timers would have more time for research.”
“She gave you no idea this was happening?”
“None.”
The sound of sirens intensified.
Everywhere office telephones were ringing. Or rather landline telephones were ringing. The other things that served as phones—cellphones, iPods, whatever—were making the signals they used to get attention––buzzing, growling, playing Sousa marches. It all sounded to Nina like a circus midway except with more urgency.
“So—what actually happened this morning?”
“We all walked together to Grierson Hall––the president, Nina, and I,” said Barnes. “She got up in front of the faculty, told them they were all fired, and left.”
“What did they do?” asked the editor.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Well––they were kind of stunned, I guess. She didn’t really give them much time.”
“So––I mean––did she tell you why she fired all these people?”
“She said they were all crooks.”
“She actually said that?”
“Yes.”
Robinson scrunched closer to Barnes, increased the pressure of his fingers around his knees, and ratcheted up the intensity of his gaze. “This is very important, Rick––”
“Yes?”
“Has she lost her mind?”
He shrugged:
“She seemed––seems––perfectly normal to me.”
“Ms. Bannister, you’re close to her?”
Nina shook her head:
“I’m sorry to say I’m not really that close. We got our teachers’ certificates together years ago. We’ve kept in touch. But our lives were very different. I’ve spent most of my life as a high school teacher.”
“I know, I read Rick’s article. Congratulations on the prize.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem very important now.”
“Ms. Bannister, have you had much contact with Lucinda Herndon—well, recently?”
“She called me several times in the last month to ask me if I would come to Ellerton and teach for a semester.”
“And she seemed normal?”
“Perfectly. Also, we had breakfast yesterday morning. Nothing the matter as far as I could tell. We just reminisced about old times.”
“Old times.”
“That’s all.”
“She’s not raving about her dead husband, or claiming that the governor needs to be institutionalized? She’s not wearing underwear outside her clothes?”
“No,” interjected Barnes. “She’s just calm, chipper––boss, she seems normal.”
“She just accused––for print––1263 people of being criminals––and you think that’s normal?”
Rick Barnes shook his head:
“I didn’t say firing a faculty and staff was normal; I just said she seemed normal. If she has Alzheimer’s or if she’s just gone nuts, I can’t tell it from her behavior, except, of course, that she’s just done something completely insane.”
“I’ll say it’s insane.”
The door to the cubicle exploded open, and a young dark-haired woman entered.
“Mr. Robinson, the Associated Press is on line three.”
The editor stood bolt upright and then looked down at Barnes:
“Write this story. Write it quick, and then bring it to me. The AP will have it all over the country in ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And don’t write anything about the faculty being crooks.”
“That’s what she said.”
“No, she didn’t. Not for our newspaper, anyway.”
He left.
“Come with me, Nina, over to my little space. I’m going to write this as fast as I can. You’re an English teacher. Proofread it after I finish.”
In a little more than two minutes, he handed Nina a sheet of paper, on which was written:
Dr. Lucinda Herndon on Thursday morning at nine a.m. announced the dismissal of 1263 faculty and administrators. She made the announcement at the faculty’s called monthly meeting. All affected personnel also received news of their dismissal by mail in letters sent the same morning. The president had no comment concerning the university––nor, at the time of this writing––
He got up, walked out of the cubicle and shouted:
“Has anybody gotten hold of anybody else at the university?”
No answer.
nor, at the time of this writing, had university spokespeople
He looked at Nina and asked:
“Is that all right?”
“No,” she answered. “It’s the most insane article I’ve ever read.”
“I didn’t ask if it was sane. Is it grammatical?”
She nodded and said:
“It’s as grammatically correct as anything can be that doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“Okay then.”
They walked together across the room:
“That all right, boss?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Somebody get this out to the AP. Now, we’ve got to have a comment from the university. Who’s next in line to the president?”
Answers kept coming from the ring of reporters, who responded like a popcorn chain in hot oil:
“The Provost.”
“Somebody call him?”
“I did.”
“What’s the story?”
“The Provost is at a conference in Hattiesburg.”
“What about the Vice Provost?”
“Taking the day off.”
“Well, who’s––dammit, who’s next in line?”
“Boss––”
“Yes, talk to me, somebody!”
“I’ve got the Associate Vice President for Curriculum Development on line five.”
“What does he have to say?”
“She.”
“Okay, what does she have to say?”
“She doesn’t know anything about it. Says she’ll check into it.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s at a breakfast, over in the capital.”
“Isn’t there anybody on campus?”
Pop pop pop reporter popcorn balls.
“Where,” Penn Robinson bellowed, “is everybody? What about Public Relations?”
“I’ve just talked to them.”
“And?”
>
“No comment.”
“Damn! Damn!”
“I’ve got something here!”
“Okay, give!”
“I have the Assistant Dean of Continuing Education on the line.”
“Will he give us a quote?”
“Sir, will you be willing to give us a quote?”
Pause.
Shake of the head.
“He’s trying to set up a meeting, but no one seems to be on campus.”
“Why is no one on campus?”
“It’s Friday.”
“Okay, that’s it. Everybody go sit down.”
“Boss, I––”
“But, sir, we––”
“Mr. Robinson, I think––”
“Just go sit down, dammit!”
Nina, and everyone else, did as they were told.
“Now turn off your cellphones. Take the receivers of the other phones off the hook.”
She found it strange. A hush fell over the newsroom. There was no clattering from computer keyboards, no growling of little blue plastic boxes, no shouting or murmuring or whispering or laughing or crying––there was no anything that made a newspaper what she’d come to believe that it was, or should have sounded like.
She was simply aware of an awesome feeling that something important had happened, or was happening, and none of them knew what it was or what to do about it.
“Mr. Barnes?”
“Yo.”
“Where is the president now?”
“As far as I know she’s in the residence.”
“Is anybody with her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Get over there. Ms. Bannister, I think it would be good if you would go, too. If anybody ever needed a friend right now, it’s got to be Lucinda Herndon.”
Nina sat forward and said:
“Of course, I’ll go. But Mr. Robinson—I don’t know what to say to her.”
“Who does?”
“I have to know: do you think Lucinda is in danger?”
A shrug.
“She’s not the most popular woman in the world right now, I can tell you that.”
“I’m trying to make sense out of all this. I don’t think Lucinda has gone crazy. Maybe this is just a way of making a point.”
“What point?”
“Perhaps it’s a kind of joke. She’s had tensions with the full time faculty. This could be her way of saying, ‘All right, if you want time to do research—well, I’ll give you all your time to do research.”
“You actually think this is what she’s doing?”
“I’m just trying to interpret events the way Jane Austen might.”
“Jane who?”
“It doesn’t matter. But I do want to go to her. Maybe if I can talk to her, we can clarify this before anything awful happens.”
“Okay, Rick. I’m thinking it might be easier for you to get a real interview with the woman if you’ve got Nina with you. But if you can get to her, and talk sense with her, you better do it now. Before somebody goes over there with a machine gun.”
“Okay, we’re gone.”
They left the newspaper office, and within five minutes were walking across a campus that, at least for the moment, looked perfectly normal.
Barnes’ cell phone rang.
“Yes, boss?”
Nina could hear the tinny rasp of voice coming through the speaker:
“What does the campus look like?”
“Just––the campus.”
“Nothing happening?”
“Nothing. Deserted as a tomb. A few people walking here and there. What have you guys been able to find out?”
“Okay, the faculty is meeting in emergency session in Grierson Hall. That’s the meeting you were in.”
“You want me to go by there?”
“I’ve sent Sanderson; you just get to the president’s house and find out if she’ll see you. See if you can get a longer statement. Ask her if she’s lost her mind.”
“Really?”
“No. But we damned sure better ask somebody.”
“Have you found any administrators?”
“No. All we’re getting are answering machines. Even the damned secretaries are out of town.”
“Well, it’s––”
“I know, it’s Friday.”
“You can’t talk to anybody?”
“The Assistant Vice Director For Technical Services.”
“Does he know anything?”
“Just that the computers are down. He promises to have them running within the hour. Now see if you can get to Herndon. We’re holding the wire open for you.”
They made their way through what seemed a small commons between McVickers and Reedy Halls, spied Grierson Hall through an opening of the oak trees, and resisted an urge to go and listen in on the faculty, who by now would be screaming. Here and there, she saw a police car prowling the streets, but nothing seemed urgent.
Nina remembered thinking to herself that this couldn’t be happening and wondering what the next step would be.
Some time, before all of this was over, a doctor would have to be consulted. Surely, something very terrible was happening to the mind of her friend Lucinda Herndon.
But what was she going to do about it?
Why was she, of all people, in the middle of this thing?
There was a small cupola in the middle of the major quadrangle, and they had just reached it––the residence itself stood four hundred yards further, beyond the softball and soccer field––when a group of five undergraduates approached them, with the same eager wide-eyed look of people who might be selling raffle tickets.
One ultimately reaches that point in life where all young people look the same. Nina had passed that point some years ago, and so the only difference she was able to detect was basic gender––which on modern campuses these days is not as easy as it might have been in other times––and color of sweaters. The colors of these sweaters––as well as hoods, parkas, backpacks, snow pants, and boots––were red, red, yellow, golden brown, red, green, and yellow again.
One of them spoke to Barnes:
“Sir––”
Yellow pants.
“Sir, do you work for the newspaper?”
“Yes, I do. I’m Rick Barnes.”
“Did they just fire the faculty?”
“Yes.”
“Are you kidding us?”
“No.”
“The whole faculty?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who fired them?”
“The president.”
“President Herndon?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Oh, my God! Are we still going to have classes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can we just, like, go home?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“This is so cool. This is––are you sure about this?”
“I was there.”
“Party! Party party party party party!”
And––
“They fired the faculty! They fired the faculty! They fired the faculty!”
And––
“Thank you for telling us!”
“You’re welcome.”
And off they trundled.
Barnes’ cell phone rang again.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Barnes, this is Lucinda Herndon.”
“Yes, President Herndon. Nina and I were walking to the residence. We thought we might talk with you.”
“No, not at this time. I see that your story is being circulated by the Associated Press.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve had a chance to read it. Nicely done.”
“Thank you.”
“It was brief but to the point.”
“Well, I didn’t want to be inexact, and I wasn’t sure about a good many
things.”
“Of course not. But that will change. I just wanted to remind you: The University’s Board of Regents is meeting this morning at ten o’clock in the Executive Office of the Student Union Building. I want you to attend. Along with Nina.”
“Are the two of us allowed to sit in Board meetings?”
“No. Try to be there a bit early, will you?”
“All right.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
“All right. See you at ten o’clock.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
And she hung up.
Nina:
“She wants us to go to a board meeting?”
“Apparently.”
“How can I do that, Rick?”
“How can you not?”
He dialed a number.
“Boss?”
“What is it? Have you talked to the president?”
“Yes.”
“Are you with her now?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?”
“She won’t see us.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Don’t know.”
“You’re supposed to know, aren’t you? What do we pay you for?”
“Board meeting.”
“What?”
“You pay me to go—along with Ms. Bannister, whom you do not pay––to the Regents’ Board meeting at ten o’clock in the Executive Suite which, by university code, we’re not allowed to attend, but which she wants us to attend and I think she’ll get her way. You don’t pay me much, but that’s what it’s for.”
“She invited you to that?”
“Yes she did.”
“Go.”
“Thought I would. You want us to come back to the office now?”
Pause.
“No. No, goddammit, do something useful, but stay away from here!”
“What’s happening?”
“Chaos is happening. Wives, mothers, other newspapermen––people are running around here like chickens with their heads cut off. The only problem is, everybody’s asking us questions and nobody’s telling us anything! We’ve had something like twenty calls from parents wanting to know if there’s still a university, and what happens to their tuition money.”
“Those are good questions.”
“Go find me some answers. I don’t care how you do it; be a reporter!”
Barnes put the cell phone in his pocket.
“So what do we do,” Nina asked, “between now and the board meeting?”