Redemption U. and other Short Stories

by Frank Perdue

  These are works of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic. mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Frank A. Perdue.

  Copyright 2014

  Other books by Frank A. Perdue

  Journey of Shadows

  Lost in the Shadows

  Shadow of a Killer

  The Color of Deception

  The Adventures of F.R.E.D. the Blue Squirrel

  REDEMPTION U.

  Lawrence University sits in the foothills of the Sierra Mountains, midway between Modesto and Fresno. Until 2010 no one outside the San Joaquin Valley had heard of the school, other than the few out of state residents who had been recruited to join the student body. Most of those were athletes, who were given a scholarship.

  In that year the school hired an athletic director, with the sole purpose of putting the college, for it wasn’t then a university, on the map.

  J. R. Lawrence, no relation, was a task-master of the highest order. He would have been a tyrant slave owner had he lived in the days before the Civil War.

  Lawrence immediately began scheduling football games with teams much superior to the Sequoias of Lawrence College. He did the same with basketball. He had a little more success with roundball than with the more physical sport, and, at least the school became known more widely.

  Because it was getting a name, even outside California, the school was able to recruit bigger and better players. His teams before had generally been beat up pretty badly. Now, however gradually, Lawrence teams began winning as many games as they lost.

  In 2013 something happened, and people far and wide began calling the school Redemption U. This is the story of that football season, and one game in particular.

  Chapter One

  The radio blared out suddenly, jarring him back to the present. His mind had been wandering. It was a fairly common occurrence. He could trace it back to the accident.

  The room was now filled with unwanted music. He quickly turned the dial on the old brown console, searching for a familiar sound. He didn’t know the number, just that it was a talk station. After going through every position on the dial, he repeated the process-still nothing but music. Finally he realized he was on the FM band. It was AM he needed. After that he found the station he wanted quickly.

  “and the fans are still coming through the gates folks,” the announcer stated, as Carl Eames settled back on the soft cushions of his chair, somewhat nervously. “We knew this game would be a sellout, but it’s still a shock to see so many people fill this old stadium,” the announcer continued. “I can’t remember a time when there were half as many.”

  It’s funny how things work out, Carl thought to himself. Lawrence University had always been a basketball school, and they had become very good in that sport. Yet now, on this day, they would draw a crowd three times the size of any who had witnessed their successes or failures at roundball.

  Carl stared out his picture window, seeing nothing but the outline of the frame. Were he not blind he would have seen that some of the multi-colored autumn leaves were still on the trees that lined the street. The rest were strewn across the sidewalk and the brown lawn Danny had promised he would rake this weekend. It would have to wait until Sunday though, for his son would be very busy on this day.

  The sportscaster again drew his attention. “When the schedule-makers at State planned for this game, I’m sure they thought it would be a cream-puff, a cake-walk, an easy “W”. Now here we are in mid-October, nearly halfway through the season, and Lawrence has somehow racked up four wins. Granted, some of the teams they played, nobody had ever heard of, but one was a Big Ten powerhouse.

  They are ranked in the top twenty-five nationwide for the first time ever. Granted, if it were a list of twenty-four they would have fallen short. But let’s face it. For better or worse they are in with the big boys now.”

  There was a pause while the broadcaster gathered his thoughts and took a deep breath. “Skies are clearing, and the weatherman says there is no chance of rain. That wasn’t the case earlier this morning when there was a cloudburst. The grass will most likely remain wet for most if not all of the game, and footing could be a problem. The temperature….

  ***

  It was sunny that day too, Carl reflected silently. Tears came to his eyes as he remembered.

  Margaret his wife had been the last one in the car on that Saturday morning three years ago. Picnics were fun, but they were also hard work, if one happened to be a woman. She ended up doing most of what had to be done to prepare for the outing.

  At the last minute, Danny their sixteen year old, had decided he’d rather watch the football game on television than go on a family picnic. Carl, knowing they might not have many more chances to be together as a family, stood his ground and insisted their son accompany them.

  Danny, who was a pretty good boy, and who also realized he couldn’t get out of it, finally condescended to go.

  After straightening up the kitchen, Margaret joined the other two in the car and off they went.

  Their destination had been a lake some fifty miles from town, but they never made it. The four year old Buick was just emerging from a dip in the two-lane highway when another car appeared before them on their side of the road. Carl instinctively pulled the steering wheel to the right to avoid the other vehicle. It was too late.

  He had been thrown from the car. He landed on the road. His head hit the concrete pavement hard enough to render him unconscious. Much of his skin was ripped from his back, but he didn’t feel the searing pain that surely would have come from such a wound.

  Later, in the hospital, when he finally awoke, he couldn’t see.

  “You hit your head rather forcefully,” the attending physician told him. “We’ll have to wait to see if you regain your sight. An eye specialist will be in to examine you this afternoon.”

  He was told his wife had died instantly from the force of the collision. He’d guessed as much, but still he cried. Strangely, he hadn’t reacted when he realized he was blind. His thoughts were all of his wife and son.

  “What about my Son?” he asked, fearfully.

  The doctor chose his words carefully, “He’s alive, but we’ll have to wait for a prognosis. He’s not going to die, but his leg was jammed against the dash-board panel, which I’m told collapsed, pinning the limb, and crushing his kneecap.”

  Carl remembered, Danny was sitting in the front passenger seat, while Margaret was behind him in the rear seat.

  When the physician and his nurse left the room, Carl was visited by a uniformed policeman, who had come to take his statement for the final report. There was no doubt the other driver was at fault. He had reeked of alcohol. He would have gone to prison for a long time, had he not been killed.

  “After you were ejected from the vehicle, it left the road and careened over a forty foot embankment, finally coming to rest on its side in an adjacent wheat field.” The policeman looked up from his clipboard and continued, “I’m sure you heard your wife was killed at impact, as was the other driver.” He realized after he said it that he was devoid of tact, in this instance. “Sorry for my insensitivity sir.” He was sure this wouldn’t smooth things over

  Carl began to sob. “Is my Son here in the hospital?”

  “I don’t really know, but I’ll find out.” The now sympathetic cop answered. He immediately left the room, or you could say he beat a hasty retreat.

  Not more than five minutes later a nurse e
ntered the room. It was the same matronly lady who had accompanied the doctor before. “Your son is doing well, and he is on the fourth floor orthopedics, just one up from here.” The policeman had obviously talked to her.

  “Thank you nurse, can I see him?”

  “In good time, Mr. Eames. He’s being examined by a surgeon right now. I’ll come wheel you up after the doctor leaves.”

  “What kind of operation does he need?”

  “It’s his knee. You know he received quite a bit of damage to his kneecap. They’re trying to decide what will be the best procedure.” She had been looking at Carl’s chart. She glanced up, and into the dejected man’s eyes. “He’s in very good hands.”

  “I know.” He didn’t really. What else could he say at that point?

  Chapter Two

  “The two captains have come to the near sideline with the referee for the coin toss. Moose Owens of State and Bart James of Lawrence will do the honors. Owens is the two-time All-American, who is coming off a day last Saturday when he made eight and a half tackles in a win against Indiana Wesleyan. How do you make a half tackle you ask? That’s when you share the tackle with a defensive teammate. You find out all kinds of things here folks.” The announcer chuckled at that.

  “Lawrence has won the flip and has deferred. The Spartans will receive. Danny Eames, the kick-off and field goal specialist is at the forty yard line teeing up the ball. You might remember that Eames was a promising freshman quarterback in high school when he was involved in a bad automobile accident that took the life of his mother and blinded his dad. He himself was judged to possibly be in a state of non-repair. His kneecap was shattered. Now here he is, back with a division one college team in a new role. This will be his first game in three years, and he’s playing against a much larger team.”

  ***

  Carl Eames sat up in his chair. He was remembering how excited his son was when he came home from his high school that day in September, and announced proudly that he had been selected to start at the signal-calling spot for their first game.

  He had been in competition with his best friend, Bart James. Bart was more of a running quarterback, and the coaches had decided, since they had some good size up front, they would be best served by going to an ‘I’ formation with a drop-back pocket-type quarterback. Danny had the strongest, most accurate arm, and he was taller than his competitor at nearly six feet.

  The James boy took the demotion in stride, and moved to tailback. He was quick, and at only five foot eight, would be well hidden behind the offensive line, which averaged six-two, two hundred eighty pounds. The team could compete well, size-wise, with any team in the state of California.

  Danny’s girlfriend Cynthia Nyland walked home with him that day. She wanted to be there when he told his parents he had made the starting team. They were almost inseparable that whole year.

  The two kids were so close that they had made vague plans to marry after their graduation in a little more than two years, their parent’s permission notwithstanding.

  Cynthia was also tall for a sophomore, standing five foot nine in her stocking feet. She was a girl-next-door type, pretty but not beautiful. Her hair was light brown and she wore it short, about mid-neck. It was mostly straight, but curled under slightly at the ends. Like most girls her age she wore bangs that extended to mid-forehead. Her eyebrows were not especially heavy, and framed brown eyes. She wore a smile well, and exhibited it often, especially in Danny’s company.

  Bart was also enthralled by Cynthia, but he kept his distance romantically. He was a good friend to them both.

  Danny’s euphoria would not last through the season, for the fateful Saturday arrived before they had played four games.

  ***

  “and there’s the kickoff. It’s sailing deep toward the goalposts. Eames really got a leg into that one. The receiver, number twenty-nine Eddie Quillan will probably not return this one. No wait a minute! He’s bringing it out from nine yards deep in the end zone. Not too smart this early in the game, or anytime really. He’s heading up the middle of the field toward a line of blockers. Now he’s moving laterally toward the right sideline. One tackler missed, and then another as he shook them off. Now he’s getting some blocks as he turns up-field. He’s at the forty. Only one man to beat now, and it’s the kicker Eames. The ball carrier jukes him once with his hips causing the would-be tackler to slow slightly, then he turns on his after-burners, and only the goal line will stop him as the safety falls to the turf, his arms empty. Six nothing State.”

  Carl knew there’d be at least two minutes of commercials, more than the teams needed to line up for another kickoff, but the game was being televised, at least in California, so they had to pay for it. He used the time to raid the refrigerator for a bottle of soda.

  That confrontation between his son and the State ball carrier might have ended much differently, had not Danny’s right leg been weakened so much on that terrible day. It looked to Carl as if the boy had tried to plant on the bad leg to push off and it just gave way. He was sure it just looked like a missed tackle to everyone else. Kickers aren’t supposed to be real football players. Carl snorted disgustedly at that thought.

  I wonder if Cynthia Nyland is in the stands today,Carl thought. I’ll bet she is . All three of them had matriculated to Lawrence after high school graduation. Neither of the boys’ families had a lot of money. Of course Bart was there on a scholarship. Carl had dug deep to get his son in, and Danny walked on at football tryouts in his sophomore year. The booster club arranged for summer jobs for the athletes, which helped considerably. J. R. Lawrence was responsible for the formation of the boosters.

  After the accident in high school, Bart was reinstated at quarterback, and he led his team to a nine-one record, losing only to Mater Dei, a Catholic school that could recruit. As it was, the underdog only lost 33-21 with Bart scoring all three of their touchdowns on keepers. The last was sixty-five yards.

  Carl had lost respect for Cynthia after she left Danny, not long after the accident. Had he known the whole story he might have felt differently.

  Chapter Three

  Vince Battaglia saw what happened on the kickoff. His kids tackled like crap. But what really caught his eye was Eames missed tackle. He saw his player’s leg buckle.

  He knew the story. He was willing to give the kicker a chance, because of what had happened to him. No, that wasn’t completely true. He had been at tryouts. He saw how strong the kid’s left leg was. He’d had no intention of giving the kicking spot to a gimp. That was before the demonstration Danny Eames had put on. He outkicked every other wannabe by ten yards. In the end it was a no-brainer. He wouldn’t receive flak from the boosters for that decision, no sirree.

  Vince knew he was on the bubble this season. The ambitious athletic director had made that very clear. He had to have a winning season. Two and nine like last season was not an option, not if he wanted to keep his job.

  He’d assembled a pretty good squad this year; one that could compete with everyone, save the USCs and teams like Stanford and UCLA. Luckily those powerhouses weren’t on the Sequoia’s schedule. State was, however, and all bluster aside, he’d have a tough time getting his kids through that one. Maybe the best he could hope for was to come out reasonably healthy.

  Now here they were, down seven-zero, and he had a kicker who couldn’t move. Maybe he should make a change, assuming his team ever scored. He could still use Eames for field goals.

  ***

  “So the Sequoias will start on the twenty, after the deep kickoff. Bart James is leading his squad up to the line of scrimmage. It’s a quick snap. James has the ball and he rolls out to his right looking for a receiver. He finds his tight end Allison all alone out in the flat. Allison breaks one tackle in a mismatch of size. He crosses midfield before he’s taken down by the safety, with a little help from the linebacker who was trailing the play. That Clay Allison is a handful. The kid goes almost two eighty.

  There’s
still plenty of time on the clock in the first quarter, as the Spartan touchdown used very little, as you might imagine. Now Lawrence is driving.

  Here’s a dive play, I imagine it’s just to keep the defense honest. It only gains a yard. I think the lighter team will have to pass to keep moving the ball.

  Second down and nine on the Spartan’s forty-two. Here’s the snap, and James drops straight back this time. Wait a minute, it’s a draw, and the tailback Whit Embly is in the open. They fooled everybody with that one, even this announcer. Embly was untouched going through the line, and is finally tackled just short of the goal line at the three. They’ve got four downs to punch it in and tie the game.

  So far, this could fall in the category of unbelievable. I know I’m supposed to be unbiased, but you and I know, on paper there’s no way the smaller team from the weaker conference stays with the big boys of the Pacific school. But they’re doing it, and in style.

  Here they come back to the line of scrimmage, with an unbalanced line this time. There’s the snap to James under center. He drops back-no it’s a quarterback draw ala the old Seattle Seahawks with Jim Zorn. It gets the same result folks, six points.”

  ***

  The father listened as his son calmly kicked the extra point to make the score Sequoias seven, Spartans seven, with six minutes left in the first quarter.

  He was surprised when his son remained on the sideline for the kickoff, which barely made it to the ten yard line of their opponent. Luckily the tackle was made at that point. Maybe his boy needed some rest. It was somewhat of a miracle he was even out there.

  Carl had not been in the hospital room when Danny was told the extent of his injuries. The older man had just found out his blindness was not just a passing thing. Strangely he didn’t react, perhaps feeling it was penance for killing his wife, and crippling his son, even though there was nothing he could have done, short of turning their family car the other way.