by Tom Corbett
As Ellison droned on, Josh tuned out, as was his want during such laudatory exercises from his peers. Josh was glad when the chair segued into alleged university contributions since they signaled an end to the exercise. Drifting through this embarrassing litany were words of praise for the help he had given to various interdepartmental budget struggles. Those were the worst, Josh thought, the downside of academic life. He snapped to as Ellison arrived at a conclusion and shifted to the gift giving. There were a series of serious gifts along with the gag gifts to elicit the expected laughs. He noted a photo album of his career and colleagues over the decades. He would treasure that. “And now some words from the man of the hour.”
The room burst into prolonged applause as Josh took the mike. He sought out Rachel and the others. They were clapping vigorously. His eyes wandered again to the couple with Peter Favulli. He knew them; they were so familiar. But he could not make a connection. It gnawed at him.
“Okay, okay, calm down now. I know that you believe the louder you applaud the less likely it will be that I will change my mind. And for those of you eyeing my parking space, an unmarked envelope filled with cash is the best way to advance your chances. That lottery promise is a sham.” More laughter. He was Josh being Josh. He had a habit of picking up on previous comments, and this would be no exception. “First, I want to thank the previous speakers from the bottom of my heart. I thought they did a superlative job of delivering the comments I wrote out for them. It was hard holding back on the words of praise I supplied them, but in the end, my modesty prevailed.” More laughter and he saw Rachel roll her eyes with a “same old Josh” look. Who were those two next to her? Now, it was really getting to him.
“As I look back over such an illustrious career, who could forget those budget battles, as Ellison mentioned. These are the things academics live for. I do remember one conversation I had with an economist I know and love. He was lecturing me on why my department’s resource request was overly ambitious. I was a bit taken aback since the economic department’s request was multiple of ours. I argued that if they were granted everything they were asking for, there would be virtually nothing left for any other discipline, including our modest request. He looked at me totally perplexed and asked me what my point was. He was serious. Only the economics department counted. The rest of us were no better than chopped liver. You have to love that sense of unbridled entitlement.” The non-economists in the room exploded with laughter. “But really, I do love practitioners of the dismal science. After all, someone has to.”
Rachel looked on with admiration. He was the Teflon academic; he could insult anyone yet leave the room loved.
A half-dozen other stories and vignettes flowed through his mind. “Whoa, I better put a break on this. If I start with the jokes, we may be here for a while.” A couple of people yelled encouragement, but he held up one hand. “I will admit to having the Celtic gift of bull—err, storytelling. It was something my father bequeathed me.” He sought out Rachel’s face again. “It is a gift that did help with the government work I did, with academic politics, and in writing academic papers. My story-telling gift may well be useful in retirement. If I don’t scale the great mountain peaks in the world,” he smiled broadly at this point, “I will surely try my hand at fiction. When I mentioned this dream to my close academic colleagues, several noted that they thought I was writing fiction all along.” That drew howls of appreciative laughter. “Allison, however, was so kind in her remarks of me as a teacher.” He turned in her direction and smiled. “If people only knew how unprepared I was for so many lectures and seminars. The students probably would have asked for their money back. But the funny thing is that my best talks often were the ones for which I was least prepared, like this one.” More laughter. “I would draw on this vast repertoire of anecdotes and vignettes to make my points in vivid terms. It must have worked since the university never fired me and I kept getting invited to give talks. Of course, it helped that no one wants to teach anymore. In fact, I believe the non-English speaking janitor is being pressed into teaching service these days. Hard to get fired in that environment.
“It also helped that they couldn’t find anyone else to teach as cheaply as you.” He saw that the quip came from Connie while those around her guffawed. He smiled at her until his gaze caught that couple next to Rachel and Peter. God, they looked so familiar. Damn it, he knew them—a sense of unease quickly overtook him.
“Ah yes, everyone is a comedian.” He shifted back to Connie and smiled at her. “But I am reminded that I have been surrounded by so many inspirational colleagues throughout my career. I would introduce those I admire so much and those that have meant so much to me as a professional and as a person.” A pause for effect. “Unfortunately, none of them could make it here this afternoon. Guess I’m stuck with this crowd.” Groans and more laughter. “And now you know why I don’t have many friends.”
“That was no secret to the rest of us.” Connie was on fire. Many in the large assembly knew of their past relationship and laughed appreciatively.
“Could we have security escort that young woman from the room?” Josh said with a laugh. “Okay, let me be serious for a moment before I lose total control. I’ve been very fortunate. I am not sure how many know of my background. I grew up in a working-class ethnic neighborhood where my father ran a bar and did other things better not explored. But he was a charming, witty man who passed on many of his special gifts to—”
“His daughter.” This was Rachel getting into the swing of things.
“And speaking of his daughter, that rude and lovely woman is my sister Rachel, or should I say Dr. Rachel Elizabeth Connelly, a member of the medical faculty at the University of Wisconsin.” This was accompanied by a robust round of applause. “As you can probably tell, Rachel did get both the looks and the brains in the family, and I do love her dearly.” The final words just slipped out. Rachel stood there with her mouth open, and Usha reached out for her hand. For most in the room, this was an expected sentiment. But for a few, the significance was clear—the remote and unreachable Jeremiah Joshua Connelly had used the word love, and in public no less. “Next to her is her daughter Cate, my niece, who is visiting from Amman, Jordan, where she is posted by the US State Department. And no, she is not a spy, at least that’s what she told me to say or else. Next to Cate is her…partner, and newest member of the family.”
He quickly moved on as Cate suddenly wiped a tear from her eye, smiling broadly. “While touching upon reprobates from my youth, I also want to point out a good friend from those early days—well, a friend at least. The now pudgy gentleman standing next to my niece is Peter Favulli. We became friends on the athletic fields of high school in eastern Massachusetts where, hard to believe now, he was a swift running back. I’m sorry, he tried to be a running back. I still remember racing him down from twenty yards behind—”
“Ten yards,” came the reply from Peter.
“From fifteen yards behind where I tackled him on the five-yard line. He was so surprised he fumbled the ball and we won the game. I give you Peter Favulli who spent his career with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Josh’s gaze turned once again to the couple standing next to Peter. The man was looking at him with a very familiar smile on his face. He knew that smile. He knew it. Yes, it had been a big part of his early life.
“Oh shit…” The words just escaped him. Some laughed thinking it must be part of another joke. But the laughter petered out as the crowd saw the intense look on his face. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity as people began to fidget.
“Sorry,” he murmured as he pulled the standing microphone out of its holder and sat on the edge of a table that was positioned to serve no obvious function.
People looked confused, uncertain. Josh looked directly at Rachel, who mouthed the words “It is okay.” She had a big smile on her face.
“Listen,” he started again, “forgive me for not thanking everyone for making my tenure here so memorabl
e. Consider yourself thanked.” He paused again, obviously looking for a place to start again. For a man who was renowned for thinking quickly on his feet, this surprised most of the audience. He started off again slowly, as if searching for new words and thoughts. “You know, some people look at the world and see unicorns and wondrous possibilities. I am Irish, in part at least. In case you have not noticed, there is a dark cloud over those of my tribe. I look around and see failure and challenge. I still do that today, at least in some larger arenas. I spent my professional life working on policy challenges in Canada, the UK and EU, Australia, New Zealand. Did you ever wonder why I avoided the States, my home turf? On the surface, that didn’t make sense. Our social problems pale by comparison to theirs, at least by all the metrics we use to assess national social health. Think about what is happening south of the border. One of the richest countries in the world permits 50 million to exist in poverty with one in five children included in those ranks, a rate that would spark outrage in our peer countries. They have income and wealth inequality not seen since just before the Great Depression with the share of all income enjoyed by the top 1 percent back up to 24 percent in 2007, or right before the most recent economic collapse. It had been less than 10 percent prior to the Reagan revolution. While inequality in most advanced countries is up, the United States still ranks fourth out of thirty-three countries in terms of the concentration of income at the top. Not surprisingly, social mobility rates in the United States have declined to the point where we have fallen behind their so-called ‘socialistic’ peers in that regard. By some measures of social mobility, the probability of moving up the income distribution, the U.S. ranks dead last compared to their European peers. The States have health care outcomes that are middling at best and sports the forty-seventh- highest infant mortality rate in the world. Kids in the US are falling further behind their primary economic competitors, particularly in math and science. Moreover, they have the highest teen pregnancy rate in the world.” The data rolled off his tongue easily and effortlessly, statistics that were second nature to him.
“Perhaps they wouldn’t let you in since you were a known Canadian radical.” It was the short, slightly stooped man next to Peter Favulli. He was smiling warmly.
“Could be. Could be. And what if you look south as a real Canadian. What is the big deal for us up here, you might say? That is their problem. Who cares if they choose to be selfish and indulgent and engage in short- term, destructive behaviors? That very tempting perspective would be short sighted indeed. To use a popular cliché, we are all be in this together. We are a global village. You know what we always say, the US sneezes and we get the flu. What I find particularly troubling is that our easy strategies for dealing with declining economic opportunities, by that I mean stagnating incomes for most families along with growing inequality, appear exhausted. We have already delayed marriage, had fewer children, thrown our spouses and partners into the labor market, saved less and borrowed more while using housing equity as personal ATMs, and added more advanced educational credentials after our names. In addition, our children often delay establishing their own households, good luck in kicking them out of the nest. And still, economic outcomes grow more unequal. Yet so little outrage! When new policies are posed, not enough ask about the impact on the more vulnerable. Think of the trends over the past several decades that would be expected to exacerbate poverty and increase the economic struggles for so many. We have seen demographic changes and a sharp rise in single-parent households raising children. We are witnessing rapid globalization where firms seek to lower labor costs by outsourcing higher-paying jobs overseas. We’re battered by technology-driven changes, automation, and computerization in which tasks formerly done by humans are now done by digital technology and robotics. Can robot-driven trucks be far off ? And look at immigration where the US saw the proportion of the population being foreign born jump from 5 percent to 13 percent, many of whom are low-skilled individuals. How has Canada changed, how might it change, in a world under constant stress and migration flows? Unionization has almost collapsed south of the border since Reagan killed the air traffic control strike. The percent of unionized workers in the private sector fell from about one-third of the workforce in the 1950s to about 7 percent in recent years. We’re seeing distinct signs of a fractal economy where, even within specific sectors of the economy, compensation has grown wildly unequal even in the face of modest differences in talent and contribution. A typical CEO’s remuneration went from twenty-seven times the average worker’s pay in 1973 to over two hundred and sixty times the average in 2008. Can we in Canada continue to provide a sense of community and compassion when the colossus to the South becomes a Dickensian horror show? When you consider the adverse trends around us, and others that might be cited, maybe we did better than many of us had thought in at least moderating the adverse effects of an increasingly hostile world for the less well-off. But how long can we do this if things fall apart next door. How long can we ignore climate change if the world’s biggest user of fossil fuels continues as if nothing is amiss?”
The audience rustled but seemed intent on his words. It was not what they expected but they were listening.
“Still, so much remains to be done. I remember asking a visiting colleague from the US many years ago why he thought America had such an impoverished safety net for the disadvantaged. He gave a one-word answer: heterogeneity. Over the years, I came to appreciate his terse response. We’re too tribal and have no common identity. It is too easy to say, and to believe, that the less successful are ‘them’ and not ‘us.’ They did it to themselves, we are not all in this together. It is instructive to note that Americans are much more likely, by some thirty percentage points, than our European counterparts to respond positively to questions that assign success to personal efforts as opposed to luck or social environments or family fortunes. In the end, these are not just U.S. challenges, they are North American challenges, global challenges, our challenges. To address them, we will have to get beyond business as usual.” Josh stopped, wondering how he had fallen into such a polemic. He had not meant this to happen; his Irish anger had risen for some reason. Oh, he knew why; he was angry at himself.
“Yes,” a colleague from his department asked during the pause. “I’ve always wondered why you spent virtually no time in the States. It would seem a natural environment for you. You’re correct in saying that their failures and problems are likely to be our future challenges.”
Josh did not directly answer the questioner. “I want to introduce two people standing next to my old college friend, Peter. They are Morris Greenstein and Carla Shapiro. I knew them from another life a long time ago…and I had long since given up hope that I would ever see them again.” His voice caught. “Wow, this is a surprise…a shock. Permit me ramble a bit for a moment or two, but I know some will say that is all I ever do.” He looked at Connie. No smile broke over her lips at his quip. She was looking back at him with wide and open eyes. “I have never talked about my past— how I got here, to Canada. I think I told people I liked freezing my fanny off and that seemed plausible enough.” A small titter made its way through the crowd. “But the truth is more personal, and perhaps a touch tragic. We, Morris and Carla and I, were among a small band of committed, passionate students opposed to the Vietnam War and other policies in the US back in the crazy decade of the 1960s. Well, in those emotional days, when we were young and full of ideals, we let ourselves be sucked into the extremes imposed by the times. I’ve thought back to the things that we did, and did not do, many times. I’ve tried to sort out whether what we did was moral or not and whether what I did were acts of rationality, idiocy, or cowardice. Believe me, the smart money is on the idiot wager.”
Josh suddenly feared that he was talking nonsense. He looked out over the crowd. He could see that many in the audience now were confused, uncertain. Still all were focused on him.
“Okay, most of you have not a clue what I’m talking about. In
our pursuit of peace and justice, I did things best not remembered with any clarity. Hell, I should have spent time in jail and not for lousy lectures and poorly written journal articles.” A smattering of laughter. “In short, I rationalized both violations of the law and common sense for a higher purpose. Is such behavior justified? Is it ever justified?” Everyone looked on in rapt attention, most now putting together what he was saying. “I could not answer that question then, and after forty-plus years, I still do not have a clue. Such conundrums are beyond rational calculation as I’ve too oft noted. Our empirical methods and sophisticated equations cannot answer problems of the heart nor matters of moral culpability. This is where our science is useless. We have to find answers within, if we can.” He looked directly toward Morris and Carl. “All those years ago, I made a choice. I fled my country, my friends, and my family. I could not bear the thought of sliding further into the violence toward which we inexorably were being drawn. And yet…I could not look my best friends in the eyes and tell them I would not be with them any longer. In the end, I fled. I ran north, to your wonderful country, and I do mean a wonderful country. In doing so, I left my closest companions, my sister, my parents, the woman…I loved, the life and culture I had known forever. It was all like ripping part of me out.”
“Josh, don’t go there, don’t beat yourself…We were all at fault.” It was Morris. The words had just slipped out of him.
“Too late, Mo, that ship has long set sail. I have been beating myself up for four decades.”
CHAPTER 11
DAY 5 EVENING
“I could tell you did not recognize me, at least at first.” Morris smiled. “I was rather afraid how you would react when you finally figured out who we were. But know this, my friend. For the longest time, I blamed only myself for everything.”
Josh looked confused. “I don’t understand. I sent letters when I got to Canada. I tried to explain my feelings. I blamed you for nothing, I was the one wallowing in guilt.”
