Braided Gold

by Glen Roylance

  “The Chairman has summarized charges that have been made against me. In as much as these charges have been a source of great controversy on this campus, I wish to resolve all associated questions and speculations. The charges against me are valid and the proposed course of censure is justified. Regarding the question of my tenure and the continuing of my career at this University, I openly acknowledge my unworthiness of a position of trust in this great institution. This said, I hereby tender my resignation. At the same time I offer a sincere apology to the Board of Trustees, to President Eugene Michaelson, to my associates in the Department of Psychology, and especially to my dear friend, Dr. Leo Dykeman. I have become an embarrassment to these good men and women.

  “But most importantly, I apologize to the students who have trusted me and, in some cases, have been injured by things I have said and done. I continue to mourn for those who lost their lives in the Administration Building just a few days ago and express my deepest sympathy to their loved ones. If there is anything that may be said in my defense it is simply this, it was never my conscious desire to cause harm or inflict injury to any who have come under my influence. This was, nevertheless, the outcome, and I bear full responsibility for my actions.

  “I have brought a tragedy to the Fairclough family, and though I do not merit their forgiveness I extend my deepest regrets for the role I played in the untimely death of Jill Fairclough. I continue to mourn her passing.

  “Among my greatest regrets at this hour is the fact that I have not been truthful about my role in the events leading to the death of Jill Fairclough. I cannot amend these realities but I feel that I must openly acknowledge my misrepresentation of the facts in this grievous matter.

  “As of this day I shall leave my profession as an educator, as well as the discipline of psychology which I have loved since those days many years ago when I sat as a young freshman in classes on this campus, in admiration of those who taught me. Throughout my remaining days I will strive to somehow repair the damage I have done – to accomplish some good thing that may offset, in some small way, the dreadful mistakes I have made here.

  “And now I thank this faculty panel and the chairman of these proceedings for permitting me to express myself in this fashion this morning. I thank you – all of you – for indulging me in this first effort to make amends for my unfortunate actions. I am sorry for the time and financial expense that have gone into preparations for this hearing, for at this point, it is no longer necessary.”

  With that, Paul left his audience stunned as he walked from the podium into the wings of the platform. Within a few moments he was outside the Fine Arts Center, quickly crossing the campus in the direction of the faculty parking lot. Suddenly he heard someone calling his name. He turned and saw Leo coming in his direction.

  “I’m glad I caught you before you got away,” said Leo. “There are some important things I need to say to you.”

  “Leo, I would have come to see you, but I have been out of town.”

  “I know. Claire and I had a good talk while we were waiting for the hearing to get underway.”

  Paul evidenced personal pain and chagrin. “I have done you a terrible disservice, Leo, and I wish there were some way to make things right between us.”

  “What Claire told me, together with what you said in there a few minutes ago, removes much of the heartache I have felt during these troubled days. And Paul, that heartache has primarily involved my concern for you. So far as my career is concerned I’ll lick my wounds for a while and then I’ll heal. The things that mean the most to me are still intact – teaching, writing, my research – those kinds of things. Stepping down so that a younger man can have a chance to find himself in a role of importance is not such a great sacrifice. It’s about time for a change anyway.”

  “I don’t deserve your loyalty to me, Leo. I’ve taken far too much from you.”

  “Nonsense! I am pleased with having been able to make a place for you in my life. But most importantly, you must know that my feelings towards you have not changed, nor will they ever. I won’t detain you any longer right now, but Myrna and I will want you and Claire to visit us as soon as possible – and, incidentally, those are Myna’s sentiments as well as mine. She is sorry for her harshness with you. Will you come and visit?”

  Paul embraced Leo. “We’ll come, Leo, yes, we’ll come!”

  Bidding Leo goodbye, Paul drove to a mailbox on College Avenue where he deposited a large manila envelope addressed to Julian Fairclough. Its sordid contents were no longer of value to Paul. It was his feeling that Fairclough’s twisted life would catch up with him sooner or later. In the meantime he no longer had a thirst for revenge, nor would he continue the war. From there he drove the short distance to Claire’s apartment where he waited for her return.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ANN ARBOR, MICHIGAN, 1993

  Bishop William Staley was in the middle of a problem that would have to be resolved by the next morning. Without question the most prominent member of his congregation had been Elizabeth Russell. Her funeral, scheduled for noon the next day, would surely tax the seating capacity of the chapel. But that was not the problem troubling him this morning. He had just been notified by the Russell Clinic that there would be an additional fifteen children in wheelchairs attending the services. Arrangements had been made for several vans to shuttle children to and from the church, that all children wishing to attend the funeral might be accommodated.

  But the wheelchairs were the problem. How was he to fit all those wheelchairs into the crowded building? Where was he to put them? And yet this clinic and these children had been the center of Elizabeth’s life for over ten years. The children had kept her young and she had done her best to keep the children alive and well. Adequate seating for the children was an absolute priority!

  The phone call from the pediatric surgeon at the Russell Clinic had been gracious but very insistent, and the Bishop had agreed to look into the matter. As he continued to think through the necessary arrangements, he nodded his head as if some silent conversation with himself had brought a solution to the dilemma – a solution it was, but certainly not a typical approach to a seating problem. He would arrange to have an entire section of pews temporarily removed from the far side of the chapel. After all, it was important that the children sit together and that they not be pushed into the rear of the building as unwelcome guests. It would be a big project, but he would start work immediately, asking that the pews be unbolted and carefully removed, thus providing a place of honor for those who would come in wheelchairs.

  Early the next morning Dr. Paul Kirkham, the surgeon who had spoken with the Bishop, commenced his rounds in the Children’s Clinic. The children always anticipated these early morning visits, even those who were experiencing significant physical challenges. The doctor had an unending supply of funny stories. It was not uncommon for him to temporarily shed his dignity and entertain the children with antics one would hardly expect from a physician.

  On one such occasion he had taken a mop from a custodial closet and christened it with the name, Agnes. In a ward with a number of children looking on, he announced that he was going to give them dancing lessons and that Agnes had volunteered to assist. The charade was an unbelievable hit with the children, endearing the good doctor to them all the more.

  On this particular morning his visits filled a purpose that went beyond the normal status check of his young patients. He wanted to make certain that there would be no risk to the well-being of any who would be transported across Ann Arbor to Elizabeth Russell’s funeral services. One of the last stops on his list was the room of a thirteen-year-old, Danny Higbee. Danny was from the inner city of Detroit. His parents had simply been unable to financially accommodate Danny’s urgent need for medical assistance. His case was one of the last Elizabeth herself had reviewed and authorized for placement in the clinic at no expense to the family.

  Preliminary tests had revealed an aggressive form o
f bone cancer in his left leg, and amputation had been necessary to save the boy’s life. Subsequently, both Elizabeth and Dr. Kirkham had done their best to keep the boy optimistic about his future.

  The good-natured doctor sat next to Danny this morning, as if he had all the time in the world and as if Danny were the most important person in his life. Perhaps he was, at this particular time. On the wall above Danny’s bed hung a painting the doctor had brought in as a gift two days before. It was a beautiful painting of many butterflies in a meadow at summertime. A large Monarch butterfly perched on a tree branch in the foreground, its wings spread open revealing the beautiful markings.

  This particular morning the doctor and Danny had been talking about a prosthesis that was being donated to Danny by the clinic. After his recovery from the surgery the plan was for him to return to the clinic where the doctor, whom he trusted implicitly, would assist in fitting the prosthesis and initiating some physical therapy. Danny’s apprehension prior to the surgery had been acute, and now he was heavy hearted at the prospect of living the balance of his life with only one leg.

  “You know, Danny, you really can do anything you want to do,” said the trusted doctor. “There are very few doors closed to people who have lost a leg. You have a fine mind and many talents. If you use them properly they will more than compensate for your loss.”

  Danny had been trying very hard to believe all of this, but was still not completely convinced.

  Dr. Kirkham continued persuasively. “I know of a man who stood on his feet many hours each day teaching classes of high school students. He was one of the best teachers at that school. Later he became the principal of that school. He had only one leg, Danny. He had gone to college with one leg and graduated with distinction. He was married at the time of the accident that cost him his leg, but that didn’t stop his wife or children from loving him. He did the things all good fathers do with their children. Among other things he took them to the beach. He wore a swimming suit and even went swimming with them. In fact he had a reputation for being an excellent swimmer. He did all of that with one leg!”

  The conversation continued and the boy’s spirits brightened as they always did. “And what about the funeral?” asked the doctor. “Do you think you’d like to go?”

  Then came Danny’s infectious smile. “Aunt Elizabeth would want me there.”

  This was the reaction of all of the children in the clinic. They all knew she was old. To some she must have seemed ancient, but her ability to stay young at heart had captured their minds, drawing them to her as she had drawn children to her throughout her life. It was not so much the spirit of sadness or mourning that made these children want to attend the funeral. It was love – love she had first given them and love that drew them back to her. She would often make light of her advanced years, telling them that the reason she came to see them so often was to steal away some of their youthful energy.

  On more than one occasion she had spoken soberly to the children, explaining that she would soon go on to the next life, and when that happened she didn’t want them to be sad about something she was happily anticipating. She had gone on to tell them that her determination to live a long time was for them – to help them, and all of that would be in vain if they didn’t live for her, making her proud of their lives. “We have brought you here because each one of you is important. You will show just how important you are by the way you live and the things you do after you leave this clinic.”

  It was widely known that the Russell Clinic, created for the care of children from indigent families, did far more than heal little bodies. Many were the children who left the clinic with an expanded vision of life and themselves. But of underlying importance was the fact that they simply felt they could not let Aunt Elizabeth down.

  During his years as a bishop William Staley had never experienced a memorial service such as this one. The chapel was filled to its capacity, and many who were unable to find seats stood in the adjoining hallways of the church building, eager to be a part of this final tribute to Elizabeth Russell. The congregation consisted of civic leaders, educators, and important people from the medical profession – some who had local practices and others who had come from great distances to be a part of these services.

  There were men and women, boys and girls, who all had one thing in common: They considered Elizabeth Russell to be their friend. Never, in Bishop Staley’s memory, had there been so many children in a funeral service, to say nothing of that section of the chapel occupied by children in wheelchairs.

  In a few brief remarks at the opening of the services the Bishop set a tone of warmth and simplicity by speaking directly to the children. “You may think you knew her best and loved her most, but ‘Aunt Elizabeth,’ as most of you called her, has lived for many years, and many of the older men and women in this congregation today were once young like yourselves and came under the spell of her love as you have. Anyone who knew her well was touched in a special way by this unusual woman. She was gifted in her ability to share the feelings of her heart with others.”

  Dr. Paul Kirkham, a “new man” leading a new life, delivered the principal eulogy in Elizabeth’s honor. He and she had tirelessly worked together during the early days of the Russell Clinic. It had been their joint experiment involving a consortium of physicians who willingly gave their time and skills to provide high quality health care for children whose families could not afford the costs involved. He spoke eloquently and lovingly of his association with her and of her magnificent contributions, first as a teacher and, in more recent years, as a dynamic influence in securing adequate healthcare for underprivileged children – especially where catastrophic illness had already taken its toll on family financial resources.

  The most important sentiments in Paul’s remarks were those of a highly personal nature. His professional bearing set aside, he spoke simply as one who loved her. “She has been a guiding star in my own life,” he said, “and I have loved her as much or perhaps more than any in attendance this day. It was through her influence that I came to discover the reality and power of God. For me there is no doubt that a Divine hand led her into my life. Perhaps many of you could say the same thing. Sensing it as my obligation to speak in behalf of all here today I say, God bless the memory of Elizabeth Russell who was so successful in patterning her life after the example of the living Christ. We are grateful that she knew the truth of his teachings so deeply. She had the ability to entice even the most rebellious soul to listen and give credence to her words. I was one of these!

  “I am convinced that these services will serve Elizabeth’s memory best if, in addition to offering our accolades, we draw inspiration from her example. Elizabeth was good because of her faith in God. Let us live in the fullness of that same faith.”

  Tim Delano had been a feature writer with Newsweek magazine for seven years. Though he wrote standard news stories in a concise manner, he also had a knack for getting at the stories behind the news. It was human-interest writing that he enjoyed most. Several times a year he would draw this kind of an assignment from his editor and was able to prepare copy that tugged at the heartstrings of readers. He had a natural interest in people, particularly those behind the scenes who seldom made their way into front-page news stories.

  This is what had brought him to Ann Arbor. For the last two days Tim had been doing interviews in connection with a story on Elizabeth Russell and the Russell Clinic. He had interviewed patients and staff members, and today he had attended Elizabeth’s funeral in company with Bill Knight. Bill had been Elizabeth’s administrative assistant since the early days when the clinic operated on a financial shoestring. Next to Paul Kirkham, Bill had done more to make the clinic a solvent realization of a dream than anyone else. During those days wherein Elizabeth’s health had waned, he had virtually become the director so far as day-to-day business was concerned.

  As the slow-moving cortege rolled along towards the Forest Hills Cemetery the two men, seat
ed side by side in Bill’s car, discussed the events of the day. Even though Tim regarded this conversation as an important interview, their talk had the flavor of an “off the record” discussion about the personalities involved in the clinic.

  “Tell me more about this man, Kirkham,” said Tim. “I found his eulogy of Mrs. Russell most interesting.”

  “With Paul, what you see is what you get – no hypocrisy – no personal agenda – just idealism of the highest order. There aren’t many people like him. He adored Elizabeth as a son does his mother.”

  “I got the impression that your Dr. Kirkham had been through some life-altering experience as a result of his dealings with Mrs. Russell.”

  “Yes, that’s common knowledge around here, but he’s pretty tight lipped about the full story. I think their connection goes way back to the time before he entered medical school.”

  “I take it he’s a family man?”

  “Yes, he has four children. From his age you can tell that marriage and family came later in his life than for most. He and his wife Claire have discovered whatever it takes to make a marriage really work. We have urged him to write a book on the subject, and I think he might just do it sometime.”

  “I spoke with him briefly yesterday,” said Tim, “and he indicated that he was a non-paid member of the staff. He spoke of having a private practice in Ann Arbor. How does that work?”

  “As I mentioned earlier, we have no paid physicians on our staff, and Paul Kirkham is no exception. Paul set the clinic up this way at the outset. He and Elizabeth envisioned something different from the norm in children’s health care, and he feels that fees and salaries would interfere with the spirit of service that is the real heart of the clinic. Paul has been very successful as a pediatric surgeon. In fact, he is the lead pediatric surgeon at the University of Michigan Hospital. He typically spends two days a week with us, sometimes more if necessary. Each of the physicians on our staff donates one day a week without compensation. Most of them are here because Paul inspired them to come and be a part of all this.”