“There are a humongous number of loose ends here,” Bryce commented to Damon as they walked to campus on Thursday morning. It was October 21, two days before Homecoming.
“That’s because you insist on sticking your nose into everybody’s business,” his partner teased him. “You could just be like most folk, and not get involved.”
“No, I couldn’t,” Bryce answered seriously. “That would be someone else, not me.”
“And I love you for it,” Damon replied, and kissed him lightly as they entered the campus, on their way to their Art History class.
That morning, both Damon and Bryce shone in class, as Dr. Padgett this morning was lecturing on the Roman Baroque, with Caravaggio and Bernini as prime examples of that style. Not only were the dynamic duo able to answer questions thrown out to the class as a whole, but the instructor called on Damon first to tell the others about Caravaggio’s “Seven Works of Mercy,” and then somewhat later on Bryce to inform the others about Bernini’s “Apollo and Daphne.” In consequence, when the class ended both guys were feeling pretty good.
As they were leaving, another student asked, “How do you know all that stuff?”
Bryce answered, “Last summer we were lucky enough to get to spend some time in Europe traveling, and we saw a lot of this stuff. Damon got hung up on Caravaggio, and I was really impressed with Bernini, so we remembered it, and then selected these topics for our term papers.”
“Lucky for you,” the student commented.
Bryce thought, Yeah, despite all the shit, we have been lucky. Thank you, God.
From the time the art history class let out at eleven, until his Italian Renaissance class at 1:30, Bryce had free time, although Damon had to get to his Spanish class at one. How to use this time to best advantage? A few moments of consultation resulted in agreement that they needed to do something with the information obtained from Hunter Matthews the evening before. It took only a moment to decide to consult with their friend on the campus security force, John Zoeller. Since the clash on the quad between the demonstrators and the para-military group eight days ago, Bryce had Zoeller’s cell number on his phone, so he called. It seemed that Officer Zoeller was on patrol for the next hour, which meant he could meet them just about anywhere on campus.
Where could they meet and not have to worry about being overheard? A moment’s consideration resulted in a call to Dr. Dickinson. After several brief exchanges, the Professor agreed to host the two students and the security officer in his office, so another call to Zoeller resulted in a four part conference on the second floor of Filson Hall.
As Bryce and Damon arrived, they found Dr. Dickinson and John Zoeller already there before them.
“I’m surprised at you, consorting with trouble-makers like these,” Zoeller teased the professor as the two students entered.
“There’s a lot we faculty have to put up with,” Dr. Dickinson replied with a smile. Then, turning to Bryce, he asked, “So, what is it that requires a private meeting?”
Bryce sat and opened his laptop computer. “I have here the report from a student named Hunter Matthews. You may remember, Dr. Dickinson, that his knowledge of computers came in very handy last spring in that little problem we had at the fraternity.”
Dr. Dickinson nodded, indicating he remembered the incident.
“Damon was told about a blog which is relevant to the issues surrounding the campus demonstrations last week. It’s called ‘Aryans Forever,’ which gives you an idea of the general content. There are some postings on that blog which are relevant to the clashes between the demonstrators and the para-military group, and I asked Hunter to analyze the blog and identify the source.”
Damon interrupted Bryce’s narrative to insist, “Bryce not only asked Hunter for information, he paid him $500 for the job.”
“Very public spirited,” Dr. Dickinson commented.
“Anyway, here’s Hunter’s report,” an embarrassed Bryce quickly resumed. “It shows with very little room for doubt that the blog originated from a computer registered to Sean Rollins. Now, Sean Rollins is a student here at the University, a junior majoring in Business Management. He and his friend Barry Miller are also the individuals renting the carriage house apartment on the property of Dr. Conrad Caldwell, where Damon and I rent in the main house. Dr. Dickinson is a friend of Dr. Caldwell, so I am sure you will agree that there is no reason to suspect the good doctor of collaboration with the prejudices of his tenants,” he explained for Zoeller’s benefit. “These blogs pretty much prove that Sean and Barry were among those beating up the demonstrators back on Wednesday of last week. The reason I asked for this conference is to determine what to do with this information.”
“We cannot allow those responsible for that violence to go unpunished,” Dr. Dickinson proclaimed.
“We had a lead on these guys,” John Zoeller told the others, but we got an order from higher up to back off.”
“I do recall,” Damon said with obvious distaste, “that at the LGBT meeting the evening when the clash took place, Dr. Burnett called the para-military group something like ‘concerned students coming to the rescue of their university.’”
“That seems to be the official party line,” Zoeller reported. “The demonstrators are the bad guys, and the group which beat them up are the good guys.”
“That may be the Administration position,” Dr. Dickinson said heatedly, “but is definitely not the faculty position. “That kind of violence is definitely not acceptable. It’s a throw-back to the Stone Age. It’s reminiscent of the Nazi SA groups in the thirties.”
“That is also confirmed by their blog name,” Bryce noted. “I have not had the stomach to read all their postings, but the bits I have read since the demonstrations last week indicate some kind of identification with the Nazis and other racist groups of the mid-twentieth century. For that matter, there’s a good deal of overlap with the KKK from the nineteenth century. One line which particularly struck me in a recent posting was something like: it’s a shame Hitler didn’t succeed in eliminating all the Jews. These people are seriously sick, and a danger to the rest of us. They’re anti-black, anti-Jewish, anti-gay, anti-Oriental, anti-Catholic. I’m not sure that they’re actually for anything except some mythical Nordic European Garden of Eden. And they are definitely violent. Now, what do we do with this?”
“As I said, we were told to back off,” John Zoeller repeated. “If I raise I a stink, my job could be on the line.” With a nod towards Professor Dickinson, he added, “we don’t have tenure.”
“But I do,” Dr. Dickinson replied. “I have no hesitation in bringing this before the Faculty Senate and demanding that something be done.”
“That will help,” Zoeller said, “but I suspect we’ll need some outside pressure, just like we did with you kids who were suspended.”
“Actually,” Bryce said, “neither Damon nor I were suspended, but we knew friends and fraternity brothers who were. And I agree. We can send copies of this to my dad and the other two lawyers who brought pressure on the Administration.”
“First of all,” Dr. Dickinson said, “the information needs to be sent to the Administration. Otherwise, they could always say they knew nothing about this.”
“But if I send them this information, they might then take it out on me, and I am just selfish enough that I’m a little uncomfortable about jeopardizing my academic career. I like it here at U of C,” Bryce said.
“In that case,” Damon stepped in, “send it under some kind of fake name. What was it Dr. Burnett called those gorillas? ‘Self-effacing students coming to the defense of their university,’ as I recall. Use that as the identity of the sender. After all, it’s completely in character for those two idiots to be boasting of their achievements and expecting a reward.”
“Boyfriend, you are brilliant!” Bryce declared. “That’s what we’ll do. But I’ll also leave copies with Dr. Dickinson for distribution to the Faculty Senate in his capacity as Secretary of that august body, and with Officer Zoeller for the campus security files. I’ll send copies to my dad, and to Mark Castleman and to Josh Young’s father as well.”
Dr. Dickinson gave Bryce a long-suffering look when he sarcastically referred to the faculty senate as an august body, as if to say, ‘this is something more we faculty have to put up with.’
And so it was agreed. Before Bryce and Damon left Dr. Dickinson’s office, copies of the report from Hunter Matthews with references to the relevant postings on the blog were sent to Sterling Winslow and Mark Castleman, with a cover letter explaining the situation, although Bryce did not have an address for Josh’s father as yet. Copies were also now on Dr. Dickinson’s computer, and he had a hard copy to study, while John Zoeller had one on his site at the campus security office.
After leaving Filson Hall, Bryce also prepared a message purporting to come from Sean Rollins, using data in the report from Hunter Matthews. This message he sent to the University President and the Vice-President for Student Affairs, asking for some recognition for services to the University. It was signed, ‘a self-effacing defender of the University.’ Attached to the e-mail was a copy of the report from Hunter Matthews, attesting that the blog came from Sean’s computer. Bryce was willing to do this, as Hunter had incorporated himself as ‘Electronic Investigations’ and so was not identifiable as a student at the University in the report.
Realizing that he did not have direct access to J. Prentice Young, Josh’s father, reminded Bryce that he had been remiss in visiting both Josh and Peter Boyington. As a result, after grabbing a quick bite for lunch, he and Damon made their way to University Hospital. It was time for another visit to Peter. In his case, it had only been two days since the last visit, although that had been a brief one. Even as they walked down the corridor to Peter’s room, Bryce reminded himself that he needed to visit Josh Young. That was not as convenient, as Josh had been released from the hospital, and Bryce did not know where he was living, although he could find out.
Once again, the two found Peter enmeshed in the novels supplied by David Simpson. He was near the end of the book he was holding. Nonetheless, he gladly put aside his book and greeted his visitors. Human contact was more important than even the most well-constructed mystery story. They visited, and were glad to learn that David had been there just about every day, and Mike, Nate, and Jason had also been in to visit. In addition, there had been visits from Peter’s ‘special friend’ Derek Martin, from several other representatives of the LGBT Club, and from others from Peter’s classes and his dorm. At least he was no longer forgotten in all the turmoil surrounding events on campus. This reminded Damon that visiting the sick was one of the traditional seven works of mercy depicted by Caravaggio.
By the time Bryce and Damon had brought Peter up to date on campus events, including their recent meeting with Dr. Dickinson and Officer Zoeller, it was time for Damon to depart for his Spanish class. Bryce, however, stayed on for a while longer.
“What are your personal plans?” Bryce asked.
With some disgust, Peter replied, “My folks are coming back to take me home on Saturday. Saturday! Homecoming! I tried my best to get them to take me to someplace where I could at least watch the parade, but no dice. Mom said I would get too excited.”
“Why is it that parents never seem to remember what it’s like to be 18 or 20?” Bryce sympathized.
“One of the more carefully guarded secrets of the universe,” Peter commented with a sigh.
“But, things are pretty good as far as, you know, accepting you?” Bryce enquired.
“Yeah, more or less,” Peter sighed again. “Mom’s okay. I’m still her little boy. That has both good and bad sides, but I’ll take that. Dad is not happy, but he’s not hostile either. We have some issues to work out still. But at least he’s talking, not yelling. We have a ways to go, but it’s better than I feared.”
“You’ll have time to work on that while you recover,” Bryce encouraged him.
“Yeah. Dad promised that we’d talk. Like I said, better than I feared,” Peter confirmed.
“You’ll make it. And I hope to see you back on campus in January,” Bryce declared.
“I’m determined to make it,” Peter said. “That is one issue we have settled. My folks were talking about a year out, or even going somewhere else, but after the support I got all over campus, I definitely want to come back here. They eventually gave in, so, provided my rehabilitation goes well, I expect to be back.”
“Great,” Bryce indicated his enthusiasm about the return of Peter. “But I’m afraid I have to leave you now. Those nasty things called classes, you know. They keep popping up.”
“After sitting in here for two weeks, I’d love to be going to a class right now,” Peter said.
“You will, in January,” Bryce replied, shaking Peter’s hand and taking his leave.
As he walked down the corridor, he encountered David Simpson and Mike Sandoval arriving. David had several books under his arm, so it looked like Peter would not die of boredom before being shipped off to his home on Saturday.
As he walked to his Italian Renaissance class with Dr. Belzi, Bryce considered that they were not much closer to identifying Peter’s assailants than they were right after the attack. There were hints on that blog about allies or friends of Sean and Barry being responsible, but they were not explicit. That was another loose end which definitely needed to be tied up. If there were no resolution, Peter’s parents might change their mind about allowing him to return to U of C, for one thing. And there was the simple fact that no one, especially no gay person, could really feel safe as long as that mystery remained unsolved.
That afternoon, Dr. Belzi lectured on the constitution of the Republic of Venice during the Renaissance. This was not an all-absorbing topic of interest to Bryce, so his mind wandered, and at the end of the class, he realized he had few notes, and less understanding of the subject. He just hoped he could bone up, or that it would not show up on the final examination.
As the class ended, Marc Rimbault called, “See you at the study group this evening.” The French literature study group met on Thursdays, and Bryce did try to meet it as often as he could.
While his mind was not on the constitution of Venice, it was toying with a few threads of the mystery of the attack on Peter Boyington. He returned to his first question. Why Peter? Peter was not a known representative of the gay community on campus. Bryce was pretty certain, based on those blogs, that the intended victim from the start was Josh Young, and Peter was an unfortunate mistake. He had to get out to see Josh, and soon. Another elusive clue was that reference to the smell of cinnamon. Where had that come up before? Other than Peter’s impression, there was something else, but Bryce could not pinpoint it at this time. Was there some kind of spray, perhaps something to render the victim less able to respond? That did not seem to fit, either. And Peter said it seemed to come from one of his attackers. There were entirely too many loose ends.
That was as far as his brain could take him on that Thursday afternoon. He got out of class at 3:00, having absorbed little about Renaissance Venice, and having come to no brilliant insights about the problems of Peter Boyington either. Now, he had four hours before his French study group at seven. Remembering that he had not checked campus mail that day, Bryce returned to the Union, where the post boxes were located. There, he found awaiting him another thick envelope from Mrs. Sharon Whithers, the genealogist in Cleveland hired to research Damon’s family background. Investigating the contents of that missive, he found a cover letter explaining that the enclosed documents were all that she could locate on the Watson family, and she considered any further research pretty hopeless there in the Cleveland area. For anything earlier, there was the contact back in Rhode Island. Mrs. Whithers thanked Bryce, and submitted her bill for services.
The packet contained birth and death records for the greater part of the nineteenth century, from the arrival of Pompey Watson after the War of 1812 to the departure of Damon’s great-great-grandfather Benjamin Watson for Chicago shortly before 1900. There were also marriage records, wills, and deeds. An interesting set of documents were from the court records, indicating that various members of Damon’s family had some run-ins with the law from time to time, including a dispute over wages in 1854, a contested inheritance in 1871, and what was evidently a serious brawl with a cousin in 1898, which may have been the incentive to move from Cleveland to Chicago. Bryce would eventually turn all this over to Damon, but the vital statistics were of importance in fleshing out Damon’s application papers for membership in the Sons of the American Revolution. With these documents of the links from one generation to another, that application was now ready to be sent off to the national headquarters in Louisville.
Normally, one applied thorough a local chapter, but Bryce was not sure how to handle that, with him actually applying in Damon’s name, having made no contact with the chapter in Clifton, and not knowing whether Damon would want to be a member of the chapter back in Lincoln to which Bryce and his father and brother belonged. After all, the registrar there had never met Damon. Then, Bryce had another thought. The application required not only a proposer, but a seconder. He would be the first line signer as Damon’s proposer, of course, but he would ask his father to sign as the second line sponsor. With the signatures of two members of the prominent Winslow family, the local registrar would hesitate to created problems. After all, the documentation was sound, and there was no requirement that a photograph be submitted, so any hypothetical bias against blacks was unlikely to surface. Yes, that’s what he would do, rather than that earlier idea of submitting it directly to national headquarters. If Damon did not want to be a member of the same local chapter as Bryce, and of the Nebraska state society, he could always transfer to another.
And so, all the documents were downloaded from that special file on Bryce’s computer and sent, along with a cover letter, to Sterling Winslow in Lincoln for the next step in this process, which Bryce hoped would be completed in time to form a major part of his Christmas gifts to his partner.
Then Bryce attempted to contact Josh Young. He got a phone number and e-mail address from the LGBT web site, which listed that information for officers. But he got only Josh’s answering service. Maybe he was in class. So, Bryce left a message, asking how Josh was, and requesting that they get together soon.
That done, Bryce called Damon, who was currently in the library working on his Political Theory class, and proposed that they have their evening meal at the Coopers’ diner. “After that super job you did last night, you’re probably still exhausted,” Bryce teased.
Even in the context of irreverent comments from his partner, Damon appreciated accolades about his culinary accomplishments, and so he agreed to Bryce’s proposal. Bryce joined him in the library, and they worked on classes for the next two hours, but just before six departed for the family restaurant run by the Cooper family only a short distance off campus. As they walked to the restaurant, there was a message from Josh. “I’ll be at Pat’s this evening.” Bryce responded with his own text, “French study group at seven. I’ll contact you when I get out.”
As they entered, they were greeted by Melissa Cooper, who seated them and left menus with them after mentioning the special of the day, which was meat loaf. The two boys perused the menus while talking about their day. Then Janie appeared. Their waitress, and the daughter of the owners, was clearly not happy. As she exchanged a few comments and took their orders, her voice was flat and lifeless, while her eyes were red, indicating that she had been weeping.
After Janie departed with their orders, Bryce said to Damon, “Mark my words, it’s that guy with the tattoos who’s the villain here.”
“Are you going to ask Janie?” Damon wondered.
“No, that might embarrass her, but I’ll ask Melissa,” Bryce said, getting up and heading to the counter, where Janie’s mother presided, but at the moment was not busy.
“I could not help noticing that Janie is not happy,” Bryce got right to the point.
Melissa gave a big sigh. “Just like I thought. It’s that guy with them tattoos and always riding around on his motorcycle [she pronounced it ‘motor-sickle’] instead of in a car like decent folks. Janie found him in bed with some floozie when she went over to see him this morning. She shouldn’t be working, but she says it’ll get her mind off personal things.”
“Sorry to hear that, Melissa,” Bryce sympathized. “I won’t embarrass her, but tell Janie I asked.”
Bryce returned to the table he shared with Damon. “I knew it! Her boyfriend was cheating on her. You just can’t trust people with tattoos. Those tattoos indicate an unstable personality.”
Damon rolled his eyes.
Later at the French study group, the discussion that evening centered on Voltaire’s play Le fanatisme, ou Mahomet le prophete, literally Fanaticism, or Mohammed the Prophet, usually identified only as Mahomet. The play was written in 1736 and first produced in 1741. In it, the founder of Islam is portrayed as a complete fake, interested only in furthering his own power and in pursuing his lust for the girl Palmira. The fanaticism of his followers leads to a son (Seid) assassinating his father (Zopir), to the execution of the son for patricide by the prophet’s own second in command (Omar) in order to protect the prophet’s image, even though Omar knew that Seid was acting on Mahomet’s orders, and to the suicide of the girl.
While this was intended by Voltaire as a commentary on fanaticism in general, and in particular as a criticism of the Catholic Church, today it would be the cause of riots and murders across the Moslem world if widely produced. In fact, there were disturbances when the play was last produced in 2005 at a local setting in France. The discussion that evening was as much or more about Islam and Islamic fundamentalists as about Voltaire and his play. In keeping with the media propaganda, the more outspoken students insisted that Voltaire was being uncommonly biased against a peace loving and tolerant people.
It was Marc Rimbault who eventually got fed up, proclaiming, “Oh, stow it! I’m fed up with this mindless parroting of left wing propaganda about all the Moslems being really peace loving and tolerant. Where is the evidence for that? All the evidence points to a significant element among them being complete fanatics, torturing and killing people with whom they disagree, and the rest of the populace at least accepting them. When they gain control, their laws discriminate against everyone else. They not only treat non-Moslems like cattle or worse, but they do the same with sects of Islam with whom the majority in a particular areas disagree. If there are all those moderate peace loving Moslems out there, why don’t they speak up?”
“You’re just prejudiced against Moslems,” one student accused Marc.
“What do you expect from someone from the South?” another said with a sneer.
At that, Marc got up and left, and, after only a second’s hesitation, so did Bryce and about half the group.
Outside the meeting room, Bryce approached Marc. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you,” he said.
“You no longer surprise me,” Marc replied. “I’m really disappointed in those others, though. I thought they were educated and critical thinkers, but they’re every bit as biased as the most ignorant redneck. They’re just biased in socially acceptable ways.”
“The world is full of fools,” Bryce agreed.
When he related these events to Damon later that evening, Bryce’s partner paused, then commented, “I wonder what ever happened to Mr. Aeropostale.”