I imagined you’d want to be was a politician. I mean, you haven’t got any crazy ideas of someday being a U.S. Senator or something like that, have you?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Then why?”
“Promise you won’t hate me?”
“I could never hate you. Come on, spill.”
“Well,” she began self-consciously, “just between the two of us and that oak tree, I thought it was the surest way of getting into a good college.” She paused and then asked timidly, “Do you think I’m disgustingly selfish?”
“Hey, come on, ambition is a normal human feeling,” he answered. “I mean, if George Washington hadn’t been ambitious, we’d probably still be talking British. Dig?”
“I don’t know. Mama says men think ambition in a woman is unattractive.”
“No sweat, Laura. Nothing about you could ever be unattractive.”
To Barney’s amazement, the coach asked him to return to Camp Hiawatha—and as head counselor, at that. Then he learned that it was an honor that came with the basketball captaincy. (He was even able to wangle a job for Warren as a junior counselor at $25 for the summer.)
When he arrived to take occupancy of the camp HQ, Barney scanned the list of campers and found to his ambivalent relief that Marvin Amsterdam was not one of the returnees. Would he ever see the kid again? And if so, would it be at Wimbledon or Bellevue?
In any case, this summer he could not risk the wrath of Nordlinger; the coach’s letter would be crucial for his college application.
Like a devoted monk, Barney faithfully spent every day from four-thirty to six in the Rec Hall, working out with Leavitt, Craig Russo, and two new protégés on Nordlinger’s new five-man weave offense.
Late one evening in mid-August, his phone rang. It was Laura calling from the hospital.
“Barney, your father’s had a stroke.”
His blood froze. “How bad is it?”
“They can’t be sure till morning, but they’re pretty certain he’ll pull through. Mama’s with your mother—she won’t budge from the Waiting Room. Like she’s afraid something bad might happen if she went to sleep.”
“I’ll get Warren and shoot down right away.”
“For God’s sake, Barn,” Laura cautioned, “drive carefully.”
He woke his younger brother, then ran to commandeer Sandy Leavitt’s car. Two hours and forty-five minutes later, they swerved into the DOCTORS ONLY parking lot. The brothers sprinted upstairs toward the Cardiac Unit, where their mother tearfully greeted them. And then Luis reassured the boys that Harold was out of danger.
“He is sleeping peacefully now, and I think you should take your mother home so she can get some rest.”
“What happened?” Barney demanded.
“He had a cerebrovascular accident,” Luis explained, “that is a hemorrhage into the brain as a consequence of a clot in a cerebral artery. It is still too early to assess the damage.”
“What are the possibilities?” Barney asked anxiously.
Luis tried to be both reassuring and truthful. “It can range from minor loss of movement to complete paralysis, including aphasia. But you must understand there are times when a doctor simply cannot prognosticate. Now, I insist you take everybody home.”
“You mean you’re staying?” Barney replied.
Luis nodded. “You are his family—but I am his physician.”
* * *
Within a week, Harold was well enough to receive visitors and talk in a soft voice, the words perceptibly slurred. But by Labor Day, one thing was painfully clear—he was an invalid. He would never be able to work again.
Estelle went downtown to the Teachers’ Retirement Board and began the lengthy bureaucratic process of requesting a medical retirement for her husband. It was then that she learned the cruelty of actuarial tables. Harold had taught for an aggregate of thirteen years and was therefore entitled only to a pension that would be little more than enough to pay the winter heating bill. His Army disability
“Don’t be silly.”
“Then why?”
“Promise you won’t hate me?”
“I could never hate you. Come on, spill.”
“Well,” she began self-consciously, “just between the two of us and that oak tree, I thought it was the surest way of getting into a good college.” She paused and then asked timidly, “Do you think I’m disgustingly selfish?”
“Hey, come on, ambition is a normal human feeling,” he answered. “I mean, if George Washington hadn’t been ambitious, we’d probably still be talking British. Dig?”
“I don’t know. Mama says men think ambition in a woman is unattractive.”
“No sweat, Laura. Nothing about you could ever be unattractive.”
To Barney’s amazement, the coach asked him to return to Camp Hiawatha—and as head counselor, at that. Then he learned that it was an honor that came with the basketball captaincy. (He was even able to wangle a job for Warren as a junior counselor at $25 for the summer.)
When he arrived to take occupancy of the camp HQ, Barney scanned the list of campers and found to his ambivalent relief that Marvin Amsterdam was not one of the returnees. Would he ever see the kid again? And if so, would it be at Wimbledon or Bellevue?
In any case, this summer he could not risk the wrath of Nordlinger; the coach’s letter would be crucial for his college application.
Like a devoted monk, Barney faithfully spent every day from four-thirty to six in the Rec Hall, working out with Leavitt, Craig Russo, and two new protégés on Nordlinger’s new five-man weave offense.
Late one evening in mid-August, his phone rang. It was Laura calling from the hospital.
“Barney, your father’s had a stroke.”
His blood froze. “How bad is it?”
“They can’t be sure till morning, but they’re pretty certain he’ll pull through. Mama’s with your mother—she won’t budge from the Waiting Room. Like she’s afraid something bad might happen if she went to sleep.”
“I’ll get Warren and shoot down right away.”
“For God’s sake, Barn,” Laura cautioned, “drive carefully.”
He woke his younger brother, then ran to commandeer Sandy Leavitt’s car. Two hours and forty-five minutes later, they swerved into the DOCTORS ONLY parking lot. The brothers sprinted upstairs toward the Cardiac Unit, where their mother tearfully greeted them. And then Luis reassured the boys that Harold was out of danger.
“He is sleeping peacefully now, and I think you should take your mother home so she can get some rest.”
“What happened?” Barney demanded.
“He had a cerebrovascular accident,” Luis explained, “that is a hemorrhage into the brain as a consequence of a clot in a cerebral artery. It is still too early to assess the damage.”
“What are the possibilities?” Barney asked anxiously.
Luis tried to be both reassuring and truthful. “It can range from minor loss of movement to complete paralysis, including aphasia. But you must understand there are times when a doctor simply cannot prognosticate. Now, I insist you take everybody home.”
“You mean you’re staying?” Barney replied.
Luis nodded. “You are his family—but I am his physician.”
* * *
Within a week, Harold was well enough to receive visitors and talk in a soft voice, the words perceptibly slurred. But by Labor Day, one thing was painfully clear—he was an invalid. He would never be able to work again.
Estelle went downtown to the Teachers’ Retirement Board and began the lengthy bureaucratic process of requesting a medical retirement for her husband. It was then that she learned the cruelty of actuarial tables. Harold had taught for an aggregate of thirteen years and was therefore entitled only to a pension that would be little more than enough to pay the winter heating bill. His Army disability
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