Author's Notes:
In an effort to get to the exciting stuff, this chapter is a set of vignettes covering the next sixteen months in Daniel's life. If I don't mention it, assume he ate, slept, went to class, earned all As, went to Scouts, watched Pete's ball games—the usual events of a normal life.
Geek: probable first use in print in reference to a mathematician (as opposed to a sideshow freak) was in Robert A. Heinlein's short story "The Year of the Jackpot" published in Galaxy Science Fiction's March 1952 issue
NCR Century 300: For photos and info, see: /html/ncr_century_
JD: juvenile delinquent
Bob Taylor is a real person. To my knowledge, no teenager successfully scammed him.
Mizzou: nickname of the University of Missouri
Boris and Natasha: not Sally Kellerman and Dave Thomas, but the original cartoon characters voiced by June Foray and Paul Frees
Jussipaita: /app/thumbnail?img= kuvat/anniina_neuleet_ &waitfor=true&width=170&height=250&id=155051&hash=ac7ac0c5c95044658ebe2e69172e08ca
Ferdinand Junior High School
Monday, January 15, 1973
Day -10,578
"Hey, Geekface—come here!"
Daniel, who was walking to his fifth period history class with Pete, ignored the command that rang through the hall. Other students, either not as brave nor as foolhardy, chose that moment to walk faster or in a different direction than the boy and his friend, leaving the two alone in the hall to face the speaker.
"That means you, Sutterfield!"
Pete hesitated then asked Daniel sotto voce if they should stop.
I didn't want to… but I knew Duckworth was the sort of jerk who would grab me by the shoulder, thus wrinkling my dress shirt… so I came to a stop and slowly turned around….
Behind Daniel stood the class JD: Stanley Duckworth, six feet, two inches tall, two hundred and six pounds, a thin fringe of hair darkening his upper lip with a thicker one overhanging his eyes, his face pock-marked, and his teeth stained by colas and cigs. Duckworth's family had moved to Ferdinand from Kansas City the year before; people said their move was only two steps ahead of a felony arrest warrant from the city police. Duckworth was well aware of his reputation, and he made certain he dressed and acted in a way to enhance his infamy. His hair was always too long for the school's dress code. His jeans were tight enough to show the shape of the hardpack Marlboro box in his hip pocket—also against school rules, and his behavior toward the teachers was so disrespectful that he spent more time in the principal's office than the next four students on Principal Jennings' trouble-maker list combined.
Two minions, one rail thin, the other resembling a flesh-colored Hulk, neither capable of independent thought, flanked Duckworth. They occupied the second and third ranks on the trouble-maker list and functioned as yes-men to Duckworth's schemes and plans. All three towered above Daniel. Pete, true to the promise he had made back in third grade, took his place next to his friend.
"Don't go getting us thumped," he whispered to Daniel. "I'm wearing a new shirt from my grandma and I haven't written the thank-you for it yet."
Daniel merely stared up into Duckworth's face.
Never let them see you're afraid… it only makes them bolder… best to look bored until I find out what he wants….
Duckworth poked his finger above the silver clip of Daniel's tie, a red silk rep that had been a Christmas gift from his parents.
"Nice tie, dweeb," he told him. "You working in the office this semester?"
"Yes, I am," Daniel replied. "I believe you saw me there on Tuesday and Thursday last week when Mrs. Coughlin sent you to the office."
The snide reference to his mental slowness slid past the hoodlum.
"You can get at the grade reports, right?"
Pete jerked at the question. Daniel held himself still and kept his gaze centered on Duckworth's mustache.
"Yes, I can," he replied. "Why do you ask?"
Duckworth's laugh sent a foul puff of stale smoke and halitosis into Daniel's face.
"'Why do I ask?'" he repeated, straining his voice an octave higher. "Pray tell, kind sir—why do I ask?"
His minions laughed as Duckworth leaned closer to Daniel.
"I ask because I want to know, Geekface. Now, can you get at the records here and the ones on they keep on that computer in the main office?"
Daniel blinked at the question.
Now I get it… he's going to demand that I improve his school transcript—make him look like a great student… as much as I am gratified that he recognizes my abilities—
"Don't bat your eyes at me," Duckworth ordered. "You know what I'm driving at. Now, can you do it or do I have to pound you until you're nothing but a greasy spot on the tile?"
Daniel glanced at Pete.
He'd gone pale, but he wasn't shaking yet… that didn't start until after I replied to Duckworth's demand….
"No."
Duckworth leaned back on his heels, his face slack with astonishment.
"What?"
"I refuse," Daniel said. "I will not. What you desire will not happen. However you wish it said, I'll say it in that way. Your grades will not be improved by me."
The minions emitted two harmonious growls as they surged toward Daniel. Duckworth stuck out his hands to hold them back.
"Okay, dweeb," the hoodlum snarled, "guess I'll have to—"
Daniel interrupted him.
"Now, what I will do for you," he said as calmly as he could manage, "is change the few decent grades you have to Fs on the district's mainframe. I'll follow that feat by hacking into the city's computers and raising your family's property taxes by several hundred percent, then I'll create a couple dozen traffic tickets for every adult in your family—all dated so they appear long overdue, and I'll throw in an arrest warrant or two each to cap things off."
Daniel raised up on his toes so he could lean into Duckworth's face.
"Would you prefer your father to be charged with Domestic Disturbance, Assault and Battery, or Bank Robbery? Bank Robbery is a Federal crime, which means the FBI knocking on your door."
Duckworth's brow creased with puzzlement.
"What?" he repeated.
Daniel faked a loud, long laugh.
"I'm speaking as slowly as I can, Stanley," he said. "Do try to keep up. Now, if that's not enough fun for you, I can also log into the Children Services system and get you removed to a group home—someplace out in the sticks where they wake you before dawn to muck out horse stalls and milk dairy cows then they feed you swill for breakfast before locking you in a classroom until it's chore time again. What with the sleep deprivation, the nicotine withdrawal, and the armed guards, I'm sure you will have a wonderful time."
The thug crinkled his nose as he tried to wrap his mind around the enormity of the smaller boy's threat. Daniel used the thug's uncertainty to press his own advantage. He scowled as fiercely as he could then he glared straight into Duckworth's eyes.
"Yes," he said, "I know so much about computers that I can screw up your life from now until the day you die and, if you ever approach me again, I will do all this and more."
Duckworth gaped at the boy for a moment longer then he snapped his fingers at his minions.
"C'mon, guys. This was a waste of time. Should have known the dweeb couldn't handle a simple request."
With that said, Duckworth spun on his heel and headed for the far end of the hall, his two minions following close behind him. Pete hissed out a long sigh as Daniel felt his spine turn to jelly from delayed shock.
"I thought we were gonna die," Pete said.
Daniel managed a weak smile.
"Me, too. Thanks for standing by me."
Pete shrugged off the thanks.
"No problem," he replied, his voice quavering the first word. "Thanks for keeping us in one piece."
Over their head, a hall bell began its wind-up to ringing the tardy alarm. Daniel and Pete turned and ran down the hall, making it through the classroom door just as the bell finished its clamor.
Pete asked me later if I really could ruin Duckworth's live like I threatened… I had to tell him no, but that I intended to learn how before the semester was over… turned out it only took me three weeks….
Ferdinand Junior High School
Monday, April 23, 1973
Day -10,480
The news raced through the halls of the school: Steven Nemo, the eighth-grader who had lost his run for student body president by only two votes, the leader of the school's championship 3-D chess club, the originator of the catch phrase 'What's the Word, Ferd?', the boy voted "Most Popular," "Most Likely to Succeed," and "The Boy We Most Want to Kiss" in the school's yearbook, was dead.
Rumors of how Steven had died flew among the student body between classes and via hand-passed notes in class. By the fourth period, it was settled that Steven had died in a surfing accident on the North Shore of Oahu during Easter Break the week before.
"That's in Hawaii," one student told a group of his friend. "I heard he was visiting his grandparents at their pineapple ranch. They makes millions selling fruit to Dole; that's how Steven could afford all those cool threads." Nearby, a girl stood by her locker and sobbed, "At least he died doing something he loved." Her girlfriends, their eyes also wet with tears, could only nod their agreement with her wise words.
Halfway through the fourth period, a long buzzer signaled a message from the school office. Via the speakers mounted in each classroom, Mr. Jennings, the principal, confirmed the bad news.
"Ferdinand Junior High will be a sadder place," he told the students and faculty," without Steven's smile and his school spirit. Please keep his family in your thoughts and prayers during this trying time."
In the school office, Mr. Jennings turned his microphone off then turned from the Public Address System controls.
"If I ever get my hands," he growled, "on the bastard who created Steven Nemo and kept that hoax running all these months, I'll expel him—not just from here, but from every damn school in the district."
Mrs. Baker, the school secretary, tsked at his vulgarities.
"Language, Mr. Jennings," she reminded him."Personally, I think it was those Catholic students over at St. Leo's Preparatory. Nemo always sounded Italian to me, and you never know about Papists."
At a small table in the corner, forgotten by both adults, the student office assistant, a bespectacled ninth-grader in a starched shirt and a muted blue paisley tie, hid a wide grin behind his Algebra III textbook.
It was all Pete's idea… he came up with the stunt when I told him I now knew how to access the student database… the two data terminals in the school office are linked to the school district's NCR Century 300 computer via a dedicated telephone line… using either terminal, I can access any record I want… Mrs. Lundquist, the school's data entry clerk, keeps her account name and password on a three-by-five card in her top left desk drawer… I used it a couple of times—until I set up my own account with full administrator privileges… it wasn't that hard...
Using his knowledge, it was a simple task for Daniel to create a transfer student and enroll him at the junior high school.
I named Steven Nemo after Odysseus—you know, from when he blinded the Cyclops— and Pete chose his classes and activities… Steven was what we'd be if we could dump our faults—smart, daring, handsome, popular… I made sure the sections he 'took' were over-crowded and had teachers not known for good record-keeping… we signed him up for Spanish club and Key Club… made him back-up quarterback for our football team, the Ferdinand Bulls… when we decided Steven should run for class president, I took Mrs. Baker's key ring from her desk and I traced the school's keys onto cardstock… then I cut my own set of keys from those cardboard templates at Kinlock Hardware while the man who usually makes keys was at lunch… the night before electioneering began, Pete and I went to the school and plastered the hallways with posters and banners touting Nemo for President… we didn't leave a single space open for the other candidates…
"Sutterfield, you know anything about who faked this Nemo character ?"
Daniel looked up from his textbook.
"Sir," he told the principal, "I don't know a single thing about that."
Mollified by the boy's response, the principal left the room. Since Mrs. Baker was still muttering about Papists, Daniel returned to his math book.
It's all in how you answer the question… if Mr. Jennings only knew how much work it was to keep the deception going… Pete and I were aware that the entire administration knew Steven was a fake, but they couldn't figure out how he put his posters up or managed to keep his records in the district database… of course, that was me working from other data terminals like the one at Cedar Street Elementary… there's a dead drop in the teacher parking lot so I'm there a lot… I noticed that the janitor who works there in the evening leaves the main door unlocked while he cleans the offices… it's easy to sneak in when he's busy then log into the computer system while he's working somewhere else… I also discovered Telnet—it's an network protocol that allows a user to connect and control a remote computer via its TCP port 23—no direct cables or phone lines required—just a terminal connected to a computer that has a network connection to the network to which the computer you want to control is connected… turns out the computer Dad used at work was connected to Arpanet, the military's research network… and the school district's computer was connected to a mainframe at the University of Missouri that also was connected to Arpanet… once I figured all this out, I could update Steven's records simply by going to work with Dad on Saturdays… after he recovered from his heart attacks, Dad would go in on the weekend so he could catch up on projects that slipped because he was absent… he'd sign me in using his account so I could play Hunt the Wumpus or Lunar Lander—but I'd really be updating Steven's records and exploring whatever other computers I could get into… Mr. Jennings never figured any of this out… neither did Dad… while I was supposed to be playing games, I managed to get into the Social Security database, the Pentagon's personnel files, IBM's research facility in Yorktown NY, CERN's laboratory in Geneva, the Palo Alto Research Center—I had Bob Taylor, manager of the Computer Science Laboratory there, convinced I was a grad student in computer systems at Mizzou, but I couldn't talk him into sending me a Xerox Alto for beta-testing… oh, well….
Amtrak Rail Station
Raton, New Mexico
Tuesday, July 17, 1973
Day -10,395
Not many parents would structure their entire vacation around a train arrival, but mine did… we left Ferdinand Saturday morning and drove west on I-70… We spent the night in a motel in Colby, Kansas… Sunday and Monday we did stuff in Denver—the history museum for me, the botanical gardens for Mom, the Coors brewery for Dad—I asked the tour guide about product profit margins and he couldn't answer… we also toured the U.S. Mint… Mom and Dad snickered all the way through dinner afterward at the fact that the government had allowed them inside the U.S. Mint…sometimes, it's hard to believe my parents are adults….
Early Tuesday morning, the family left Denver and drove south to Raton, New Mexico so Daniel could greet the arrival of the Southwest Chief, the Amtrak train that ran from Chicago to Los Angeles. The train was carrying, among other passengers, Ensio Koskinen and his fellow Finnish Scouts, Raton being the closest train station to Philmont Ranch.
It took several letters and two long-distance phone calls to arrange this… Dad spoke to Ensio's Scoutmaster the day before we left home to confirm our schedules… at 11:52 a.m., the train will arrive and I'll finally get to meet Ensio in person—assuming we don't hit a mule deer on the highway or have a blow out or something else go wrong….
Despite Daniel's worrying, the trip south went smoothly…
… except for my father's insistence that we stop in Colorado Springs so he could take a photo of Mom and me by the gate leading to NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command at Cheyenne Mountain… instead of "Cheese!" to make us smile, Dad shouted "Spies!" then he and Mom started doing Boris and Natasha imitations… I am so glad no one else was around… maybe it's good for my parents to get this out of their systems so they can be serious for the rest of the year… but it sure is embarrassing….
By 11:45 a.m., the Sutterfields were on the platform of Raton's train station. The depot was a one-story building made of brick and yellow stucco in the Spanish Mission Revival style with wide arches framing the platform. The only other people on the platform with the family were the baggage handlers and the drivers of the buses from Philmont. Daniel was pacing while his parents sat on a wooden bench, his mother fanning herself with a train schedule. Next to her lay Daniel's gift to his friend.
It's a flint knife… Mitch Lamb, a friend of Mr. Clemens, my assistant Scoutmaster, makes them for his hobby… he takes a slab of obsidian and shapes it with stones and deer antlers until it is thin and sharp enough to shave with… then he attaches it to a bone or antler handle just like the Indians did before the Europeans arrived with their steel tools and knives… I watched him do a demonstration at summer camp where he made a knife from scratch then skinned a rabbit with it… I asked if he made special orders… when he said he did, I asked him to make a knife as authentic as possible because it was for my friend in Finland… Mr. Lamb used rainbow obsidian and a deer leg bone for its handle with real deer sinews binding the handle around the knife's tang—that's the part that isn't sharp and fits into the handle… he even made a deer hide belt sheath for it… if the knife were an authentic relic, it would be worth hundreds, but he only charged me thirty bucks—still a lot of money, but my friend is worth it… Mom didn't think a knife was the proper sort of gift… she said giving a friend a knife will cut the friendship… I'm not superstitious and Ensio is into sailing and camping so I figure he'll really like it… Mom filled a big tin with her ginger cookies—just in case….
Eight minutes later, a train whistle announced the approach of the Southwest Chief. Daniel watched the train slow to a stop next to the depot. The doors of the passenger cars opened and dozens of boys in khaki shorts, tan shirts, and neckerchiefs rushed onto the platform.
Daniel stepped back to give them room.
I knew Ensio would find me… and, just a minute later, I heard my name then he came running up… Ensio had his entire troop with him—everyone wanted to meet the American penpal… unfortunately, we only had about fifteen minutes to talk before he had to board his bus for Philmont, but it was worth it… we'd been writing back and forth for over four years and how many kids actually meet their pen pals in person, anyway? I met Mr. Juhani Koskinen, Ensio's father, and all the kids in his troop… I introduced my parents… Mom handed over her cookie tin and everyone except for Ensio lit out for the bus to eat them… I felt bad for a moment then Mom reached into her purse and pulled out a smaller tin just for Ensio… my Mom is great… Ensio told me the trains in Finland are nicer than ours… I told him our airlines are the best way to travel—not that I've ever been on a jet, but someone has to stick up for our country… I told him I envied him for getting to spend two weeks hiking at Philmont, which wasn't really true… Ensio told me he was jealous of me going to the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas—world-famous places, he called them… he had a gift for me, too… it was a hand-knit pullover sweater, pale gray from the bottom up to the chest, then there was a diamond pattern in dark red and the shoulders were solid red… even though it was over eighty degrees outside, I put it on… it was wonderfully soft… Ensio said his grandmother made it from a traditional pattern… and he liked my gift so much, he immediately hung it from his belt… he promised to send me pictures of him at Philmont and I promised him the same from my vacation… then it was over and he had to board his bus and leave….
Daniel waved until he could no longer see Ensio then he walked to his parents, who were waiting for him in the shade of the depot's arches. Mrs. Sutterfield complimented him on the sweater, and Mr. Sutterfield clapped him on the shoulder as though he understood how his son was feeling.
Back when I started writing Ensio, it was only so I could get letters to Alla… but, if Mr. Koskinen had told me there was room for one more, I'd have been on that bus in a heartbeat—even thought I hate primitive camping… that's how much meeting Ensio for real meant to me….
To hide his damp eyes and suddenly stuffy nose, Daniel slowly pulled the sweater over his head.
"Can you open the truck, Dad?" he asked. "I should put this in my suitcase."
When his parents stood up, Daniel followed them to the car. Mr. Sutterfield opened the passenger door for his wife before joining Daniel by the rear of the car.
"That wasn't long enough—was it, son?" he asked.
Daniel shook his head, unwilling to risk hearing his voice shake while answering.
"Maybe, some day," Mr. Sutterfield told him, "you and Ensio won't live so far away from each other. Stranger things have happened in life."
Daniel nodded again as he put the sweater into his suitcase. When he had closed the truck, his father put an arm around Daniel's shoulder.
"I'm glad this worked out," he told his son. "It may be the high point of my trip—seeing you with your friend."
Daniel leaned into the hug and nodded again.
"Thanks for getting me here, Dad."
"You're welcome, son."
The two of them got into the car, Daniel in the back seat behind his mother, then Mr. Sutterfield started the engine.
"All aboard! Now departing on Interstate Twenty-five," he announced. "Next stop, Roswell, where the aliens crashed, then Carlsbad Caverns, Phoenix, the Grand Canyon, and the Pieces de Resistance—America'sHoover Dam."
He turned his head to leer at Mrs. Sutterfield.
"Natasha," he asked, "you haf bomb with you?"
Mrs. Sutterfield grinned back at him.
"I haf it right here, darlink," she replied. "Should be enuff to blow up all ov Hoofer Dam."
Daniel ducked his head so no one outside the car could see him. It was going to be a long, long road trip.
Ferdinand Men's Shop
Saturday, December 22, 1973
Day -10,237
The day was drear, overcast with spitting snow. Mr. Sutterfield drove Daniel into town for his first day of work with Mr. Erogov—not because of the weather, but due to his son's decision to wear his suit.
I've been to the shop three times—once to buy this suit, once to pick it up when it was ready, and once to have the pants and sleeves let out because I grew… each time, Mr. Egerov was wearing dress slacks with a shirt and tie, so I think it's a smart move for my first day if I am in my suit….
Mr. Sutterfield approved his son's decision with a nod and a grin.
"Always a good idea to use the employer's product," he told Daniel. "That's why we have a McKenna-made space capsule in our garage."
"Yeah, Dad," Daniel said with a chuckle, "right next to the McKenna jet Mom uses for errands."
"That's your Mom," he replied. "Fastest errand-runner in the west."
"Meep-meep," Daniel said in his best Roadrunner voice.
Father and son kept up the stream of nonsense until they arrived at the tailor's shop. Mr. Sutterfield offered to walk in with Daniel, but Daniel turned down his offer. Although it was fifteen minutes until the shop opened, the front door was unlocked. Daniel knocked, to be polite, then he let himself in. Mr. Erogov was behind the counter, counting the day's starting cash into the ornate brass cash register. He looked up when the door opened.
"My new helper," he greeted the boy. "I see you know the value of a good first impression."
Daniel stayed by the door.
I've been here before," he reminded the older man.
"Yes, but as a client and the son of a friend— never as my employee."
Mr. Eregov closed the register's drawer then he came out from behind the counter. He beckoned the boy closer then he walked a circle around him, humming as he moved.
"I'll front you two pairs of slacks off the rack," he told Daniel, "then take them out of your paycheck over the next three months. That way, you won't notice the deduction too much. Don't worry about wearing the jacket while working; it will only hinder your movements when I teach you to measure and fit."
"What about ties?" Daniel asked.
The tailor snorted a laugh.
"Haven't I sold you half a dozen ties already, young man?"
Daniel reddened.
I've bought eight, but I don't think he was truly counting… I paid for them with money from LPD… I told my parents I was helping out with Pete at his uncle's business—not a real job requiring a work permit, but sometimes Mr. Bennett would slip me some cash for my efforts… I'm easing them into the idea that I not only work for a corporation, I own thirty-three percent of it… .
"Dress slacks and shirt with tie will suffice, Daniel," Mr. Eregov told him. "Wear the jacket to the shop then hang it in the back room. I'm sure you will find plenty of hangers to chose from. Should you want or need more clothing, there's an employee discount of fifteen percent."
Daniel nodded.
"That is more than generous, Mr. Eregov."
"I think so. Now, your father said you are available Saturday mornings and after school on Mondays and Thursdays.
Daniel nodded again.
Mom is taking over the radio watch… I told Dad I had chess club and tutoring the other three weekdays, although I'm really at LDP… and I had to drop out of Scouts to free up Saturdays… I'll miss doing stuff with the guys, but I won't miss the camping… no, not at all….
He smiled at the thought.
"You're happy about working after school?"
"No, sir," Daniel said as he lost the smile. "Well, actually, sir—I am happy about working here. I expect to learn a lot."
Mr. Eregov raised both eyebrows as he peered at the boy.
"Tailoring is hard work, Daniel. It's rough on the knees and the back and the eyes and the hands—but, then, what work isn't?"
He turned toward the back of the shop then beckoned Daniel to follow him into the workroom. The same elegant organization that ruled the shop also ruled the workroom. Bolts of fabric lay in orderly stacks. Spools of thread were stored on pegboards for easy access, and shelves and bins held other items Daniel could not name. Incandescent lights both overhead and clamped to worktables lit the room. The scents of wool and dust and chalk tickled Daniel's nose as he leaned close to a stack of cut fabric on a work table.
Dark gray pinstripe… and a rougher fabric that looks like canvas, but tightly woven… dark gray felt… a maroon silk… must be for a custom jacket….
Mr. Eregov pointed out a wall peg with a wooden hanger; Daniel took it as a hint to remove his jacket.
"Now, young man," the tailor told him, "your duties: you will keep the shop tidy. When a client removes a jacket from its hanger to inspect it or unfolds a pocket square to admire its pattern, you will make sure the item is returned to its proper position, but not when the client can see you doing so. Never make a client think he is inept, even if he can't refold a square without a diagram. You will also learn the names of all the fabrics, notions, types of thread, padding, accessories, and their use and proper place, both on the body and in this shop. Ask questions when I am not busy in the shop. Keep your hands clean at all times. I don't think I have to tell you to respect the clients."
"No, sir."
"As soon as you know what is what, I will show you how to measure a client. I will also show you how to make a pattern and how to correctly proportion it to the measurements you have taken. You will practice on paper until I know your hands will not destroy good fabric. Do you know how to hand-sew?"
"I can replace a button," Daniel offered.
"That is not sewing. Can you use a sewing machine, a serger, or a press?"
Daniel shook his head as he wondered if his ignorance would end his employment. A slow smile spread across the tailor's face.
"Good," he announced, "you have no bad habits to unlearn. Once you know and understand the fabrics, and the styles, and the patterns, and the measuring, and the sewing, I will let you hem slacks. When you can hem slacks to my satisfaction, I will let you adjust waistbands. When you can adjust waistbands adequately, I will let you alter seams. When you can alter seams without client complaint, I will let you adjust shoulders and modify lapels. When you can do all of that to my standards, then I will let you attempt a suit—for yourself. That way, you can enjoy the workmanship or regret the mess your hands and your brains have produced."
Surprised by the number of things he was required to learn, and overwhelmed by the importance Mr. Eregov placed on them, Daniel could only say, "Wow. I hope I can do all that to your satisfaction, Mr. Eregov."
A slow smile spread across the tailor's face.
"I've no doubt but that you will do fine. Now, it is time to open for business."
Banquet Room
Ferdinand Elks Lodge
Friday, February 9, 1974
Day -10,461
It may have been the last place Daniel expected his parents to be in attendance: the hall at the Elks Lodge for the Ferdinand Business Council's Awards Banquet.
But they're here, Mom in a bright red suit, Dad in a black suit and tie, me in the suit I made to show Mr. Eregov I had been well taught by him—charcoal solid wool, two-button, wide lapels and a slight flare to the slacks… just a hint of current fashion, but not so much that I look modish….
The Sutterfields were at a round table with Pete and his parents, and his aunt.
Bonnie Bennett, née Eigen… she was one of our first hires—office manager and "eyes" for Mr. Bennett… some day, computers will make it so the blind won't need people to read for them; they will be able to scan all their paperwork and have it read back to them… to Pete's and my embarrassment, Pete's uncle and Miss Eigen hit it off right away… they ate lunch together… went out for dinner together… then to movies and picnics… finally, Mr. Bennett proposed… at least he didn't ask her in the office… I'm all for romance, but coming around a corner at LPD and finding them kissing was sort of gross….
Mrs. Bennett, like her husband Lucas, knew not to mention the boys' involvement with the business.
Pete and I told her we wanted to surprise our parents with the money to pay for college when the time came to start applying… she said she thought that was wonderful and we were the best boys ever and no way would she let the cat out of the bag… I like her a lot, but she talks in clichés….
Daniel dug into his chicken Kiev, baked potato, and mixed vegetables.
The food's okay… and the waiter did bring me a teapot and a Darjeeling tea bag when I asked… but we're not here for the food… we're here to see Mr. Lucas Bennett of LPD, Incorporated receive the "Ferdinand Businessman of the Year" award….
Both of Daniel's parents had questioned the necessity of their attendance when the invitation arrived in the mail.
" I like Sam and Janet," his father had said, "but I barely know Sam's brother. Why would he ask us to something like this?"
Mrs. Sutterfield shrugged in reply. When Mr. Sutterfield tossed the card on a stack of come-ons and fliers that he would later throw away, Daniel decided he had to speak up.
"I think we're invited," he told his parents, "because Pete and I had something to do with Mr. Bennett starting his business."
Both parents turned toward him.
"You did?" his mother asked.
Daniel told them how Mr. Bennett had ordered "an electronic device" to assist him with public telephones then had decided to start making them himself because of its poor quality.
"Pete and I told him it was a great idea and that he should go for it. He told us once that he never would have attempted it without our inspiration."
Mrs. Sutterfield pursed her lips as she peered at her son. Mr. Sutterfield raised an eyebrow.
"Maybe he said 'instigation'," Daniel said, hoping a joke would help convince them. "I forget. Either way, I think that's the reason we're invited."
I'm not sure why they acted suspicious, but we're here so I don't suppose it matters… and Mr. Bennett is heading to the podium to receive his award… this is so cool—sure, it's not me or Pete getting the recognition, but that will come… we won't be minors forever….
On the dais at the front of the hall, the president of the Ferdinand Business Council had offered his arm to guide Lucas Bennett. The honoree accepted the assistance. At the podium, the president introduced Mr. Bennett then he presented the award.
It's a plaque… what's neat about it is that, under all the verbiage on its face, they repeated everything in Braille… Mr. Bennett's running his fingers over the cells….
Those attending watched as Lucas Bennett cleared his throat in preparation to make his acceptance speech.
"I'm sure you'll be happy to know," he said as he held up the award with his fingers resting on the Braille characters, "that my name is spelled correctly."
Many people, including Daniel and Pete, chuckled at the quip.
Mr. Bennett then thanked the Council for the honor bestowed on him…
"As you know from my introduction," Mr. Bennett continued, "LPD produces consumer and custom electronics. We employ seventy-eight people at our facility north of town. It's light-years away from the kitchen table in my apartment where the idea for the company was conceived, and I'd be seriously selfish if I didn't give credit for my success where it is due. Somewhere out there is my wife Bonnie. Honey, could you stand up?"
Pete's aunt grinned as she got to her feet. Her smile grew as Mr. Bennett told how she had created order out of chaos as the company's office manager.
"Without her support," he told the crowd, "and her love, and also her ability to drive much better than I do, I would not be here this evening."
Pete's aunt laughed at the joke as she took her seat. Mr. Bennett then thanked the company's employees, the customers who entrusted their orders to LPD, and the investors and banks who had, as he put it, "took a look at a blind man and saw him as successful and not as disabled."
"But," he continued, "there are two people who deserve my thanks more than even my banker, although maybe not quite as much as my wife. Back in August of 1971, I had ordered an electronic dialer to help me with my use of telephones."
Pete caught Daniel's attention so he could grin at him.
Yeah, nice use of euphemism there….
"When it arrived, it turned out to be an overpriced piece of junk—not at all what I thought I had paid for. Out of frustration, I expressed my intent to build a better product."
He paused for a moment, then he said, "Pete, Daniel—you two had better be here because I want to embarrass you in front of all these people."
The boys rose to their feet.
"My nephew, Pete Bennett, and his friend, Daniel Sutterfield, were visiting me on that day, and they heard me vent my frustration at that piece of junk. To their everlasting credit, both of them immediately applauded the idea. They didn't see me as some blind guy cheated by a sleazy mail order company. They saw me as someone who could turn an idea into a successful business, and their enthusiasm gave me the push I needed to turn my intent into reality. Pete, Daniel—from the bottom of my heart, thank you."
Daniel felt his cheeks warm. Across the table, Pete's were turning red as the crowd clapped their approval. Both sets of parents joined the applause with huge grins on their faces.
When the applause quieted, Mr. Bennett then said, "Guys, if you're still standing, you can sit down now."
To the accompaniment of laughter, the two boys followed the instruction. Mr. Bennett then finished his speech with a promise to keep his company growing and hiring thanks to the strong business climate provided by the Ferdinand Business Council. Daniel sat back and imagined himself giving such a speech.
Some day, that will be me receiving awards... and I'll speak just like Mr. Bennett did—short, sincere, and humble… boy, won't that be great…?