Richie groaned loudly and dropped his head with a resounding thud on his
government book.
"Would you like me to kill you now?" John offered unpacking his computer and setting it up on his desk.
"Yes, please," Richie answered. "My sword is in my closet."
"Just give me a minute to get this plugged in."
Richie grinned inwardly; one of these days John was going to look in Richie's closet for the sword and find it. But for now he still thought it was a joke. "You want lunch?" Richie asked closing his book. "I'm starved."
"Maybe because you're studying before classes even start," John suggested. "Why bother?"
"Because this is what Professor Conroy likes. If you can answer questions first day, he's impressed. You keep it up; he'll bump your grade if you need it. If I need it, I gotta get it."
"Man, I swear Coach got you on the team to boost the GPA average and that's all."
"Hey I would'a done more if I could'a. I was going crazy last season not being able to play cause of my dumb wrist. But I practiced my butt off this summer and am better than ever. I just hope you guys can keep up with me."
"I saw you at practice yesterday," John reminded him. "You were on fire. Didn't miss a single play all night. The Sooners had better watch their backs; we're beating them this year."
"Damn straight," Richie agreed. "So about lunch."
. . . . . .
The first day of school never bothered Richie. To him it was just like any other day. But this year he was nervous. He was starting his major specific classes and had a lingering fear that he wasn't cut out to be a lawyer. Sure he had always had a fast tongue, had been able to easily talk his way in and out of trouble, and he had always been able to twist words to his advantage. all the makings of a great lawyer, but most lawyers didn't have criminal record, even if Richie's was only juvenile. He slumped down in his chair and tapped his pen on his desk. The girl next to him gave him an annoyed look and he smiled apologetically and stopped.
"What is the purpose of dialectical materialism?" Professor Conroy asked walking into the classroom and laying his brief case on the desk. The class stared blankly at him and Richie slowly raised his hand. "Yes, Mr."
"Ryan, Richie Ryan."
"Yes, Richard, the purpose of dialectical materialism?"
"To improve the human condition."
"Very good." To Richie's pleasure Professor Conroy looked slightly impressed. "How?"
"What do you mean?"
"What does dialectical materialism strive to create?"
"Um," Richie thought for a second. "Homosoveticus?"
The professor smiled slightly. "Which is?"
"The ideal man," Richie answered happily as the information flooded into his memory. "Rational, enlighten and predicable."
"Very good, Richard, I'm impressed. I'm also impressed that the rest of the class has such good memories, why isn't anyone writing this down?" The class scrambled for pens and notebooks. "Who founded the theory?" he continued. "Anyone?" Richie looked around himself and slowly his hand went back up. Professor Conroy smiled. "Richard?"
"Carl Marx."
"Right again. And what did he base his theory on?"
Richie looked at him. "Oh, me? Darwin's theory of survival of the fittest."
"Very good. The rest of you would do well to follow Richard's example." Richie tried not to blush and he concentrated hard on his notes. Even though he was answering all the questions right he wanted to keep up with the information being covered. "We are far from crating Homosoveticus, man, and I use the term generally, is not predictable. For instance out of the fifty of you; eleven had been arrested at least once, eight of you more than twice, two over three times, and one of you has been arrested eight times and spent a year in a juvenile detention center. Unpredictably, you all chose law as your profession." Richie couldn't help but feel the professor was looking directly at him as he ran down the statistics of the class. Richie kept his head bent over his notes for the rest of class as he scribbled down every word said. "We'll end the lecture there today," the professor decided. "Everyone get a syllabus on your way out, pay special attention to the offer at the end."
Richie got up and grabbed a syllabus on his way out the door. He flipped to the last page and read the offer. His head shot up and he scanned the hall spotting Professor Conroy. Richie ran after him. "Professor Conroy! Wait up!"
"Can I help you?" the professor asked turning around.
"You're offer," Richie panted holding up the papers in his hand. "I want it."
"You want it? You don't need it. You know the material."
"But can I pass the tests? Look if you want someone to take notes to put on file in the library, I'm your man. I'm obsessive about it. My notes are practically lecture transcripts."
"I'll tell you what. I have a class now. I want you to meet me in my office at eleven thirty, can you do that?"
Richie nodded. "Yeah, not a problem."
At eleven thirty Richie entered Professor Conroy's outer office. The secretary looked at him expectantly. "Name?" she finally demanded.
"Richie Ryan."
"Not on the list," she shook her head.
"How about Richard Ryan?"
She looked at her list. "Go on in."
"Thanks," he mumbled heading for the office. He knocked lightly on the door as he opened it. "Professor Conroy?"
"Richard, come in, have a seat. I was just going over your file."
"Oh?"
"You have a four point o, why do you want to be my 'court reporter' as it were?"
"Because I need all the points I can get. If I do the notes the five points per test can really help me. I have the four point o now and I'll bust my ass to do anything to keep it."
"Then you might like a little proposition I have for you," the professor told him.
"Proposition?"
"I make it a habit to know all my students' pasts, especially the trouble makers." Richie shifted in his seat. "You aren't my first convict to teach. And I am proud to say there are all fine lawyers. But I offered them all what I'm about to offer you."
"Okay."
"I will guarantee you an A for the year."
"What do I have to do?" Richie asked perking up.
"All you have to do is get at least a B on every test and be at every class."
Richie nodded. "And?"
"Guest lecture my juvenile law classes."
"As in researching the topic TA- type lectures or I was there and it sucked- type lectures?"
"Personal experience."
"I don't know; that's all kinda personal. Truth be known I'm not thrilled you know about it."
"I'm not going to dock you for not doing it, but I'll make it worth your while if you do. In the mean time, you can take the notes."
"Thanks." Richie stood to leave. "Hey, if I do, do the lecture thing. Is it a B before or after the five points?"
"Before. I'm not that generous."
"Right," Richie nodded. "Thanks." He left.
. . . . . .
"Are you going to do it?" Greg asked that Saturday afternoon when Richie came over to tell him of the offer.
"I don't know," he shrugged. "What do you think?"
"I think it's up to you if you want everyone knowing what happened."
"That doesn't help, Dad."
"You're a grown up you can make your own decisions."
"No I can't!" he whined. "I don't know what to do!"
"Then wait until you know."
Richie slowly shook his head and grinned. "You and Mac, I swear."
"Speaking of MacLeod, how's he doing? You have talked to him, haven't you?" Greg asked pleasantly.
"Not yet," he shrugged the thought not bothering him until his dad pointed it out.
"Really?"
"Don't start, Dad, please?"
"I'm just making an observation."
"A wrong one," Richie reminded him. "I was going to call him tonight to ask him what he thinks about Conroy's offer anyway."
"You were going to call him?"
"Dad!"
"I don't trust him, Rich."
"You don't know him."
"I bet even if I did know him, I wouldn't trust him."
"Because you're overprotective. You two being so much alike is going to make you hate each other."
"You think we're alike?"
"Yeah."
"I want to meet him."
"He wants to meet you."
"Why don't you invite him down?"
Richie raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me, invite him down."
"Are you serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
. . . . . .
"Hello?"
"Hey."
"Richie?" Duncan asked.
"Who else would I be?" Richie replied in a grinning voice.
"How are you? I've been debating if I should call you or not."
"I'm fine. Why wouldn't you call?"
"I wasn't sure if I should. I didn't want to interrupt you and Greg."
Richie rolled his eyes; for a four-hundred-year-old Duncan was extremely immature sometimes. "What are you doing not this weekend but the next?" he asked deciding not to bring it up.
"Are you okay?" Duncan asked worriedly, Richie wasn't exactly known for admitting when he had a problem and needed help.
"Mac, I'm fine," he insisted. "Dad just wants to meet you."
"Oh?"
"He wants you to come down. I told him I'd ask."
"Is that why you called?"
"I was going to call anyway, just thought I'd get that out of the way."
"Why were you going to call?" Duncan asked changing the subject.
"I want your opinion on something."
"Sure, what is it?"
Richie took a deep breath and told Duncan his dilemma. "Do you think I should do it?"
"I think that it's nice that your record is giving you positive attention for a change."
"No jokes, Mac, what do you think?"
"I think you should wait and see how well you do on his tests. If you can get the A on your own then don't. but if you need the boost do it."
"How very logical of you," Richie laughed.
"Are you still on probation?"
"You mean, is Coach still on my back? Yeah."
"Then take your A's anyway you can get them. That way if you have trouble in another class it won't be such a problem."
Richie nodded slightly although Duncan couldn't see him. "Good point. Thanks, Mac."
"Anytime."
"Can you come down?" Richie asked suddenly.
"Do you want me to?"
"Yes," Richie answered without pause.
"Then tell Greg I'll be there."
"There's a home game Friday night. maybe you could come?"
"Of course."
"Mac?"
"Yeah, Rich?"
There was a pause. "Nothin'. See you after the game?"
"Yeah."
"Cool. See ya."
"Bye, Rich."
"Would you like me to kill you now?" John offered unpacking his computer and setting it up on his desk.
"Yes, please," Richie answered. "My sword is in my closet."
"Just give me a minute to get this plugged in."
Richie grinned inwardly; one of these days John was going to look in Richie's closet for the sword and find it. But for now he still thought it was a joke. "You want lunch?" Richie asked closing his book. "I'm starved."
"Maybe because you're studying before classes even start," John suggested. "Why bother?"
"Because this is what Professor Conroy likes. If you can answer questions first day, he's impressed. You keep it up; he'll bump your grade if you need it. If I need it, I gotta get it."
"Man, I swear Coach got you on the team to boost the GPA average and that's all."
"Hey I would'a done more if I could'a. I was going crazy last season not being able to play cause of my dumb wrist. But I practiced my butt off this summer and am better than ever. I just hope you guys can keep up with me."
"I saw you at practice yesterday," John reminded him. "You were on fire. Didn't miss a single play all night. The Sooners had better watch their backs; we're beating them this year."
"Damn straight," Richie agreed. "So about lunch."
. . . . . .
The first day of school never bothered Richie. To him it was just like any other day. But this year he was nervous. He was starting his major specific classes and had a lingering fear that he wasn't cut out to be a lawyer. Sure he had always had a fast tongue, had been able to easily talk his way in and out of trouble, and he had always been able to twist words to his advantage. all the makings of a great lawyer, but most lawyers didn't have criminal record, even if Richie's was only juvenile. He slumped down in his chair and tapped his pen on his desk. The girl next to him gave him an annoyed look and he smiled apologetically and stopped.
"What is the purpose of dialectical materialism?" Professor Conroy asked walking into the classroom and laying his brief case on the desk. The class stared blankly at him and Richie slowly raised his hand. "Yes, Mr."
"Ryan, Richie Ryan."
"Yes, Richard, the purpose of dialectical materialism?"
"To improve the human condition."
"Very good." To Richie's pleasure Professor Conroy looked slightly impressed. "How?"
"What do you mean?"
"What does dialectical materialism strive to create?"
"Um," Richie thought for a second. "Homosoveticus?"
The professor smiled slightly. "Which is?"
"The ideal man," Richie answered happily as the information flooded into his memory. "Rational, enlighten and predicable."
"Very good, Richard, I'm impressed. I'm also impressed that the rest of the class has such good memories, why isn't anyone writing this down?" The class scrambled for pens and notebooks. "Who founded the theory?" he continued. "Anyone?" Richie looked around himself and slowly his hand went back up. Professor Conroy smiled. "Richard?"
"Carl Marx."
"Right again. And what did he base his theory on?"
Richie looked at him. "Oh, me? Darwin's theory of survival of the fittest."
"Very good. The rest of you would do well to follow Richard's example." Richie tried not to blush and he concentrated hard on his notes. Even though he was answering all the questions right he wanted to keep up with the information being covered. "We are far from crating Homosoveticus, man, and I use the term generally, is not predictable. For instance out of the fifty of you; eleven had been arrested at least once, eight of you more than twice, two over three times, and one of you has been arrested eight times and spent a year in a juvenile detention center. Unpredictably, you all chose law as your profession." Richie couldn't help but feel the professor was looking directly at him as he ran down the statistics of the class. Richie kept his head bent over his notes for the rest of class as he scribbled down every word said. "We'll end the lecture there today," the professor decided. "Everyone get a syllabus on your way out, pay special attention to the offer at the end."
Richie got up and grabbed a syllabus on his way out the door. He flipped to the last page and read the offer. His head shot up and he scanned the hall spotting Professor Conroy. Richie ran after him. "Professor Conroy! Wait up!"
"Can I help you?" the professor asked turning around.
"You're offer," Richie panted holding up the papers in his hand. "I want it."
"You want it? You don't need it. You know the material."
"But can I pass the tests? Look if you want someone to take notes to put on file in the library, I'm your man. I'm obsessive about it. My notes are practically lecture transcripts."
"I'll tell you what. I have a class now. I want you to meet me in my office at eleven thirty, can you do that?"
Richie nodded. "Yeah, not a problem."
At eleven thirty Richie entered Professor Conroy's outer office. The secretary looked at him expectantly. "Name?" she finally demanded.
"Richie Ryan."
"Not on the list," she shook her head.
"How about Richard Ryan?"
She looked at her list. "Go on in."
"Thanks," he mumbled heading for the office. He knocked lightly on the door as he opened it. "Professor Conroy?"
"Richard, come in, have a seat. I was just going over your file."
"Oh?"
"You have a four point o, why do you want to be my 'court reporter' as it were?"
"Because I need all the points I can get. If I do the notes the five points per test can really help me. I have the four point o now and I'll bust my ass to do anything to keep it."
"Then you might like a little proposition I have for you," the professor told him.
"Proposition?"
"I make it a habit to know all my students' pasts, especially the trouble makers." Richie shifted in his seat. "You aren't my first convict to teach. And I am proud to say there are all fine lawyers. But I offered them all what I'm about to offer you."
"Okay."
"I will guarantee you an A for the year."
"What do I have to do?" Richie asked perking up.
"All you have to do is get at least a B on every test and be at every class."
Richie nodded. "And?"
"Guest lecture my juvenile law classes."
"As in researching the topic TA- type lectures or I was there and it sucked- type lectures?"
"Personal experience."
"I don't know; that's all kinda personal. Truth be known I'm not thrilled you know about it."
"I'm not going to dock you for not doing it, but I'll make it worth your while if you do. In the mean time, you can take the notes."
"Thanks." Richie stood to leave. "Hey, if I do, do the lecture thing. Is it a B before or after the five points?"
"Before. I'm not that generous."
"Right," Richie nodded. "Thanks." He left.
. . . . . .
"Are you going to do it?" Greg asked that Saturday afternoon when Richie came over to tell him of the offer.
"I don't know," he shrugged. "What do you think?"
"I think it's up to you if you want everyone knowing what happened."
"That doesn't help, Dad."
"You're a grown up you can make your own decisions."
"No I can't!" he whined. "I don't know what to do!"
"Then wait until you know."
Richie slowly shook his head and grinned. "You and Mac, I swear."
"Speaking of MacLeod, how's he doing? You have talked to him, haven't you?" Greg asked pleasantly.
"Not yet," he shrugged the thought not bothering him until his dad pointed it out.
"Really?"
"Don't start, Dad, please?"
"I'm just making an observation."
"A wrong one," Richie reminded him. "I was going to call him tonight to ask him what he thinks about Conroy's offer anyway."
"You were going to call him?"
"Dad!"
"I don't trust him, Rich."
"You don't know him."
"I bet even if I did know him, I wouldn't trust him."
"Because you're overprotective. You two being so much alike is going to make you hate each other."
"You think we're alike?"
"Yeah."
"I want to meet him."
"He wants to meet you."
"Why don't you invite him down?"
Richie raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me, invite him down."
"Are you serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
. . . . . .
"Hello?"
"Hey."
"Richie?" Duncan asked.
"Who else would I be?" Richie replied in a grinning voice.
"How are you? I've been debating if I should call you or not."
"I'm fine. Why wouldn't you call?"
"I wasn't sure if I should. I didn't want to interrupt you and Greg."
Richie rolled his eyes; for a four-hundred-year-old Duncan was extremely immature sometimes. "What are you doing not this weekend but the next?" he asked deciding not to bring it up.
"Are you okay?" Duncan asked worriedly, Richie wasn't exactly known for admitting when he had a problem and needed help.
"Mac, I'm fine," he insisted. "Dad just wants to meet you."
"Oh?"
"He wants you to come down. I told him I'd ask."
"Is that why you called?"
"I was going to call anyway, just thought I'd get that out of the way."
"Why were you going to call?" Duncan asked changing the subject.
"I want your opinion on something."
"Sure, what is it?"
Richie took a deep breath and told Duncan his dilemma. "Do you think I should do it?"
"I think that it's nice that your record is giving you positive attention for a change."
"No jokes, Mac, what do you think?"
"I think you should wait and see how well you do on his tests. If you can get the A on your own then don't. but if you need the boost do it."
"How very logical of you," Richie laughed.
"Are you still on probation?"
"You mean, is Coach still on my back? Yeah."
"Then take your A's anyway you can get them. That way if you have trouble in another class it won't be such a problem."
Richie nodded slightly although Duncan couldn't see him. "Good point. Thanks, Mac."
"Anytime."
"Can you come down?" Richie asked suddenly.
"Do you want me to?"
"Yes," Richie answered without pause.
"Then tell Greg I'll be there."
"There's a home game Friday night. maybe you could come?"
"Of course."
"Mac?"
"Yeah, Rich?"
There was a pause. "Nothin'. See you after the game?"
"Yeah."
"Cool. See ya."
"Bye, Rich."