Heyes was up with the sun and smiling. He had enjoyed the crisp white sheets and warm quilt of the inn at Keuka Lake through a surprisingly restful night, but he climbed out of bed without hesitation. One way or another, this would be a big day. It felt good to have academic ambitions for himself and for potential students, and to think they really might come true here. Everything he had heard from Dean Charles White had been positive. The excited applicant stood in his white nightshirt looking out the window at the tree-lined alley behind the inn. The light was turning from grey to gold.
Once an inn employee had brought a pitcher of steaming water, Heyes shaved carefully with his straight razor. It was a chancy thing for a dimpled man, no matter how much practice he had. He was glad not to nick himself at all. A perfect shave always made him feel more confident. Heyes dried off and dressed fastidiously, wiping at a slight mark on one shoe with a rag until the imperfection was gone.
In the inn's dining room early on a Saturday morning, Heyes found himself alone other than a waiter and one talkative table of vacationing New York City ladies with a quiet husband in tow. The delicious smells of baking bread, frying bacon, and fresh coffee wafted temptingly in from the kitchen. The breakfast was just as tasty as the smells had promised. Heyes enjoyed the meal, all the while being careful not to spill anything on himself. A stained ex-outlaw would surely fail to impress the members of Keuka College's board.
Heyes still had a good hour to gather his thoughts. He walked out the inn's front door and down the street. He looked around curiously to see in daylight the town that might soon be his new home. He waved at an ice man driving by with his wagon full of cold blocks cut from the lake.
Heyes went down to the college lawn where he could walk beside the lake. The newly risen sun glowed across the water, brilliantly illuminating the man who paced up and down the lawn with his hands in his pockets. Heyes' prospective boss looked out a window of the school. He was pleased to see his energetic new friend settling himself for his big morning meeting.
When Heyes had been pacing a while, jingling the change in his pockets, he heard swift footsteps coming across the dew-wet grass behind him. "Good mornin', Mister," said a bright voice with a twangy western accent from behind Heyes. The ex-outlaw wasn't surprised to turn and see a tall, slender blond man in a mended suit that was too short in the sleeves and legs. Heyes guessed that this was an impecunious student much like he himself had been until very recently.
"Good morning! You sure aren't from around these parts, with that accent," said Heyes as the young man fell into step beside him.
The stranger was friendly. "No, sir. I'm just in on the train from Lampasas, Texas. I'm gonna start school here next month." Heyes could only guess at the colorful history that had gotten this Texan to school in his twenties rather than at 16 or 17 like most college students just out of high school in those days.
"That's a long way to come for school," remarked Heyes.
The student shyly confessed, looking down at his shoes, "Nobody closer would give me a chance. I don't have a lot of, you know, regular kinda' schooling." The young man looked up. "But I do numbers just fine. I'm working real hard on letters."
"You must be pretty good, or you wouldn't be here. And you're here a few days early for the semester," observed Heyes, pleased at finding a devoted fellow western math enthusiast.
The young Texan nodded. "Yeah. I came up to look for a job to pay for my keep. No luck yet, but I'll get something. What about you?"
Heyes grinned. "I'm looking for work, too – as a math professor."
The student looked at Heyes with interest. "Oh! I was gonna study with Professor Denker, before he got so sick and passed on. So you want to replace him?"
Heyes spoke modestly, wary of offending someone who had suffered so hard and recent a loss. "He sounds like a hard man to replace. But yeah, I want to teach math here, like he did. Maybe you'll have a class or so with me?"
The student looked happy at the prospect. "Probably. You ain't – aren't – from around here either, are you?"
Heyes answered, "No. I came in from New York City. But I'm from Kansas and I've spent plenty of time in Texas."
"Thought I heard some of my home place in your talk. Where?" Naturally, the Texan glommed onto this connection to his own home state.
"Oh, I've ridden around all over." Heyes hesitated. He hated even the thought of his early days after the death of his family, but he felt honesty was demanded here. So he added, "And I spent most of six years in the Valparaiso Home for Wayward Boys, up in the panhandle."
The blond student looked pleased. "Wow! Really? Me, too! I mean, I was at a home for waywards outside El Paso, but same difference, you know?"
Heyes was startled to meet a fellow wayward so far from home. But he was pleased, too. "I guess. I know it's not easy to get past a start like that. You an orphan, too?"
"Yeah." Now the response wasn't so joyful. The losses still hurt.
"I'm sorry." Heyes said.
The cheerful, talkative young Texan had gone very quiet and his gaze had fallen to the ground. "Yeah. Too bad about your folks, too."
Heyes murmured, "It was a real long time ago that my people died."
"Oh?" The student sounded more willing to talk about someone else's long ago losses then his own recent ones.
Heyes was nearly as taciturn and reluctant as his questioner had become. "They were killed back early in the war."
"You must have been real young." The young Texan seemed surprised that Heyes was old enough to have been orphaned 30 years before.
The ex-outlaw hated to talk about this, but he felt it was important to his fellow orphan. This might be the beginning of something. "I was nine. They burned us out and killed everybody but my little second cousin and me. The Union Army turned us in for stealing."
The young blond looked at the older man with understanding. "Oh. Yeah, I took stuff, too. So I wouldn't starve after Ma died of fever when I was 12."
Heyes assumed the young man's father had been gone before his mother's death. Heyes made it clear that he didn't blame the young former thief. "Stealing can be about the only way to go, when nobody will help. But you must have stopped taking stuff, when you could, or you wouldn't be about to start college."
The young man wants to get past those early troubles. "Yeah. I've been straight with the law a long time."
"Me, too. Just took me longer." Heyes grinned a bit nervously. He hoped the Texan didn't know how very much longer it had taken the prospective professor to leave thievery behind. But if Heyes got the job he wanted, soon everyone would know. He would deal with that when he had to.
The two men walked a while side by side across the smooth expanse of grass in thoughtful silence. The younger orphan looked at the older with a kind of hunger. He realized that here, at last, was someone who really understood his pain and his need without pitying him. This was a man who could teach him with respect and understanding. Heyes looked back, equally eager for the opportunity to mentor a bright young man with whom he had so much in common. Heyes thought of Charlie Homer, his own mentor. This could be the beginning of Heyes' passing along what he had learned both inside the classroom and in the wider world. As with any time he interviewed for a job, he began to imagine himself into this possible new life. He was learning to be shy of that emotional investment, yet he couldn't speak persuasively to any interviewers without making that commitment. His heart had to lead his mind.
Heyes pulled out his pocket watch, feeling bad to do it. "Sorry, brother, but I got to go. I'm going to be grilled by the board in a few minutes. Good to meet you." He extended his hand and the Texan took it.
"You, too," said the student. As Heyes began to turn, the Texan called out, "Good luck! Say, what's your name, Professor?"
"Heyes," said the former outlaw over his shoulder, smiling at the prospect of deserving the title he had dreamed of for so long. "You?"
"Smith."
Heyes chuckled in delight at that and turned to go up the walk to the front door of the main building. There really did seem to be, as he had often said, lots of people named Smith and Jones. Half way up the walk, he turned, squinting into the brilliant morning sun, and waved back at the student named Smith. He could hardly wait to start teaching the young man and his fellow hard luck cases who had wound up here together. This really did seem like a place custom-made for a former outlaw to make good.
Heyes trotted briskly up the steps to the front door of the broad, red brick main building at the college.
"Good morning, Joshua!" said the dean cheerfully as he opened the door for his potential professor. Charlie White shook Heyes' hand.
"Good morning, Dean." Heyes smiled. He used a phrase he recalled using years before at the clinic, "Looks like a delightful day."
Charlie White nodded. "It does. But I'm afraid we'll have to be indoors for a lot of it, talking. I'll try to get you done before it gets too late for you to get the train home - so you can get ready to move."
Heyes knocked wood superstitiously on the chair rail of the hall. "I'm taking nothing for granted, Dean. I've heard 'no' from a lot of schools this summer."
"Fools!" exclaimed the dean. "I see you met Frank Smith. A good young man – smart and committed. But he had a hard time before he got here."
Heyes looked away from the dean and down the hall, as if to look into his future that might lie there. "Yes, I know. We understood each other straight off."
The dean studied Heyes, feeling for the proud man before him and the struggling student still walking the lawn by the lake. He understood the common pain Heyes had not seen fit to mention. "I knew you would make a connection easily with a young man like that. And he won't be the only one. You are going to mean a great deal to many young people here. I feel certain of that." But then Dean White noticed a big clock on the wall. "Oh, excuse me, Joshua. I need to go for the moment. I'll be back soon. The meeting room is the second door to the left down that way. Go on in." He pointed. "I'll see you shortly."
Heyes hesitated, glancing uneasily toward where he would meet the people who would determine his fate. He looked at the dean, questioningly.
Charlie White immediately understood, so he took another moment to set the interviewee at ease. "They know who you are, Joshua. Who you were and what you've done since you went straight. They're ready, at least the ones I've been able to speak with, to give you a fair chance. Well, there is one . . . But don't worry. Just be as straight forward as you have been with me and you'll be fine. Now I really must go. But I'll be right back."
Heyes nodded. As White hurried away in one direction, Heyes walked more slowly in the opposite direction down a hall so new that he could still smell the fresh wood and stain of the paneling. He went towards the door from which he heard quiet conversation and smelled coffee. He hadn't expected to meet the board members on his own. He supposed it really might be best for him to slip in quietly. If the board members met him just as a human being without the dean to give him a formal introduction, perhaps it could help in getting them to see him as a regular man rather than as a legend or a threat or dirt or whatever else they might have thought of Hannibal Heyes in the abstract.
As Heyes entered the conference room, there were four men of various ages already sitting at the conference table talking together and drinking coffee. It seemed clear from their tentative manner together that they didn't know each other well. There talk was earnest; no one was joking. That was understandable with such a recently formed board. Perhaps some had not met each other before at all.
Jane White stood behind a long pastry-laden table against the wall. She was pouring coffee from a large pot into a flowered China cup and handing a neatly folded napkin to a grey-haired man in a suit. As the grey-haired, bearded board member moved away with his coffee, Jane looked up. Heyes caught her eye. The former outlaw met her bright smile but, seeing that no one was looking at him as the others spoke together behind him, he put his finger to his lips and gave the dean's sister a conspiratorial wink. She nodded and smiled; she wouldn't give away the applicant's name. Jane simply said, "Good morning, sir. Cream and sugar?"
"Good morning, Miss," replied Heyes "Just black, thanks."
Heyes took his steaming cup of coffee and went to sit at the long table with the board members who were already there. The most notorious safe cracker in the country quietly sat down and listened in as a bearded man no older than himself said in a New England accent, "Ayah, it's a real problem getting what we need for the library. Seems like the professors are asking for everything at once."
An older man with sandy hair and a long mustache added in tones of the Mid-West, "We'll never manage to get all the books here in time for the first day, even the few books we can afford."
"I agree the books are vital, but the faculty gaps are even more so. I just wish we could afford to pay more," the grey-haired man who had stood in front of Heyes said in an accent that sounded familiar to the western from his friend George Smith at Harvard and the employees at the inn. There was a distinctive nasal sound to how this board member said As. So Heyes supposed the man to be an upstate New York local.
The five men already seated looked up as Heyes sat down. "You're new, aren't you?" asked man who had been advocating for more pay for faculty, putting down his coffee and reaching out his hand. "I'm Dr. Crew. Welcome to Keuka, Mr.?"
"Heyes," said the former outlaw, reaching out for a hand that suddenly froze in mid-air. The owner of the infamous name felt his gut tighten. How would these strangers welcome him, without Dean White to smooth the way? He could see the curious stares of all board members. Heyes looked hopefully at Dr. Crew and glanced around the other faces.
"Welcome, Mr. Heyes!" Said Dr. Crew, smiling and grasping the former outlaw's hand warmly and pumping it hard.
"Thank you, Dr. Crew," answered Heyes, surprised and delighted at the welcome. "I do appreciate that."
"And these gentlemen are Mr. Holtzer, Dr. McGovern, Colonel Ruffins, and Mayor Kern," Dr. Crew said, pointing in turn to the sandy-haired mid-westerner who looked skeptical, a bearded older man who studied the applicant with care, a bent little bald man glaring angrily from a wicker wheel chair, and the bearded local in his thirties who studied Heyes closely. Clearly, this group was not united in their feelings about hiring a former outlaw to teach at their new college.
"We aren't all here," said the mayor. He caught the glances of his colleagues and smoothly took charge, "but Mrs. Mahon's train was running late last I heard, so I suppose we will have to proceed without her. If only Dean White will return, I think we can get started."
"Here I am, Mr. Mayor," said the Dean, walking in and nodding to his colleagues. "It looks as if you have all met our candidate."
"If you want to call a criminal that," creaked the ancient Colonel Ruffins querulously in the local nasal accent. "He'd rob us of every penny!"
Heyes sat up straight, ready to reply indignantly.
"Now, Colonel," said the Mayor in conciliatory tones, holding up a hand to the aggrieved subject of the meeting to stop him from coming to his own defense. "Mr. Heyes hasn't stolen anything for years. He has pardons and amnesty from four governors, and the President of the United States. You saw all the papers. It's not right to call him a criminal."
"Well, I believe in calling a spade a spade. I don't care if the man in the moon pardoned him, he's a damn thief," cried the old man.
"And if you can't be civil and conduct these proceedings properly, we will have to ask you to leave, Colonel," said the bearded Dr. McGovern. "It isn't as if it's the first time,"
"Trying to cover it up are you?" creaked the Colonel. "He's a cursed bad hombre, and that's all I have to say!"
"Well, then, you've said it and you can leave knowing your opinion has been voiced," said McGovern in conciliatory tones stroking his beard. "Dean, can you see the Colonel out, please? I think we can take it there is one vote against the applicant."
"Covering it up, that's what they are!" came the angry high voice of the ancient Colonel as the dean rolled him down the hall.
As the Colonel left, Heyes dared to grin sheepishly. There was a soft wave of laughter from the men remaining in the room. "Well, now that's over, we can get down to real business," said Dr. McGovern. "I'm sorry, Mr. Heyes. It's become customary for the Colonel to make himself a nuisance every time we meet. We really will have to get down to easing him out formally one day. He's losing his faculties, as everyone knows. Part of the school is on his land and by rule he has to be a member of the board. But the rest of us promise you a fair hearing and we will discount the Colonel's vote. The other men nodded and murmured agreement.
"Well, as long as the rest of you are more opened minded than that old gentleman, I'll feel it's a fair process," said Heyes. "What war was he in, anyhow, the War of 1812?"
"The Revolution!" joked Dr. Crew, setting off a general laugh.
"I hope you'll find us more reasonable," said Mr. Holtzer, "though, of course, we aren't push-overs." The other broad members nodded.
Heyes was glad to see that the Colonel's objections were not popular with the others. "It's not the first time I've had that kind of reception. But this time, I thank my lucky stars, without a badge, a gun, or a judge's authority behind it." The board members laughed again, though Heyes guessed that perhaps Mr. Holtzer, the Mid-Westerner, was not entirely at ease laughing with a man who had come up against authority that often and that seriously.
"I am the President of the board, Mr. Heyes. We have all read your curriculum vitae, your pardon, amnesty papers and the letters of recommendation you have from this country and Europe," said Dr. McGovern genially as he sat at the head of the table. "And the dean has told us about your talk, and what your professors from Columbia have said. It's very impressive, but somewhat impersonal on your part, since you weren't in the position to send a cover letter. To remedy that, we would like to give you the opportunity to speak briefly, before we start in with questions."
"Thank you, Doctor," said Heyes, getting to his feet and looking around to meet the gazes of all his audience members. "I just met one of your students outside by the lake – Mr. Smith of Texas. I was sorry to have to cut the conversation short just as we were getting to know each other. I was pleased by his initiative, since he is here early to look for work. I was also happy to realize that a poor Western orphan with a hard past is being given a fair shake here at Keuka College. That's all I ask for myself, and hope to give all your students – a fair shake so we can all do our work. I have had contact with a fair number of colleges and universities in the past five years. But I have met no students like Mr. Smith, other than myself, of course. And I have sure not encountered any professors with backgrounds like mine. I want give Columbia credit for all they did for me, but it is fair to suppose it would not have happened if they had known about my history from the beginning. Here, it seems to be different. Are you familiar enough with Mr. Smith's situation, and that of your other students, to tell me how typical he is in the Keuka student body?"
"Every student is an individual, of course, but you will find a lot of students who have come this far the hard way, Mr. Heyes," said the dean, who had just returned. "Alongside the usual range of young scholars, there are orphans, handicapped young people, people coming late to college, women denied their fair chances, and others with deprived or at least unusual pasts. But they are not here as charitable cases. No, they all have great talents, strong academic records, and determination. They come as deserving students who have faced down the injustices of this world and earned the right to higher education. We are very proud to gather such able students here to give them the opportunities they deserve."
"Thank you!" said Heyes with a radiant smile. "I think you just made most of my speech for me, Dean. I come from a hard background like many of your students. You all know that. For a long time, I was worth no more than that. I think you all know that I lost my entire family, except one cousin, to violence, when I was a boy. We were taken to a home for orphans that was really more of a work house. We were ill-taught and ill-treated. We learned more thievery than anything else. We ran away and were taken in by outlaws. That was the training to which we turned as we grew to manhood. So we disgraced our honest family history with fifteen years of notorious thievery. Even as a gang leader, I did a lot of reading on my own, from ballistics, to history texts, to Shakespeare. But it wasn't the same as real schooling.
However, seven, almost eight, years ago, my cousin and I got ourselves together and went straight. It wasn't easy, but it was right. Two years later, I actually feel lucky to have been wounded by a lawman. My injury was serious enough that I had to journey t-to New York City for medical treatment." Heyes didn't resist a mild stutter – it served his purposes now, he hoped. "I was fortunate to be helped by good doctors, and by a tutor who recognized my potential and steered me to Columbia University. There, I was encouraged and I thrived. Though I have to say, my lack of intellectual background and trouble with language did not ever allow my studies to be easy. But I worked hard to get past those barriers. I've been working on ideas for using mathematics to save lives when men are using explosives. To me, that's work that really worthwhile. And so is teaching young folks to understand and employ mathematics in their careers and lives.
I've had encouragement from both the faculty of Columbia and professors in Europe with whom I correspond. I am glad to have made friends true enough that, when they learned the truth about my past, they did not betray me. They kept giving me moral support and lots of guidance. I'm grateful to every one of them.
I hope that the understanding I bring from that, um, challenging background will enable me to serve your students all the better because I can appreciate what they have been through and therefore what they need. However, my real recommendation is not the troubles I have faced, but rather my superior skills in mathematics and teaching. I want, like your students, to be judged by what I can and will do rather than what I have had to overcome. I want more than anything to do all I can to help Americans like myself to do their best for themselves, their families, their communities, their professions, and their country."
The board members were all listening carefully and seemed impressed, even moved. Judging from the beginning of this passionate little speech, they knew it could not have been rehearsed. It was from the heart. Heyes was well aware that he was, in part, paraphrasing the speech Beth Warren had given her new student when he had first begun to study with her. He now felt he was very close to fulfilling the promise the woman who was now his wife had always seen in him. His heart was pounding with excitement, though his face was calm.
Heyes sat and took a sip of coffee. His throat was suddenly dry. The floor was opened for questions. So he would have to face the music.
"So, Mr. Heyes," asked the Mayor, "has anyone in your family previously earned a college degree?"
"No, Mr. Mayor," answered the former outlaw. "We were poor dirt farmers in Kansas. Very common folks."
"Don't say that about your family, Mr. Heyes!" Said Jane White, who had been standing and listening. "I know they deserve better and so do you."
Heyes blushed and looked down. "Thank you, Miss. My folks did their best, until the end. They deserved better than they got. I just mean we were real poor and didn't have a lot of schooling. But my pa worked hard on the farm. And my mother was a teacher in a one-room school house before she married. She brought me up with the hopes that I might go farther one day than she and my father ever could. She would have been bitterly disappointed with me when I was in my twenties and leading a criminal gang."
"But she would be proud now, surely," said Dean White, "as you prepare to teach."
Heyes took a breath, struggling to keep his composure about this highly emotional topic. "I hope so. And I hope my own children can continue the new tradition, and take it further."
"Oh, you and your wife plan a family?" asked Mr. Holtzer.
"Yes, sir," said Heyes, "In fact, the State of Wyoming has asked Mrs. Heyes and myself to foster a boy I met in prison. We have agreed to do this, provided I am able to get good enough employment to support a family. And Mrs. Heyes is expecting a child this winter."
"Congratulations, Heyes!" said the mayor, echoed by the others. "That's a lot for a newly amnestied and graduated man to be taking on all at once, along with a new career. I respect you for your courage."
Heyes nodded. "Thank you, sir. My wife and I will manage it all."
Dr. Crew asked, "So the young man you want to foster, pardon me, he has a criminal past?"
Heyes said, "Yes, sir. He picked pockets. His mother was not able to support him or to give him much guidance."
"Is he a bastard?" asked Mayor Kern.
Heyes hated the word, which had been employed unjustly toward himself and his partner often enough. "Um, yes, sir. That is just to say that no one knows who his father is. That not being his own fault, I don't think it fair to hold it against him."
"Very true. But his crimes are another matter," asserted the mayor.
Heyes spoke firmly, not wanting his potential son wronged in any way. "Of course. But he has served the time for his crimes. Stealing wasn't the right thing to do, but he knew no better. He had no real schooling. He can hardly read and write."
"Yet you saw fit to take him on?" asked Dean White.
Heyes tried not to sound too emotional, but he felt passionate about this matter and he couldn't hide it. "The state asked me to help. They felt that he deserved help, due to his excellent behavior in terrible circumstances. He worked hard in prison and followed even the hard rules before the place was reformed. They began to teach him. I was impressed by the boy when we met, so, after careful consideration, my wife and I agreed to try to take him on. He had said he trusted no one but me. Young Marvin is very determined to do better for himself, given a chance. I want to make sure he gets that chance. Without it, nothing seems more likely than that we will have one more thief in this country. I had far rather that we had one fewer."
Dr. Crew said, "I commend you for being willing to put your ideals into action. And I am glad to hear the good style employed to state it, by the way. I can't abide those who say "less" when dealing with people, whom one hopes, are not divisible as quantities of matter are." He winked at Heyes.
The aspiring professor smiled. He was glad to have scored a point in more than one direction. "Thank you, sir."
"How did Marvin come to trust you so much, when you can't have known him for more than the three days you were in prison?" asked Dr. McGovern.
Heyes said, "Actually, I knew him for only hours in prison, though we've spoken at length more recently. I admit I was weak enough to allow him to violate prison rules by speaking to me while we were working together in the prison workshop. He had figured out how to hide a few words at a time behind the noise of a washing machine. It's a very dull place and he's a clever young man. We were both bored, and well, lonely. When he was given a brutal beating for speaking to me, I felt I had no choice but to defend him."
"And how were you punished for this defense?" asked the mayor.
Heyes spoke casually, not wanting to draw excessive attention to what would surely sound dramatic in this proper setting. "By being struck, hauled away in irons and put in solitary confinement on bread and water for a day."
"Goodness gracious! Did young Marvin see it happen?" the mayor was appalled, as were the other board members.
Heyes said, quietly, "He saw me dragged away. I'm sure he wasn't surprised that I got a day in solitary. That was pretty mild punishment for that prison before it was reformed."
"Well, I can see why he trusts you. For a boy with no father and a mother on whom he could not depend to have a man be willing to risk punishment on his behalf would be a singular thing," said Doctor Kern. "Especially since that man was you, Mr. Heyes. I'm impressed, myself. Particularly because I understand that you and your partner are the ones who caused the prison to be reformed. I respect you for that."
"Thank you, sir," said Heyes. "The inmates were brave enough to speak up about it. We didn't want to let them down. They had been suffering unjustly for a long time. Not to say they didn't deserve to be there, but they deserve to be treated lawfully rather than abused for the profit of a dirty warden."
"Certainly, anyone deserves humane treatment. Do you envision having Marvin study here at Keuka?" asked the dean.
"It would be great. But only if he is up to snuff, of course," answered the man who hoped to be Marvin's father soon. "He has a long way to go. It will take years, if he is ever able to get that far. Mrs. Heyes and I plan to tutor him ourselves. It wouldn't be fair to him or to his classmates to have him in a public school alongside much younger children."
"That is admirable," said Dr. McGovern. "And it will be demanding for all of you. I'm glad to know you understand that, and the challenges a professor here will face. But then, prison can't have been easy, either."
The dean suggested, "Perhaps Mr. Heyes would like to talk some math rather than prison?"
"I would, certainly," said Heyes. "Mathematics is useful for anyone, managing their money, planning farm plots, making sure they aren't cheated and so on. But beyond that, for students who care to follow up and get serious, math has real power to change their lives and their country as the new century comes on. My colleagues and I are trying to use equations to improve and save lives. There is much more my students can do in that way, once school gets them started."
This led to a number of technical questions about mathematics that Heyes handled easily, his confidence growing as he saw how impressed the board members were. After spending some time on math the dean asked, "Shall we talk about pedagogy, Mr. Heyes?"
"Thank you, dean," said the candidate happily. "I am a demanding master in the classroom, despite what you might expect. I feel that the more you ask of students, the more they want to give. But I try to be human about it – bringing in stories and anything I can to make for vivid explanations and to keep the students involved. Getting students to teach their fellows is one of my favorite tactics. And practical d-demonstrations, when I can manage them." Heyes gathered himself, doing his best to just go on past his slight troubles speaking, rather than letting a mild bobble make him nervous.
Mr. Holtzer said, "I'm fascinated to learn what there is in common between a successful thief and a successful professor. There must be something, since you have been both."
Heyes found this question an easy one, having often answered similar queries in previous interviews, "Well, leadership does count in both, of course. The professor must be upright in ways no outlaw would understand, but beyond that the skills for both kinds of work have a lot in common. Logic, math, care over details, knowing how to read and manage people, respecting and caring about those whom you are leading. And teaching itself – I taught many young outlaws to read and write, read maps, do elementary math. They were useless to me without it. But the brightest of them, I urged to leave the gang and make an honest living."
"Oh? You didn't want to keep the bright ones?" asked Dr. Crew.
"No," Heyes chuckled. "They were the most likely to rebel and cause trouble with my complicated, demanding plans. I could get the duller ones to accept their parts with little or no question, especially once they found out what big hauls we brought in. I got them to take on small pieces of the puzzle and do them by rote. They all had their own t-talents."
"Mr. Heyes, I have to ask about your aphasia," said Mr. Holtzer reluctantly. "I do notice it now and then. Honestly, considering what Dr. Leutze has told us about the ailment, I am shocked at how well you speak."
"Thank you," said Heyes, taking a deep breath. This wasn't an easy topic for him. Any mention of this history was painful. "I'm glad to hear it sounds that way to you. You don't hear the struggles in my head. The line of patter I used as a conman is gone forever. As my advisor at Columbia says, it may be a good thing."
"I suppose so," said the Mayor. "I wouldn't want to think you could con students and faculty into unwise courses of behavior. It says something impressive about you that you were able to take on such a malady and even at the same time, decide to work so hard in college. You have come a long way in a short time."
Heyes' spoke quietly, battling his pride to speak with brutal honesty. "Thank you. I am well aware that I have a long way to go, still. From dirt farmer's boy to professor wouldn't be an easy climb even without the fifteen years of law-breaking in between. I realize it isn't just an intellectual and medical transformation. It's social. I'm moving into a part of society that is new to me. So, like many of your students, I hope I can learn from the dean and others here at the school. My wife has taught me a lot, like how to waltz, and which fork to use when." This fetched a giggle from Jane White.
As the board members grouped around Heyes with encouraging smiles, their support increasingly strong, the conference room door opened. Everyone looked up to see a regal-looking lady in a fine burgundy dress glide into the room.
"Welcome, Mrs. Mahon!" Said Dean White. "I'm so glad your train finally came. Meet Mr. Heyes."
As the former outlaw turned to speak to the final board member, he saw her staring at him with startling fury. "You!" exclaimed Mrs. Mahon. "My God! It's you!"
"I beg your pardon, Ma'am. Have we met?" Asked Heyes cautiously. He had absolutely no memory of the handsome woman with silver-streaked hair. She had a presence and authority he felt sure he couldn't have forgotten. At the moment, Heyes knew only one thing about Mrs. Mahon. She hated him.
"You killed my husband!" hissed Mrs. Mahon with vicious contempt.
Heyes was as shocked as were the board members.
"Mr. Mahon died?" asked the Mayor, appalled. "When? How?"
"Not Mr. Mahon. He's fine. The man who died was my first husband, Harold Nugent," said the aggrieved lady bitterly. "He was a fine man, until this criminal did his worst."
Heyes didn't recognize the name Nugent. He tried to stay calm and polite in the face of this unexpected attack. Being mean to a widow wasn't going to help his case, which was clearly in real danger. Every board member was listening closely to this exchange and all of them looked upset. Heyes thought he was seeing more and more suspicious glances in his direction.
Heyes said, "Ma'am, I don't mean to doubt you, but the only man I ever killed was in self-defense. That was how the jury ruled. Could you be mistaken? How and when did Mr. Nugent die?"
"Boulder, Colorado, in the summer of 1877," said the widow, spitting out the words. "He rode his horse off a cliff."
Dean White asked, "Mrs. Mahon, how is that Mr. Heyes' fault?"
"This cruel man drove him to it!" growled the lady.
"Ma'am," said Heyes as the board around him watched his face, "I have no idea what you are talking about. I never in my life drove a man off a cliff. That's not something a man would forget. Could you be mistaking me for someone else?"
The lady did not hesitate. "No! You must have been using an alias. I never heard the name Hannibal Heyes. But I saw you in that den of iniquity tempting my husband to gamble."
Heyes stared at the woman, totally mystified.
It was Dr. McGovern who asked what they were all wondering, "Mrs. Mahon, please tell us, how does a gambling parlor or whatever place you mean, have to do with a cliff?"
"After this man cheated my husband at poker, he taunted him until he could not take it anymore. He waved the bundle of ill-gotten dollar bills under my Harold's nose. He was insufferable. He shamed Harold past bearing. And then followed him on horseback. It was after that poker game that Harold rode away. And never came back."
Heyes felt the blood leave his face. "The Palace Hotel." He choked out.
The bereaved woman was triumphant. "Yes. So you do remember it?"
Heyes spoke softly, sadly. "Yes. I remember it. I didn't cheat. I never cheat at poker unless I'm being cheated. But I did win ten thousand plus off a young guy who had been flaunting his money around the place. He never told us his name, as most players don't. I admit it, by the time I was done with him, he had to borrow to pay for his room. I wasn't a graceful winner. I was an arrogant young ass. It was a long time ago. I was a new gang leader then. I've changed."
"Maybe you have. My husband may have been a bit prideful himself, but he was young, too. He didn't live to learn better. That was because of you." Mrs. Mahon's anger had not abated. The other board members looked on in horror.
Heyes sighed and shook his head sadly. "Your first husband did himself in? I never knew about it until now. I'm sorry. Really, I am."
"Rubbish!" Exclaimed Mrs. Mahon. "He didn't do himself in. He didn't ride over that cliff on purpose. You and that blond man with you, Curry I suppose, rode out of the hotel on my husband's heels. You drove him over the cliff. You had escaped by the time they found his body."
Heyes looked into Mrs. Mahon's eyes. "Ma'am, we rode out after that poker game, that's true. But we were just leaving town to make sure no one figured out who we were. We were wanted dead or alive at the time and we had a job planned. We never even saw your husband outside the Palace Hotel. I swear that to you."
"We have only your word for that, the word of a criminal. It was you!" Said Mrs. Mahon furiously. "You killed him!"
Heyes struggled to be both polite and crystal clear that he was no murderer. "I'm sorry for his death, Mrs. Mahon, but we didn't kill him. We rode the same route for a while, perhaps, but it was after your husband was out of sight. A lot of guys were on that same road. I tell you, we never saw Nugent. If he rode over a cliff, maybe his horse ran away." Heyes spoke calmly, but inside he was starting to panic. He couldn't directly attack the word of a lady without completely turning all the board members against him.
"The sheriff didn't know who, if anybody was behind Harold. But if you weren't behind him as he went toward that cliff, he was thinking of the money you won from him and that he needed for his business and our family. One way or the other, it was your fault," hissed Mrs. Mahon, though clearly she knew there was no real evidence for murder.
"I feel bad about beating him, and taunting him, but I didn't kill him," Heyes repeated. "The Kid and I had no reason to kill him. It would have been taking a stupid chance for no reason. We had nothing against Mr. Nugent. We just wanted to get out of there before someone spotted us."
"I feel for your loss, Mrs. Mahon. But gentlemen, it isn't fair to hold this incident against Mr. Heyes when he has never been charged, much less tried," said Dean White. "If the sheriff had felt they were guilty, he would have pursued Mr. Heyes and Mr. Curry at the time. He didn't do that did he, Mrs. Mahon?"
Mrs. Mahon shook her head. "No. He said he saw no evidence for anything except suicide or accident. Losing that money was a terrible blow for Harold. And losing him almost killed me. Perhaps my anger and grief ran away with me, then and now. I tried to get the sheriff to charge Mr. Heyes, under the name he was using, but he wouldn't do it. But what Mr. Heyes did was awful. No one can deny that."
"But it was legal," said Dr. McGovern. "Unsavory, but legal. He is a changed man, we all agree on that."
"We can't ignore the whole thing!" Retorted Mr. Holtzer.
"And even if he didn't kill the man, he's a gambler and a mean one," asserted the mayor. Heyes was upset to realize a figure of this authority had turned against him.
"Do you still gamble, Mr. Heyes?" Asked the dean.
The applicant for professor felt ill as he said, "Yes, though I promise not to do so any longer if that is what the school prefers. And I haven't been that bad a winner since that time in Colorado. I felt bad about it, even then. I've changed, I tell you. I've changed my whole life."
"Mr. Heyes," said the board President at last, "it isn't right for us to debate with you here. We need to consult in private. If you can please withdraw until we send word for you. And Dean White, if you can please leave us. This needs to be a board decision." Mrs. Mahon was glaring at both Heyes and the dean.
"Of course, sir," said Heyes, nodding toward the president and the rest of the board. "Thank you for granting me the honor of your consideration. I have the utmost respect for your school."
No one replied.
Heyes walked out the door, down the hall, and down the main front staircase. He stood on the front lawn with his hands in his pockets, trying to gather himself. He didn't even see the lovely lake and trees.
Dean White walked up behind Heyes. Seeing that they were alone, he asked, "Are you alright, Joshua?"
The former outlaw turned to look at the man who might have become his boss. "Yeah. No. For God's sake, call me by my real name, would you? I feel like I'm pulling some kind of con when you call me Joshua. My friends call me Heyes."
"Alright, Heyes," said Charlie White awkwardly. "I'm so sorry for what just happened in there. I had no idea about Mrs. Mahon and her unfortunate first husband."
"I know that," said Heyes miserably. "How could you know her ancient history? I just hope you can find somebody else in time to take on your students next month."
"I wish I could have any honest hope that you could find another teaching post for the fall, or any position in the immediate future worthy of your talents."
"I'll manage." Heyes laughed harshly.
"What's funny?"
"It's just ironic as hell. What that lady is nailing me on wasn't even a crime. Just a shame. But those guys on the board, they have to stand up for a lady in distress against a villain. As gentlemen, they have no choice. That's how the game is played."
The dean sounded torn. "I'm afraid you're right, though I hope no one sees you as a villain. But it isn't an impressive story about you."
"No. It wasn't long after I took over at the Devil's Hole and my partner joined up. I was all excited about our plans. My plans. I was all of 23 years old and arrogant as blazes. We wanted to steal more money than any gang ever had. We did it, too. But at that point, we were, I was, planning one of our first big jobs. Setting it up was going to take more money than we had in hand. All I could think about was my big ideas and what we were going to do. I just wanted the money that guy Nugent - Mrs. Mahon's first husband – the money he kept flashing around. I thought only of my own dreams, my selfish dreams. Nugent's dreams, his family, his future - none of that ever entered my mind. I didn't even know his name when I started in on him." Heyes shook his head in bitter regret.
"But you've changed, now." The dean said.
Heyes sighed deeply. "Too late. Way too late. Good bye, Charlie. There's no need for them to call me back. We both know what the decision is going to be."
Heyes walked by the lake for a few minutes, hoping against hope that he might be wrong. But no one came to get him. Finally, he turned and went back to the inn with his head low. He almost bumped into Frank Smith in the street in front of the inn.
"Professor Heyes?" said the student from Texas quizzically, seeing the dark look on his new friend's face.
"Don't call me Professor!" snarled Heyes.
"They didn't hire you?" Smith was genuinely upset.
Heyes tried to keep from sounding as if he was mad at the young Texan. "No. My damn past got me. Again. I'm sorry not to get the chance to teach you and all the other students here. I'm afraid they won't find anyone this late in the year."
"Mr. Heyes . . ." began Frank Smith. Then he stopped. "Oh gee – not Hannibal Heyes?"
"Yeah." Heyes turned and went up the front steps of the inn without another word.
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Beth Heyes paced the little apartment bedroom, in despair at still not hearing anything from her husband. He should have been back in New York hours before, but she had heard nothing. Keuka had long been closed for the night – there was no one she could ask about when Heyes had left. She glanced at the clock. It was two AM and she couldn't even think of sleeping.
Suddenly there was the loud bang of the outside door of the brownstone slamming shut. "It's the shame the whole world over . . ." The slurred voice Beth heard singing very out of tune at the top of his lungs was familiar, but the way it sounded now wasn't.
"Shut up, Hannibal! You'll wake folks," said Jim Smith's voice, which didn't sound very quiet or perfectly sober, either. The two men were talking on the stair landing right outside the apartment door.
"I don't g-g-g-ive a shit. Let 'em . . . yell at me. I'll . . . sh-shoot 'em d-d-down, one, two, th-three," came Heyes' raucous reply. Beth was appalled to hear her husband not only swearing and slurring words terribly, but stuttering badly and hesitating over even simple words. Alcohol had deprived him of the ability to control his aphasia.
"Shhh! St-stop waving that gun around, d-d-damn you! I d-d-don't care if you want t-to get arrested, I d-don't. I d-don't want nobody shot, neither, specially not me," cried Jim, his stutter sounding worse than Beth had heard it in a long time.
"Oh. Shorry. Here, le'mme put it . . . , oh sh-shit," said Heyes in a softer voice that was even more slurred. As Beth was rushing to the apartment door in her nightgown, she could hear the crack of something metal hitting the marble floor of the landing multiple times.
Beth opened the door and whispered loudly, "Jim, Heyes, get in here and for God's sake shut up!"
"I'll . . . celebrate if I want t-t-to," said Heyes defensively in whiskey-soaked tones as Beth scooped up his dropped gun. She held the gun away from the wild grasp of her drunken husband who leaned forward too far and then fell on his face with a painful thump on the marble floor. Beth held the door for Jim so he could get Heyes to his feet and into the apartment.
Beth was in despair to see her husband totally drunk for the first time since she had known him. This was the terrible drinking trouble that the Kid had earnestly warned her about before she had married Heyes. Heyes' suit was stained and disheveled. He stumbled wretchedly in the door, leaning on Jim. It couldn't have been more obvious that Hannibal Heyes wasn't celebrating anything. Only total disaster could have reduced him to this state. Feeling so much pressure to support his family and being denied over and over again, he had finally given in to his terrible thirst.
"What happened?" asked Beth as she closed the door behind the two inebriated friends. But she could see as she turned that Jim was only a little drunk, while her husband was barely able to keep his feet, even with his friend's support.
The former outlaw swayed on his feet as he ranted, "God d-d-damned . . . p – p – p . . . rich b-b-bastards shaid no. They was all set to say yes. Then there was a lady hated me 'cause I b-b-beat her husband at poker a bunch of years b-back and he . . . k-k . . . did away with himself. As if it was my fault he was a . . . bad player and a . . . fool! No reason, just an excuse. Harvard said no, t-t-too. No outlaws n-need apply. Slammed the God damned door on me, both of 'em. Nobody wants me. Nobody is ever gonna want a d-d-damn outlaw. Here, honey, giv' me a kiss. I need it bad." Beth was resigned to offering him a cheek despite the horrible smell of whiskey and smoke, but Heyes missed his aim and collapsed half onto a chair. He was sliding slowly to the floor, offering little resistance on the way.
"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry," said Beth, reaching out her arms to help him. But her husband didn't even seem to hear her.
"Jim, can you help me?" asked Beth, "We need to get him into the bedroom before he passes out completely."
"Yeah," said Heyes' old friend. "Poor guy."
"Thank you, Jim," said Beth. She put her husband's left arm over her shoulder while Jim took his right and the two of them struggled to get the nearly limp Heyes, who was much taller than either one of them, into bed. They dropped his head and chest onto the bed first and then Jim took off the drunken man's filthy shoes and put his feet onto the bed. By the time the process was done, Heyes was snoring loudly. Jim pulled the crushed hat off his friend's head and tossed it into the corner. Beth pulled off Heyes' glasses and put them on the dresser.
"Oh my God, Jim," said Beth. "Where did you find him?"
"In a d-dive on Hester Street d-drinking the worst rot-gut in the city. A friend warned me that Joshua Smith was – you know."
Beth was fighting tears. "I know. Drowning his sorrows."
"Yeah. Heyes was d-downing bad whiskey like water. The K-Kid told me once that Heyes couldn't carry his liquor and he couldn't stop once he got started. Heyes coped real well all the time I've known him. He always stayed with beer when we played poker down by the docks. But now this . . ."
"Yeah." Beth sat on the bed next to Heyes. He was snoring noisily.
"B-Beth . . ." Jim said, "d-do you know what t-to do? When he wakes up?"
"No," said Beth. "I mean, I know to throw out the cooking sherry and hide his guns. But past that, I don't have any experience. I just know to love him."
Jim cleared his throat. "You got to watch him like a hawk when he wakes up or he'll be out to get, you know, the hair of the dog that bit him." Seeing that Beth looked baffled at this, Jim said, "Whiskey. Beth he's gonna have an awful head, and stomach, when he wakes up. He'll want more whiskey to kill the pain. You can't let him have a drop. I'll get Charlie. He'll be able t-to help. I ain't big enough to fight Heyes, but Charlie can do it."
"You're not going to wake him at this hour?" Mrs. Heyes protested.
"For the man he c-calls his son? Yeah, I am," said Jim boldly.
Beth realized the wisdom of this. "And you'll let Dr. Leutze know why I'm not at work in the morning?"
Jim steadied himself on a chair. "I'll d-do my best. Gonna be hard t-to make it in myself. It t-took me quite a while to get Heyes out of that place and all the way here."
"And you had a drink or so while you were there . . ." Beth tried not to sound accusing, but it was clear that Jim was under the influence.
Jim explained, "Heyes ain't an easy man t-to steer out of a bar, when he gets going like that. He's one hard d-drinker. So I did have a bit of whiskey. T-to fortify me for the work, you know."
Beth was in despair. "I don't know, but I'm very grateful to you, Jim. Did he tell anyone his real name? Or use any alias?"
Jim shook his head. "Not that I heard. He didn't give a name. Did a lot of b-bad singing, but he didn't brag about who he is. And we didn't see any friends other than Pops Havel, who promised not to let anybody else know after he t-told me. Most of the guys in there didn't speak much English anyhow."
Beth was relieved about that, at least, "Thank goodness! If anyone other than close friends found out he did all that drinking, it would make things so much harder for him ever to find work. I know other men drink, but with Hannibal Heyes no one seems to need any extra excuses to say 'no.' And if he used an alias, they could put him away for life. I wish we could keep this from Dr. Leutze, but I don't want to lie."
"No, not to our boss. I'll t-tell him in p-private. D-do you want me to t-tell P-Polly?" Jim asked.
Beth sighed and nodded. "Yes, but carefully. I'll need her help, too. Jed has warned me like he did you. He said Heyes has almost drunk himself to death more than once. He's done so well for so long since they went straight. I guess he just couldn't make it any longer when two more schools said 'no.' I know it won't be able easy to get him back off of liquor, much less back to applying for academic positions after the heartbreak of all these refusals. I don't know what we'll do. But first things first. I just want him safe. That's going to be hard enough to keep up."
"Yeah," said Jim with a grim nod of his scarred head. "I'd better go tell Charlie."
"Thank you, Jim. We're in your debt."
Jim waved off his dear friend's gratitude and went out the door. When he was gone, Beth sat on the bed next to her insensible husband's feet. He was curled on his side. She patted his feet fondly through the covers and murmured, "Aw, honey, we'll get through this, you and me."
Then she put her head down and wept.
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Half an hour later, there was a discrete knock on the apartment door. A troubled-looking Jim put his head in the door as Beth opened it. "Charlie's gone, B-Beth. I d-d-don't know where. I wrote a note and slid it under the d-door. How's Heyes?"
Beth dried her eyes and answered as coherently as she could. "Asleep. I got him cleaned up some and he didn't even move. You go home and see if you can get a little sleep before you have to go to work. If you can let Dr. Leutze know what happened and see if he can send help in the morning, I'd be very grateful."
"Sure thing, Beth. You t-try t-to get some sleep. I'm b-betting Heyes won't wake up any t-time soon. Wish I didn't have to get up, either." Jim spoke very softly in the pre-dawn stillness, then he yawned and disappeared out the door.
