"Little" Sister Pt. 04

At the time, I picked another two new contacts in the political sphere. Ann Coulter and I had an adversarial relationship through the years, but it was a friendly one. Unlike some of her right wing friends, Ann could be counted on to do the basic research. If you did not know the facts, she would bury you with them. This is not to say she was not also a mistress of spin, but that's how politics is played. Like Sean Hannity, Ann Coulter was in my Rolodex and I in hers. This would prove useful when I moved to Concord.

Though he was not a national figure, like Ann Coulter or Sean Hannity, Ro Willingham proved to be just as valuable through the years. If I wanted information, but did not want to cause waves, Ro was one of my more reliable sources. Not surprisingly, he got on fine with both of my brothers and my fiancé/husband. Somewhat more surprising was his long term relationship with Elspeth. When she chose someone very like Ro to marry, it came as no surprise.

That was still a ways away. Personal events came first—Sheila gave birth. While this was expected, the event came as a surprise. Sheila delivered just over three weeks early on Sunday, February 12, after two false alarms and four hours of labor. Initially, her OB/GYN tried to end the labor, but the efforts failed. Sean called me at 10:30 PM, telling me that they were going to deliver. He was very firm when he told me not to come.

That did not mean I could not make the baptism. Lutheran baptisms are typically done in the first few weeks, even earlier if the baby is in distress. While my niece, Cindy, was only three pounds, seven ounces at birth, she was never in infant ICU. The baptism was held the day she was two weeks old. I arranged for someone to cover my Monday class and drove to New Jersey.

I arrived early in the morning on Saturday. Sean was up, waiting for me. Sheila was sleeping. Most of the day we spent talking of inconsequential things and waiting for other arrivals. An interesting one was a senior executive from Sony's home office in Minato, Japan. Kiku was also there to translate. It was one time having Lars in Tokyo proved handy.

Francine flew in from California on Saturday afternoon. Roxanna picked her up and brought her to the Residence. Why Roxy was still Francine's designated driver remains a mystery. Perhaps it was because Francine served as her admission pass to things like our home. I must admit, we could be entertaining.

Sunday, we all dressed nicely and went to the church. In the middle of the service, we went to the baptismal font (a simple bowl with water) and held a short ceremony in front of the local congregation. After the service, there was a cookies and punch reception. While nothing unexpected happened, the event remains ingrained in my memory. Even now, I can close my eyes and picture the minister's hand holding a scallop shell, from which he poured water over Cindy's downy head.

After the service, Sean took us to Albert's for dinner. Everyone wanted to see the baby. My best recollection is of Christine eyeing everyone who came close, while Sheila smiled indulgently. After nine difficult months, Sheila seemed battle tested. For Christine, the baby was a new level of responsibility and she takes any responsibility seriously. I could have written a publishable paper on the two of them. There was a sense of completion about the day, though it did not apply to me.

My completion had a ways to go. First I had to finish the term of my Fellowship, submit and defend my dissertation and gather another sheepskin for the wall. Same old song, different verse. At Yale I had done all the research myself. At Dartmouth I had my own research to draw on, plus Elspeth and a small host of groupies. After the wedding, and the accolades it brought, I may have been the most sought after adviser on campus. In addition to my own two, almost any grad student in the social sciences might show up to ask advice. In self defense, I assigned them homework.

It was all very up front. I would give them a point to research, inform them that it related to my own dissertation, then critique their work. It was usually not difficult to guess why they were having problems, so I tried to make the assignments relevant. Still, all the work went into my research file, not theirs. For some reason, this did not slow down the demand. In fact, I had two particular students that would take an assignment almost every week. They both claimed my assignments were more interesting than their own work. I had mixed feelings about that.

For whatever reasons, I spent the March break at the Residence, culling a large pile of research notes into a manageable stack. Once that was done, I hoped the thesis would become follow the dots. It worked, to a point. The first draft emerged on the Saturday night and Sunday morning before classes began on Monday. After crashing til two PM, I woke to find a note on top of the printout.

Sheila suggested I shift from simple chronological sequence to grouping by origin or occupation. She had a point. The date ordering made look ups simpler, but provided no insight. Reworking into clusters of some sort might provide additional grist. I ruminated on the idea all the way back to Hanover. I spent most of the week finding the right cluster. It turned out to be surprisingly simple. Success bred activity.

It did not matter if a person was successful in blue collar, white collar, performance or athletics, every success seemed to inspire more attempts. Sometimes success bred competition, but just as likely the new attempt would go off in its own direction. The example was more important than the specifics. Once I understood that, everything seemed to fall into place. Oddly, this seemed to be true of my group of students, including Elspeth and the two weekly visitors. On the first of May, I took what I hoped was my final draft to Dr. Steele.

Unlike my Yale dissertation, this one was compact. Without the notes and appendix, it was only eighty six pages. Add the footnotes and it grew to one hundred twelve. Fully documented it was 358 pages, but more than half was a collection of case studies. As I turned it over, the whole thing seemed light and flimsy. Dr. Steele did not contradict my misgivings. Instead, he promised to have comments in a week.

Brevity may be the soul of wit, but no one claims the same of scholarship. That said, the fewer words needed to make a point, the more powerfully the point is made. See, for example, the speeches of Abraham Lincoln. There is a reason school children used to memorize the whole Gettysburg Address. It only counts 262 words. The Declaration of Independence is many times longer, but no one forgets the first paragraph. I kept telling myself that short could be good, but I didn't believe it.

My worst fears seemed to be realized when I received a request to call on Dr. Krelinov. It became even worse when I reached his office. Ann informed me that our meeting was moved to the conference room. That meant other persons sitting in, for example the disciplinary committee. For once Dr. Richards abandoned me. I squared my shoulders and prepared for the worst.

It was even worse than I imagined. Sitting with Drs. Steele and Krelinov were Dr. Fidelas, Dean of the graduate school, Dr. Wheeler, Vice President of the University and Dr. Hanson, President. I greeted each by name, then cast an inquiring look at Dr. Steele. Dr. Steele's lips twitching was the first clue I was not in trouble. Dr. Wheeler said, sub-vocally, "Damn. She's cool under pressure." Never in my life was I so glad to read lips.

I said, "Is this a prank, or did you really like it that much?" Everyone in the room choked.

Like with Dr. Harrigan collapsing from shock, this was not an expression to use lightly. Everyone seemed to swallow down the wrong pipe. It took a full minute before they were all back in control. By then, Drs. Steele and Fidelas were chuckling wryly.

Dr. Krelinov asked, "What gave us away?"

I said, "Gentlemen, Ma'am, you need to keep your smirks on a leash." Dr. Hanson looked thoughtful.

Dr. Krelinov continued, "We will take that under advisement. To answer your question, yes. We liked it that much. I will admit, I was concerned when Remington told me you were doing yet another major revision of your thesis. Please, feel free to revise away. This is everything I hope for and rarely see.

"Now, if you have no objection, we have some questions. You may consider this your formal defense, unless you would prefer the more traditional setting." I felt a little light headed, but assented. "Very well. In the second paragraph on page sixteen, you assert that..." That is not how oral examinations are given, but if the Pope offers to officiate your wedding, you get married.

An hour later, I returned to my office. Elspeth was waiting. She immediately asked what was wrong. I was too drained to play her along. Instead, I told that I was done with my oral defense and told her who would be signing off on the thesis. Oddly, I was still surprised when the degree was grantedSumma Cum Laude.I get humble at the strangest times.

The next week lived in surreal and visited bizarre. The story of my unique oral exam was all over the department by morning. I still needed to do a final proofing of a thesis that had already been approved, though official word of the approval took til Wednesday. Students in my class would fall silent when I came close. My own TAs were wide eyed the first time they met me that week. Naturally, the thesis itself was available for download. That happened over a hundred times the first day it was up.

I asked Dr. Steele about the attention. He started to reply, then asked me to sit. For the first time, he called me by my given name.

"Siobhan, it has been an honor and a privilege to serve as your faculty adviser. I must admit, my first impression of you was otherwise, and I had read your first dissertation. That wasMagna Cum Laude,but this one is much better. It is already serving as an example of how a good thesis paper is written. That will continue for years. Be aware that it will be, has been, read far outside the confines of these walls.

"That brings me to the subject of your future. In case you had not figured it out already, there will be a tenure track position available for you, here at Dartmouth. As the saying goes, that ain't hay. But, I doubt you are leaning in that direction. The changes in your life have been profound. I have been privileged to witness them, even to receive a belly button ring. My wife thinks that's hilarious, by the way. At this point in your life, I doubt academia will satisfy you.

"So", he reached out his hand. I took it and we shook. "This is not 'goodbye', but 'til we meet again.' When you tire of the world, rest assured you will always have a place here."

I pulled him from his chair and hugged him, crying all over his shirt. I'm such a girl sometimes.

Chapter 18 – Breaking Ground

Nothing is ever as easy or simple as it looks from afar. I had finals to give and papers to grade. If anything, the number of students asking advice increased. Still, I had unusual amounts of free time. I used much of it to check in on my nine assistants. Evaine was also in Anthropology. Her paper on Amish adjustments to the 21st century would beMagna Cum Laude.

Elspeth received her PhD, though without honors. I felt badly about that, considering how much time she devoted to my paper, but it was her choice. In truth, she was probably happier with the attention I received than she would have been for herself. I recognized this as true, but it was still difficult to accept. In any event, it came as a shock when she invited me to Boston to meet her parents.

The occasion was Elspeth's graduation party. Sean wanted to throw me one, but I told him it was too soon after the baby. Cindy was born three weeks early. The birth was normal and the baby healthy, but the early labor was a scare. Francine had Michael on March 12, one month later to the day. In the confusion, no one noticed he was also born on his father's birthday. I could almost relate. Mother and I are only two days apart.

My return to Boston was surreal for a number of reasons. Rather than drive, I flew to Logan International Airport. A limo and driver were waiting. Rather than going to Roxbury, we drove to Peabody House on Cambridge Street, which the driver informed me was designed by Charles Bulfinch. Apparently the Otises, the Peabodys and the Rices maintained the historical landmark, using it for private parties and important receptions.

The reception was exactly what seven years of Ivy League led me to expect. The buffet was vegan, the bar was home grown and the politics were left of left. A year before I would have been as out of place as a real bull on Wall Street. That was a year before.

What a difference a year makes. I was verging on celebrity status. Three fourths of the questions related to how I had survived Sean Hannity and Ann Coulter, Ann in particular. How could I say that both were easier to deal with than my own family? Sean Richards and Sean Hannity would enjoy a game of pool and beer. George is no one's ideal as the third sibling. My saving grace was Ro.

Richard made the journey to support his shoestring cousin. Since he worked for the evil-right-wing-syndicate, he was the lightning rod for all the criticism. When Elspeth defended him, shock waves went through the party. Make no mistake, Elspeth was a born and bred liberal, but she would not allow her friend to be railroaded. Friends were more valuable than politics. To divert attention, I told everyone that I was supporting a new half-way-house in New Hampshire.

Unofficially it was the beginning of my career as a lobbyist. In certain circles, half-way-house is a buzzword for get-out-of-jail-free. Beacon House was nothing of the sort, but I downplayed that aspect. By Massachusetts' standards I was a raving conservative. Since I already knew Ann Coulter and Sean Hannity, I knew how far that was from the truth. My first conscious political decision was to ignore the fact. If they wanted to dedicate money to a half-way-house, I was not going to say no.

I suppose you could read something into the fact that Elspeth showed up at my hotel room at 3:00 AM, wanting abuse. You could probably make some hay with the fact that I tied her up and wore her ass out with a horse hair lash. For me, what mattered is that one of my people needed me. Nothing more, but nothing less. If Elspeth wanted to be punished, sobeit. Surely she deserved it for something. When the chastisement was finished, Elspeth would still haul my ashes. That was what mattered to me. Call me selfish if you wish.

The upshot of the trip to Boston was that I needed to get serious about moving to the state capital. Sheila said we needed to present Beacon House as a going concern. That meant we needed an actual location, with real people. This proved surprisingly easy to produce. I wrote a check for a three month lease and violá, a halfway house. We had a list of volunteers from the university. Newly graduated Evaine Schaeffelker was the first Director. It would look good on her resume, though she would not assume her duties for several months.

I always expected accusations that it was all a sham, but they never materialized. Part of this was because Beacon House found genuine clients the first day. Somehow, we hit an existing need. Who knew? By the end of the first week, my made-to-order charity was a going concern. Even the IRS had no problem when Beacon House applied for non-profit status. Out of fiction, reality.

This gave me something to do. Once my second PhD was in hand, I was out of a job. A new Teaching Fellow covered my class for the summer session. My TAs reported to him. When the lease was up in August, I did not renew my room in Marbury Hall. Instead I rented a room in Hooksett, halfway between Manchester and Concord. This put me five minutes from Beacon House's future site, just north of Manchester, and ten minutes from the state capital.

FD Consulting rented a small storefront in Concord. Beacon Light Services occupied a corner. I was the Director. Elspeth was the secretary/gofer/janitor. She actively enjoyed being assaulted in her office. I once tied her up and left her stewing for several hours. Richard Willingham drove up from New York to "rescue" her. It was an anxious couple of weeks before Elspeth's next period. I told her (tied up on my desk, with welts on her ass) that she should at least inform men when she was not on the pill. Elspeth was disappointed when her period arrived on schedule.

There is a funny thing about politics. If people think you have influence, you really do have influence. As the visible face of a charitable organization and a lobbying firm, people started showing up at my door. Many were crackpots, though even a crackpot theory can be interesting. Most were a total waste of time. Most, but not all. Carlton Weber walked into the office one afternoon, asking to see me.

Carlton Weber was the son of James Weber and Fiona Endicott. Fiona was one of Elspeth's many shirt-tail relatives. I gave Carlton thirty minutes to make a case. He only needed five. The short version was that Fiona was fired, because her husband James was caught selling drugs. I might not have paid any more attention, except that the drugs were magic brownies for cancer patients.

Some of the facts were clear. James had quantities of a controlled substance, with intention to distribute them. The state and federal government did not care if the recipients were unable to keep food down, or that James' brownies would help their chronic nausea. I, through Beacon Light, made inquiries. The District Attorney's office had no problem issuing a statement of facts, which made it clear that the hemp was used for therapeutic purposes. The rest was leg work.

To make the rest of the story short, after three weeks and many calls and meetings, a meeting took place. I met with the District Attorney and the Governor's designated adviser on paroles and pardons. Neither man was at all interested in discussing James conviction. He would serve the minimum, then be considered for parole at the usual time.

However, in view of the circumstances, the DA was willing to make a statement, including a direct phone call, to the effect that Fiona was not complicit in any wrongdoing. Moreover, the Governor would take the case under advisement. Future medical use cases would get fast track attention. For my part, I would publicize that Fiona had regained her position and why. You scratch my friend's back; I scratch yours.

To me, it seemed as if nothing much was done. Fiona had her job back, but she would soon leave for another firm. James spent the entire minimum sentence in lock up. He did make parole, but I had no influence on that. None-the-less, Elspeth and Fiona thought I walked on water. If everything was so easy, anyone could do it.

Word of mouth is a strange thing. Any marketing professional will tell you it is the best sort of advertising. The downside is that expectations are sky high. Once Fiona's results were known, I was the extenuating-circumstances-conviction faith healer of the month. Every person with a guilty-but-justified conviction wanted my attention. As with most things, 90% was bullshit. Of the remaining 10%, at least ¾ were too close to call. That left three cases.

I have a brother who was a mathematical prodigy. I knew, from George, that self addressing loops are unavoidable. ReadGödel, Escher, Bach,by Douglas Hofstadter. Even mere sociologists find this stuff fascinating. It means that it is mathematically inevitable that there will be cases where we wish the law was written a bit differently. James Weber was peddling drugs to cancer patients, who could not get them legally. Marion Sanduski made the elopement of young lovers possible, by faking birth certificates. Joanna Smith simultaneously married seven times, to keep ICE off her "husband's" back.