Twentieth Century Limited Book One - Age of Heroes. Jan David Blais
business with him, though from Jim’s ordeal I knew his reputation. He told me to be seated, then handed me a piece of paper. Sure enough, it was my article, double-spaced, neatly typed with a couple of eraser smudges, just as I had handed it in.
“I’m told this is your work, Mr. Bernard.”
“Yes, Brother, it is.”
“You know we can’t publish anything like this. Were you not told at orientation that news and opinion must pertain to matters pertaining to the La Salle community?”
I shook my head. “But this is about La Salle. It’s about how we need to see what’s happening and not ignore it.”
“We have never printed anything like this and we’re not about to start now.” Brother Adalbert’s face relaxed and he leaned forward. “Paul, personally I agree with what you say, I even admire you for putting it so well, but there’s a time and place for everything and this is not it.” He sat back and steepled his fingers. “We have to avoid causing unnecessary strain in our community. Everyone here gets along and it’s my job to see that continues.”
In the silence that followed, I replayed my conversation with Terry. I felt my neck getting warm. This was wrong, not letting people think for themselves on something this important. Suddenly I knew what I had to do. “So you’re not going to let it run,” I said, looking at Brother William.
“I’m sorry,” Brother William said, holding out his hands, “but that’s our decision.” His face brightened, “but give me another column by Friday, we’ll hold the presses for it.”
I nodded slowly, looking for the right words and the courage to say them. “I’m sorry too. But if that’s the way things are, I’ll have to resign from the paper.”
Brother William frowned. “What did you say?”
“I said, I resign from the paper. I’ll clear out my desk this afternoon.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You say the Maroon and White’s a student newspaper, let it be a student newspaper.” Now I was up to my neck in it. “If it’s not a student newspaper, it’s wrong to call it one.”
Brother Adalbert exploded. “Watch your tongue, young man, or you’ll find yourself on suspension.”
Norm had been silent til now. He had encouraged me when I told him about the idea but his concern was how the students would take it. It never crossed our minds the Brothers might refuse to print it. Norm had a squeaky, high-pitched voice but a reputation for being fearless. He turned to Brother William. “You know we’re going to have to redo our front page.”
“What do you mean?”
“An Editor of the Maroon and White resigns over a censorship issue. That’s a major news story, and no question it pertains to the La Salle community...”
“But you can’t...”
“...and people will ask why, so we have to print the column as a news item.”
Brother Adalbert pointed his finger at us. “Very clever! I’ll bet you cooked this whole thing up, the two of you.”
Norm shook his head. “Not at all. Farthest thing from our mind.”
“Watch it, mister, or you’ll have the shortest tenure of any editor in history!”
He laughed. “Sounds like another story in the making.”
Brother Adalbert stood up, his face lighting up the room. “You two are dismissed. I mean, leave! We’ll let you know about your discipline. Rest assured there will be some.”
Norm and I walked out, not looking back. “Jeez,” I said, “what’ll we do now?”
“Hey, don’t worry, they can’t afford to let this get out.” He laughed. “They’re right, we couldn’t have written a better script if we’d tried. Going down to the office?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied. “I said I’d get my stuff – guess I’d better do it.”
It wasn’t like I could avoid telling my parents, bringing home a gym bag full of gear and dumping it on my bed. My mother was outraged. “You did absolutely the right thing, Paul. Never have I been prouder of you! They should send that idiot Adalbert back to the Middle Ages where he belongs!” It was all my father could do to keep her from driving to the school and beating on the Brothers’ door, but true to form, he was practical.
“Things have a way of sorting themselves out,” he said, pulling on his pipe, “but let’s see if we can’t help them a little.” Beneath his composure, he was still nursing his wounds from the battle to save Jim. “Paul, get me the phone book.”
He leafed through it then picked up the phone. “Dave LaPointe,” he said firmly. “Hello, Dave! Comment ça va, you old bastard! Bien, bien. Well actually not so good. We got a situation at the high school, maybe you can give us a hand.”
Dave LaPointe was the Providence Journal’s ace photographer. He and my father went back a long way. Thanks to Dave I had visited the newsroom a few times, even went on assignment with him once. My father recounted what had happened, then fell silent a moment. “Yes, yes, that’s the way to go. I’ll owe you one if you can pull this off. Right... right. Merçi bien. À bientôt, mon ami.” He turned to us. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Dave knows your Brother William pretty well and he’s got this idea...”
“What idea?”
“Hey,” he said with a merry look I rarely saw, “let’s let Dave handle it. His editor doesn’t wear a black dress but he has to work around him sometimes, too.”
Later that night the phone rang. It was for me. “Paul, Brother Robert here. I just heard about your little problem, news travels fast in our community. I’m not surprised what you wrote, I saw a lot of your writing when you were a freshman, you’ll remember. Nor does our reaction surprise me.” He coughed several times, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. What I’m saying, La Salle is a great place but once in a while it needs to be shaken by the scruff of the neck. I’ll do what I can to see it comes out right. Don’t worry, and whatever you do, stick by your guns. As we say in the trade, keep the faith.”
What a great person, I thought, putting the phone down. All of a sudden, my knees weren’t so wobbly.
A few days later Brother William collared me in the corridor and said they’d decided to run the column with a statement that it was a personal opinion and did not represent the views of the paper, La Salle, or the Brothers. He seemed a bit sheepish but didn’t say any more so I figured, let well enough alone. When the paper came out, the “it didn’t represent the views” part was missing. The column ran on the editorial page over my name with “A Personal Opinion” in bold. Otherwise there it was, word for word. I moved my equipment back to a big round of applause. Norm shook my hand and clapped me on the back. I told him I was grateful how he backed me up. He grinned. “I figured I’d be cleaning out my desk too, but we heard somebody put the pressure on. Know anything about that?”
I thought a moment then shook my head. “Not really... just glad to be back.” I put the treasured Leica back in my desk and locked it. When I told my father, he nodded knowingly and shook my hand. That was all. Some people told me they’d read the column, a few thanked me, it made them think, some said it took guts to do it. Some sideways looks too, but Terry Grimes took me totally by surprise.
“I saw what you wrote.” He glared at me. “Why’d you do it?”
“I wanted to get people thinking. Like what you said made me think.”
“No way! That was between us two, but this? In the paper? Just ’cause you see something on TV that makes you an expert? This has been going on for-ever! Where you been, man? Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, ever hear of them? And by the way, who appointed you