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Chapter 28
The last day of school had been exciting, but nothing compared to this.
One eye in his bedroom mirror, the other on the diagram in the Real Men’s Guidebook, Timothy attempted to tie a half Windsor for the first time.
The necktie was fat, brown, and polyester. Timothy had found it in the back of a closet, his dad must’ve left it there.
With the thicker end dangling from his neck about a foot lower than the skinny end, he tried to make sense of the instructions. He managed to cross the thicker end over and behind the skinnier end, then looped it successfully through the neckband. But the next steps involved maneuverings that seemed to require a third hand to execute correctly.
On the third try, he finally achieved something resembling a loose knot, but the thicker end was still hopelessly longer than the skinnier end, and was now dangling somewhere near his knees.
Hearing the phone ring, he dashed downstairs, thinking it might be Charles, but from the tone of his mom’s voice, he could tell it was Greg from her office.
“I told you,” she said, “I have an event to go to with Timothy.”
Timothy couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end, but it was obvious Greg was putting pressure on her to come in, as he’d done previously.
“I know the Sawyer case is on Monday, I’ve already cleared it with Evelin, we’re covered...”
With her free hand, Timothy’s mom began unconsciously rubbing her temple, as if to fight back the tension the phone call was inserting into her brain.
“Look Greg, I’m not coming in, I’m going to be with my son, goodbye,” she said with finality and hung up the phone.
Her eyes pinched closed, she remained by the phone momentarily, still trying to massage away the headache with her thumb and forefinger.
She looked up, surprised when she realized Timothy was standing there watching her. When she saw the mess of the necktie hanging from around his neck, she began to laugh, grateful to have another channel she could switch to.
“Look at you,” she said. “Come here.”
Reaching out, she undid the botched necktie, then began tying it for him properly, from the beginning.
“Stand up straight or it won’t come out right,” she said.
Timothy tried to stand straight and look down simultaneously, so he could see how the hell to tie this thing.
“Your father was never good at this either,” she said, “I was always helping him on his way out the door.”
This was the first time Timothy had heard her even reference his dad in months. She usually didn’t like to talk about him. The fact that she was the one who brought him up seemed to open a window.
“Was he really so bad?” Timothy asked, innocently enough.
Continuing with the tie, she blew a thin column of air out the side of her mouth, as if she had to clear some space to find words to deal with the subject matter.
“Well, your father had a bit of a temper to begin with,” she said. “I don’t know why I expected him to grow out of it...but over the years, he just seemed to get angrier and angrier.”
“What was he angry about?”
“Everything and nothing,” she said vaguely.
She was to the point in the process where she was looping one end of the brown tie up past his Adam’s apple. Timothy tilted his head back slightly and remained silent, hoping his mom would go into greater deal.
“As time went on, he became harder and harder to talk to,” she continued, “and I had my own…issues... anyway, it got to the point where we didn’t know each other anymore, and staying together just wasn’t an option...”
Timothy tried to square this with his fading memories of the man who sometimes laughed when he took him to the park over the weekends, but more often was someone whose way he needed to stay out of when he came home from work, frustrated, banging things around sometimes to the point of breaking them.
“Are you sorry you married him?” Timothy asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer but wanting to know.
She was this close to finishing the necktie, but paused a moment to reflect.
“We were young when we got married, we both needed to get out of our parents’ houses, it seemed like the right way to do it...maybe it wasn’t a good idea.”
This small bit of insight almost made Timothy sorry he’d asked, until she added,
“But if your father and I had never married, I never would’ve gotten you, would I?”
She’d been looking past Timothy a lot lately. But putting the finishing touches on his necktie, she looked right at him. She shook her head in disbelief, as if marveling how much he’d grown this past year and she was just realizing it at this very moment.
“I know this has been a hard year for you. It’s been a hard year for me too,” she said. “Maybe if I’d done a better job explaining things, it would’ve been easier on you, I don’t know...”
She started to turn her head away. Timothy could see her clenching her jaw ever so slightly, like she was fighting to keep her game face on and not start crying.
He’d been keeping his own guard up so long, he couldn’t even remember the last time he felt his chest loosening like this, but seeing his mom on the edge of tears had an effect on him, and he had to clench his jaw too.
“It’s okay, Mom,” he managed to say, “you’re doing a fine job.”
Hearing him sounding almost like the adult in the situation made Timothy’s mom laugh and tear up at the same time. She hugged him hard, and when he hugged back, it was a real hug, his eyes moistening too.
“It’s 1:00,” Cathryn called in from the living room, “we gotta go.”
“Okay, kid,” his mom said, pulling herself together. “It’s showtime.”
# # #
If arriving at school in the Calico Chrysler was humiliating enough on an average day, the idea of driving it to the IPM ceremony was just plain incomprehensible.
But here they were, piling into their five-different-shades-of-Rustoleum vehicle, heading out to meet the world.
His mom was dressed sort of like she dressed for work. Cathryn was wearing a pants suit he’d seen her wear once when she and his mom had gone to a wedding.
It was a warm day, and the Calico Chrysler of course had no air conditioning, so its windows were wide open on their way out Route 209, blowing all their hair to a point that no amount of combing later could tame.
The IPM facility had a manned guard gate that admitted only one car at a time. Even Timothy’s mom had never been out here before.
As they pulled up to the gate in the Calico Chrysler, their hair still wild from the drive out, the guard took one look at them and asked, dubiously, “Can I help you?”
“We’re here for the ceremony?” Timothy’s mom said, her voice rising at the end almost as if she were asking a question.
“Name please.”
“Timothy Miller and guests.”
“Oh,” the guard said, almost apologetically after checking his notes. “Here, put this in your window and drive right in.”
“Thank you,” Timothy’s mom said, taking the pass from him, “where’s guest parking?”
“No, you’re not in the guest lot, we’ve got a space reserved for you in Executive Parking,” he said, pointing to the spaces closest to the main building’s entryway. “Drive right up front.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Timothy’s mom said, “thank you...”
Steering the car to Executive Parking, sure enough, they found an empty space waiting for them with a printed sign on photocopied paper reading MILLER.
Please do not dent or scratch anything, Timothy prayed, closing his eyes as his mom maneuvered them in between a glimmering Lincoln Continental and a late-model Cadillac.
Cutting the engine, his mom and Cathryn both patted down their hair. Timothy didn’t bother.
“You think we need to lock it?” Cathryn quipped as they got out.
As they walked past the other cars in the executive spaces, Timothy even saw a couple of Mercedes.
When they reached the front door of the building, the person greeting them was obviously somewhat better informed than the guard in the parking lot had been.
“You must be Timothy,” he said, welcoming them.
Probably not too many ten-year-olds with crazy long hair expected today, so not much of a stretch, really.
“Hi,” Timothy said hesitantly, his own voice sounding odd to him, dwarfed by the imposing environment.
“I have passes for all of you, if you can just clip them to your own clothing, I’ll lead you to the conference room...”
It’s not that Timothy had never walked down a long hallway before, but this hallway seemed exceptionally long, and well-lit to the extent that the air itself almost seemed incandescent.
There was a certain background hum, too, a white noise so all-encompassing, it felt like the building was some manner of massive creature that had just swallowed them whole.
“Right in here,” their guide said, leading them through the open doors of the conference suite.
“Timothy, Timothy!” someone called.
As Timothy jerked his head to see where the voice was coming from, a flashbulb went off in his face, capturing his stunned expression.
“Thanks,” the photographer said, “I’m on a tight deadline, just making sure I get a good shot.”
The guy’s name badge said Daily Freeman. Looked like IPM had gone ahead and contacted the press themselves.
“Timothy, welcome...”
Timothy turned to find Jack Wallace, extending a warm hand, which Timothy accepted, feeling like he was shaking hands with President Ford himself.
“Hello Mr. Wallace,” Timothy said. “This is my mom.”
“Yes, hello Denise, we spoke on the phone the other evening...and you must be Cathryn.”
The guy had done his homework. He greeted both women with equal warmth, no explanation of relationships necessary.
“We have a table waiting for you, right by the dais,” Jack Wallace said, escorting them across the room.
There at the table, Charles and his mom were already seated. They rose to greet Timothy, his mom and Cathryn.
Charles’ smile was as wide as he’d ever seen it, he actually embraced Timothy in an almost headlock-like hug, he was so excited.
“Can you believe this?” Charles said.
“Uh, actually, no,” Timothy said.
Timothy’s mom introduced Charles’ mom to Cathryn, and the three women fell into polite conversation, leaving Timothy and Charles sitting next to each other looking around the place, taking it all in.
There must’ve been at least 100 people gathered, the men all in suits, what women were here in conservative skirts and blouses. From the looks of it, these weren’t just IPMers, either, but community leaders of all sorts.
Several people around the room were looking over at Charles and Timothy, there was no doubt in either of their minds that they were being talked about.
A uniformed waiter arrived to take a drink order. Charles extended his hand, indicating that the ladies at the table should order first. Charles’ mom asked for a soda water, Timothy’s mom and Cathryn followed suit.
“And for you?” the waiter asked Charles.
“I’ll have a scotch and soda,” Charles said with an absolutely straight face.
“Scotch and soda,” the waiter repeated with utter seriousness, as if he were actually going to get it for him, though Charles’ mom raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Just kidding,” Charles said with a wink. “May I have a Coke, please?”
Timothy thought this was just about the funniest exchange he’d ever heard, could not be topped, so when the waiter asked, “And for you?”
He just said, “I’ll have a Coke too.”
If the Coke here was even half as good as it’d been at the Oriole Tavern, it would suit him just fine.
And then, snacks started coming.
But these weren’t like the snacks on their dining room table on Group night.
There was shrimp cocktail, tiny Swedish meatballs, crabmeat in phyllo dough cups, and some kind of cheese spread with a slight fruity flavor Timothy couldn’t identify, but it was delicious.
Jack Wallace stepped up to the microphone.
“Thank you all for coming...we’ve got a somewhat ambitious schedule this afternoon, so let’s get started...”
The room quieted down almost instantaneously. Jack Wallace definitely wielded a lot more power around here than a substitute teacher.
“When IPM first opened its doors here in Kingston in 1952, we had a five-room office in midtown for twenty employees. Now, five rooms is not a lot of space for twenty employees, and I should know--I was one of them.”
The whole room got a big laugh out of this, Jack Wallace’s revelation of his own humble beginnings somehow being a real crowd pleaser.
“Anyway, as many of you know, not five years later we’d grown to 10 thousand square feet and 700 employees, a number that would continue to double every five years, bringing us up to over 5,000 on our current team, the biggest single source of jobs this county has ever seen...”
The crowd applauded happily, this simple fact alone being worthy of recognition.
“As we embark upon our latest phase of development, we’ll continue to put Kingston on the map, bringing world-class copying equipment to a growing market, while growing our workforce to an estimated 8,000 by the 1980s. Where we’ll go from there is anyone’s guess...”
Even more applause. This crowd was ready to go for the ride.
“I’m going to call Burt Thomas up now. He’s pulled together a little slide show presentation I think you’re going to enjoy, Burt...”
At this, Burt Thomas, whoever he was, came to the mic, talked briefly about what everyone was about to see, then someone hit the lights and the slide show began. There was a variety of artist’s projections of what the new buildings would look like, interspersed with maps and photos of the existing facility. The shots were all high-contrast with vivid colors. In the outdoor shots, the sun was always shining, and in the indoor shots, the workers were always smiling.
At the conclusion of the slide show, the lights went back up, and a series of additional speakers, including Mayor Kroeger, took turns addressing the crowd, confirming the importance of IPM’s growth to the health of the local economy, and a sense of pride and thankfulness that the best darn copy machines in the US of A were being produced right here in Kingston, New York.
It seemed like the congratulatory speeches would go on forever, when Jack Wallace finally returned to the mic.
“I told you we had an ambitious schedule today,” he said, pretending to mop his brow.
Again, everyone in the room laughed. This guy could read a shopping list and get the crowd to laugh.
“We do have one final segment of our presentation today, perhaps not directly related to the expansion, but equally important, if not more so…"
The crowd simmered down and prepared to pay attention one last time.
“When we began production in the post-war years, it was all systems go, full-steam ahead, without much thought to the environment. Well, times have changed, and IPM intends to change with them, which is why I’m proud to announce the establishment of our Environmental Stewardship Program...
“What is the Environmental Stewardship Program, you may ask? It’s a new way of thinking about the byproducts of production at facilities like the one here in Kingston. But it’s also a concrete new collection of technologies that we’ll be employing not only to keep Kingston clean, but Utica, Rochester, and our growing number of locations in the South...
“Instrumental in getting this program started was research provided by two community-minded youngsters studying local waterways as part of a school project...the incentive they’ve demonstrated is commendable, it gives us great confidence knowing that with young people like these in our community, our future is indeed in good hands...
“Without further ado, I’d like to present Charles Lambeau, Jr., and Timothy Miller.”
The crowd started applauding even more loudly than they had for Jack Wallace’s jokes. Charles had to nudge Timothy so he would know to stand up.
“Come on up, boys,” Jack Wallace said.
It was at this point, coming onto the stage and realizing that all eyes in the room were most definitely upon him, that Timothy began, in vain, to try patting down his hair.
“Charles, Timothy... on behalf of IPM, I would like to present each of you with a one thousand dollar scholarship... college may still seem a ways away, but it’s closer than you think...”
Jack Wallace handed both Charles and Timothy certificates with their names printed on them, along with some words about the scholarship and the IPM logo.
The crowd applauded continuously, as flashbulbs went off, Jack Wallace with his hands on the boys’ shoulders while they held up their certificates.
“Would either of you like to say a few words?”
Charles looked at Jack Wallace and out at the crowd.
“I would, actually,” Charles said.
He stepped up to the mic and began to speak humbly but confidently.
“I just want to say that I wish my dad could be here right now...I always thought that him being a detective was just about the coolest thing in the world, but he always made sure to tell me that being of service was the most important thing. Dad...” Charles said, looking up, “I hope I’m doing it the right way...”
Charles then looked over at the table where his mom was sitting.
“I want to thank my mom, who is the best mom ever, and I’m going to put this scholarship toward the best college there is and make you proud,” he said, holding up his certificate.
“Finally, I want to thank my partner, the bravest and smartest and nicest guy I know, Timothy ‘Thunderbird’ Miller...”
Charles turned to Timothy as he said this, making room at the mic while the crowd applauded in encouragement. Timothy had no choice but to approach the mic and try to speak.
He honestly didn’t know what to say. This whole thing was like a dream, including the way IPM was making like they were going to clean up the spill all along, and he and Charles had just happened by at the right time to lend a helping hand. This was not something he was going to bring up, especially seeing as Charles had not brought it up himself.
But there was one person that was not being mentioned, and it seemed like if Timothy didn’t say anything, it was just going to be swept right under the rug.
“It’s true that Charles and I did a lot of work figuring out what kind of pollution was in Tannery Brook,” he said, already spelling it out more clearly that Jack Wallace had done.
“But I just want to say that we never would’ve done it if it wasn’t for Ken Wilson,” Timothy continued. “He lived up the block from me. He’s the one who first figured out that the brook was polluted, so he should get the credit...”
People around the room were looking at each other, like, Who the heck is Ken Wilson?
“Anyway, thanks to Mr. Wallace for the scholarship, thanks to Charles who is the coolest guy I ever met...and I should thank my mom too, who’s been working so hard to keep our house going...”
Timothy looked over to the table. There was only one person remaining who’d yet to be mentioned.
“And thanks to my mom’s...partner...Cathryn, who’s always there for me too.”
The room gave Timothy and Charles one final round of applause as Jack Wallace conveyed them back to their table and offered the crowd a few parting bits of wit to conclude the presentation.
Back at the table, there were additional proud hugs and congratulations from the moms as the crowd transitioned for some light socializing and networking before things broke up. The photographer from the paper took one or two last shots and was seen running out of the room at lightning speed to make his deadline.
Several community leaders came up to both Charles and Timothy to shake their hands and congratulate them for being such fine young men. It was a little much for Timothy to deal with, and he began to make eye contact with his mom, indicating they should start to make for the door and get out of there.
But Jack Wallace returned to their table before they could break free.
“Charles, Timothy, I thought maybe you and your families might like a little guided tour of the facility--unless you’re in a rush.”
Jack Wallace was holding two very official-looking hardhats that presumably Charles and Timothy would get to wear as part of the guided tour.
Charles and Timothy both looked at the hardhats, then at each other.
“That’d be great!” they said simultaneously.
As Jack Wallace led the five of them further down the gleaming white hallway toward the mysterious world of photocopier manufacture, he took Timothy’s mom aside.
“I understand you’re a paralegal, Mrs. Miller,” he said to her.
“Ms. Miller,” she corrected him.
“Oh, sorry, Ms. Miller.”
“And I’ll be getting my paralegal certification in the fall.”
“Well, Ms. Miller, as you can imagine, we have a fairly extensive legal department here at IPM. I’d like to think I have a good eye for talent and...I should tell you, our scholarship program isn’t just for young people, we have quite a few lawyers on our team who’ve worked their way up and earned their law degrees on our dime...
“Anyway, we’re quite impressed with your family, Ms. Miller,” Jack Wallace said. “I do hope you’ll consider coming to work for us in the fall.”
Timothy’s mom looked over at her son, who was trying to figure out how to get his hardhat over his long hair, unaware at the moment the extent to which he had just seriously scored one for the home team.
“Why thank you, Mr. Wallace, that’s an attractive offer,” she said. “I will most definitely consider it.”
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Does Jack Wallace have moustache? And, if so, is it long enough for twirling?
Such a joyous celebration. Still, could there be some kind of fly in the IPM punchbowl? Hmmmm.