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LIGHT OF THE ATMA – THE SPARK WITHIN
“Professor, you have always been honest with me when others have chosen to circumvent honesty. You have always been candid when other people have only played coy. You have always given me advice which came from your experiences when others could only give me their un-thought-out opinions. I am in a bind and I need your advice.”
“Well, whatever I can help you to understand.”
“What do you know of Mr. Crogg?”
“Hmm,” the professor reacted, lightly slapping his hand on the table. Leaning back in the chair, with its two back legs tilted on the floor, he answered, “He is a powerful man, very influential… and popular.”
Peter gave a glint that conveyed he wanted the ‘brass tacks’ truth.
Reading the look, the professor stated nonchalantly, “”Well, some say he is a ruthless man; others say he is the most compassionate man they have ever met. Some say he is stingy, greedy and ruinous, and others, like some of the faculty here at the university, think he is the most charitable.”
“And you Professor, what do you think?”
The professor righted his chair as he leaned forward. ” Well Peter . . .I think it is unhealthy, if not down right dangerous to express my thoughts about how I feel about Mr. Crogg.”
Peter studied him, “Why?”
The Professor answered, “It’s like this my boy: Mr. Crogg is a man of two faces; one, with which he uses to do good things . . .and the other, he uses to do bad with – and he is very convincing with both of the faces he uses.” He paused. “I suppose you would like to know why I just told you something negative about him after telling you I believed it is unhealthy?”
“Alright I’m listening.” Peter was far from surprised.
The Professor took a deep breath, “It’s because Mr. Crogg seems to have a beat on what people say about him, as if he cares for every opinion enough to know about it and control it or issue punishment or retaliation if it is unfavorable. In my opinion, people of all expected or unexpected sorts have a link back to him and will turn around and tell him things they’ve heard from whoever, voiced or implied, or supposed. Dangerous things have been known to happen. Call it coincidental if you wish; some do you know.”
“You’re not worried about me saying anything to him, are you professor?”
The professor cocked back his head without concern. “If I were my boy, I would have never revealed to you what I believe. But, let me tell you something. To state it bluntly, he has down the science of reward and punishment. Some have received gifts or benefits, position or power out of nowhere just for a mere mention of a good word about him, and others, well others if they are on the opposing side, find themselves with very coincidental ‘BAD luck’. He gave an affirming look.
Peter pondered the probabilities as the professor sited more points.”Mr. Crogg likes to be complimented you know, but he won’t always admit that you are receiving something nice from him for it, and in some cases, you may not know your benefactor at all . . .but one knows . . .one knows.” He nodded with confidence as he contemplated his thoughts.
“And, as I said, on the other hand, many people have been warned out of nowhere that he was displeased with them. And believe me when I say, that was enough to stop them in their tracks from whatever they were doing. As for those who defied his warning, well, I’ll let it go at that for the time being. Who can say why he has left me alone so far? But then, that may soon change, because it’s no secret that I am not his greatest fan. So, you see Peter, when it comes to Mr. Crogg, it is better not to have an opinion. Now, All I have to do is to learn how to follow my own advice.”
“Are you saying that you may even be taking a chance speaking to me?”
“Son, he has eyes and ears everywhere. As far as I go, I don’t expect he will send me any dissatisfied messages. He’s more likely to suddenly act against me.” The professor looked at Peter as he spoke and did not expect him to answer. He simply explained, “Mr. Crogg opposed my appointment to this university. The reasons were kept between himself and a few others. Essentially it was your good father who stepped in and put in a good word for me.
I do not know what your father did or said to get me this appointment. He never told me, you see, but I received nothing but smiles, and respect from that day on. But, as I just said, all that may be changing for me any day now, now that your father is not here to oppose him.” He contemplated the outcome when, as if suddenly, he fully recognized Peter’s discontent. “So, why do you ask about Mr. Crogg at this time?What is his role in your present situation?”
“The court made him the executor of my father’s estate, and temporary guardian over me. Suddenly I find myself at odds with him, but I hope to rectify that.”
The professor had complete recognition flash in his eyes. “Hmmm – I see your concern now.” Compassion filled his visage. “When it comes to the courts, Mr. Crogg seems to be able to accomplish things that even some judges can’t. If you want my advice on that matter . . .it’s simple.” Peter was receptive as the professor continued, “Don’t make him angry. There’s no telling what he might do to you.”
Peter felt a little more dis-empowered. “Are you saying I shouldn’t try to oppose him where the law is concerned?”
“Can I make it any clearer to you?” The professor emphasized, “He is the puppeteer. And the judges on the bench, except for one or two, are all his puppets.”
Peter was unwilling to agree.”But I also know a lot of people who don’t like him and who definitely don’t agree with him and they are just as powerful in their ways as he is in his. I have no doubt that they can come to my aid if I ask them to.”
The professor’s eyes did some of the talking for him, “And I am sure that he knows even more people in a broader spectrum who can stop them one way or another. He has an uncanny far-reaching control.”
Peter huffed with frustration, “You make it sound like I have a completely hopeless situation. He’s not God you know.”
“Well, go ahead, and try if it will make you any happier. But don’t be surprised if you find someone you trusted, is working for him.”
Feeling at the end of the road with that topic, Peter changed the subject. “Professor, what do you know of my Boston relatives?”
“Only, what I’ve heard.”
“And, what you’ve heard came from whom?”
“Your father of course, and your mother as well.”
“Did he speak favorably of them, my father?”
“I suppose you are trying to make a determination of where to live, and who will ultimately handle your affairs?”
Peter nodded his head, “Something like that.”
The professor sat back in the chair, and recounted a little story for him. “Peter, when I was a lad, I fell into a situation similar to that which you’re presently in.
My father was a duke, deposed of power of course, but nonetheless wealthy. Both he and my mother were quite old when I was born, and passed on within a year of each other when I was about your age. I don’t remember too much, except for the fact that my older brothers and sisters became each other’s enemies, and relatives lined up in battle stances against each other.
The line between friend and foe was blurred beyond distinction. I was the youngest of the lot, and had been discarded by all my siblings. I bounced from distant relative to another until they found out I wasn’t inheriting anything, and the last of my kin in custody of me, placed me in an orphanage.
While my brothers and sisters were eating pheasant, I was eating stale bread, and drinking bitter wine. I lost a lot of weight and soon became sick.
Eventually, I was discovered by a devoted aunt who whisked me out of Germany and brought me to her home in Switzerland. She was my Aunt Floressa. She had heard I was close to death. How she was able to track me down I will probably never know, but the deeper mystery was, why she wanted me at all. No one else had and I had nothing worth wanting.
The rumor about my being near death wasn’t far from the truth. I was malnourished, and subject to illness to deeper and deeper degrees. Back then, it was not uncommon for children to die in orphanages from neglect, hunger, illness and cruelty, and I was on a rapid path toward it.
One day, two young men, cousins, hale and hardy were sent by my aunt, to get me. I had been confined in a locked room, and kept from fresh air, and was being fed only bad food – a sure prescription for death.
My cousins came up against fierce opposition from the authorities, as well as from my brothers and sisters, in their attempts to take me to Switzerland. It seemed they wanted me to stay in there, God only knows why.” He shook his head as he peered deep into the darkness of that past.
As a result, my cousins planned to take me by force. One night they took action, and raided the barrack-type orphanage, and took me out of the hands of the cruel keepers, and away from the authority of my corrupt family. It was a heroic rescue, for their lives were at risk every moment of the escape.
Later, I discovered that my father had disinherited everyone, and left everything to me, but I can’t tell you the tangled web my brothers and sisters wove to steal it from me, and take it for themselves.
Even before I was old enough to do anything about it, they squandered the better part of the fortune, but still had enough to live a comfortable life. They thought that our aunt was going after them to get the rest of the money from them. But that never happened.
I still don’t know how my aunt found me, although I must have been told at least a hundred times. Even though I was left penniless by the law, I was no less loved by her and my cousins.
My Aunt Floressa, who was wealthy in her own right, made her home, my home, and put me through college, and eventually, sent me to America. I became good friends with both my cousins who rescued me, and married a distant cousin on my mother’s side.
And now . . .I hope to return to Switzerland. There is little left here for me, but uncertain trouble now that your father is not here. My aunt passed away quite recently, and left mostly everything to her sons, my cousins. She still left me a manor house with enough funds for its upkeep until a long time to come.
Now, I cannot account for my luck back then, nor do I understand why my aunt cared for me so much. I guess . . .what I’m trying to say, is that your father Peter, amassed more wealth than my father ever dreamed of having! And because I know human nature, I cannot offer to you the comforting words, and assurances you seek from me concerning any relatives you may have.” Seeing Peter’s look of dispair, the professor offered a speck of hope. “But, who knows son, you may even have an aunt Floressa in your family linage somewhere . . and as unlikely that may, or may not be, you always have to keep the flame of hope burring in your heart.
I’m often told by many of my colleagues, my words are like pepper to some, and sugar to others. But even if I speak only with honey, how can I soothe such a wound as yours? What salve can I apply to ease your sore and burning feelings?”
The professor rubbed his face with his hand. “I’m sad to say Peter, your relatives may consider you no more than a football. And what you’re asking me to do, is tell you what team I’m rooting for.”
Peter looked at him in such a way where his eyes were asking for the answer. His words just echoed that inner reflection. “Someone’s got to tell me the score Professor.”
“If I were forced to tell you something, I would tell you to pray. Pray to God. Ask Him to make things better for you, because when it comes right down to it, He’s the best friend any of us have. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
Peter’s eyes revealed the futility of the situation. “Don’t worry about my saying anything to anyone about having spoken to you. I was never here.”
The professor stood up and walked over to the window. As he glanced out, he called Peter over with the wiggle of his finger. When Peter waked over , the professor said, “You don’t need to say a word . . . you see that carriage way over there on the other side of the park?” Peter caught sight of them and acknowledged so to the professor. “Those are Mr. Crogg’s men,” the professor revealed. “They’ve been following me everywhere I go. They know everyone I speak to, and everyone who speaks to me.” The professor then whispered as he pointed toward the library door, “Miss Foster reports everything I do, and everything I say to others, to his men.”
Peter expressed surprise, and maybe even thought the professor was being just a little paranoid. “But how do you know he has men following you? With all his connections, associates and advisers, surely he just finds out by accident or incidentally or something. Because it’s far more likely those are the men following me. You never go anywhere Professor, so why conclude this? Surely it is mere happenstance.”
“Peter, those men are often there, even when you are not here…..” As they stepped away from the window, the professor exhorted, “Now I’m going to tell you a secret I hope you will keep,” Peter looked at him strangely.” My nephew works for Mr. Crogg, and tells me a little something now and then. He is the little birdie that told me.” Peter was surprised as the professor continued, “Yes, you see, he’s the birdie that told me about Miss Foster, because he was inadvertently assigned to ask her about my activities one day, and from then on, he suggested I say nothing around her.”
“Why on earth keep her about then?”
“Would the next one be any more loyal? And all it would do is arouse suspicion.”
Peter nodded his understanding of that. “So Mr. Crogg knows nothing about your nephew, I mean that he is your nephew?”
“Obviously not. Apparently there is something to be said for being lost in the chain of command. When your head gets as big as his with self importance, sometimes the little details of the unimportant little guy can get missed. . .that’s the reason you have to keep what I told you a secret, you see.”
Peter became suddenly doubtful of himself with such a weighty secret since in his distractions of his own pains, he wondered if he would catch sight of the professor’s nephew and slip with a look or a misplaced glance. “But, what if I accidentally slip or something, and reveal it incidentally? Mr. Crogg is very shrewd to catch those such things.”
“I cannot imagine why you would be so unaware. It’s not like you have been so hapless or lacking presence of mind in any given conversation or circumstance. Although you would be understandably distraught under present circumstances and that could be cause for such a concern. Yet even still, it would be very difficult for him to determine who my nephew is, because he employs over nine-hundred men. That’s like a small army. Who can keep track of all that goings on at all points in time?
The fifty or so you see mostly hanging around him are only part of his business associates. This is why he is a man to be reckoned with. He’s no small sack of potatoes.” The professor assured him, “Now I don’t want you worrying about me. Worry only about yourself because, you are right, he also has men following you everywhere you go,” and he pointed down the street at a carriage parked under a tree at the edge of the park.
Peter realized the professor was more accurate than he had previously surmised. “Sooo, he’s on to everyone?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Peter shook the professor’s hand and concluded their meeting. “Well Professor, I guess what I need then is an Aunt Floressa in my life,” and he left feeling a certain hopelessness as he knew of no relatives he could turn to.
The professor walked over to a shelf where he had stacked a month’s worth of newspapers. He took out the one that had the complete story of Peter’s disappearance, and unfolded it. He walked back over to the table, and placed the paper down as he sat, and read the headlines. He leaned back in his seat and drifted off in thought.
Peter was taking every defeating turn like a man. He was raw on the inside, and the torment that was tearing his emotions apart, was fierce.
The strength it took to keep as calm as he was, equaled that of a hundred men. What Peter needed more than anything, was someone who was caring and sympathetic, but how could he get this from the cold-hearted, or from the unknowing, or from the fearful? The professor’s kindness and consideration was of some help, but it couldn’t actually help to resolve his problem.
As much as he tried to keep his mind free from the thoughts of his mother, they re-entered over and over like a flock of homing pigeons. His heart filled up with emotions he couldn’t afford to pour out; so the agony grew deeper. ‘Why can’t I just go home and find everything as it used to be?!’ he thought. His head swirled and he stared off not knowing what to do, or who to turn to next.
Trying to empty his mind of memories was futile. If he succeeded in pushing thoughts of his mother out of his mind, thoughts of Allison popped into it. ‘She had answers when I needed them,’ he thought. ‘She protected me from Grover. She was always so caring, so kind, and helpful.‘
As cold and calculating as Crogg painted her to be, Peter’s memory painted her warm and sincere. ‘But, facts are facts!’ his rational mind interjected. ‘Since when did I ever have a tutor who was loyal to me? – I just want to go home!‘
But not being able to just go home and find everything the way it once was, he sat there, and stared off, no longer seeing the park into which he was gazing, nor the people in it. He closed his eyes, and dozed off for a moment.
Five minutes later, a rubber ball hit the coach door and woke him up. He looked out and watched how the boys were playing. ‘I was their age once,’ he thought to himself, ‘young and blissfully ignorant of such pain.’
Then snapping awake, he knocked on the side of the carriage door to attract the driver’s attention. “Toward the center of town, Mason.” The driver snapped the reins, and before long they were turning the corner and traversing the road toward the main thoroughfare.
The sidewalks and roadways of the city were busy. The sounds of the crowd, the clacking of the trolley cars, the hoof beats of the horses upon the street were just the diversions Peter needed to get his mind fractionally off troubling matters.
Sighting a few vacancies along the city curb, he instructed Mason to park the carriage in one of them. When the carriage came to a stop, he climbed out and informed the driver , “I’ll be a while . . .just wait for me here.”
It was Peter’s intention to ditch the driver, and the two men following him. He walked into a store, and went out the back way, then cut across some alleyways, then cut across a few more streets, and worked his way into the current of people who filled the sidewalks in a steady stream which was moving with contiguity in both directions like ants on their way to, and from some purposeful destination.
Somehow, the commotion seemed just the prescription to drown out the blasts of pain that were exploding in Peter’s mind and heart.
Well-known as he was because of his picture in the papers everyday for the past two weeks, no one seemed to notice him at all as he walked along the boulevard. Hoping to find some amusing diversion to relieve himself of the worries and problems that weighed heavy in his heart, he stayed close to the windows of the various shops so he could see the variety of items on display.
After a while, he stopped in front of a pet store, and watched as a puppy squeaked out its tiny bark, and wagged its tail. He became amused with the small children who were playing with it through the window.
Peter’s eyes drifted toward the furry Angora kittens. He thought of entering the shop and holding one, when he felt someone place their hand on his shoulder from behind.
“Peter, what are you doing here?” a friend asked him. Peter turned around to see a school chum named Alan, standing there looking at him with wonder. “The last I heard, you were missing!”
Alan was a couple of years older than Peter, and nearly ten inches taller. Alan stood six feet tall, and the brown pin-striped shirt he was wearing seemed to add to his height. A bow tie adorned the neck of his shirt. Black suspenders with shiny silver clips held up his impeccably pressed slacks. A tailor’s measuring tape hung around his neck and dangled down the front of him.
Answering Peter’s expression of wonder, he informed, “My dad – he’s a little old fashioned. He says, ‘No matter what you learn in school you’re going to start from the bottom here!’
“I asked him, then why send me to college at all if I’m going to learn everything from the bottom up here?”
He told me, ‘When you start from the bottom up here, and learn everything from the top down in college, where the two points meet, that’s where you may serve some purpose.’ “
Alan continued, “My father says that college is for idiots; not that idiots go to them, but it’s idiots that graduate from them.
He said, ‘In order for my college education to be effective, I have to learn here first.’ For heaven’s sake Peter, I’ll only be a freshmen.”
“Well, as I remember,” Peter noted, “your father never went to college.”
“Never went to school!” Alan corrected. “He learned the trade from his ol’ man in the old country. I can’t even argue with him because he knows more about measuring, and mathematics than I do.”
“Well, I guess apprenticeship was school and college enough for him,” Peter commented. “After all, he is a very successful business man! It took some smarts for him to become such a success, especially when you stop to think he had nothing when he first came to this country.”
“What?! Are you some kind of philosopher?”
“Well, it’s just that your father made it without any formal education, Peter replied. “That’s not an easy thing to do in this country. And because of it, you do have the best things in life.”
“Yeah,” Alan acknowledged, “but I’m not willing to do it his way. I’m not going to scratch my way to the top like he did. He did the scratching for the both of us. I’m up here too!”
“Your father’s hard on you, huh?”
“Hard on me? He’s making me do twice the work he ever had to do. Then he makes me justify the allowance I spend. What’s he trying to make out of me? An accountant, or a tailor? All I get is complaints. ‘Too many stitches,’ he says, or ‘not enough – the suit’s no good.’ You can’t please the man, you know what I mean Peter? He tells me, ‘Too much education and you become a smarty-pants. Not enough education, and you remain a numb-skull!’
When I try to change something because I’m a little inventive, he calls me a smarty-pants. When I don’t do enough, he calls me a numb-skull. I’m telling you Peter,” he huffed, “there’s just no pleasing the man.”
Suddenly some shoppers in their rush to get wherever they were going, bumped into them. Alan pulled Peter aside. His face reflected a more serious mood.
“Listen Peter, I’m really sorry about . . .”
Alan heard his father call out for him from within the store. When Alan didn’t answer . . . he yelled again. “AL – AN! “
“Come with me,” Alan urged, pulling Peter along. “I would like to continue talking with you,” and he pulled Peter into his father’s store.
“AL – AN!” his father yelled from a back room.
“I’M COMING, I’M COMING!” Alan hollered back. Peter followed behind as Alan rushed to the back of the store.
When Alan reached the alteration room, his father was standing there looking at him with a load of impatience.
“Alan,” his father chastised, “if you are prone to waste time, you will have a tendency to waste money. You’re going to make a shambles of my business if you don’t learn how to manage your time properly.” Alan’s father, waving his forefinger in the air, scolded him. “People and their families depend on me for their livelihood. How will those who work for us, feel any sense of security if they see that you are going to be continually irresponsible with your time? You don’t command respect from your employees if they don’t think you care for your business.”
Alan’s father spoke with such dismay his puffy little cheeks seemed to get red from the fluster he was in. Alan, not wishing to prolong the scene of humiliation, pacified his father thus: “I will improve my behavior to your satisfaction Father.”
“Good! Good! . . . Good, good, good, good, good, good, good,” his father reeled off in quick succession. “That’s what I want to hear. Good! Good! Good, good, good, good, good, good, good!”
He momentarily placed his focus on Peter. He hesitated a moment before speaking, then attempted to express some sympathy.
“You may have heard it a hundred times Peter, so I’ll say it quickly and get it over with fast. I’m sorry about your parents and you are probably already sick of hearing people dribble on about it, but if you find I can be of any assistance to you, don’t hesitate to ask.
Now don’t take up too much of Alan’s time. He’s a lazy boy and I don’t want to give him any excuses to be more lazy,” and his father left the room.
“You’ll have to excuse my father,” Alan remarked. “He’s just obsessed with business. He worries over this, he worries over that. He worries about every last penny he spends, and wants every return to be more than he spends.”
Alan threw his hands up in the air, and slapped them to his side. “Oh, he hates waste! Do you know he checks all the waste baskets in this store, and yells at anyone if they throw away anything that can be turned into a cent?!
If I leave a little bit of thread on a spool, and throw that spool away, he’s all over my back. Do you realize,” Alan croaked as he stared at Peter with squinted eyes, “that my father’s shoe laces are over, ten – years – old?”
“Not only that,” Alan confided in a low voice, “I hate the clothing business. I don’t mind wearing them of course, but I don’t like making them.” Then, in another whisper he added, “You know, if it was my father who . . .I would sell this place.”
Peter stared at him not knowing what to say to that bitter inference and remark. “Why don’t you just tell him you hate the business, and find some other line of work to go into?”
“And what? Have him jump down my throat, and ship me off to some boarding school?! Or worse yet – cut me out of his will? You know what I would end up doing? I’d end up working down at the shoe factory.”
He slammed his fist down on a fabric cutting table and complained, “If there is anything worse than measuring men’s crotches, it’s dealing with their smelly feet! It’s just a matter of staying on his good side a while longer.”
“Look at you,” and he peered at Peter with envy. “There is no one to tell you what to do any longer. Boy you must be sitting on top of the world! Where are you going to go first? Paris maybe? Perhaps to some tropical island?” He rolled up his eyes and drooled, “Ooo la la, those French women . . .ahh . . .” and he wiggled his hands in the shape of a woman.
Peter’s eyes widened as he blinked at Alan and insisted, “Take it easy, I’m only fourteen. I mean my hormones aren’t fully active yet.”
Alan smiled, “Well Peter, let me tell you – there is an adventure waiting for you when they do act up.”
Just then they heard Alan’s father yelling for him again. “ALAN! – ALAN!”
“UGH!” Alan huffed with anger, turning red in the face. “I just wish he would shut up! His voice irritates me so!” Peter watched Alan as he fumed. Suddenly he could hear Alan’s father walking closer. As he came into the room, Alan erased the hostility from his face.
“Alan! Enough of that chitchat.” His father called, “Come with me, we have a customer waiting.”
“Yes Father,” Alan obeyed with a cheery tone pretended for his father’s pleasure. “Good day Peter,” he smiled, trying to maintain a friendly tone bidding Peter a goodbye. And he left the room following behind his father.
Peter stood there in the middle of the alteration room and looked around at the racks filled with suits. He then shook his head at it all, and left. As he was leaving the store, he heard Alan’s father telling a customer, “This is Alan; he is my son. He will be measuring you.”
Peter looked back to see Alan with a strained expression on his face. Peter shook his head again, and thought what a pathetic situation that was.
‘Strange,’ he thought to himself, ‘why he even accosted me to begin with. As an upperclassman, he never spoke more than a half dozen words to me in all the time I’ve known him.’ Peter shrugged his shoulders at the oddness and ill feeling of it all, and went out the back way.
is said that the rich have many privileges which the poor do not; this was very true when it came to Peter. Being the son of a rich and influential man, Peter had access to people the average person did not.
Peter lost the tail that was on him, so no one would know where he was going. He hired a city carriage and was now on his way to see one of the most powerful men in all of Illinois: Judge LaBelle, a federal judge put into the office with the help of President Benjamin Harrison, but only because of Michael’s persuasive powers.
But could this man of law – this man of dedication to, ‘blind justice’, open up his heart, and take from it the balm of real sympathy that would ease Peter’s blistering feelings?
To the world, the judge was a man of wisdom, a man to be feared by wrongdoers, and a man to whom the be-grieved could turn for justice.
The judge lived in a sizable manor that spoke loudly of the comfortable life. He was a stickler for the ‘spirit of the law’ more than he was for the letter of it.
His belief was that when men purposely break the law, they required legal punishment, and that those who broke it innocently, needed leniency. He also had keen discernment as to who were deliberate in their actions, and who weren’t.
When the innocent were brought before him, no matter what the prosecutor would say to smear or pervert their intentions, the judge would always let them off the hook, one way or another, at the complete consternation of the wicked who were trying to frame them, or at the disapproval of the prosecutor who was just trying to stack up a high score of convictions to build himself a name, or to the irritation of those who just needed a scapegoat and to sweep a case under the carpet.
The evil, when brought before his bench, were given due sentencing no matter how cleverly the defense attorneys presented their clients’ innocence. This was one judge who really believed in the saying: ‘Moral decay, is social decay’.
Judge LaBelle knew the details of Peter’s predicament quite well. He graciously welcomed Peter into his home, and sat down with him to talk over his concerns.
“I’m glad you turned to me for help Peter. I was thinking of a way to send for you without drawing attention to myself when I heard you were back. Mr. Crogg and I are – let’s say, on opposite sides of philosophy.”
Peter expressed to the judge his bewilderment at Crogg’s actions. The judge told him: “Mr. Crogg, Peter, has been behind a lot of wrongdoings. The reason you were not aware of it is because you were kept protected from the harsh realities by your father and mother. Your mother was something else. Mr. Crogg didn’t dare displease her.”
Peter jumped in, “I grew up with this man. He’s been like a second father to me. All I remember is him being nice and kind, and always there with an encouraging word! When he had me brought back from Boston by those two city detectives, I couldn’t believe he was behind it. It was the first time I had ever seen this dark side of him. I honestly don’t know what to believe.”
“Chicago is like an apple going bad my boy, and if we, the good and moral-hearted, don’t watch out, everything good will disappear before we know what has happened!”
Peter stared at the judge then posed a question concerning himself. “In all honesty Your Honor, do you think I should go live with my grandfather?”
“Well, your grandfather is a respected man in Boston. He ran for governor and almost made it. I think with the right backing, he may just sit in the State Capitol! He’d be a good man to look after your affairs until you become of age. He’s got a solid view of life, and will see to it you’re given the best, I’m sure!”
“Truly, Your Honor?”
“Truly Son, my words come from my heart. I know your grandfather, and I know that his love for you, you grandmother too, comes only from their hearts. Think of your mother. There is noone to outshine her. Could you find any blemish on her heart or soul? These are after-all the parents who raised her.”
“What about my grandparents on my father’s side? Do you know anything about them?”
“Well, I don’t know much about them at all. So, I would consider them so-so at the moment.”
Peter went on to explain to the best of his ability, the crux of the dilemma he was in. He asked the judge what the possibility would be, if he were to challenge Mr. Crogg in court.
“That might be tough,” the judge responded. “First of all, you are a minor, and in the United State’s court system, according to the U.S. Constitution, children under the legal age, have no Constitutional Rights, there’s nothing in the Bill of Rights about children either.
You would first have to find someone who would champion your cause, and if I’m not mistaken, that’s one of the dilemmas you face.
Furthermore, your father’s estate is a mammoth one. He had at least a hundred attorneys from Chicago to New York on retainers. His business interests are spread across the entire country from textile mills throughout all of New England – coal mines in the South – lumber in the North – oil in the West – railroad stock in almost every line – real estate in California, and other parts of the country and even investments in foreign lands. He has his roots in England you know.
When a man such as your father compiles such immense assets under his belt, the technicalities of sifting through the paperwork are going to be numerous and will require a lengthy process. It might take several years to sort through.”
“Several years?!” Peter exclaimed.
“I’m afraid so,” the judge reaffirmed. “Your father’s holdings were encyclopedic. They fill volumes.”
Peter sat back with a thick cloud of gloom over his head. “What am I going to do? I don’t want to lose my home.”
“Well my boy,” the judge advised, “fight point for point. Start with getting the court to protect your mansion from creditors. That can be done, I’m sure.”
“What if I pay the note myself?” Peter asked.
“That would be some trick, for you are still under age. Even if you wanted to pay a hundred times its worth, which would be some gigantic amount, you would have to have the signature of your guardian.”
“I’ve got friends!”
“But then again,” the judge added, clearing his throat, “you’re going to be under someone else’s control, and there’s not a man who’s going to shell out a sizable sum without collateral.”
“I’ve got a portfolio!”
“Do you?”
“My father shared his preferred stock with me.”
“Did he, now!?”
“He taught me how and why he dealt in the security he did. I was hoping to do some investing of my own during and after college.”
“Well, if your father taught you, you had the best teacher! You say your certificates are negotiable?”
“Cash on the barrel!”
“Hmmmm. . .” the judge thought pensively, “Well, you might get away with it, if it is bought under a different name, but you’ll need a guardian you can trust. If I know Judge Walker, he’ll force you to stop looking into everything once you make your move. He can make things hotter than a Roman steam bath for you! Mr. Crogg and Judge Walker have been playing on the same team for quite a while, so to say.
“I could ask my former governess? I trust her.”
“No, no…. From the news I hear, the law is searching her out. Mr. Crogg has pressed charges against her for taking you to Boston against his will.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, apparently she shouldn’t have taken you to Boston. The court here in Chicago ordered that you be remanded in the custody of Mr. Crogg. What she should have done, is to place her claim before the court without taking the law into her own hands!”
“But I wasn’t kidnapped. She asked me to go. I accepted and went of my own free will! I have the natural right to see my grandparents if I wish, and I did wish.”
“Then, you’ll be called to testify at her trial. I’m sure that will go in her favor!”
“Trial? What do you mean trial?”
“Breaking the law is a serious thing Peter; if everyone does it just because they think it’s the better thing to do, what kind of society will we have?”
“But she did it to protect me! Besides, she had her own legal papers, and documents that gave her absolute legal right to take me. How is that breaking the law? Besides that, you yourself know that Mr. Crogg manipulates the law. Who is to say he was right? My governess did nothing wrong.”
“That may or may not be the case Peter. It gets complicated! The best thing for you to do is find someone else whose reputation is free from tarnish. You have to think about yourself now, or you could lose what you have!
At this point it time, and in Peter’s mind, Allison was free of all guilt. She defended him from the aggression of others, and always looked out for his best interest. And the truth of it was, she was innocent. She behaved with honor, and a sense of conscience which supported her self-respect.
However, there are these kinds of people who can twist the truth to such dark proportions that it can cast doubt on the innocence of a person, and it causes the darkest clouds of suspicion to gather around them.
Crogg was that type of man. He could turn brother against brother, husband against wife, parents against their children, and their children against them. And he was about to practice his mental art of prevarication on Peter, further turning his faith in Allison, into total mistrust. It would be enough for the doubt to gain entry into his mind, to start growing the poison mushrooms of suspicion within him to where the tendency was to go against her, himself. The struggle was soon to begin.
Peter and the judge were sitting in large, leather chairs in the huge law library of his mansion. One wall was completely covered with shelves that housed a seemingly endless array of legal books. They lent to the air of authority that permeated the atmosphere. The costly stock of law books was one of the judge’s symbols of prestige. The evidence of that could be seen by the fancy gold embossed covers, and the fact that the gold-leafed pages were never, ever turned.
“BUT HE’S A MAN OF CHARACTER”
The judge sat back, and picked up his pipe. He dipped the bowl in a tin of tobacco and sat there quietly while he packed it down with his thumb; then putting the stem in his mouth, he drew some hefty puffs as he set it a light.
A smile came over his face as the sweet aroma emerged from the bowl of his pipe in swirling and rolling waves of smoke that drifted to the ceiling. He put his nose to the air like a dog would, sniffing out a scent. Then, as though he were on the bench ruling on a case, he remarked pensively:
“There are many things you can legally do to correct an uncomfortable situation. But which option is the best? That’s the trick! I might tell you that would be for the courts to decide, if I were any other man, but I’m not. I’m a man who’s forced to make decisions for others when they cannot – or will not.
If your case were before me, I would rule that you would have to live with your Boston grandfather. That is the most sound and practical alternative. And, in the event, where that choice would become impossible, I would put you in the custody of your father’s parents, if we could locate them, and they checked out, as it is always preferable to place you with family first.
And if none of these selections were possible, I would remand you to the custody of your uncle. In my mind, his is an honorable and trustworthy man.
Peter shook his head in wonder, “Ah . . . my uncle?”
Seeing the surprise on Peter’s face, the judge remarked, “Oh dear. Am I to believe, you didn’t know you had an uncle?”
Peter shook his head to acknowledge that was indeed the case. “My father’s brother, correct?” he questioned.
Judge LaBelle drew a few more puffs on his pipe. “Yes, yes, your father’s brother. Not a man of constant means I’m afraid. But he is a man of character.And character is what the court would be most concerned with.”
“You speak as though you know my uncle.”
“Well, I do in a way. He and I had a few brief meetings when he came to Chicago to visit with your father. This was before your father ever built his mansion on the hill. We were sitting in the club playing chess one day when his presence was announced…”
“A Mr. Jonathan Smith to see you Sir,” the club manager informed Michael.
“Jonathan? Show him in, show him in!”
“Well,” LaBelle commented, “I guess I should be on my way and let you two . . .”
“Nonsense!” Michael countered. “You came here to get beaten at chess and I intend to beat you. Just make your move – if you can.”
As Jonathan entered, Michael stood to shake his hand. Jonathan was attired in a western outfit and sported a handsome cowboy hat which drew upon him the stares of all the men in the room.
“Jonathan,” Michael introduced, “this is Judge LaBelle.”
The judge rose halfway from his seat to shake Jonathan’s hand, then sat back down.
“Your Honor!” Jonathan greeted. “It is a pleasure.”
Looking at the judge, Michael remarked to his brother with a smirk, “Don’t be too impressed, the judge is all stuffing, no real smarts when it comes to chess.”
To this the judge replied, “That’s why he’s losing.” Michael and Jonathan sat down. “What brings you to Chicago?” Michael asked.
“Funds.” And he took from his pocket a glass vial which he handed to the judge. “That’s 100% pure silver ore Your Honor. Did you ever see anything so beautiful?” Jonathan took off his hat, placed it down on the coffee table.
The judge held it up to inspect it. . “Sparkly stuff, isn’t it?” he said as he looked at Michael over his spectacles.
Jonathan handed Michael a second vial. “What do you think, brother?”
Michael weighed it in his hand. “Impressive Jonathan, very impressive. But you’re going to need a lot more than this to persuade the banks for another loan!”
Jonathan handed another vial to the judge, only this time it was pure gold dust.
“My, my” LaBelle commented. “I never seen real gold ore before. It has a magnetic brilliance to it, doesn’t it?”
“That’s for you to keep Your Honor. There is a lot more where that came from. Consider it my gift to you.”
“Believe me Michael,” he said as he tossed a vial of gold to him, “there’s a lot more of that sitting in the mountains. All there for the taking.”
“Still…” Michael said hesitantly. “Gold in the mountains doesn’t necessarily equate to cash loans from the banks anymore.”
“I thought if you put in a good word for me . . .”
“My word, my good brother, has been stretched to its limit. I’ve underwritten your loans and you’ve lost more than you gained.”
“Then give me a personal loan against my shipping dividends. You know I’m good for it.”
“Yes, you’re good for it, but you’ve borrowed against your profits to the maximum. You’re over extended. When are you going to learn not to throw good money, at pie-in-the-sky, dreams?”
“I’m telling you Michael, we’ve hit pay dirt!”
“I’ve heard that one before!”
“So, you won’t coordinate another loan for me?”
“I can’t, my hands are tied!”
Jonathan stood up. Michael stood also. As Jonathan shook his brother’s hand, he stated, “Then I’m off . . . Nice meeting you Your Honor,” and he left the room.
“Seems a shame really,” the judge commented. “He seems a nice man!”
“When it comes to nice Your Honor, he’s squeaky clean.”
“Oh, do I detect a note of jealousy?!”
“Jealousy? Have you flipped your lid? My brother took his share of the shipping profits and squandered them on this silly pursuit of his instead of coming in on the business with me like I wanted him to do.
It’s made things a little tight for me. While I’m trying to cut new deals, he flagrantly runs off to the west and squanders it trying to get rich finding silver and gold in the mountains.
Tell me what sense that makes? He may be a heck of a good man when it comes to men, but when it comes to business?”
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