announcements began.
“The following after-school activities will be offered this year…”
Saved by the PA!
He started to sink back into boredom as he listened to the familiar list of athletic and social activity clubs.
Then he heard it:
“The Radio Club will have its first meeting today in room 215 at 3 p.m.”
Something different! Give it a try, at least once.
The 2:50 bell rang.
He grabbed his book bag and headed for the west staircase, the nearest to 215, which as an upper classman he was permitted to use.
He lumbered down the hallway, watching his classmates putting the new freshmen through their ritual hazing: Coats reversed, walking backwards, books balanced on heads, and worse—all to “welcome” the “little brothers and sisters” to the school.
No one had attempted anything like that with him the previous year. His stony stare had seemed to intimidate even the older kids.
He pushed open the fire door and started up the steps when he saw Thornton about to slam a smaller kid against the wall.
His classmate, Greg Thornton, wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack, but he was the meanest. Freshman Hazing Day was like a high holy day for him. The unofficial rules didn’t permit physical abuse, but that never stopped him.
“Cut it out, Thornton!” he shouted, surprising even himself.
“Back off, lard face! I was just explaining to this lowly frosh why this stairway is off limits to him.”
Thornton raised his arm to strike the younger boy, who was trying to protect himself with his book bag, but then Thornton felt such a tight grip on his arm that he couldn’t move. The pain intensified and he fell to his knees.
“For future reference, Greg, leave the freshmen alone. Oh, and by the way, did you know that lard used to be the major ingredient in soap? It’s very useful for cleaning up bad situations.”
Thornton felt the pressure release on his arm and he was able to stand again. He glanced at his classmate, glowered at the younger boy, and then walked away.
Galen examined the scrawny younger boy, with his crew cut, somewhat cross-eyed, looking like a deformed, de-furred rabbit.
“What’s your name, little brother?”
“Robert Edison,” the boy replied, then like a machine gun, he rattled off “and I know who you are, you’re George Orwell!”
Dear God, he thought, not another jokester.
“Okay, I’ll take the bait. Why is my name George Orwell?”
“Because you’re my big brother! Get it?”
Maybe he should call Thornton back and let him torture the kid, but in a silly way it was funny.
“Okay, I asked for it. Where are you headed?”
“Radio Club meeting and we’d better hurry.”
The boy was a quick thinker to assume Galen was going there, too.
“Lead on, Edison.”
“Uh, George, what’s your real name?”
“Galen, Robert Galen.”
They had begun calling each other by their last names, because it became too confusing for both to use Bob.
Appropriately enough, Edison was a whiz at electronics, albeit a bit spastic in his movements. They had agreed they would try for their amateur radio licenses together, so they quizzed each other on theory and practiced Morse code by speaking out the dashes and dots in what sounded like demented baby talk.
They each took their licensing exams and easily passed. They became hams, able to use communication equipment, to understand its theory, and to be able to build and repair it.
Both felt immensely proud, although unlike most of the mid-teenagers of the day, they couched their enthusiasm in subdued tones to conceal the emotion.
“Good job, Edison.”
“Likewise, Galen.”
Their shared interest made high school much more tolerable for them. Each knew he was a misfit, not the outgoing sociable type, but each had special knowledge and abilities the kings and queens of the prom lacked.
...
It is said that time is a turtle when you wish it to race and a rabbit when you wish it would dawdle. In some ways school couldn’t finish fast enough for Berto, and in other ways he never wanted it to end. Soon graduation approached. He had grown to love electronics, but he held tightly to an even greater love. When he wasn’t tinkering with Edison or hanging around Dr. Agnelli in his free time he would visit the town clinics and ask to follow the doctors on their rounds. He knew deep down that being a doctor was a siren call to him. The name Dottore Berto still echoed in his mind.
He had won scholarships to attend university, so his father’s troublesome question about affording it all had been partly answered, at least for this first big step.
Galen had expected his father to share his happiness about being able to go to university, but the closer he came to leaving home the quieter his father became, and his mother had no answer when his father summarily rejected all conversation. Then, as graduation day approached, he realized this might be the end of spending time with his only friend, Edison.
He also knew Edison could take care of himself now. The scared rabbit was gone. The young man had gained the confidence and strength of knowing he could do something really well: electronics.
They promised to stay in touch, a promise they both fully intended to keep.
...
A little more than three years later a much-anticipated letter reached Galen, as he was now called in his days at university.
He had breezed through his studies, so he could always find time for extra lab work and experimentation. As an undergraduate he had published eight papers and more kept filtering through his mind, but that all-important letter had dominated his consciousness ever since senior year had begun.
Galen hesitated to open it for fear of what it might not say. Boyle, his roommate, watched him clutching the envelope, not moving, almost not breathing, so he snuck up from behind, snatched the envelope away, but after a second thought and a sheepish grin, he handed it back to the man with those powerful arms.
Boyle had gotten along fine with Galen most of the time, but he had heard what The Bear—as Galen also was known—could do when provoked, and he was not about to tempt fate, not after what Trish had told his girlfriend Mary about her date with the big guy.
Come on, Freiling, finish up. You’re not saying anything new.
Galen
