PLANS
Sammy sat, speechless, for what seemed like an eternity. He wasn’t sure of what he had heard, but if had heard what his brain was computing that he had then, he knew, he was surely going to hell. The room moved about him in slow motion causing him to place his hand on Connolly’s desk in order to steady himself. “Kill the President of the United States” he said in a monotone, saying it aloud to make sure that he heard it correctly. “Kill the President of the United States,” he repeated. The words rang in his ears. He felt his face flush and his ears get hot. His stomach churned and his bowels loosened. The Chief could not help but notice Sammy’s physical state.
“Sammy.” No response. “Sammy.” A flicker in his eyes and then back to earth.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said and became silent again. After a few moments he said, quietly but firmly, “Are you crazy? Kill the President? I can’t kill the President. You can’t kill the President. I can’t kill the President,” he repeated. “Do you understand what you are suggesting? Third world countries kill their Presidents. We don’t. I can’t do this.” He got up and started pacing the room, back and forth while the Chief sat and absorbed this unusual, but expected, tirade. “You are talking about the most heinous crime ever committed. This is not 1963. An investigation will be conducted and it will be conducted by a stronger person than Earl Warren. History will not repeat itself. Who did it will be discovered this time. There will be no conspiracy, no cover up. And I have the most to lose. I will not do it.”
The Chief looked at Sammy for a long time after he finished. Softly, he said, “If you don’t do it, then you will definitely have the most to lose.”
Sammy lost his composure. He screamed, “What the fuck does that mean?? What are you going to do, kill me? Make it look like a suicide and leave a note written in my script by the boys in handwriting expressing my remorse over the past killings and paint a picture for the world to see of a lonely Senior Vice President of Marketing who killed to fulfill his psychotic agenda.”
The Chief just smiled. “That’s why we like you the best, Sammy. We hadn’t even thought of terminating you. No, we thought your pain would be created more subtly. For instance, we know everything there is to know about your parents, Eleanor & Richard...”
“You fucking son of a bitch. If you do anything to them....”
Now it was the Chief’s turn to yell. “What? What would you do if we wanted to do something to them? Who the fuck do you think you are. We could kill them but we won’t. We could ruin their careers, though. Your mother, a successful Long Island Realtor. Your father, a successful lawyer. They’re doing pretty well for themselves with a combined annual income over $250,000. How about we get them involved in stock manipulation and insider trading? We know they’ve done extremely well in the stock market, better than most. We have people all over the place. What do you think will happen if one of them drops documentation off with the FBI at 26 Federal Plaza in New York showing that your parents had inside information. Why, your parents would be immediately arrested, of course. Now, let’s see. Their bank accounts would be frozen and their house would be taken from them. By the time they got out of jail they’d be penniless and old. And it would work, too. There aren’t too many insider trading cases being prosecuted these days, but the old man wants to step up activity in this area by the mid to late eighties.”
“You wouldn’t” It was said as a question.
“Or maybe we can lay some evidence down to show that your old man stole money out of his firm’s Clients Trust account. What do you think he could do if he got disbarred at the age of 55. Or maybe we plant some evidence that your mother engaged in discriminatory selling practices. Her career would be gone as well.”
“You wouldn’t.” Again, but this time weaker.
“You’re probably right. I like your suicide scenario much better.” The Chief’s eyes were cold blue pools of ice devoid of emotion. “Framing your parents could be beaten by a top-notch defense attorney. It’s not foolproof. Neither is yours, just think of Lee Harvey in 1963, but it comes close to perfect. If we killed you as you described it would bring a lot of heat down on Renfro Sales, and that’s something we don’t want. But still, it’s a workable plan. That’s why we like you so much. You have the capability to adapt yourself to any situation.” He paused for a few moments. Neither man spoke. “So, do you help us or do you become a front page headline on the New York Times?” Sammy didn’t respond.
The Chief broke the silence. “You have what it takes to rise to the top in this organization. That’s the truth. We’re talking about a career decision here and you have to make it. Fuck all of the assholes in the world that say ‘it’s only a job.’ Bullshit. That ain’t true here. You make your decision, just realize that you’re making a life-and-death career decision. Just don’t think that if you say no, you’ll be able to walk out of here alive.”
Again, Sammy sat, speechless. His face flushed and beads of sweat began to drip down his forehead making rivulets towards his eyes. His armpits and back were sweaty to the point where his shirt was soaked. He couldn’t kill the President, but he knew he couldn’t die. He would stall for time. “You’ve left me no alternative,” he said quietly. “And I see now that this will not be my last assignment because you’d never let me leave the Company, am I right?”
“Yes, you are.”
“Then I want a Section Chief spot and I want to be your Deputy Chief as well as your successor. That’s the price you pay.”
“Ordinarily, we don’t negotiate. But given your assignment, I have been given the latitude to negotiate. Consider it done.”
“So, what’s the plan.”
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Chapter 4-Recovery
RECOVERY
Sammy's parents were in a state of shock they had never before experienced. Sammy's mother could not stand by herself without help and Sammy's father could not perform even the most routine functions. On his many trips to the cafeteria to purchase a cup of black coffee for himself and his wife to share he often could not summon the energy or thought processes to go through his change and sort out the fifteen cents necessary to purchase the cup. On half of the occasions, after being helped by the cashier to come up with the change, Sammy's father would forget the cup of coffee he sought to purchase.
The doctor, however, was more upbeat. While he could not rule out neurological damage, he was pretty certain that this would not occur. He based this on the fact that while the scalp lacerations were both extensive and severe, there was only a minor hairline fracture of the skull and tests run already did not show any brain damage. However, further tests were necessary and would need to be taken over a long period of time, especially since neurological damage might not manifest itself for quite some time as in many youths who suffer head trauma the effects remain quiescent for many years. He still needed care for the deep cuts and lacerations he received all over his body. While he was lucky that he not nicked any major arteries or broken any bones, he suffered cuts over 60% of his body.
Sammy, however, was still in a coma and, this, three days after the accident. "I think you'll find that this is quite normal, especially in cases of such severe head trauma."
"But what about the blood," asked Sammy's father. "There was so much of it."
"That's quite normal. Due to the close proximity to the brain and the carotid artery most head wounds bleed profusely. It's quite normal", the doctor replied cavalierly, quite obviously waiting for an opportunity to depart.
"Doc, this is my son we're talking about. I'd appreciate you be generous with your time and not giving us the bum's rush."
"I am sorry about your boy's condition, but you must understand that I have many patients who have worse conditions,” he said as he checked his watch for the tenth time in the past minute. “I am happy to speak with you at any time, perhaps after hours, but now I must press on."
"You'll talk to me when I want you to talk to me," Sammy's father yelled, grabbing hold of the doctor's collar. At the moment it appeared that Sammy’s father was going to deck the doctor, a white-uniformed nurse appeared to the right frantically clutching at the doctor's arm.
"Doctor," she yelled, "Come quick. It's the Johnston boy." At that Sammy's father froze and turned white. A moment later, he was running towards Sammy's room fearing the worst. Sammy's mother, previously unable to ambulate without assistance, was running towards the room with the speed of Mercury. The doctor brought up the rear.
Entering Sammy's room, the three of them froze. Sitting up and grinning, albeit groggily, was Sammy. Confused by his surroundings, he was looking around the room in an attempt to jog his memory to determine how he ended up here. Upon seeing his parents, his grin turned into a full-fledged groggy smile, his eyelids still at half-mast. His parents both burst into tears and rushed to the bed. "Hi guys," Sammy said lazily. He yawned, "why'd you bring me here."
Grabbing and hugging Sammy, his parents started crying harder, but this time there was an edge of relief in their sobs. Summoning his energy, Sammy's mom said, "You hurt yourself, baby, but you're going to get better. We're going to get you the best medical treatment and you're going to get better. I promise."
"Okay." With that, Sammy laid back down, turned over and went to sleep. The doctor, seeing the parents' worried faces start anew said, "Do not worry. He's exhausted. Let him sleep. You can wait here if you'd like but you look pretty exhausted yourselves. If you want to go home, I'll make sure you are called to come here, when he wakes up."
Sammy's parents were of one voice. "We'll wait here," they said in unison and then hugged each other fiercely as the doctor and the nurse made their departure.
Sammy slept and slept and slept but when he woke he was full of energy. Despite his awakening and no matter how much he racked his brains in response to his parent's questions, he couldn't remember what happened. He couldn't even remember what he was doing before every thing went black. When his parents told him he was jumping from a running start and he went through the storm door, he still drew a blank. His last memory was of the handball game and resting in the park. His parents pressed no further and neither did Sammy. All of them were only concerned that Sammy was getting better.
Days stretched into weeks and weeks stretched into months. Even to the doctor's surprise Sammy's recovery was nothing short of miraculous. Sammy was back at school in September and had been well enough to complete his studies over the summer so he would not be left back. All of his classmates were happy to see him, even treating him like royalty for having been through such an ordeal.
While Sammy appeared perfectly normal, his parents noticed small, otherwise imperceptible changes in him. Before his accident, Sammy was what his father called a "straight-shooter". He would never tell a fib, never a white lie, never shade the truth, even if it meant being punished for something he'd done wrong. When his teacher sent a note home saying that Sammy was unprepared for class, Sammy would tell the truth and confess, hoping that his plea that "it will never happen again" would work. It usually did.
The first time Sammy's father noticed a change was when the teacher sent home a note stating that she wanted to see Sammy's parents regarding cheating on an exam. Sammy's parents spoke with Sammy who said that he didn't cheat on a test but it was, rather, a classmate who was cheating on his test. Sammy said that the test was in Social Studies and that he knew all the answers because he stayed up late to study for it the previous night. What struck his parents as strange was that they went out to dinner at the Sizzler and Sammy was asleep by nine o'clock. From eight to nine Sammy sat with his parents and watched an episode of 'Laugh-In.' When Sammy's parents told him what he did the previous night, Sammy yelled "You're wrong" and stormed out of the room. Sammy's parents decided not to press the issue further but did agree that an immediate appointment with the teacher was necessary.
These instances of lying became more and more frequent. He began speaking of an uncle who was in the movies and of potentially being in the movies himself because good kid actors were hard to find. One particularly interesting story he floated about was that he was part Italian and his original name was Guiseppe Giovannini. His parents were pure Irish and there was no way this could be true. No one believed this and many of his friends disassociated themselves from him.
His parents were frantic, so much so that they felt that psychiatric help was in order. They didn't blame Sammy but felt that his bouts of lying were caused by his accident; however, Sammy would not admit that anything was wrong.
His parents sent him to Dr. Bernard Feintuch, a noted psychiatrist specializing in neurological disorders. Very often, he explained, many cases of head trauma result in some manifestation of neurological disorder. While most cases result in some form of epilepsy, he told Sammy's parents, there are those cases in which behavioral changes are noted. This seemed to fit Sammy's condition and the doctor, most intrigued by the case, agreed to see Sammy.
Sammy's first visit came eight months after his accident. Dr. Feintuch started with seemingly casual conversation in order to get Sammy comfortable with the process. "Tell me a little bit about yourself," he asked.
"I'm nine years old and I am in the fourth grade at the Kennedy elementary school."
"What do you like to do?" Dr. Feintuch asked.
"Not much nowadays. A lot of my friends don't play with me anymore."
"Why is that, do you think?"
"I don't know."
"Do you have any friends?"
"Well, my best friend is Davey McCoy. He was my best friend before the accident and he is my best friend now. He was the one who found me after the accident and called the ambulance. We play together all the time."
"What do you play?"
"G.I. Joe and my erector set and my Tonka trucks."
"Did you do this before the accident?"
"Yes."
"What else did you do before the accident?"
"I used to jump."
Dr. Feintuch sat up in his chair, a look of befuddlement passing over his face. "What?" he asked, almost laughing.
"I used to jump."
"What do you mean 'jump?'"
"Well, I like to imagine that I'm an Olympic hurdler and I would pretend that my front steps were the hurdles. I would jump over them."
"How often would you do this?"
"Before the accident, I jumped a few hours every day."
Wide-eyed the doctor asked, "a FEW hours a day?"
"Yeah." Nothing else.
"What about now?"
"I want to, but my mom won't let me."
“Why won’t she let you jump?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have absolutely no idea?”
“Well, I must have gotten hurt because one day I remember jumping for my friend Davey, but the next thing I knew I was in the hospital. I ask my parents about it but they won’t tell me about it.”
“Your parents haven’t told you about your accident.”
“No. Can you tell me?”
“I think you should discuss it with your parents. I’m sure they’ll tell you.” Changing subjects, the doctor asked, “How are things in school?”
“Fine.”
“How are the other kids treating you”
“Fine. They were super nice to me when I got out of the hospital.”
“Really,” exclaimed Dr. Feintuch. “How do they treat you now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are they nice to you. Are they not nice to you. Things like that.”
“”They treat me like I’m a regular kid, I guess.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, some of the kids are not so friendly anymore.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
"I see." He decided to change his course now. "Sammy, your parents tell me that you've been having problems lying about some things."
Sammy started to yell loudly. "No, I haven't. That's a lie. I want to leave."
"Sammy, your parents are not here right now. They've gone out to do some shopping. They told me they'd be back at eleven o'clock, when your appointment is over."
"You're lying." In fact, the doctor was lying. Sammy's parents were in the waiting room outside the office. He was hoping Sammy wouldn't check. He was a poor gambler. Sammy ran to the office door and opened it, revealing his waiting parents. They jumped up and ran to him. "I don't like this doctor. He lies. I want to go home." Sammy's father glared and the world-renowned Feintuch looked back at him, helplessly. Sammy's parents dragged Sammy out of the office without saying another word.
“Done in by a nine year old,” said Feintuch to himself.
Sammy apologized to his parents and told them that he would do his best not to lie anymore. For his parents, this was music to their ears. This was the first time that Sammy acknowledged he had a problem. They decided to work with Sammy and teach him right from wrong themselves. They felt they could do a better job of it anyway.
Sammy for his part was a cooperative student and worked with his parents to stop any lying that he was doing. However, he enjoyed lying and planned on continuing to do so. It made him feel better about himself. He wasn’t good at sports, didn’t have a lot of friends and felt alone. If he had to lie to get kids to like him better, he’d do it, but he would be more careful this time. He would, though, start anew and write down everything he said and stop making the lies outlandish. Let's face it, he thought, if you make yourself sound better, people will like you better. You just have to do it right.
And it worked, too. Although it took several months to overcome the damage he previously caused, he started making friends again. His lies were little white lies, saying he had done this or that, he had played with some new game and had done really well at it, had gone to such and such a place for dinner. Children being fickle as they are anyway were ready to accept Sammy back into the fold. His lack of lying hastened the process. Unfortunately, he had not stopped lying but had become more calculated about it. His composition notebook was filled with pages of writing catalogued by topic and with entries regarding specific lies he had told and to whom he had told the prevarication. Instead of watching television at night with his parents he spent extra time doing his homework and memorizing his notebook. At first this was a daunting task but he was soon able to grasp the information and memorize it. Further, his review of the information on a daily basis further reinforced the information into his brain. He would often pass up studying for tests if he had to pick between tests and his notebooks; however, the regimen of studying on a daily basis not only made him a better student but developed an ingrown talent that he did not know he had, a photographic memory. It’s not widely known, but only three percent of the population have the ability to remember anything that they read. Most people have heard of photographic memories and there has not been one child in all of history who has not wished that he possessed such a talent while studying for an exam, especially a history exam, where dates and places are so important. What is even less known is that unless those three percent of the individuals exercise their talent, they lose it, much the way as pugilist loses his edge when he does not go to the gym to practice.
The years passed and the little boy who had severe troubles found himself to be one of the most popular kids in school. While all the kids were starting to grow their hair long and wear denim jeans to school, Sammy preferred to dress wearing chinos, button down shirts, topsiders and keeping his hair neatly trimmed. He excelled in his classwork and constantly finished within the top five kids in class. In high school, he was elected president of the senior class and was involved in all manner of extracurricular activities.
Throughout all of his days in elementary, junior high and high school his best friend remained Davey McCoy. Davey had grown exponentially in size and was one of the largest kids in the class, perfectly suited for the football uniform he wore so well. Davey could tell when Sammy was lying but it didn't bother him because he felt that Sammy was only fibbing and telling small harmless lies that didn't matter. In addition, Davey was no small slouch in the lying area. In fact, his favorite line was "the dog ate my homework." Given the success of the high school football program, Davey's coach was able to exert pressure on the teachers to pass those football players who were marginal at best. Not that Davey was in this category, but the spillover effect was that teachers accepted his excuse and didn't bother him. Both Davey and Sammy found this amusing as both knew, and the teachers didn't, that Davey didn't even own a dog.
Despite their differences, the two of them were inseparable. They did everything together, from going out on dates and to drinking with the aid of Davey's older brother's ID card. Therefore, when it came time to select colleges they were scared with the prospect of being separated for the first time in many years. Davey, with an average of 83 and SATs of 1100 applied to all of the schools in the State University of New York system. Sammy, with his 96 average and 1450 SATs, applied to four schools: Harvard, Yale, Princeton and his safe school, State University of New York at Albany. Sammy got accepted to all four schools and Davey got accepted to SUNY Albany, among other schools in the state system. Faced with the first separation in their lives, the boys went into a panic.
Sammy made a decision that made everyone, including parents, guidance counselors, principals, college admissions officers, and friends sit up and take notice. He rejected the offers from Harvard, Princeton and Yale and sent an acceptance letter to the State University at Albany. He felt it was a matter of loyalty. He clearly remembered when he fell out of favor in the fourth grade. Only Davey stood by him. Now, he felt, it was time to repay the favor. It was a decision that no one understood, not even his parents (although, admittedly, his dad’s bank account was grateful). Only Davey had an inkling as to what Sammy was doing, but he could still not comprehend that someone would do such a thing for him. No one had ever done anything like that for Davey McCoy. Had Sammy taken the prudent course and gone to an Ivy League school he would have had it made. As it was, it was a decision that would alter his life and was one that Sammy would later regret as it brought him into contact with Bennett Armstrong, the man who brought him into the Company.
Bennett Armstrong was the chairman of the Political Science department at Albany State. Ever since Sammy was an outspoken student in PoliSci 101 (Introduction to Political Science) Armstrong took a shine to the young man and was glad to be his mentor when the time came. To Sammy, Armstrong was a nice man who was providing educational and career guidance for him. He did not know that Armstrong was once a field agent for the CIA in Germany at the height of the cold war in the late fifties and early sixties. His mentor was none other than James Lee Patterson. When he decided to retire from active duty, Patterson allowed him to do so on the condition that he act as a scout, looking for new talent. Over the years, he had recruited 50 potential stars. None, Patterson was later heard to say, amounted to anything near young Mr. Johnston.
Meanwhile, Sammy was enjoying college life. He found that he was able to breeze through his course work and partake in the fun the Albany nightlife had to offer. He spent many evenings in the Rathskellar, the University operated bar that was located conveniently in the campus center. One dollar pitchers were the norm, even if it was such slop as Genessee Cream Ale. Getting drunk was important to Davey so it was important to Sammy and they engaged in what they referred to as their "occupation" nightly, raising drinking to an art form. It was at the Rathskellar where they met William Williams and Steve Winterbottom when, one crowded Thursday/ half price pitcher night, the four had to share a table and a fast friendship was formed over a few pitchers of beer. They spent a lot of their time at the movies, especially convenient at Albany State, which sported three movie groups, Albany State Cinema and Tower East Cinema, which showed new releases, and International Film Group, which showed the classics. Sammy found himself immersed in the movies often pretending to himself that he was the writer, producer and director of the movies by visualizing his name appearing in the credits. He further fueled his capacity for lying by being able to recall movie lines instantaneously and injecting them into conversation. By doing so, he had taken his photographic memory the proverbial step further by training his mind to recall the spoken word. By the time he got to his junior year of college he had no further use for his notebook, using, rather, his mind which acted as a computer.
His mental acuity impressed Armstrong so much that, as graduation drew near, an interview was arranged with a man named Henry Richardson who was scouting for talented graduates to work as research analysts for the government. Richardson was so impressed with Sammy that he offered him a researcher position on the spot. What with the $40,000 per year starting salary, Sammy was hard pressed to refuse. He accepted on the spot and his future was sealed.
Meanwhile, Davey had absolutely no career aspirations. Along with Steve and Bill, Davey decided to stay in Albany and find some job. Steve liked the school and the kids who went there so he got a job with the SUNY Albany Department of Public Safety. He got to act as campus security, which wasn't that bad since crime wasn't that bad. Occasionally he'd have to give a speeding ticket to someone tooling around the long roadway that circled the school or he'd have to show up at some freshman party on Colonial Quadrangle (where most of the freshmen were herded) in order to quiet down an over-rambunctious party. Davey and Bill, and even Sammy, found his job quite amusing and would often join in wild, frenetic calls of "one Adam 12, one Adam 12, a 211 in progress. one Adam 12 handle code 3." At first, Steve didn't like this but after a while he stopped snarling as he actually found it funny and often joined in the battle cry himself.
Steve’s true ambition, though, was to be an actor. He had been a drama major in college, much to the consternation of his parents. Their lukewarm reception to his choice of major quickly dissipated when they traveled to Albany to see the school’s student production of Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire, starring Steve as Stanley Kowalski. Not only did his parents support his career choice, but he received excellent critical reviews from local area drama critics. But he still had not yet received a professional nibble. He subscribed to Variety and traveled to New York for casting calls, but all of his trips had been in vain. His true love, however, was makeup. He was nuts about the subject and voraciously devoured articles about the masters like Rick Baker and Wally Westmore. When he wasn’t acting in a production, he was the makeup artist. He eschewed the use of pancake makeup and opted for the use of latex in order to alter one’s appearance. He was so good at what he did that he still worked on the productions after his campus security ‘gig’ so he could keep up on his skills. Little did he know he would soon get the role of a lifetime.
Davey, on the other hand, in quite typical Davey fashion, found a job in nearby Troy as the Commissioner of Sanitation. He did this by being lazy. Not being one to hit the books, he took advantage of the SUNY intern program, which placed students into the real world for a semester and gave them a full semester's worth fifteen credits for doing so. Davey, always looking for a shortcut, befriended the son of the incumbent mayor of Troy, who was a shoo-in for re-election. Davey was to be the campaign manager, a job less prestigious than the title sounded as the campaign was less real than imagined. When the Mayor was declared the winner on election night (and the local news declared him a winner just five minutes after the polls closed) he thanked his young campaign manager and declared that if Davey wanted to continue his work for the Mayor's administration as sanitation commissioner, he could do so. Davey, to the delight of the local newscasters (despite their being unawares of his slightly inebriated condition) gave the thumbs-up and the deal was struck, leading local weatherman and area fixture Howard Ware to comment "That's one lucky small fry. I wish could have been in charge of garbage when I was 22."
Bill, the quietest of the bunch, took the same internship program, but using his father's connections, was able to secure a campaign spot on the staff of then Albany District Attorney Joseph Humphreys and when that man won his election, Bill was offered the spot of chief of staff. Unlike Davey, Bill was all hard work and very little play. In Bill's instance, his only playtime came when he was with his three friends. At all other times, he did everything he could to get ahead. Some people said he was just plain mean, ruthless. Even Senator Humphreys was, at some times, taken aback by the activities of his senior administrative assistant. Nevertheless, since none of Bill's activities were overtly underhanded, he chose not to approach him, but, rather, kept an eye out for his activities. In him, Humphreys saw a young man who, troubled by something from his past, was overcompensating in the present.
Sammy's parents were in a state of shock they had never before experienced. Sammy's mother could not stand by herself without help and Sammy's father could not perform even the most routine functions. On his many trips to the cafeteria to purchase a cup of black coffee for himself and his wife to share he often could not summon the energy or thought processes to go through his change and sort out the fifteen cents necessary to purchase the cup. On half of the occasions, after being helped by the cashier to come up with the change, Sammy's father would forget the cup of coffee he sought to purchase.
The doctor, however, was more upbeat. While he could not rule out neurological damage, he was pretty certain that this would not occur. He based this on the fact that while the scalp lacerations were both extensive and severe, there was only a minor hairline fracture of the skull and tests run already did not show any brain damage. However, further tests were necessary and would need to be taken over a long period of time, especially since neurological damage might not manifest itself for quite some time as in many youths who suffer head trauma the effects remain quiescent for many years. He still needed care for the deep cuts and lacerations he received all over his body. While he was lucky that he not nicked any major arteries or broken any bones, he suffered cuts over 60% of his body.
Sammy, however, was still in a coma and, this, three days after the accident. "I think you'll find that this is quite normal, especially in cases of such severe head trauma."
"But what about the blood," asked Sammy's father. "There was so much of it."
"That's quite normal. Due to the close proximity to the brain and the carotid artery most head wounds bleed profusely. It's quite normal", the doctor replied cavalierly, quite obviously waiting for an opportunity to depart.
"Doc, this is my son we're talking about. I'd appreciate you be generous with your time and not giving us the bum's rush."
"I am sorry about your boy's condition, but you must understand that I have many patients who have worse conditions,” he said as he checked his watch for the tenth time in the past minute. “I am happy to speak with you at any time, perhaps after hours, but now I must press on."
"You'll talk to me when I want you to talk to me," Sammy's father yelled, grabbing hold of the doctor's collar. At the moment it appeared that Sammy’s father was going to deck the doctor, a white-uniformed nurse appeared to the right frantically clutching at the doctor's arm.
"Doctor," she yelled, "Come quick. It's the Johnston boy." At that Sammy's father froze and turned white. A moment later, he was running towards Sammy's room fearing the worst. Sammy's mother, previously unable to ambulate without assistance, was running towards the room with the speed of Mercury. The doctor brought up the rear.
Entering Sammy's room, the three of them froze. Sitting up and grinning, albeit groggily, was Sammy. Confused by his surroundings, he was looking around the room in an attempt to jog his memory to determine how he ended up here. Upon seeing his parents, his grin turned into a full-fledged groggy smile, his eyelids still at half-mast. His parents both burst into tears and rushed to the bed. "Hi guys," Sammy said lazily. He yawned, "why'd you bring me here."
Grabbing and hugging Sammy, his parents started crying harder, but this time there was an edge of relief in their sobs. Summoning his energy, Sammy's mom said, "You hurt yourself, baby, but you're going to get better. We're going to get you the best medical treatment and you're going to get better. I promise."
"Okay." With that, Sammy laid back down, turned over and went to sleep. The doctor, seeing the parents' worried faces start anew said, "Do not worry. He's exhausted. Let him sleep. You can wait here if you'd like but you look pretty exhausted yourselves. If you want to go home, I'll make sure you are called to come here, when he wakes up."
Sammy's parents were of one voice. "We'll wait here," they said in unison and then hugged each other fiercely as the doctor and the nurse made their departure.
Sammy slept and slept and slept but when he woke he was full of energy. Despite his awakening and no matter how much he racked his brains in response to his parent's questions, he couldn't remember what happened. He couldn't even remember what he was doing before every thing went black. When his parents told him he was jumping from a running start and he went through the storm door, he still drew a blank. His last memory was of the handball game and resting in the park. His parents pressed no further and neither did Sammy. All of them were only concerned that Sammy was getting better.
Days stretched into weeks and weeks stretched into months. Even to the doctor's surprise Sammy's recovery was nothing short of miraculous. Sammy was back at school in September and had been well enough to complete his studies over the summer so he would not be left back. All of his classmates were happy to see him, even treating him like royalty for having been through such an ordeal.
While Sammy appeared perfectly normal, his parents noticed small, otherwise imperceptible changes in him. Before his accident, Sammy was what his father called a "straight-shooter". He would never tell a fib, never a white lie, never shade the truth, even if it meant being punished for something he'd done wrong. When his teacher sent a note home saying that Sammy was unprepared for class, Sammy would tell the truth and confess, hoping that his plea that "it will never happen again" would work. It usually did.
The first time Sammy's father noticed a change was when the teacher sent home a note stating that she wanted to see Sammy's parents regarding cheating on an exam. Sammy's parents spoke with Sammy who said that he didn't cheat on a test but it was, rather, a classmate who was cheating on his test. Sammy said that the test was in Social Studies and that he knew all the answers because he stayed up late to study for it the previous night. What struck his parents as strange was that they went out to dinner at the Sizzler and Sammy was asleep by nine o'clock. From eight to nine Sammy sat with his parents and watched an episode of 'Laugh-In.' When Sammy's parents told him what he did the previous night, Sammy yelled "You're wrong" and stormed out of the room. Sammy's parents decided not to press the issue further but did agree that an immediate appointment with the teacher was necessary.
These instances of lying became more and more frequent. He began speaking of an uncle who was in the movies and of potentially being in the movies himself because good kid actors were hard to find. One particularly interesting story he floated about was that he was part Italian and his original name was Guiseppe Giovannini. His parents were pure Irish and there was no way this could be true. No one believed this and many of his friends disassociated themselves from him.
His parents were frantic, so much so that they felt that psychiatric help was in order. They didn't blame Sammy but felt that his bouts of lying were caused by his accident; however, Sammy would not admit that anything was wrong.
His parents sent him to Dr. Bernard Feintuch, a noted psychiatrist specializing in neurological disorders. Very often, he explained, many cases of head trauma result in some manifestation of neurological disorder. While most cases result in some form of epilepsy, he told Sammy's parents, there are those cases in which behavioral changes are noted. This seemed to fit Sammy's condition and the doctor, most intrigued by the case, agreed to see Sammy.
Sammy's first visit came eight months after his accident. Dr. Feintuch started with seemingly casual conversation in order to get Sammy comfortable with the process. "Tell me a little bit about yourself," he asked.
"I'm nine years old and I am in the fourth grade at the Kennedy elementary school."
"What do you like to do?" Dr. Feintuch asked.
"Not much nowadays. A lot of my friends don't play with me anymore."
"Why is that, do you think?"
"I don't know."
"Do you have any friends?"
"Well, my best friend is Davey McCoy. He was my best friend before the accident and he is my best friend now. He was the one who found me after the accident and called the ambulance. We play together all the time."
"What do you play?"
"G.I. Joe and my erector set and my Tonka trucks."
"Did you do this before the accident?"
"Yes."
"What else did you do before the accident?"
"I used to jump."
Dr. Feintuch sat up in his chair, a look of befuddlement passing over his face. "What?" he asked, almost laughing.
"I used to jump."
"What do you mean 'jump?'"
"Well, I like to imagine that I'm an Olympic hurdler and I would pretend that my front steps were the hurdles. I would jump over them."
"How often would you do this?"
"Before the accident, I jumped a few hours every day."
Wide-eyed the doctor asked, "a FEW hours a day?"
"Yeah." Nothing else.
"What about now?"
"I want to, but my mom won't let me."
“Why won’t she let you jump?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have absolutely no idea?”
“Well, I must have gotten hurt because one day I remember jumping for my friend Davey, but the next thing I knew I was in the hospital. I ask my parents about it but they won’t tell me about it.”
“Your parents haven’t told you about your accident.”
“No. Can you tell me?”
“I think you should discuss it with your parents. I’m sure they’ll tell you.” Changing subjects, the doctor asked, “How are things in school?”
“Fine.”
“How are the other kids treating you”
“Fine. They were super nice to me when I got out of the hospital.”
“Really,” exclaimed Dr. Feintuch. “How do they treat you now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are they nice to you. Are they not nice to you. Things like that.”
“”They treat me like I’m a regular kid, I guess.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, some of the kids are not so friendly anymore.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
"I see." He decided to change his course now. "Sammy, your parents tell me that you've been having problems lying about some things."
Sammy started to yell loudly. "No, I haven't. That's a lie. I want to leave."
"Sammy, your parents are not here right now. They've gone out to do some shopping. They told me they'd be back at eleven o'clock, when your appointment is over."
"You're lying." In fact, the doctor was lying. Sammy's parents were in the waiting room outside the office. He was hoping Sammy wouldn't check. He was a poor gambler. Sammy ran to the office door and opened it, revealing his waiting parents. They jumped up and ran to him. "I don't like this doctor. He lies. I want to go home." Sammy's father glared and the world-renowned Feintuch looked back at him, helplessly. Sammy's parents dragged Sammy out of the office without saying another word.
“Done in by a nine year old,” said Feintuch to himself.
Sammy apologized to his parents and told them that he would do his best not to lie anymore. For his parents, this was music to their ears. This was the first time that Sammy acknowledged he had a problem. They decided to work with Sammy and teach him right from wrong themselves. They felt they could do a better job of it anyway.
Sammy for his part was a cooperative student and worked with his parents to stop any lying that he was doing. However, he enjoyed lying and planned on continuing to do so. It made him feel better about himself. He wasn’t good at sports, didn’t have a lot of friends and felt alone. If he had to lie to get kids to like him better, he’d do it, but he would be more careful this time. He would, though, start anew and write down everything he said and stop making the lies outlandish. Let's face it, he thought, if you make yourself sound better, people will like you better. You just have to do it right.
And it worked, too. Although it took several months to overcome the damage he previously caused, he started making friends again. His lies were little white lies, saying he had done this or that, he had played with some new game and had done really well at it, had gone to such and such a place for dinner. Children being fickle as they are anyway were ready to accept Sammy back into the fold. His lack of lying hastened the process. Unfortunately, he had not stopped lying but had become more calculated about it. His composition notebook was filled with pages of writing catalogued by topic and with entries regarding specific lies he had told and to whom he had told the prevarication. Instead of watching television at night with his parents he spent extra time doing his homework and memorizing his notebook. At first this was a daunting task but he was soon able to grasp the information and memorize it. Further, his review of the information on a daily basis further reinforced the information into his brain. He would often pass up studying for tests if he had to pick between tests and his notebooks; however, the regimen of studying on a daily basis not only made him a better student but developed an ingrown talent that he did not know he had, a photographic memory. It’s not widely known, but only three percent of the population have the ability to remember anything that they read. Most people have heard of photographic memories and there has not been one child in all of history who has not wished that he possessed such a talent while studying for an exam, especially a history exam, where dates and places are so important. What is even less known is that unless those three percent of the individuals exercise their talent, they lose it, much the way as pugilist loses his edge when he does not go to the gym to practice.
The years passed and the little boy who had severe troubles found himself to be one of the most popular kids in school. While all the kids were starting to grow their hair long and wear denim jeans to school, Sammy preferred to dress wearing chinos, button down shirts, topsiders and keeping his hair neatly trimmed. He excelled in his classwork and constantly finished within the top five kids in class. In high school, he was elected president of the senior class and was involved in all manner of extracurricular activities.
Throughout all of his days in elementary, junior high and high school his best friend remained Davey McCoy. Davey had grown exponentially in size and was one of the largest kids in the class, perfectly suited for the football uniform he wore so well. Davey could tell when Sammy was lying but it didn't bother him because he felt that Sammy was only fibbing and telling small harmless lies that didn't matter. In addition, Davey was no small slouch in the lying area. In fact, his favorite line was "the dog ate my homework." Given the success of the high school football program, Davey's coach was able to exert pressure on the teachers to pass those football players who were marginal at best. Not that Davey was in this category, but the spillover effect was that teachers accepted his excuse and didn't bother him. Both Davey and Sammy found this amusing as both knew, and the teachers didn't, that Davey didn't even own a dog.
Despite their differences, the two of them were inseparable. They did everything together, from going out on dates and to drinking with the aid of Davey's older brother's ID card. Therefore, when it came time to select colleges they were scared with the prospect of being separated for the first time in many years. Davey, with an average of 83 and SATs of 1100 applied to all of the schools in the State University of New York system. Sammy, with his 96 average and 1450 SATs, applied to four schools: Harvard, Yale, Princeton and his safe school, State University of New York at Albany. Sammy got accepted to all four schools and Davey got accepted to SUNY Albany, among other schools in the state system. Faced with the first separation in their lives, the boys went into a panic.
Sammy made a decision that made everyone, including parents, guidance counselors, principals, college admissions officers, and friends sit up and take notice. He rejected the offers from Harvard, Princeton and Yale and sent an acceptance letter to the State University at Albany. He felt it was a matter of loyalty. He clearly remembered when he fell out of favor in the fourth grade. Only Davey stood by him. Now, he felt, it was time to repay the favor. It was a decision that no one understood, not even his parents (although, admittedly, his dad’s bank account was grateful). Only Davey had an inkling as to what Sammy was doing, but he could still not comprehend that someone would do such a thing for him. No one had ever done anything like that for Davey McCoy. Had Sammy taken the prudent course and gone to an Ivy League school he would have had it made. As it was, it was a decision that would alter his life and was one that Sammy would later regret as it brought him into contact with Bennett Armstrong, the man who brought him into the Company.
Bennett Armstrong was the chairman of the Political Science department at Albany State. Ever since Sammy was an outspoken student in PoliSci 101 (Introduction to Political Science) Armstrong took a shine to the young man and was glad to be his mentor when the time came. To Sammy, Armstrong was a nice man who was providing educational and career guidance for him. He did not know that Armstrong was once a field agent for the CIA in Germany at the height of the cold war in the late fifties and early sixties. His mentor was none other than James Lee Patterson. When he decided to retire from active duty, Patterson allowed him to do so on the condition that he act as a scout, looking for new talent. Over the years, he had recruited 50 potential stars. None, Patterson was later heard to say, amounted to anything near young Mr. Johnston.
Meanwhile, Sammy was enjoying college life. He found that he was able to breeze through his course work and partake in the fun the Albany nightlife had to offer. He spent many evenings in the Rathskellar, the University operated bar that was located conveniently in the campus center. One dollar pitchers were the norm, even if it was such slop as Genessee Cream Ale. Getting drunk was important to Davey so it was important to Sammy and they engaged in what they referred to as their "occupation" nightly, raising drinking to an art form. It was at the Rathskellar where they met William Williams and Steve Winterbottom when, one crowded Thursday/ half price pitcher night, the four had to share a table and a fast friendship was formed over a few pitchers of beer. They spent a lot of their time at the movies, especially convenient at Albany State, which sported three movie groups, Albany State Cinema and Tower East Cinema, which showed new releases, and International Film Group, which showed the classics. Sammy found himself immersed in the movies often pretending to himself that he was the writer, producer and director of the movies by visualizing his name appearing in the credits. He further fueled his capacity for lying by being able to recall movie lines instantaneously and injecting them into conversation. By doing so, he had taken his photographic memory the proverbial step further by training his mind to recall the spoken word. By the time he got to his junior year of college he had no further use for his notebook, using, rather, his mind which acted as a computer.
His mental acuity impressed Armstrong so much that, as graduation drew near, an interview was arranged with a man named Henry Richardson who was scouting for talented graduates to work as research analysts for the government. Richardson was so impressed with Sammy that he offered him a researcher position on the spot. What with the $40,000 per year starting salary, Sammy was hard pressed to refuse. He accepted on the spot and his future was sealed.
Meanwhile, Davey had absolutely no career aspirations. Along with Steve and Bill, Davey decided to stay in Albany and find some job. Steve liked the school and the kids who went there so he got a job with the SUNY Albany Department of Public Safety. He got to act as campus security, which wasn't that bad since crime wasn't that bad. Occasionally he'd have to give a speeding ticket to someone tooling around the long roadway that circled the school or he'd have to show up at some freshman party on Colonial Quadrangle (where most of the freshmen were herded) in order to quiet down an over-rambunctious party. Davey and Bill, and even Sammy, found his job quite amusing and would often join in wild, frenetic calls of "one Adam 12, one Adam 12, a 211 in progress. one Adam 12 handle code 3." At first, Steve didn't like this but after a while he stopped snarling as he actually found it funny and often joined in the battle cry himself.
Steve’s true ambition, though, was to be an actor. He had been a drama major in college, much to the consternation of his parents. Their lukewarm reception to his choice of major quickly dissipated when they traveled to Albany to see the school’s student production of Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire, starring Steve as Stanley Kowalski. Not only did his parents support his career choice, but he received excellent critical reviews from local area drama critics. But he still had not yet received a professional nibble. He subscribed to Variety and traveled to New York for casting calls, but all of his trips had been in vain. His true love, however, was makeup. He was nuts about the subject and voraciously devoured articles about the masters like Rick Baker and Wally Westmore. When he wasn’t acting in a production, he was the makeup artist. He eschewed the use of pancake makeup and opted for the use of latex in order to alter one’s appearance. He was so good at what he did that he still worked on the productions after his campus security ‘gig’ so he could keep up on his skills. Little did he know he would soon get the role of a lifetime.
Davey, on the other hand, in quite typical Davey fashion, found a job in nearby Troy as the Commissioner of Sanitation. He did this by being lazy. Not being one to hit the books, he took advantage of the SUNY intern program, which placed students into the real world for a semester and gave them a full semester's worth fifteen credits for doing so. Davey, always looking for a shortcut, befriended the son of the incumbent mayor of Troy, who was a shoo-in for re-election. Davey was to be the campaign manager, a job less prestigious than the title sounded as the campaign was less real than imagined. When the Mayor was declared the winner on election night (and the local news declared him a winner just five minutes after the polls closed) he thanked his young campaign manager and declared that if Davey wanted to continue his work for the Mayor's administration as sanitation commissioner, he could do so. Davey, to the delight of the local newscasters (despite their being unawares of his slightly inebriated condition) gave the thumbs-up and the deal was struck, leading local weatherman and area fixture Howard Ware to comment "That's one lucky small fry. I wish could have been in charge of garbage when I was 22."
Bill, the quietest of the bunch, took the same internship program, but using his father's connections, was able to secure a campaign spot on the staff of then Albany District Attorney Joseph Humphreys and when that man won his election, Bill was offered the spot of chief of staff. Unlike Davey, Bill was all hard work and very little play. In Bill's instance, his only playtime came when he was with his three friends. At all other times, he did everything he could to get ahead. Some people said he was just plain mean, ruthless. Even Senator Humphreys was, at some times, taken aback by the activities of his senior administrative assistant. Nevertheless, since none of Bill's activities were overtly underhanded, he chose not to approach him, but, rather, kept an eye out for his activities. In him, Humphreys saw a young man who, troubled by something from his past, was overcompensating in the present.
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