I said I'd be in the front row for that concert. Then I
didn't know what else to say.
As I got up to take my leave, Maria walked me to the door, touched my shoulder and murmured, "Andrew, thank you for being such a good person."
Downstairs, I found a private phone and called Frank
Harvey, our Chairman.
I told him I had good news and bad news. The bad was that Rossi didn't come through. The good was that I -ran into a classmate in the hotel bar who was willing -to cough up a million bucks for the Med School-anonymously.
At first Frank didn't believe me. He kept asking if this character was sober. And if I was sober.
When I convinced him that a banker's check would be in his hands before the end of the week, he almost did somersaults over the phone.
That put our class gift over the eight-million mark. And, as he put it, made me "the hero of the day."
I hung up and ambled homeward thinking, I'm no hero. Danny is the guy with guts. He needs courage just to wake up every morning and face what's happened to him.
I had always looked at him as the exception to the rule. But now I realize that everybody pays a price for his success.
O
n the afternoon of Commencement Day, the various Harvard classes assembled in the Yard to march into Tercentenary Theater for their annual meeting. They were headed by President Derek Bok, with Dean Theodore
Lambros, resplendent in his crimson robes, a step behind. They in turn were followed- by batallions of the various classes, several thousand strong.
Those having their Twenty-fifth and Fiftieth reunions had the pride of place. And some of their representatives were
honored for various reasons by being asked to sit-wearing top hats and morning coats-on the podium.
Both George Keller and Daniel Rossi had been invited, but respectfully declined. Andrew Eliot was likewise honored for his service to the University Fund Raising Campaign-and sat unobtrusively in a corner of the stage.
Also attending, to represent the Class of '33 (the Fiftieth) was Philip Harrison, former Secretary of the Treasury and Ted's erstwhile father-in-law. -_
As the old man climbed the steps, Ted rose to greet him, offering his hand.
"Ah, -Dean Lambros," the old man said tonelessly,
"congratulations. I'm very pleased to see you've gotten everything you've always wanted." -
He then walked to his seat. Because, in truth, that is all they had left to say to each other.
During the ceremony, the gifts of the various classes were announced. Franklin Harvey rose to proclaim that the sum donated by the Twenty-fifth Reunion was a record $8.6 million.
There was an audible gasp.
But Frank raised his hand to postpone any further jubilation until he could add an important comment.
"Needless to say, we feel gratitude to the entire Class. But, if I may, I'd like to single out one individual who's worked closely with me on this entire campaign for the past five years.
"It's not just that he's done yeoman service in raising funds. It's more than that. His kindness and selflessness demonstrate the best of what a man can offer to the university and to his friends. -
"I'd like this individual to stand, so we can show him our appreciation." He turned and motioned to the honorand, saying, "Mr. Andrew Eliot."
Andrew was stunned. No one had ever applauded -him before. Not even his kids when they were young.
He stood up shyly, lost in the unfamiliarity of public appre
ciation. Pleased. Surprised. And overcome by this display of real affection.
For, though he had not known it-and -perhaps still did not understand-he was, in human terms, the best man in The Class. - -
ANDREW ELIOT'S DIARY
June 9, 1983
- I had to leave early to get Lizzie to the five-o'clock train. I was happy she had been there to see her dad acknowledged-deservedly or not-as someone whom
- the guys respected. -
It had been the best day of my life. That is, until I got back to my apartment. -
There were two stern-looking characters in drab suits waiting outside my door. The taller of them asked po
- litely if I was Andrew Eliot. -
As I nodded, both reached in their pockets and produced
IDs. They were from the Secret Service.
The minute we got inside, they started firing questions in subdued tones.
Did I know George Keller? Of course. -
When had I seen him last?
Day before yesterday at the airport. How would I describe his mood?
He seemed troubled, a bit depressed. Any particular reason that I knew of?
There was, of course, his divorce. They knew about that.
Then there was the matter of the guy at his lecture attacking him. -
My heart was starting to beat fast. I asked them what the hell was going on.
They handed me a letter. It read:
My dear Andrew,
You have always been so kind to me that I dare to ask you to serve as my executor.
I have a bank account and some stocks and bonds. Please see that these get to my sister in Hungary.
You are all the good things that I never was or could be.
Thanks.
- George
The two agents then sat rue down and explained that I was about to be privy to a government secret.
George had committed suicide last night.
I was stunned. And instantly felt guilty for letting him get on that plane. -
They emphasized that his death would be announced as having occurred from natural causes. Not merely.to avoid
government scandal, but out- of respect for a loyal public servant. Weighed down by the pressures of his job, George had probably succumbed to despair in a moment of weakness. - Funeral arrangements were being made. By a special
Executive order George would be buried in Arlington National Cemetery (they emphasized what a rare honor this was for a civilian). Did I know anyone who should be informed?
What could I say? They probably should contact his
ex-wife. She might want to attend. I could think of no one else. -
They suggested that it might be better if I were the one to tell Cathy and gave me her number in New York.
They left me to my anguish and confusion. I finally gathered the courage to pick up the phone.
Cathy seemed very pleased to hear my voice, Until I got around to the reason I was calling. Without my telling her she guessed that it had been by. his
hand.
She was ~ ~
soft voice she thanked me for having tried to be George's friend.
All I could answer was that I wished I'd been a better friend.
She replied that she wished she could have been a better wife. But it was impossible for George to accept love. From anyone.
I told her about his being buried at Arlington, which made
him a sort of American hero. That probably would have meant a great deal to George. She agreed, but said the price was too high.
Then I asked if she wanted to attend -the funeral. She said yes, but sounded anxious. I told her that, if she
wanted, I'd fly to New York so we could travel to Washington together. She said she really would like that. I was glad she accepted. I would need her company too. -
After we hung up I asked myself why the hell George had done it. He had so much to live for.
I guess he just didn't know how to be happy.
That's the one thing they can't teach you at Harvard.
When Commencement Day was over, The Class of
'58 returned to the Union one final time. Although champagne was served, the mood was curiously subdued.
After this reunion, they would probably never meet
together as a class again-at least not in such numbers. They would spend the next decades reading obituaries of the men who had started out in 1954 as rivals and today were leaving Harvard as brothers.
This was the beginning of the end. They had met once more and just had time enough to learn that they liked one another.
And to say goodbye.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ERICH SEGAL is himself a member of the Harvard class of
1958. In addition to his three bestselling novels-Love Story, Oliver's Story, Man, Woman and Child-he has published books and articles on Greek and Latin literature. He has taught at Harvard, Yale and Princeton. He lives in New England with his wife and daughter.
http://www.esnips.com/web/eb00ks