Moments in Time from my Life Chapter 3 The Campgrounds
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"Little" SisterChapter 18: Breaking Ground free porn video
Nothing is ever as easy or simple as it looks from afar. I had finals to give and papers to grade. If anything, the number of students asking advice increased. Still, I had unusual amounts of free time. I used much of it to check in on my nine assistants. Evaine was also in Anthropology. Her paper on Amish adjustments to the 21st century would be Magna Cum Laude.
Elspeth received her PhD, though without honors. I felt badly about that, considering how much time she devoted to my paper, but it was her choice. In truth, she was probably happier with the attention I received than she would have been for herself. I recognized this as true, but it was still difficult to accept. In any event, it came as a shock when she invited me to Boston to meet her parents.
The occasion was Elspeth's graduation party. Sean wanted to throw me one, but I told him it was too soon after the baby. Cindy was born three weeks early. The birth was normal and the baby healthy, but the early labor was a scare. Francine had Michael on March 12, one month later to the day. In the confusion, no one noticed he was also born on his father's birthday. I could almost relate. Mother and I are only two days apart.
My return to Boston was surreal for a number of reasons. Rather than drive, I flew to Logan International Airport. A limo and driver were waiting. Rather than going to Roxbury, we drove to Peabody House on Cambridge Street, which the driver informed me was designed by Charles Bulfinch. Apparently the Otises, the Peabodys and the Rices maintained the historical landmark, using it for private parties and important receptions.
The reception was exactly what seven years of Ivy League led me to expect. The buffet was vegan, the bar was home grown and the politics were left of left. A year before I would have been as out of place as a real bull on Wall Street. That was a year before.
What a difference a year makes. I was verging on celebrity status. Three fourths of the questions related to how I had survived Sean Hannity and Ann Coulter, Ann in particular. How could I say that both were easier to deal with than my own family? Sean Richards and Sean Hannity would enjoy a game of pool and beer. George is no one's ideal as the third sibling. My saving grace was Ro.
Richard made the journey to support his shoestring cousin. Since he worked for the evil-right-wing-syndicate, he was the lightning rod for all the criticism. When Elspeth defended him, shock waves went through the party. Make no mistake, Elspeth was a born and bred liberal, but she would not allow her friend to be railroaded. Friends were more valuable than politics. To divert attention, I told everyone that I was supporting a new half-way-house in New Hampshire.
Unofficially it was the beginning of my career as a lobbyist. In certain circles, half-way-house is a buzzword for get-out-of-jail-free. Beacon House was nothing of the sort, but I downplayed that aspect. By Massachusetts' standards I was a raving conservative. Since I already knew Ann Coulter and Sean Hannity, I knew how far that was from the truth. My first conscious political decision was to ignore the fact. If they wanted to dedicate money to a half-way-house, I was not going to say no.
I suppose you could read something into the fact that Elspeth showed up at my hotel room at 3:00 AM, wanting abuse. You could probably make some hay with the fact that I tied her up and wore her ass out with a horse hair lash. For me, what mattered is that one of my people needed me. Nothing more, but nothing less. If Elspeth wanted to be punished, sobeit. Surely she deserved it for something. When the chastisement was finished, Elspeth would still haul my ashes. That was what mattered to me. Call me selfish if you wish.
The upshot of the trip to Boston was that I needed to get serious about moving to the state capital. Sheila said we needed to present Beacon House as a going concern. That meant we needed an actual location, with real people. This proved surprisingly easy to produce. I wrote a check for a three month lease and violá, a halfway house. We had a list of volunteers from the university. Newly graduated Evaine Schaeffelker was the first Director. It would look good on her resume, though she would not assume her duties for several months.
I always expected accusations that it was all a sham, but they never materialized. Part of this was because Beacon House found genuine clients the first day. Somehow, we hit an existing need. Who knew? By the end of the first week, my made-to-order charity was a going concern. Even the IRS had no problem when Beacon House applied for non-profit status. Out of fiction, reality.
This gave me something to do. Once my second PhD was in hand, I was out of a job. A new Teaching Fellow covered my class for the summer session. My TAs reported to him. When the lease was up in August, I did not renew my room in Marbury Hall. Instead I rented a room in Hooksett, halfway between Manchester and Concord. This put me five minutes from Beacon House's future site, just north of Manchester, and ten minutes from the state capital.
FD Consulting rented a small storefront in Concord. Beacon Light Services occupied a corner. I was the Director. Elspeth was the secretary/gofer/janitor. She actively enjoyed being assaulted in her office. I once tied her up and left her stewing for several hours. Richard Willingham drove up from New York to "rescue" her. It was an anxious couple of weeks before Elspeth's next period. I told her (tied up on my desk, with welts on her ass) that she should at least inform men when she was not on the pill. Elspeth was disappointed when her period arrived on schedule.
There is a funny thing about politics. If people think you have influence, you really do have influence. As the visible face of a charitable organization and a lobbying firm, people started showing up at my door. Many were crackpots, though even a crackpot theory can be interesting. Most were a total waste of time. Most, but not all. Carlton Weber walked into the office one afternoon, asking to see me.
Carlton Weber was the son of James Weber and Fiona Endicott. Fiona was one of Elspeth's many shirt-tail relatives. I gave Carlton thirty minutes to make a case. He only needed five. The short version was that Fiona was fired, because her husband James was caught selling drugs. I might not have paid any more attention, except that the drugs were magic brownies for cancer patients.
Some of the facts were clear. James had quantities of a controlled substance, with intention to distribute them. The state and federal government did not care if the recipients were unable to keep food down, or that James' brownies would help their chronic nausea. I, through Beacon Light, made inquiries. The District Attorney's office had no problem issuing a statement of facts, which made it clear that the hemp was used for therapeutic purposes. The rest was leg work.
To make the rest of the story short, after three weeks and many calls and meetings, a meeting took place. I met with the District Attorney and the Governor's designated adviser on paroles and pardons. Neither man was at all interested in discussing James conviction. He would serve the minimum, then be considered for parole at the usual time.
Elouise
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Moments in Time from my Life Chapter 3 The Campgrounds
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