her attention to the dean. “We will step out while you dress yourself. Are
you able to stand?”
Still smiling, she nodded, “I think so.”
Once they were out of the room, Brian began to give Sam another earful of
the same bullshit he had heard no less than one-hundred times before. “I also
have some very serious complaints from your last class today, Sam.”
“What would those be, Brian, considering it would be a violation of my
tenure agreement for you to speak to me about my teaching unless I allow
you to?” asked Sam.
“I do not give a fuck about your tenure agreement. This time you’ve really
done it, Sam. You cannot tell the Muslims that Mohammad is an epileptic,
foaming-at-the-mouth idiot and call them dumb ass camel jockeys. What
were you thinking?” shouted Brian.
“I was thinking, ‘Wow, this must really be serious for Brian to use the
f-word,’” Sam retorted.
Frustrated, Brian looked at Sam, and said. “Eight AM sharp, Sam,
Chancellor Tomlinson’s office!”
The door opened and Christina came out, still smiling. Looking only at
Sam and totally disregarding Dean Burgrave, she walked up to Sam, kissed
him lightly, and grabbed his pants.
42
Smiling, she said, “I want that again, Sam. I would leave you my panties to
return to me, but we both know I wasn’t wearing any. See you soon, Sam,”
she added as she left the room.
At 8 a.m. sharp the next day, Sam entered Chancellor Wesley Tomlinson’s
office and, to his pleasant surprise, Dean Burgrave had four other board
members there, as well. The room had a strange feeling, almost like a
criminal courtroom before a trial begins. An icy silence hung in the air, the
kind where you recognize everyone in the room is looking at you. Sam
quipped at them, smiling, “This looks pretty serious.”
Chancellor Tomlinson, without hesitation, began questioning Sam. “Why
did you insult the Muslims? Now they are organizing a protest, and I have
to meet with their imam today to try to work this out. Brian also says you
had sex with the senator’s daughter on campus. Is this true?”
Looking at the chancellor, Sam answered, smiling, “I am surprised you
would speak so openly before the board members because now you have
four more people who think I had sex on campus with the senator’s daughter.
Is it really in your and the university’s best interest to spread rumors? I
suggest you remove the members of the board so I can deliver you my terms
for your slander.”
“Your terms? Slander? Have you gone mad, Sam?”
Without another word, Sam just stood there, never taking his eyes off the
chancellor. Sam was beckoning him to think about the meaning behind his
statement of charging him with slander. Eventually, Chancellor Tomlinson
motioned for everyone to leave the room. Sam stopped Brian from leaving,
saying aloud for everyone to hear, “He needs to stay. I need a witness for
your apology in order for me to drop the charges of your false accusations
and slander by saying I had sex on campus.”
Sitting across the table from them, Sam reached into his pocket, pulled out
a small cassette tape, and began playing with it between his fingers like a
poker chip. “Wesley, you almost messed it up, but as it stands right now,
everyone outside of that door is not sure if I fucked the senator’s daughter
or not.” Looking at them both, he asked, “Do either of you think I am so
stupid that I would not record every girl I ever screwed on campus? I record
them to avoid false accusations against myself or the university.
Unfortunately for the university, we have the senator’s daughter getting
boned, rather well, I might add, on campus. Now that denotes university
culpability, not to mention how the public exposure could affect the senator.”
Reaching across the table, Sam took a pad of paper lying in front of
Chancellor Tomlinson and began to write large numbers on the pad.
43
“Let me make this easy for you, Wesley. I am tired of the mindless dribble
of this generation, and I find myself at a point in life where I wish to pursue
other endeavors. Recently, this little neighborhood bar came up for sale and
has captivated my interest, so I think I will have a go at owing my own bar.”
Turning the pad around with the numbers facing them, he slid it across the
table, saying, “Here are my only terms. The university will deposit a check
for this amount into my account by Friday. You will note the amount in your
records as a bonus for my years of service. You will also pay me a full salary
with benefits or the senator’s daughter and I go public.” He placed the tape
back in his pocket.
Wesley started to respond. “I can’t get that kind of …” when Sam quickly
cut him off.
“Sure you can, Wesley; I personally do not care where you get the money,
from the school or the senator himself – make the deposit no later than
Friday!” Standing, Sam turned and walked immediately out of the room,
ignoring their demands for him to return. As he opened the door, he turned
and shouted, “CHECKMATE!”
‘Well, that went exactly as planned. I must remember to call Monica and
thank her for her help.’
44
4
“Who Do You Suppose Is More Evil?
The Molester
Or
The One Who Sees The Molestation
But Remains Silent?”
Woodstock69 is a well-known local landmark, a classy, but casual watering
hole, where freethinkers, rockers, and leftover hippies gather to reminisce.
Standing caddy corner across the street, Sam began a slow examination of
the exterior, looking for any possible improvements he might make. In a
recessed alcove stood two, ten-foot by four-foot, arched, grey barn doors,
supposedly from the original barn at Woodstock. Beautiful works of art
themselves, they were complete with gothic copper bracings, dents, marks,
and even horseshoe imprints. Above the seven-foot level, carved into the left
door was the word “Wood,” and into the right door was the word “stock.”
Directly below the word “Wood” was a large “6” and below “stock” was
the number “9.” Copper gaslights mounted on either side of the doors
created a subtle glow in the evening. A canvas portico extended to the curb
for rainy night drop-offs and cabs.
Unlocking the doors, Sam stepped inside locking them behind him. As he
disabled the alarm system, the thought went through his mind, ‘From a
classroom to a barroom in one week; what took you so long Sam?’ For
reasons unknown, Sam always wanted to own a bar, even though he logically
never understood why. Normally, a couple of times a week he would stop
by to have a drink, for any number of reasons, and was quite surprised when
he discovered the bar was up for sale. Standing in the entry, he realized how
little he had actually looked at the place. ‘Ownership changes your
perspective,’ he thought, as his eyes scanned the room looking at the vast
array of pictures. Every performer at Woodstock covered the walls; many
of the pictures were original photographs signed by the artists themselves.
There were several large pictures of naked people sliding in the mud, lines
at port-o-potties, people smoking pot, and pictures of crowds taken from
atop the metal stage framing, as well as aerial photos of the entire farm.
Signed posters, including one by Mick Jagger, covered the walls, along
with every important artist of the 60s. Sam’s personal favorites were Jimi
Hendrix and Janis Joplin, paired together in a corner near the bar.
45
The crowd favorite was a large black and white of the Beatles backstage
with Ed Sullivan.
The bar was made of pure mahogany, coated in high-gloss polyurethane
with “Woodstock69” hand carved into the front. The bar stood alone without
stools, designed for a standing-room-only crowd, with three or more people
deep on weekends. The only thing Sam considered removing were the
entrance doors to the Men and Women’s bathrooms. They were small, but
had inherited the rumor of being from the original port-o-potties at
Woodstock. ‘As I expected, I will need all new furniture, the booths need
recovering, the bathrooms require a complete makeover, and there are a few
minor cosmetic issues here and there. Otherwise, thank you Chancellor
Wesley, for this wonderful gift, or perhaps, I should be thanking the senator,’
he thought, smiling.
A gentle tap at the door pulled Sam away from his nostalgic thoughts,
reminding him of Molly’s arrival at ten o’clock to share a celebratory drink
for his new direction in life. They had spent the last several evenings
together, studying and exchanging ideas and various perspectives on the
4Horsemen. Molly suggested that they needed to adopt a method of study
to keep them moving forward in the knowledge of the 4Horsemen, instead
of in small circles. A great idea, but how they would implement such a study
method for something mystical, remained the unanswered question. Opening
the door Sam greeted Molly with a brief kiss on the cheek. Smiling, Molly
stepped inside, and her clean seductive features, along with the immaculate
presentation of her persona, once again, struck Sam. ‘Absolutely stunning,’
he thought, as he locked the door behind her.
As Sam turned around, the sight of Molly so captivated him that he paused
for a few seconds, drinking in her image. A ray of sunlight crept through a
small upper window, giving the appearance of a soft spotlight shining
directly onto Molly. Her natural blond hair was perfect with every hair in
place. She wore one of the finest knit dresses he had ever seen. Sam’s mind
stumbled over words ‘unique, stunning, one of a kind’ as he found himself
unable to find the exact words to describe the dress. Molly wore the dress as
if she were the only woman that could wear it, and if any other woman tried
to wear it – what a disgrace to the dress. The hand-woven outer edges of the
dress had an intricate lace pattern so dainty that Sam knew it took hundreds
of hours of labor to make the lace alone. The knit dress, clinging to her body,
accentuated every curve of her femininity.
With a sensually cut neckline, the lace edging near her breasts played
peek-a-boo with the eyes of every man lucky enough to see her.
46
Clearing his throat, Sam stepped behind the bar saying, “Since I own this
bar, what would you like to drink, Molly?”
“Not fair, Sam,” as she reached into a shopping bag and took out a bottle
of Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame champagne, along with two glasses.
“The toast is on me, mister, even if you do own the bar. I know you would
prefer scotch, but please indulge me this once.” As she popped the top, she
joyfully exclaimed, “Here’s to many good years, Sam.”
With a gracious smile, Sam said, “Thank you my dear,” admiring her show
of class.
They drank the bottle together rather quickly. Molly admitted to Sam how
much she liked to guzzle champagne, saying, “I know it’s a sin, Sam, but a
damn good one.” Even though they both had plans, today was going to be
like one of those days from the chorus in Sheryl Crow’s song: “All I want to
do is have some fun; I’ve got a feeling I’m not the only one.” You know, the
kind of day where people waste time just sitting in a bar, not giving a rip
about the rest of the world outside. You just lose the day as you enjoy each
other’s company. Sharing the chemistry of a genuine friendship is a rare
treat, one Sam and Molly enjoyed, as they continued drinking and talking
about the memorabilia in the bar for several hours.
Sam opened a new bottle of scotch for himself and a third bottle of
champagne for little guzzling Molly. The alcohol consumption had reached
the funny level, as they began laughing at one another’s inability to offer up
a new method of study for understanding the 4Horsemen. Sam commented
with a slight slur, “After thirty years of study, you come along and mess me
up with your understanding of the 4Horsemen. Then, you come up with the
idea that we need to find a method on how to study a mystery. Pure genius,
Molly. Surely you must realize all of this, coming from a stunning woman
in that dress, makes you more of a desirable mystery to me than the
4Horsemen.”
Guzzling another large glass of champagne, Molly had reached the “let’s
be honest” stage of intoxication. Looking Sam directly in the eyes, she
reached for his hand, saying, “At this point in my life, I need at least one
honest relationship, Sam. From the very moment I met you, we have enjoyed
the rarity of a natural friendship. In an effort to protect our friendship, I think
it’s best that you know several things about me. After college, the mystery
of the 4Horsemen took over my life to the point that I found myself spending
every spare moment in study. I could not get out of bed in the middle of the
night to pee without my mind being consumed with thoughts of the mystery.
47
“One day I was in a bookstore, looking for old religious books and
explaining to the owner my obsession with the 4Horsemen, when he asked
me if I had heard of you. He told me if anyone could point me in the right
direction, it would be you, and he gave me several copies of your past essays.
After reading them a half a dozen times each, I knew if anyone in the world
could figure out this mystery, it would have be Professor Samuel Walker. In
the short time I have known you; I have become very fond of you and your
fascinating mind.
“I left my home in Las Vegas and moved here in the hopes of meeting you.
Upon arrival, I hired a private investigator to follow you, so our first meeting
was not by coincidence. In fact, the day we met, I had been in this bar every
day waiting for you to show up. When we talked that first night, and I
understood you had a commanding knowledge of the 4Horsemen, I was
thrilled beyond my wildest belief. To this day, I still cannot explain why I
am interested in the 4Horsemen. The night you invited me to your home, as
I stood at the doorway to your study, with a strange energy radiating through
my body, I knew I had made the correct decision to find you. Somehow,
standing in that doorway, I felt a peace that I have never known in my life,
pulsing inside my body. It was way past the expression ‘this feels right.’
More like I knew in my knower, my heart witnessed to me that I had made
the right decision to find you. I don’t know if any of this makes sense to you
at all, Sam, but I am here until we figure the damn thing out.”
“You moved here from Vegas in search of an answer to the mystery? Now,
that blows me away. How did you know I would even help you, Molly?
What if I had not been studying the 4Horsemen?” Sam asked.
Smiling, Molly replied, “Sam, with these looks and this body, you have got
to be kidding. They have always opened doors for me, which leads me to
the really hard part.” Looking glassy-eyed, Molly said, “I need to have a
personal talk with you, about myself. Is that okay with you?”
Puzzled by the unexpected, sudden change in her ambiance, Sam answered,
“Sure, Molly, what is it?” as he refilled their glasses.
Looking down, she began peeling the label off the near-empty bottle of
champagne as she spoke softly. “I was raised in a poor family in western
Kentucky, where Karl, my father, beat my mother when he drank, and
sexually abused her in front of my siblings and me. With six children and
three rooms to the entire house, privacy was not a comprehensible
commodity, much less an understood experience. We never had enough food,
cut-up newspaper was our toilet paper, and my clothing and shoes were old
before I got them. Even in the winter, shoes were never in abundance, and
they were my most sought-after treasure.
48
“At twelve, I found a pair of old, mildewed work shoes under the house
with holes so large I had to cut up some cardboard to keep my feet from
coming through the bottom. Once I fixed them with new cardboard, I wore
them to school one winter day. I sat in class, hoping to make friends with
many of the kids at my table. They all wore such pretty things. In the
ignorance of my own poverty, Sam, I did not understand where or how they
had gotten any of those pretty things. I so wanted to fit in with them. Sitting
at the table with my old shoes was horrible enough to me, when suddenly,
everyone at the table began asking, ‘What’s that smell?’ I knew the smell
came from my old mildewed shoes. The cardboard and my feet were wet
from walking in the snow. Saying, ‘I don’t know,’ I started clenching my
toes so tight, hoping the smell would stop, while I kept the bottom of the
shoes pressed to the floor with all of my strength. The chance of anyone
finding out it was me, was a personal horror. I knew they would always laugh
at me if they found out, so after class, I left school for the rest of the day. I
hid in the cold, slushy snow all day with wet feet, waiting to catch the bus
home from school. I cried so much that night and hated my life because I
knew those shoes would be on my feet the next day.
“I cannot remember how old I was the first time my father sexually abused
me. I am sure he did it with his fingers at an extremely early age in my life.
My mind only remembers the numerous times he molested me and not one
tragic memorable first time. I have searched my memory repeatedly, and I
cannot find a specific date where I can say, ‘this is the day’ that bastard, Karl,
stole my virtue from me,” as tears streamed down her face.
“As far back as I can remember, everyone said I was pretty. Eventually, I
understood how to use my pretty looks to manipulate people. I solved going
to bed hungry when I started giving out kisses to the boys in the
neighborhood in exchange for something to eat. Naturally, the game
eventually grew more expensive. A piece of pie or something sweet got a
kiss from me on the penis. Only a kiss, not a blowjob; I knew the difference
after being forced to watch Karl and my mother.
“From that point on, I think I would have become my own self-made
prostitute, hooking for survival and the basic necessities of life. I turned my
first trick at thirteen, and had my first encounter with anal sex, as I let a black
man fuck me for the sum of five dollars. What a horrible experience. Please,
don’t judge me, Sam; I was a desperate little girl, living in nightmarish
circumstances. Even though I cried for hours over the horrible experience, I
had some weird solace about having gained my own independence. I grew
up that day, understanding for the first time that I owned the right to make
my own mistakes. I know that must sound weird to you.
49
“When Karl found out, he beat me every day for a week until my blackened
eyes were nearly swollen shut. My face was so distorted, it made me
unrecognizable even to myself. Every color from yellow to deep purple
appeared all over my body. My back and buttocks wore the imprint of his
belt buckle. While beating me daily, he kept telling me I would fuck who he
said, and no one else. I cried every time he hit me, promising him I would
do everything he said, and he would beat me anyhow. In every way possible,
he molested and beat me into full submission. Finally, he stopped beating
me, and before my bruises healed, other men began molesting me in our
home or theirs.”
Angrily, Molly continued. “I cried to my mother after every man ‘visited,’
and she kept looking the other way for fear of Karl beating her. She was a
complete religious nut, playing with dangerous snakes at her church to prove
her faith in Jesus. You know them, Sam, the ones with the belief they can
literally take up serpents in the name of Jesus and no harm shall come to
them. She always sang praises to God, like ‘Amazing Grace’ and ‘How Great
Thou Art,’ as she thanked Jesus for everything. I can still hear her saying,
‘thank ya, Jezzus,’ to this day, and it still turns my stomach.” Almost shouting
as she slapped the table with her open palm, she looked at Sam with anger
in her eyes. “That snake-charming hypocrite sacrificed her own children on
the altar of fear to the devil himself … pretending she did not see what the
devil was doing. Her cowardice, by allowing men to use me, along with her
drunken participation in Karl’s sex shows, eventually warped my perspective
on reality. At thirteen-years-old, I became extremely depressed and started
entertaining thoughts of suicide. Trapped in a cycle that I thought would
never end, I became everyone’s pretty prisoner, beaten into submission by
an evil man.
“By the age of fourteen, I was mentally deranged and began to exhibit
manifestations of anger for the first time in my life. No longer caring if Karl
beat me to death, I actually began to fight back by keeping a knife hidden
under the edge of the mattress. When a man paid Karl for a ‘visit’ to molest
me, at exactly the perfect moment, I grabbed his penis and placed the knife
on his balls, threatening to cut off his naked erection if he touched me. I
received several beatings from Karl because of this, but eventually the word
about my knife spread and men stopped coming around.
“One day, during a drunken rage, Karl punched me in the side of my temple,
nearly knocking me out. I remember the white flash of light shooting through
my eyes as he hit me. When I became lucid, I found myself tied to the bed,
and gasping for air as Karl squeezed my throat with his powerful hands while
raping me.
50
Screaming at me in a complete rage, Karl appeared as if he had finally lost
his mind. He kept shouting, ‘You little bitch, I am going to leave you tied up
until you fuck every man you threatened with a knife.’
“Unable to breathe, the one feeling I will never forget was my eyes swelling
in my head, as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. I struggled,
gasping for the smallest amount of air under the massive pressure of his
hands, when suddenly my mind became clear. My struggle to survive ceased.
I lay there in total peace, ready to die, with only one thought floating in my
mind: ‘Karl was going to kill me, as he raped me.’ My body quit struggling
for air, and I lay there peacefully, waiting for death. At that moment, I
embraced death as my friend, realizing death held a much better offer than
the life I was living. As I rested in my newfound peace, my eyes turned to
the doorway. To my utter surprise, my mother came walking towards us,
shouting, ‘Karl, that is enough!’ As she ran to the bed, she began hitting him
in the head with a hammer. Immediately, the full weight of his body
collapsed on me. At first, I was astonished, and then disappointed, as air
rushed back into my lungs, robbing me of my peaceful escape. For what
seemed like an eternity, I just lay there in shock, with his hands still on my
throat, until I felt his warm blood spewing on my face and neck. Then I
became hysterical. My mother, shaking and sobbing, kept repeating, ‘Oh,
Jesus, what have I done? Oh, Jesus, what have I done?’
“She pulled him off of me, and his body hit the floor with a thud. Cutting
me loose, she got a wet towel and cleaned the blood off. I lay there gasping
and trying to scream in horror. My mouth was wide open, without a sound
coming out. She left the room and came back, handing me her best church
dress to put on. She took all the money out of Karl’s pockets and some from
her apron. Handing it to me, with wild terror in her eyes, she said, ‘Go and
never come back.’ We never hugged, we never said good-bye, and she never