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Excerpted Inspirations #199

  • Writer: Linda Odhner, with photos by Liz Kufs
    Linda Odhner, with photos by Liz Kufs
  • 3 hours ago
  • 0 min read
[Timothy Hulme is Principal of Clifford Academy, a high school in a small Vermont town. Sherwin Dewey is one of the school’s three trustees, and George Wheaton is another. The year is 1937, deep in the Great Depression, and at that time a million dollars is a great deal of money. Nazism and anti-Semitism are on the rise.] Mr. Dewey tore open the letter, began to read, turned very white, brushed his hand across his eyes as if he could not see, and handing the letter to Timothy, said, “Here, you tell me what’s in that.” They had forgotten the Academy Senior standing back of them. Timothy began to read aloud connectedly, but by the end of the first sentence he was wildly snatching only at the salient word in each phrase, flinging them out without connection as if he were reading aloud a telegram, “George Clarence Wheaton found dead – apoplexy – will leaves Academy one million dollars for endowment – two hundred thousand for buildings – on condition name be changed – Wheaton Preparatory School – also exclusion all Jewish students – Jewish defined as person with any relative of Hebrew blood – codicil prescribes also that tuition be …” Astounded to literal incredulity, clapping his hand wildly to his head, Timothy began to read the words again to himself, his eyes racing down the page. He was unaware that he was loudly exclaiming as he read, “Why! Why! Why! Of all the — For Heaven’s sakes … ! Would you … ?” He looked up from the paper and had the startled impression that Hemlock Mountain loomed there in his office. Mr. Dewey was on his feet, had risen to his full height. Timothy had never seen him stand straight before, had never known how tall he was. His gray head seemed to graze the ceiling. He towered over Timothy’s six feet like a cliff. “What do you say to that, Timothy Hulme?” he asked, his face dark as thunder. “I say it’s infamous. What did you think I’d say?” shouted Timothy, crushing the letter together and flinging it down. The old man’s face cleared. He took a long step around the table and held out his right hand. Timothy’s hand clenched his, silently took the vow with him. It was done. Their hands having spoken for them, fell apart. Mr. Dewey drew a deep breath and said in a steady voice, “Yes, now is the time, T. C., for all good men to stand up for their country.” Dorothy Canfield, Seasoned Timber (1939), pp. 318-319

 
 
 
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