Fifteen minutes later there was a rap on the door and Mr. Pfister walked in followed by a pert young teacher. The Pearsons stood up to greet them.
“Well, I guess it’s time for us to be getting over to the science wing. Miss Bailey, may I introduce you to Dr. and Mrs. Pearson?”
“Welcome to our school,” she said, extending her hand first to Steve and then to Kay.
“Thank you,” they replied together.
“I certainly enjoyed your convocation address this morning, Dr. Pearson. The girls in Home Ec are dying to meet the wife of someone as amazing as you. Won’t you come with me, Mrs. Pearson? I’m sure you will find your afternoon with us most enjoyable.”
“I’m sure she will,” Steve put in quickly, winking at Kay. “But she’s the amazing one, as you will see.”
“Thank you, Miss Bailey,” replied Kay, brushing off Steve’s compliment with an affectionate wink back at him. “It will be good to meet you all.”
The teacher took her arm and escorted her from the room.
“Well, sir,” began the principal guiding Dr. Pearson out through the door. “The science wing is right this way. In the afternoon, we have five physics classes and two chemistry classes in session. Of course, three of the physics classes are what we call applied physics which is designed for those students who really do not need to know the fine points to succeed in life. It enables them to fulfill their science requirement and gives them a broad general exposure to the whole field. It’s a shame that it’s taking so long to convince good colleges and universities to give credit for this class. What can we do to convince them that not everyone who goes on into higher education is cut out to become a scientist? I had a bit of trouble myself with science courses back in my high school days, and look how well I’ve done! What does it take to overcome prejudice?
“Well, as I was saying, that makes four stops for us this afternoon. Right now there is one regular physics class and one chemistry class in session for us to visit, and one each next hour as well. We’ll plan on spending fifteen or twenty minutes with each class. Our first one will be a physics class taught by Anthony Ivesson, head of the Science Department, a remarkable man. We’re fortunate to have him. He’s been offered collegiate positions all over the nation, but he stays right here with us. Of course, to keep men like him we have to pay them well. Our salaries are among the highest in the state. But the Board agrees with me—it makes no sense to have the last word in facilities if we do not have the last word in teachers to go with them. A small price to pay for the future of our youth, I always say.”
By this time they had walked the length of the east end of the building and were rounding the corner into a long broad corridor.
“Here we are—our wing devoted to science. These first rooms on either side are biology and hygiene classrooms and laboratories. We have excellent instructors in these areas too, on a par with our men in physics and chemistry. Ah,” he stopped and peered through a small window in a door marked Biology Laboratory. “From here you can see our roomy greenhouse on the other side of the lab, facing south. See?”
He gestured for Dr. Pearson to feast his eyes on the scene.
Looking through the window, Steve sensed that some words of admiration were due. “Most practical. Very nice.”
“Well, on to the Physics Department. In erecting this precedent-setting school, we decided against constructing a separate physics laboratory. Rather, we incorporated a complete lab into each of our three classrooms. Of course, only two are in use at the moment, but one must always plan for the future. You should have seen the cramped space we had to put up with in the old school. As we enter Mr. Ivesson’s classroom, the first thing that will strike you is the practical arrangement of things. At the front of each theater is a large demonstration desk, fully equipped, for the teacher’s use. The theater is arranged in tiers to give every student an unobstructed view of the teacher’s large desk while providing him with a smaller well-equipped desk of his own on which to replicate what the teacher is doing or to conduct his own experiments. Each theater is furnished with a movie projector and a pull-down screen just behind the teacher’s demonstration table. I feel it is a capital arrangement. I might even have enjoyed my high school science classes in a well-conceived environment like this.”
“It sounds as if you’ve foreseen almost everything.”
“Yes, yes. I think we have. But we’re always open to suggestions for improvements. Here we are. We’re a bit early, but they’ll be expecting us.” He pushed the door open and ushered his guest into the theater.
Although Mr. Pfister had made no attempt to conceal the noise of their arrival, not an eye in the entire classroom turned to look at them as they walked in. Everyone’s gaze was riveted on a very curvaceous blushing brunette in a tight fire-engine red sweater standing in bright lights in full profile at right angles to the screen behind the demonstration desk, motionless except for her batting eyelids and bright quivering lips. Dr. Pearson’s first innocent impression was of the masterful discipline Mr. Ivesson maintained in his classroom.
As soon as he saw them, Mr. Ivesson, a young man of medium height and slight build, hastily tiptoed over to them and rasped in a semiwhisper, “We weren’t expecting you quite yet. We’re in the middle of an unforgettable—er—demonstration pertaining to our present unit of work on complementary colors. In exactly one minute and twenty seconds, Jean will duck down behind the desk and every eye will remain glued to the screen behind her. The students will then see her—ah—her generous natural endowments in blue against the pure white screen. Can you imagine a better way of impressing this unit indelibly into the eager minds of young students?”
“Ah, most effective, no doubt, Mr. Ivesson. May I present you to our special guest, Dr. Stephan Pearson, of Christiania College.”
“Very pleased,” rejoined Mr. Ivesson, extending his hand to their guest. “It is always a particular pleasure to meet someone whose level of thought runs parallel to one’s own, as was clear from your talk this morning.”
“Truly,” replied Dr. Pearson.
“Only twenty more seconds to go,” whispered the teacher. Silence hung thick in the air.
“Down you go, Jeannie!”
The thoroughly scrutinized girl sank to her knees out of sight behind the desk as ejaculations of glee erupted from the class.
“She’s perfectly blue!”
“All of her but her head!”
“That leaves everything that matters.”
“Don’t give me that! Can’t you see her lips there too?”
“Sure enough! Hanging there all by themselves detached from her pretty face.”
Mr. Ivesson allowed these comments to run their course for a minute or so before stepping up to the front of the class.
“Okay, Jeannie. You may return to your seat. You get top marks for this experiment. No one will forget what you taught us. So, class, when the retina, that is, the end of the optic nerve, has been drained, so to speak, of its ability to perceive red, to what color does it necessarily turn?”
“Blue!” shouted those who had heard him over the continuing din.
“Correct. Now that you are aware of this fact, you will encounter it often in your daily life. That’s why we call this course “applied physics.”
He paused to let the full impression of what they had just learned sink in.
“Now, class, we have a special treat for you today…. Class, I am asking for your attention…. Your attention! You get to meet face to face our guest who gave us that amazing talk this morning, the famous physicist and author, Dr. Stephan Pearson. He has kindly consented to spend fifteen or twenty minutes with us this afternoon to talk about science’s contribution to and role in our future, especially in response to your questions. I am sure he would be grateful to have you pelt him with those questions, whatever’s on your mind. And so, without further ado, Dr. Pearson.”
Two or three fellows in the last tier began clapping with mock enthusiasm, but they were soundly reproved for it by a couple of girls with horn-rimmed glasses sitting directly in front of them who turned around and scowled a hole through them.
Dr. Pearson cautiously advanced front and center, taking up a position behind the demonstration desk. The elegance of the room with its gleaming furnishings, its stainless-steel desktops and up-to-date equipment, and its custom-built lighting fixtures gave him a ray of hope that something good might come of the next twenty minutes. And so, with the room still buzzing in several quarters, he kicked off what he hoped would become a good discussion with the following words.
“Perhaps we could best use the minutes we have together to discuss any questions you may have about what role you can play as an individual in making tomorrow’s world a better place. With nearly three billion of us on earth right now, and billions more coming within your lifetime, you will undoubtedly have some questions about the ability of developments in science and technology to meet the world’s rapidly growing needs. Some of you may have questions about where you can fit in to help science meet these new challenges. If so, I’ll try to answer those questions, or if I can’t, to direct you to where you might find answers. I welcome your questions now.”
For the first time since the visual “demonstration,” there was total silence.
The better part of a minute passed. The students were getting fidgety. Then Mr. Ivesson broke the silence.
“They are always a little shy at first. But they’ll warm up to you. So I’ll just get the ball rolling by asking you a question that is directly in your line of expertise. Do you see any limit to the use to which atomic energy can ultimately be put? For my part, through its application I can see mankind ascending to currently unimaginable heights, solving one problem after another until we reach the realm of what I like to call ‘pure life,’ a truly worthy goal.”
You could have heard a pin drop. Dr. Pearson lowered his eyes to the floor, trying to make sense of the words he had just heard. Then, as if to himself, but loud enough to be heard, he said, “Pure life? Where there are no problems left to solve? One wonders what would actually happen to people if there were no problems left to solve. Anyone I know whose life seems problem-free either invents problems to keep himself challenged, or he atrophies and dies a slow death. Man has had the means for millennia already to transport himself into a state of induced euphoria, if that’s what life is all about. Alcohol, hallucinatory drugs, morphine, peyote cactus, just to name a few of them, all are perfectly capable of freeing a man from his problems by inducing in him a state closer to death than to life…. No, eliminating problems is not the road leading to a better world. Eliminating evil is that road. And they are not at all the same thing. As a matter of fact, right now…,” he paused and looked around at the students and at the magnificent teaching theater, “right now I can conceive of no greater evil or curse on our race than to succeed in solving everyone’s problems for them.”
Even before he had completed that last sentence, a voice boomed out from the back of the room.
“Hey, Doc! What do you think of the brand-new fuel injection system like in the Rambler Rebel? I got one for my birthday last week and I’m betting anyone it’s the hottest stock car on the road. You’re a scientist! Tell these cruds here what a really good engine is, would you?”
He gestured toward two comrades flanking him on either side.
“Oh, get a life! Doc, tell this jerk once and for all that a double-carbed Rocket Eight will outdrag any old Rambler on earth!”
“Boys! Can’t you forget your cars just once? That’s not why Dr. Pearson is here. Now let’s have some good questions. I told you to go home last night and bring a list of them to class today. Ruthie, read us one of your questions.”
“Me, Mistah Ahvsin?… Me?” peeped an alarmed voice from the front row, long curled eyelashes batting. “Why, Mistah Ahvsin, ah just couldn’t think up a really good one … sir?…”
“Well, Ella, we can depend on you to have an intelligent question.”
One of the horn-rimmed girls near the rear sat up straight, adjusted her spectacles, and read from her prepared list.
“All right, Mr. Ivesson. Dr. Pearson, what advancements do you foresee that will relieve the institution of womanhood of the drudgeries of her slavery to the daily chores of homemaking? Please be specific.”
Ella looked up from her list and readjusted her spectacles.
Again the visitor faltered, shuffling his feet on the tile floor before venturing a response.
“Actually, Ella, I haven’t given that issue too much thought, and I’ll tell you why. It has been more my concern to extend the use of our present conveniences into the hands of the millions of women worldwide for whom housework is real drudgery. To do this we are developing a way to harness solar energy by panels for cheap electricity available to all and to produce simple electron stoves that will fry an egg in seconds without heating the top of the stove and will roast meat in a few moments. It’s merely a question of making the roast complete a circuit. But considering the conveniences we already possess in America, will future refinements of them make that much difference for us in the years ahead? I doubt it.”
Ella couldn’t think of a response and took refuge behind the four or five hands that shot up in the air.
“Tom,” acknowledged the teacher with pleasure.
“Sir, please don’t get the idea we’re just a bunch of complainers. It’s just that there’s always room for improvement. We wouldn’t have progress at all if everyone was satisfied with things as they are. A man can never say that everything he has is the best possible or that he has the best of everything. Isn’t that what tomorrow is all about? Working to improve our lot? Making life easier, safer, more enjoyable?”
“Tom,” replied Dr. Pearson. “Let me just raise two points with you, two points we often leave out of our reckoning, especially if we are young or if we’ve never really grown up. In the first place, when you say ‘improving our lot,’ whose lot do you mean? When we pray ‘Give us this day our daily bread,’ who is ‘us’?… And in the second place, do you think that everything that improves you always makes your life ‘easier, safer, and more enjoyable’? By the same token, does everything that makes your life ‘easier, safer, and more enjoyable’ always improve you? My dear young friends, the men and women who have risen to the greatest heights, whose love of life has been the keenest and most contagious, have reached that point only through much pain and suffering and great difficulty, often voluntarily taken upon themselves for the good of others. They tell us it’s the only way to true and deep happiness. You know whom I am talking about: Abraham Lincoln, Mahatma Gandhi, Blaise Pascal, Albert Schweitzer, St. Therese of Lisieux, St. Rose of Lima, Our Lord Jesus Christ, for goodness’ sake! All of these marvelous human beings exuded great joy because they embraced suffering for the benefit of others. Each of them sought in a great variety of ways to relieve their fellowmen of crushing burdens, burdens of every description, for which even the strongest back was no match. When the burden you are bearing becomes bearable, that’s when you can help somebody else with their crushing burden. And that’s when you discover what life and joy are all about. Not just fun which comes and goes, but joy which comes and stays. A life without burdens is a life without love. And a life without love is death.”
“Mary Sue.”
“My daddy wouldn’t like that kind of talk. He says that your only chance for happiness in life is to work for what you want and then go out and get it. He’d call what you just told us impractical. And I see his point. If he saw life as you see it, we wouldn’t be living in our big beautiful house, we wouldn’t have our fiberglass speedboat that’s so much fun in the summer, I wouldn’t have my show horse Sammy, we’d be down to one car, we wouldn’t be able to afford closets full of really nice clothes to choose from, we wouldn’t have friends that share our way of life. Heck, our life would be just the pits!”
Nods of agreement were seen on all sides.
“But wouldn’t your father say that it is important to live in such a way as to make the world a better place for everyone, not just for us?”
Mary Sue balked and curled her eyebrows.
“I don’t think he would say that. He’d say everyone needs to look after their own happiness. That’s just the way things are. People are responsible for their own happiness or misery. That’s not my daddy’s problem. His job is to see that we have what we need to be happy. If he spent his time worrying about other people’s misery when they should be doing something about it themselves, where would that leave his family? What else does it mean for us to be living ‘in the land of the free and the home of the brave’?”
Silence descended on the classroom. A few people sitting near the front heard these words in a low murmur.
“The free and the brave? You’ve just described slaves and cowards.”
Then in a louder voice, “Surely there are those among you who care about the grinding poverty, the destitution, the slavery of so many of our fellowmen, and who want to do something effective to give them and their children a chance.”
“Of course!” declared a girl from the middle of the theater, glaring at him indignantly. “Almost every Sunday in church we are reminded of them, and we give ‘as we are able.’ My aunt actually works in a church refugee camp in Jordan.”
Nobody laughed.
Things had come to an evident impasse. Mr. Pfister took out his gold pocket watch and decided it was time to be moving on to the next class. Mr. Ivesson thanked the visitor in some dismay and thought to himself that this man was surely the oddest atomic scientist he had ever run across.
For the remainder of the afternoon, Mr. Pfister made an attempt to guide the discussions along more fruitful lines, but certain elements could simply not be evaded—the rudeness that erupted unchecked in every classroom, the self-absorbed mind-set evidenced by most of the students, their assumption that any future worth having would necessarily include ever increasing prosperity, the extravagance of much of the underused equipment in each theater. It was a world filled with magnificent technology that very dearly wanted the people to match it.
Finally the ordeal was over. Grateful to be back in his “office for the day,” Steve confessed his desire to take a little nap in one of the reclining chairs. Mr. Pfister responded well to the idea, stating that he had another hour’s work in his office before he could leave the school and guide the Pearsons to “Seafoam” to enjoy dinner with his wife and him “in a quieter environment.”
In a few winks Steve was sound asleep. When Kay came in a few minutes later, she placed a pillow under his drooping head and kissed him on the forehead.
“My poor dear Steve,” she whispered.
The only other event of significance that afternoon occurred as they were leaving the school to follow the principal home for dinner. When they got into their DeSoto, something felt wrong right away. Then the engine wouldn’t start. Steve went out and raised the hood. He had no trouble spotting the problem: all the spark plugs were missing.
There was no doubt about it as he slammed down the hood: the front end of the car was at the wrong angle. However, checking the front tires, he found them properly inflated. Then he bent over and took a good look under the car.
“Well, at least they could have got together on it,” he told Kay, straightening up and shaking his head.
Under the rear axle were two cement blocks raising the rear wheels just off the ground.
“What a shame. One prank wrecked the other one.”
Naturally Mr. Pfister apologized profusely and arranged for a nearby garage to repair the disabled car over the supper hour at the school’s expense. Then, escorting them to his gleaming black Chrysler, he drove them to “Seafoam,” his estate in the hills on the west end of the municipality.
“And what are you chuckling about?” inquired Kay of Steve from her place in the backseat.
“Reminds me of a prank I engineered in my high school days. But I’m sure it didn’t take as many of us to lift the rear end of that Model T off the ground and slide a couple of blocks of wood under the axle as it took them to lift our DeSoto off the ground.”