“Mighty Quinn” - Manfred Mann
The house mother’s room was located off the kitchen and at the bottom of the rear stairway in the house. She had a closet, a private bathroom and a large bedroom/living room combination. Mabel Brown had occupied that room for as long as any of the brothers remembered. She knew the University rules backward and forward and enforced them rigidly, but fairly. But she loved her boys and took good care of them.
The rear door swung open as Bozo led Stan, Ted and Mike into the kitchen at the rear of the house. Mom greeted them with an admonishment to wipe their feet, then said, “Mr. Harrigan called and said he’d be a couple of minutes early and will see you at 6:30 p.m.”
“Great.” Bozo was clearly still worried and mumbled, “We’re not ready for him. You’re just full of good news, Mom. Maybe you have a couple hundred dollars to spare.”
“It’s my job to pass on news, both good and bad. But you know that I don’t loan out money.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “You guys will do fine. I have faith in you.”
Ben, Ted, Mike and Stan went upstairs to Bozo’s room where they could work out a plan in quiet.
They sat in four non-matching chairs and spread the records out in front of them. Stan shared Ben’s terror at spending hours with Brendan Harrigan, talking numbers. But Mike and Ted were paying more attention to open bottles of Seagram’s 7, Ron Rico 151 and Southern Comfort that had somehow come along for the pre-meeting meeting.
“First order, does anyone know the current bank balance and if the dues have been paid for last year?” Ben asked, afraid to take a drink or his nose would start to glow.
The other three boys looked at each other and shrugged.
Ted sat up in his chair and tried to take his role as Treasurer responsibly. “I can’t blame Brother Harrigan. We owe him the money and we’re acting like ten year olds. We should have been keeping better records. All we know for sure is that we owe him money for back house payments.”
“We’ve reached the bottom, men. The football player is lecturing us on financial responsibility.” Mike refilled his glass with rum.
“That’s because you have to be physical to play for Kent. One win and nine losses last year Ted? Now there’s a statistic to be proud of.” Bozo sat back in the chair and rubbed his eyes under his glasses.
A hard knock was heard at the door and a young man’s voice announced loudly, “Mr. Harrigan is in the foyer, sirs.”
The four fraternity brothers exchanged resigned glances. Bozo spoke up in a loud voice. “We will be down in a minute.” He knew that appearance was important. “Let’s take all these books and papers and a calculator with us. At least it will appear that we have a handle on what’s happening. Right? Who’s got a calculator?”
“Mike has one,” Ted volunteered. “He’s in aerospace.”
The four brothers walked slowly down the front grand stairway. Bozo, being the president, led the officers to what felt like their execution.
When they reached the lower landing and with Brendan Harrigan in view, Bozo said, “Welcome, Mr. Harrigan. It’s really good to see you.” He hoped his face didn’t contradict his words.
“Gentlemen. How is everyone?” Brendan responded as he shook each man’s hand as they stepped off the last step into the foyer.
Each one nodded or offered a brief positive response out of courtesy to the man. Brendan’s appearance didn’t disappoint anyone. About five foot ten inches tall, slim and wearing his usual “uniform”, dingy white tennis shoes, a clean but wrinkled pharmacist’s smock complete with a fully-stocked pocket protector. Stuck in his left hand was a well-burned and chewed, but not lit, cigar.
“Mr. Harrigan, we thought we could sit in the dining room and close off the doors for privacy,” Bozo said as he started to slide the doors closed. The four brothers sat together on the other side of the table from Brendan.
“Gentlemen, I want to make this school year a different start between us.” Brendan started the meeting by laying a copy of his ledgers on the table.
Bozo carefully pulled the documents toward him, deciding he would wait until Brendan finished speaking.
Brendan continued. “I met with Mom a few weeks ago, and we had a wonderful lunch together. She said we had a full house this fall. True?” He looked at Ted.
“Yes sir, full up. I have deposits from over half of them and classes don’t start until tomorrow.”
“One word, gentlemen.” Brendan paused and stared at each of them, in turn, for what seemed like five minutes. “Process,” he continued, pounding his fist down on the table in front of him. “We play this same game every quarter, hell, last fall, twice in the quarter after you spent my money on that God awful homecoming float and party. We didn’t even get first place in the parade. I’ve told you how I made millions in less than 10 years after graduating from this place?” Brendan waited again but clearly his questions were far superior to any possible answers the chapter officers were going to come up with at the moment. “Management, a plan, a budget, accounting, profit and loss statements, contingency planning. Any one heard of these?” Brendan waited again as he studied each face again. “I thought not.”
Bozo viewed the world as an elementary education major and couldn’t stop himself. “We could do that, Brendan. We could.” But he was stopped by the thunder of Brendan’s fist pounding on the table.
“No sir. I don’t think if I added all of you together I would get enough brain cells to pull that off.” Brendan shook his head in disgust. “Ted,” Brendan asked, “You’re the treasurer again this year, correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“Can you generate a balance sheet, income statement or budget variance report?”
“No sir, I’m a pre-law,” Ted stated proudly.
“Ben, gentleman, you need a different rush. I know you guys stopped the Catholic only membership requirement two years before it was approved by the national chapter and that Father Mulcahy at the Newman Center still doesn’t know, which I’m okay with. This year you need to rush some business majors. We need guys looking to be CEOs when they leave here and know how to deal with money when they pledge here. Not grade school teachers, jocks and engineers.”
Bozo cleared his throat. “We can do that, right guys?” He glanced at the other three officers.
“Mr. Harrigan, what do you recommend we do?” Stan asked.
Brendan’s body language improved as he smiled for the first time. He stood and walked around the table slowly. “Thanks Stan. I do have an answer. You’re going to have a bright, high-powered business major pledge this chapter this quarter.” Brendan stopped in front of the large bay window. The bright light filtering through the typically dirty windows made each of their faces easy to read while Brendan’s was in shadow. The brothers sat there, silent and blank, much like the mourners had fifty years before, except there was no open casket sitting there on a draped platform.
Ted repeated the suggestion as if that would make it easier to accomplish. “So, we find a business school guy and get him to pledge. That’s what you’re telling us to do?”
“Like casting pearls before swine," Stan stated with his usual good comedic timing.
“What?” Bozo asked, even more confused.
Brendan spoke up. “And in order to get this off on the right foot so as to ensure its success, I have the man . . . the perfect candidate. He will be the one you will accept. I have picked him out personally. I’ve been doing some research.”
“But we can’t even hold smokers to talk to guys until the third week of the quarter,” Bozo stated a fact that Brendan surely already knew.
“Relax, teacher.” Brendan smiled. “This man was his high school valedictorian, had an offer from a dozen schools but on my counsel, decided he wanted to go to Kent and pledge here. It’s a lock.”
“What’s his name?” Bozo inquires.
“I’ll tell you in three weeks. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. He’s a senior, so he knows all he needs to know to make this work. And he’s a business major, so I’d suggest you take advantage of his accounting skills. As soon as possible after his arrival. Now, let’s talk about your payment plan this quarter and the money you still owe me from last spring.” Brendan sat next to Bozo and placed his hand on his shoulder. “I will be in your hip pocket at every turn, men, to make this successful.”