To the sports-loving citizens of Shankstonville, our high school football field is sacred ground. Anyone not attending night games on Fridays, faced certain public ridicule on Saturdays. That’s just the way it is.
Our outdoor stadium also hosted soccer matches and track meets, but on that bright afternoon, the chalk lines were used to align rows of folding chairs. A portable stage supported music stands, the American flag, and a student-built podium. The bleachers were filled with family and friends of the Senior Class gathered on the lawn. The students were decked out in matching black gowns. It was graduation day at Shankstonville High School.
I had volunteered to assist in handing out the diplomas. Among the honorees would be my night caller’s daughter. I needed to speak with her, but not knowing her last name or what she looked like, there was no way to identify her. My on-stage duties would provide me an up-close look at each graduating student, and with a little luck, I would find the girl with the birthmark on her nose.
The proceedings began with the school band playing uplifting songs like “Climb Every Mountain” and “Walk On,” concluding with a musical farewell selected by our teaching staff, “Hit The Road, Jack.” Then came a long-winded speech by our principal, where he reminded us that the “path through life is forged by perseverance.” If only he had conveyed that message to the students when classes were in session, we might have seen fewer dropouts.
After a few meaningless tributes and a benediction from the pastor of The Sins of Man church, the star of the show was introduced: the valedictorian. His name was Arthur Farthington, Jr. He delivered an inspiring speech about self-confidence and overcoming adversity. The program listed the title of his talk as Make an Elephant Fly. Besides his obvious reference to Dumbo, the flying elephant, his choice of words was interesting for two reasons:
First, it was well known that Arthur had a passion for aviation. His dad was an airline pilot, and urged him to pursue a career in aircraft design. He was already taking introductory college courses in Aerodynamics.
Second, we were shocked that he would mention an elephant. Arthur weighed well over 300 lbs. He had been teased mercilessly for his size all through high school. Then there was the unfortunate gym class incident. He had just consumed a large bowl of three-bean soup for lunch, and was doing sit-ups alongside his classmates. Suddenly . . . well, we all know what a release valve on a pressure cooker is for. He was thereafter known around campus as “Artie Farty”, a nickname he would never live down. Yet, there he was, on stage in a graduation gown, looking like a house that had been tented for termite extermination.
With all the formalities out of the way, the band conductor lowered his baton to the downbeat of “Pomp and Circumstance.” Students filed onto the stage as their names were called to receive their diplomas. Most accepted theirs in a dignified manner, while others chose to display a little more flair. Pumping your fist in the air while whooping to your buddies on the field was a common one. Some twirled their diplomas like those street corner sign spinners. The top prize, however, had to go to the boy who break-danced his way to the podium.
Then the name Debra Fink was called. She severely lacked that spark I had seen in the other seniors. With her head down, she shuffled quickly to the podium and grabbed her diploma, like stealing an apple off a fruit cart. She made a hasty exit, but not so hurried that I didn’t see the small dot on her nose. I had found the mystery girl I was searching for!
With the students back in their seats, the principal offered his closing remarks. He then announce to the audience, “Ladies and gentlemen: Shankstonville High School’s graduating class!”
The proud graduates stood up and cheered, as hundreds of black caps filled the sky, like a flock of crows flying off to roost.
I looked for Debbie Fink in the crowd, but I lost her in the sea of black. I was afraid that I had missed my only chance to talk to her, until I noticed a billowing black gown trotting out into the parking lot. I chased after the lone figure, that had stopped at a late model Honda Civic. Creeping up behind the car, I noticed a decal in the rear window displaying the initials D.F.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Are you Debbie Fink?”
A hand quickly concealed her tear-stained face. “I don’t want to talk right now, if you don’t mind.”
“Everyone’s at the big reception in the gym,” I said. “Aren’t you going?”
“I told you I don’t want to talk!” She reached to open the car door, but I held it shut with my hand.
“My name’s Amy. I’ve come here to see you.”
She peeked over the top of her fingertips. “Why do you want to see me? I don’t even know you.”
“I know your dad.”
She angrily forced my hand away from the door, then climbed in and slammed it shut.
“Is he why you’re so upset?” I asked.
Debbie rolled down the window and said sternly, “He didn’t come, alright? My own father can’t be bothered to see his own daughter graduate.” She started the engine. “And you’re a big, fat liar!”
“Wait!” I cried, as the car drove off. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “You’re his little cherub!”
The break lights lit up as the car screeched to a halt. The engine was still running as I ran over to her. The distraught girl stared mournfully out the windshield and said softly, “I’m sorry I called you a liar.”
Poor Debbie Fink. Her no-show dad had hurt her deeply, and I was only making things worse.
“You know what?” I said. “All this running has left my throat a little parched. Think I’ll wet my whistle with some of that reception punch. Care to join me?”
Wiping away a tear, Debbie faced me. “I’d like that.”
The crowd that had filled the football field now jammed the school gymnasium. Everywhere you looked were smiles and handshakes of congratulations. Girls shared hugs with weepy mothers. Boys endured hardy backslaps from proud fathers. A long refreshment table was laid out, offering coffee, cookies, punch, and a humongous cake with Congratulations Grads! spelled out in candy letters.
Debbie slipped into the girl’s room to put her face back on, while I grabbed us each a Styrofoam cupful of punch.
We met up at a quiet table, far from the guitar-picking country band, playing selections from the Willie Nelson songbook. Sitting quietly, we sipped our punch. I wasn’t sure how to begin our conversation. Debbie appeared equally uncomfortable. She gazed out at her fellow graduates, avoiding eye-contact with me.
To break the ice, I raised my cup. “Congratulations!” I said. We thumped our cups together to toast her academic achievement. Debbie’s smile was far from genuine.
She circled her finger around the rim of her cup nervously, then said, “I don’t mind telling you, but I feel a little awkward.”
“Me, too,” I said.
She looked hard at me, as if sizing me up. “So, you know my father.”
It was a straightforward statement, but one I wasn’t prepared to respond to. The fact was, I really didn’t know her dad at all. I only knew why he missed her graduation: he drove himself over a cliff the night before.
I had to say something, but not that! Informing Debbie of her father’s suicide attempt would break her heart. Telling her that he was a wanted terrorist wasn’t going to brighten her day, either. I had sought her out to learn the identity of my mystery caller, not to be the bearer of bad news. I had to remember that.
“Your dad called me last night,” I said.
“Oh?” Debbie’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What did you say your name was?”
“Amy. Amy Dawson.”
“Funny, my dad never mentioned you.”
“We only met eight hours ago.”
I didn’t have to be a mind-reader to know what she was thinking. The contemptuous look on her face and her clenched fist said it all.
“It’s all perfectly innocent,” I assured her. “He dialed the wrong number and got me by mistake.”
She wasn’t convinced. “Really? What did you talk about?”
“You, for one thing.”
“What about me?”
“He said he wished you hadn’t hung up on him.”
Debbie’s face flushed as she fell back into her chair. It took her a moment to grasp that I knew the details of their private conversation. Then she took a deep breath and sat up. Reaching under her gown, she pulled out a whisky flask containing, I assumed, that intoxicating substance.
Looking warily around the room, she topped off her punch with it, and whispered, “I keep this for emergencies. Want some?”
“No thanks,” I said.
“Guess you’ve figured out by now, my dad and I don’t get along.”
“You may not believe this, but he wanted to be here today. He had an awesome graduation present for you.”
“You mean that ugly truck? I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing. Just shows how well he knows me.”
“Why did you tell the police he had stolen it?”
“I was pissed! I know I shouldn’t have done it. Guess I can’t blame him for not showing up after what I did.” She took a long swig of her special punch. “I hardly know my dad. He’s always away on business.”
She handed me his business card. “This is him.”
Harley Fink
Investment Consultant
At last, my caller now had a name!
I showed Debbie my barbershop card. “Is this one of his clients?”
Debbie squinted as she held the card close to her face. “Ravi. Never heard of anyone with that name, or this salon. Maybe he’s my dad’s hairdresser.”
“You think so?”
“Can’t say for sure. Seems like he’s always at the barbershop. I suppose you have to look good in his line of work.” She topped off her punch with more of her secret sauce and guzzled it down. “I shouldn’t complain, though. Our best times together are always after he’s seen his barber. He comes home a different person. Happy. Funny. He’ll take me out to a movie, or a concert, or wherever I want.”
Debbie’s comment added a curious piece to the puzzle. For sure, sporting a handsome head of hair would improve anyone’s self-esteem. For Harley Fink, however, it seemed to transform his personality. That burnt business card had more significance than I thought.
“Not to change the subject,” said Debbie, “but is he with you?” She nodded toward a tall man leaning against the wall, alone, eating a slice of graduation cake from a paper plate.
“I’ve never seen him before,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
“I noticed him at the ceremony, and again in the parking lot. Now he shows up here. I think he’s following me.”
The police were obviously on my tail, hoping that I would lead them to the felon who had slipped through their fingers.
“He’s not following you,” I said. “He’s after me. He thinks I’m a terrorist.”
We stared at each other stone-faced for a moment, then burst out laughing. I swung around to get a second look at the man shadowing me, but he was gone. At least now I knew I was under surveillance. I was afraid that being seen with Debbie might put her in danger. But, without a positive ID on her dad, there was no way to link her to the crime.
I heard the sound of giggling, as two gowned girls skipped over to us. “Hey, Debbie!” said one of them. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”
Debbie hid her empty flask under her gown and wobbled to her feet. “Amy, I’d like you to meet the two best friends a girl ever had.” She stumbled over her chair attempting a group hug with them. “Can’t get through life without friends.”
The other girl rolled her eyes. “She’s not usually like this,” she told me. “Must be an emergency.”
“It’s been a trying day for her,” I said. “Let her enjoy the rest of it.”
Debbie reached out and shook my hand. “Have to leave you now, Amy. Me and my chums got some celebratin’ to do. We just graduated high school, you know.”
“Knock yourself out,” I laughed. “You’re halfway there anyway.”
“Oh, and do me a favor. If my dad calls again, tell him I’m sorry . . . for everything.”
“I’m sure he understands. No need to feel guilty.”
She leaned into my ear, and with whisky on her breath, whispered, “We’re all guilty of something, aren’t we?”
With Debbie gone, I finished my punch and left the table. A drum roll sounded from the stage, as all of the principal players in the day’s festivities took their final bows—teachers, administrators, honor students.
But one key person was missing from the lineup: Arthur Farthington, Jr. I found him outside, tossing his cap and gown into the back of a white van. Painted on the side was Boeing Aviation, Aerospace Division. Artie Farty had shown such great promise as an aircraft engineer that the company recruited him right out of high school.
Dumbo would have been proud. The elephant had flown.