Men of Letters Read online

  Men of Letters

  By

  Mark Flexter

  .

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2013 Mark Flexter

  All rights reserved.

  Dedication

  For John E. Fischer, Professor of Classics at Wabash College, 1964-2004:

  A Man of Letters

  Above all Others

  Acknowledgments

  The author extends his utmost thanks to Angie and Willy, Barb Kiefer, Alison Kothe, Vicki Lutes, Ann Taylor, Craig Burkhart , John Fischer, Andy Robertson, Justin Wilson, Dan Rogers, Mark Spence, Will Arvin, Mark Ellis, Jerry Brennan, Rob Johnson, Horace Turner, Michael Brown, Jimmie Westmoreland, Judy Robbins, Heather Bazzani, Dennis and Linda Haltom, Tom and Sheila Campbell, Barton Dooley and Lelane Lighty, Bob and Jeri Remley, Old Jail Museum, Wabash College Archives, Crawfordsville Public Library, and Crawfordsville Staples.

  Mark Flexter

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One: The Last Piece

  Chapter Two: In Search of Greyfell

  Chapter Three: A Job Postponed

  Chapter Four: Room at the Nutt House

  Chapter Five: Cole Cordwood and J. Pierpont Morgan

  Chapter Six: A House, a Dog, and Two Cats

  Chapter Seven: A Giant Among Killers

  Chapter Eight: Greyfell’s First Faculty Meeting

  Chapter Nine: Greyfell Settles His Affairs

  Chapter Ten: Greyfell Found

  Chapter Eleven: Confrontation

  Chapter Twelve: Fall Term Begins

  Chapter Thirteen: A Hot Time in the Old Town

  Chapter Fourteen: Torquemada Montenegro

  Chapter Fifteen: A Tunnel and a Train Wreck

  Chapter Sixteen: First Monday of Fall Term

  Chapter Seventeen: Revelations and Epiphanies

  Chapter Eightteen: A Soiree and an Assassination

  Chapter Nineteen: Package Arrival Day

  Chapter Twenty: Possession

  About the Author

  I

  The Last Piece

  When Alexander Greyfell came to Crawfordsville, Indiana, 13 August 1897 to apply for the position of Assistant Professor of Mathematics at Wabash College, he had no interest in the job. However, gaining this post would be the last piece of his elaborate and dangerous plan weeks in the making. His plot had already placed his life in jeopardy; he was the subject of a manhunt conducted by the most dangerous criminals on earth, murderous mercenaries who would stop at nothing to find him. He hoped the fact his plan would culminate this Friday 13th was not an ominous sign of inauspicious fortune going forward. Simply to survive the perils his scheme had already unleashed, he would need every ounce of good luck the fates could send his way.

  Greyfell did not completely lie to Wabash College President George Stockton Burroughs as he interviewed for the assistant professorship, he simply replaced most of the truth with falsehoods in an effort to make the Presbyterian minister feel more comfortable about hiring him for the position. After all, he was more than capable of teaching every course offered for study by the Wabash College Mathematics Department; so, he saw no harm in altering insignificant facts.

  “Welcome to Wabash!” President Burroughs exclaimed with a beaming smile, as he leapt from his chair and grasped Greyfell’s right hand with his own. “Of course, the Board of Trustees must vote its approval of you and your salary before both are official. However, in this instance with your qualifications, I am quite confident ratification will be a mere formality. After all, with your appointment the college is getting much more than its money’s worth in filling the position of assistant professor.”

  “Thank you sir,” Greyfell said, upon rising and shaking hands, “but you flatter me too much.”

  “On the contrary,” boomed Burroughs, “I would have expected the best candidate for an assistant professorship to have no more than a bachelor’s degree. I may have unrealistically hoped for a master’s, but I never dreamed we would attract another Ph.D. to our faculty with this mathematics opening.”

  “Sir, how many of the faculty members have doctorates?” Greyfell asked, endeavoring to appear interested in the meaningless matters of academia as he looked at Burroughs’ diplomas on the wall from Princeton University, Princeton Theological Seminary and Marietta College.

  “Your fellow Doctors of Philosophy are Professors Emery, Kingery, Charles Tuttle and myself,” Burroughs answered, while stroking his long, thick, brown beard. “Professor Bodine is a Doctor of Science, Professor McLain a Doctor of Humane Letters, while Professors Campbell, Joseph Tuttle and myself are Doctors of Laws; Joseph and I are also Doctors of Divinity.”

  “Do you find the time to teach in the classroom sir?” Greyfell asked, glancing around the office for anything worth purloining; he saw nothing of value.

  “Yes indeed!” Burroughs answered proudly. “In all three terms each year, I teach courses in Biblical Literature and in Philosophy. As President of this college I am foremost an educator; I could hardly call myself either if I did not take time to teach in the classroom.”

  “You are an inspiration to me sir, as I’m sure you also are to all your faculty members,” Greyfell said, trying his utmost to sound genuine. “Wabash has quite an impressive faculty for the size of its student body!”

  “We may be small, but the education our young men receive is second to none,” Burroughs said augustly, with the countenance of a man who had just uttered an absolute and incontrovertible truth. “However, I believe the survival of Wabash is dependent upon making all its educational privileges open to both sexes alike. We must become coeducational, else I fear we shall perish. Enrollments have been steadily declining for years.”

  “I surmise the financial panic of 1893 has created problems even here,” Greyfell said, doing his best not to yawn from boredom.

  “I fear it has,” Burroughs answered, as he sat back down at his desk. “We have been forced to become frugal to the point of parsimony. I am sorry to report our pecuniary difficulties will affect you personally to a great extent. Indeed, yours shall be the lowest salary to any rank of professor since the Civil War, which was to an Assistant Professor in 1863 to be exact. Had you applied for this situation any time during the past thirty years, your compensation would have been at least fifty percent higher than the one-thousand dollars per annum we can offer you now.”

  “I’ll get by sir,” Greyfell said, as he thought of the bulging Gladstone bag filled with cash sitting just at his feet. “The honor I feel in doing my part for the financial good of Wabash is worth much more than any sacrifice in income on my part.”

  “Noble sentiments indeed,” Burroughs said, as he nodded approval in appreciation of Greyfell’s words.

  “I never believed I could become wealthy teaching mathematics anyway,”

  Greyfell said. Then his mind wandered to the question whether it had been wise of him to use his real name when seeking this position.

  “I promise the Board of Trustees and I will strive to never disillusion you from that belief,” Burroughs said, with a wry grin and jocular tone as he began again to review Greyfell’s transcripts and letters of reference. “Wabash never has had a graduate of either the United States Naval Academy, or Johns Hopkins University, on its faculty. In you, it can now boast both. I am very excited to have you join us!”

  “I’ll do my best here sir,” Greyfell said spur
iously, as he stole a glimpse of the documents Burroughs was now perusing. Though he had graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy, the closest he had ever been to Johns Hopkins University was in a brothel on the outskirts of Baltimore during his final midshipman year at Annapolis. The forgeries of his illusory academic career at Johns Hopkins, including his Ph.D. in Mathematics, were indeed works of art. They would have passed for the real things anywhere, including Johns Hopkins. Burroughs certainly seemed more than impressed by them.

  “There are a great many years between your 1880 graduation from Annapolis and your recent doctorate from Johns Hopkins,” Burroughs noted, as he continued to study the papers on his desk. “Were you an officer in the navy all that time?”

  “Not in the United States Navy sir,” Geryfell answered. “After graduation from Annapolis, many from my class tendered our resignations due to our limited chance for promotion. Because of the huge academy classes during the Civil War, one out of five United States Navel personnel was an officer. It was taking Annapolis graduates over eight years on average just to make ensign. I offered my services to the Imperial Chinese Navy, who commissioned me a commander and appointed me a professor at the Chinese Naval Academy in Tientsin. I resigned my commission with the Emperor’s Navy after meeting a Presbyterian minister’s wife helping orphans in Tientsin. My heart was moved to aid my fellow man; so, I spent well over a decade doing missionary work all over the world, but primarily in China.”

  “Quite an impressive background!” Burroughs exclaimed, with fervor. “Quite impressive indeed! We are extremely fortunate to have you with us!”

  “It is I who feel both fortunate and honored to be here sir,” Greyfell said, in the most sincere tone he could garner, as he concentrated upon putting to memory the lies in the story he had just told. Actually everything was true, other than the parts about aiding his fellow man and being a missionary.

  “I am certainly not accustomed to being addressed as ‘sir’ by members of my faculty, or by anyone else in point of fact.” Burroughs said brightly. “It may take some time before I habituate to the title.”

  “I do apologize, President Burroughs,” Greyfell said, worried his unintended overuse of the word could raise doubts about the veracity of his fabricated professional qualifications and experiences. “Since my first day as a plebe, it was drilled into me to say it always to a superior. I learned the lesson so well, I have continued the practice ever after, even during my years of missionary work. I confess the word comes out independently of my volition. I will do my utmost to remember I am in a non-military, academic environment, and I will address you in the appropriate manner in the future.”

  “I was not complaining in the least,” said a jovial Burroughs. “I know of no protocol as to how I should be addressed by members of my faculty. I rather enjoy it. I find it strangely exhilarating, perhaps because of its novelty; so, please feel free to continue if you like. In fact, some exposure to military courtesy and discipline may well benefit our isolated and intractable world of academics; it certainly could do no harm!”

  “As you wish sir,” Greyfell said, smiling with relief.

  “Do you require sojourn until you find a permanent abode?” Burroughs asked. “If so, you are more than welcome to stay in the guest room of our home.”

  “Thank you for your kind offer sir,” Greyfell said, “but, I have a room at the Ramsey Hotel which should suit my needs until I find an apartment or small house.” Not including vast sums he could withdraw from his bank accounts in Hong Kong and London, he had enough cash in his Gladstone bag to purchase most of the real estate in Crawfordsville. In fact, his bag contained more than quadruple the funds sufficient to acquire three of the stateliest residences in the city: the Crawford, Elston, and Lane mansions. However, in order to prevent suspicion being aroused, he would be forced to find living quarters well below his means.

  “You are always welcome to visit our home for any duration,” Burroughs said earnestly. “We live at 506 South Washington. It is the large brick house on the east side of Washington Street, south of College Street. Call on us anytime.”

  “Thank you sir!” Greyfell said. He was surprised to find President Burroughs so personable. Having researched the minister’s accomplishments in order to give suitable compliments to him during the interview, Greyfell had anticipated encountering the most boring man alive. Because Burroughs held pastorates in numerous Presbyterian churches, was Director and Secretary of the American Institute of Sacred Literature and prolifically wrote and submitted articles published in legions of scholarly journals, Greyfell had expected Burroughs to have a personality more like that of a pious spinster. Instead, he found the Wabash College President very pleasurable; Burroughs was both cheerful and cordial, with a warm and genuine spirit. In fact, he was one of the most amicable individuals Greyfell had ever met.

  “Before you decide on too small a realm during your search for domicile due to the modest requirements of a bachelor, please heed this forewarning,” Burroughs said, with a mischievous look in his eyes. “My wife, my sister and all the wives of the faculty will make it their sole purpose in life to immediately find you a bride once they learn you are a single man. Mrs. Ewing especially will not rest until she has succeeded in finding you a spouse. However, upon reflection, her matchmaking efforts may well pale in comparison to those of Mrs. Bodine, or Mrs. Kingery.”

  “Thank you for the warning sir,” Greyfell mumbled, with a sudden dazed expression on his face. The thought of marriage had transported his mind back thirteen months to a fragrant flower garden in rural China, the time and place he had last seen the only woman he had ever loved, Alice Firnedin.

  “Because Wabash has no dormitories, the College Treasurer keeps a current list of places for board and rent in Crawfordsville as a convenience for our students,” Burroughs said, while straightening all the papers on his desk into neat little piles. “The office of the College Treasurer is downtown in Room 7 of the Fisher Building, at the corner of Main and Green Streets. It may be a good place to begin your quest.”

  “I shall go there at once,” Greyfell said, with a more distinct voice, as he forced his wistful thoughts back to reality. “Sir, I thank you for everything!”

  “Again, welcome to Wabash!” Burroughs said, grinning from ear to ear, as he rose from his chair and shook Greyfell’s hand vigorously. “A faculty meeting is scheduled Monday, September 6th, at 9 A.M. in the Y.M.C.A. meeting hall, which along with the examination hall and halls of the literary societies, is located here in the central structure of Center Hall. It will be an excellent time for you to become acquainted with your new colleagues.”

  “I look forward to it sir!” Greyfell lied, as he grabbed his Gladstone bag and followed Burroughs to the door.

  “It is possible Professor Emery will not be at the faculty meeting,” Burroughs said, while opening his office door. “He and his wife are visiting her family in Germany all summer vacation. They met and were married there when he was completing his doctorates at the University of Erlangen and the University of Bonn; he is the Peck Professor of Chemistry here at Wabash.”

  “He sounds fascinating,” said Greyfell, again suppressing a yawn, as he paused along with Burroughs at the office door.

  “As Treasurer of the Wabash College Athletic Board, Professor Emery can fill your ear for hours with both financial and sporting statistics,” Burroughs said matter-of-factly. “The Board’s decision to abolish football at its June 8th meeting will no doubt be one of the first topics Dr. Emery brings up with you.”

  “I anticipate becoming immersed in all the important matters of the college with eagerness,” Greyfell said insincerely, before painfully biting upon his tongue to prevent himself from sighing. The ennui the topics of conversation had produced during this meeting had become unbearable.

  “I assure you the faculty will immerse you to the point of drowning i
n all matters of the college, from those of great import to those of insignificance,” Burroughs said with a stoic look, as he led Greyfell out into the hall. “You shall teach mathematics classes in the south wing of this building, just past the stairway there. Other rooms in the south wing are used by the departments of English Literature, Latin and Biblical Literature.”

  “Is it the wing in which you teach sir?” Greyfell asked, while noticing how young Burroughs looked standing there in the hall. Although he had been the President of Wabash College for five years, he was just 42 years old, only three years older than Greyfell.

  “Yes,” Burroughs said, again stroking his beard. “Though, on occasion, I will have my classes in ‘The Topical Study of the Bible’ in the Chapel, which is the upper floor of the north wing of this building. I do not often move my Wednesday classes to the Chapel, but I enjoy teaching my Sunday classes there.”