The Extraordinary Life of Sam Hell(72)

But that also wouldn’t be necessary. As we washed and dried the dishes, the front doorbell rang, and when I went to answer it, I discovered Ernie and his parents standing on the porch. His mother carried a box with her, but none of them looked happy.

“Hey, Sam,” Ernie said, sheepish.

“Hey, Ernie.”

My parents walked into the entry, and after an awkward greeting, the silence was palpable. My mother finally invited us all into the living room. She offered to make coffee or tea, but everyone declined.

“Ernie has something he’d like to say,” Mr. Cantwell said.

Ernie looked to me. “I’m going to turn it down.”

“What?”

“The class valedictorian. I’m going to turn it down.”

“Ernie, you can’t do that,” my father said. “This is a great honor.”

“It isn’t right,” Mrs. Cantwell said. “Sam finished first in his class. This is his honor. He deserves it.”

I shook my head. “They’re not going to let me do it,” I said. “Let’s face it. They don’t want a kid with red eyes representing the whole school in front of the archbishop and all the parents. If I can’t do it, I’d just as soon it be Ernie.”

“Well I’m not doing it, either, then,” Ernie said.

“Ernie, you should do it,” my mother said, though I still detected the disappointment in her voice.

“They chose me because I’m black.”

“What?” I asked.

“They’ve never had a black valedictorian. I’d be the first. They think it would look good for the school, for recruiting people of color.”

“People who can play sports,” Mr. Cantwell said.

In my self-pity, I had been too busy thinking of the reason why the school had not chosen me. I hadn’t stopped to consider why they would have chosen Ernie over the other eight candidates. Ernie was certainly the best known among us, in large part thanks to my coverage of his exploits on the athletic fields, but his grade point average was nowhere near the top of the class.

“They told you that?” I said.

“Of course not,” he said. “They can’t come right out and say it, just like they can’t come right out and say why they didn’t choose you.” I heard anger in his voice.

“They didn’t have to tell us,” Mr. Cantwell said. “They roll Ernie out to talk to every black athlete who visits the school. And I have a friend who’s a trustee on the board. He told me it wasn’t expressed verbally, but the intimation was loud and clear. Discrimination is difficult, because in its worst form, it is not overt. It is subtle. We feel the same as Ernie. The honor belongs to Samuel. If they won’t honor him, Ernie will not stand in his place.”

After another prolonged silence, I said, “Who will they choose, then?”

Ernie shrugged. “I don’t care who, because it won’t matter. Once I turn it down, everyone is going to know what they tried to do. Kids were already talking about it at school, about the fact that you have the highest grades and they didn’t choose you.”

“They were?”

“Of course they were. If you don’t get it, nobody is going to want to do it.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I said. “I mean, you could look at it like you’d be opening the door for other kids of color.”

“Those kids will open that door on their own, in the classroom,” Mr. Cantwell said. “Just as you have done.”





8

Ernie’s declination did cause a stir, but not enough of one, apparently, for anyone to ever apologize or ask me to be the valedictorian. In hindsight, the trustees couldn’t very well have done that, not after passing me over. It would have been a tacit admission that they’d had ulterior motives for not choosing me in the first place and, perhaps, an admission that their motives for choosing Ernie had also not been honorable.

Despite this latest snub, my mother was far from finished pushing me to lead an extraordinary life. If anything, those moments only motivated her to push harder.

Later that month, as I sat at my desk studying for finals, my mother entered my room with a load of folded laundry. I detected, however, that she had an ulterior motive and had timed this delivery for that reason.

“Mrs. Cantwell called,” she said, putting folded T-shirts in the third dresser drawer from the top. “Ernie’s excited about the senior prom this Saturday.”

“Do you think I should start my English essay with a parable?” I asked.

“You do know the prom is this Saturday?”

“It would make Father Peter happy, but it might make me look like a brownnoser.”

“Don’t be disgusting, and stop avoiding the subject. Have you considered going?” my mother asked.

“I think Ernie already has a date.”

“Samuel—”

“People would talk, Mom. It’s already an all-boys school.”

Humor did not pacify my mom when she got upset. “Fine, be that way,” she said, though she didn’t leave, and that was far from the end of the conversation.

I put down my pen and took off my glasses, resting them on my homework. “I’m not avoiding it, Mom. Yes, I’ve considered going. In fact, I’ve asked three girls, and each has turned me down. Ernie also tried to set me up with one of Alicia’s friends, but she chose to stay home rather than go with me.” I had visions of me showing up at my date’s house and having her father greet me at the door with some remark like, “My daughter does not date red-eyed sons of the devil!”