Ebersole’s mouth dropped open. Not much, but enough to spoil his sympathetic smile and magazine-ad good looks. And Dean Garretsen frowned, as if presented with some concept he couldn’t understand. One very rarely sees a good politician or college administrator caught completely by surprise. They are moments to treasure. I treasured that one then, and find I still do today.
‘That’s a lie!’ Dearie said. He sounded more wounded than angry. ‘Why would you lie that way, Nate? You’re the last person on Three I’d expect to — ‘
‘It’s not a lie,’ Nate said. ‘Go on up to my room and pull the pea coat out of my closet if you don’t believe me. Check.’
‘Yeah, and check mine while you’re at it,’ I said, standing up next to Nate. ‘My old high-school jacket. You can’t miss it. It’s the one with the peace sign on the back.’
Ebersole studied us through slightly narrowed eyes. Then he asked, ‘Exactly when did you put this so-called peace sign on the backs of your jackets, young fellows?’
This time Nate did lie. I knew him well enough by then to know it must have hurt . . . but
he did it like a champ. ‘September.’
That was it for Dearie. He went nuclear is how my own kids might express it, only that wouldn’t be accurate. Dearie went Donald Duck. He didn’t quite jump up and down, flapping his arms and going wak-wak-waugh-wak like Donald does when he’s mad, but he did give a howl of outrage and smacked his mottled forehead with the heels of his palms. Ebersole stilled him again, this time by gripping his arm.
‘Who are you?’ Ebersole asked me. More curt than courteous by now.
‘Pete Riley. I put a peace sign on the back of my jacket because I liked the look of Stoke’s.
Also to show I’ve got some big questions about what we’re doing over there in Vietnam.’
Dearie pulled away from Ebersole. His chin was thrust out, his lips pulled back enough to show a complete set of teeth. ‘Helping our allies is what we’re doing, you doofus! ‘ he shouted.
‘If you’re too stupid to see that on your own, I suggest you take Colonel Andersen’s Intro Military History Class! Or maybe you’re just another chickenguts who won’t — ‘
‘Hush, Mr Dearborn,’ Dean Garretsen said. His quiet was somehow louder than Dearie’s shouting. ‘This is not the place for a foreign policy debate, nor is it the time for personal aspersions. Quite the contrary.’
Dearie dropped his burning face, studied the floor, and began to gnaw at his own lips.
‘And when, Mr Riley, did you put the peace sign symbol on your jacket?’ Ebersole asked.
His voice remained courteous, but there was an ugly look in his eyes. He knew by then, I think, that Stoke was going to squiggle away, and Ebersole was very unhappy about that.
Dearie was small change next to this guy, who in 1966 was a new type on the college campuses of America. Times call the men, Lao-tzu said, and the late sixties called Charles Ebersole. He wasn’t an educator; he was an enforcer minoring in public relations.
Don’t lie to me, his eyes said. Don’t lie to me, Riley. Because if you do and I find out, I’ll turn you into salad.
But what the hell. I’d probably be gone come January 15th, anyway; by Christmas of 1967
I might be in Phu Bai, keeping the place warm for Dearie.
‘October,’ I said. ‘Put it on my jacket right around Columbus Day.’
‘I’ve got it on my jacket and some sweatshirts,’ Skip said. ‘All that stufFs in my room. I’ll show it to you, if you want.’
Dearie, still looking down at the floor and red to the roots of his hair, was shaking his head monotonously back and forth.
‘I’ve got it on a couple of my sweatshirts, too,’ Ronnie said. ‘I’m no peacenik, but it’s a cool sign. I like it.’
Tony DeLucca said he also had one on the back of a sweatshirt.
Lennie Doria told Ebersole and Garretsen he had doodled it on the endpapers of several different textbooks; it was on the front of his general assignments notebook as well. He’d show them, if they wanted to see.