As for the New Hampshire Honor Society, they withdrew their offer of an Honor Society Scholarship; a student of Owen Meany’s academic achievements was welcome to attend the University of New Hampshire, but the Honor Society—“in the light of this distressing and distasteful information”—could not favor him with a scholarship; if he attended the University of New Hampshire, he would do so at his own expense.
Harvard and Yale were more forgiving; but they were also more complicated. Yale wanted to interview him again; they quickly saw the anti-Semitic “charges” for what they were—a lie—but Owen was undoubtedly too frank about his feelings for (or, rather, against) the Catholic Church. Yale wanted to delay his acceptance for a year. In that time, their admissions director suggested, Owen should “find some meaningful employment”; and his employer should write to Yale periodically and report on Owen’s “character and commitment.” Dan Needham told Owen that this was reasonable, fair-minded, and not uncommon behavior—on the part of a university as good as Yale. Owen didn’t disagree with Dan; he simply refused to do it.
“IT’S LIKE BEING ON PAROLE,” he said.
Harvard was also fair-minded and reasonable—and slightly more demanding and creative than Yale. Harvard said they wanted to delay his acceptance, too; but they were more specific about the kind of “meaningful employment” they wanted him to take. They wanted him to work for the Catholic Church—in some capacity; he could volunteer his time for Catholic Relief Services, he could be a kind of social worker for one of the Catholic charities, or he could even work for the very same parochial school whose statue of Mary Magdalene he had ruined. Father Findley, at St. Michael’s, turned out to be a nice man; not only did he not press charges against Owen Meany—after talking to Dan Needham, Father Findley agreed to help Owen’s cause (regarding his college admission) in any way he could.
Even some parochial students had spoken up for Owen. Buzzy Thurston—who hit that easy ground ball, the one that should have been the last out, the one that should have kept Owen Meany from ever coming to bat—even Buzzy Thurston spoke up for Owen, saying that Owen had had “a tough time”; Owen “had his reasons” for being upset, Buzzy said. Headmaster White and Chief Ben Pike were all for “throwing the book” at Owen Meany for the theft and mutilation of Mary Magdalene. But St. Michael’s School, and Father Findley, were very forgiving.
Dan said that Father Findley “knew the family” and was most sympathetic when he realized who Owen’s parents were—he’d had dealings with the Meanys; and although he wouldn’t go into any detail regarding what those “dealings” had been, Father Findley said he would do anything he could to help Owen. “I certainly won’t lift a finger to hurt him!” Father Findley said.
Dan Needham told Owen that Harvard had a good idea. “Lots of Catholics do lots of good things, Owen,” Dan said. “Why not see what some of the good things are?”
> For a while, I thought Owen was going to accept the Harvard proposal—“THE CATHOLIC DEAL,” he called it. He even went to see Father Findley; but it seemed to confuse him—how genuinely concerned for Owen’s welfare Father Findley was. Maybe Owen liked Father Findley; that might have confused him, too.
In the end, he would turn THE CATHOLIC DEAL down.
“MY PARENTS WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND IT,” he said. “BESIDES, I WANT TO GO TO THE UNIVERSITY OF NEW HAMPSHIRE—I WANT TO STICK WITH YOU, I WANT TO GO WHERE YOU GO,” he told me.
“But they’re not offering you a scholarship,” I reminded him.
“DON’T WORRY ABOUT THAT,” he said. He wouldn’t tell me, at first, how he’d already got a “scholarship” there.
He went to the U.S. Army recruiting offices in Gravesend; it was arranged “in the family,” as we used to say in New Hampshire. They already knew who he was—he was the best of his class at Gravesend Academy, even if he ended up just barely getting his diploma from Gravesend High School. He was admitted to the University of New Hampshire—they also knew that; they had read about it in The Gravesend News-Letter. What’s more, he was a kind of local hero; even though he had been absent, he had disrupted the academy’s commencement exercises. As for making and selling the fake draft cards, the U.S. Army recruiters knew what that was about: that was about drinking—no disrespect for the draft had been intended, they certainly knew that. And what red-blooded American young man didn’t indulge in a little vandalism, from time to time?
And that was how Owen Meany got his “scholarship” to the University of New Hampshire; he signed up for the Reserve Officers Training Corps—ROTC, we called it “rot-see”; remember that? You went to college at the expense of the U.S. Army, and while you were in college, you took a few courses that the U.S. Army offered—Military History and Small Unit Tactics; stuff like that, not terribly taxing. The summer following your junior year, you would be required to take a little Basic Training—the standard, six-week course. And upon your graduation you would receive your commission; you would graduate a second lieutenant in the United States Army—and you would owe your country four years of active duty, plus two years in the Army Reserve.
“WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE THE MATTER WITH THAT?” Owen Meany asked Dan and me. When he announced his plans to us, it was only 1962; a total of 11,300 U.S. military personnel were in Vietnam, but not a single one of them was in combat.
Even so, Dan Needham was uncomfortable with Owen’s decision. “I liked the Harvard deal better, Owen,” Dan said.
“THIS WAY, I DON’T HAVE TO WAIT A YEAR,” he said. “AND I GET TO BE WITH YOU—ISN’T THAT GREAT?” he asked me.
“Yeah, that’s great,” I said. “I’m just a little surprised, that’s all,” I told him.
I was more than “a little surprised”—that the U.S. Army had accepted him was astonishing to me!
“Isn’t there a height requirement?” Dan Needham whispered to me.
“I thought there was a weight requirement, too,” I said.
“IF YOU’RE THINKING ABOUT THE HEIGHT AND WEIGHT REQUIREMENTS,” Owen said, “IT’S FIVE FEET—EVEN—AND ONE HUNDRED POUNDS.”
“Are you five feet tall, Owen?” Dan asked him.
“Since when do you weigh a hundred pounds?” I said.
“I’VE BEEN EATING A LOT OF BANANAS, AND ICE CREAM,” said Owen Meany, “AND WHEN THEY MEASURED ME, I TOOK A DEEP BREATH AND STOOD ON MY TOES!”
Well, it was only proper to congratulate him; he was quite pleased with arranging his college “scholarship” in his own way. And, at the time, it appeared that he had defeated Randy White completely. Back then, neither Dan nor I knew about his “dream”; I think we might have been a little worried about his involvement with the U.S. Army if we’d had that dream described to us.
And that February morning, when the Rev. Lewis Merrill entered The Great Hall and stared with such horror at the decapitated and amputated Mary Magdalene, Dan Needham and I weren’t thinking very far into the future; we were worried only that the Rev. Mr. Merrill might be too terrified to deliver his prayer—that the condition of Mary Magdalene might seize hold of his normally slight stutter and render him incomprehensible. He stood at the foot of the stage, staring up at her—for a long moment, he even forgot to remove his Navy pea jacket and his seaman’s watch cap; and since Congregationalists don’t always wear the clerical collar, the Rev. Lewis Merrill looked less like our school minister than like a drunken sailor who had finally staggered up against the incentive for his own religious conversion.
The Rev. Mr. Merrill was standing there, thus stricken, when the headmaster arrived in The Great Hall. If Randy White was surprised to see so many faculty faces at morning meeting, it did not alter his usual aggressive stride; he took the stairs up to the stage at his usual two-at-a-time pace. And the headmaster did not flinch—or even appear the slightest surprised—to see someone already standing at the podium. The Rev. Lewis Merrill often announced the opening hymn; Pastor Merrill often followed the opening hymn with his prayer. Then the headmaster would make his remarks—he also told us the page number for the closing hymn; and that would be that.
It took the headmaster a few seconds to recognize Mr. Merrill, who was standing at the foot of the stage in his pea jacket and wearing his watch cap and gawking at the figure who beseeched us from the podium. Our headmaster was a man who was used to taking charge—he was used to making decisions, our Randy White. When he saw the monstrosity at the podium, he did the first and most headmasterly thing that came into his mind; he strode up to the saint and seized her around her modest robes—he grabbed her around her waist and attempted to lift her. I don’t think he took any notice of the steel bands girdling her hips, or the four-inch bolts that penetrated her feet and were welded to their respective nuts under the stage. I suppose his back was still a trifle sore from his impressive effort with Dr. Dolder’s Volkswagen; but the headmaster didn’t pay any attention to his back, either. He simply seized Mary Magdalene around her middle; he gave a grunt—and nothing happened. Mary Magdalene, and all that she represented, was not as easy to throw around as a Volkswagen.
“I suppose you think this is funny!” the headmaster said to the assembled school; but nobody was laughing. “Well, I’ll tell you what this is,” said Randy White. “This is a crime,” he said. “This is vandalism, this is theft—and desecration! This is willful abuse of personal, even sacred property.”