bounty to the dinette table in the kitchen.
Rosa turned her attention to dishes Joe left in the sink. “You’re going crazy.”
“That’s what all the ladies tell me.” He rotated the bundle under the light of the Tiffany fixture. It wasn’t twine like he used to bundle newspapers for recycling, but a rough thistle his mother employed to stake tomato plants in her Brooklyn vegetable garden. From a butcher block cube kept near the stove, Joe removed a steak knife and cut the cord. Two of the books were bound in the same cordovan leather as Preston’s passport cover. The third bore a black and green flecked cardboard cover of a basic composition book used in grammar school.
Joe sat at the table, flipping through the pages of all three. Yellowed and faded, the pages had worked away from the bindings. Sections had been removed. The three volumes were diaries. The leather covered journals were written with a stylish flair in comparison to the composition book where the letters were small, tight and printed. The time frames were the same. The two authors were living parallel lives.
Rosa finished washing out the sink and squeezed out the sponge before placing it in a porcelain dish on the window ledge. “I’m going. See you Friday,” she said. “You forget about school?”
Joe opened one of the leather covered diaries. “Grab me a beer. I’ve got reading to do.”
Chapter 8
P RINCETON , NJ S EPTEMBER 1938
AT ONE O’CLOCK, A BLACK PACKARD touring sedan turned off of U.S. Route 1, following the road signs to Princeton. Driving time from New York City to the sleepy New Jersey town was almost two and one half-hours, excluding a stop at a roadside stand for a cold drink. The dog days of August continued July’s oppressive humidity. Preston Swedge, accompanied by his parents Herbert and Bernice, were arriving at the “family” university to become the third generation to enter as a freshman. This was to be his foundation for assuming a leadership position in the higher social strata of New York.
Tracing its roots back to the founders of the island of Manhattan, the Swedges were descendants of Dutch traders, as were their hated rivals, the Roosevelts. In the 1890s, Grandfather Percival Swedge had an unbridled, jealous, and losing competition with Theodore Roosevelt when Teddy was the New York City Police Commissioner. Herbert continued the rivalry with Franklin. He was an ardent crusader against the New Deal, contesting any program that could threaten the family brokerage and international consulting business. Preston was expected to take his place in the war between Republicans and Democrats, between conservatives and liberals.
Normally the chauffeur would have been at the wheel, but Herbert wanted to bring his son, who he viewed like any other investment, to the place he truly loved without interference from an outsider. His fondest memories were found on Nassau Street. The Packard turned into the drive near the Central Admissions Building. Herbert and Bernice got out of the car, but Preston remained motionless in the still air of the back seat. His starched long sleeved white shirt was laden with sweat, causing the deep brown leather seat back to adhere like barnacles to a boat.
Herbert attempted to cajole his son from the car; a scene that had played before in Connecticut when Preston was delivered to boarding school. Prestonsuffered through anxiety attacks and would escape into a trance-like state when stressed.
Arriving in Connecticut a shy and self-deprecating boy, Preston left as an adult sure of himself. Four years at the prep school Choate had transformed him in both mind and body. Preston learned to enjoy the challenge of the athletic field, and the new found release increased in proportion to his rapid growth. By graduation, Preston was six-two. He had assumed the captaincy of the football team, leading his brethren to a prep school championship. The study of philosophy and
Rosa turned her attention to dishes Joe left in the sink. “You’re going crazy.”
“That’s what all the ladies tell me.” He rotated the bundle under the light of the Tiffany fixture. It wasn’t twine like he used to bundle newspapers for recycling, but a rough thistle his mother employed to stake tomato plants in her Brooklyn vegetable garden. From a butcher block cube kept near the stove, Joe removed a steak knife and cut the cord. Two of the books were bound in the same cordovan leather as Preston’s passport cover. The third bore a black and green flecked cardboard cover of a basic composition book used in grammar school.
Joe sat at the table, flipping through the pages of all three. Yellowed and faded, the pages had worked away from the bindings. Sections had been removed. The three volumes were diaries. The leather covered journals were written with a stylish flair in comparison to the composition book where the letters were small, tight and printed. The time frames were the same. The two authors were living parallel lives.
Rosa finished washing out the sink and squeezed out the sponge before placing it in a porcelain dish on the window ledge. “I’m going. See you Friday,” she said. “You forget about school?”
Joe opened one of the leather covered diaries. “Grab me a beer. I’ve got reading to do.”
Chapter 8
P RINCETON , NJ S EPTEMBER 1938
AT ONE O’CLOCK, A BLACK PACKARD touring sedan turned off of U.S. Route 1, following the road signs to Princeton. Driving time from New York City to the sleepy New Jersey town was almost two and one half-hours, excluding a stop at a roadside stand for a cold drink. The dog days of August continued July’s oppressive humidity. Preston Swedge, accompanied by his parents Herbert and Bernice, were arriving at the “family” university to become the third generation to enter as a freshman. This was to be his foundation for assuming a leadership position in the higher social strata of New York.
Tracing its roots back to the founders of the island of Manhattan, the Swedges were descendants of Dutch traders, as were their hated rivals, the Roosevelts. In the 1890s, Grandfather Percival Swedge had an unbridled, jealous, and losing competition with Theodore Roosevelt when Teddy was the New York City Police Commissioner. Herbert continued the rivalry with Franklin. He was an ardent crusader against the New Deal, contesting any program that could threaten the family brokerage and international consulting business. Preston was expected to take his place in the war between Republicans and Democrats, between conservatives and liberals.
Normally the chauffeur would have been at the wheel, but Herbert wanted to bring his son, who he viewed like any other investment, to the place he truly loved without interference from an outsider. His fondest memories were found on Nassau Street. The Packard turned into the drive near the Central Admissions Building. Herbert and Bernice got out of the car, but Preston remained motionless in the still air of the back seat. His starched long sleeved white shirt was laden with sweat, causing the deep brown leather seat back to adhere like barnacles to a boat.
Herbert attempted to cajole his son from the car; a scene that had played before in Connecticut when Preston was delivered to boarding school. Prestonsuffered through anxiety attacks and would escape into a trance-like state when stressed.
Arriving in Connecticut a shy and self-deprecating boy, Preston left as an adult sure of himself. Four years at the prep school Choate had transformed him in both mind and body. Preston learned to enjoy the challenge of the athletic field, and the new found release increased in proportion to his rapid growth. By graduation, Preston was six-two. He had assumed the captaincy of the football team, leading his brethren to a prep school championship. The study of philosophy and
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