several million dollars, five oil wells and a dozen beautiful movie starlets.
Jack believed there was no way Mr. Abernathy could be a real Humble Millionaire. Because if he was, he’d be spending his time not getting on airplanes or Pullman cars to Mount Rushmore and other places, not not getting on buses.
Everybody said Mr. Abernathy did not have it all upstairs, and that was probably true. But Jack did not think he was really crazy. He had no trouble understanding why Mr. Abernathy could not get on the bus. Jack didn’t think that was crazy. He himself had never been anyplace besides Beeville before he came to Corpus, which was only eighty-four miles away. And he hadn’t left Corpus except to go to places close by, like Padre Island, until he went with Great Western. And even then—now—it was mostly just back and forth to Houston.
Going to new places was not easy for anybody.
Jack hadn’t even really wanted to leave Beeville. He figured he would live there all of his life and die there and be buried there in Mt. Hope Cemetery on the west side of town. He left only because he could not stand to be around his father’s disappointment anymore.
His father was Beeville’s leading eye doctor, and the first words Jack remembered hearing from him were: “My only ambition is for my son to join me in the practice.” Those were pretty much his only words, too. Robert Isaac Oliver, M.D., known around town as Dr. EyeBob, pushed and shoved and kicked Jack into taking math and biology and science classes in school. On Saturdays and in the summer he made him spend mornings at the doctor’s office or walking around the Bee County Hospital. From his third birthday and Christmas on, the gifts Jack received were mostly doctor kits and white coats, play stethoscopes and microscopes. Dr. EyeBob never passed up an opportunity to tell anyone about his plans for his son’s future, and it became a given. Everyone who knew the Olivers knew that Jack would someday be a doctor and would practice with his father. The father evenhad a specific eye-doctor job, a “special mission,” for his son. As he told Jack: “They’re already working on something called a contact lens. There’ll be little tiny lenses that will go right on the eyes, replacing eyeglasses. Your special mission will be to learn everything there is to know about them and then to bring that know-how to the people of Beeville.”
It could not be. Jack did not want to be a doctor. He had neither the mind nor the desire to learn math or science or to perform the other intellectual tasks required. “I’m not smart enough,” he told his mother. He disliked the idea of dealing with people’s hurts and ailments, and the thought of fooling with the human eye specifically repulsed him. “It would make me sick every day,” he told his mother. Spending his life bringing the know-how about tiny lenses to Beeville was a special turn-off rather than a special mission. “I can’t think of anything worse than worrying about those little things,” he told his mother. “Anyhow, my fingers are so big, I’m sure I would lose them all the time.”
He told his mother but not his father because his mother always said for him not to say anything like that to his father. “I’ll talk to him, son,” she said each time and every time. Jack was never sure whether she did.
The father and son traveled a torturous, tumultuous road toward a relationship where there was only indifference and silence on both sides. The last leg began when Jack came home with a C-minus average on his report cards in junior high school. Dr. EyeBob got angry at the teachers and the school for not doing their jobs, but he also forced Jack to study for two hours every weeknight and for four hours each Saturday and Sunday. When the bad grades continued in high school, the doctor turned his wrath and frustration completely on Jack, accusing him of not caring, of not working hard enough, of being headed
Jack believed there was no way Mr. Abernathy could be a real Humble Millionaire. Because if he was, he’d be spending his time not getting on airplanes or Pullman cars to Mount Rushmore and other places, not not getting on buses.
Everybody said Mr. Abernathy did not have it all upstairs, and that was probably true. But Jack did not think he was really crazy. He had no trouble understanding why Mr. Abernathy could not get on the bus. Jack didn’t think that was crazy. He himself had never been anyplace besides Beeville before he came to Corpus, which was only eighty-four miles away. And he hadn’t left Corpus except to go to places close by, like Padre Island, until he went with Great Western. And even then—now—it was mostly just back and forth to Houston.
Going to new places was not easy for anybody.
Jack hadn’t even really wanted to leave Beeville. He figured he would live there all of his life and die there and be buried there in Mt. Hope Cemetery on the west side of town. He left only because he could not stand to be around his father’s disappointment anymore.
His father was Beeville’s leading eye doctor, and the first words Jack remembered hearing from him were: “My only ambition is for my son to join me in the practice.” Those were pretty much his only words, too. Robert Isaac Oliver, M.D., known around town as Dr. EyeBob, pushed and shoved and kicked Jack into taking math and biology and science classes in school. On Saturdays and in the summer he made him spend mornings at the doctor’s office or walking around the Bee County Hospital. From his third birthday and Christmas on, the gifts Jack received were mostly doctor kits and white coats, play stethoscopes and microscopes. Dr. EyeBob never passed up an opportunity to tell anyone about his plans for his son’s future, and it became a given. Everyone who knew the Olivers knew that Jack would someday be a doctor and would practice with his father. The father evenhad a specific eye-doctor job, a “special mission,” for his son. As he told Jack: “They’re already working on something called a contact lens. There’ll be little tiny lenses that will go right on the eyes, replacing eyeglasses. Your special mission will be to learn everything there is to know about them and then to bring that know-how to the people of Beeville.”
It could not be. Jack did not want to be a doctor. He had neither the mind nor the desire to learn math or science or to perform the other intellectual tasks required. “I’m not smart enough,” he told his mother. He disliked the idea of dealing with people’s hurts and ailments, and the thought of fooling with the human eye specifically repulsed him. “It would make me sick every day,” he told his mother. Spending his life bringing the know-how about tiny lenses to Beeville was a special turn-off rather than a special mission. “I can’t think of anything worse than worrying about those little things,” he told his mother. “Anyhow, my fingers are so big, I’m sure I would lose them all the time.”
He told his mother but not his father because his mother always said for him not to say anything like that to his father. “I’ll talk to him, son,” she said each time and every time. Jack was never sure whether she did.
The father and son traveled a torturous, tumultuous road toward a relationship where there was only indifference and silence on both sides. The last leg began when Jack came home with a C-minus average on his report cards in junior high school. Dr. EyeBob got angry at the teachers and the school for not doing their jobs, but he also forced Jack to study for two hours every weeknight and for four hours each Saturday and Sunday. When the bad grades continued in high school, the doctor turned his wrath and frustration completely on Jack, accusing him of not caring, of not working hard enough, of being headed
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