Sometimes in Winter

By Robert Swayze

She pinned photographs, birth certificates, tax bills, and scribbled notes to the dining room walls. Like some police procedural, she thought. She walked around the room, staring at the exhibits. There has to be an answer. In Santa Barbara? At that farm in Wisconsin? With a Silicon Valley firm? Or someplace or with someone I've yet to find?

I think you wanted me to look, she thought; I'm almost sure. I'll need to follow where you went to discover what happened. I have to know who you were then to understand who I am now. And who he was.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667877198

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ALSO BY ROBERT SWAYZE

100 Swings

5.11

For Joe Swayze

Copyright © 2022 by Robert Swayze

robertswayze.xyz

[e-mail]

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews, without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover photography: Copyright © 2021 Joseph C. Swayze

instagram.com/joe.swayze/

ISBN: 978-1-66787-718-1 (print)

ISBN: 978-1-66787-719-8 (ebook)

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

About the Cover Illustration

The cover illustrations for Sometimes in Winter and an earlier work, 100 Swings, are the work of my brother, Joe Swayze.

Joe Swayze (1944-2022) was a husband, father, brother, artist, journalist, teacher and traveler. A 1966 graduate of Williams College, he served as a U.S. Army public information officer in Vietnam, where he was inspired to make photography a part of his life. He worked for the Bennington Banner (Vermont) and Berkshire Eagle (Massachusetts) newspapers before teaching for 33 years at the Noble and Greenough School near Boston, where his impact on colleagues and students was legendary. A former student with a 40-year career in journalism wrote, Great teachers shape lives. Joe Swayze completely changed my life. His joy for the world around him and unquenchable thirst for knowledge were contagious and inspiring.

As a photography and journalism teacher, school newspaper and yearbook advisor, and art department chair he impacted the lives of countless students. Another former student wrote that Joe Swayze introduced me to a life beyond my small town and sheltered world. He saw the world in a different way. He loved old, simple objects. He noticed the small ordinary moments in everyday life and captured their beauty — a metal colander of berries, rumpled sleeping bags in tent, an old abandoned building, laundry on the line.

His students became journalists with careers at the New York Times, Associated Press, Wall Street Journal, and Boston Globe; others became professional photographers. He taught the Young Photographers class for many summers at the Maine Photographic Workshop. A former student wrote that taking his class changed my world. I had never met anyone like my teacher, Joe Swayze. He journaled. He loved music. He loved photography. He loved everything that I loved. I came away with so much.

Another former student wrote, What joy and what wisdom and what laughter and fun and mystery you gave us. I never quite know how to use the word sacred, but that’s how it felt, how it feels. I feel so lucky to know you, to have learned from you, not just about f-stops, but about attention, about listening, about seeing and seeing and seeing. Time in your classroom, in your darkroom, informed the rest of my life, my work, my writing, how I move down the sidewalk. Which is to say, everything.

My brother and his wife, Joanna Clark Swayze — a very talented, generous and successful artist and teacher in her own right — traveled the world (often with students in tow) and stayed connected to friends, family, former students and acquaintances with thousands of notes and letters, always with photographs or art work enclosed. His work included images from Rockport, MA to California, Vietnam, Easter Island, Russia, and Ireland; but his most personal and compelling photographs were of family and friends and places he loved: a small lake where he summered as a child and images of objects close to home. Some of his work can be found at instagram.com/joe.swayze/.

Part One

Catherine

Chapter One

Except for the 300-million-bushel grain deal with the People’s Republic of China, my tenure at the Department of Agriculture has been uneventful. That spring, I was called upon to inspect the quality of millions of bushels of hard wheat from North Dakota, which the Chinese thought inferior. They weren’t, as they matched every standard set by the Department, and I said so in my report.

North Dakota and a whisker of Montana is my territory. For fifteen years, I compiled field reports on hard and soft wheat from North Dakota and, like I said, a whisker of Montana.

Now my career with the Department is over for a while. On Monday, I go to a new assignment. I leave tonight. I take flight 591 to Chicago, where I’ll be met by Dr. Lloyd.

This is pretty much how Jack Birmingham told me this morning that I had a new job. He began with the Chinese deal, then reviewed what I had done for fifteen years, my pay and job rating, and salary expectations, and then told me about the new job and its pay and how I was starting tonight and be wished he had the same chance and was getting the hell out of damn old Agriculture, as he was sick of it.

I left Birmingham’s office and sat at my desk, and called my wife, Nora.

Oh, Paul, I was just about to call you. Honey, could you pick up some coloring books and crayons on the way home? I didn’t have enough time today, and Debbie needs something to do. The car is ready, but the bill is ridiculous. I think you need to call them because it’s really getting out of hand. Also, I stopped the milk and paper deliveries, and the Peabody’s are going to take the mail in, but should we turn off the water? We’ve had some water damage on the insurance, and they might cancel if there were more.

I can’t go, Nora.

"What, honey?’

I’ve got a new job. I leave tonight. I get more money.

I had chicken croquettes on the flight to Chicago. And heart of lettuce salad, chocolate cake, and one martini before the meal. My stewardess’ name was Elaine Campbell. She had brown hair and wore the new one-piece uniform. There were two passenger lounges.

At O’Hare, I was met by Dr. Lloyd and a woman whose name was Catherine Nilssen. On the ride downtown, we talked.

Well, Sinkevich, start of a new adventure. Comprende?

Is that Sinkevich with ten or twelve syllables? the girl asked.

Sin-ke-vich. Three.

Our Ms. Nilssen, said Dr. Lloyd. Tomorrow, we fly west again.

There were two rooms booked for us. Dr. Lloyd and I for one, and Ms. Nilssen for the other.

Inside I sat down on one of the beds nearest the window.

Tally Ho, said Dr. Lloyd. I’m off.

Will you be back? I asked, but the door had shut.

I called Washington. I sat on my bed facing the other. While the phone rang, Ms. Nilssen came through the connecting door and sat down on the second bed, facing me.

Who are you calling? she asked.

Whom. My wife. We’re leaving tomorrow for Minnesota. We were. That is, she still is, I guess.

Hello?

Hello, Nora?

Why Minnesota?

It’s me, Paul. I’m calling from Chicago. How are you?

I’m fine, Paul. How was the trip?

Why didn’t she fly with you?

We were driving.

"What, Paul? You’re still flying?’

No, I’m in Chicago.

Flying would have been easier.

We have a camper. A trailer.

The trailer? Are you okay, Paul?

Sure, I’m fine. How’s Debbie?

"Your vacation?

She’s sorry you’re not here. Want to speak to Daddy, honey?

Yes. Three weeks.

Will you be gone that long? I thought you’d see us in Minnesota?

I’m sorry you’re missing it.

I’ll try, honey. Don’t speed now. Are you sure you want to drive all by yourself?

I’ll talk to Dr. Lloyd. He’ll let you go to Minnesota.

Hello, Daddy.

Where are we going, anyway?

Paul. Paul?

Right here, honey.

I’ll turn off the water, Paul. Did you hear?

See you.

Okay, so long.

All right, dear. You’re tired. Bye-bye.

Nora? She had hung up.

After I showered and dressed, I knocked on Ms. Nilssen’s door and asked if she’d like something to eat.

I’m famished, she said.

I preferred the hotel dining room, but Ms. Nilssen did not like it. Instead, we went out. We settled on an Italian restaurant and had drinks at the bar.

She ordered a Martini. Plus, one for me.

Because you’re Sinkevich and I’m Nilssen, she said.

She had short blonde hair that she pushed to the side. She asked, Do you think Dr. Lloyd and I are lovers?

Whatever. That is, I don’t know.

We aren’t. He’s gay.

Oh.

Maybe if he comes back tonight, he’ll proposition you.

He sounded as if he wouldn’t be coming back tonight.

Well, she said, smiling, Holler if you need help.

We walked back to the hotel because she said she liked to walk. It was cold, and she didn’t have a coat, and so I gave her mine. It was too long for her and dragged on the sidewalk.

It was a twelve-block walk. Without a coat, I was cold, and to keep warm, set a brisk pace. After a while, I realized she wasn’t beside me. I turned and saw her one block back.

She had stopped before a couple. The man lighted her cigarette as his wife walked away. I waited until she caught up.

You’re dragging, I said.

She looked down at her feet and said, I am, aren’t I. I’m sorry.

Back in my hotel room, I brushed off my coat, but it would have to go to the cleaners. I undressed and got into bed but got up again to lock the hall door with the night latch. I got back into bed, and I think I fell asleep.

Someone knocked at my door. I got up and opened the hall door, but no one was there.

There’s no one there.

Jesus Christ! I said, turning around. You scared me. Is something wrong?

Sorry. She was wrapped in a blanket. I knocked on the door. The connecting door.

Oh, I thought it was this door.

No, the other door. Sinkevich, my room is cold. Can I stay here?

Why, I don’t know. Is your heater on?

No, I turned it off.

Do you want me to turn it on again?

No. It rattles! She made a noise and shook her head back and forth. I’ll just sleep in Dr. Lloyd’s bed. Okay? She walked to Dr. Lloyd’s bed and pulled back the covers, fell in, and curled in a ball. I went back to my bed.

Well, I said, Good night.

I lay awake in the dark for fifteen minutes. She didn’t make a noise. Finally, I thought she fell asleep. I thought of Nora driving alone to Minnesota.

Oh, Sinkevich.

She said it in a funny way. I turned on the light. She lay quietly, still curled up, but this time turned away from me.

Catherine.

Yes, Sinkevich.

Please don’t call me Sinkevich. Call me Paul.

I like Sinkevich. You’re the only Sinkevich I know.

Catherine, are you all right?

No. I’m cold and lonely and other things.

I think you should go back to your room.

Is your bed warm?

Yes. Pretty warm.

Still wrapped in her blanket, she crossed to my bed and slid under the covers, facing me. I lay staring at the ceiling for a while.

Now, look, I said. It may be 1972 and all and everything else that goes with it, and I may be out of touch. But I’m thirty-eight years old and married fourteen years, and I’ve worked at Ag for fifteen, and yes, I was born in South Dakota, but that was a long time ago. And are you going to pay to have my coat cleaned? You just can’t take something and abuse it. You act like, oh hell, I don’t know.

She stopped applauding when she noticed I was staring at her breasts.

Doesn’t Nora have tits, Sinkevich?

Not like those.

Ten minutes later, she said, Let’s try something else.

This isn’t okay?

Oh, Sinkevich, you’re a fantastic lover, but let’s try something else. She smiled at me.

Look. We have a good sex life. Nora and I.

Yes?

So don’t make fun of me.

I won’t, Sinkevich.

All right.

She brushed the hair from her eyes and leaned over me, and whispered, Again, please.

Jesus. I’m not nineteen. Those days are gone.

She smiled and said, Not yet.

Chapter Two

When I woke in the morning, Catherine was on the floor stretching.

What do you usually have for breakfast, Sinkevich?

Two coffees, one toast, and a multi-vi.

That’s no way to start the day.

Please, don’t make fun. I’m thinking better today.

You don’t sound so dizzy.

I’m not so dizzy.

Because you made love to a beautiful woman last night? She stopped stretching and smiled.

I’m going back to Washington.

I’ll order breakfast for two.

Would you make a reservation for me?

My. Did you have an admin assistant in DC?

Well, I shared one.

Shared?

Our section.

How many in your section?

Sixteen. No, seventeen.

Did you have an affair with her?

Him. No.

Shall I teach you some of these exercises? They make you feel good.

No.

You wouldn’t be so grumpy in the morning.

I just want to go home. I’m sorry I’m grumpy. But this is not what I’m used to.

Really? Her head was touching her knees. If you stretch, you maintain muscle tone. She kept exercising all the time she spoke. It’s what big cats do. Panthers and lions.

Where did you learn your stretching exercises?

Ballet.

I suppose it’s good for you. I used to go to the gym.

I can tell, she said. She stopped stretching, got up, and sat beside me. You need a hot shower. You’re all sleepy in the eyes. Come on.

She pulled me to the shower, turned on the water, and pushed me in, closing the door after me.

It’s too hot.

Nonsense.

I met her in the hotel dining room. I can’t eat all of this, I said. I was staring at the breakfast she had ordered for me. Juice, coffee, milk, two eggs, ham, and three pancakes. Hers was the same.

Sure, you can. You’re in the Midwest again. This is how you’re supposed to eat here. After going to the gym.

I just want toast and coffee.

And a multi-vi.

An elderly couple at the next table was watching the dining room television. Dr. Lloyd was on.

I pointed at the TV. That’s Dr. Lloyd on the Today show. Catherine turned and looked. He was being interviewed by a woman correspondent.

It’s a critical project, he was saying. We’ve tapped some top talent. My immediate assistants are Paul Sinkevich and Catherine Nilssen. Mr. Sinkevich is an economist on loan from the Department of Agriculture.

She smiled. See? You can’t go back now.

Let me background you on this guy Lloyd, Jack had said in his office on the seventh floor of the Department of Agriculture.

Basically, he’s an elite dabbler. Jumps around a lot. One of Rostow’s boys when LBJ was gathering his own crowd of intellectuals. He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Jesus, remember those days, Paul? LBJ and his intellectuals. Like drafting a pro football team. He’s come up with the strangest people. Like Lloyd, from some bible school, out there in the hinterland.

What a crock of shit. Walt-baby called me once. Come join the White House team. The seat of fucking power. Guess what I told him, he laughed.

I remembered standing with Jack by his office window in May 1970 as he panned the crowd of federal employees ready to march against the Vietnam War. That son of a bitch, he barked. Fourteen from Agriculture. Jesus! His secretary, Miss Eddlestone, took down the names as he called them out.

While I was reading a sports column and drinking coffee, I was paged to the telephone.

Yes, I answered.

Paul?

It’s Nora, honey. Were you watching?

Hello, Nora.

He mentioned your name! I saw the whole thing!

I heard.

I’m so proud, honey.

I really want to go home, Nora. I don’t think this is for me.

Don’t be silly. This is your chance to shine. You stay as long as it takes.

I don’t . . .

Shhhh. Believe me, this is an opportunity you can’t miss, okay? Now I’ve got to go. All my love. Bye-bye.

Bye.

Back in my hotel room, I packed my clothes and then made a reservation for an afternoon flight to DC. I left a tip for the chambermaid. I sat in the chair by the window, which could not be opened.

Catherine came in a short time later. She had an envelope in her hands. She was wearing a wool suit.

Our marching orders, she said and smiled.

I’m going home.

To Washington?

Yes. I booked a flight for this afternoon.

Why don’t you go to Minnesota instead? And meet your wife.

I would be flying back to an empty home. Why would I do that? I’ll change my reservation.

I’ll do it, she replied. She was very efficient on the phone, changing the reservation from Washington to Minneapolis. Then she opened the envelope. "Wouldn’t you like to read it anyway?

Sure.

It was a press handout for immediate release. I was to appear with Dr. Lloyd and Catherine at a press conference in the Paul Bunyan Room of a hotel in St. Paul, Saturday at three in the afternoon.

On the flight to the Twin Cities, I had time for a sandwich and a coffee. Catherine slept in the seat beside me, the window seat. She had said she wanted the view.

Chapter Three

My twenty-two-foot trailer was parked beside my parent’s mobile home in Twin Cities Park, a mobile home community outside of St. Paul.

Well, son, said Dad, It’s great when guests bring their own home along with them when they visit. And we’re sure glad Nora is having us over for dinner tonight.

It’ll be like old-times, Dad.

Notes from remarks to the press by Dr. Angus Lloyd and Catherine Nilssen, Ph.D., National Profile Center, Paul Bunyan Room, St. Paul, Minnesota, September 14, 1971.

Dr. Lloyd: "What we’re talking about, gentlemen, is old-fashioned knowledge. In plain talk: news. Now that’s your business. Where it is and what it is, and how to tell it. Used to be two-penny dailies and thousands of newsboys shouting extra. Times change, we understand. Now there are hundreds of types of news. Radio, newspapers, TV.

"What is news? Why it’s just information. What’s information? For you and your readers, it’s stories. Stories with the who-what-when-where-how. Do you know why you write stories? Because that’s how we all think. How we explain things. Stories are everything. Even when we dream, we dream in stories.

"This is old hat. But then, we’re dealing in old-hat news—but bringing things up to date. Now imagine collecting all those stories. And turning all those stories into information. Turning the information into words. The words into data. And then analyzing the data. Collating, sorting, analyzing the words and ideas.

"And from that? A more detailed portrait than anyone could imagine that will tell us not only where we are but where we are going.

There it is, gentlemen; there’s your story: Bringing information gathering and trend prediction up to date. Out of the horse and buggy era using the miracle of mainframes. Not much glamor to that, I suppose. Now let me introduce Dr. Nilssen, our mathematician.

Catherine Nilssen, Ph.D.: Such a study and resulting projections would have been impossible even six months ago. However, with multi-feed computers utilizing laser-separation circuitry, self-programming computerization is possible. Input nears the infinite, and programming to data ratio remains favorable.

Dr. Lloyd: So, gentlemen. The how? The how are computers and proprietary algorithms, our 20th Century iron horses. The why? The why is knowledge. The age-old quest for knowledge. In terms of results, what we are looking at is a mathematical model of national patterns. Population, jobs, resources. All capable of responding to emergent trends and events and determining their extent duration, importance and social strata penetration versus impact, a service available to national and regional planners, politicians, marketing services and major corporations.

At seven, Mom and Dad knocked on the trailer door. Debbie opened it up, and everyone sat down in our trailer.

Heck of rig, son.

It’s a dandy, I said.

Color TV too.

I’ll turn it on.

At seven-fifteen, Nora took three plastic bags from the freezer and put them in boiling water. At seven-thirty, we sat down to pot roast, lima beans, and mashed potatoes with butter.

By eight, Dad said, Sorry we have to rush, son, but Mother’s signed us up for the square dance club. Can’t-miss.

That’s right, Paul, said Mom. If you miss two lessons you can’t continue the course. Maybe you and Nora would like to come. We can bring one guest couple.

No thanks, Mom. I’m pretty tired. The flight and all.

I put Debbie to bed and then helped Nora clean up. Afterward, we took lawn chairs outside and sat until the mosquitoes got too bad.

"I’ll put the chairs away, honey. You fold out the bed.

As we lay together on the four-inch foam mattress, Nora said, Paul, everything is working out so well. I thought it was going to be awful, you off on another job right in the middle of our vacation, but it’s turned out fine.

Hm-mm.

Paul, what is your job now?

What?

Honey, your mom and Dad were proud to see you on television. They had everyone in the community center watching. But what exactly is your job? Are you doing the same thing?

Well, to tell you the truth, there hasn’t been enough time to fully spell it out. The scope is developing.

At least you’re away from Agriculture.

That wasn’t so bad.

But honey, it was really a dead-end. Didn’t you feel that?

I guess.

What has Dr. Lloyd said? About your job.

Oh, that I’ll coordinate. An integration function.

Nora checked that Debbie was asleep. She slipped back in bed with me. I’ve missed you, she said, pulling close. We kissed. I raised her nightgown to her waist. She guided me in. I felt her hot breath next to my ear.

Too soon, she said, Paul.

I’m sorry, honey.

You have to give me a little time.

Sorry. It’s been so long.

Not that long. But that’s sweet.

Sorry. I felt myself grow smaller, smaller.

It’s all right, she said. Next time, you wait for me. Playful.

In the morning, I hitched the trailer to our station wagon. We had decided, Nora and I, that she’d drive home. She would stop at her mother’s home in Ohio. We’d take a real vacation later.

Debbie had finished all the coloring books, so I went out with Dad to buy some more. We got lost on Half Moon Road, but Ernest and Julie Witcomber, originally from Glen Park, Illinois, showed us out of the park.

Just goes to show, said Dad. You never know your own backyard that well.

Chapter Four

We flew from St. Paul to Reno, Nevada, where a car picked us up and drove us to Lake Tahoe, California. Dr. Lloyd had rented four condominiums, side by side, at North Forest Village.

On the desk in my bedroom was stationary. The letterhead read: National Profile Center, Lake Tahoe, California. A second set had the same letterhead, with the addition, Paul Sinkevich, Treasurer.

I said to Catherine, I’m the treasurer.

Are you really? Congratulations!

Is it? How nice. What does being treasurer mean?

It means you’re the treasurer.

Of what?

The National Profile Center.

And what is that?

We are.

Me and you and Dr. Lloyd?

Yes.

Well, look here, I’m no accountant.

That’s just a title. The computer will handle the numbers.

Oh. Then what do we do?

Sinkevich, weren’t you listening?

Where?

In Minnesota.

Oh yes, in the Paul Bunyan Room. No, I wasn’t paying attention. I was thinking of other things. My desk in Washington. My real job. My home there. My job there.

How you wanted to go back?

How I wanted to go back. How I was going to drive my car and trailer and Nora and Debbie back home.

Now you’re in Lake Tahoe.

I am. Why are we here, in Lake Tahoe?

Because, she said, It’s America’s Year-Round Playground.

Several truckloads of Danish modern furniture, ordered by Dr. Lloyd from Scandimports, Inc., Sacramento, arrived crated and were stored in the receiving room.

On Sunday, we drove around the lake to Emerald Bay. The cabin Catherine rented was a mile off the road and up a steep grade. We walked the last fifty yards.

Where’s the john? I asked after looking around inside.

Outhouse.

And the heat?

Fireplace.

Jesus. How much is the rent?

Two hundred a week.

Catherine built a fire and pumped water. I went in search of the outhouse. It was clean and did not smell. But without a door.

The open doorway faced the cabin. I saw Catherine at the kitchen sink, rinsing some glasses. She stopped and waved at me. I waved back.

After we ate, we sat before the fire, I in one chair and she in the other. The fire felt lovely.

I have a surprise, she said. She opened her catchall and brought out a pint of Wild Turkey. She handed the bottle to me. I unscrewed the top, smelled, and had a drink. I passed the bottle back to her, and she drank too. We passed the pint back and forth until it was half gone.

The bed had several popped springs. Catherine took the good side, and I took the popped spring side.

Nicer on my side, she said.

Lucky you. My side is rotten.

This bed has given and taken.

I’ll say. Plenty.

I tossed around for a while. Jesus, this bed.

Sinkevich.

There’s too much up and down. A trampoline.

Are you being a poor sport?

I’m not. But when it should go down, it goes up. Then the bad springs pinch you. Then you go down. I can’t concentrate.

What’s the matter?

I sighed. I’m thirty-eight and feel foolish. I’d like to tell someone about it. Not you. Someone my age. Someone who would understand why I feel foolish. Why I feel this way even though it’s a beautiful afternoon and I’m in a cozy cabin with a warm fire and lying next to a beautiful young woman.

That doesn’t sound that bad.

That’s the problem. That’s why you wouldn’t understand. Because you’re twenty-four and young and nubile and do stretching exercises and come like a machine gun.

I like that.

Exactly my point. Everything is so . . . unsettled.

Why?

The risk.

Please?

This won’t make sense to you. I’ll tell you, though. The risk. Not of having an affair, that’s not what I mean. How to tell. I stared at the wooden ceiling. What if I can’t enjoy this?

Then you’d feel bad?

Yes.

I see.

Catherine, I’m sorry, but this isn’t working. Okay? It’s too much. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.

She leaned toward me. Are you afraid you won’t get hard?

I stared at the ceiling. Yes.

Oh, baby. I can fix that.

Chapter Five

Vantage Data Systems delivered the T9000 mainframe on October 3, accompanied by Wilson Taylor from the firm’s Boston office. Later, Dr. Jefferson Coult of MIT and Mr. Mario Paisenti of UC Berkeley arrived. The front page of the Tahoe World featured a photograph of Dr. Lloyd flanked by Coult and Paisenti watching the numerous crates unloaded. They wore hard hats.

On October 5, Coult and Paisenti left on a nationwide lecture tour. The T9000 remained in crates in the receiving room of the Center. It was stored next to the dry goods for the cafeteria.

Dr. Lloyd and I met on the sidewalk connecting the four condominiums. He gave me a spiral ring-bound book. Here’s the Manual, Sinkevich. Interesting reading. Only the framework of the Center. But, read. Yes?

Yes, I answered. Right away.

From the National Profile Center: A Manual:

The following basic concepts of the National Profile Center (NPC) were determined by the use of the T9000 mainframe in creating a national algorithmic model based on survey input and data currently stored in existing computer banks. The services of the Center—trend and pattern identification, analysis, and projections—are based on these concepts. Further amplification and background and source material on the Concepts are available at the NPC library.

There is a national need to identify trends, tendencies, and patterns and predict their outcome and impact.

If the course of these trends and patterns can be predicted, that is sufficient information to direct them.

The primary national pattern today is one of self-imposed segmentation, isolation, and exile.

Because of this pattern, established tendencies are deepened and deviates to patterns are sorted into recognizable areas.

The result is a more predictable and easier controlled populace if new trends/patterns are identified and projected in time.

The safety valve on new trends is over-exposure by media.

The basic social pattern is either self-isolation acceptance or self-exile.

Trends/patterns are self-initiated.

Imposed patterns are challenging to achieve because of the multitude of stimuli. External imposition of trends/patterns is difficult to program and initiate.

Trends/patterns typically emerge from compacted, like-thinking groups.

The majority of new trends emerge from the self and group segmentation process.

Self-imposed patterns/trends serve the purpose of identity, group relationships, and life purposes.

Constantly emergent new trends result from the adjustment process to the psychic overload of facts, information, and opportunities.

The cafeteria fed 346 people on October 6, including fourteen staff members of the Center. The rest were locals who said they worked for the Center. Dr. Lloyd looked on and smiled. He often still wore his hard hat.

The Personal Voice Survey (PVS) files were located in the basement of the third unit. In the end, it had over 72,000 entries. The tapes were interesting to listen to. This is part of the first one I heard:

I think most of us have gotten over the fact of imitating young people. I think now we feel that we have our own lives, and I think that’s pretty good. We used to try to please our kids, but I think they lost respect for us that way.

Chapter Six

Dr. Lloyd sent me a memo in my office mail. I was to address a women’s club in Oregon on the National Profile Center. He gave me the title of my address: The National Profile Center, A Blueprint for the Future.

On the flight to Portland, I studied the manual. The manual listed five separate amplifications of each Concept. The sixth amplification was a book-length thesis, with reports, graphs, and data and available at the Center’s library.

From the National Profile Center Manual:

Concept 13: Amplification 1.

Individuals are increasingly subject to massive inputs of new information. The central problem is ordering and structuring this information. There are two choices: (1) accept the form given or (2) attempt to reorder the information into another pattern. The first is the response of the self-segmented; the second is the response of the self-exiled.

I also read the prepared notes sent by Dr. Lloyd. Finally, I read the message Catherine had sent: Go to bed early, brush your teeth and drink only one martini and be ready to make me a Satisfied Woman when you hurry come back please.

Three members of the organization met me at the Portland International Airport.

Dr. Lloyd!

No. Paul Sinkevich.

But where is Dr. Lloyd?

At the Center. Dr. Lloyd sent me.

This is not right. You are supposed to be Dr. Lloyd.

I’m sorry. I’m Sinkevich.

He promised us.

I’m sorry. Dr. Lloyd said I was to address your organization.

I see. Will you excuse us, Mr. Sinkevich? Thank you.

The women walked ten paces away and discussed the matter. Then the chairperson returned.

I’m sorry, Mr. Sinkevich, but our contract specifically states the address will be given by Dr. Lloyd. I’m afraid you’ve broken the contract.

I’m sorry.

It does not reflect highly on the National Profile Center and the work you are performing that they should be this inefficient.

I suppose not.

You understand that we cannot honor this agreement?

Yes.

I’m sorry you have gone to the trouble of coming here, but those are the facts. We contracted for Dr. Lloyd. We agreed to his fee of $2,500 for this engagement. It was a high price, but the committee felt it well worth it, knowing his reputation and the reputation of the Center.

I see.

Now we have no speaker. Because we believe in the National Profile Center and its critical mission, the committee would like to offer you an honorarium of $200 to be our speaker this afternoon.

I considered the offer. Then I said, No, thank you.

You decline?

I do.

Well. I am sorry if the modest fee embarrasses you. It is not meant to slight or diminish your capabilities, which I’m sure are considerable. But you are not Dr. Lloyd. If we hurry, we can still make the coffee period before the speech.

No, I would rather not. Thank you. No, that’s not it, either. What I want to say is: I don’t want to. Goodbye.

The next flight did not leave for six hours. I read two magazines, ate a hot dog, and listened to the Hawaiian music tape repeat itself. The bar opened, and I had two martinis.

I called Catherine from the airport. She picked me up, and I slept in the car as she drove home.

Sinkevich, she said in my room. Were you good on your trip?

No. I didn’t brush my teeth, and I didn’t go to bed early and don’t ask the other because I had two martinis at the airport, and one on the plane and another in the airport while I waited for you to pick me up and I can’t make you a Satisfied Woman tonight. Okay?

Okay.

Chapter Seven

Dr. Lloyd hired a charter van on Thursday, and Catherine and I drove the bus to Los Angeles. Lettered on the side was: R.T. Haskin Transport.

We stayed the night in Los Angeles and set out for San Francisco at ten the following day. Dr. Lloyd had told us to drive up to the Bay area before heading east to Lake Tahoe. He told us to pick up every hitchhiker we saw and invite them to the Center for the weekend.

The first hitchhiker was a serviceman. He didn’t want to go to Lake Tahoe. He was going home. He had a green duffle bag that he parked on the seat next to him. He went to sleep after telling us to let him off in Oakland.

When we reached Santa Barbara, there were ten people on the bus, besides Catherine and me and the Army private from Oakland. In Santa Barbara, we picked up seven more in one-hundred-yard stretch. The last two were a couple. Because one tripped on the hem of her robe, I had to delay enough that a Santa Barbara patrol car pulled alongside.

License and registration, please.

I handed him my license and the van registration, and the charter receipt.

He looked them over, went back to his car, and radioed them in. Ten minutes later, he came back.

Where are you doing? he asked.

Going to San Francisco. Then we’re going to Lake Tahoe. We’re a charter group from the National Profile Center in Lake Tahoe.

I know that.

We’re picking up hitchhikers.

I know that too.

Well, it looks like you know the whole story.

Are any of your passengers in possession of narcotics?

I don’t know. That is, I don’t think so.

Shall we check?

Let’s not.

He walked back to his patrol car. Another car arrived and parked behind the first.

The first officer said to the two newly arrived ones, It’s a van chartered by the National Profile Center in Lake Tahoe. They’re headed for San Francisco and then to Tahoe. It’s picking up hitchhikers along the way.

One of the officers walked over to the van. He walked up the steps and stared down the aisle. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and glanced at Catherine. A girl nursing her baby smiled at him.

Why don’t you just keep heading north, he said.

The group cheered, he backed down the steps, and we drove away.

We left the Bay area with every van seat full. We had one baby and two dogs. The Army private from Oakland decided to stay for the trip. On the way to the Center, we stopped for gas. The manager of the station refused to give the restroom keys to the passengers. I refused to pay the gas bill. Finally, he gave out the ladies’ room key. The Army private walked to the side of the