Miracle Man (6 page)

Drummond replied, “This baby has had more tests performed on him than an astronaut. He’s fine. Nobody comes with a guarantee, but all this media noise about him is just that—noise.”

Peter shook his head. “Would you take him in?”

“I certainly wouldn’t be afraid to, I can tell you that. Look at him, he’s alert, he’s active. He displays no problem signs.”

At this point in Peter’s life he didn’t want to be a foster parent to any child—and particularly not to an infant. But Peter saw that look on Edith’s face, that glow that had been missing for over three years since their home had become childless. Kids had been Edith’s life for virtually their entire marriage. They were the only thing she was interested in talking about. Children were her calling, her mission. Peter asked Kimball and Drummond to give him and Edith a few moments alone. He suggested that perhaps they’d like to go downstairs and see his workshop. They quickly complied.

“Edith, is this what you really want?”

“He’s so adorable. Look at those eyes. Look how alert he is. Look at those hands and feet. He’s perfect, Pete. We can’t turn him away.”

“Haven’t we had our fill, honey? And diapers and toilet training. Geez, Edith we’re too old for this.”

“I promise you. He’s the last one. He’ll be our lucky thirteen. You won’t even know he’s here. I’ll do all the heavy lifting. You’ll see. We won’t be sorry.”

Peter paced around the living room and then settled into his favorite chair facing out to the front yard. He was silent and just gazed out the window. Then he got up and walked over to Edith. ”We’ll try this out but only because I can see if we don’t, you’ll never forgive me. But at the first hint of trouble—that something’s wrong with him—out he goes. I’m not getting involved in a melodrama with this kid. I’m doing this against my better judgment. So first sign of a problem—we’re done. Is that a deal?”

“It’s a deal.”

“I’m asking you to promise me, Edith. Do we have an understanding between us here?”

“Yes, we do. Now let’s tell them,” Edith replied excitedly.

Peter called down to the basement, and Kimball and Drummond came upstairs. Edith’s voice sounded years younger and her smile almost touched her ears. “Ms. Kimball—how long will it take for you to do the paperwork? I think we still have a crib and a lot of other baby stuff packed away in the basement.”

Kimball’s eyes closed as if she were in prayer. “You two are my angels. God bless you both. What you are doing is…” Her voice broke and her words stopped. She stretched out her arms to their full length as she walked over to the couple. She hugged Edith, who was still holding the infant, and then she hugged Peter. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Dr. Drummond said, “Congratulations. I know you won’t be sorry. I have a sixth sense about babies. I’ve seen enough of them that’s for sure.”

Kimball took 2764 in her arms. “I’ll be back with the paperwork tomorrow. Will that give you enough time to put the nursery together?”

“Yes it will,” replied Edith, as her eyes commanded Peter to get started on the job immediately.

As Kimball and Drummond were halfway down the path to their car, she turned and shouted back to Edith, “And don’t forget; you have to think of a name for him so we can put it in the documents.”

When the car pulled away from the curb, Peter muttered under his breath, “Here we go again.”

“What should we name him? I want it to be something special,” said Edith.

All of the twelve kids that they had raised had come to them with names. 2764 was the first child that they would have the privilege of naming. Edith knew that Peter had always wanted a son to be named after him, but given Peter’s expressed reservations about 2764, on reflection she decided against that. The person she had always wanted to memorialize with a son of her own was her older brother, Robert, who had been killed in Vietnam at 19 years of age.

To Peter, the name James was special. He had first become enamored of it as a boy, voraciously reading Ian Fleming novels. “James” signified everything in life that Peter had fantasized about: an exciting career, sophistication, world travel, glamour, being a hero and an indisputable winner. James. That was the name for this infant who had had no luck so far. And so, when Edith and Peter sat down at the kitchen table to eat their roast chicken dinner, it was soon decided. The baby’s name would be Robert James. Robert James Austin. They smiled, kissed, and toasted the choice with their favorite chardonnay that Edith had purchased in the supermarket.

The impact of the airplane touching down at Rochester International Airport jolted Edith out of her recollections and back to the present. As they disembarked, a tall athletically built man about thirty years of age with short blond hair, dressed in a conservative dark blue suit and tie, was standing at the gate.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Austin. And this must be Robert. Welcome to Rochester.”

“How do you know who we are?” Peter asked, his eyes narrowing, as he looked the man over.

“Director Varneys asked me to meet you upon your arrival to be sure that everything went smoothly. I’ll be here for the duration of your stay. My name is Ray McDermott.”

“Where’s our rental car? We’re more than capable of finding our own way to the hotel,” replied Peter with obvious annoyance.

“That’ll be delivered to you at your hotel. Don’t concern yourself. Everything has been taken care of. You’ll be at the best hotel in Rochester and close to the Mayo Clinic. I’m staying there, too.”

When McDermott opened the oversized double-doors to the Austin’s guest room, the two bedroom corner suite glistened. Its living room was three times larger than the Austins’ own, and there was a stunning two hundred seventy degree view of the city from glass walls on all sides.

“I guess when Varneys said the hotel would be nice, he meant it,” Peter said.

“This is amazing,” Edith added.

“Awesome,” Bobby said.

McDermott’s green eyes sparkled. “I know the director will be glad you’re pleased. On the desk, you’ll find a note from him. The concierge will recommend the best restaurants and attractions for you—-just ask—and remember that arrangements have been made in advance so that everything is paid for. You’ll also find Robert’s schedule on the desk, and here’s my card. If you need anything, just call me. I’m in room 317. Have a good day.”

Peter went over to the yew wood desk that stood by the wall of windows. He picked up an envelope addressed to him. The letter was on the same engraved OSSIS stationary as the letter that had been Fed Ex’d to them only two weeks earlier. It read:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Austin:

Thank you for accepting our invitation to visit Rochester, Minnesota for Robert to meet with Dr. Uhlman. Your cooperation is appreciated. We will endeavor to make your stay as enjoyable and memorable as possible. If during the course of your visit, you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Very truly yours,

Orin Varneys

Director

Edith picked up another envelope from the desk that was labeled “Schedule.” Inside was a piece of paper with the following list:

Monday—-10:00 AM –11:00 AM—-introductory meeting of the Austin family with Dr. Uhlman

11:00 AM-12:30 PM Robert/Dr. Uhlman

12:30 PM-1:30 PM Lunch recess

1:30—-4:30 PM Robert/Dr. Uhlman

The schedule for Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday was the same: 10:00 AM-4:30 PM Robert/Dr. Uhlman, with only a one hour lunch break each day. Friday had only one item scheduled: 10:00 AM—Noon: Austin Parents/Dr. Uhlman

Edith frowned as she showed Peter the schedule. “Well, they sure are intent on getting their money’s worth. Except for today, Bobby hardly has any free time.”

Peter’s face reddened as he took the schedule in his hand and read it. “That’s a hell of a lot of time for them to want a four and a half year old to spend with a shrink.”

“Don’t worry,” said Bobby. “I’ll try to move this grand inquisitor along quickly so we have more time to have fun. It will be fine, you’ll see. I’ll bore him. He’ll want to finish early.”

6

T
he Austin family arrived at the Mayo Clinic office of Dr. John Uhlman on Monday at 9:45 AM. To be sure that they didn’t get lost on the huge Mayo Clinic campus, McDermott met them in the lobby of the hotel and delivered them to the doctor’s office.

“I’ve never been in a doctor’s office in which we’re the only people waiting in the reception area. It’s so quiet and private,” Edith said to Peter.

“I guess Uhlman isn’t on the HMO list,” said Peter.

Bobby sat contentedly in a corner reading a copy of the
New England Journal of Medicine
which he found on a table with other publications. At precisely 10:00 AM, Uhlman’s secretary brought the Austin family into Uhlman’s spacious wood panelled office. As they made themselves comfortable on the three leather guest chairs in front of Uhlman’s huge mahogany desk, Peter scanned the diplomas and other framed documents hanging on the wall. A bachelor of science from Dartmouth College, summa cum laude; Phi Beta Kappa certificate; M.D. from Stanford University; Ph.D in Education from Columbia University; Board of Diplomates Psychiatry; Board of Diplomates Neurology.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Austin. And good morning to you, Robert. It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Uhlman said. He was a large heavy-set man with a particularly big head that looked all the more imposing shaved and shined as it was. He was wearing a stiffly pressed white lab technician’s coat which gave him the appearance of a butcher in a gourmet meat market, especially since his hands were massive and inelegant. His oversized ears were blood red and protruded prominently and his large nose was flattened as if from a pugilist’s blow. All of these imposing features were incongruous with his small closely-set dark eyes which peered out at the Austins from behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

Sitting on the biggest leather executive chair that Peter had ever seen, Uhlman studiously looked at the Austins, as he said, “Let me explain what we’ll be doing here over the next few days. Robert is a special boy—we all know that. I’m going to spend a significant amount of time engaging Robert in discussions, games and other challenges. I’ve done this many times over the years with other children.”

Peter interjected, “Doctor, do you have Bobby’s records? There are a few items that Edith and I are looking for answers on.”

“I’m very familiar with Robert’s file. I’ll be looking into those areas also. We’re in no rush here. We’ll explore everything.”

“Doctor, I would appreciate it if we could move at a good pace as I’d like to finish early so I can explore Rochester with my parents,” said Bobby.

“We’ll see Robert. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

“Doctor, what exactly are you looking to find out?” asked Edith.

“Mrs. Austin, there is so much that we don’t know about the human mind. Children like Robert provide science with a unique opportunity. With children of this age, before they have been exposed to schools and other social influences, we have an opportunity to explore intelligence in its purest form.”

“Robert, what’s your favorite activity?” asked Uhlman.

“I like to learn about things, doctor,” replied Bobby.

“And what’s your least favorite activity?”

“Sleeping.”

“And what do you spend the most time doing?”

“Thinking,” said Bobby.

“Okay. There we have it. Mr. and Mrs. Austin — Robert and I are going to get started in a few minutes. He’ll be ready to be picked-up each afternoon at 4:30 here in my office. I’ll be seeing you at the end of the week, as you know.”

Uhlman took some time to just look at Bobby. There he sat, all forty-seven pounds of him, feet dangling in his shiny black dress shoes. A cute but unremarkable looking four and a half year old, whose only distinguishing physical characteristic was his striking eyes. He would blend into any pre-school play-room without difficulty. Uhlman tapped Bobby’s thick file. C
ould this child really be so unusual or was he just another in the ranks of the top one or two percent of the population that psychologists and educators routinely encounter? Why would this little boy be so special—why should he be?
From what Uhlman had read, there was no reason to believe that this child had any extraordinary genetic inheritance. He was likely the progeny of, at best, mediocre genetic material—and very possibly sub-medicore.
‘Nature or nurture?’ What populist rubbish,
Uhlman thought.
There was no ‘nature’ here and no ‘nurture’ either.
Bobby’s parents weren’t brilliant avant-garde educators who had devised a revolutionary learning program starting in the child’s infancy. Edith and Peter were ordinary people who provided nothing more than the average home environment.
So what was this child
?
A genetic mutation –like a two-headed horse or a child born with four arms?
Uhlman scratched his head, wondering if he should start getting religious. Leaning forward at his desk, he cradled his chin in the beefy palm of his left hand. There was so little that he and the others really understood. The more he studied and the more research he did, the more he realized how little about human intelligence was known.