the
Brooklyn Eagle.
One evening two weeks later, Estelle and her sons sat around at the kitchen table to talk about the future. “We’re going to be all right,” she told them. “Harold was meticulous about these things. We own the house free and clear. His will requests that his two sons share his library. He wasn’t more specific. He knew that you’d act fairly with each other.”
“I couldn’t bear to take any of his books,” Barney murmured.
Warren nodded. “Me either. I want to leave everything—you know—just where it is.”
Estelle understood. They needed time—all of them.
“He took care of us,” she continued. “His insurance from the Teachers’ Federation will pay fifteen thousand dollars and his GI policy another ten. That means we won’t have any real financial worries.”
The two brothers nodded.
“I’ve given a lot of thought to what to do with this money,” she continued. “Barney, I want you to stop working yourself to death. For the rest of the time you’re at Columbia, I’ll pay all your expenses so you can just study.”
Barney raised his hand to protest but she cut him off.
“Please,” she insisted, and then said the words she knew would put an end to all discussion. “That’s what your father wanted. Don’t think we didn’t talk about this.”
Barney sat motionless, trying to imagine how painful these conversations must have been for his mother.
“I’m putting the same amount in the bank for you,” she said to Warren. “So you can afford to go to any law school you want.”
“But Mom,” said Warren quietly, “what would that leave you with?”
“I’ll be just fine. As soon as you graduate from college I can put up the house for sale—”
By unconscious reflex, the brothers answered in unison, “No!”
“Be realistic, boys, do either of you intend to practice in Brooklyn?” she asked. “Besides, Aunt Ceil’s been sending us brochures from Florida for years and, frankly, ever since she convinced Grandma to move down, I’ve been thinking how nice it would be to spend winters without galoshes and umbrellas.
“I know what this place means to you,” she continued. “There are memories in every corner. But please believe me—we can sell the house and keep the memories. They’ll always belong to us.”
“I guess you’re right, Mom,” Barney said with a sigh of resignation.
There was nothing more to say.
At the beginning Barney could not fully grasp the reality that, for the first time in his life, he could do whatever he wanted in vacation time.
The following summer, while Estelle went down to apartment hunt in Miami, the brothers Livingston signed up for a cross-country bus tour—the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone Park, the California Redwoods—culminating with three days in Hollywood.
And for the first time they got to know each other as adults. They talked about their dreams, the “Miss Perfect” they each thought they wanted to marry.
“It’s going to be sad,” Warren said half-aloud.
“What do you mean, War?”
“I mean, Dad won’t be at our weddings. You know, I just can’t get used to that idea.”
“Me either.”
They had always been brothers. But that summer they became friends.
“What the hell are
you
doing here?”
Boyish Ken Cassidy, recently elevated to the post of Columbia Varsity basketball coach, was astounded to see a ghost from the past among the fresh-faced sophomore candidates for the team.
“I’m here just like everybody else, Mr. Cassidy, sir,” Barney Livingston said with excruciating politeness.
“Come off it, don’t waste my time.”
“This is America, sir. Isn’t everyone entitled to an impartial judgment?”
“Okay,” he sighed. “Take your constitutional rights. Go out there and bounce a ball so I can bounce
you.
”
In the initial round, Barney was the only one who sank a shot. And under the boards, he was like an octopus with elbows.
At the end, he had wrought such havoc with the
Brooklyn Eagle.
One evening two weeks later, Estelle and her sons sat around at the kitchen table to talk about the future. “We’re going to be all right,” she told them. “Harold was meticulous about these things. We own the house free and clear. His will requests that his two sons share his library. He wasn’t more specific. He knew that you’d act fairly with each other.”
“I couldn’t bear to take any of his books,” Barney murmured.
Warren nodded. “Me either. I want to leave everything—you know—just where it is.”
Estelle understood. They needed time—all of them.
“He took care of us,” she continued. “His insurance from the Teachers’ Federation will pay fifteen thousand dollars and his GI policy another ten. That means we won’t have any real financial worries.”
The two brothers nodded.
“I’ve given a lot of thought to what to do with this money,” she continued. “Barney, I want you to stop working yourself to death. For the rest of the time you’re at Columbia, I’ll pay all your expenses so you can just study.”
Barney raised his hand to protest but she cut him off.
“Please,” she insisted, and then said the words she knew would put an end to all discussion. “That’s what your father wanted. Don’t think we didn’t talk about this.”
Barney sat motionless, trying to imagine how painful these conversations must have been for his mother.
“I’m putting the same amount in the bank for you,” she said to Warren. “So you can afford to go to any law school you want.”
“But Mom,” said Warren quietly, “what would that leave you with?”
“I’ll be just fine. As soon as you graduate from college I can put up the house for sale—”
By unconscious reflex, the brothers answered in unison, “No!”
“Be realistic, boys, do either of you intend to practice in Brooklyn?” she asked. “Besides, Aunt Ceil’s been sending us brochures from Florida for years and, frankly, ever since she convinced Grandma to move down, I’ve been thinking how nice it would be to spend winters without galoshes and umbrellas.
“I know what this place means to you,” she continued. “There are memories in every corner. But please believe me—we can sell the house and keep the memories. They’ll always belong to us.”
“I guess you’re right, Mom,” Barney said with a sigh of resignation.
There was nothing more to say.
At the beginning Barney could not fully grasp the reality that, for the first time in his life, he could do whatever he wanted in vacation time.
The following summer, while Estelle went down to apartment hunt in Miami, the brothers Livingston signed up for a cross-country bus tour—the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone Park, the California Redwoods—culminating with three days in Hollywood.
And for the first time they got to know each other as adults. They talked about their dreams, the “Miss Perfect” they each thought they wanted to marry.
“It’s going to be sad,” Warren said half-aloud.
“What do you mean, War?”
“I mean, Dad won’t be at our weddings. You know, I just can’t get used to that idea.”
“Me either.”
They had always been brothers. But that summer they became friends.
“What the hell are
you
doing here?”
Boyish Ken Cassidy, recently elevated to the post of Columbia Varsity basketball coach, was astounded to see a ghost from the past among the fresh-faced sophomore candidates for the team.
“I’m here just like everybody else, Mr. Cassidy, sir,” Barney Livingston said with excruciating politeness.
“Come off it, don’t waste my time.”
“This is America, sir. Isn’t everyone entitled to an impartial judgment?”
“Okay,” he sighed. “Take your constitutional rights. Go out there and bounce a ball so I can bounce
you.
”
In the initial round, Barney was the only one who sank a shot. And under the boards, he was like an octopus with elbows.
At the end, he had wrought such havoc with the
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