The Court by William J. Coughlin Page B

bottom half, the southern part of the state, offered miles of flat farmlands broken by clusters of factory-fostered cities. The northern part of the state, including the Upper Peninsula, was sandy, covered by pine and birch, and unsuitable for profitable farming. The north was another country, another lifestyle. Wild and rugged, it moved at nature’s own slow pace, while the southern part of the state obeyed the round-the-clock demanding timetable of commerce.
    Michigan was home, but Jerry Green found no solace in being back in his home state or in the knowledge that he was moving swiftly toward his native city.
    It had been an early autumn and now only a few leaves were left on the trees along the route of the interstate. Despite the sunshine there was a desolate starkness about the stripped trees. The brilliant colors of fall had gone and now only dark browns and grays remained.
    They wanted to know about Dean Roy Pentecost and whether he possessed the integrity to honor a commitment.
    It was difficult, almost impossible, to find the ultimate truth about anyone. You could know someone for twenty years and still not perceive his true character. Life was an everlasting and changing charade, a dance of many masks.
    He swung the car up the ramp into the adjoining interstate and took the quickest route toward Lansing. He hadn’t been back since the funeral, and he had planned never to return. Those memories were disturbing, so he forced himself to think again of the task ahead and how to approach it.
    People were always reluctant to talk to strangers about neighbors and acquaintances, even if they disliked them. It was a human trait, this suspicion of the curious intruder. So if you came head-on at people, you learned nothing. But with a little tact and patience, the stranger tag could be overcome. And then they opened up with everything, the stories, good and bad, and the gossip. And it was always much easier in a large university town. Over forty thousand young people thronged into Michigan State University during the school year. And there was a constant turnover as old classes were graduated, and new ones began. Over ten thousand new faces presented themselves every September. In such an environment a stranger was not likely to draw attention, since, in a very real way, most of the population were strangers. Much could be learned in such fertile ground.
    And he still might know a few people. He had gone to grade school and high school there. The nucleus of workers who served the giant university would still be there. The sons and daughters of the men and women who used to make the college complex run probably remained, at least some of them, to continue their inherited roles.
    He wondered what have become of his old high school chums, although “chum” was really not the precise word to describe the past relationships. Still, it might be interesting. Where are they now? Like one of those newspaper features about faded celebrities, it would be fascinating to know.
    Most of the members of his high school class would be forty-six years old, like himself. The realization that Regina Kelso, four years younger, would now be forty-two shocked him a bit. He always pictured her as she had been; young, soft, and with a prettiness that bordered on true beauty. He had held that memory for years, never considering that she would age. It would be crushing if Regina had changed too much.
    Green suddenly faced the reality that most probably he would see many of them again. He would be like a ghost returning, a spirit sent to observe their fates. And these would not be the polished people of Washington or New York. They would be men and women quite different from those he customarily encountered in corporation boardrooms or in the marbled halls of federal government.
    He was not particularly fond of any of them, with the exception of Regina. That they would have little in common seemed the thought of an intellectual snob. But,