An Uncommonly Good Man 6

The Journal of Julian Corsair,

An Uncommonly Good Man

Julian Corsair – Chapter Six – "They's movement now. People moving. We know why an' we know how. Movin' `cause they got to. That's why folks always move." – (John Steinbeck –Grapes of Wrath)

It was a restless night for my troubled soul and I awoke no more refreshed than when I retired to bed the evening before. A hot shower and my first cup of coffee did little to raise my spirits or provide me with any ideas how to go about the rest of my life – unemployed and alone!

Wandering about the house, slowly sipping my second cup of the hot brew, each room, each piece of furniture, each step I took seemed to bring back those happy memories of my days here with Dr. J. It was going to be more than just a little difficult to part with all of this! I fancied the thought of continuing to live here, but quickly determined without gainful employment of some sort to pay the bills and taxes, it'd be near impossible.

Oh my God! I'd forgotten all about the lake house and cottages; the "Rabbit Patch" as Dr. J. so adroitly named it. There was no way in hell I could afford it, but I loved it so. My plans for seminars there someday were dashed before I even had the opportunity to fully formulate them! Drats and double-drats!

Moping about, instead of "looking on the sunny side" as the song goes, was doing me no good what-so-ever. I stood, looking at a picture of Dr. J. and me the day I received my Ph.D., I could almost hear him, in his soft and gentle voice, reassuring me, "not to worry, Matthew; it'll all work out." I certainly hoped so!

My first appointment of the day, and the most important one, was with Mr. Thompson, the attorney who handled Dr. J.'s estate, taking care of all the necessary paper work including probate, and instructing me, as executor, on what I needed to do. He said there was some more paper work concerning the estate that needed to be concluded and filed. I couldn't think what it might be since I was the sole heir, but what "the hey," I could meet with him for a bit. I had an appointment in the afternoon for an oil change and a haircut (not at the same place). After that, it'd be home to continue my packing and sorting.

On the way to Thompson's office, I made a side trip to the cemetery to make certain the monument stone was set properly on his grave and say "hi" to him. I always hoped he could hear me somehow, but I knew it was only his body buried there, not his spirit. He was buried alongside his lover and companion of many years, Dr. John Andrews. God, I did miss Julian's comforting presence. He was quick with a retort but could be so calm in the midst of confusion; helping me find answers within myself I didn't know were even there.

I arrived a few minutes before nine at Thompson's office and waited only momentarily until I was ushered into his conference room by his secretary. Mr. Thompson and two other smartly dressed gentlemen rose from their chairs on the other side of the table to greet me. I was perplexed, but sat when invited to do so. Placing my hands in front of me on the table, I waited for someone to speak. For some reason, calmness came over me, self-confidence, an inner strength developed similar to when I stood for my orals for my Ph.D. defending my dissertation. I could handle this!

"Dr. Burroughs," Mr. Thompson began, "let me express, on behalf of my colleagues here, Mr. Quincy and Mr. Barker, our condolences on your loss. Julian was a dear friend of ours as well as our client. We knew him for a very long time. Mr. Quincy is an officer at the bank where Julian kept his accounts and will review those with you. Mr. Barker is an investment manager and has acted on behalf of Dr. Corsair, with consent of course, in purchasing or investing for him. He has a copy of Dr. Corsair's portfolio and will go over this with you. He also has a number of papers which will require your signature. Mr. Darlington, President of the Accounting Firm Darlington, Yeager, and Burnside, who Dr. Corsair relied on to pay his taxes, monthly bills, and other financial matters was unable to be with us today, but sent documents for you to sign if you'd care to continue the arrangement."

"You are aware, as Dr. Corsair's sole heir, you not only inherit the house and the property up north he referred to as the `Rabbit Patch' but his investment portfolio as well."

Thompson paused, furrowed his brow and asked, "Do you know why he called that piece of property the "Rabbit Patch?"

I did, but I wasn't about to tell them. Julian told me when he and Dr. John had summer seminars up there, one evening Dr. John looked out toward the lake, glistening bright and sparkly in the moonlight, toward the docks and observed some young college boys out there "fucking like rabbits;" hence the name stuck.

Cognizant of the fact I'd inherited the properties, I wasn't aware however, of any investment portfolio. I soon found out! Julian, economics and finance professor that he was, and Dr. John made investments while Dr. John was alive and Julian continued to do so thereafter. They made significant investments in Berkshire-Hathaway when it first started, Microsoft, Winnebago Industries, and Apple Computer, just to name a few. The most recent purchase, made by Dr. J., was the purchase of a sizable number of shares in Google® when the first public offering was made. Those shares were worth a considerable sum, having now increased by almost a thousand times in sale price. The portfolio was well-managed and well-balanced with cash reserves in savings accounts, industrial and government bonds, and some mutual funds.

I left the office in a much more comfortable economic position than when I entered. After signing all of the needed paperwork, including signature cards for access to accounts, the life insurance beneficiary claims, transfer of property documents, tax forms, and agreeing, by signing the proffered contract, to continue the services of accounting firm of Darlington, Yeager, and Burnside. Mr. Barker suggested I continue with the investments I now had and consider a monthly annuity from the earnings, leaving the principal intact. This, he assured me, would be sufficient for me to live on- quite well, in fact. He suggested, if I wished to, I could exercise my options for working, although it really wasn't necessary, but would help keep me occupied.

To say I was dumb-founded by what Dr. J. bequeathed to me would be an understatement; I was flummoxed by it all! Never, in a thousand years, had I imagined he'd secreted away and accumulated wealth in the amounts I saw placed before me today. He rarely spoke of finances with me, always reassuring me "don't worry, we can afford it" whenever tuition or vehicle or other items came up. Raised on the streets, money and luxuries were scarce commodities, so I was often hesitant to ask, but he seemed to anticipate my needs or wants and relished in the joy of giving to me. Not to say he wasn't careful with the purchases because he was; Dr. J. believed in getting a dollar and half worth of value for every dollar spent! Yet, in spite of what I knew (little, obviously) I was aghast Dr. J. bequeathed everything to me; a homeless waif, a child of the street, a rent boy, and ward of the state. He treated me as a favorite nephew, a blood relative, dear to his heart and his filial duty and responsibility, when in reality, I was no relation.

After our meeting, I barely made it to the auto shop for the oil change and then to my haircut appointment on time. Picking up some Chinese take-away on my journey home, I pondered my future while I motored through town, past the university, and parked the truck in the garage. I mixed myself a drink after my repast and settled down in the chair in the living room. I had much to consider, although my current employment (unemployment might be a better term considering the present situation) pretty much dictated that I'd take the monthly annuity from my accounts. I also decided to follow Mr. Barker's advice and continue on the present course of investments.

Whether or not I'd continue to live here would be a question I could tackle another day. I do know, as soon as I got things arranged here, I'm heading north to the "Rabbit Patch" and spend some time there relaxing. Fishing, hiking, boating, and swimming are all available and it's been way too long since I made my last visit up there. I only hoped the caretaker Julian employed for many years would have the house opened up and ready for summer occupancy.

Far too tired, physically and emotionally, to read any more in Julian's journal, I retired to bed, albeit vowing to return to the journal as soon as I again felt up to it.

The lane to the "Rabbit Patch" was a welcome sight when I arrived in the late afternoon two days later. Winding my way down the gravel, tree-lined lane to the clearing where the house and cottages were located, I breathed a sigh of relief; no, more of a sigh of relaxation, of arriving at a destination I knew would bring me comfort and soothe my soul. I noted the lawn did need mowing and made a mental note to call the caretaker in the morning to arrange for that. He was paid on a regular basis through the accounting firm from a maintenance account Julian established and I confirmed, thus I didn't have to worry about it.

Grabbing a suitcase, I hopped up the steps onto the three season porch, unlocked the house door, and stepped inside. Much to my satisfaction, the premises were recently cleaned; the electricity was on, hence the appliances, and the water functional. Carrying my suitcase to the master bedroom, setting it on the floor next to the bed, I couldn't help but wax nostalgic as my gaze lingered on a picture on the nightstand of Dr. J. and me. Other than having to make the bed up with blankets, sheets, and pillows from the linen closet, all seemed in order.

I finished unloading the truck, putting things away as I brought them in, including items for the freezer, except a rib eye steak I set on the counter to grill for my supper, and then wandered around the rest of the house surveying my home for the next several weeks. Again, finding everything shipshape, I walked back on the porch, down the steps, and headed toward the lake.

The dock was in, although the boat was still in the boat house, dry-docked for winter, and the lake shimmered and twinkled in front of me in the late afternoon sun. It was inviting, but not today! I walked back to the house, fixed myself a Brandy Old-fashioned, and sat on the porch to enjoy it. From here, I could see the three cottages used for guests, if we had them, and for the seminars and short courses Julian and Dr. John had so many years before. It was relaxing sitting and enjoying the quiet and solitude the "Rabbit Patch" offered me. Swirling the ice in the glass after finishing my drink, I rose, went to the bathroom to relieve myself. As I stood, draining the weasel, I noticed, between the tub and the toilet, a pair of young boy boxers, with little animals and other creatures on them. Shaking the dew from the lily, tucking it back into its resting place, I then delicately picked up the boxers, looked them over, and noted some little boy was in the house recently and had a bit of an accident, pissing his britches, and leaving the evidence behind. I placed the underwear in a plastic bag and washed my hands – thoroughly!

Dismissing it from my mind for the time being, I concentrated on grilling my steak and savoring my second brandy. Steak, salad, and a glass of milk was sufficient for my evening meal and once my few dishes were done, I retired to the living room, turned on a public radio station, and resumed my literary journey back into the life of Julian Corsair.

Life sometimes has a way of turning an about face or in our case, sending us to a new town and place to live. Around the end of January of 1943, Miss Harrison received a phone call from a nephew informing her, a younger brother, Calvin passed away and she was needed at home. I asked her where "home" was and she answered, "Julian, home for me is Prairie du Sac; a small town north and west of Madison. That's where I was raised."

Darnell and I rode with her on the city bus to the bus depot. She gave us each a kiss on our cheek, suitcase in hand, she boarded a bus bound for Madison, and left!

Miss Harrison was away about two weeks. Darnell and I continued to stay in her apartment, kept things picked up neat and tidy like she preferred, and fucked each other stupid every night. Darnell seemed to enjoy it more, slipping his fat throbber up my exhaust pipe, if I'd taken a load up there on the way home from school. He claimed it wasn't only good lube, but really made him horny! I don't know about that; all I know is he'd hammer away, almost pushing my belly button out, until he'd begin to moan and twitch, shove in deep, and gush a fountain of cum up into me. His whole body would shudder and he'd collapse on me trying to catch his breath and recover. I think people would describe that as "post-coital bliss;" frankly I just figured he was "all fucked out."

When Miss Harrison returned, she was beaming from ear to ear (which I thought quite strange since she just lost a brother), gathered us all in her living room, and made us an offer that was difficult to refuse. Well, Momma and Doris did at first, but once they listened to Miss Harrison's proposal and reasoning behind it, acquiesced to her offer.

Miss Harrison was the eldest of six children and left home to go to college to become a teacher. She never married and was quite frugal with her funds. When her daddy died, her mother had little to live on and really couldn't maintain the home and pay the bills. Miss Harrison, in agreement with her siblings, purchased the home on a land contract. The land contract payments gave her mother a monthly income until it was paid for. Even after that, Miss Harrison continued to send money to assist her.

Calvin lost his small farm during the depression and moved his family into the home place. His family and mother continued to occupy the home. Miss Harrison, in a bid to give her mother some privacy, converted a couple of the back rooms on the downstairs into a small apartment. Calvin found employment at the power plant shortly after they moved to Prairie du Sac and continued to live in the home after his children were grown, his mother passing away, and until his death. Calvin's wife died just two years before him. Her cause of death was cancer and his was heart failure.

"What I propose," Miss Harrison explained to us, "is for all of us to move to Prairie du Sac and live in the family home. I can have the downstairs apartment, you, Doris and Elizabeth (that's Momma's first name) can each have a bedroom upstairs, and Darnell and Julian can share the other one upstairs also. There's two bathrooms upstairs, one down, and one in the apartment, so there's plenty of room. Before you raise too many objections, the house is on a large lot with a huge garden and small orchard in the back. We can raise all the vegetables we want and with Lake Wisconsin, part of the Wisconsin River, just two blocks away, there'll be plenty of fish, if the boys learn to fish."

Darnell's face fell and a momentary panic overcame him. Miss Harrison noticed it also, and responded, "Darnell, honey, don't you worry about school. Some of those teachers had me for their teacher before I moved to Milwaukee and I know them pretty well. With my help and their good teaching, you'll do just fine and graduate from high school. You believe me don't you?"

He just nodded his head. As far as he was concerned, her word was all of the reassurance he needed. Me, I wasn't so certain. I'd be leaving a fairly profitable side business behind (HA!- get it, behind?).

When Momma started to protest, Miss Harrison intervened quickly, "Elizabeth, you and Doris and the boys have been so good to me. You've shared your rations with me, the boys have been more than kind doing any little chores I needed done; you've treated me like a member of your family. The least I can do is repay some of that kindness in a way that I can. The house is unoccupied and it'll be a perfect home for all of us."

The deal was cinched when she mentioned the army was finishing construction on a large ammunition plant in the area with production just beginning and there was all kinds of work available at the plant and in the town. Several thousand people would be hired eventually, not including the over five thousand employed in the construction of the plant. Although under the jurisdiction of the army and War Department, the plant was managed by a private contractor.

Now that's a totally different equation thrown into the mix! Not only was "real" work available, but maybe some extra besides. I rolled my eyes in the general direction of Darnell and he grinned back. We were both on the same track! I looked over at Momma and she tossed a grin at Doris, so they could see a regular paycheck coming their way along with some other cash "cumming" their way as well. All was good with the world as far as we were concerned.

Miss Harrison knew damned well what she was telling us! She was nobody's dummy, that's for certain. I think she just wanted to get us out of the city and away from everything there. Besides, as I look back on it, we could survive the privations of war much better away from the large city. The first of March found all of our stuff and us in Prairie du Sac!

To be continued:

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Thank you for reading Julian Corsair- Chapter Six -"They's movement now. People moving. We know why an' we know how. Movin' `cause they got to. That's why folks always move." – (John Steinbeck –Grapes of Wrath)

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Nick Hall

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