Worse, the Division I schools revoked their scholarship offers or stopped calling, including Stanford. Coaches told Chris to enroll as a regular student and rehab his knee. If the knee returned to strength, and Chris returned to his prior playing level, they’d consider putting him on scholarship.
Art and Josephine Carpenter were equal parts devastated and angry that schools would be so quick to “change their tunes” and “abandon” their son. Many of the schools were no longer financially realistic.
I thought of my own college situation, my disappointment, and I thought of William Goodman losing his wrestling scholarships after injuring his shoulder and losing interest in school. Chris wouldn’t end up in Vietnam, but I took Beau aside and told him to keep an eye on Chris anyway, and encourage him to keep up his grades and not give up on his dreams at such a young age.
Without Friday night football we fell into a different routine. Elizabeth and I attended Mary Beth’s basketball games. I had suggested to Beau, more than once, that Mary Beth would be proud to have her big brother attend, but Beau did not want to miss a night out with his friends. Beau also had a girlfriend, which I never had in high school, and he had confided in me that sometimes he resented the commitment.
“Guys talk about what they did over the weekend, and I feel left out when I’m not there,” he told me one night as we sat in our remodeled family room.
“I know the feeling,” I said, and I did. “But do your friends ever do anything really epic, or is it just the same stuff every weekend?”
“I don’t know. But, I mean, it’s my senior year. Some of these guys, like Chris, will be my friends for life, but others I know I won’t see again.”
I didn’t want to tell Beau that I used to think Mif, Billy, and Cap would be the best men at my wedding, and that we’d remain lifelong friends. We did not even attend each other’s weddings. Like most guys, I was not good at staying in contact. Nor were they. Some friends moved away, and we all had our own commitments with spouses, children, and jobs. Beau’s comment also made me think of William’s journal, how his corporal, Victor Cruz, advised him not to make friends in Vietnam, that it was easier that way when those soldiers were killed.
The issue of Beau going out with his friends came to a head in late February, as Elizabeth planned Mary Beth’s sixteenth birthday. I was in a protracted trial in San Mateo County and not much help. Elizabeth wanted to surprise Mary Beth and take her to Tadich Grill in San Francisco. When the kids were young and I worked in San Francisco, Elizabeth used to dress them up and they would ride BART into the city. The four of us would have dinner, usually at Tadich Grill. The 150-year-old restaurant had a special place in all our hearts, and Mary Beth thought of it as magical. Elizabeth had called six weeks in advance to get the reservation. While we were away at dinner, my older brother, John, and his wife would drive their Honda Accord to our house and leave it in the driveway affixed with a pink bow. John’s four kids had driven the car to school and put 158,000 miles on the odometer, but it still ran well. My brother just wanted the car off his insurance, and I just wanted Mary Beth to have wheels to get to school, as Beau had. Mary Beth’s school was less than two miles from our front door, so it was not like she’d be driving the car on cross-country excursions.
I didn’t want to buy either of our children something new and fancy just because we could afford it. I wanted them to know how difficult it could be to make a buck, as I’d had to learn, so they would appreciate what they had.
The problem that soon developed, however, was Elizabeth made the dinner reservation on the night of Serra’s infamous Jungle Game against their basketball rivals Saint Ignatius. The inaugural Jungle Game had been in 1975, when my brother John played for Serra. The game received its name when the Saint Ignatius coach was quoted in the newspaper saying, “We have to go down to Serra, and it’ll be a jungle down there.” The next year the entire all-male cheering section stormed into the arena wearing white T-shirts and carrying palm leaves. They chanted, “SI. Welcome to the jungle.”
The game had grown in infamy and was usually hard fought and exciting. I had been to many games over the years, and truth be told, I was sorry to miss this year. But family was family.
Beau and Chris had become Serra’s head cheerleaders for the basketball games, and they planned to make the night memorable. I felt for Beau, but I had my own problems with a complicated trial, a difficult client, and a lot of money at stake. Admittedly, my fuse was short, as it usually was when I was in trial.