even get a date for New Year’s Eve. Am I getting through to you?”
“Yeah, I guess …”
“Good. Now pick up your preppie costumes and go snow her parents.”
They took the Merchants Limited on the 23rd of December. Though the overheated train was packed with students chattering gaily or bellowing carols and other spiritual ditties like “You Ain’t Nothin’ but a Hound Dog” and “Blue Suede Shoes,” Ted and Sara sat reading quietly, barely exchanging a word.
“Who’s meeting us at Greenwich?” Ted finally asked as they pulled out of Stamford.
“Probably one of my brothers. Daddy usually works late before a holiday.”
“What are the odds of any of them actually liking me?”
“That’s a little too close to call,” Sara answered. “I mean, Phippie and Evan are bound to feel a little jealous of the fact that you’re at Harvard and they both got shot down.”
“No kidding — not even with all your father’s influence?”
“Daddy’s not an alchemist,” Sara smiled, “and their board scores were far from golden. No, Lambros, you and he will be the only Harvard men at table. Does that make you feel a little better?”
“Yeah,” Ted conceded, “it actually does.”
Just after eight, when they clambered down onto the dimly lit platform, Sara scanned the crowd of people waiting for the passengers, trying to find one of her brothers. Then suddenly she emitted a squeal of joy.
“Daddy!”
Ted stood motionless as she sprinted into the arms of a tall gentleman in a sheepskin coat, his silver hair illuminated by the headlights from the parking lot behind. After what seemed like several minutes, they approached him arm in arm.
Philip Harrison held out his hand.
“Good to meet you, Ted. Sara’s told me a lot about you.”
“I hope some of it was good,” Ted replied, trying his best to smile. “I’m very grateful to be invited.”
They drove along the Merritt Parkway, then down narrow wooded lanes, and turned into the drive of what seemed — compared to Ted’s fantasies — a modest white colonial house with green shutters.
Daisy Harrison was at the door to greet them, looking impeccably informal. She kissed her daughter and then turned to their visitor. “You must be Theodore,” she said as they shook hands. “We’ve
A few moments later Ted found himself holding a hot toddy in front of a fashionably roaring fire, surrounded by the Harrison clan. It was almost like a
The two elder brothers seemed friendly enough, although Phippie’s “Hi there” and Evan’s “Nice to meet you” were hardly effusive.
Fourteen-year-old Ned’s greeting was a good deal warmer. “Gosh, Ted,” he chirped, “isn’t it awful the way Yale creamed Harvard in football this year!”
This was just the type of dialogue that Ted had mastered by osmosis from his proximity to Eliot House.
“You’ve got to understand, Neddy,” he responded, “we have a kind of social obligation to lose to Yale every so often. I mean, it bolsters their inferiority complex.”
This flagrant Harvardian bullshit completely captivated the youngest Harrison.
“Wow,” Ned exclaimed, “but isn’t losing fifty-four to nothing going a little far?”
“Not at all,” Sara interposed. “The boys in New Haven were feeling really insecure this year. I mean, Harvard killed them in the Rhodes Scholarship department.”
“Which is a little more important than football,” added an amused Philip Harrison ’33.
“Actually, Ted,” remarked Mrs. Harrison with a sweetness that would put a diabetic into shock, “all my family is Yale. Is yours all Harvard?”
“Absolutely,” replied the well-prepared Ted Lambros.
Sara smiled inwardly and thought, The Greeks lead the WASPs one to nothing.
The first night set the pattern for the week that ensued. Mr. Harrison seemed interested and friendly. When they weren’t out chasing local debs, the older boys were offhandedly cordial. Young Ned, whose fondest dream was to be admitted to Harvard, was enchanted by his sister’s guest. And when Ted actually spent an entire hour helping him work on some Virgil, he would gladly have traded his two elder brothers just to have him in the family.
But then there was Daisy…
One night Ted was awakened by the voices of Mr. and Mrs. Harrison from the adjacent room. The conversation was heated and a few decibels above normal. To his discomfort, he was the subject of the argument — though never once referred to by name.
“But, Philip, his family owns a restaurant.”
“Daisy, your grandfather drove a milk wagon.”
“But he put my father through Yale.”
“And he is putting himself through Harvard. I don’t see what’s bothering you. The young man is perfectly —”
“He’s common, Philip. Common, common, common. Don’t you care at all for your daughter’s future?”
“Yes, Daisy,” said Mr. Harrison, lowering his voice, “I care very much.”
Their conversation then became inaudible, leaving Ted Lambros bewildered in the darkness of his bedroom.
On New Year’s morning, which would be their very last before returning to Cambridge, Philip Harrison asked Ted to join him for a walk in the woods.
“I think we should be frank with each other,” he began.
“Yes, sir,” Ted replied apprehensively.
“I’m not unaware of how my daughter feels about you. But I’m sure you’ve sensed that Mrs. Harrison is —”
“Dead against it,” Ted said quietly.
“Well, that’s putting it a bit strongly. Let’s say Daisy’s a bit reluctant to see Sara commit herself so soon.”
“Uh — that’s understandable,” Ted replied, careful not to say anything disloyal.
They walked a few paces in silence as Ted worked up the courage to ask, “How do you feel, sir?”
“Personally, Ted, I think you’re a bright, decent, and mature young man. But my opinion should have no bearing on the matter. Sara’s told me she loves you and wants to marry you. That’s good enough for me.”
He paused, then continued slowly, his voice shaking slightly, “My daughter is the most precious thing I have in the world. All I want in life is for her to be happy….”
“I’ll do my very best, sir.”
“Ted,” Mr. Harrison persisted, “I want you to swear that you’ll never hurt my little girl.”
Ted nodded, almost unable to speak.
“Yes, sir,” he said softly, “I promise.”
The two stood facing each other. And then, though neither moved, both men embraced in their imagination.
ANDREW ELIOT’S DIARY
