Читать книгу A Thin Place - Jack Peterson - Страница 30

July 6, 1992

Angels Camp, California

His old and tattered leather chair wrapped comfortably around his backside, Crockett knew that trying to predict where his new relationship with Trent would lead was anybody’s guess. In his gut, he felt the ride with the gentleman from Minnesota would be worth his time, but he had to be sure.

It was 2 P.M. in Washington, DC, quitting time and still no response to the call he placed the night before to his former secretary. He asked Eliza Templeton to do an informal but discreet background check on Trent. Repeatedly emphasizing the word fast during their conversation apparently had no affect on her. During his six years of service in the Capitol, he never ceased to be amazed with Templeton’s competence. She could work her way around the bureaucracy with the most seasoned veterans, and she didn’t always go through the proper channels. He never asked her how she got her information, and he did not care. A loyal governmental employee for over thirty years, Templeton watched congressional representatives come and go, always maintaining her own sense of purpose that usually escaped most of the elected officials for whom she worked. Results were all he ever demanded of her, and she always produced. He was confident that today would be no different.

A few minutes later, his phone rang. Mrs. Templeton had the information and, as usual, wasted no time for small talk. “Do you want me to read it or fax it to you?”

“Just read it to me.”

“It’s lengthy,” she warned.

“I can take it.”

Templeton’s voice was motherly, stern. “You better take notes. I don’t want to repeat myself.”

Crockett smiled. He couldn’t resist. “I ought to be ashamed, but I never remember anything except self-humiliation. If by some lucky chance there’s some humiliation mixed in with what you have to say, I will remember every detail for years. If not, you better send a fax as well so I can rediscover your comments!”

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Let me hear what you have.”

“Here goes.” Templeton read slowly, methodically, as if reading a recipe. “Jeremiah William Trent. He was born in Austin, Minnesota in 1902 and holds a Ph.D. in Chemistry from the University of Minnesota where he graduated Magnum cum Laude in 1925. As if that weren’t enough, he graduated from University of Chicago’s Medical School in 1934 and participated in the 1936 Olympics as a four hundred meter swimmer. He came in fourth. He was appointed Assistant Medical Professor at University of Chicago’s Medical School 1936. He married Mary Lott Olsen two years later in 1938.”

Templeton paused. Crockett could hear her take a deep breath. He held back. He knew there was more and he was right. Templeton continued. “He was appointed Full Medical Professor at University of Chicago Medical School in 1940. He spent four years in the U.S. Army from 1941-1945 where he was a Captain. He returned after World War II to the University of Chicago in 1946. Six years later, he was appointed Chief of Staff at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. He and his wife had one son, named John. He was born in 1942 but died in 1945. I tried, but I couldn’t find any details on his death. I can go on. Do you want more?”

Crockett bellowed. “How could there be more? The man crammed more into his life than twenty men!”

Ignoring Crockett’s sarcasm, Templeton moved on. “Trent was persuaded by John F. Kennedy in 1959 to join Kennedy’s campaign staff to help develop a medical campaign platform with a promise of a governmental appointment if Kennedy won the election. He agreed and was granted a one-year leave of absence from the Mayo clinic after Kennedy’s election. Kennedy asked him to set up an office to study and reorganize the Center for Disease Control. I was told that Trent had complete access to the entire CDC program and was making some headway but, after Kennedy’s assassination, Lyndon Johnson torpedoed most of Kennedy’s platform and eliminated Trent’s project. He returned to the Mayo Clinic in 1964 and remained there until 1971 when Mrs. Trent died of cancer. After her death, he retired from medical service to write textbooks. He wrote and published three textbooks and has a list of medical society honors longer than both of our arms.”

Crockett smiled, temporarily holding back any response. His conversation with Trent two days earlier had convinced him that he was dealing with a man of action combined with an equally impressive intelligence. Mrs. Templeton’s research had just confirmed what he suspected. Jeremiah Trent was for real. He broke his silence. “Hell, I can understand why he was so reticent to talk about himself. If he told me all that I wouldn’t have believed him anyway!” he bellowed.

Mrs. Templeton was matter-of-fact. “Anything else?” she asked politely.

“I wonder why President Johnson dumped him,” he said, not expecting an answer.

Mrs. Templeton was quick to respond. “It was something about wanting to detach the CDC from control by the federal government. He wanted it to be independent, not subject to federal budgetary sanctions if they pissed off a few legislators. It seems that didn’t sit too well with a few folks around here, although I was told some key players at the CDC were all for it. Nobody could tell me why he wanted to make the CDC independent, but they did say he was extremely adamant about it.”

“Why would he have wanted to do that?”

“You’ll have to ask him. All I know is he apparently made a few enemies around here, but it has been so long, nobody remembers much else. Anything else?”

Crockett took a moment before answering. “You know Eliza, if there weren’t any mysteries, it would be an awfully dull life. As usual, you’ve proven yourself predictably loyal and most likely still tragically underpaid. I can’t thank you enough. I owe you, but don’t let that go to your beautiful head.”

“Congressman, I am always at your service, but I will be adding this to what has become a very lengthy and very old tab!”