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Brother
Michael Cornell |
Jackson Colkan had made the biggest single endowment
to his alma mater and the second and third largest as well.
He had made similar contributions to worthy institutions
until he had been lionized, canonized and marginalized by
a skeptical media. He had also waived the one dollar annual
fee he had been accepting from the twelve company boards
of which he was a member. The last of which relinquishment,
Titanium Star Ltd., completely cleaned out his bank account
and, the doubting media proclaimed, his mortal soul.
Then he took the most drastic measure of them all:
he swore off and walked away from the very industry
that had made him his fortune: Computers, namely
the social media niche that had rewarded him beyond
belief and well past reason.
Fortunately, Jackson Colkan was still only twenty-seven.
I was that same age when I met him. I handed him a bowl
of soup as he made his way through the line in the church hall.
"Father Carroll told me you have an old Royal manual typewriter,"
he said. "He also told me you were a Franciscan brother for a time."
"I know all about you, too," I returned his foreknowledge of myself.
"How come you didn't hack it as a brother?" he grilled me, taking
a sip of his soup without a spoon.
"I liked the meditating but I didn't like gardening and I didn't like
making my own clothes." I added: "And I like girls too much."
"Come on," he chided me. "We all like girls. Can I use your type-
writer?"
"Why do you need a typewriter?"
"I want to write my mother to explain myself."
"What do you have to explain?" I asked.
"Why I've been doing what I've been doing-- and I want to hear the
words going down on the paper."
"That's too bad," I broke the news, "because I sold my typewriter
this morning to a guy who collects them.."
That was the first and the last I ever saw of Jackson Colkan and that
was four years ago.
Since, I have sold six stories to national magazines, all written on
the same computer. I have acquired a wife. And I have a small son
who looks mostly like me.
Father Carroll, meantime, tells me he received a nice shirt from Colkan
for his birthday. Brother Jackson who loves gardening and making his
own clothes.
And meditating a lot.
to his alma mater and the second and third largest as well.
He had made similar contributions to worthy institutions
until he had been lionized, canonized and marginalized by
a skeptical media. He had also waived the one dollar annual
fee he had been accepting from the twelve company boards
of which he was a member. The last of which relinquishment,
Titanium Star Ltd., completely cleaned out his bank account
and, the doubting media proclaimed, his mortal soul.
Then he took the most drastic measure of them all:
he swore off and walked away from the very industry
that had made him his fortune: Computers, namely
the social media niche that had rewarded him beyond
belief and well past reason.
Fortunately, Jackson Colkan was still only twenty-seven.
I was that same age when I met him. I handed him a bowl
of soup as he made his way through the line in the church hall.
"Father Carroll told me you have an old Royal manual typewriter,"
he said. "He also told me you were a Franciscan brother for a time."
"I know all about you, too," I returned his foreknowledge of myself.
"How come you didn't hack it as a brother?" he grilled me, taking
a sip of his soup without a spoon.
"I liked the meditating but I didn't like gardening and I didn't like
making my own clothes." I added: "And I like girls too much."
"Come on," he chided me. "We all like girls. Can I use your type-
writer?"
"Why do you need a typewriter?"
"I want to write my mother to explain myself."
"What do you have to explain?" I asked.
"Why I've been doing what I've been doing-- and I want to hear the
words going down on the paper."
"That's too bad," I broke the news, "because I sold my typewriter
this morning to a guy who collects them.."
That was the first and the last I ever saw of Jackson Colkan and that
was four years ago.
Since, I have sold six stories to national magazines, all written on
the same computer. I have acquired a wife. And I have a small son
who looks mostly like me.
Father Carroll, meantime, tells me he received a nice shirt from Colkan
for his birthday. Brother Jackson who loves gardening and making his
own clothes.
And meditating a lot.
