“Get a change of clothes from one of his suitcases in the trunk.” Bernice was distressed by the way her son could be transformed into a creature she didn’t understand or recognize. The changes were dramatic and startling. She knew that many of her son’s psychological demons could be traced to her, but she was powerless to mediate them.
Preston did as instructed and followed his parents into Dowd Hall looking for a restroom. The cool air of the hallway was welcome. A men’s room was to the left of the admissions reception area. Preston studied the image in the mirror above the sink, cursing the Swedge legacy. He freshened himself then changed his clothes. Leaving the men’s room, Preston found his parents looking at class pictures going back to the 1870s lining the walls. Herbert found his own, his father’s, and pointed out classmates to his wife. “Mr. Phillips is waiting two doors on the right,” Herbert Swedge said. “We’ll leave your things in the holding area and be off.”
Preston wasn’t surprised by the brusqueness of his father. He turned to his mother. “When did he decide to change plans, when I was in the men’s room?” Herbert planned to show his son his old stomping grounds. “This excursion was his idea. I could’ve taken the train.” He handed his mother his soiled clothes. “Maybe I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, if you’re going to be in town.”
Preston walked into the waiting area of the empty office. “Greetings, Mr. Swedge, I’m Stanley Phillips, coordinator for incoming students.”
“I’m Preston. Mr. Swedge is on the way back to New York City.” They both laughed. Preston was handed schedules for orientation and meals. Classes were scheduled to begin in two days.
“A third year student will be here in a few minutes to take you over to Albert Hall. Your things will be delivered once you’ve checked in. If I can be of assistance in any way, please contact me.” Phillips extended his hand.
Preston took a seat in the anteroom. Within five minutes his guide arrived. “Good afternoon, I’m Robert Livingston. I will be your guide today and ordained by the powers that be, your mentor.”
Preston suddenly felt the sensation that all the class pictures were staring at him. Livingston spurred him on. “You can come back and look at the rogue’s gallery. I did it, and have returned several times over the years. These pictures can be a positive force when things don’t go so well. Remember, some of them finished last in each class.” A smile broke across Preston’s face.
Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The admissions building, erected in 1765, was one of the oldest on campus. The quintessence of federal architecture, its red bricks were outlined at the corners by buttresses of fieldstone. Sunlight, filtering through a transom above the door, spotlighted the letter P in the floor. The portico facing to the west side of the campus led to a gravel path.
“Princeton isn’t the gentleman’s club the administration wants you to believe,” Livingston said as they stepped on the path. “The competition is fast and fierce and egos are as tall as oak trees.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes. The distance to Albert Hall was almost three quarters of a mile. The gravel path gave way to a concrete sidewalk that led to a park-like common area punctuated by skyscraping trees. “The residence halls are infernos,” Livingston said. “We spend as much time out here in the shade as possible. I think I see your roommate. Mr. Johnson!”
A stocky, average height teenager sitting on a bench in the shade waved. He ground a cigarette in the grass, slowly rose to his feet, and loped across the green. “Mr. Johnson, I would like to introduce you to your roommate, Mr. Swedge,” Livingston said.
Preston extended his hand, “Call me Preston.”
“I’m Clark,” he said, looking up at Preston who was a good four inches taller. “Let me take you upstairs.” His ruddy face and dirty blonde hair were streaked with sweat.
“Gentlemen, I will be in my room over at Dawson. If you need anything, ring me up.” Livingston sauntered away.
“I arrived yesterday from Detroit, and already can’t stand this damn weather. The train was a sauna, and our room is a blast furnace. I haven’t slept in days,” Clark said, leading Preston toward a Georgian brick two storied building on the right side of the mall. Three massive chimneys protruded above the gabled