Kickstand
by Lori Summers




	I will tell you a story about the serious consequences of inconsequential 
things.  It may seem farfetched...but I think that after you have heard the telling 
you will believe it, more because itÕs ridiculous to think that I could possibly 
have made it up.  Truth, they say, is stranger than fiction.  
	I will tell you a story about how a number of lives were ruined, my life 
was completely transformed, a number of people ended up in jail and one person 
died...all because my bossÕ bike does not have a kickstand.


	First a bit of background.  I am...or was, rather...a scientist in one of the 
hard science fields.  LetÕs leave it at that.  At the time of these events I was 
conducting my postgraduate studies in this field at one of the countryÕs largest 
universities.  My research advisor was an amiable young professor with
excellent prospects and interesting ideas.  I counted myself fortunate to be 
among his students.  His name was Dr. Troy Anthony, but he had bidden us to
call him Tony.
	Tony was an athletic sort accustomed to physical activity in Montana 
where he grew up.  He lived a mere mile from campus and would ride his bike to 
work every day, whereupon he would park it in his office leaning up against the 
bookcase.
	One seminal day I was standing in his office speaking to him about 
something which escapes me at the moment and as I turned to leave my hip 
struck the handlebar of the bike and it fell to the floor.  I exclaimed in surprise 
and bent to right it.  I leaned it back against the bookcase, wondering aloud why 
the cycle had never been fitted with a kickstand to prevent just such a mishap.
	ŌKickstands are for sissies,Ķ he said with a lopsided grin.  I shrugged, 
knowing little of these mysterious athletic rituals which seem to hold so much 
power, and then noticed that the bikeÕs chain had left a small grease spot on the 
beige carpeting.  I expressed the appropriate amount of consternation about this 
and told Tony that I would clean up the stain.  He didnÕt seem overly concerned 
about it but agreed.
	A bit later I found myself with some time to spare and this minor bicycle 
incident occurred to me once again.  I picked up my keys and left the building, 
intending to run to a nearby grocery store for some carpet cleaner with which 
to clean the grease stain on TonyÕs carpet.  In an hour I was scheduled to hold 
my office hours, but I would easily have returned by that time.
	I arrived at the grocery store without incident, then located and purchased 
a bottle of carpet cleaner which purported to have the ability to eradicate such 
grease stains as the one in TonyÕs office.  I returned to my car and was backing 
out of the parking spot when I heard a bang and my car sagged to the rear right. 
 Fetching a resigned sigh and already aware of what had befallen me, I opened 
the door and looked to the right rear tire.  It was sagging completely deflated 
and sitting on the rim.  I already knew that I did not have a spare in my trunk.
	Cursing my ill fortune, I phoned a local garage I had used before and they 
promised to bring me a tire post haste.  The minutes ticked by as I stood in the 
parking lot, glancing anxiously at my watch.  I had no wish to miss my office 
hours.  Although it wasnÕt likely that a student would come by with an urgent 
problem that could not wait for me to return, it nevertheless made me anxious.
	As it turned out, the mechanic did not arrive for a good hour and a half, by
 which time my office hours were nearly over.  I was not exceedingly worried 
about this, it was merely an inconvenience for anyone who may have wanted 
my assistance.  Or so I thought at the time.


	What I did not know as I waited for the lethargic mechanic was that one of 
my students did indeed need my assistance in a matter of some urgency and had 
been counting on my presence at the appointed time.  The student, one Rebekah 
Greene, was a pre-medical student and was preparing to take the medical 
entrance exams the upcoming Saturday.  She had amassed several questions she 
had encountered during her practice session which she desired me to answer.  
The exam was a source of great anxiety to Rebekah and she was most eager for 
my help.  When I did not appear, she became understandably agitated.  After 
inquiring of my labmates as to my whereabouts and being met with only 
puzzlement, she became even more irritated.  In fact, she became sufficiently 
irritated that she decided to lodge a complaint against me with the department 
chair, which was, I must admit, completely within her rights even though the 
situation was quite beyond my control.
	Rebekah proceeded with all due vigilance to the department office where 
she requested to speak to the chair.  She was bid to sit down and wait, as the 
chair was occupied at the moment.  She complied and for some moments waited 
in silence.
	As it happened, at that very moment a colleague of mine, a graduate 
student one year my senior named Brian Bullard, came into the office to make 
use of the fax machine.  He noted RebekahÕs presence...being a very attractive 
young woman, she was a presence worth nothing...and proceeded to send his 
transmission.  After he finished he decided, quite on a whim, to strike up a 
conversation with Rebekah as she waited.  Rebekah was more than willing to 
converse with Brian, he being what is sometimes referred to by my students as 
a Ōhunk.Ķ  Or so IÕm told, not having much sense of these things myself.
	Their conversation proceeded over some minutes and culminated in an 
invitation to lunch extended by Brian to Rebekah.  She agreed and they left the 
office together, all thoughts of protesting my absence forgotten.
	Although I cannot attest to the exact content of this lunch, it was 
sufficiently...shall we say, stimulating, that Rebekah and Brian proceeded back 
to BrianÕs apartment with the apparent intention of engaging in some 
extracurricular activities.  It is, of course, none of my business, but whatever 
they did there was sufficiently distracting that it kept Brian away from the lab 
for the entire afternoon.  This alone attests to RebekahÕs charms, as Brian is by
 all accounts a dedicated scientist and his advisor is quite adamant about work 
hours.


	As it turned out, BrianÕs advisor had good reason to be adamant, for it 
was this unanticipated afternoon tryst which set in motion a larger series of 
events.  In his enthusiasm, Brian forgot that back at his lab, he had left an 
important and somewhat dangerous experiment running...an experiment which 
required monitoring and which had to be stopped at the appropriate time to 
prevent its becoming volatile and explosive.  He had, after all, only intended to 
be gone from the lab for long enough to send his fax, perhaps five minutes at the 
outside.
	BrianÕs labmate, a studious young woman named Jane, was working on her 
own research when she noticed an odd noise coming from BrianÕs side of the lab.
  She went over to investigate, and at that moment BrianÕs experiment exploded 
in a shower of glass and noxious fumes.  Had Jane been closer to the experiment 
she may very well have been killed on the spot.  The fumes, however, were 
enough to render her and bleeding from a number of wounds from flying glass.  
The other students in the surrounding labs acted quickly, having been trained 
for situations like this.  The fire alarm was pulled to evacuate the building and a 
quick-thinking student, holding his breath, pulled Jane out of the lab by her feet 
to get her away from the fumes.  He quickly closed the door to prevent any 
further fume leakage but what had already escaped was enough to knock him and 
several other bystanders unconscious.  When the fire department and the 
departmentÕs safety officers arrived they found several students supine on the 
linoleum and the ones who werenÕt were either trying to staunch the flow of 
blood from JaneÕs wounds or attempting to seal the cracks around the door to 
Brian and JaneÕs lab.
	This is the scene that met me as I returned to the building, my tire set to 
rights.  This accident had taken place on my floor, at the far end.  Tony and my 
labmates were standing a safe distance away so as not to interfere and 
marveling at what could have caused such a careless and catastrophic accident. 
 We watched soberly as Jane and the other unconscious students were carried 
out of the building on stretchers and the safety officers began the careful 
process of clearing the contaminated lab and neutralizing the poison gas.
	I was puzzled as to how Brian, normally so careful and safety-conscious, 
could have allowed such a thing to happen. At the time I was completely 
unaware of the small albeit significant role I had played in this calamity.


	The activity on the floor was unceasing throughout the afternoon.  The 
safety officers were successful in clearing the fumes from the lab without 
further injury and the sealed lab was reopened so it could be decontaminated 
and cleaned.
	We received word that the students robbed of consciousness by the fumes 
had all awoken none the worse for their experience but that Jane was in much 
graver condition.  Her lacerations had been quite severe and her intense 
exposure to the noxious gas may have damaged her lungs.  Tony also informed 
us with some concern that the police had been notified.  We all wondered if Brian 
could be held criminally responsible for JaneÕs injuries due to his negligence.  
After some discussion we decided that there could conceivably be law to 
support his culpability...especially if, God forbid, Jane should die.  I speculated 
that if she did, Brian might be considered guilty of negligent homicide, which in 
that state qualified as murder in the second degree.  This ponderous thought 
weighed on all of our minds...and when Brian returned from his afternoon with 
Rebekah, all smiles, he was greeted by a full-blown tirade from his advisor, Dr. 
Goldman.  I was in the hall when Brian came out of Dr. GoldmanÕs office and was 
shocked to see this six-foot  25-year-old man actually crying.  I stopped him 
and inquired as to his well-being.  He expressed extreme remorse at his 
liability for JaneÕs injuries and told me that Dr. Goldman had expelled him from 
the group.  I expressed sympathy, even though privately I thought that Dr. 
Goldman was right to do so.  Nonetheless I felt sorry for Brian, whose career 
now lay in shambles.  He would in all probability have to leave the university 
and might have difficulty finding postgraduate work or employment elsewhere 
without a good reference from his advisor.  It seemed a high price to pay for 
one moment of carelessness.
	I asked him why he had been absent from the lab when such a dangerous 
experiment required his attention.  He tearfully related his spontaneous 
afternoon with Rebekah.  I was surprised to hear my studentÕs name mentioned. 
 As he went on to say where and when he had met her and what she had been 
doing there, I felt a cold feeling spreading in my stomach.  Yet, in fairness, I 
could not logically hold myself in any way responsible for this accident.  I had 
not told Brian to fly off for an entire afternoon, nor could I have anticipated my 
flat tire.  It was merely an unfortunate confluence of events.
	A confluence which was not yet over.


 	The next day when I came into the lab I was told by my sad-faced advisor 
that Jane had indeed died, of a combination of blood loss and respiratory 
distress brought on by lung damage.  Brian, Tony continued, was said to be 
inconsolable and had tried to hang himself out of guilt and remorse.  My mind 
reeled...our peaceful department had suddenly become a boiling cauldron of 
horror.  The department chair had called an assembly.
	That afternoon we crowded into the packed lecture hall, which was not 
truly large enough to hold all of us, and listened as the department chair, Dr. 
Palmer, related the events of the previous 24 hours with all deliberate sobriety 
for the benefit of those unaware of what had occurred.  He announced the 
visitation times and funeral site for young Jane, whose parents were to arrive 
from California that very afternoon.  He also announced that Brian, aside from 
being expelled from the Goldman group, had been dismissed from his 
appointment from the University.  He also hinted that the police were 
considering what action, if any, to take.  Far from being vindictive, however, 
he urged us to have sympathy for Brian...after all, it could have been any of us. 
 He then yielded the floor to the safety coordinator.  He spoke at some length 
about the myriad of ways this calamity could have been prevented.  He also 
said, with some trepidation, that OSHA (the Occupational Safety and Health 
Associaton, a government regulatory agency) would be visiting.  This sent a 
murmur through the audience...a visit from OSHA was never good news.  Their 
guidelines were extremely stringent and in a research facility of this size and 
age, violations were inevitable.  If they were unsatisfied with what they saw 
they had the power to close us down completely.  The safety coordinatior urged 
us all to check the safety equipment and procedures in our labs in preparation 
for their visit, and indicated that he would be around to see for himself.


	We all left that meeting in considerably worse spirits than we had entered 
it.  The Anthony group spent the entire afternoon going over our labs with a 
fine-toothed comb searching for any possible OSHA violation.
	I was on my way to the supply room when I noticed two men in suits who 
could only be detectives roaming about the floor talking to people.  A shudder 
ran down my back...I felt for Brian, but a scandal like this could impact all of us.
	I had no idea that no matter how bad I thought it was, it was actually 
worse.


	A week went by without incident, although everyone seemed to be walking 
on eggshells and double-checking every possible safety precaution.  Most of us 
turned out for JaneÕs funeral, a very sad affair all around.  Brian was 
conspicuously absent.  As we walked back to our cars Tony informed me in a 
low voice that JaneÕs parents were also considering civil litigation against not 
only Brian but against the university.  I sighed morosely.  Total disaster now 
seemed more likely than ever.
	The police were a familiar presence now as they persisted in their 
questions and observations.  They spoke with me me as well, posing the same 
questions they had to everyone.  Most of them were about Brian, his previous 
record in the lab, what kind of experimentalist he was, what kind of experiment 
heÕd been running, did I think he had been negligent, and so forth.  IÕm sure I 
answered substantially as most everyone else had.  
	About three or four days later, their investigation seemed to take a slight 
detour.  They stopped questioning the graduate students and seemed very 
interested in what Dr. Goldman had to say.  At first I put it down to the fact 
that heÕd been BrianÕs advisor and had the best knowledge of anyone as to the 
nature of the accident, but it went farther than that.  They spent a considerable 
amount of time in the floor computer room looking through Dr. GoldmanÕs 
collection of student lab notebooks and theses, and took a large box of them 
away with them, presumably to have them read by an independent scientist.  
Dr. Goldman started looking very nervous and out of sorts...nor did he look like 
he was getting much sleep.  The police, however, had the look of foxes whoÕd 
come upon an unexpected treasure trove of quail eggs.
	A mere two days after they hauled away Dr. GoldmanÕs laboratory 
records, they returned with a warrant to search Dr. GoldmanÕs office and all  
his business affects.  We stood about and gaped as a small army of police went 
over every inch of that office.  His computer and all his files were removed for 
examination and his books opened and searched.  I puzzled over what they could 
possibly be looking for but reasoned that I would find out soon enough.
	About that, at least, I was correct.


	The following  Monday, the headlines screamed at us from the front page 
of the cityÕs newspaper:  ŌUNIVERSITY PROFESSOR IMPLICATED IN 
INTERNATIONAL ESPIONAGE RING.Ķ  At first I thought it had to be a joke.  
Espionage rings?  Spies and international intrigue?  Surely it was too outlandish 
even to be entertained.  After all, the days of evil Communists and daring 
secret agents carrying on behind the Iron Curtain were over, werenÕt they?
	Perhaps they were and perhaps they werenÕt, but the goings-on in our 
department turned out to be far more mundane.  Espionage, true, but of the less 
exciting industrial variety.  Seems Dr. Goldman, under the guise of 
collaboration with international colleagues (a common and usually benign 
practice) had been sharing dozens of patented scientific discoveries and 
processes with some impatient people who were willing to pay handsomely for 
the inside information.  Before joining our faculty Dr. Goldman had held several 
prominent positions in industry himself, and the contacts he had made there had 
enabled him to set up the proper channels for the ŌsharingĶ of such secrets.  
Nothing he had revealed had been particularly sensitive from a national security 
perspective, but the corporations whose secret processes were now common 
knowledge were more than a little put out.
	And it didnÕt end there.  Upon further investigation it turned out that a 
number of American firms as well as international companies had Dr. Goldman 
on their payroll.  When confronted with his misdeeds, Dr. Goldman was more 
than willing to give up the names of his co-conspirators in exchange for a more 
lenient punishment. 
	In the end, more than a dozen other industrialists and academics were 
implicated, three or four of them in our very own department.  Dr. Goldman and 
the like-minded individuals here had been well on their way to establishing our 
department as a veritable Mecca for scientific turncoats when they were found 
out.  It seems that the FBI had been investigating this case for some time, but 
only when BrianÕs accident led the police to our department and thus to Dr. 
Goldman did they get their first break.  The house of cards soon fell and the 
indictments flowed like water.  


	The most crushing blow was yet to come.  In his last session with the 
investigators. Dr. Goldman informed them that Tony was part of the ring as 
well.  This was patently ludicrous.  Tony had only been on the faculty a short 
time and had no industrial contacts, nor did he have any secrets worth 
imparting.  He vociferously denied any involvement, and we backed him up.  
Unfortunately, our words meant little, and Tony was immediately put under 
investigation.
	All activity in our laboratories stopped.  I spent the days in my apartment 
pacing, worried sick.  I was worried about the future of our department, for a 
scandal like this does not go away overnight.  It would surely reflect on the 
institutionÕs professional reputation and stain the prospects of anyone educated 
here.  I was also worried about Tony, not wishing to see his career ended due to 
Dr. GoldmanÕs final-hour desperate attempt to save himself.
	So I decided to take matters into my own hands.  Yes, in retrospect it 
seems insane, but at the time it seemed the only thing to do.
	I consulted the coverage of the story so far...it was extensive...and 
compiled a list of the companies Tony was accused of selling industrial secrets 
to.  Several of them were in the area.  I could go into a lengthy account of my 
activities, but that is beyond the scope of this narrative, not to mention rather 
dull.  To make a long story short, I contacted these companies and asked them to 
tell the police that none of them had ever heard of nor had any contact with Dr. 
Troy Anthony.  Naturally the police would ask them these questions themselves, 
but I felt a more aggressive approach was called for.  Several of them actually 
did as I asked, which I appreciated.  Perhaps things would have actually worked 
out, except for one wrinkle which I did not anticipate.
	One of the companies was a refinery in Bayonne, New Jersey, whose 
owners had more grandiose plans for their firm.  Some weeks after my 
campaign on behalf of my boss, two men came to my apartment.  They informed 
me they were there on behalf of the Bayonne company.  I did not need to be told 
their real purpose...they were clearly, shall we say, good family men.
	I am a simple person.  I have little knowledge of the workings of the 
criminal underworld or the complex twistings and turnings of the power 
structure in this country.  I had never in my life anticipated that at any time I 
would be spirited away by two Italian gentlemen in fear of my life, but thatÕs 
exactly what happened.
	Surprisingly, they took me to a rather upscale restaurant and bought me 
dinner.  Having been expecting a kneecapping or some other unpleasant physical 
experience, I was more than a little shaken.  They explained that they had 
nothing against me personally and that I had done them no wrong, which I was of 
course relieved to hear.  They also informed me that they had been wronged by 
Dr. Goldman, which seemed obvious.  On receipt of my letter, it occurred to 
them that I might be the perfect person to help them...I believe Ōeven the 
scoreĶ was their exact phrase.  I had intimate knowledge of the workings of the 
department and I was someone Dr. Goldman would trust.  They hinted that they 
would be happy to help Tony any way they could if I made it worth their while. 
	This proposition left me speechless.  I tried to think of how I could possibly 
refuse unequivocally without giving them cause to Ōeven the scoreĶ with me.  
They saw my discomfort at once and decided to give me more incentive.  They 
informed me that we had been documented in each otherÕs company throughout 
the evening and that our conversations had been tape recorded.  They assured 
me that with creative editing that recording could turn out to be quite 
incriminating not only to Tony, but to myself as well, as could the photographs. 
 Steps could be taken to assure that I joined Dr. Goldman behind bars as a Mob 
racketeer if I did not agree to their terms. 
	This threat seemed rather flimsy to me, but it seemed unwise to take any 
chances, especially in my present circumstance.  I agreed to whatever they
asked of me, the details of which I will not bore you with.  They returned me to 
my apartment with a promise to contact me again soon.  As soon as they were 
gone, I got in my car and drove to the police station.


	Six months later I found myself the star witness in a large Mafia trial in 
which no less than seven crime bosses were under indictment.  I played out my 
role in the attempted hit on Dr. Goldman (averted due to prior knowledge of the 
details of the hit on the part of the police) and allowed myself to be used as a 
pawn by whomever in the Organization needed my assistance.  When the 
Organized Crime Division felt they had enough evidence to bring unshakable 
charges, the long and drawn-out sting was over.  I spent four days testiftying 
as to who, when, why and how I had been involved with the various 
defendants...who, luckily, were slow-witted enough that it had been relatively 
easy to conceal my dual purposes from them.
	As soon as I was finished testifying, I was flown to a faraway state and 
given a completely new identity under the Witness Protection Program.  You
may or may not have noticed that little or no evidence as to my identity 
appears in this account...you may even be asking yourself what gender I am.  
While I began my career as a scientist, I looked upon my experience as a chance 
to start over and am enjoying a successful career as the owner of a bookstore. 
 If I never see another laboratory again, it will be too soon.


	All seven defendants in the trial were convicted on charges of 
racketeering, extortion, fraud, theft (of industrial secrets) and that old 
chestnut, tax evasion.  They are currently elsewhere.


	Dr. Goldman and his cohorts were convicted of theft and a laundry list of 
lesser charges and are serving various sentences in various minimun security 
facilities.  They may as well stay there, for all of their scientific careers are 
over.


	Brian was completely lost in the shuffle and no criminal charges were 
ever brought against him.  JaneÕs parents dropped their plans for a civil suit 
after they met Brian and saw firsthand his intense remorse.  As a matter of 
fact, they became so enamored of him that they took him into their family and 
are helping him start his life anew.  An ironic twist with a happier ending.


	Rebekah got an average grade on her medical entrance exams.  She wonÕt 
be wielding a stethoscope in the foreseeable future.	


	Tony, after a rather stressful period of investigation, was cleared of any 
involvement and had the satisfaction of seeing ŌslanderĶ added to the list of Dr. 
GoldmansÕ misdeeds.  He was returned to his faculty position with profuse 
apologies and is helping rebuild the departmentÕs reputation with all the 
dedication he can muster.
	Before I took the stand, when I knew I would not see my colleagues again, I 
shook TonyÕs hand and wished him well, expressing my regret that I would not 
be able to help  him make a name for himself.  Before we parted, I gave him 
these last words of advice:
	ŌI donÕt care if theyÕre for sissies, please get a kickstand for your bike.Ķ
	I hope he eventually figured out what I meant by that.



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