The Green Revolution Read Free Page B

the phone began to ring, Roger did not answer, assuming that Phil would take the call. Many rings sounded before Roger picked up the phone to hear Father Carmody on the line. Father Carmody, a more eminent figure on the campus than even Otto Bird, had been Roger’s champion for the Huneker Chair, and since he had connections with the Philadelphia family that was putting up the money, his wishes had overridden those of a faculty committee that had been formed to offer advice on potential occupants of the chair. The name of Roger Knight had not been on their list. It was unlikely that any members of the committee had even heard of the author of the monograph on Baron Corvo. Thus it was that Roger had arrived on campus with a sizable number of unknown enemies who resented his hiring. Meanwhile, Father Carmody had become a friend of the Knight brothers. From time to time, he had also availed himself of Philip’s role as private investigator.
    â€œHow is Phil taking it?”
    â€œHe’s upset.”
    â€œSo were we.”

3
    In the Psalms that Father Carmody read daily, old age was accounted one of God’s blessings. For Charles Carmody, it had come to seem a mixed blessing. Throughout his long career in the congregation of Holy Cross, much of it spent on campus, some of it in Rome when he served as right-hand man to the superior general of the order, he had relished the role of the man behind the scenes. Long before his reddish hair turned white, he was known as an Èminence grise, a kingmaker but never a king. And long after his coevals had disappeared from the scene, called to God, or debilitated, drooling denizens of the final station in the life of a member of the Congregation of Holy Cross, Father Carmody remained active, playing a discreet role, advising a series of presidents he had difficulty taking completely seriously. To the old, the young inevitably seem mere parodies of the giants they have succeeded. Still, when his advice and counsel were asked for they were gladly given. The personnel changed, but the university to which Charles Carmody had devoted himself wholeheartedly remained. The first time he had come along Notre Dame Avenue and seen the great golden dome lift above the trees, he had fallen in love as other men fall in love with mortal women. He became a champion in the service of the Lady atop the dome.
    Remaining as active as he had, Carmody had resisted any suggestion that he was ready for Holy Cross House, the low building on the far side of the lake to which retired and ailing and senile members of the congregation went. All very well for them, of course, and thank God there was such a bright efficient place in which they could live out their final days. He knew it was pride that prevented him from seeing himself among the residents of Holy Cross House. Eavesdropping on his inner thoughts, he feared that he heard the voice of the pharisee in the gospel thanking God that he was not like the rest of men. And then one surprising day, without fanfare, Father Hesburgh took up residence in Holy Cross House. Father Hesburgh! If the fabled longtime president of Notre Dame could live in Holy Cross House, who was Charles Carmody to resist? Besides, there was the fact that Hesburgh remained active, on campus and abroad, his demanding schedule seemingly unaltered by retirement from the presidency. Ted’s failing eyesight was a handicap few even knew of, but each day he went off to his offices on the thirteenth floor of the library named for him. This seemed the best of both worlds to Charles Carmody, and soon he followed the precedent of Ted Hesburgh and moved into Holy Cross House. For a time, the parallel worked. Like Hesburgh, Carmody continued to be summoned to the main building when matters became too difficult for the youngsters there.
    Undeniably, however, there had been a falling off of such summonses of late. There were dark times when Carmody felt that he was on the shelf for