‘Lux Et Veritas’

Lindsay Liang

Lux Et Veritas

Ian Foley didn’t get into Yale. Application denied. The admissions department regretted informing him, although they commended his achievements, urging him not to be despondent. There’s a record volume of students banging on the university gates. Competition is greater than ever. Ian is bound for an amazing undergraduate experience. Somewhere else.

         The rejection letter, read out over dinner in the spacious dining room of the Foley family  home, passed from Ian to his father, Kenneth, to his mother, Ann, and then to his sister, Isobelle. Everyone stopped eating as the three-paragraph missive made its way around the giant mahogany table.

         “This makes no sense,” said Kenneth Foley, thoroughly puzzled by the news.

         “What on earth should we do about this?” asked Ann. Action must be taken. 

Isobelle, four years younger than Ian, felt the deteriorating mood. She knew Ian would leave for college anyway, vacating his larger bedroom with its walk-in closet and en-suite bathroom, and she couldn’t wait to be the only child in the house. Unless her parents bought her a new one, it would also mean receiving the keys to Ian’s Mustang convertible. However, regardless of future material gains, she wanted her brother’s departure to be as pleasant as possible to prevent more arguments between her parents.

         “We should appeal the decision!” yelled Isobelle. “They must’ve made a mistake and we need to challenge this.” She knew her parents would bicker over tactics and wallow in uncomfortable periods of prolonged silence. Her mother was correct. Something must be done.

         The idea that it was all a big mistake didn’t come from nowhere. Everyone - family, friends, and the teachers and administrators at his school - assumed Ian would be accepted. It was a foregone conclusion. Both Kenneth and Ann graduated from Yale. Kenneth even continued through the medical school program. Ann’s father not only graduated, but also donated large sums to the university when his real estate business became a multi-million-dollar concern. In fact, many of Ian’s family members, going back generations, were Yale alumni. He also had a high GPA, a high SAT score, and top marks in all his AP tests. The one thing he lacked was much in the way of athletic ability. He joined the basketball team in his senior year, but gave up after a few practices. It shouldn’t have mattered because he was a ‘legacy’ candidate and his parents were sure he’d be on his way to Connecticut that summer.

         “Let’s hire a lawyer, Ken. That’ll put more weight behind an appeal. They can’t get away with this. We won’t let them,” said Ann, perplexed by the injustice. As a stay-at-home mother of teenage children, she had plenty of time to lobby Yale. “I’ll call my dad so he can pull some strings.”

         “Didn’t your dad say this was a formality?” asked Kenneth, frowning. “Are you sure he talked to the right people?” Ann’s father was a wealthy and well-connected man who claimed to play golf with the governor of Connecticut and the president of Yale. He was a Bonesman, a Rotarian, and a Freemason. Kenneth was skeptical about the potency of his power of persuasion in retirement. “I think the old man prefers bridge to golf these days.”

         “This isn’t his fault and I can’t let you sit there and pour scorn over a man who did everything he could to help our son,” said Ann. “That’s beneath you. The culprit here is probably some grubby penpusher on 50K a year who hates people who’ve done well for themselves.” Ann grew tired of her husband’s digs at her father. When did people start resenting those with money and power? Kenneth’s connections, as a cosmetic surgeon in Delaware County, Ohio, extended only to clients and members of their local church. He didn’t network with the same vigor and deliberation as Ann’s father. He lacked influence.

         “Well, it could also be something to do with affirmative action,” stated Ian, eager to ease the tension and pitch a theory with some currency. “Maybe quotas override legacies these days.” Ian’s parents, temporarily freed from their feud, looked at each other and shook their heads in contemplation of this possibility. Surely nothing superseded a legacy student? Isobelle was confused.

         “What’s affirmative action? Is that some diversity thing?” she asked.

         “It means they gave my college place to someone less qualified because they happen to be Black.”

         “That’s not fair!” yelled Isobelle. “After all the work you did? That doesn’t make sense. Why would they do that?” While she didn’t care where her brother went to college, Isobelle had a keen sense of injustice. Thinking about her future, she hoped to live in a merit-based world where hard work was rewarded.

         “They’re trying to make up for what happened in the past. Somehow that involves punishing me!” Ian felt the increased weight of the decision as the conversation developed.

         “Do you think Coach Freeman is at Lake Muir because of affirmative action?” Still confused about the whole concept, Isobelle’s thoughts turned to the only Black teacher at their school. Ian grinned at his sister’s question. She might be onto something.

         “You know how I feel about Coach Freeman!” Ian didn’t last very long on the basketball team. Although tall, he was uncoördinated. He also had the stamina of a Koala on vacation, running out of breath after a few laps of the court. Worst of all, he hated following orders during practice. There was too much yelling for his taste. Coach Freeman roasted players so close to the bone you could smell rendered marrow. Ian remembered recoiling with shame when the coach threw a ball directly at him and he failed to catch it. “You have the reactions of a cart horse in heat,” roared Freeman. The other players laughed while Ian nursed his shame and a staved middle finger.

         “I assume you didn’t use him as a reference?” asked Kenneth, worried about what may have poisoned the application.

         “No, of course not. To be honest, I’m not sure the man can write a sentence. He knows about being “in the paint” and not much else.” Ian’s air quotes and the aura of disdain about Coach Freeman caused Isobelle to shrug. She didn’t know anything about the PE teacher apart from overhearing Ian and his friends make fun of the way he talked.

         “So, who did you use? Out of interest,” asked Ann, curious about possible enemies within.

         “I asked the head of Math, the head of English, and the head of History. Why? Do you think one of them ruined my chances?”

         “Well, we don’t know, do we? It’s possible,” answered Ann. “And, by the way Ian, these are all academic references. You have nothing there about sport or extracurriculars or service. Maybe you stacked too many eggs in one basket. What about tennis? That’s your real sport. We should have looked into the process more closely from the start like we said we would.” Ann glanced at her husband. She mentioned this imbalance months ago and was ignored. This was supposed to be a collaborative family affair. They may have given Ian too much freedom.

         “For God’s sake, mom, it’s okay!” Ian’s disappointment turned to frustration while his family was victim-blaming. “I don’t play tennis much these days anyways. I have other interests. Ms. Hartman could mention Math Club, Mr. Miller could mention Model UN, and Dr. Bain could mention the academic quiz team. I was in clubs after school and on the weekends with all of them, adding to my college resumé. I picked those teachers because of that.” Ian chose his references based on those with whom he spent the most time. He had strong relationships with all of them.

         “I’m sure Dr. Bain wrote you a good one. You’re always in his classroom,” said Isobelle, recognizing the name of Ian’s favorite teacher.

         “Yeah, I don’t think any of them would write anything negative, especially him.”

         “Don’t worry,” Kenneth interjected. “There’s no point speculating. It’s just going to drive us all crazy. As your mom said, we’ll hire a lawyer and get to the bottom of this.” The Foleys nodded, eager to finish dinner with the knowledge that this travesty would be resolved.

         The following day Kenneth, Ann, and their lawyer arrived at Lake Muir Preparatory Academy, the elite private school which Ian and Isobelle attended. They conducted a forensic investigation of all the application materials to see if anything was out of place. The lawyer needed to see copies of the letters of recommendation, in case something negative set off alarm bells at the Yale admissions office. Three teachers were summoned to a conference room to discuss their individual letters.

         “We realize this is an unusual request and we’re sure your letter is fine. We just need to rule everything out,” said the lawyer to each teacher. All responses were the same.

         “I wouldn’t agree to write a recommendation letter unless I was going to write something positive.” Two teachers, under pressure from their administrators, provided a copy of their letters. One refused.

         “We need to see a copy,” said Ann abruptly when Ian’s history teacher failed to produce the document.

“I am afraid I don’t have it,” lied Dr. John Bain. A letter of recommendation is supposed to be confidential. Ann’s face fell and she drummed her manicured fingers on the desk.

“You wrote this on a computer, didn’t you?” asked the lawyer. Dr. Bain nodded. “Fine!  We’ll have the IT department go through your files. This letter is school property after all.”

“That’s okay by me. I didn’t save it.” He’d written the recommendation on his personal computer at home and had no intention of handing it over.

“We understand why you’re doing this, Dr. Bain. You’re worried about the integrity of the process and the sanctity of confidentiality. But, as you can see, this is an exceptional circumstance,” said Kenneth, eager to smooth things over for the best result. “We’re not accusing you of anything. Just trying to cover all bases.”

“Perhaps, if something you wrote was misconstrued we could explain it or rewrite it for the Yale admissions office,” clarified Ann. “We’d like to rectify the misunderstanding.”

“Sorry. I don’t have a copy.” Bain wasn’t budging and there was nothing anyone could say. As far as he was concerned, the letter was between him and Yale.

“Okay then, thanks for your help,” said Ann. “We appreciate your professionalism. As you know, we’re major supporters of this school.” John Bain knew exactly what that meant. It was as blunt as a breezeblock. The Foleys helped the school build four new tennis courts at the beginning of the year. “Not that we’re looking for preferential treatment.”

“We just think the school should do everything it can to get to the bottom of this situation,” added Kenneth. “This…miscarriage of justice.” The Foleys stared at the history teacher, convinced that his letter of recommendation contained the element that torpedoed their son’s dreams. They couldn’t prove anything, although they would take steps to find out as much as they could about this devious, unhelpful man.

Dr. John Bain stroked his grizzled beard. As an overworked, underpaid, glorified service employee, the situation amused him. They thought they could walk over him. Instead, he represented an obstacle. Remembering what he heard over the weekend, he grabbed a bottle of water and took a drink, trying not to laugh out loud.

He was at a bar on Saturday night and bumped into the school’s basketball coach, Carl Freeman, who revealed the real reason Ian was unable to attend Yale. It had nothing to do with academics. Even the lack of athletic ability or experience wasn’t the main problem. Ian joined the basketball team at the start of the season and then quit without informing the coach. He stopped going to practices, but he included his participation on the team as part of his college application. He embellished his resumé. He lied. It was a question of personal integrity. This irked the coach so much he called the admissions office at Yale and made a formal complaint. This conversation compelled Yale to reject Ian Foley’s college application.

John Frame was brought up in Wick, Scotland. After earning an M.A. and Ph.D. in history from Aberdeen University, he emigrated to the USA, and worked as a teacher in NYC and Columbus, Ohio. Since 2018, he and his wife Rama have lived and worked in China and Senegal. You can find his work here: https://jrframe.wixsite.com/website.