Graduation!

June 2016 Stanford, California

Six long years of cramming for exams, drinking endless cups of coffee, Red Bull, and any other caffeinated sugar-packed drink; the endless study groups and all-nighters were finally coming to an end. Muki, Larry, Judith, and Abdul were reaching the promised land—G R A D U A T I O N!

* * *

The four accidentally met during a concert their freshmen year in L.A. back in 2010. They, like one hundred thousand other kids and adults (wanting to relive their past teen years once more) packed the Coliseum for the “Final Rites Tour” of The Who, Stones, Steppenwolf and Pink Floyd. There would be special guest appearances during the concert, but those groups were kept under wraps. The media billed it as the largest concert ever to hit the Pacific shores. Tickets started at $100 and went as high as $20,000. The event would start at 6:00pm and stop when the applause and encores died down. They were crammed in like sardines and even though the music was great, it was their parent’s music (all but Muki). They just wanted to say, “they were there.” It would make a terrific story for the kids when they decided to start families. But that was the furthest thought from their minds right now; their bodies were surrounded by music, while their brains were deep in studies.

After talking with each other for a few hours, they were fascinated at the striking similarities they shared. Their dreams and ambitions were mirrors of each other. The bond they formed that night would take them through the gates of education and into the world of commerce. They agreed that until all obtained an advanced degree, the first graduation was only for the kids who promised mom and dad they’d get a degree, then a job. They knew this was a lie. Most of the kids would wind up working for mom or dad and continue living at home while they decided what they really wanted to accomplish with their lives. Not this bunch. They would pursue master’s degrees. Until that time, the only celebrating would be the occasional night out for a few drinks and recreation. Otherwise, they would ramrod their studies to the finish line. Oh, one other important item, they would have to have double master’s majors. Obtaining just a bachelor’s degree was considered child’s play. Muki chose Electronics and History. Larry—Computer Science/Civil Engineering. Judith decided on Math/Thermodynamics, and Abdul took Physics/Chemistry. On that night, Muki, Larry, Judith and Abdul forged an academic alliance.

Muki Nguyen came from a very humble family. Her mother stayed home taking care of the children, while her father supplied the American-backed government with a daily supply of fish. As the fledgling army of South Vietnam rapidly deteriorated, her father knew what would happen if his family fell into the hands of the Communist aggressors—death. He would be found guilty of helping the Americans, and thus labeled a traitor and assigned for re-education. The rest of the family would either be assigned to re-education camps, sent to brothels in the north, or the final indignity—a bullet to the head.

Her family became unwitting celebrities when their picture was placed on the cover of Time Magazine during the mass exodus from Vietnam. The fall of Saigon forced many to either flee the country, or hope the Communist government of Ho Chi Minh would show leniency. That was unlikely. Her parents brought all the possessions they could carry to the docks, hoping to find a junk that would allow them passage to the United States and away from war-torn Vietnam.

The captain of the boat took everything they owned, but the price wasn’t enough. He demanded that Muki’s mother satisfy him on the long, treacherous journey. The family had no choice—rape by submission, or death by Ho Chi Minh. Her father convinced his wife she would be saving them from certain death; her acts would not bring shame upon the family. When they reached the Promised Land, they would find the nearest priest, and she would be cleansed of her sins.

After thirty days of tempest seas and multiple sexual violations from the captain, they arrived in San Francisco along with thousands of other refugees. They were processed, and wound up settling around Fisherman’s Wharf. Being that her father was an accomplished sushi chef, he was able to restore honor to his family’s heritage and provide a semblance of self-sufficiency. The family was never rich, just comfortable. The one lesson her parents constantly ingrained in her was, “Knowledge is power; never take your studies for granted. You, not the teachers, must always push yourself to be better. Knowledge is power. Complacency and guilt accomplish nothing.” She took the words to heart and excelled in her school work. She expected her parents to be proud when she scored a 1400 on the SAT as a sophomore.

“No!” her father snapped. “Do better. Knowledge is power.”

She didn’t despair. During her senior year, she achieved two accomplishments—1600 on the SAT and a full-ride scholarship to Stanford.

Her father only said, “Muki, knowledge is power. You have traveled well with the first phase; now for the second.”

She didn’t receive a car or vacation to an exotic location like many of her peers did for accomplishing much less—only her father’s words. If her parents wouldn’t give her an appropriate present now, she would do it on her own when she graduated from Stanford. It’s not that she disliked her parents, for she loved them dearly, yet she tired of the stories they constantly told of the “old land” and the Communists. She felt they should let it go, but then again, she hadn’t witnessed the horrors of war and the killing of civilians. That wasn’t her life, it was theirs, and she would do her best to break the chains of the past and start her own history.

Larry Kowalski Jr. was a freak of nature. His father was an All-American linebacker with The Texas Longhorns and played a few years with the Baltimore Ravens, until a knee injury ended a very promising career. Unlike many of his teammates, he didn’t blow the signing bonus money; he invested it wisely in several start-up companies like Yahoo and Microsoft at the suggestion of his wife, Sandy. The dividends kept his family afloat while he finished up his “real” business degree at the University of Texas at Arlington where he met his bride-to-be, Sandy Williams. With her urgings and support, he accepted a full-ride scholarship to North Texas University to pursue a master’s in Business. To the surprise of his parents, he completed the program in less than ten months.

His mother, Sandy, received a degree in Home Interior Renovations from the University of Texas and opened a small, home-based business that allowed her the flexibility of working with her high-end clients of University and Highland Park, while at the same time being a supportive wife to Senior and being a mom to Junior.

Larry was the spitting image of his father at six feet four and two twenty-five pounds—with one flaw. The athletic gene passed him by. His physique was the product of his father’s lineage, except for the flaw. All the Kowalski men were physically large, naturally imposing, and sports-minded. Junior loved hearing the stories of his great-grandfather, Sergei Kowalski, who faced down first the Germans in 1939, and then the Russians in 1944, at gunpoint. He never succumbed to their wills, while at the same time, he didn’t infuriate them to the point of being sent to a camp or being conscripted. His voice carried an authority that matched the weapons of his enemies.

The outstanding quality Larry possessed was an analytical brain. At an early age, problems that stumped his playmates when it came to puzzles or math problems were no challenge to him. He solved them with great ease. At the age of five, he mastered the Rubik’s cube in under thirty seconds much to the dismay of his parents. They had tried for over a decade and could only get one side completed. He breezed through junior high and high school with no problems. The only real issues he encountered were with jocks and girls. Junior was an easy target for he was shy and awkward. No matter how many times his father told him it was okay that he couldn’t excel in sports, the kids at school would take pot shots at him, until one day during his senior year, the captain of the football team tried to embarrass him in front of a girl he was really enamored with.

“Hey, Junior. I need someone to carry my books. Since you can’t run a straight line, I choose you to be my servant.” Larry ignored the comment as he had so many times before, but Jimmy just wouldn’t relent.

“Kowalski, I’m talking to you! Now come over and pick up my books.”

The little girl he was sweet on, Jenny Allen, pleaded with Jimmy to leave him alone.

“Hey, bitch, don’t tell me what to do.”

That was it. Larry’s father raised him to respect women and treat them with kindness. It was time Jimmy learned that lesson firsthand. Junior turned on his heels, and before anyone could react, Jimmy was pinned to the wall a good six inches off the ground. His eyes were filled with terror as he hung suspended in the air. Larry didn’t care for violence, but he had reached his limit. While everyone waited for Larry to decapitate Jimmy, he only stared deep into Jimmy’s eyes. He uttered one word, “Apologize.”

In a hoarse tone, Jimmy forced out the words, “Jenny, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” demanded Larry. His hands constricted Jimmy’s throat tighter.

The words came out in a strained voice, “Sorry...for calling you...a bitch.” Jimmy feared if he spoke poorly, Larry might permanently end his football career. He looked at Jenny with pleading eyes.

“Jimmy, I accept.” She smiled at Junior as he loosened his death grip and unceremoniously dropped him on the floor. Not a word was spoken. Junior picked up his books and made his way to class as if nothing happened. Jenny called out for him to wait up; she wanted to walk with him. It was the first time he genuinely smiled walking to class.

It was no surprise Larry was the Valedictorian of his class. After all, he scored a 36 on the ACT and 1600 on the SAT and was receiving a full-ride academic scholarship to Stanford. He was nervous having to give the address to a class of twenty-five hundred. His mother told him to speak from the heart, and all would be well.

“To all of my classmates, our journey has only begun. We drilled for the last three years in science, history, mathematics and literature. Has our toil gone unnoticed? No. For those of us who took our studies seriously, the horizon is now just now dawning. For those who didn’t, hope is not lost; it’s misplaced. I wish all of you much success in wherever you venture in your endeavors.”

In that many of his fellow classmates, along with faculty, rarely heard Larry utter more than a few words at any one time, they sat in stunned silence and reverence as he delivered the most eloquent and stately graduation address any of them had ever heard. And even more amazing? He wasn’t using notes. However, there were a few students who knew Larry was a master at subterfuge, and sooner or later he wouldn’t be able to maintain this straight-man attitude. He was too big of a Star Trek fan to let such an auspicious occasion pass without a bit of levity. They were right.

“Class of 2010, I would like to end this wonderful exercise with a quote from one of the great literary minds of our generation. “Mr. Scott, beam me UP!” Larry promptly took the mortar board off his head and flung it high into the air. The class exploded in a chorus of cheers.

Judith Anderson traveled a treacherous path through life. The actions of her ancestors were always tugging at her. The stories and books she read concerning her late great-grandfather disgusted her. How could a country as educated and sophisticated as Germany, allow these men of questionable motives to come in to power? Her great-grandfather Martin Bormann, Hitler’s personal secretary, was in the middle of the greatest travesty ever bestowed upon mankind.

Her parents told her, “It was their duty to warn and watch the world to make sure no more men like her great-grandfather and others like him, ever came to power again. The Third Reich destroyed Europe and killed over sixty million men, women and children. War did not discriminate against sex, race or religion. It killed all who stood in its way or were inadvertently placed in its cruel path.”

Judith realized the only way she would ever accomplish the family mission was to receive the best education available. She would spend all her idle hours poring over books and literature in the local public library and on the internet. Her time was limited, for she was an All-American softball player in high school. Her parents, Charlie and Rose, were excellent athletes in college. They were good enough to make the All-American teams in football and softball, but by their sophomore years in college at Harvard, they chose to concentrate on their studies. Sport was a good avenue to release pent-up energy, but would it honestly make the world a safer place? No, but knowledge would. Her parents both graduated at the top of the class, number one and two respectively, with degrees in Law. With these degrees, they would be able to help those who would be oppressed by representing them in the courtroom or by entering the distasteful arena of politics.

Judith followed in their footsteps until her senior year. The family took a trip to Florida for Spring Break to visit her mom’s parents in Gainesville. Going to Disney World didn’t interest her at all. It was fun and all, but it wasn’t teaching her anything. Her grandfather, Ralph Cahill, suggested that since she didn’t want to go to the beach or have fun like the other kids her own age, how about going to the drag races? Judith had watched some of the boys back home work on their cars and talk about their exploits of speed and torque. They always said racing was fun, but building the car was the test of knowledge. Any idiot could depress an accelerator. The challenge was building a machine designed to mix energy, torque and power to the wheels. That is what separated the men from the boys.

She accepted his offer and was never the same. The sound of purring engines, the smell of high-octane fuel, and the feel of raw power being transferred to asphalt or concrete hooked her. She convinced him to spend most of the day around the pits. Her analytical mind was jotting and noting every move the crew made. She admired how the Crew Chief barked out orders and joined in to assist with the monstrous machines. They worked like an orchestra in perfect rhythm. Every tool was properly laid out within easy reach. The men and one woman on the crew never stumbled. They worked at a feverishly frantic, yet balanced, pace. No one cussed (as some of her classmates would regale) or yelled at each other as they performed their tasks with perfect precision.

The Crew Chief for Jerry Smith’s car noticed how the girl of, say seventeen, was watching the activities with the eyes of a preying hawk. He approached her and invited her to help. Judith was in shock until she felt the strong hands of her grandfather pushing her under the yellow barrier rope. From that day forward, her thirst for driving and working on cars was set. She was hooked.

Upon returning to her grandparents’ home, she announced to her parents she was dropping out of softball and wanted to start racing cars. As her parents sat in a stunned silence, Ralph informed them that little Judith was an official honorary member of four-time champion Jerry Smith’s dragster team, “Revenge.”

Once back home, her dad bought an old Alpha Romeo, pledging, “He would help her if she maintained her grades. If the grades slid, so would the car, straight back to the junk pile where it was acquired.”

She worked like the devil on both. Her senior year she qualified for a few of the local races with limited success. What was it the boys said? “Understanding how to harness power was the real success.” She graduated with honors, not to mention a full ride to Stanford, yet it was the racing circuit she needed to master. When she wasn’t studying for school, she spent her free time reading and researching auto mechanics.

It wasn’t until she read Exhausts and Manifolds that all the pieces fell together. One could build an engine with all the horsepower known to man. It was the transfer of the waste gases and their ratio to dispensation that would turn her average car into the machine she envisioned. She learned the craft by failing and crashing more times than she could count, but as the summer came to a close and her honorary pit member, Jimmy Smith, could give her a helping hand, she won the last race of the season at Charlotte, North Carolina. Next stop—Stanford.

Abdul Farad was born into an honorable family of means. His father and mother served as Professor’s Emeritus at Delphi University. They embraced teaching as others embraced a remote or a six-pack. In 1995, they were invited to teach at SMU in University Park, Texas. They often wondered about the teaching techniques and the ways of American scholars. They exchanged many messages over the years inquiring on how the American system worked and the challenges they might face if ever chosen to teach in America. The messages they received were full of praise and guidance if the day should ever occur. And that day did arrive. The family of eight packed their belongings and jetted to the hot plains of Texas.

The surroundings of the university were immaculate. They loved being able to walk to class and enjoy the interaction with the students. The environment was much more conducive to teaching and raising a family versus the hustle and bustle of everyday life in Delphi. They were at home, as were their children.

The most prodigious of the children was Abdul. His mind was a thing of wonder. No matter what the topic, he conquered it with ease. At times, he would sit in on lectures his parents would recite. He loved showing up the so-called “undergraduates” with his grasp of economics and business. Many of the students came to despise him, and complained loudly to the department heads that the “boy” was a serious distraction to their studies. They and their parents weren’t paying $15,000 a semester to be upstaged by a child. In order to keep calm in the classrooms, Abdul was informed by his father he would no longer be allowed to attend lectures, thus leaving him free to explore his own devices, and vices, depending which one he chose.

Academically, he was brilliant; no subject could keep his attention. It didn’t matter what AP classes the high school offered; he would consume a semester’s worth of knowledge in a week. The principal at University High School begged the parents to withdraw him from the school and find an institution more suited to their child’s “special needs.” They would have none of it.

Instead, they hired a young man from the campus to tutor Abdul on the days he wasn’t required to attend classes (by request of the principal), and to be individually instructed in advanced courses of mathematics and chemistry. It was a good match. Abdul consumed the knowledge as fast as an SUV gulps down gasoline. The only problem, the tutor, Jason Dudley, was a notorious prankster. He was an ardent follower of the movie Animal House, and with Abdul’s willingness to learn all that was new and exciting, they banded together and pulled off as many pranks on students, staff and faculty as possible without being thrown into irons. Their escapades were all too well known, yet no evidence was ever identified at the scene of the crime implicating them. Even Mark Harmon or David Caruso would have a difficult time solving the crimes.

One prank of particular mention was when a guest speaker was invited to the social affair of the year for the literary students and faculty. Barbara Reagan was invited to host the gathering. Jason and Abdul volunteered to be ushers for the highly coveted event. When Barbara took the stage, each knew she had a habit of adjusting the podium’s microphone. She was a very tall woman, and Sony had not manufactured a suitable microphone for her stature. On cue, she lightly grabbed the flexible cable to move it up and forward. The movement triggered a motion detector which activated the small explosive pouch of blue, powdered ink at the base of the mike-head, saturating the poor woman’s face and pearly white dress. She looked like a Smurf! There were many suspicions, but unfortunately, those responsible with security were never able to identify or capture the culprits, even though everyone knew who was guilty.

When graduation day arrived, everyone, including his parents, were elated. Abdul graduated at the top of his class with a scholarship to Stanford. The relief that swelled across the campus was meritorious enough that the bright purple (another prank) bells of 1st Presbyterian rang all day announcing the accomplishments for the Class of 2010, and the departure of one Abdul Farad. Even his parents were allowed to pull the strings of the colorful bells. Would California be ready for such a brilliant student? At least University Park would receive a reprieve.

* * *

The four (realizing the journey was ending) sat around Judith's beat up coffee table four hours before the commencement ceremonies, feeling dejected. As agreed, none accepted any of the multiple job offers piling up on the floor. They weren᾿t quite ready to end the alliance they'd forged six years ago.

The lowest offer came from the Scripts Institute in San Diego for Abdul. Entry level position: Scientific Expedition Division cordially makes an offer of $100,000 for the first year, with ample raises available after an established work history is properly documented. Adjustments in pay would incrementally increase fifteen percent for the first three years of service. Abdul threw it on top of the offers Judith received—one from MIT as an associate professor in Advanced Applied Mathematics—starting pay, $125,000. The group joked amongst each other at the offers. Yes, all of their parents were as proud as peacocks, but is this what they toiled over for the last six years, to become stuck in research facilities, or worse, a classroom full of minds which wouldn’t be able to grasp the concepts they so desperately sought? No. There must be more. Larry turned on the TV and found one of his favorite movies, Rounders, starring Matt Damon. He loved the movie and the way Matt’s character took on the mob and attempted to save his childhood friend from an inglorious end. Muki joined him.

“Larry, have you ever watched the movie 21?” He didn’t stir or even acknowledge her presence. He was completely wrapped up in the scene where Damon acquired a seat with the local police force to try his luck. “Larry? Larry!”

“What? Can’t you see Damon is about to get the crap beat out of him? Don’t ever go to a gunfight with a deck of cards.” He laughed at his own joke.

“Larry,” cooed Muki, “I have a movie I think we should all watch.” Muki’s suggestion struck Abdul and Judith as odd. She never talked about any movies, old or current, so why would this one hold meaning for “little” Muki.

“What’s it about?” asked Judith.

“These four kids, with help from their math professor, go to Las Vegas and wind up beating the house until they were exposed by the security team. The movie never really says how much the group won, but it had to be in the hundreds of thousands before they were caught. It’s really kinda cool. I think we should go to Vegas and try our luck just once. What do we have to lose?” The others answered her with blank stares.

“Come on, guys. We spent the last six years of our lives immersed in books. How many football games and school activities did we pass on to keep our grades up? I, for one, am ready to have some fun. I’m not ready to go to work for IBM or Google. I want to live a little, and I also suggest, based on the money we win, to take a summer trip across the States. It’s time we put the books down and enjoy the fruits of our labors.” The idea was more than tempting. Judith was the first to chip in.

“I’m in. It would be good to get some fresh, clean air back in the lungs and explore the world beyond academia. I’m all for it. I believe if we agree to this venture, we leave all electronic devices behind us. We can each take a cell phone only for calls. No FB, no games, no shit; only the wind and air flying through our hair under a clear blue sky.”

Abdul pondered the idea for a moment and realized he would be going where ‘no man had gone before’; well at least he hadn’t ventured or traveled far. “Aye, Captain, (in his best James Doohan impersonation). I’ll make sure the crystals are properly charged, and the transporter is in excellent operating condition.”

“Will you please shut up,” barked Judith. “One more reference to that retarded series and I’ll show you warp drive right through the door.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Judith rolled her eyes and threw an empty can of Pringles at the Scotty wannabe.

Muki excused herself from the room and returned a few minutes later. “Guys, I think we really need to watch this movie. Larry, can I please put this in the blue-ray so we can all watch?”

The scene Larry was transfixed on was Damon and his buddy getting the crap beat out of them for cheating the cops. “Stupid boys,” quipped Larry.

“Larry? Larry!”

“Huh? What is it, Muki?”

“Can I put his movie in? I think you’ll like it.”

“Yeah, go ahead. I know this much, if I ever gamble, I’m taking a gun to a gun fight.”

The others looked questioningly at Larry with his last comment. Abdul couldn’t pass on the opportunity.

“My dear Larry, I think you should rethink that process, for I fear you would forget to load the weapon of choice. And once you realize the error of your ways, I shall not be the one to clean your drawers. BEAM ME UP SCOTTY!”

Larry glared at Abdul as he rose from the worn leather couch heading to the kitchen for another Red Coke. “Mr. Scott, one more remark like that, and I’ll see to it the transporter scatters your atoms across the universe.” He winked as he passed by Abdul.

“Aye, Captain. That would cause me much discomfort, for I fear—”

“Enough, you morons. Shut the fuck up or I’ll splatter both of your warped minds into the closest wall,” yelled Judith.

Muki laughed at both the boys’ remarks and the tongue-lashing Judith was bestowing upon them.

For the next hour and a half, the four were glued to the twenty-inch forty-two inch flat screen. They listened, learned and watched as they attempted to understand the intricacies of playing Twenty-One. Before the credits even started, all four proclaimed, “Let’s do it!”