Greg was a particular favorite, but there had been others.
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160
Red White and Black and Blue
by Richard Stevenson
Chapter Eighteen
"Who were the other college students Assemblyman Louderbush took an interest in?" I asked Ying. "Maybe some of them knew Greg and would like to participate in organizing the Stiver family's memorial scholarship?"
"I'm sure the assemblyman's office could give you a list.
Why not just wait until Monday?"
"The family is interested in young conservatives who actually knew Greg. They'll be looking for donations, of course, but from people of your generation it's predominantly testimonials they're gathering. And doing it through you and others like you gives it all the personal touch the family yearns for."
Ying nodded and seemed to swallow this hooey. He was a slender Chinese-American youth of thirty or so with close-cropped hair and a single silver earring. Not your average Federalist Society Scalia-phile. Ying was just back from the gym when I met him in a coffee shop on Lark Street, so his tank top gave me a partial view of the fiery-tongued dragon tattoo that looped over a satiny beige shoulder and onto his right pectoral. He spoke with no discernible accent, and I wasn't surprised by his distinct enunciation. I caught myself watching his mouth opening and closing. Might I catch a glimpse of it?
He said, "I don't know that Greg had much contact with the other students the assemblyman mentored. They lived out in his district for the most part. In any case, Greg's 161
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situation was different. The assemblyman assisted Greg with his master's thesis, as I recall. That's what he told me after Greg died, and Mr. Louderbush asked me and another staffer to get hold of the SUNY report on the suicide. The assemblyman wanted to make sure the investigation was thorough and that the death was actually a suicide and not some sort of absurd accident the university was covering up."
"What did you find out?"
"That it was in fact a suicide. There was a note that the police found, and they notified the university."
"How well did you know Greg? His death must have come as a terrible shock. Or did it?"
"I liked him, but I didn't know him terribly well. He came into the office once for a tour, and I saw him occasionally at SUNY Federalist Society get-togethers. Have you talked to his rugby buddies? I don't know who they were, but I'm sure they'd be interested in the memorial."
"No, I haven't talked to them. I'd love to locate some of them."
"Ask the assemblyman. It's one of the interests he and Greg shared. It's a rough sport, too messy for a gym addict like me. But I know Mr. Louderbush played sometimes. Even at his age. He'd come into the office with scrapes and bruises.
But he always said he found it invigorating."
"I know all about that."
"You play, too? Is that what happened to your ear?"
"Yep."
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"Softball is rough enough for me. I grew up in Taipei and played Little League. My family moved to the US when I was twelve. Rugby was a bit exotic for me and my brothers."
"What's your favorite sport now?"
He laughed. "I'm tempted to say muff-diving, but I guess that's not what you were thinking about when you asked the question."
"Ha ha."
"Anyway, are you Timothy Callahan's friend? Why is a raving progressive like Timothy interested in a memorial for someone like Greg Stiver? Or is he a friend of the Stiver family? Or are you?"
"I am. Greg's sister, Jennifer, asked me to help out. This all goes beyond politics."
"Oh sure. It's one of the reasons I love this country. You can hold the most passionate ideological beliefs and still be friends with the opposition. It's one of the ways I disagree with the Tea Party types. They make it all too vehement and too personal. On the Supreme Court, Justice Scalia and Justice Ginsberg tear each other to pieces on the bench, and yet off the bench they're the best of friends. Take you and Timothy. You can disagree with Assemblyman Louderbush's positions, and yet you still respect him enough to want to memorialize an unfortunate young man who meant so much to him and to the conservative youth movement in Albany.
What you're doing just serves to reaffirm my faith in my adopted country."
"Great."
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"So are you supporting Shy McCloskey for governor? I gather you are."
"Timmy works for Myron Lipschutz. So, sure."
"It's not Shy's year. Four years ago maybe. But Kenyon Louderbush's time has come. He'll be a great governor. At a minimum, he'll keep New York State from turning into a basket case like California. Overspending, fiscal paralysis, government by the special interests—that's all over."
"You think Louderbush can really beat Merle Ostwind? New York has never elected anybody as far right as your former boss. Anyway, you don't go for the Tea Partiers' extreme partisanship. And yet they're Louderbush's main supporters."
"The assemblyman won't be dictated to by anybody. He's his own man. He's going to do what's right. He's not interested in Obama-hating and all that craziness—birthers and deathers and that crap. He simply wants to support and enable the capitalists that built this magnificent country and to let them work their magic the way they once did."
"Like in 1890? Before child-labor laws and food safety and minimum wage and any clean air or water laws at all?"
He smiled. "I'd go back even further than that. 1870?"
"Why stop there? Why not 1840 or 1850, when the US was a virtual paradise?"
"Except for slavery and the cultural genocide of the Native Americans, sure, why not? Hey, you know what? I thought of somebody you should talk to about the scholarship fund.
Randy Spong was a SUNY student who did his master's thesis on the Missouri Compromise and other ways the South fought politically to retain slavery. I remember him because he was 164
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in the Federalist Society for a while, and he came into the office once with the assemblyman. Randy was a year or so ahead of Greg, but I'm guessing they knew each other. As I recall, Randy was a rugby player, too."
"Any idea where Randy is now?"
"I think he's teaching at UVM. He was a couple of years ago, I know."
"The University of Vermont?"
"In Burlington."
"I'll try to track him down."
"I'm sure he'd like to help remember Greg."
"I'll be sure to get in touch."
Ying checked his watch. "I have to get going. I have a date—actually two dates." He grinned. "One at two and another one tonight. I promised my parents I'd be married by the time I was thirty. I'm twenty-eight, so I'm sowing my wild oats while I still can. They have a nice Chinese girl they want me to meet, and that'll be fine when it happens. But meanwhile it's gather ye rosebuds while ye may, if you know what I mean."
I said I thought I did.
* * * *
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