I love you. Always will.
Your lovecock, forever
Stephanie Smith jumped right out of her disco boots and dressed like an aggrieved wife and ran to a divorce lawyer. She was really steamed because “lovewoman” was the wife of a college professor and had always been described by Jay as a perfect lady.
Stephanie wasn’t the only storm on Jay Smith’s horizon. It seemed that he had a few compulsive habits. The local township police had been called on more than one occasion when a merchant spotted Dr. Jay shoplifting merchandise. Because he was a prominent educator, the shopkeepers on each occasion had decided not to prosecute, and the police had kept it quiet.
There’s some evidence that the U.S. Army Reserve Command got the reports because Colonel Jay Smith took an early retirement before he could fulfill his life’s ambition of becoming a general.
When Stephanie Smith started making those visits to the divorce lawyer, she had lots to say about her husband, and she didn’t restrict her tales to her attorney. She told her friend down at the dry cleaner’s that Jay Smith owned a devil costume and some weird dildos.
When that information became public, Jay Smith claimed the costume was a Chinese waiter’s getup, but Stephanie knew they don’t wear horns and a tail when they stir-fry your wontons.
So pretty soon, a lot of folks were hearing rumors that the old prince of darkness must be some special kind of party animal! As it turns out, they didn’t know the half of it.
4
The Sears, Roebuck store in St. Davids is situated in a nice part of The Main Line. St. Davids’ residents have a train station and live close to good schools. It’s not far from the village shopping of Wayne, and Wayne looks like an American town from the Frank Capra movies of the 1940s.
Villanova University is close by St. Davids and a Villanova sophomore happened to be working as a part-time cashier in the Sears store on Saturday, August 27, 1977. She was at the Ticketron counter, selling tickets and money orders. When she returned from lunch at 1:50 P.M. she found a line of waiting customers, as well as a tall middle-aged armed courier who was standing one counter down. He wore what looked to her like the uniform of the Brink’s security company.
“Just a minute,” the student-clerk said to the courier, and hurried to the back to fetch the day’s receipts.
There was a deposit slip for a large amount in checks and there was another for $34,073 in cash. The young woman brought the bags as well as the Brinks logbook for the courier to sign. The courier signed the name “Carl S. Williams” and received the bag of checks and money.
Five minutes later, the young woman was interrupted by yet another Brinks courier who insisted that he had come for the day’s deposits.
“But you were already here,” the confused cashier informed him.
It was Vincent Valaitis who had hung the prince-of-darkness jacket on Dr. Jay. Vince believed in The Demon in a very real, Roman Catholic sense. And though he didn’t truly think that Jay Smith was of The Legion, he realized that none of the teachers in the Catholic schools he’d attended all his life had prepared him for a principal like this one.
Vince was a tall lad with a firm jaw and wide shoulders. He looked like an athlete without being one. He wore eyeglasses and was called “Clark Kent” by the Upper Merion students because he bore a resemblance to the television superhero.
At twenty-four Vince Valaitis looked seventeen, and most of the teachers thought he was a new student. He was an avid trekkie, and besides Star Trek, he adored any TV show, film or book about fantasy, horror or science fiction. When he attained enough seniority he hoped to teach a course in film literature. Vince had a collection of old movies and encouraged the students to read Tolkien. He was crazy about Gothic movies like the silent classic Nosferatu.
Bill Bradfield was charmed by Vince Valaitis. He said that Vince reminded him of himself at that age, so enthusiastic and bubbling with ideas and energy. Bill Bradfield did not add “naïveté,” because it is doubtful that even as a child Bill Bradfield was ever as naïve as Vince Valaitis.
For Vince, it was a great honor to be admitted into Bill Bradfield’s inner circle so readily, and to become a friend of the unquestioned leader of the English department.
“I learned right away to give him latitude,” Vince Valaitis said. “I didn’t press him with questions. He was incredibly fascinating and different. There were so many secrets about him. Like where he lived. A simple enough question for anyone else.”
One day at school, Bill Bradfield placed his hand on Vince’s shoulder and in his own conspiratorial style said, “Vince, there are certain things about me that I don’t reveal, but though we’ve only known each other a short time, I count you as one of my true friends.”
And so one afternoon over lunch Bill Bradfield revealed an episode in his past. It seemed that during the revolution he’d gone to Cuba on a mission for the government. He met some Castro guerrillas who took him to the harbor in Havana to show him yanqui ships loaded with munitions. All at once somebody started shooting at suspected saboteurs. Everyone dashed for cover.
“I’ll never forget the moment because I was wearing expensive alligator shoes.” Bill Bradfield chuckled, while the astonished Vince Valaitis tried to keep his chin off his plate.
“There were always those touches,” Vince said later. “You could never doubt any part of his stories because of the little touches that were so convincing, like the alligator shoes.”
Bill Bradfield came up choking on seawater, he said, and found that he was inside a military compound. He had to get away pronto, and though he had never committed an act of violence in his life, he had no choice but to garrote a Cuban guard and make his escape. Before returning to America he helped the Castroites blow up that ship in the harbor. But that was another story to be told later.
Vince was asked not to talk freely about this part of Bill Bradfield’s past because there were still dangerous people who might resent his having been a young revolutionary. And while Vince was crossing his heart and hoping to die or something, Bill Bradfield revealed yet another secret that would require even more discretion. He cautioned that it should never be revealed to a living soul, particularly not another soul at Upper Merion.
Bill Bradfield said, “I want you to come to our place for dinner tonight. Mine and Sues. I live with Sue Myers, and no one can know. We’d be fired if the district found out.”
Vince had only a few seconds to chew on that one when Bill Bradfield said, “I want to assure you that my relationship with Sue is not and never has been sexual. By the way, how do you feel about chastity?”
And Vince, who’d had about as much sexual experience as his Star Trek hero, Dr. Spock, started wondering where this conversation was going.
Bill Bradfield said, “I respect so much about you. Your mind is incredibly receptive, and I admire that you’re a devout Catholic. I’ve spent a great many years in contemplation of the teachings of Thomas Aquinas. I respect chastity most of all. I think the Church is correct in urging young men to remain absolutely chaste until marriage. I hope you agree.”
“Of course,” Vince reassured him. “Of course I do. In fact, I almost entered the seminary. I thought very seriously about becoming a priest.”