As it turned out, Celia's meeting with Sam Hawthorne was delayed by a day because of Sam's own heavy schedule of appointments. By then, her conclusion about Harlow was strong and unequivocal. "Well," Sam said, wasting no time with preliminaries after she was seated facing him in the presidential office suite, "do you have a recommendation for me?" The direct question, and Celia's own instincts, made it clear that Sam was in no mood for details or a background briefing. "Yes," she said crisply.”Weighing everything, I believe it would be a shortsighted, serious mistake to close the Harlow institute. Also, we should carry on with Martin's mental aging research, certainly for another year, and possibly for longer.”
Sam nodded and said matter-of-factly, "All right.”
The lack of any strong reaction, and an absence of questions, made it clear that Celia's recommendation was accepted in toto. She also had a feeling that Sam was relieved, as if the answer she had given was what he had hoped for. "I've written a report.”
She put a four-page memo on his desk. Sam tossed it in a tray.”I'll read it sometime. If only to help me handle questions from the board.”
"Will the board give you a hard time?" "Probably.”
Sam gave a tired half smile and Celia sensed his current strain from pressures he was working under. He added, "Don't worry, though; I'll make it stick. Did you inform Martin we'll be carrying on?" She shook her head.”He thinks we're going to close.” "In that case," Sam said, "one of the pleasant things I shall do today is write to tell him otherwise. Thanks, Celia.”
His curt nod made it clear the interview was ended.
One week later a large bouquet of roses appeared in Celia's office. When she inquired about them, her secretary said, "There was no card, Mrs. Jordan, and when I asked the florists, they said all they had were telegraphed instructions to deliver the roses to you. Would you like me to try again to find out who sent them?" "Don't bother," Celia said.”I think I know.”
To Celia's relief, her travels diminished during the remainder of 1975. While she worked hard, it was mostly at Morristown, which meant that she could spend more time with Andrew, and also visit Lisa and Bruce at their schools. Lisa, in her final year at Emma Willard, had been elected senior class president and as well as maintaining a high grade average was involved in a wide range of school activities. One, of her own devising, was an intern program under which senior class members worked a half day each week in offices of the state government at Albany. The program got started after Lisa, demonstrating a belief that if you wanted something you went to the top to ask, wrote a letter to the governor of New York. An aide showed it to the governor, who was amused and-to the surprise of everyone at the school except Lisa-answered personally and positively. When word filtered back to Andrew, he observed to Celia, "No doubt about it; that girl is your daughter.”
Organization, it seemed, came to Lisa as naturally as breathing. Recently she had applied for admission to several universities, though her ambitions centered on Stanford. Bruce, now in his sophomore year at the Hill, had become more than ever a history buff, an interest which occupied him so exclusively that sometimes he barely managed a passing grade in other subjects. As Bruce's house master explained to Celia and Andrew during one of their visits to the school, "It isn't that Bruce is a poor scholar; he could be an excellent all-around one. It's simply that sometimes we have to pry him loose from the history books and insist that he study other things. What I think you have on your hands, Dr. and Mrs. Jordan, is a future historian. I expect to see your son's name on published works before many years have passed.”
While cautioning herself not to become smug, Celia reflected with relief that it was possible to be a working mother and still have successful, well-balanced children. An important part of it, of course, was that Winnie and Hank March had run the family house, as they continued to do, with cheerful efficiency. During a celebration of Winnie's fifteenth year of employment, which coincided with her thirty-fourth birthday, it was Andrew who remembered Winnie's long-abandoned plan to move on to Australia. He remarked, "What the Aussies lost, the Jordans gained.”
Only one adverse note obtruded on Winnie's sunny nature: her failure to have a child, which she dearly wanted. She confided to Celia, "Me an' 'Ank keep tryin'. Lordy, how we tryl-some days I'm fair wrung out. But it don't ever click.”
At Celia's urging, Andrew arranged fertility tests for Winme and her husband. The tests proved positive in each case.”Both you and Hank are capable of having children," Andrew explained one evening while he, Winnie and Celia were together in the kitchen.”It's simply a matter of timing, in which your gynecologist will help, and also luck. You'll have to go on trying.”
"We will," Winnie said, then sighed.”But I won't tell 'Ank till termorrer. I need one good night's sleep.”
Celia did make a brief trip for the company to California in September and she was in Sacramento, by chance standing not far from President Ford, when an attempt was made on the President's life. Only the ineptitude of the woman would-be assassin, who did not understand the firearm she was using, prevented another historic tragedy. Celia was shattered by the experience, and equally horrified to learn of a second assassination attempt, in San Francisco, less than three weeks later. Talking about it at home, with the family gathered for Thanksgiving, she declared, "Some days I think we've become a more violent people, not less.”
Then rhetorically: "Where do ideas about assassinations start?" She had not expected an answer, but Bruce supplied one. "Considering the business you're in, Mom, I'm surprised you don't know that historically they started with drugs, which is what the word 'assassin' means. It's from the Arabic hashish, or 'hashish-eater,' and in the eleventh to thirteenth centuries an Islamic sect, the Nizari Ismd'fifts, took hashish when committing acts of religious terrorism.”
Celia said irritably, "If I don't know, it's because hashish isn't a drug that's used pharmaceutically.”