Second Adolescence - 3. Chapter 3: Warm Up

Pettit crossed the campus in search of Kayson Hall. He was supposed to meet with the ‘Director of Buildings and Grounds’ to review the offered dormitory. Next on his list was to go to the ‘Athletic Center’ to meet with the ‘Head of Athletics and Fitness’ and tour the facilities. A passing student directed toward the far end of campus where he came upon what was once an imposing building, now showing many signs of disrepair: a sagging roof, unpainted trim work and air of general decrepitude. As he approached, the front door was opened by a similarly decrepit man.

“Excuse me, I’m to the meet the Director of Buildings and Grounds,” Pettit offered.

The man burst into laughter which quickly dissolved into the choking and gasping of a life-time smoker. He struggled to capture his breath. “Director of Buildings and Grounds? I suppose that’s me. They used to call me the custodian or janitor. I hope a big raise comes with the title.” He gasped another round of rheumy laughter. “’round here it’s me and Young Larry who do all the maintenance work, but he’s out with lumbago. Folks usually call me Angus.” He extended his hand in greeting.

“Dr. Pettit,” he responded, indicating himself. “Mr. Smithson has no doubt told you that I am taking over this dormitory for a special program.”

“Yup, he gave me a holler. Said you was to have the building and welcome to it. All and all, it’s a sturdy place, though could use a lick of paint. With student enrollment dropping, we just mothballed it. I’m glad it’ll get a new life.” Angus led Pettit into the building. “Nice lounge area to the right, kind of a library beyond that. Dining room and kitchen to the left. Small apartment for the house fellow out back. A ton of furniture, mostly in good shape scattered about. Watch out for the mattresses, squirrels, don’t you know. Bathrooms were redone not too long back, probably the best condition on campus. Here’s the keys. If you need anything, just fill out a requisition. We’ll add it to the list.”

Pettit was discouraged by dismal state of the dormitory. Still, it was available to him for his program and after the preceding night crammed into the tiny rental car, it did have a certain welcoming quality. Pettit unloaded his possessions, mostly file boxes and a few secured metal trunks, placing them in the house fellow apartment.

He followed the overgrown path pointed out by Angus as the way to the “Athletic Center.” Angus had managed to point the way in the midst of yet another burst of laugh-coughing. The gleaming metal and glass image of Pettit’s mind was soon over-laid with the reality of several small former industrial buildings clustered at the path’s end. In the center of a weedy courtyard in their midst stood a small, compact man, easily identified as a coach by the whistle hanging from a chain around his neck.

“Dr. Pettit? I’m Coach Brill. Let me show you around.” Brill hustled Pettit into the nearest of the buildings. “Don’t get as much use as they used to. Hard to field a team in any sport. Damn kids exist for booze, drugs and sex. Whatever happened to team sports? Over here is the basketball court, next building down is where the pool used to be. And over there,” he indicated the smallest of the buildings, “is a pretty fair weight room. I use it myself, so it’s in pretty good shape. Smithson said you’d actually be making your guys use it. Good on you. Good for them, too. Let me know any way I can help out. Glad to see these facilities, such as they are, put to use.”

Pettit thanked Brill for the tour and turned back toward the dorm. Sitting on the step, apparently waiting for him was a student. On getting nearer Pettit observed that he looked a typical student, though older than most. The student rose, looking at Pettit anxiously.

“Doctor Pettit?”

Pettit nodded in acknowledgement.

“I’m Phil Phillipse, Mr. Smithson sent me over. Everybody calls me Phil.”

“In what capacity? I was clear that candidates for this program should be underclassmen.”

“Oh, I’m here to help you with the program. I only need a few more credits to graduate but it has taken me a few extra years complete the requirements.” Phil stared at his feet in embarrassment. “I think Smithson wouldn’t be sorry to see me go.”

“How long have you been matriculating?”

“Going to McDowell, you mean? Six, maybe seven years. Still better than looking for a job.” Phil ventured a sheepish smile.

“Your help will be appreciated, Phil. I’m expecting students to start arriving any time. I need to perform an initial physical and interview. You can help capture the statistics. The program depends upon accurate records to be kept throughout.”

Phil shrugged acceptance and followed Pettit into Kayson Hall.

On entering the dorm, Pettit joined Phil in doing what tidying could be done quickly. Pettit set aside a room at the back, calling it ‘the examining room’. He placed a table in the center, arranging a desk to one side, all furniture. The plan long only in his mind’s eye began to take form. He marked height lines on one wall and sent Phil to purloin a scale he had seen in the so-called athletic center. Basic, but sufficient. He brought out the a digital camera, box of manuals, journals and notes he had lugged from place to place since his hunt for a sponsor began. From these he prepared files for each candidate. These files would capture the data proving his idea. Here was his Nobel Prize in its infancy.

Pettit directed Phil to sit at the desk, ready to take down notes at his direction. Now it was only to wait for their arrival. The front door could be heard creaking open.

“Anybody home?” called a voice.

Pettit escorted the student into the ‘examining room.’

“Name?”

“Tom Jorgenson.”

“Major?”

“Uh, undeclared.”

“Height. Five foot, eight inches. Are you taking this down, Phil? Good.”

“Strip.”

“All the way? Tom asked shyly.”

“By the end of this program, this will all be routine,” assured Pettit.

“Okay,” replied Tom with some embarrassment as he complied.

“On the scale, please. One hundred and fifty-two pounds. Look front.” The camera clicked. “Look toward the window.” The camera clicked again.

“General condition, under developed chest, thin arms, little body hair, poor posture, in need of a shave and general hygiene. We’ll take exact measurements later on. Oh, the penis, how long when fully erect?”

“I don’t know,” Tom lied.

Pettit rolled his eyes. “If you like, I’ll measure it.”

“Um, no, that’s okay. It’s like five and half. What do you need to know that for?”

“Our program will investigate every aspect of your body, mind and social interaction. In short, all of you. I’ll try to make things as unobtrusive as possible, but we must collect the data. Now part of that data collection will depend on you sharing any concerns, every ache or pain, anything you observe about yourself. Everything will be held in strictest confidence. Remember, every participant will be receiving exactly this same treatment. Again, I assure, you, you will be very happy you’ve been selected for this program.”

“Not so much selected as drafted,” a skeptical Tom replied.

“Since you’re the first, you may select the dorm room of your choosing. Of course, you will want to make it as presentable as possible. I see us as a community, helping each other, sharing responsibilities, taking pride in the achievements of each…”

Tom’s attention had long left the room, his body soon followed. He ascended the creaking stairs, choosing a room at a corner. He dragged furniture from a general heap near the stairs, appointing his selected room with some level of comfort. The condition of the best mattress caused him to consider sleeping on the floor. He flopped on it, nonetheless to catch a nap.

***

Through the course of the afternoon, the remaining eleven candidates arrived. Phil’s fairly competent scrawl captured their details:

Alex Lassiter, Biology, 5’ 9”, 170 lbs, general condition: same, 5 inches

Bill Jenkins, Comparative Religions, 5’11, 130 lbs, general condition, same, 6 inches

Carl Wilson, Undeclared, 5’5, 110 lbs, general condition, somewhat better, 3.5 inches

Denis Fellows, Mathematics, 5’ 9”, 198 lbs, general condition, obese, 3 inches (at least visible)

Edward Lee, Undeclared, 5’ 7”, 125 lbs, general condition, good, 4 inches, observably small testicles

Francis (Frank) O’Tool, Biology, 6’, 145 lbs, general condition, same, 4.5 inches

Gerald Shanks, Psychology, 5’ 9”, 155 lbs, general condition, somewhat better, 6 inches

Harry Winthrop, Philosophy, 5’ 10”, 165 lbs, general condition, same, 5.5 inches

Jack Thames, Education, 5’ 6”, 160 lbs, general condition, somewhat better, 4 inches, larger testicles

Kevin Roose, Poetry and Literature, 5’ 10”, 135 lbs, general condition, poor, 5 inches, investigate health issues

Lars Felderson, Art History, 5’ 8”, 140 lbs, general condition, same, 5.5 inches

Each of the candidates was sent to set up his room as best he could, none were particularly satisfied, but complaints were not likely to yield results.

Pettit drew a chair next to Phil. “Not a very good starting point, I must say.”

“Well, Doc, isn’t that what your program is supposed to fix?” came Phil’s reply.

“I suppose so. My past projects started with leading athletes. I am concerned for the results.”

“So what happened on these other projects?”

“Initial results were promising, but others intervened with disastrous results. I won’t let that happen here. Please ask the candidates, I mean participants to assemble in the lounge. I want to address them about the program and what I expect of them.”

***

Pettit waited impatiently in the examining room while the participants gathered. He pretended to consider each file, matching the photographs with names. Phil knocked on the door to let him know everyone was in place.

“Thank you for coming, gentlemen. I imagine you’re wondering what you have signed up for.”

Various nods and sounds of agreement were made in response.

“This program is designed to enable each of you to achieve your maximum potential. Each of you have no doubt been limited by circumstances in your life. Close adherence to the practices and principles of the program will allow you to overcome those limitations, whether they be academic, physical or emotional. Accordingly, the success of each one of you is dependent upon the entire group. To be your best, you must help every other of you towards their best.”

Bored looks were returned. Pettit was afraid his speech was yet another incoming student booster speech.

“Get on with it, Doc,” one student, Bill Jenkins, interrupted. “Ol’ Smithson made it clear that we either cooperated with you or headed out.”

“Stuff it, Jenkins,” another retorted. “Anything’s got to be better than looking for a job.” Phil guffawed at the similar sentiment to his own.

“Hey, did I hear food was included?”

“Yes, indeed all meals will be provided,” Pettit answered. “Your diet, as well as your time out side of class will be closely monitored. Each of these elements are considered in the program. You will have a daily requirement of exercise. Further, you are asked to be in or near Kayson Hall when not in class. It is important to the purity of the study to limit interaction with other students as much as possible.”

A general groan rose in response.

Pettit spoke over the unrest. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, if you work with me, stay focused on the program, I am confident that you will be more than pleased with the results.”

Skeptical glares were returned.

“Oh, another thing, beyond the prescribed diet and exercise, there will be daily vitamins and occasional injections.”

“What?” came the disbelieving response from all.

“There is no risk, whatsoever. I am an MD as well as PhD and fully qualified to administer medications. These medications are a crucial part, while not the only part, of the program. I’m afraid there can be no exceptions. If you cannot abide by the program as I have laid it out, you will have to discuss this with President Smithson.” On this disagreeable note, Pettit turned and left the room.

He had barely cleared the doorway when the room burst into angry protests. Pettit lingered around the corner waiting out of sight. Slowly, a grim resignation replaced the anger. The students filed past to the stairway and their rooms. Phil was last.

“Not too bad, Doc. Nobody left,” Phil offered hopefully.

“I had hoped for some enthusiasm,” Pettit lamented. “I suppose we’d better do some shopping. Even the disgruntled get hungry.”

Pettit prepared a list of supplies, such as his remaining cash allowed, turning the list and the keys of his rental car over to Phil to do the shopping. During Phil’s absence, Pettit prepared the kitchen for cooking and set up the dining room. On Phil’s return with supplies, Pettit filled a large pot with ingredients, adding from phials he had taken from one of the metal trunks. Slowly, a not-unpleasant aroma began to circulate around the dorm, luring the students into the dining room. Pettit was pleased at even this small positive sign.

Conversation was muted, generally limited to favorable remarks about the stew Pettit had prepared, particularly when compared to the college cafeteria meals. At the end of the meal, several of the students voluntarily helped clear the table and wash up. Pettit’s spirits were further buoyed.

“Guys,” Pettit said with relative comraderie, “I need you each to check with me before your first class tomorrow. Time for that first injection, I’m afraid.”

Resigned grunts were returned.

***

“All right, Phil, line them up. It’s one in each cheek. Drop your drawers, gentlemen.”

The complaints far exceeded the nominal prick as Pettit competently injected each student in turn. Pettit retired to his apartment to complete journals on the day’s activities. Coach Brill stopped by to coordinate a workout schedule for each man.

It has really started, Pettit mused. He had much to do in the meantime, but the results he had long envisioned might actually be realized. He saw himself standing before the august body in Oslo, “Gentlemen, I humbly accept this greatest of honors…”