Numbers

The new school year is looming in the not so distant future, in fact it may have already raged into existence in some districts . My job is to read the writings of teenagers. Each quarter in school, they are to turn in two complete essays; each a different assignment, each developed to teach them technical and creative skills. This past year, my seniors' papers seemed lackluster and drab, but technically correct. When I went to school to meet them, expecting a bunch of dullards, I was pleasantly surprised to find a group of friendly, likeable, and intelligent kids. They laughed at my lame jokes; they responded to my questions quickly, politely, and accurately. They questioned me with a keen understanding of what they had learned through the assignments and school in general. They were tired of high school and anxious and ready for the challenge and parties of college. I was perplexed as to why their papers seemed less than eloquent, it went beyond the realms of 'senioritis'. I asked them what they were going to pursue in college. Most claimed that they would study accounting with a smattering of medicine, science, and engineering; none mentioned the finer arts of English, history, or culture.

A good two thirds of the students were going to have a career as CPAs. It would seem that I am opining that accountants are dull people; quite the contrary. They just see creativity in numbers rather than words. I had two uncles who were accountants; neither ever put pen to paper and created a poem or a flowing piece of prose resplendent with imagery or metaphors. It was in their everyday lives that they were creative and eccentric to say the least. One found his creativity in bending numbers to suit his will, amassing a fortune using the stock market as a playground. The other was literal to a fault and straight and narrow with an insane twist to his thoughts, and he amassed a fortune in real estate. They were both fascinating and complex men. These two worked together in a small office in the Fairmount section of Philadelphia, on the same street where they were born and raised. Their features were similar, with a beautiful full mane of white hair and fine, sculptured good looks. That is where the similarity ended, other than the eccentricity that ran through my father's entire family, each with a nuance as creative and different as Michelangelo and Picasso.

The elder brother, Edward, was a family man to six children. The younger, Stanley, married late and never had children. Edward, being older and educated earlier, was the leader. Stanley had joined the Navy during the war as a young man and then to college after his enlistment. They both went to Villanova on Philadelphia's Main Line and Edward not only taught there, but wrote a textbook as well. During the time that Edward was writing and teaching, Stanley had many adventures in the Navy, some more precarious than others, but unique just the same. His storytelling of his time in the Navy was animated and rife with facial expressions reserved for only the best of comedians. On one such occasion, he related, he was the signal man for his ship, a merchant escort. As his ship pulled into New York harbor one solid battleship guarding the shore enquired as per regulations, "What is your name?" My Uncle Stanley, always the literal thinker, replied in code, S T A N L E Y. As he told the story, his arms flailed about in pantomime of the signal man of bygone days. Then he began finishing with his last name, and before the second letter was given, the battleship aimed their massive and many guns at the merchant escort, knowing that there was no Allied ship under that moniker. Then my uncle got it, they meant the ship's name, not his, personally. He was quick and sharp as any future CPA might be and remedied the tense situation without delay. While his literalness was the target of many enjoyable stories, as well as guns it would seem, it was Edward's firm and steady hand that brought in the work.

Edward was a quiet man, tall, handsome and intriguing. He would give the shirt off his back for his family but his demeanor was distant and seemed cold. He was of the type to keep everything bundled inside. He allowed his mother, of whom he was the favorite of her six children, to cut his hair, even as an adult. This gave her a sense of need and worth, and my uncle likely recognized this as he could well afford a professional haircut. He guided Stanley in his career and offered his expertise to all family members who asked. He never charged for his help in tax preparation or other financial information. When I was a teenager, I was eager to find my calling, I did this by accepting, and keeping for a week or two, a myriad of different jobs. At tax time, my Uncle Edward jokingly said that while I earned the least of the family, my tax return was the most difficult and he billed me. I retorted to his fictional bill that it was "better to owe it to him than cheat him out of it." This stern, unbending man hardily laughed at my belligerence and continued to work on my taxes without blinking an eye.

There was something in Edward that was hard to understand. He had bright, clear, cool blue eyes that held a deepness akin to the farthest galaxy. He was quirky in his own right, yet a clear thinker and progenitor to artists, craftsmen, scientists, teachers and athletes. As a young man, he was a champion rower, a teacher, and a textbook writer; he was a man for all seasons. Stanley was certainly quirky as well. He enjoyed a good cocktail with his delightful wife, even to the tune of climbing the masts of a docked ship in the middle of the night; a revel of the spirits. His politics seemed to stray to the far right, but his kindness strayed to the definite left. He could no more evict a person or family for lack of rent payment than he could play Spanish guitar, and he was no musician. He seemed stern in mirror image of his partner and brother, but he cared for his ailing wife with firm gentleness and mourned her passing for twenty-two, long years.

Edward and Stanley made their living through numbers, they were well off financially, and though each had a markedly different disposition, they fit together like Chang and Eng. They had different lifestyles, and different loves but their joy in their work showed in numerous and creative ways. They found expensive, hidden mistakes in their clients' papers and corrected them with diligence and expertise. They helped the down trodden by giving them a place to live and encouraging them to ownership of property by teaching and showing them the way to self reliance. They worked in sync and always gave assistance to family and friends. Each fostered a creativity, not in fancy words, but in their own individual, eccentric everyday lives and... numbers. Edward died many years ago of a burst ulcer. Stanley died last year of self neglect and other issues. I miss them both.

As I think about the graduated class of hopeful CPAs, I realize that their papers were not unenlightened, not dull or drab. They were just the beginnings of people who will find their way in the world much like my uncles did; through their own paths, their own brand of creativity and brilliance. While there are few people who are as eccentric or odd as those in my family, each person has their own brand of uniqueness and these new college freshmen are no exception. It is with this type of class that I wish I were a math teacher.