Chapter 13
Monday morning broke over the Sandias promising a disturbing day for those who put credence in the nautical adage, ‘red sky at morning, sailors take warning’. The two brothers were infidels on this score and both believed that life was what you made of it. As they came down for breakfast, they were surprised that their mother was already at her work desk. Since the divorce and building on her own degrees, a Bachelor of Science in Electrical Engineering from SMU and a Master of Science in Computer Science from The University of Texas, she had steadily grown her own computer company, Duke City Software, such that it was already ranked among the top web-site development companies in New Mexico. Both boys had worked for her off and on during those four years because they could handle assignments on a do-it-wherever-you-happen-to-be basis. Her company was competing in a niche market of tying customers’ internet accesses into a client’s present total business software. She used ‘shopping cart’ tie-ins rather often to get the job done. She had expertise in C++, PHP, and other software tools technically and a real knack for client relations administratively. Plus no lesson from hands-on experience in either area went unlearned. While Clark assisted in his spare time with some of the grunt work, Keith had become a true enterprise partner, because of his computer knowledge developed these past several years, as he did more and more of his mother’s workload from school. He had even recruited a recently graduated female classmate who was now a contract programmer for Duke City Software. She telecommuted from Massachusetts. The company had progressed to the point that Keith was ready, willing, and able to assume the post of Technical Director when his mother suggested it. She had become more involved with and was completely surprised by her unexpected enjoyment of smoozing with potential clients, going to ‘networking’ social events, and preparing responses for RFIs and RFQs. What’s more, it was quite satisfyingly evident in these contacts that her business was growing substantially by word-of-mouth referrals. She had all the proper reactions to customer questions and problems; integrity and the Golden Rule were her keystones to success. She liked the set-up. She could even travel and not miss a beat. Life was on an up-swing. Nonetheless, she didn’t care much for cooking and cleaning. Employing a housekeeper solved the latter. The former was still a bugaboo. The boys routinely fixed their own and constantly inquired about the next event at grandma’s house. A lot of pizza was eaten at the boys’ house.
Clark, being in especially good humor, offered to make buttermilk pancakes for the group from what he called a secret Eagle Scout flapjack recipe. He had made these for himself a day or two ago so ingredients were fortunately still at hand. Keith prepared drinks from a can of frozen orange juice, got out butter and syrup, and set the table. She-who-usually-hates-to-cook fried some Jimmy Dean sausage to complete the menu. All three relished the results of their efforts. Dirty dishes were left for later as they set about preparing for the day.
Keith checked with his mother, “When is our appointment with the trading post people?” The question called to mind one of grampa’s stories when his family moved to Albuquerque right after he graduated from high school in Iowa. They were driving down Central Avenue and his mother pointed out and spoke the name of the Hacienda Trading Post that existed at that time. Fresh out of high school Spanish, grampa corrected his mother’s pronunciation in that the ‘H’ is silent. In the next block, she pointed out another such emporium, dropped the ‘H’ and laughed ‘and I suppose that one is called the ’Itching Post’. Keith appreciated that humor had been in his genes for quite some time.
His mother called down, “We’d better leave about nine thirty. Has Clark left yet?”
“Yes,” answered Keith. “About twenty minutes ago.”
Clark got to UNM just before eight o’clock. The USGS had leased the top two floors of the Geology Building on campus for their own administrative offices and labs. He was greeted by applause as he walked in the main USGS office. “What’s this? What’s going on?” asked Clark.
The bureau chief presented him with a $100 bearer check from the Soils prof over at the Civil Engineering Department. “It’s a special thank you for the mud balls brought back from the Puerco about a week ago. Since you did all the work above and beyond, I wanted you to have it. I greatly appreciate your initiative in taking care of this for me,” said the chief.
The whole office was aware of this unusual ceremony. Clark was greeted by more applause as he walked into the lab. In due time, David Arthur Cabot Ward sidled over to him and suggested, “Where’s your largess? You ought to treat everyone to a round of drinks after work.”
Clark just looked at him for several seconds. Then he spoke, “I think you have already gotten all the enjoyment that you are going to get out of this, buddy Dave.”
Clark checked the ‘chore board’ to make sure his trip to Socorro was still on and what else he would be doing that week. He busied himself with the planning details for his assignment to fetch the sample bottles. Fortunately, his favorite field vehicle was available and he grabbed the keys and departed for New Mexico Tech. ‘To be or not to be? Tis better to ....what’, Clark grappled with both his Shakespeare and his situation. He had a perfect plan. Everything was still spot on. What to do? He was still in this quandary as he passed through Los Lunas. He was still in this quandary as he passed through Belen. Belen is Spanish for Bethlehem. The encroachment of a religious aspect to his dilemma didn’t seem to be helping any.
Clark was approaching Bernardo where US-60 joined the interstate highway. It was here where he would need to get off I-25 and get on the old US-85 to detour to the old Puerco bridge where the sampling station was. His foot eased off the accelerator, but his hands wouldn’t turn the wheel. Not that David Arthur Cabot Ward didn’t deserve it, but perhaps this rather nice windfall and the appreciative words from the big boss had overwhelmed his desire for revenge. For whatever reason, he couldn’t do it. Chalk up another victory for good over evil. Besides, if he feels he made the wrong choice and changes his mind, he is still coming back this way.
As he topped the hill above the rest areas in the Salado valley, he looked up river. Just in his lifetime, the dunes that lined this valley had been stabilized by vegetation. If an extended drought recurs, he might see the dunes re-appear. He liked the Salado. You could tell during the monsoon season where the rain had fallen up-river just by checking the color of the streambed. Each of the three main tributaries came down through different sandstone or tuff deposits giving the stream a vermilion, ochre, or ashen hue.
Before Clark was really consciously aware of it, he had passed the Escondido turn-off and was rapidly approaching Socorro. The rendezvous for the specimen bottles went quite well and he was soon once again on the road. This time he wasn’t even thinking of the Rio Puerco and David Arthur Cabot Ward as he rolled through Bernardo. His attention was reawakened by the highway mileage sign for Albuquerque – 53 miles.
Almost everyone who has passed by this way (‘paso por aqui,’ thought Clark) knows that Albuquerque was named in honor of a Spanish Duke when the city was founded in 1706 by Spanish colonials. The professional baseball team for many years was called the Dukes. A somewhat smaller group knows that the title of that royal personage and his descendants is spelled with an extra ‘R’, Duke of Alburquerque, reflecting the name of the ancestral home near the Portuguese border north of Badajoz in Spain’s Extremadura province. Far fewer yet know that the true derivation of the word is found on the ‘escudo’ or shield of the villa de Alburquerque. It’s a white oak tree. The early Romans stripped the bark from that tree variety for use as corks in their wine vessels. The tree’s trunk was perceptibly white after the stripping. The botanical name for this tree, derived from the Latin, is quercus albus.
Clark was proud that his mother had named her business Duke City Software. He liked it here. If he traveled east, like on his several visits to Alabama, he enjoyed remarking that it was beautiful country there, but that he missed New Mexico’s brownery.
Clark was pleased with his major at college; he was pleased with his hobby of stripping down and rebuilding motorcycles; and he was delighted with his job (it was a personal goal that he would cover his own college expenses). At this point in life, he saw himself as a future automotive engineer. He wondered where life might take him. He thought of another of Grandpa’s oft used quotations, the one he always attributed from The Man Without a Country: ‘Breathes there a man with soul so dead who never to himself hath said, this is my own, my native land?’ Clark felt a tear or two form in his eyes and a quiver on his lips. He was glad he was alone.