Kevin's Watch

Robert Lowell excitedly turned the handle of the door labeled “Francis A. Whyte – U.S. Representative, New York.” He entered the receptionist area. Walking calmly towards the secretary sitting at the desk, he stated, “Hello, my name is Robert Lowell, from Harvard University. I’m here to begin my internship with Representative Whyte.”

The secretary smiled. “Oh, of course, Mr. Lowell. Right this way, please.”

Euphoric yet anxious, Lowell followed her down a short hallway towards the politician’s office. Seated, Italian leather shoed feet propped up on the mahogany desk, was Francis Whyte, Representative from New York. “Yes, yes, tell Ms. Jones I will certainly look into her son’s school curriculum, as soon as I return home from Washington,” he said into the phone in his hand. A pause. “Thank you. Good-bye.”

Whyte hung up the phone, stared at his desk for a brief moment and seemed to snort to himself. He looked up abruptly. Smiling, he said to his secretary, “Ah, I forget myself.” Lowell frowned slightly at this. “This must be Mr…Um…”

The secretary smiled blandly. “Mr. Lowell, sir.”

“Yes! Lowell. Please, sit down.”

Lowell’s euphoria at meeting his political hero suddenly sank to disappointment that the representative did not remember his name. They shook hands, and Lowell sat himself into a leather chair in front of the mahogany desk.

“Now, Robert is it? Robert, you got a pretty darn exclusive position here. It takes a lot of credentials to get an internship at my office, as I’m sure you know. But you’re a Harvard boy, you know these things.”

Suddenly happy to simply speak to Representative Whyte, Lowell replied, “Yes, sir. It’s an honor to be here, you know—”

Whyte waved his hand, saying, “Yes, yes. Of course. Don’t mention it, son. Now, let’s get right to work here…”

“Oh, excellent. You know, sir, I’m really eager to begin in your process of social and economic reform in the House—”

Whyte chuckled to himself a bit. “Look, son. We can get to that crap later. First, I need you to run an errand for me.”

That crap? Lowell thought. “Um, yes, sir. Who is it, Mr. Whyte?”

“Please. Call me Frank.” He took out a piece of personalized stationery and scribbled on it. “Here’s the address. Come back with a message from this fellow please, son.”

“Right away, sir.”

Lowell took the Metro to the location written on the sheet of stationery. He arrived at the location, and found himself in front of an office building. He took the elevator to the floor written on the stationery, and found himself at a publishing company office. He was sent into the office of one Martin Thomas, CEO. They shook hands. “You must be Frank Whyte’s intern. Come in, come in, I have a package of sorts to give to you.” He rummaged through his desk, came up with a small package, and said to Lowell, “Frank Whyte is a good man. The state of New York is lucky to have a guy like him in Congress.”

Lowell could have sworn Thomas winked at him. Returning to the Representative’s office shortly before dinner that afternoon, Lowell was told that Mr. Whyte was not in. To this he replied, “Oh, I’d have thought Congress would be finished by this time.”

The secretary shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, no. You see, Mr. Whyte did not attend Congress today. He is golfing and eating dinner with a few friends. He said that you were to keep the package for him until tomorrow morning.”

Flabbergasted at the thought of Francis Whyte not attending Congress, Lowell nodded and headed back to his apartment. That night, as he sat on the bed, he handled the package carefully in his hands. This is only for Mr. Whyte, Lowell thought. But perhaps he wanted me to check it for him…After all, it cannot be anything too serious…

To Robert Lowell, of course, politics consisted only of ideals and the betterment of society. So, any mysterious package from a CEO given to a U.S. Representative was not anything to be remotely worried about.
Gingerly opening the package, Lowell found only a small note and an envelope. The note read: Frank – Enclosed is the agreed amount. We both know your District is well pleased with its current textbooks. Signed, M.T.
Lowell did not even look at the envelope. He ran his hand through his hair.

It all made sense. Francis Whyte was taking bribes from the publishing company that printed the textbooks for the public schools in his district in exchange for not pushing to have the schools better funded, so that the company wouldn’t have to pay as much to update.

“My God,” Lowell said aloud, “My hero, my boss, is scum.” All the ideals that Lowell had based his budding political career on withered away and died the moment Robert Lowell read that note from Martin Thomas to Frank Whyte.