A Brush with Heroin
*************************************
Although old enough to have lived and worked in London during the "Swinging Sixties" I never took, or even saw, any drugs. I knew some folks who dabbled in 'Purple Hearts' and the like, but I was never tempted. Beer was, and still is, my poison. Yet within a couple of months of arriving in the USA I had a packet of pure heroin in my hand.
(Names have been changed.)
***********************************
In 1977 I went with my family to America. I had accepted a temporary Professorship at a state university in the mid-west. I remember very clearly the day we left Prestwick for Detroit. Elvis Presley was alive as we took off. He was dead when we landed.
We stayed for a year. It had been my intention to get a taste of the American way of life and use it to decide whether to make a permanent move. During our stay we enjoyed many experiences that gave us a real appreciation of American people – their kindness, friendliness and generosity – but we also had a few rather nasty surprises, and these were what convinced us eventually to return to the UK. This was one of them.
At the university one of my duties was to invigilate at examinations. This meant sitting in the room where an examination was taking place to deter the candidates from cheating. It also involved answering any questions the candidates might ask and controlling the flow of students between the exam room and the toilets – because, no matter how short an exam might be, there are always those who cannot manage to get through without needing to go.
During one invigilation session, to relieve the boredom and discomfort of sitting doing nothing, I was slowly and quietly wandering around the room flexing my leg muscles and casually looking out of the windows. A sudden movement in the room caught my eye. It was one of the candidates passing a piece of paper to another. Clearly the two hadn’t realised that I was hovering behind them. I swooped and intercepted the piece of paper. On it were written some mathematical equations relevant to the exam subject matter. It was a clear case of cheating by collaboration. I confiscated the paper and told the two students to carry on with the exam.
Afterwards, I took the incriminating piece of paper to the head of department, Professor Ralph Grossmann – a big genial fellow who had been head for many years. Ralph was not a typical senior academic – he was an exceptionally nice person with a warm and sympathetic manner; a good teacher with a real rapport with the students; and a brilliant researcher with a fine international reputation. You often get one or two of these characteristics in an individual but hardly ever all three.
I explained what I had seen to Ralph and he took the names of the two conspirators together with the paper evidence and promised to decide what to do. I was happy to leave it to him. A couple of days later I was sitting in my room when there was a tentative knocking on the door.
“Come in”, I shouted, and the door slowly opened to reveal the face of one of the cheating students – the one who had been passing the paper to the other.
“Hello, what can I do for you?”, I asked, trying not to sound too friendly, since there were matters sub judice.
“Dr. Hewit”, he said, “I am Joe Dolgano. You are a good man.”
“Well, thank you”, I replied, surprised at this unusual opening. “Is there something I can do for you, Joe?”
“Dr. Hewit, you saw what was happening in the examination on Wednesday. You took a piece of paper that I was giving to my brother Andy. I think that you believe that Andy and I were cheating. This is not the case. I am not a cheat. Andy is not a cheat. We work very hard to pass the examination. We….”
I stopped him. It was already out of my hands. I told him this. “You will need to go and see Professor Grossmann. He is dealing with it. He knows all the facts and as head of department he will decide what to do.
He started to talk again, but I ushered him out. As the door closed behind him he was still protesting “You are making a big mistake. Andy and I agreed to……” and I was still countering with “Sorry. Sorry. I can’t do anything. See Professor Grossmann…”
The next day I met Ralph in the coffee room. “Did Joe Dolgano come to see you?”, I asked him. “He came to my room making excuses, but I sent him away to see you.”
“Yes”, said Ralph. “The two of them came to see me late yesterday. They told me what had happened – at least their side of the story.”
“What’s going to happen to them?”, I asked, thinking that, at the very least, they would be asked to resit the examination.
“I’ve talked to them about their behaviour. I’ve explained that it is entirely unacceptable to do this kind of thing. They’ve agreed not to do it in future. I think we can consider the matter closed.”
Full of righteous indignation, I protested. “But you must do something. You can’t let them get away with it.”
Ralph gave one of his trademark deep growling laughs. “Cool it, Jim”, he said. “Maybe it doesn’t look right to you but remember this isn’t England, this is the US. We do things a little differently here.”
I continued to protest. “But cheating is cheating anywhere. What if the other students get to hear of it. What if they start to make waves. What if one of them fails and sees the Dolganos passing the exam despite their cheating. You’ll have a lawyer breathing down your neck next.”
Again the indulgent laugh. “Jim, let me look after that kind of thing. I know what I’m doing. I know how you feel, but my way is best, believe me.”
I got up and gave him a rueful, disparaging look before going back to my room.
A few days later I was again working in my room when there was another tentative knocking on the door. It slowly opened and the two Dolgano brothers came in looking extremely furtive and tense. I wondered if they were going to attack me and, completely illogically, since the two of them could easily have overpowered me, I looked around quickly for a weapon with which to defend myself if it should come to that. There was a heavy screwdriver on the bench and I picked it up and twirled it in my hand in a manner I hoped would not seem provocative but would act as a deterrent. I needn’t have worried. Their motives were not violent. They had bribery on their minds.
“Dr Hewit, you are a good man”, – the same start as Joe had used. “My brother and I would like to give you a little gift. We have been to talk to Professor Grossmann and he tells us that he is not going to make any trouble for us. We must thank you for that too.”
“Wait a minute”, I replied. “I had nothing to do with Professor Grossmann’s decision. If I had had my way you would not have got away with it. Cheating is not something I encourage in my students. So, let’s just leave it now. I don’t want any ‘gift’ as you put it. Just go away.”
“You don’t understand, Dr Hewit”, we are grateful to you. Not because you saved us from getting into trouble but because we have learned a good lesson from you – that cheating is a bad thing. Thanks to you we will never cheat again. Never!” He looked at his brother and nodded as if to say, “Isn’t that right?”. On cue, Andy said, “Never again. I promise, Dr Hewit”. He smiled at me with great big brown eyes that seemed to be filling with tears of gratitude.
Then one of them offered me his hand. Feeling rather foolish but hoping to make an end to it, I put mine forward to shake his. As my hand went out, the other brother placed a small bag in it and wrapped my fingers round it firmly. Then the two swiftly backed out of the room bowing and muttering “Thank you. Thank you”.
When they were gone I sat down and placed the small bag on my desk. It was made of cellophane and contained a small amount of whitish powder. “My God”, I thought, “drugs”. Next day I took the packet to Professor Grossmann. I explained how I had got it and my suspicion that it was drugs.
A few days after that, Ralph came to my room. Unbidden, he sat down and said, “Jim, I’ve had that powder analysed. It was heroin. Pure, unadulterated, grade A heroin. Probably worth $1000. You did the right thing handing it over to me. I’ve destroyed it.”
“Destroyed it”, I spluttered. “Shouldn’t you have handed it over to the police?”
“Remember I asked you to believe that my way was best, Jim?”
“Yes”.
“It still is”.
“For God’s sake Ralph, heroin is ……heroin. I mean, you can’t just hush it up. You’ll get into serious trouble. You’ll end up in jail.”
“Jim”, he smiled, in a sad way that I found more chilling than any words. “I know how you feel. I feel that way too. But I know what I’m doing. Look at this.”
He took out of his pocket a small red notebook, opened it and extracted a photograph and handed it to me. “Do you recognize him?”
I saw the smiling face of a young man. He must have been about thirty-five years old, with darkish floppy hair and a small sharp moustache. He looked a little like Dustin Hoffman. I had never seen him before and told Ralph this.
He said, “That’s Emile Pardo. He became Assistant Professor here about seven years ago. Thermodynamics. Clever guy. Got the James Bruff medal for most popular faculty member a few years back. Married to Pam. Two kids. Jody and Jim. 8 and 6. Used to live in Bartonsville. One of the nicest families you could ever meet.”
I couldn’t believe it – he looked as if he was about to start crying. His words were halting, and he was shaking slightly. I had never seen him like this before. “What’s wrong Ralph? Are you ok? Can I get you a drink of water or something?” I reached out and touched his arm wondering what was going on.
“Emile is no longer with us, Jim. Just like you, he found himself in a quarrel with a student. It was about the grade he had given the student”. He got up and was walking slowly round the room, rubbing his nose and shaking his head. “The student thought he deserved a better grade than Emile had given him. If the grade stood, he wouldn’t get the job he had been offered. His father got involved. Came here and started to shout at me and Emile and threatened to expose some supposed corruption in the university. There was no corruption, but the university got scared that adverse publicity would cut student numbers. It pressured Emile to change the grade. He refused. I tried to get him to rethink. He cited academic standards, fairness to other students. All that stuff. Just like you. He refused to bend, and the grade stood.”
,
“And?”, I asked, knowing what might be coming and feeling sick.
“And a month or two later Emile went missing. Just like that - without a trace. He left no message. Not for Pam. Not for us here. Not for anyone. It’s over three years now he’s been gone. The police have done everything to find him but there’s not been a single clue as to the reason for his disappearance, and there’s been no clue as to where he might be now.”
“Nothing at all?”, I squeaked.
“No. All possibilities were considered. Maybe he had run away from some private problem or committed suicide. But Pam dismissed this. They were very close. She would have known. Anyway, he had everything to live for at home and at work. An accident or sudden illness? Possibly, but nobody has been found despite massive searches. Foul play? This seems most likely though there’s been no evidence.” He got up and went to the door.
As he went out he turned to me as I sat gaping at him from my chair. “Jim, I don’t want anything to happen to you, you understand”. And with a wan smile he shut the door behind him.
I never did take the matter any further. The Dolganos got their degrees and I never heard of them again. I will never know if they were capable of that kind of thing. But since I did not believe that this could happen in the UK, it was one of the defining experiences that made me give up thoughts of emigration to the US.
And ironically, a few years later, when I was a full Professor at a university in the UK, I found myself at the centre of a very similar case.
.
.
*************************************
Although old enough to have lived and worked in London during the "Swinging Sixties" I never took, or even saw, any drugs. I knew some folks who dabbled in 'Purple Hearts' and the like, but I was never tempted. Beer was, and still is, my poison. Yet within a couple of months of arriving in the USA I had a packet of pure heroin in my hand.
(Names have been changed.)
***********************************
In 1977 I went with my family to America. I had accepted a temporary Professorship at a state university in the mid-west. I remember very clearly the day we left Prestwick for Detroit. Elvis Presley was alive as we took off. He was dead when we landed.
We stayed for a year. It had been my intention to get a taste of the American way of life and use it to decide whether to make a permanent move. During our stay we enjoyed many experiences that gave us a real appreciation of American people – their kindness, friendliness and generosity – but we also had a few rather nasty surprises, and these were what convinced us eventually to return to the UK. This was one of them.
At the university one of my duties was to invigilate at examinations. This meant sitting in the room where an examination was taking place to deter the candidates from cheating. It also involved answering any questions the candidates might ask and controlling the flow of students between the exam room and the toilets – because, no matter how short an exam might be, there are always those who cannot manage to get through without needing to go.
During one invigilation session, to relieve the boredom and discomfort of sitting doing nothing, I was slowly and quietly wandering around the room flexing my leg muscles and casually looking out of the windows. A sudden movement in the room caught my eye. It was one of the candidates passing a piece of paper to another. Clearly the two hadn’t realised that I was hovering behind them. I swooped and intercepted the piece of paper. On it were written some mathematical equations relevant to the exam subject matter. It was a clear case of cheating by collaboration. I confiscated the paper and told the two students to carry on with the exam.
Afterwards, I took the incriminating piece of paper to the head of department, Professor Ralph Grossmann – a big genial fellow who had been head for many years. Ralph was not a typical senior academic – he was an exceptionally nice person with a warm and sympathetic manner; a good teacher with a real rapport with the students; and a brilliant researcher with a fine international reputation. You often get one or two of these characteristics in an individual but hardly ever all three.
I explained what I had seen to Ralph and he took the names of the two conspirators together with the paper evidence and promised to decide what to do. I was happy to leave it to him. A couple of days later I was sitting in my room when there was a tentative knocking on the door.
“Come in”, I shouted, and the door slowly opened to reveal the face of one of the cheating students – the one who had been passing the paper to the other.
“Hello, what can I do for you?”, I asked, trying not to sound too friendly, since there were matters sub judice.
“Dr. Hewit”, he said, “I am Joe Dolgano. You are a good man.”
“Well, thank you”, I replied, surprised at this unusual opening. “Is there something I can do for you, Joe?”
“Dr. Hewit, you saw what was happening in the examination on Wednesday. You took a piece of paper that I was giving to my brother Andy. I think that you believe that Andy and I were cheating. This is not the case. I am not a cheat. Andy is not a cheat. We work very hard to pass the examination. We….”
I stopped him. It was already out of my hands. I told him this. “You will need to go and see Professor Grossmann. He is dealing with it. He knows all the facts and as head of department he will decide what to do.
He started to talk again, but I ushered him out. As the door closed behind him he was still protesting “You are making a big mistake. Andy and I agreed to……” and I was still countering with “Sorry. Sorry. I can’t do anything. See Professor Grossmann…”
The next day I met Ralph in the coffee room. “Did Joe Dolgano come to see you?”, I asked him. “He came to my room making excuses, but I sent him away to see you.”
“Yes”, said Ralph. “The two of them came to see me late yesterday. They told me what had happened – at least their side of the story.”
“What’s going to happen to them?”, I asked, thinking that, at the very least, they would be asked to resit the examination.
“I’ve talked to them about their behaviour. I’ve explained that it is entirely unacceptable to do this kind of thing. They’ve agreed not to do it in future. I think we can consider the matter closed.”
Full of righteous indignation, I protested. “But you must do something. You can’t let them get away with it.”
Ralph gave one of his trademark deep growling laughs. “Cool it, Jim”, he said. “Maybe it doesn’t look right to you but remember this isn’t England, this is the US. We do things a little differently here.”
I continued to protest. “But cheating is cheating anywhere. What if the other students get to hear of it. What if they start to make waves. What if one of them fails and sees the Dolganos passing the exam despite their cheating. You’ll have a lawyer breathing down your neck next.”
Again the indulgent laugh. “Jim, let me look after that kind of thing. I know what I’m doing. I know how you feel, but my way is best, believe me.”
I got up and gave him a rueful, disparaging look before going back to my room.
A few days later I was again working in my room when there was another tentative knocking on the door. It slowly opened and the two Dolgano brothers came in looking extremely furtive and tense. I wondered if they were going to attack me and, completely illogically, since the two of them could easily have overpowered me, I looked around quickly for a weapon with which to defend myself if it should come to that. There was a heavy screwdriver on the bench and I picked it up and twirled it in my hand in a manner I hoped would not seem provocative but would act as a deterrent. I needn’t have worried. Their motives were not violent. They had bribery on their minds.
“Dr Hewit, you are a good man”, – the same start as Joe had used. “My brother and I would like to give you a little gift. We have been to talk to Professor Grossmann and he tells us that he is not going to make any trouble for us. We must thank you for that too.”
“Wait a minute”, I replied. “I had nothing to do with Professor Grossmann’s decision. If I had had my way you would not have got away with it. Cheating is not something I encourage in my students. So, let’s just leave it now. I don’t want any ‘gift’ as you put it. Just go away.”
“You don’t understand, Dr Hewit”, we are grateful to you. Not because you saved us from getting into trouble but because we have learned a good lesson from you – that cheating is a bad thing. Thanks to you we will never cheat again. Never!” He looked at his brother and nodded as if to say, “Isn’t that right?”. On cue, Andy said, “Never again. I promise, Dr Hewit”. He smiled at me with great big brown eyes that seemed to be filling with tears of gratitude.
Then one of them offered me his hand. Feeling rather foolish but hoping to make an end to it, I put mine forward to shake his. As my hand went out, the other brother placed a small bag in it and wrapped my fingers round it firmly. Then the two swiftly backed out of the room bowing and muttering “Thank you. Thank you”.
When they were gone I sat down and placed the small bag on my desk. It was made of cellophane and contained a small amount of whitish powder. “My God”, I thought, “drugs”. Next day I took the packet to Professor Grossmann. I explained how I had got it and my suspicion that it was drugs.
A few days after that, Ralph came to my room. Unbidden, he sat down and said, “Jim, I’ve had that powder analysed. It was heroin. Pure, unadulterated, grade A heroin. Probably worth $1000. You did the right thing handing it over to me. I’ve destroyed it.”
“Destroyed it”, I spluttered. “Shouldn’t you have handed it over to the police?”
“Remember I asked you to believe that my way was best, Jim?”
“Yes”.
“It still is”.
“For God’s sake Ralph, heroin is ……heroin. I mean, you can’t just hush it up. You’ll get into serious trouble. You’ll end up in jail.”
“Jim”, he smiled, in a sad way that I found more chilling than any words. “I know how you feel. I feel that way too. But I know what I’m doing. Look at this.”
He took out of his pocket a small red notebook, opened it and extracted a photograph and handed it to me. “Do you recognize him?”
I saw the smiling face of a young man. He must have been about thirty-five years old, with darkish floppy hair and a small sharp moustache. He looked a little like Dustin Hoffman. I had never seen him before and told Ralph this.
He said, “That’s Emile Pardo. He became Assistant Professor here about seven years ago. Thermodynamics. Clever guy. Got the James Bruff medal for most popular faculty member a few years back. Married to Pam. Two kids. Jody and Jim. 8 and 6. Used to live in Bartonsville. One of the nicest families you could ever meet.”
I couldn’t believe it – he looked as if he was about to start crying. His words were halting, and he was shaking slightly. I had never seen him like this before. “What’s wrong Ralph? Are you ok? Can I get you a drink of water or something?” I reached out and touched his arm wondering what was going on.
“Emile is no longer with us, Jim. Just like you, he found himself in a quarrel with a student. It was about the grade he had given the student”. He got up and was walking slowly round the room, rubbing his nose and shaking his head. “The student thought he deserved a better grade than Emile had given him. If the grade stood, he wouldn’t get the job he had been offered. His father got involved. Came here and started to shout at me and Emile and threatened to expose some supposed corruption in the university. There was no corruption, but the university got scared that adverse publicity would cut student numbers. It pressured Emile to change the grade. He refused. I tried to get him to rethink. He cited academic standards, fairness to other students. All that stuff. Just like you. He refused to bend, and the grade stood.”
,
“And?”, I asked, knowing what might be coming and feeling sick.
“And a month or two later Emile went missing. Just like that - without a trace. He left no message. Not for Pam. Not for us here. Not for anyone. It’s over three years now he’s been gone. The police have done everything to find him but there’s not been a single clue as to the reason for his disappearance, and there’s been no clue as to where he might be now.”
“Nothing at all?”, I squeaked.
“No. All possibilities were considered. Maybe he had run away from some private problem or committed suicide. But Pam dismissed this. They were very close. She would have known. Anyway, he had everything to live for at home and at work. An accident or sudden illness? Possibly, but nobody has been found despite massive searches. Foul play? This seems most likely though there’s been no evidence.” He got up and went to the door.
As he went out he turned to me as I sat gaping at him from my chair. “Jim, I don’t want anything to happen to you, you understand”. And with a wan smile he shut the door behind him.
I never did take the matter any further. The Dolganos got their degrees and I never heard of them again. I will never know if they were capable of that kind of thing. But since I did not believe that this could happen in the UK, it was one of the defining experiences that made me give up thoughts of emigration to the US.
And ironically, a few years later, when I was a full Professor at a university in the UK, I found myself at the centre of a very similar case.
.
.
