Chapter

22

Dr. Farnsworth’s pen wasn’t about to stop, just because the tape had finished. It was 6:45 and everyone else was standing and stretching from the six-hour listen, but Farnsworth had to get all his thoughts down, even the ones that probably didn’t matter. That’s how he was. A man obsessed with detail...the kind of detail that had helped manipulate his young career to the enviable plateau it now occupied. This plateau, this particular kind of power was offensive to Dr. Pressman, who was secure in his thought that no amount of acknowledgement and success realized in the first few years of a medical career could be valued like those which would accompany the many subsequent years of experience...usually painful experience. The former was all a matter of luck, the latter the result of lessons learned from compassion and failure. The arrogance that was associated with such young doctors was tolerable in most, but Dr. Farnsworth had a particular kind of arrogance, which manifested itself with contempt. Contempt for tenure. Contempt for tradition. Contempt for experience. And right now, he was expressing contempt for Dr. Pressman.

The group began taking their seats again as Dr. Pressman stood up at the front of the room, still trying to stretch his shoulders into some semblance of comfort. “Well, I’m sure you’ll all agree, we’ve heard a very different side of the two men, even though it’s required a long session.” As he lifted his arm to check his watch, his eye caught just a glance of Dr. Farnsworth continuing to write his copious notes. “In light of the late hour, I would like to suggest we limit the length of our comments this evening so we might all get home at a reasonable hour.” He picked up his own notes. “Just a reminder, we’ve completed just eight of the thirteen tapes, so it would probably be prudent to reserve any hard conclusions until we’ve heard them all. Your thoughts thus far, please.”

Dr. Baker, a woman whose credentials were obviously beyond reproach by virtue of her being part of reviewing group, stood up. The middle-aged doctor’s grooming habits, however, left much to be desired. She wore her insecurities up front at least. That you had to give her. And, she had Dr. Pressman’s respect, even though this kind of appearance was cliché with its matted hair, no make-up and worn, soled running shoes. It was all the more accented with the clean white hospital coat she wore open like a picture frame. “I’m not at all sure Charles’ tapes are shedding any new light on his mental condition. We all know, from the videotaped interviews here at Milton, that his personality is not the classic split, but one of parallel function, being neither Charlie or Charles at any given time, but always both. This singular person will be most interesting if he shows a third or fourth personality...fighting to topple the others. In spite of this, I don’t know how the rest of you feel, but I for one have seen no suggestion thus far to indicate he’s guilty of any kind of psychotic behavior. Now, Mathews? That’s very different. Something’s definitely brewing there.” She turned to one of her colleagues, Dr. Richard Engels. “Richard, you were part of the censure committee on the homeless woman case, if I recall, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“According to Randall, Mathews showed a rather explosive side of himself in I believe...” She looked at her notes. “...the fourth tape, the window speech, remember?”

“Yes.”

“I’d be interested in your recollection. Did he show that kind of isolationist temper...you know, the staring out the window, no eye contact with Randall.”

Dr. Engels stood up, revealing a very tired overweight body whose hands were stuffed into his tired, might-have-fit-him-in-college-suit. “I recall, when we had concluded our investigation of Dr. Mathews’ conduct and thought it only professional and proper- in light of the circumstances- to bring him in and explain our decision, he was very together, cordial, rather strong I’d say. He surprised us all when on hearing the results, just smiled, thanked us and left without another word.”

“Disappointment, hurt, denial, resentment, violence, in that order. Elementary.” The voice was heard, but not seen, as the entire room looked around. Suddenly, Dr. Farnsworth rose, still writing on his pad. “Denial, which Dr. Mathews demonstrated at the time of the board’s decision, I believe it was 2001, wasn’t it Doctor Engels?

“Early ‘01. Yes.”

Dr. Farnsworth looked up from his notes and continued. “Early, late, the point is a considerable amount of time passed between his censure and the speech, ultimatum, outburst, or whatever you choose to call it that occurred on tape four. We all know that resentment usually festers for a period before violence takes over, and the behavior at the window was possibly his crying out to be stopped. He perhaps was repeating the pattern again.” He turned toward Dr. Pressman. “A pattern that might have been so unconsciously manifested that not even he was aware of its existence.” He glanced at his notes again. “And then of course, their trip to New York. The Pretrial Hearing was vague in its characterizing the attitude of Dr. Mathews at that time, but Randall’s journal covering much of that time certainly suggests impulsive, unpredictable generosity in Dr. Mathews accompanying him on such a journey. Let’s see...oh, yes. The prominence, as well, of excessive drinking by both— taking Mr. Randall at his word of course—would also suggest a prelude phase. I might add that the playing out of Charles Randall by Mathews for Ms. Sobel is fascinating in that I was left wondering which person, Mathews or Randall, was ultimately going to occupy which personality. Did any of you get that little possibility?” He gave the room a patronizing sweep of his eyes and landed on his favorite target... “Dr. Pressman?”

Dr. Pressman, the man whose responsibility it was to keep the proceedings from bogging down, paused a moment. “Dr. Farnsworth, you are as usual very selective in your scrutiny. I’m sure if the balance of the tapes confirm your observations, the ‘pattern’ of their occurrences will be apparent to all of us and we’ll all sleep better knowing we collectively agreed on your suggestions.” Satisfied that he had slipped in a subtle warning that he was just as sharp as Farnsworth and that he wasn’t going to allow the job at hand to turn into a political platform for Farnworth’s self-aggrandizement, he turned his attention to another part of the room, “Anyone else?”

Over the next twenty minutes, the doctors reiterated what the tapes had exposed and exchanged agreements and disagreements on their meanings. Dr. Farnsworth, as usual, tried to dominate the debate. Personality problems aside for the moment, Dr. Pressman was satisfied that although he felt the kettle hadn’t started boiling yet, it was heating up. He was confident that the remaining tapes would create even more controversy and disagreement, the kind of disputing that was needed to ferret out the unknown, the hidden, and perhaps dark surprises.

As the session drew to a close, he grabbed his coat and briefcase and followed the group as they headed home. He made a point to step up to Farnsworth. “During our review, your picking up of Randall’s slip was brilliant. I’ll have to listen again...maybe I’ll come in early and run it down. Drive safely.” And he was out the door.

He wanted in the worst way to turn around and catch Farnsworth’s reaction. He knew the young upstart would be standing alone in the room, his mouth ever so slightly agape, wondering which tape offered that observation, an observation he’d somehow overlooked.  Dr. Pressman knew Farnsworth hadn’t missed it, for the ‘slip’ was but a  “gotcha” moment in Pressman’s need to rein in the grandstanding Dr. Farnsworth.

That night, Dr. Pressman received an unexpected phone call. Dr. Farnsworth wanted to apologize for his inappropriate behavior that day. He vowed to participate in a more team-like manner and would make sure no further “mood swings” as he called them would occur on his part. “And, oh, could you do me a favor, doctor?”

“Of course,” replied Pressman. He was enjoying this call immensely.

“The part of one of the tapes you mentioned as we were leaving, you know the ‘slip’ of Randall’s?”

“Oh, yes,” smiled Pressman.

“Well, could you run the tape down to that part so that I might listen during the lunch break and get it verbatim...you know for my notes. I was writing so fast, that when I checked, I’d only jotted down a reminder, you know, and verbatim will perhaps be helpful later, and...”

“My pleasure, Dr. Farnsworth. I do have an early morning meeting before our session tomorrow, so could you wait till the end of the day?”

Dr. Pressman made a mental picture of Farnsworth sitting at his desk, notes everywhere, empty coffee cups, cigarette butts, the complete vision of maniacal frustration that only an obsessive could create.

“Yes...of course. Lunchtime would have been...but, no. End of the day will be fine...just fine. Thank you, Dr. Pressman.”

The following morning, the ambitious Dr. Farnsworth was the picture-perfect man of manners and respect, as he took his seat and prepared to listen to another day of tapes.

Dr. Pressman greeted everyone, as he entered five minutes late because of his early meeting, and flashed a particularly gracious acknowledgement Farnsworth’s way, making his day. As Dr. Pressman inserted the first tape, he realized he’d have to have lunch brought in again. The recording that could pass as the ‘slip’ by Randall would have to be found from yesterday’s tape. Satisfying his commitment to Farnsworth might be difficult, but worth the effort. He was confident something of psychological importance could be found to pass for the ‘slip.’ And, aside from playing out the little charade his sense of disciplining a junior had led him into, it would give him an opportunity to listen again himself, thinking finding something Randall said that could constitute the ‘slip’ would most likely be in the tapes covering the dinners in New York.

Regardless of the “parry and thrust” game he knew Farnsworth loved to play, further listening would not be a waste of time. It would be time well spent to give a second listen to the recorded journal, and especially the questionable part Charles recorded regarding Mathews’ window words.

As he prepared the next tape for the group to hear, except for listening to the balance of tapes for confirmation, Dr. Pressman felt confident in his preliminary decision regarding Randall.  As he pressed ‘play’ and the familiar voice of Charles filled the room, he wasn’t anticipating anything would change preliminary assessment… certainly not in the very next tape.