The Reluctant Archivist

By Julie Hadler

Mill hugs Rich, John, and Melissa as confetti drifts down in his small, bustling campaign headquarters office.

"Thank you for all your hard work," he bellows. The forty-some "Champaign Crusaders" clap and whistle. He is now a city councilman. The Goal—becoming mayor of Champaign IL, is now within reach.

But Mill's conniving political rivals are using his brother Gary's mental instability to discredit him, and not even Mill's political savvy prevents a threat on Gary's life. How will Mill maintain his focus on The Goal, when his own vulnerability to mental illness is already sabotaging his dream?

Mill escapes to graduate school, but ignoring his inner conflicts and "Gary challenges" isn't making them go away. Then his former campaign manager, Rich, discovers some apparent dirty dealing in the Champaign Mayor's office. Could this be the information Mill needs to get back on track and achieve the Goal?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julie Hadler
• Release date: Mar 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524294212

Julie Hadler

Julie Hadler is proud to have been raised in the Iowa City area. She now lives in Chicago with her husband and two daughters. When not writing, Julie has more passionate interests than will fit on this page. A few interests that will always remain are Christian meditation and baking!

Book preview

Chapter 1: 1964, Mill's home

Mill stood in the doorway of his bedroom, fists clenched. More than half of the 1950's lay on the floor and would have to be meticulously refiled. Besides that, Mom had rearranged the boxes when dusting under them, disturbing the the color-coding system he applied last year.

It was important to keep things in order. By the time he was in sixth grade, he had executed a flawless system with each card cataloged chronologically, except for the special editions categorized according to their value.

She still didn't grasp the system’s importance to him—not only for his enjoyment, but mainly for his peace of mind.

He rubbed his forehead with his thumb. He didn’t want to bring it up again, but he needed to say something. Mill sighed and entered the kitchen, where a wispy-haired woman sat at the table, reading a recipe.

Mom, remember, Mill’s voice cut easily through the quiet of the kitchen. I said you didn't have to dust my room—I'll do it myself!

She blinked up at him. Honey, I keep telling you but you forget, or put it off. Your baseball card collection is important, but you know dusting and vacuuming helps keep your allergies in check. I'm sorry about knocking over that box—the vacuum attachment got away from me. I did pick everything up. She picked up the recipe card again.

I'll vacuum too. Just don't touch my collection, okay?

She sighed. It's hard to avoid when it covers most of the wall and desk space. Couldn't you store some of them in the garage?

What? Are you kidding? What if Cal and I want to compare 1948's short-stops? I need everything at my fingertips, Mom.

Mom went to the broom closet and extracted a canister vac the size of a beaver. Have a go at it right now, then. We’ll see if you can get in-between and under all those shoe boxes.

Mill’s chin jerked back in surprise. I didn’t mean I was going to do it now.

She extended the attached hose to him as if brandishing a sword. You can’t have it both ways, Milliard.

Mill’s shoulders fell. I got to get better at negotiation. Maybe I should join the debate team.

Chapter 2: 1967, Mill's home

No other sophomore at Springfield West High enjoyed Mr. Stratton's Government class, and the debate team he coached, more than Mill.

The team from Bloomington East High was formidable, according to Coach. Their record was 4-2, where Springfield North's was 2-4. But Mill barely registered these facts. His interest in the topic had propelled him into the library even on the recent balmy April days.

Fossil fuels are being depleted at unprecedented rates, Mill read from the magazine. No doubt about it, they were fighting for the right side—in favor of solar, hydro, and wind power. The future depends on transforming our dependence on these diminishing resources and courageously exploring renewable sources of energy. Mill nodded and closed the magazine. Bloomington would struggle to defend fossil fuels such as coal and natural gas as superior alternatives.

Gary’s parents viewed his decision to join Mill on the debate team as somewhat of a minor miracle. Baptized Garrison but never addressed by the name, Gary was blessed or cursed with a laissez-faire personality in the extreme. He usually viewed Mill's many interests with benign curiosity, if not the actual will to mobilize his own energy.

Mill laid the stack of index cards on his desk and turned to Gary, lying atop his quilt reading a comic book. They shared identical wooden bunk beds and desks lining the walls. Gary, naturally, had staked his claim on the easy-access lower bunk.

Want to go over our talking points? Gary shifted slightly, a lion lazing in the sun. We just did last night. Leave it for now, Mill. If it'll make you feel better, we'll rehearse after supper.

But it's only three days away! Mill riffled the cards against his leg. And I've got homework to finish after supper.

I thought you said you're done, he said, engrossed in Spiderman's dilemma.

I've got a term paper due in two weeks and I haven't started my outline yet.

Two weeks? Are you kidding me? Did I ever tell you about the time I researched, outlined, and wrote my paper in one night?

Yeah. And you got a D+ on it.

Term papers were invented by teachers to keep us busy so they could go to the lounge and smoke.

Mill rolled his eyes and stood up. He glared down at his brother. Although surpassing his brother’s height at age twelve, Mill looked up to Gary in spirit and reveled in his brother's rare joining in.

Look—you can really help our team. But agreeing to contribute and then doing nothing is worse than not helping at all!

Gary still admired Spiderman’s fighting maneuvers as he formulated a response.

Jeez, I’ve got it under control. You’re...obsessed.

I want to win! And I won’t let you screw this up for me. Mill had run out of steam. He flopped onto his desk chair.

Don’t think I’m going to bail you out, ‘cause I won’t, Mill said, eyes locked on his brother.

Gary dropped the comic book ontop of his face and began to laugh, quietly, then louder—rolling over on his bunk and shaking.

Chapter 3: 1967, Maxwell Auditorium, Springfield, IL

Gary pulled at his collar, but the way Mill had tied his necktie, it wasn't going to budge easily. He squinted at the stage lights, wishing desperately for a Coke—or something. His fellow team members looked no less nervous, apart from Mill, who smiled and waved at Mom and Pop, sitting only three rows from the front.

Welcome students, family, and friends, the moderator sang out. "Our topic today is 'Energy and the Future.' The moderator introduced the opposing viewpoints and explained the rules of the point system. Each team member was allotted the same number of minutes to promote their arguments, followed by a rebuttal period. Gary blinked and wiped sweat out of his eyes. He glanced at Mill, whose awed expression reminded him of Charleton Heston accepting the Ten Commandments.  Mill, their team leader, would present initial arguments. He watched Mill straighten his belt buckle, assuring it rested directly over his fly.

Mill rose and began, face arranged as if welcoming friends into his home.

I have plenty of statistics at my disposal which demonstrate how we have depleted the world's oil, gas, and coal reserves, Mill beamed at the audience, hands extended, empty of notes. But more importantly, our team will show that even if these qualified as reliable ongoing energy sources, new energy sources such as wind and solar power surpass them all.

Though no one in the crowd of nearly four hundred noticed, Gary shook his head sideways slightly as he listened. At a mere fifteen, Mill had the demeanor of a statesman. Each point of logic flowed from him like water over a hydroelectric dam. Suddenly, Gary realized Mill had stopped speaking. It was his turn. He reached into his pocket, expecting to feel five numbered cards. He shuffled them, realizing one was missing. What could have happened?  Oh well, he’d just start on card number two.

Gary walked slowly to the podium, hands still searching his pockets. To no avail. His nostrils flared as he plunged in.

Now we want to talk about wind power. A study of the costs for building windmills in the state of South Dakota revealed the following...

Mill's eyes darted around, gesturing at his teammates. One of them made a sympathetic face, but as he shrugged his shoulders, Mill's face morphed into resignation.

Gary continued his wind power spiel, his monotone voice plodding forward at the speed of the ceiling fans above them. As he was wrapping up, Mill begin to cough—a dry, polite clearing of the throat, then the wretched scraping of chronic bronchitis. Mill stood, grabbing at his Adam's apple, as his coughing converted into choking. His team mates, puzzled, erred on the side of his safety, clustering around.

Are you okay? Can you speak?

Gary surfaced from his submergence in his text. His anxiety bubbled up with him, wary how a person could choke on nothing but air.

Mill obliged with a dismissive wave and raspy voice.I'm fine. Just give me a minute.. The interval between coughs lengthened, only to regain momentum seconds later.

The moderator watched from downstage, grimacing at each cough. He finally gave up trying to wait Mill out.

This seems like a good time to take our ten-minute break. Let's give both teams a big round of applause for their efforts. He beamed at the audience and gestured for the lights to be cut.

So sorry, sir. I was rude. I panicked, Mill said.

What's wrong with you, young man? the moderator hissed as he herded Mill backstage. Why didn't you just excuse yourself quietly?

Mill accepted a drink of water from Gary and turned off his coughs like a faucet.

Gary strode up. What happened? Did you...?  Comprehension began to spread on his face. Mill gestured Gary should follow him for a private word.

It was the best I could do, under the circumstances, Mill said into Gary’s ear.

I tried to improvise, but I don't have it memorized, you know.

You could have, Mill whispered.

You should have let me continue. I would have thought of something.

Mill sighed. I'll write you a few notes,—I brought along spare cards. They'll give you another three minutes or so—you'll be fine.

This is embarrassing, man. Gary's lower lip twisted sideways as Mill scribbled several talking points. Why don’t you just take my part? 

Don’t be a jerk. I’m just giving you a little help. Do it for the team.

Gary rolled his eyes. Hadn't he usually watched his little brother's back? The role reversal pinched, like a too-small shoe. Mill shouldn’t be looking over his shoulder. He didn’t have to think too long about what to do.

I’ll finish this today. But after this, I quit.

Chapter 4 : Champaign IL, December 1970

Gary was flunking out of U of I, and Mill felt like a substitute babysitter—all the responsibility with none of the authority. An emotion he couldn’t understand, much less explain to anyone. Gary was his older brother—how was it his fault that Gary’d drank and drugged his way through another semester?

After several months hard labor repairing a school's plumbing, Gary’s system drug-free, Ma and Pop had decided to give him another chance. Mill resolved to check on him regularly from his own dorm, less than two-hundred yards away.

Like a social worker with  protective services, Mill prepared for his unannounced visit on a random day. He was fairly confident Gary would migrate back to his dorm soon after his 10:30 class—if he’d shown up for it in the first place. Mill knocked on his dorm door, but when no one answered, he opened it.

Gary was sitting on the floor in his underwear. His oily, unkempt hair pressed against the bedpost as he looked up with bloodshot eyes that seemed focussed on the wall behind his brother. As Mill's brain struggled to accept the scene before him, Gary interrupted his reverie.

Hey bro—wait, you're not—you can't be Gary slurred. Oh—you're with her again.

Mill frowned and looked over his shoulder. The corridor was empty. Gary shrugged his shoulders and turned to