Visions: A Journey of Love and Respect

By Harriet J. Pinnock

Dana Morgan is an independent, self-confident, sixty-two-year-old university law professor, happily laboring in the comforting confines that are Haverton Christian University.

Her lifes path is forever changed when, along with other faculty members, she agrees to fill in at the traditional noon prayerhosted in the chapel for the last thirty years by the recently deceased dean of the divinity school. What was delivered as a reasoned, thoughtful expression of her personal view of the role of love and respect in faith-based living, unexpectedly creates controversy, questioning, and attracts the lightning that is pre-millennium fear and uncertainty.

So begins a twelve-year journey that tests spirit and soul and ushers in the birth of a new era in mans search for faith. Hers is a journey bearing testament to the law of unintended consequencesa law that is part of life itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491786024

Harriet J. Pinnock

Harriet J. Pinnock put pen to paper for most of her ninety years. Publishing Visions on the eve of her passing, she lived a life that openly shared kindness, friendship, and love of family—but held close and hidden the pains and hurts she saw as hers alone.

Book preview

1~Spring 1996

Y ou will be saved!

A deep, commanding voice spoke from the depths of gray smoke curling and twisting up and around into an oval ring. Within the ring, pale purple and mauve clouds boiled and billowed obliterating the law enforcement drama on the TV. She was transfixed. The vision hovered between her and the screen. She felt something indescribable, then the vision vanished as quickly as it had come. The vision’s memory shadowed the action as she continued to stare at the screen.

Dana Lee Morgan was not known to have flights of fancy,or fantasy, for that matter. Rationality was her greatest strength and had made her successful in her life. Itsy, her comforting furry companion curled up beside her in the big chair. She changed channels, one at a time, as if searching for the vision, until the weather report brought her back to reality. Itsy meowed and the meteorologist predicted sunny skies. Itsy reminded her to check the back door lock again. Dana carried the little cat to the bedroom where she cuddled into her special blanket on the foot of the bed. Itsy was softly snoring before her mistress crawled into bed and turned out the light.

Dana turned from side to side to stare out of the window at the street lamp on the corner. Sleep was far from her mind with billowing clouds and the commanding voice that now haunted her thoughts. Why me? she whispered. Though she racked her brain she could think of no reason that such a phenomenon should visit itself upon her. "It was a vision. It had to have been, but why me?" she asked rhetorically and buried her head in the pillow. Hours later, weariness forced the questioning into the deepest recesses of her mind, and she slept.

The glow of sunrise awakened her. The clock in the hallway chimed seven times when Ms. Morgan, teacher and assistant to the dean in the College of Law at Haverton Christian University, tucked the worn briefcase under her arm.

So long, she said to Itsy and closed the front door behind her. She often walked the mile to campus, loving the earth smells and the feel of sod beneath her feet as she crossed the park. This morning was unlike most mornings. For once, she was not preoccupied with the day’s curriculum. She could only think of the vision. Its lingering for that moment cast an aura of mystique that refused to completely leave her mind.

Hi, Ms. Morgan. Students interrupted her thoughts as they jogged past. She waved at their disappearing backs and picked up her pace. For the past eight years she had been privileged to glance through the doors that opened onto their realities, allowing her to share the view that motivated them to challenge, question, learn, and finally, to launch into their own adventures.

Haverton Christian University reposed in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies overlooking the city of White Mountain. Its founder, Vicar Martin Caleb Haverton, Anglican clergyman from the south of England, often said it was his love of God and man that brought him to the purest place on the face of the earth in the mid-1800s. Here, in the lush green of a pristine forest and towering peaks, he built his church first, naturally, then his school. By the time of his death in 1891, young men could enroll in Theology, Mathematics, or Law.

When Ms. Morgan was invited to join the faculty in 1987, the University boasted six colleges. Women were welcomed as students since the mid-thirties. Twenty years in private practice with Standridge, Taylor, Morgan, and Carlossi of San Francisco represented a wealth of experience, highly valued in the eyes of the University hierarchy. She had built a good reputation as a practicing attorney in the post-graduation years of struggle prior to joining the firm, but it was her latter years as defense attorney that created her enviable aura. Fair and tenacious, she was very good at what she did. At Haverton, her expertise and ability to connect with students was put to its best use when she requested to initiate a new course for the Pre-law department. The text she wrote was honored. Thus, Let’s Look at Law became a reality, and she found her fulfillment in guiding young minds on the road to the realization of their potentials.

Slim and trim with strawberry blond hair graying at the temples, Dana, cut a dashing figure as she propelled her energies around campus. First a lady, second a fitness buff, her energy made a liar of her sixty-two years. She labored at times under the reputation of a pleasant sort of rebel for her time with consequent popularity with her students. She admitted to having faults, however, she prided herself on being human, allowing everyone else to be just as human.

She turned the corner and marched up the steps of her building. Good morning, Carl. She passed the maintenance man polishing the banisters leading to the second floor and unlocked the door of her mildly musty office. It always had this peculiar odor until warm bodies passed through with their smells of candy bars, old Nikes, and french fries.

Her desk was the same well-ordered disorder she left the night before. She changed her walking shoes for black penny loafers barely hidden underneath the desk. She hung her sweater in the closet. Pulling the stack of test papers from her briefcase, she began the correcting the papers she meant to do last night until the vision interrupted her thoughts. Midway through the sheaf of papers, she stopped to peer out of the room’s only window. Below in the courtyard, backpacked and bicycling bodies jostled their way through the morning rush. At this moment, she was once again turning over in her mind a long-held contention that there was more to the practice of law than the law itself. The experience of the courtroom provided facts, strategies, and emotions that brought forth the fodder that became Let’s Look at Law, the text for study in the new curriculum she was allowed to create when she came to Haverton. She tapped her pencil against the window sill and frowned.

Jim, she declared under her breath, "I must talk to you now."

She knew James Emerson Whitlow, Dean of the College of Law, would be in his office checking yesterday’s mail. In a friendly relationship with him, and his wife, Dottie, since her first day at Haverton, she had grown fond of his comfortable, tweedy look, his graying hair worn short or long, depending on the time of year or the proximity of payday. Above all, she admired his reverence for the law and his fondness for the young people who strive to share that reverence. Though he had never formally completed a Ph.D. in his field, everyone called him Doc out of respect for his lengthy tenure at Haverton and vast wealth of knowledge he so readily shared. Picking up the receiver, she dialed his number and waited.

Whitlow here.

This is Morgan. Are you busy? Not waiting for a reply, she forged ahead, Have time for talk? At your convenience, of course.

Something on your mind, hmmm?

Nothing new, but it is on my mind again. An hour would be sufficient.

Of course. He respected Dana, personally as well as professionally, and was familiar with her sometimes abrupt manner. Besides that, her thoughts were usually challenging. After lunch in my office.

Yes, sir. Thank you. Satisfaction masked determination as she replaced the receiver and finished correcting the tests.

Hello, Jim. She greeted him with a smile and settled into the chair in front of his desk. How are you?

Great, Morgan, great. He’d called her Morgan since the first day they met though he insisted she call him Jim. Not one to waste time, he went on, What’s on your mind?

Jim, there is more to law than the mere interpretation of printed mandates and laws or the drama of the courtroom, she blurted and took a deep breath.

He leaned back in his chair and prepared himself at the oncoming onslaught of her words. He knew when Dana was wound up and ready to talk it all out.

She went on. It has been my observation through many years of practice that there is a need for knowledge of a particular kind of human relations in the practice of law. In short, a kind of ethics and I don’t mean the traditional Kant or Ten Commandants ethics that satisfies state boards.

Hmmm, ethics, huh. He recalled discussions on this subject in the past, but this time he had a feeling her get-up-and-go was charging forward, unfettered and with purpose. He looked over his glasses. Yes, go on.

It is the lack of a certain brand of ethics in daily practice in our courts, and elsewhere as well, that I find alarming. Laws are cut-and-dried, she paused, as if thinking out loud, except for the occasional ambiguities that show up. She took another deep breath. How they are used is up to the practitioner. And, again from observation, there seem to be increasing numbers of individuals who are misusing or, should I say, manipulating law to their own purposes. Spurred on by his rapt attention, she went on, I would further suggest that this misuse or manipulation has become common practice over many years. The question is: do they do so from ignorance or from guile?

She let the question lay before a colleague who patiently held his silence. Jim, clients end up being losers, or sometimes, unjustified winners. She leaned back and waited for his response.

Resting his elbows on the desk with finger tips touching, he went mentally fishing, Perhaps studies in our Social Science or Psychology Departments could alleviate your concern?

She looked sideways at him, Jim, you’re putting me off.

I’m serious, actually.

Neither of them provides the focus I believe is necessary. She shook her head. I am suggesting emphasis on the development of strong value systems by our students. Teachings could translate into something no more complicated than learning how to treat each other.

He thought for a minute. I hear what you are saying, Morgan, and for that matter, what I’ve heard you saying for some time now. But, as I have told you many times before, our students are not children, and we are not parents.

No, of course not. She paused thoughtfully. I believe I know what needs to happen before they make a commitment to law.

All right, enlighten me. He folded his hands across his stomach as he settled back in his chair.

She leaned toward him in an almost secretive pose. "Listen to this. When you meet someone, friend or stranger, you allow a space to exist between the two of you, right? Then you let him know that you know he is there, maybe with a smile, and you allow him time to respond to you. That time, that little second or two, is all important to what happens between the two of you from then on. He responds, and you have acknowledged each other. She sat back and her shoulders relaxed. You signal your acceptance of his presence by extending your hand or speaking. And again you allow him to respond before you go on. A complex give and take process that happens in seconds! It might well be labeled a gesture of respect. You automatically follow this procedure because you are respectful of others. I would guess that was the way you were brought up."

He nodded, And I believe back then we called it manners; being respectful of our elders.

"Exactly! But the process extends beyond the elders. Jim, I have come to the conclusion that for the majority of mankind this is a learned process, one that has been ignored as life has become faster paced."

He nodded again, and she knew he was digesting her words in his contemplative, academic mill. Then he smiled, Morgan, now that I think about it, I have watched you practice this little process every day. How about in class?

Well, no, not to the extent that I feel it is needed or I would like.

He smiled to himself, remembering his own younger days. Youthful spontaneity, Morgan! It is such a refreshing thing, but it can get out of hand. He paused, So you think we need to teach law students to have manners?

Simply speaking, and relative to ethics, I believe that is what I am saying.

"That is what you are saying, he confirmed, and I cannot find fault with the notion. Go with it."

Yes, sir.

He pretended to be thinking out loud as he often did when he wanted to make a point without being pointed about it, As I see it, teaching students’ manners gets mighty close to their value systems, which is next door to spirituality. One might be so bold as to say their religion. He turned a very sober gaze on her. Keep in mind this is a university with an historic religious background, Christian to be exact, and you may be challenged. Can you handle that?

I believe I can. She was quiet for a moment. "Jim, we would have no reason to get into dogma, denominations, or tenets of any religion. It’s merely ethics, a sort of generic faith, maybe? She shifted in her chair. I’d certainly not be in competition with any church teachings!"

I would hope not, but that’s what I question. Most religions frown on their faithful straying ‘outside of their realm.’ How long might your efforts remain generic and non-denominational? He cocked his head knowingly. Therein lays your challenge, my friend.

She agreed with him. A quiet settled between them and the vision eased its way into her consciousness. Maybe that was what she really wanted to talk about with him, this trusted colleague, a friend. Perhaps now was the time to tell him about it and bear the risk of his having a good laugh at her expense.

On second thought, no, this might not be the right time.

The hubbub of traffic, the tall buildings of San Francisco were long forgotten in the small town atmosphere of White Mountain. Sheltered by mountains on every side, the city’s street lights twinkling through tall, pine trees, and the coziness of its downtown with small stores clustered around the police station and other necessary services provided all Dana required of a pleasant place to live.

Home was a single-story, three-bedroom frame house, painted white with moss green trim at 1224 Third Street on White Mountain’s southwest side. She trudged up the porch steps and unlocked the front door, noticing across the driveway that Callie and John Damon were playing cards. In the dim light from their window, she groped her way to the den, glancing quickly in the direction of the silent television set almost fearing another vision might appear from its depths. She called out, Itsy.

No Itsy. She turned lights on in each room as she searched. Itsy? she called again, and as if in response, the doorbell rang.

It was Callie with Itsy under one arm and a covered plate with a cupcake balanced on top in the other. Your cat and your dinner, she announced, handing Itsy to Dana. She must have found a loose screen to squeeze through somewhere. I found her wandering down the alley an hour ago.

Dana hugged the brown fur gratefully. Thanks, and thanks for dinner, Callie. I’m famished.

You’re welcome, and happy belated birthday! Sorry we were out of town. Don’t work all night now.

No work tonight. She tapped the candle on the cupcake. Thanks Callie.

She sat cross-legged on the den floor devouring Callie’s incomparable meat loaf and mashed potato dinner. Between bites of the cupcake, she tentatively watched the news and stroked Itsy’s glossy coat. It was midnight when she turned the TV off, the lights out, and carried Itsy to the bedroom. It was this small cat body that made coming home so pleasant. Totally accepting and usually without argument, she was a good friend, deserving of the soft nest on the corner of Dana’s bed.

2~Summer 1996

K nowing Dana, Jim felt certain the discussion she started at the end of the second term would go on before the summer was over. Dana stepped into his office with the familiar look of a person continuing a thought held in her mind for a long time. It was a week before classes were to begin. Jim felt like Dana was already in front of her one person lecture class.

Still on the issue of ethics, he listened while she warned him, I find no reason to mince words when I consider the issue to be important. She went to the chair in front of his desk and braced her hands on the back. I am concerned that our sense of what is right or wrong is being compromised. Winning! Whether it’s on a racetrack or in a courtroom, winning is the thing. Money and fame are the ultimate prize. Her voice rose, as she emphasized, Too many cases have become contests between the prosecution and the defense and the more able strategist is the victor. Her voice rose, even higher. What has become of our system that guilt or innocence can apparently be a secondary consideration?

He nodded in his wise way and responded in his softest tone, The most basic concept in our judicial system states that the guilty shall be punished, and the innocent set free. The question is: how can we assure this will take place?

Her head bobbed enthusiastically. Influencing the integrity of the combatants would be a start, she snapped without a moment’s hesitation. Teach them to set good value systems for themselves and then require accountability from them as professionals.

He leaned back in his chair and looked away for a long, uncomfortable moment. Are you suggesting, Morgan, that our students are lacking in home training? That’s where value systems begin, you know. Or perhaps our religious teachers are missing the point in bringing awareness of right and wrong to their followers. Ever think of that?

She waited for him to turn to her. Yes, my friend, and she hesitated, it would seem that is what I am suggesting, would it not?

Yes, it would. He studied her as he considered the ramifications of where such a suggestion might go and how it might be received outside the halls of academia.

She looked down at her hands thoughtfully and spoke the words slowly, "Our students must learn, not only to care but how to care; to be aware of whom they are in relation to each other. Her voice rose. More and more our society is forgetting how to have respect for anything, the flag, ourselves, the ground we walk on."

She paced in front of his desk, hands on hips with an arm occasionally flailing in frustration. What we believe in makes us who we are. It dictates how we treat each other. It is so basic and so necessary. And it has been put on the back burner by our social system. Jim, our brainpower has outdistanced our feelings; our emotions.

She sat down again and leaned forward while emotion welled up in her eyes. Jim, each of us, regardless of or in spite of our upbringing, is the bottom line for our own value system. We, as educators, can reinforce good ones or redirect poor ones. When our students leave us, it is to take on the world out there. And I wonder if they are they truly prepared.

She walked to the window dejectedly, to stare out at the lush green foliage motionless on the tree-tops.

Jim let this all sink in, the long silence saying neither acceptance or defiance. All right, Morgan, I’ll make an appointment with President Ryman. It would be good for him to be aware of what we’ve been talking about. It is teachers like yourself who will make changes. And those changes rest in what you require of your students, how well you can convince them of the inevitability of change without and the consequent need for change within themselves.

I understand. Her voice was low as she turned to face the one person who understood the frustration within her.

Finally he spoke, You care, Morgan. You honestly care.

Sorry for the delay, President Ryman waved a greeting to his waiting colleagues as he hurried into his office, You know how time tends to move faster than we do sometimes. Douglas Ryman settled into his chair. Appearing young for his fifty-five years, he was totally dedicated to what he often referred to as his university though he had occupied the presidency for a relatively short time.

Dana had little association with the President beyond receiving lines or football games which explained her slightly nervous demeanor. Good morning, President Ryman.

Yes, Ms. Morgan, he acknowledged her. Jim, how are you? I understand you have a change in something you felt I should know about. He glanced from one to the other.

Dana cleared her throat and began. Jim, Dr. Whitlow and I have been discussing how I present material to my classes. Actually it is more of a technique I would like to emphasize and student response. She hesitated. You see, sir, I have great concern for what I see as a need for strong value systems in our students, and she went on to share with him the gist of her recent conversations with her department head.

He listened attentively, nodded occasionally, and when she finished, looked at Jim, back at Dana, and remarked, I fail to see the gravity of your concern. You merely want to put emphasis on mode of instruction that will teach manners to your students with resulting respect. What is your feeling on the subject, Dr. Whitlow?

I agree with her assessment of the need for respect in and out of class, as well as court. And after our conversations, I tend to agree with her proposed means of applying it; simply requiring respect in her classroom, and a hint of sarcasm crept into his voice, that is, if it does not interfere with someones rights. He shifted in his chair before delivering his next opinion. As an educator, I have had similar concerns these recent years, and I can identify with her observations. He paused. As a citizen, I read the paper, I watch TV, and too often, I find what can go on in our courts sometimes nothing short of appalling. He raised his eyebrows. What to do about it? This would be a place to begin. That is how I see it, Sir.

The President nodded. I see. My next question: are we failing as educators?

Dana was quick to reply, Sir, progress has brought change to our environment and our culture. It has influenced how we relate to or treat each other. Developmentally, society has not kept pace with the technological changes we have imposed upon ourselves. Symptoms of the inequity are appearing in behavior. If there is need to lay blame, place it there. It is a failure I believe all society shares.

Doug