Mark My Words: A Christopher Family Novel Book 1

By W. D. Foster-Graham

Allan Beckley Christopher is a self-made, African-American multimillionaire.Starting out with nothing but family, very high intelligence, ambition and drive, he succeeded against the odds.He dealt with racism, discrimination and the naysayers, Black and white, who were convinced he would never make it as an entrepreneur in the 1960s.Opening a fix-it shop in southside Chicago, through hard work and determination he turns it into a multi-million-dollar corporation.
Hes made his mark.His home is a thirty-room estate.He is among the Whos Who of Black America.His company is listed in the Fortune 500.He is a mover and shaker in the community, and all the connections that accompany it.He faithfully attends church on Sundays.
But has he made it?
With the advent of his sixtieth birthday, his character, his past and his beliefs come into focus, honor and question as his story is told through the eyes of his family--including his four LGBT children--and with it his impact on their lives.
The time is 1988; the place, Chicago.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546245964

W. D. Foster-Graham

W.D. Foster-Graham is a native son of Minneapolis, Minnesota. He received a B.A. in psychology from Luther College, with a minor in Black studies. He is an original member of the 3-time Grammy Award-winning ensemble, Sounds of Blackness. He has also been recognized by the International Society of Poets as one of its “Best New Poets of 2003,” and is a guest writer for Wyatt O’Brian Evans (The Huffington Post, the Washington Post, the Advocate). He is the book review editor for Insight News, a Black community newspaper in the Twin Cities. His passion for writing was inspired by his father, who read voraciously. His tastes in writing run to historical fiction, family sagas, and romance, seasoned with his own brand of African American flavor—at the end of the day, it’s all about the love. He shamelessly admits to a love of romance novels, whodunits, and classic movies of old Hollywood. He also received inspiration from the late novelists E. Lynn Harris and Toni Morrison. In Toni’s words, “If there is a story you wish to read, and it hasn’t been written yet, then you must be the one to write it.” Retired from the field of teaching, he loves travel on the open road and time with his husband and son when not in writer’s mode. This is the 7th novel in his Christopher Family Novel series.

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© 2018 W. D. Foster-Graham. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/22/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-4597-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-4596-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018906707

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

Prologue May 11, 1988

Allan Beckley Christopher, Then and Now

Maureen Moore Christopher

Martin Allan Christopher (March 28, 1948)

Joshua Mitchell Christopher (February 23, 1950)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Melvin Burnside, Abaree Rayfield, Don Roman, Darrel and Natasha Polk, Rev. & Mrs. Walter Kimbrough and all the folks at Cascade United Methodist Church, Atlanta; Janice Griggs (my favorite female friend), Roberta Talley, Toni Favors and the crew at Southern Bell MAC (1990-1993); my Uncle Funny’s family; my brothers and sisters at AALGA; the Atlanta Writers’ Resource Center; Pastor E.W. Alvin and my church family at Freedom Christian Tabernacle; Florida 44; Albert Sanders (who helped me find a way around the glitch in my old computer program); Rev. S.L. Williams; my friends at First Church of Deliverance and Travelers Rest Spiritual Church, Chicago; Yvette Hay-Rachal; my brother, Arthur Foster; my extended family; Marci Rubin, Brett Merl, Dora Zayas, Richard Howe and the gang at Legal Club of America; and to Paul Borrmann; thank you for your support, your encouragement, your best wishes and your prayers. And thanks be to God for making what was once a dream a reality.

This

book is dedicated

to Dad

my No. 1 fan, for his continued love and support;

to Fabian

who planted the seed;

to Stanley

who wanted the first copy.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

PROLOGUE

MAY 11, 1988

As Allan Beckley Christopher flicks on a soft light in his study, it welcomes him like the haven it has always been since he and Maureen bought the estate nearly twenty-five years ago. His inner sanctum offers him time for relaxation, meditation, concentration and thought now, as well as rest for his 6'6" body.

Still no final decision on the new board member, he thinks as he drops his blue double-breasted jacket carefully on one of the cushiony high-backed chairs. With so many qualified candidates, this is taking longer than I planned on. Well, it can hold a few more days.

He loosens his tie and perks up his ears for a moment. What? No Run DMC, no L.L. Cool J., not even Prince or any of those other groups, he thinks to himself. Bernie must be out–I’d never have this kind of blessed quietness around if he were home. How he studies with that crap turned up to hurricane force is beyond me. In my day, you studied quietly or else. I’m sure he’s out somewhere with Sherman–all they’ve been talking about lately is this Holy Union business. I still don’t quite understand all of this–nineteen is a little young to be getting serious about anyone. Maybe it’s because he’s the youngest, maybe because it means he’s getting ready to leave the nest, I don’t know. I told all the kids that, and how many of them listened? Anyway, there’ll be some peace and calm for a while, and I can listen to some decent music.

He takes off his new shoes, and lets out a sigh as his size thirteen feet experience liberation from the soreness brought on from breaking them in.

He walks over to the wet bar to mix himself a tonic water and lime. Dropping a couple of ice cubes in the glass, he looks up momentarily, the two plaques on the wall in front of him catching his eye. Maureen’s masters and doctorate degrees in education; how hard she worked to earn them, how proud she was to receive them. That was one of the things their parents stressed; Once you get that education, it can’t be taken away from you. It sure was a benefit to me, he thinks. Every homework assignment she got she worked out with me. Because of that, my command of language is superb. I’m much more articulate now, on paper and orally.

A principal in a Chicago high school. I wonder how she manages some days. The kids have such different problems these days–drugs, teen pregnancy, street gangs and diseases that make syphilis seem like a common cold. When you add the problems maintaining school policy and budget restraints on top of that, it’s a wonder her hair wasn’t totally gray long before now.

With drink in hand, he meanders by the mahogany desk, allowing his eyes to linger on the framed 5x7 photograph. His lips form a slight smile, enhanced by the laugh lines on his coppery face. The sepia tones and delightful smile of Maureen’s 1947 high school class picture flash back at him. It was the first picture she had given him of herself–her makeup skillfully applied to highlight her mocha brown complexion, her dark brown hair pressed and curled into a long pageboy flip and upswept on the sides in the manner of her idol, Lena Horne. She was strikingly beautiful then. Looking at her now he still sees her beauty after forty years of marriage and eight children.

Facets of his years with her come to mind: their commitment and love for one another, the ups and downs in their lives, the intimate knowledge they have of each other, her encouragement and support (even when he was no prize to live with), raising their lively brood of children, being young and in love and….

Hold it, he says to himself, remembering that he was only nineteen when he married Maureen. How was I any different from Bernie? Was I any more mature? Were my feelings any more of less intense then his? Maybe not, but I was working and putting myself through trade school before I did marry.

His focus shifts from his wife’s picture to the blue and orange brochure lying on top of the desk pad. On it, in bold eye-catching lettering are the words, Christopher Electronics–Prospectus 1988-89 and at the bottom is written, Victoria L. Christopher, Chief Executive Officer, Allan Beckley Christopher, Chairman of the Board of Directors. Vickie has done an incredible job these past two years as president, more than I ever gave her credit for when she first started with the company. I wish my sons had wanted to take over the business, even one of them–this is what I built it for. Still, how can I argue with success? This has been our best year yet, and that’s no easy feat these days. Looks like Vickie and I share a lot more in common that I thought, even as wild as she was when….A cloud comes across his brow for a second, then passes as quickly as his train of thought. She’s a great CEO, and it’s also time she found a man just as successful as she is and got married. George Collins’ son Brian might be a possibility…..

The gentle tinkling of the ice cubes in his drink enhances the stillness that now captivates him. The house seems so empty, what with all the children gone save for Bernie. It doesn’t seem so long ago when I looked forward to the day when the kids would be grown and out on their own, and now….where did all the years go? I didn’t just work them all away, and yet tomorrow I’ll be sixty years old. Sixty…..what a long way from Kansas City to Evanston, including the stops in New York and Chicago. Sixty…..a wife, eight children and now seventeen grandchildren. Sixty…..I could retire now and be financially secure for the rest of my life, but I’m not ready to step down yet. No, not for a long, long time. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of his tonic water and lime, almost emphasizing this last declaration to himself.

He steps over to the record cabinet, basking in the comfort of the lush beige carpeting. This was his private domain in the estate, the fortress of solitude, as his oldest son Martin named it. He chuckles to himself as the memory of that event unfolds.

It was the summer of 1964, shortly after they moved into the estate. Although he was sixteen, Marty still loved comic books, and the stringent rules Allan had set down about entering the study and one’s conduct in it led Marty to jokingly compare it to the fortress of solitude he read about in his Superman comic books. If Allan couldn’t be found anywhere in or around the house and the car was there, everyone knew he had to be in the fortress of solitude.

Browsing through the albums, he locates one of his favorites by Dinah Washington. His fortress–very masculine in the essence of the deep browns and beiges of the walls, carpeting and furniture. All the major pieces–such as the desk, bookshelves, entertainment center and the easy chairs–successfully combined the functional with the elegant, their strength and durability in no way detracting from his comfort and convenience.

Checking the songs on the back of the album cover, he pauses to read the autograph in the lower left-hand corner: Happy Father’s Day. Love, Marty. Maybe Marty didn’t go into business with him, but this gift–a fruit of his labors from his first record store–spoke well of his capabilities as a businessman. Those early days when he would help out as a child at the fix-it shop weren’t wasted. Marty was virtually his shadow in those days, at least until he started college and took up with that…...her.

A frown appears on his brow. His fingers involuntarily go to his mustache, tugging and twisting it at the mere thought of his former daughter-in-law. I knew that woman was no good; knew it from the start. With the way she left him and the kids, I rest my case. She didn’t even have the decency to explain anything until the divorce papers were served–just deserted them without hide nor hair from her for almost two years. That conniving, golddigging little….why couldn’t he have married Suzette Chandler when he had the opportunity? She would have been perfect for him–she had the background, the class, the right social circles, the connections. But no! He had to go off and marry that…..that…..that.…

He takes another swallow of his drink in an effort to fight off an oncoming headache. At least his current choice for a spouse is nothing like Ellie was. It certainly wasn’t what I expected of him, but after thirteen years there must be something to it.

Setting his drink on one of the wooden coasters near the record cabinet, Allan removes the record from its cover and jacket, painstakingly placing it on the turntable, thoroughly removing all traces of dust from it and the needle with his special pad and brush. As the radiant voice of Dinah Washington flows from the speakers, the contented smile returns to his face. Now this is music; they don’t make ’em like this anymore. Of course, my Allison can give Dinah a run for her money. She is definitely making a name for herself–six albums, write-ups in every top magazine in the world and tours that rival Janet Jackson’s. That reggae music is too political for me, but she sure does jazz and blues justice. I hope she sings in church Sunday, just like she did when she was a little girl. Amazing–against the odds, she made it in the entertainment field.

I can’t wait to see her family when they arrive, especially my new grandsons. Judging from the pictures she sent, they have the Christopher eyes and face, plus those eyebrows and that nose of Michael’s. What was that she wrote about putting them to sleep? Oh yes–they sleep to Bob Marley records. What ever happened to lullaby and good night or rockabye baby? My children, my children–what will they think of next? I thought mothers stayed home like my mama did, or hired a nurse full-time. Not Allison. She takes those babies everywhere she goes when they’re on tour. Sleeping to Bob Marley records. By the time they’re three years old those twins will be carrying signs in a protest, just like their Aunt Tanya did.

Distress from the past and pride from the present ebb and flow through the currents of his mind as he thinks of his activist daughter. Tanya sure is a fighter–it’s not often these days that she loses a case. Maybe I will go ahead and get that bumper sticker that says, Go ahead, hit me–my daughter is a lawyer. That would get a laugh out of her. Sometimes she gets so wrapped up in her cases that she pushes herself to the limits. Perhaps that’s one of the results of her struggle to survive by being born so early. Sitting back and waiting for things to get better was never her style. It was always fight, challenge, perservere.

Sixty…..sixty…..sixty…..The number pulses with the rhythm of a slow heartbeat in his mind as he eases into the inviting arms of his recliner, positioned like a command post in the far corner of his fortress. Slight tinges of soreness in his stomach and calf muscles reassert themselves from yesterday’s workout with his oldest daughter Katie, accompanied by low rumblings from the paunch at his waistline. He never considered his 250 pounds to be a problem before, even when his physical activity had slacked off some in favor of hours behind his desk at the office, meetings with Vickie and other personnel, rich meals, couch time and the like. Not so, according to Katie. Given his age and medical history (including his prior problems with high blood pressure), he needed to lose fifteen pounds and get back into a physical fitness program, and she was going to see to it that he did. She could be a real drill sergeant when it came to fitness, and when the family doctor gave the OK there was no stopping her. The idea of exercise and workouts didn’t hold the appeal it did years ago. His concept of workouts had geared itself more toward the boardroom vs. a gym or basketball court, allowing for the occasional basketball games with his children and grandchildren. However reluctant he had been, when Katie asked him the question, Would you like to enroll in our aerobic dance class? he got out his sweatsuit and hurried to the gym to begin work on the weights and the track.

She did it again, he thought as he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, stretching in an effort to find a more comfortable position in his recliner. My firstborn daughter–she always finds some way to get what she wants. Just when I think I’ve got her, she pulls out her wiles or her psychology. For that talent alone she could be pulling down eighty dollars an hour. However, even with a husband and three children she’s still 80% tomboy–whatever the boys did, she did. No wonder they call her Champ, ever since the days when we lived on the South Side.

Allan takes another drink of his tonic water and lime, its tartness refreshing his throat. His eyes rest upon the children’s wall of school pictures, acheivements and school projects, plus mementos from their respective professions as adults. At the end of the wall, in order of birth, eight pairs of bronzed baby shoes were mounted. Maureen had insisted upon it as a matter of tradition. Neither her grandparents nor her father had had any; survival from day to day in New York took a far greater priority than such a luxury in those days gone by. However, her mother’s shoes had been bronzed, hers had been, and she in turn did the same with her children’s shoes as a tangible remembrance of their infancy. His eyes stop at the second pair of shoes from the top. They are also the biggest pair, belonging to his second son, Joshua Mitchell.

Josh was the biggest of their children at birth–nine pounds and fifteen ounces of robust baby boy. He looks like he’s right at home on a construction site now, Allan mused, remembering all the starts and stops Josh experienced to get his contracting business off the ground. He should have had a son to help him with this kind of business. Sure, he’s training Ruby and she’s a fast learner, but what can a daughter do in the long run in construction? I just don’t understand. I’ve tried to tell him that time and time again, and now he just acts like I haven’t said a word. His wife must have had something to do with this. All those years of working in the front office and out on the job sites must have gone to her head at some point. If Penny wanted a career, fine, but a wife working in her husband’s business…I just hope Josh knows what he’s doing down the road. Down the road…….seems like only yesterday he could find the only pebble in the road and trip over it, and now his company’s built skyscrapers, office complexes, apartment buildings, stores. How his daughters will fill those size fourteens of his or his hardhat, I’ll never know.

His hands folded in his lap, the empty glass sitting on an end table, Allan relaxes more and more in the easy, familiar surroundings. Dinah serenades him in song with We’ll Take Manhattan; pure music to his ears. Manhattan…..Manhattan…..Marshall was born in Manhattan. No, wait–not Manhattan. It was…..it was…..it was Brooklyn. He gazes at the children’s wall again, taking special note of the drawing near the center. The house designed on it was for one of the first clients Marshall had during his early days with the firm, when the idea of his own architectural firm and clientele was yet a dream. According to Katie, Josh and Tanya, Marshall had drawn and redrawn those plans, given to scrapping them at the most minute flaw or error, causing full wastebaskets and driving everyone around him up the walls until the project was completed.

Allan regretted getting that information secondhand, given that he and his son were not communicating well then; stubbornness and pride were just two of the problems they had to work out during that time. As it turned out, the work he did on that set of drawings and the enthusiastic reception by his client provided just the push to get Marshall’s career going. He’s smart, all right; talented, too, Allan thought, with traces of mist forming around his eyes. He graduated from high school at sixteen like I did, and graduated from college summa cum laude. Truly he excelled and applied his education, but I sure didn’t think so when I saw him in that parade…..

His fingers slowly rub the mist from his eyes, again focusing on the drawing. He and Josh have collaborated on a lot of projects, but Marshall needs to know when to quit telling Josh how to run his business. He can be such a busybody sometimes, at least until Leroy puts a few words in.

Leaning back and closing his eyes, the first traces of sleep begin to weave their soothing effect upon Allan. Dinah Washington is fading into the background, yet that number–that milestone–pulses rhythmically in his head as drowsiness takes over, the laugh lines and the few wrinkles in the copper of his complexion seeming to soften. Sixty…..sixty….sixty…..sixty…..

Allan Beckley Christopher, Then and Now

The youngest of five sons, Allan Beckley Christopher was born on May 12, 1928 in Kansas City, Missouri, to Joshua and Lorraine Christopher. From a very early age, Allan proved to be a gifted child. His reading skills and comprehension developed by the age of three, and as a child, his knack with electrical appliances and systems resulted in the nickname Little Mr. Fixit. He loved music and was an avid sports fan, which he carried into his adult life. His parents couldn’t afford to send him to a special school, and even if they were able, there were none in the area that would accept a young Black child. As a result, his brightness engendered boredom in class, which in turn created mischief on several occasions in school. Encouraged by his brothers (Dennis, Franklin, Samuel and Amos) and his father, he played on the football and basketball teams–something he would later encourage in his own children and grandchildren. Being one of the few high school graduates in his family, his mother Lorraine motivated him to push for excellence academically as well as athletically, and he graduated from Lincoln High School in 1944 at the age of sixteen.

Allan went on to trade school to become an electrician, working whatever odd jobs he could get to support himself and contribute to the family and church. The striving for achievement instilled in him by his parents also created a stubbornness in him, a trait that frequently manifested itself when racism reared its head. His mind would constantly look for ways around or over that obstacle and refuse to give up.

In the summer of 1946, between finishing trade school and the beginning of his apprenticeship, he met Maureen Moore at St. Mark’s AME, his family’s church. She and her family were visiting relatives in Kansas City for summer vacation, and he was taken by her demeanor, her sophistication and her gracefulness. She seemed older than her seventeen years, so different from the girls he grew up around. She shared his interest in a better life, and rekindled interests in the performing arts during the leisure time they spent together as well as other fun elements of life. They were married on June 7, 1947. Allan completed his apprenticeship and moonlighted when he could to support his new family. Maureen also worked as a seamstress, leaving their son Martin in the care of his mother Lorraine. In 1950 Allan and his family (which now included infant son Josh) moved to Maureen’s native Brooklyn, in search of better opportunities.

New York gave Allan exposure to life in the big city, the outside world. It also gave him time to spend with Maureen’s family. The glitter and fast pace of the city was exciting, as he discovered from escapades with his brother-in-law Mitchell Jr. As a result, he took a detour into the sporting life. Arguments arose between Maureen and Allan when his preoccupation with the night life got out of hand, and his stubbornness created more problems. His father-in-law, Mitchell Moore Sr., eventually intervened, and he snapped Allan back to reality with very strong language about his priorities and responsibilities to his wife. Allan listened, Maureen forgave him, and things got back on track. During this time a son, Marshall, and a daughter, Norma Catherine, were born, and Allan became more concerned about better opportunities for his growing family. His brothers Franklin and Dennis had lived in Chicago for some time, and mentioned a job opportunity with the local power company. With family in tow, Allan moved to Chicago in early 1953.

He worked at the power company for the next six years, keeping abreast of innovations, creating systems on his own, saving money whenever possible, and watching his family grow to seven children (daughters Tanya, Victoria and Allison had been born by the end of 1955). In late 1957 the family moved into their first home on 74th and South St. Lawrence Avenue. Being a family man, Allan stayed close to his brothers and their families, taking time out to enjoy picnics, the beach or other informal gatherings at their respective homes. Though firm when it came to discipline, he was also fun-loving regarding his children–reading them stories, teaching them to shoot baskets and the art of self-defense (to the older children), and occasionally taking some of them to visit his job. Like his father Joshua he asserted his position as head of the household, but was supportive of his wife and together they dealt with joys and trials of raising seven children. When possible, he would take his family down to Kansas City or on the train to New York, to the delight of his parents and in-laws.

Although he was a licensed electrician with exceptional, proven expertise, he found his career going nowhere. The money he made afforded a comfortable (if not extravagant) life style for him and his family, yet discriminatory practices frequently left him passed over for promotions. Having no recourse to affirmative action programs or the like at that time, he looked for alternatives. In 1959 he quit his job and took over a small electrical supply and repair shop in the neighborhood. His outgoing personality and his expertise with electrical components held him in good stead. His tenacity, hard work and determination to succeed turned the initial lean years into profitable ones and soon he had a full-time staff. To make up for the additional time he spent away from home, Allan encouraged his family to see him at the shop. His commitment to excellence and quality in business was often carried over into his home life, particularly where his children’s education was concerned, and he and Maureen set high standards there.

In 1964 the business had grown and expanded to the point where larger quarters were needed, hence Christopher Electronics was moved into a larger building, while Allan and his family moved to a new home in Evanston. He continued to be involved in the community and in their church. However, his innate curiosity and well-intentioned motives often turned to meddling in the affairs of his friends, relatives and neighbors, which was usually stopped by Maureen before his ways made things even worse.

The issues of the turbulent ’60s fell upon everyone’s ears, Allan’s family being no exception. Civil rights was big in his household, and he was engaged in endless discussions with his wife and kids over the issues–voting, housing, schools, Black history, protest, politics, etc. Thanks to the nest egg he and Maureen had established in their early years of marriage and the success of the business, Allan was able to send his oldest child Martin to college in the fall of 1966. Seeing his firstborn graduate from high school and go on to college was a source of great pride to him, and the Christophers and Moores were there in force for the commencement exercises.

With Maureen’s return to work as a teacher and a house full of teenage children, life became a round of classes, rehearsals, part-time and summer jobs, sports, car pools, meetings, dates and busy telephone lines around the estate. When it came to Sundays, Allan put his foot down–everyone was in attendance for church and Sunday dinner. Periodically family meetings were held to work out problems or celebrate achievements. The strong sense of family ties Allan grew up with was in turn instilled in his own family, and they stuck together regardless of any internal problems they had.

1968-69 would see many family meetings pertaining to the joys, celebrations, trials and tribulations that affected his family: the marriages of sons Martin to a golddigger/opportunist and Josh to a white woman, son Marshall’s coming out as a gay man, daughter Katie’s elopement at age sixteen, the birth of his first grandchildren, the birth of his youngest son Bernard six months later, and the attack upon his daughter Tanya by police at the National Democratic Convention. Some situations were very difficult for him to handle, and at times his stubbornness turned to intractibility, worsening an already bad situation. In addition, Allan experienced problems with high blood pressure. Time, however, proved to be on his side. He quit the smoking habit he started in recent years and made changes in his life style to keep his blood pressure under control, and lines of communication were kept open–not always harmonious, but open.

The following years saw a mellowing in Allan. He’s not quite as stubborn, and he takes more in stride. His attitude is more relaxed in raising Bernard, yet he still offers advice regarding the raising of his grandchildren. His love of football and basketball are as strong as ever, and he can be seen in the bleachers at the football field or basketball court where his grandchildren are playing. He appreciates the performing arts, and daughter Allison’s singing career is something he speaks of with pride. Even with careers and commitments, Allan remains a family man, and devotes more time to Maureen as well as interest in her work in education. He loves his grandchildren and enjoys listening to their dreams and ideas, telling them in turn about his own experiences as a young Black man. Though his children are grown and leading their own lives, the family unity he and Maureen taught them remains intact, and the closeness is evident.

As part of his commitment to excellence in education, Allan established the Lorraine Beckley Christopher Scholarship Fund for minority students through Christopher Electronics. His provisions for his children saw them through college and trade school (plus personal efforts on their part), hence the fund was established in 1974, at a time when grants and scholarships began drying up. He was disappointed when none of his sons showed an interest in the business, but was pleasantly surprised when his daughter Victoria went to work for Christopher Electronics, displaying a talent and dedication that proved to be a major asset to Christopher Electronics. But so much for public consumption…….

Maureen Moore Christopher

The faculty meeting had ended, and teachers gradually filed out of the room, talking among themselves about the ever-present issue of the budget. It had been a serious brainstorming session. The school had been holding its own in its efforts to give its students quality education, but ways and means had to be formulated to counter the