Sidney Sheldon - The Other Side of Me

‘When I looked up again, the boy was climbing the steps of the reservoir wall, and was almost at the top. It was dangerous. I looked around for his babysitter or nurse or someone, but there was no one. As I watched, the little boy reached the top. He slipped and fell down into the reservoir. A guard in the tower saw what had happened, but I knew that he could never get to the boy in time.

‘I got up and ran like hell to the wall. I climbed it as fast as I could. When I got to the top, I looked down and I could see the boy going under. I jumped down, into the water, and managed to grab him. I was fighting to keep the two of us afloat.

‘Then help arrived and they pulled us out. They put me in the hospital for a couple of days because I had swallowed a lot of water and I had some bruises from the jump.’

We were hanging on his every word.

‘As luck had it, the boy was the warden’s son. The warden and his wife came to visit me in the hospital to thank me.’ Otto looked up at us and smiled. ‘And that would have been the end of it except for one thing. They found out that I couldn’t swim and that’s when everything got crazy. Suddenly I was a hero. It was in the newspaper and on the radio. There were phone calls and letters and telegrams coming into the prison offering me jobs and asking for leniency for me. The warden and the governor had a meeting and they decided that since my offense wasn’t too serious, that it might be good public relations to pardon me.’ He held out his arms. ‘And here I am.’

We were a family again.

It might have been a coincidence, but suddenly a scholarship that I had applied for a year earlier from B’nai B’rith—a Jewish philanthropic organization—had been awarded to me.

It was like a miracle. I was going to be the first one in my family to go to college. A page had turned. I decided that maybe there might be a future for me somewhere after all. But even with the scholarship, we were desperately short of money.

Could I handle the checkroom job seven nights a week, Afremow’s on Saturdays and a full college schedule?

I would see.

Northwestern University is located in Evanston, Illinois, twelve miles north of Chicago. The university, a 240-acre campus on the shore of Lake Michigan, was spectacular. At nine o’clock on a Monday morning, I walked into the office of the registrar.

‘I’m here to enter the university.’

‘Your name?’

‘Sidney Schechtel.’

The registrar picked up a heavy volume and looked through it. ‘Here we are. What courses would you like to take?’

‘All of them.’

She looked up at me. ‘What?’

‘I mean as many as I’m allowed. While I’m here, I want to learn all I can.’

‘What are you mostly interested in?’

‘Literature.’

I watched her go through some pamphlets. She picked one up and handed it to me. ‘Here’s a list of our courses.’

I scanned the list. ‘This is great.’ I checked off the courses I wanted and then handed the list back to her.

She looked at it and said, ‘You’re taking the maximum amount of courses?’

‘That’s right.’ I frowned. ‘But Latin isn’t there. I really do want to take Latin.’

She was looking at me. ‘Do you really think you can handle all this?’

I smiled. ‘No problem.’

She wrote down ‘Latin.’

From the registrar’s office, I went to the cafeteria kitchen. ‘Can you use a busboy?’

‘Always.’

So I had another job, but it was not enough. I felt impelled to do more, as though I were making up for lost time. That afternoon I went to the offices of the Daily Northwestern , the school newspaper.

‘I’m Sidney Schechtel,’ I told the man behind the desk with a sign marked ‘Editor.’ ‘I’d like to work on the paper.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘we’re full up. Try us next year.’

‘Next year will be too late.’ I stood there thinking. ‘Do you have a show business section?’

‘A show business section?’

‘Yes. Celebrities are always coming to Chicago to do shows here. Don’t you have someone to interview them for the paper?’

‘No. We—’

‘Do you know who’s in town right now, dying to be interviewed? Katharine Hepburn!’

‘We’re not set up to—’

‘And Clifton Webb.’

‘We’ve never had a—’

‘Walter Pidgeon.’

‘I can talk to someone, but I’m afraid—’

‘George M. Cohan.’

He was getting interested. ‘Do you know these people?’

I did not hear the question. ‘There’s no time to lose. When their shows close, they’re leaving.’

‘All right. I’m going to take a chance on you, Schechtel.’

He had no idea how excited I was. ‘That’s the best decision you’ve ever made.’

‘We’ll see. When can you start?’

‘I’ve already started. You’ll have the first interview in your next edition.’

He looked at me in amazement. ‘Already? Who is it?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

It was a surprise to me, too.

In what spare time I had, I interviewed many minor celebrities for the newspaper. My first interview was with Guy Kibbee, who was a minor character actor at the time. The major stars were too important to be interviewed for a school newspaper.

I was working in the checkroom and the drugstore, I was taking the maximum number of courses at school, plus Latin, I had a job as a busboy, and I was on staff at the Daily Northwestern . But it wasn’t enough. It’s as though I was driven. I thought about what else I could do. Northwestern had a great winning football team, and there was no reason I couldn’t be on it. I’m sure the Wildcats could use me .

The following morning I went out to the football field where the team was practicing. Pug Rentner, who went on to a glorious career in the NFL, was the star of the team that year. I walked up to the coach, who was on the sidelines watching the action. ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’

‘What’s on your mind?’

‘I’d like to try out for the team.’

He looked me over. ‘You would, huh? You’ve got a pretty good build. Where did you play?’

I didn’t answer.

‘High school? College?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Grammar school?’

‘No, sir.’

He was staring at me. ‘You’ve never played football?’

‘No, but I’m very quick and—’

‘And you’d like to be on this team? Son, forget about it.’ And his attention went back to the scrimmage.

That was the end of my football aspirations.

The professors at Northwestern were wonderful and the classes were exciting. I was hungry to learn everything I could. The week after I started school, I passed a sign in the corridor that read: ‘Tryouts tonight. Northwestern Debating Team.’ I stopped and stared at it. I knew it was insane and yet I felt compelled to try out.

There is a maxim that death is the number two fear that people have, and public speaking is the first. That was certainly so in my case. To me, there was nothing more terrifying than public speaking. But I was obsessed. I had to do everything. I had to keep turning the pages.

When I walked into the designated tryout room, it was filled with young men and women waiting their turn. I took a seat and listened. All the speakers sounded fantastic. They were articulate and spoke fluently, with great confidence.

Finally it was my turn. I got up and walked over to the microphone.

The man in charge said, ‘Your name?’

‘Sidney Schechtel.’

‘Your subject?’

I had prepared for this. ‘Capitalism versus communism.’

He nodded. ‘Go ahead.’

I began to speak and I thought it was going very well. When I got halfway through my subject, I stopped. I was frozen. I had no idea what came next. There was a long, nervous pause. I mumbled something to end the speech and slunk out, cursing myself.