Erich Segal - The Class

My heart was starting to beat fast. I asked them what the hell was going on.

They handed me a letter. It read:

My dear Andrew,

You have always been so kind to me that I dare to ask you to serve as my executor.

I have a bank account and some stocks and bonds. Please see that these get to my sister in Hungary.

You are all the good things that I never was or could be. Thanks.

George

The two agents then sat rue down and explained that I was about to be privy to a government secret.

George had committed suicide last night.

I was stunned. And instantly felt guilty for letting him get on that plane.

They emphasized that his death would be announced as having occurred from natural causes. Not merely.to avoid government scandal, but out of respect for a loyal public servant. Weighed down by the pressures of his job, George had probably succumbed to despair in a moment of weakness.

Funeral arrangements were being made. By a special Executive order George would be buried in Arlington National Cemetery (they emphasized what a rare honor this was for a civilian). Did I know anyone who should be informed?

What could I say? They probably should contact his ex-wife. She might want to attend. I could think of no one else.

They suggested that it might be better if I were the one to tell Cathy and gave me her number in New York.

They left me to my anguish and confusion. I finally gathered the courage to pick up the phone.

Cathy seemed very pleased to hear my voice, Until I got around to the reason I was calling. Without my telling her she guessed that it had been by his hand.

She was silent for a moment. And then apologized for not being able to cry. She said she had always been afraid he might do something like this. And in a very soft voice she thanked me for having tried to be George’s friend.

All I could answer was that I wished I’d been a better friend.

She replied that she wished she could have been a better wife. But it was impossible for George to accept love. From anyone.

I told her about his being buried at Arlington, which made him a sort of American hero. That probably would have meant a great deal to George. She agreed, but said the price was too high.

Then I asked if she wanted to attend the funeral. She said yes, but sounded anxious. I told her that, if she wanted, I’d fly to New York so we could travel to Washington together. She said she really would like that. I was glad she accepted. I would need her company too.

After we hung up I asked myself why the hell George had done it. He had so much to live for.

I guess he just didn’t know how to be happy.

That’s the one thing they can’t teach you at Harvard.

When Commencement Day was over, The Class of ’58 returned to the Union one final time. Although champagne was served, the mood was curiously subdued.

After this reunion, they would probably never meet together as a class again — at least not in such numbers. They would spend the next decades reading obituaries of the men who had started out in 1954 as rivals and today were leaving Harvard as brothers.

This was the beginning of the end. They had met once more and just had time enough to learn that they liked one another.

And to say goodbye.

ERICH SEGAL is himself a member of the Harvard class of 1958. In addition to his three bestselling novels — Love Story, Oliver’s Story, Man, Woman and Child — he has published books and articles on Greek and Latin literature. He has taught at Harvard, Yale and Princeton. He lives in New England with his wife and daughter.