Erich Segal - The Class

Jason was mustered early from the Marine Corps in August 1961 so that he could get up north in time to enter Harvard Law School.

He had spent his tour of duty first as an instructor in the Basic School, then, primarily because he looked so perfect in his uniform, as an O.S.O. (officer selection officer). His assignment had been to tour campuses and induce undergraduates to follow his own path to military glory by joining the Platoon Leaders Class — or, failing that, at least the marines.

Jason inwardly likened these recruitment expeditions to a fishing contest. And, competitive as always, he was determined to come home with the biggest catch. He was pleased, if not surprised, to learn from his commanding officer that he had won this challenge as well.

Still, he was relieved to be out of the military and eager to tackle the law.

He was also eager to see Fanny. For their correspondence had continued unabated throughout the nearly twenty-four months that they had not seen each other.

But the marines would not grant him a few extra weeks so he could visit the woman he was certain he wanted to marry. That reunion would have to stand the test of yet another academic year.

More letters. More phone calls. But a lot less patience.

There is an old saying about the experience of Harvard Law School: in the first year they scare you to death. In the second they work you to death. And in the third they bore you to death.

The two years of military service that separated Jason from most of his classmates helped him when it came to confronting the terrifying Law School professors. They were nowhere near as frightening as many drill sergeants. And if he was unable to give a magnificent answer in, say, contracts class, the teacher’s sneer was a lot more benign than having to do a hundred push-ups.

He also benefited from the fact that some of The Class of ’58 who had gotten student deferments were now seniors and more than willing to help their undergraduate hero.

“You should go in for trial law,” advised Gary McVeagh. “With your looks, you could snow the female jurors without opening your mouth. And they’d take care of the men. You’d never lose.”

“Nah,” contradicted Seymour Herscher, “he should go in for divorce law. They’ll all come flocking to him hoping to get Jason as part of the settlement.”

But Jason already had a game plan. He and his dad had discussed it for years.

First, if he could manage to keep up with these superbrains in the Law School, he would try to get a clerkship. From there it would be a few years of general practice with a prestigious New York or Washington firm. All of which would serve as a springboard for his ultimate ambition — politics.

“Jason,” the elder Gilbert had once jested, “I’m so sure you’ll succeed, I’d be willing to invest in a house in Washington right now.”

But these juvenile career fantasies were supplanted by a newer and better dream that sustained Jason through the grim series of practice exams in January, and the spring tension when the real finals were approaching.

It was the thought that, pass or fail, he would at last be reunited with that lovely Dutch girl whose picture smiled at him from his desk.

He had not lived like a total monk in the two-and-a-half-year interval since he had last seen Fanny. But the girls with whom he had casual dates only reminded him of how different his relationship with her was.

And though she never said anything in her letters, he somehow sensed that she too was merely marking time till they could be together again.

For this reason Jason welcomed the advent of exams with enthusiasm. While most of his classmates grew sicker and more panicked with every test, he regarded the filling of each bluebook as another leaf in the passport that would take him through the gates of the Law School. And into the arms of his beloved.

During the long flight to Amsterdam, Jason was nervous about seeing her again. It had been so long. Had he just embellished the wonder of their relationship in the desperate boredom of military routine? Would their meeting at Schiphol Airport be an anticlimax?

He knew when he saw her just beyond the customs gate that it was not. When they kissed, he felt the same stirring.

They spent the first few days at her parents’ farm, where he savored the warmth and closeness of the van der Post family. Her brother, who was studying in The Hague, and her married sister — not to mention assorted cousins and aunts — came by to meet Fanny’s American friend.

The night before they left, he was standing in front of the fireplace in the main room of the farmhouse looking at the photographs on the mantelpiece.

“It’s amazing,” he exclaimed, “I’ve met all of these people in less than a week.”

And then he stopped in front of the snapshot of a dark-haired girl.

“Except her.”

“That’s Eva,” said Mrs. van der Post. “I suppose Fanny has told you about her.”

“Yes,” Jason replied.

“She’s a wonderful girl,” added Fanny’s father. “Always a little sad, but that’s understandable.”

Fanny took Jason to visit the Anne Frank house at Prinsengracht 263, in the shadow of the Westerkerk. To give him a graphic demonstration of what his co-religionists had experienced during the Second World War.

He stood there silently, glancing at the cramped garret where the young Dutch girl and her family hid from the occupying troops for more than a year before being dragged off to their deaths.

“All through this, she never lost her humanity,” Fanny remarked. “You should read her diary. Despite everything, she believed people were really basically good at heart. And they took such a person — an innocent little girl — to the gas chambers just because she was Jewish.”

The story was not totally new to Jason. For Anne Frank’s diary had been dramatized into a successful Broadway play, which he knew his parents had seen.

In retrospect, he wondered why they had not discussed it at any length with him and his sister. Could they have possibly believed that it had nothing to do with them?

And then they drove to Venice to resume their love affair where it had left off three years earlier.

“Fanny, do you think we’re the first couple to make love in a gondola?”

“No, my darling, we’re about a thousand years late.”

“Well, we’re the first to make great love.”

Their joy and passion had not changed. Fanny had the unique gift of making Jason see the laughter in the world. But now there was something more to their relationship.

Jason had known many women and had at times been captivated, even infatuated. But what he felt for Fanny was completely different. Never before had he wanted to give so much of himself. Not only sensuality but tenderness. He longed to shelter her, to take care of her.

And she, the strong independent doctor, could let herself become a child again and revel in the warmth of his protectiveness.

But when the amorous initiative was hers, she made him feel he could be vulnerable. And for the first time he experienced a woman’s love not merely fired by his strength.

Thus they were parent, child, lover, and friend to each other. A completeness too miraculous to lose.

Their holiday was all too brief and once again they were about to part.

“I’ll fly back as soon as my last exam is over in June,” he promised.

“What’ll I do until then?” she asked forlornly.

“Come on, it’s not that long. Our last separation was nearly three years.”

“Yes,” she replied wistfully. “But then I had no idea how much I loved you.”

Jason looked at her. “Fanny, I have a confession to make.”

“What?” she asked, slightly off balance.