William Kienzle - Deadline for a Critic

He cemented several previously casual friendships. While he would be leaving the Detroit area to establish an entirely new life, he did not want to lose touch. Specifically, he wanted to know precisely what was happening in the lives of the four people who, according to his lights, had brought him down. Soon, as offhandedly as possible, he commissioned his newly established friends as informants.

He was careful not to create the impression that his informants were spies. They were simply friends who would keep Groendal informed about the doings of other friends he would necessarily leave behind.

Greg Larson was a good case in point.

Larson: So, you’re off to Minnesota. That’s a big jump.

Groendal: I know, Greg, but it’s a chance I can’t turn down. A partial scholarship at the University of Minnesota and a job that’ll take care of the rest of my expenses. It’s just too good to pass up.

Larson: I guess. But we’ll miss you. I was just getting to know you.

Groendal: If I could do it any other way . . . But . . . Anyway, I know I’m going to miss Detroit.

Larson: Geez, yeah. You’ve lived here all your life, haven’t you?

Groendal: Uh-huh. Mostly around our parish, good old Holy Redeemer. That and Sacred Heart Seminary, of course. Golly! When I think of how much of me is wrapped up in those places!

Larson: It’s a shame, just a rotten shame that you’ve got to go. But you’ll be back, of course.

Groendal: I don’t know, Greg. It just depends. It depends on where destiny leads. I’ll just have to rely on God. But who better?

Larson: Jeez! Is there anything I can do to help?

Groendal: I don’t think so, Greg. At least I can’t think of anything. Except, maybe . . .

Larson: What, Rid? Anything . . . you name it.

Groendal: Well, if it’s not asking too much, do you think you could send me copies of the parish bulletin? Just so I can keep up with what’s going on. Golly, it’d be fun even reading the altar boy assignments. Always nice to read those familiar names. Then, as the years go by, I’ll be able to keep up with the marriages . . . who’s having babies. There’s no end to what a parish bulletin can tell you.

Larson: Sure, Rid; won’t be any trouble at all. And if I see anything in the papers about the seminary, I’ll include that too.

Groendal: Are you sure, Greg? Are you sure this isn’t too much trouble . . . I mean, the postage and all . . .

Larson: Good grief, Rid, if I can’t spend a few pennies a week for a friend, what kind of world is it?

Groendal: Well, old pal, I’m grateful. I just can’t tell you how grateful. I can really depend on you. That’s really something.

Larson: Jeez, Rid; think nothing of it.

Groendal: But I do think about it, Greg. I can’t help it. I’m really depending on you, boy. Oh, and Greg, by the way, speaking of who’s having babies, there’s one in particular I’d be interested in. Remember Jane Condon? Redeemer, class of ’50? You know her?

Larson: Well, not till recently, Rid (grinning mischievously). She would have just gotten lost in the shuffle if it hadn’t been for . . . well, the rumors. You heard them too, eh? Well, I guess it must be so then. Jeez! Having a baby out of wedlock! Not many Catholic girls do that, eh? What about her, Rid?

Groendal: Well, she used to be a friend of the family. We kind of lost touch with her lately. But I learned about her condition. And . . . well, I tried to get in touch with her, but there was no response. I can understand it, of course. She’s pretty embarrassed. I don’t blame her. But I’m still concerned about her. Even though we haven’t had much contact lately, I still care what happens to her. I mean, she was a family friend and all. I’d just like to know how she’s doing . . . how this pregnancy comes out and all. Would it be too much trouble to keep me informed as to what happens with her? I’d really appreciate it. Of course, if it’s too much trouble . . .

Larson: Don’t be silly, Rid. (Soberly, since the girl turns out to be a friend of the Groendal family), I’ll let you know exactly what happens.

Groendal: Thanks a lot, Greg. I’d ask my parents to do that but they don’t want to have anything to do with her. Now that she’s in disgrace and all. You know how these traditional Catholics can be. It’s not their fault . . . the way they were brought up. So, I’d just as soon my parents weren’t involved in this. Just between you and me, buddy.

Larson: Of course, Rid, just between you and me.

And so it went. Jane Condon, Carroll Mitchell, David Palmer, and Charlie Hogan. Pour enemies, four informants. It was not easy to firm four hitherto random relationships into four fast friendships. Nor was it easy introducing the underlying reason why Groendal wished to stay in touch with his newfound friends. But Ridley pulled it off.

Over the years, it was an unrelieved drag keeping up correspondence with the informants. They were, as far as Groendal was concerned, not especially interesting or witty people. But they were faithful. They wrote regularly with news of the city, or the parish, or the seminary, or other classmates. All of which they thought was where Groendal’s primary interest lay. Almost as an aside, they would include news of their assigned person: Jane, Mitch, Dave, or Charlie.

One reason the informants were faithful was due to Ridley’s careful selection of people whose prime virtue was fidelity. Another reason was Ridley’s pained but faithful response to their letters. Still another reason was that as the years passed, Groendal progressed from student to successful journalist to celebrity. It was gratifying to the egos of four lackluster citizens of Detroit to correspond with a famous personality.

But fame did not come to Groendal quickly or easily. It came as the result of a combination of talent, hard work, and meticulous planning.

Groendal began at the University of Minnesota trusting no one and using everyone. He was not by any means always justified in suspecting the motives of others. But it didn’t matter, not to him. For Groendal, it was cause and effect: a steady progression from one goal to another.

It did not take Groendal long to secure his bachelor’s degree. Many of the credits he’d accumulated at the seminary college were recognized by the university. He went on from there to graduate school, majoring in English and journalism. Finally, he won his doctorate in English.

Along the way, he free-lanced for all four St. Paul and Minneapolis papers. After graduation, he was offered a teaching position at the university. It was an opportunity most would have seized immediately. But teaching had no place in his scheme of things.

Instead, he applied at the Minneapolis Tribune , one of the papers for which he had been a stringer. Because of the very satisfactory work he’d done in the past as well as the prestigious degree from Minnesota, he was given his own column outright, without having to go through apprenticeship as a reporter or staff writer. In no time, he turned his column into a commentary on the arts, concentrating on stage, music, and books. This, also, was part of his grand plan.

Fortune smiled on him in a special way when the Guthrie Theater opened in May of 1963, with George Grizzard in Hamlet. Much of America had been hoping that the illustrious Tyrone Guthrie would open his proposed theater in their community. He surprised nearly everyone by opening in the unlikely minimetropolis of Minneapolis.

It was not considered an unlikely site by Minneapolitans, who knew they had an extremely livable city but, lest they be inundated, were keeping it a secret. Drawn by the Guthrie, theater buffs throughout the country converged on Minneapolis. In the middle of all the hullaballoo was Ridley C. Groendal as the renowned local critic.