Friday August 16
Grand Ballroom, The Plantation, Atlanta Georgia
Jennifer watched as Robert and the man in the tuxedo made their way to the front of the room. A long head table was set up on a slightly elevated dais so that each of the guests could easily see the platform party regardless of where they sat in the room. A podium rose prominently at the center of the table providing very little cover for the man in the tuxedo, who alternated between stepping forward toward the microphone and retreating back to casually glance at his wristwatch. It could be that the man was simply watching the clock to start at some predetermined time, but the fact that he repeated the pattern every five to ten seconds betrayed a sense of nervousness.
The room echoed with the dull rumbling of dozens of conversations going on simultaneously. There was not any noticeable decrease in the volume even though the evening’s speaker had risen. Robert stood behind the man in the tuxedo nudging him forward, but the man seemed to resist. Finally, Robert reached forward, picked up a fork and began striking a wine glass to capture the audience’s attention. Almost immediately, the noise in the room quelled as people returned to their seats.
The man in the tuxedo leaned in toward the microphone and the high pitch squeal of feedback extinguished the remaining pockets of conversation.
“Welcome, honored guests,” the man began with a voice that crackled as if the speakers were poorly tuned to a distant radio station. The man glared at the microphone, grabbed his wine glass, and quickly gulped down its contents. He cleared his throat and began again. This time the voice sounded a bit firmer.
“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears for I come to praise Caesar, not to bury him.” The crowd chuckled slightly at the comment as he paused, “But seriously welcome to an evening in remembrance and tribute to Dr. Ambrose Hill.”
“For those of you that don’t know me, I am HD Clarke from Johns Hopkins University and I am honored to have known Ambrose as mentor and a friend. Now as for those of you out there that aren’t quite sure what is going on I am going to try to clarify this for you,” he looked down to the man seated to his left, “and I am sure that if I don’t get it correct, we will all hear it.”
HD suddenly ducked down below the table and reappeared with what appeared to be a parchment scroll, which he unfurled with great flourish. “Ambrose was very specific in his instructions that this was not to be a formal affair, and to that end I hold in my hands an official proclamation which I will now read.”
“Let it be known to all that today on the auspicious event of Dr. Ambrose Hill’s eightieth birthday we come together to celebrate his official retirement from the Centers for Disease Control. This is truly an end of an era since Dr. Hill was a member of that first class of Epidemiological Intelligence Service Field Officers that arrived at the old offices on Peachtree Street in 1951. Ambrose twice received the John Snow award, first for work tracing the contamination of the polio vaccine in 1955 and again in 1977 for helping to determine the cause of Legionnaires Disease.”
HD paused and stared at the parchment. “It goes on and on, and Ambrose was very clear that there shouldn’t be too much fuss and ceremony here tonight. So let me paraphrase what the Director said to me this afternoon when I went to his office to pick up this proclamation. It went something like ‘What? He’s still around, well at least now we can get someone else into his office.”
The audience roared with laughter at the last comment. Office space was a valuable commodity at the CDC as Jennifer had learned earlier this afternoon when she had discovered that her office was only slightly larger than a broom closet. She had not expected an external room with windows but had joked about it to Robert during the tour, only to learn that the room had truly been a custodial supply room until renovated prior to her arrival.
HD cleared his throat and waited for the audience to settle down before continuing. “Ambrose made it abundantly clear that he held the traditional Irish wake in high regard and felt that it was fitting under these circumstances,” the last words were spoken more hoarsely than his previous comments. He reached down and lifted his glass up and turned to Ambrose, “In choosing to have this tribute now rather than later, Ambrose simply stated that if someone was going to lift a glass in his memory he damned well better be there to have a pint or two as well.”
Throughout the room, the sound of glasses clinking together accompanied a hearty cheer of “here, here.”
“Now what is a combination retirement dinner slash wake without a few memorable gifts?” HD again reached under the table and reappeared this time with a small foil box. “We truly struggled to come up with a gift that was fitting for an auspicious moment like this… and when we couldn’t come up with anything appropriate… we settled for this.” To emphasize his point he pulled a garishly bright neon green bowtie with purple spots out of the box and held it up high before handing it to Ambrose. In the spirit of the evening and in response to more than two pints, Ambrose quickly shed his rented black tuxedo tie, twirled it around several times above his head before flinging into the crowd. Before returning to his seat, he proudly placed the new tie around his neck as thundering applause filled the room.
HD leaned forward toward the microphone and cleared his throat. He continued once the room again became silent. “And finally in all seriousness, this is a momentous time for those in the Epidemiological Intelligence Service as a true legend sets down his stethoscope for good. Dr. Ambrose Hill has served as a mentor for generations of officers and should serve as a role model for the future. It is for that reason that we prepared a lasting legacy to remind all those who serve in EIS that the accomplishments of the future are build upon the strong foundation established by the hard work and dedication of men and women like Ambrose Hill.”
While HD had been speaking, Robert and a volunteer had carried a large object hidden under a gold cloth up onto the podium. Before it could be unveiled, HD motioned for Ambrose to stand next to the object. “We commissioned this painting to be hung in a position of prominence on the CDC campus in your memory.”
As the cloth dropped to reveal the hidden painting, the audience gasped for a moment before cheering. Ambrose Hill, dressed in a traditional black and white tuxedo with the garish green bowtie with purple spots fashioned proudly around his neck, stood before the painting staring directly into the face of a walrus wearing exactly the same tie.
Ambrose shook his head as a smile spread across his face. As he stroked his bushy mustache, he turned toward the crowd and said, “I hope you all remember that my whiskers are fuller and always much better trimmed than our fish-eating friend here.”
Previous: Chapter 4
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