But I Would Know

An aged college president sat down with his official board one day, and to their surprise he tendered his resignation.

One of his board members immediately objected.

“But President Lyons, we need you. You have been here twenty years, and God willing you have a few good years left in you. You’ve never let us down, and this college has thrived under your presidency. You simply can’t leave us now.”

One after another the other board members chimed in, lavished the old gentleman with praise, and begged him to stay.

To be fair, Dr. Lyons was older than many college administrators, but he was still vibrant and strong, despite his years. Lately, he had cut back on his hours a bit, as his wife had developed symptoms of dementia several years before, and neighbors often saw the good man walking her up and down the sidewalk that bordered their comfortable home in the suburbs of that large city.

One particularly insensitive board member startled President Lyons with his naturally loud, and gruff voice, for at that very moment the old man had been reflecting on the countless decades he had loved Laura, how rarely they had argued, and how often they had enjoyed just spending a quiet evening with one another; table set for two, good food, and a flickering candle to light their reverie.

“Now listen here, Dr. Lyons. We can’t take “No” for an answer. What is this about you resigning?”

To which the kindly old fellow responded, “I’ve made up my mind. My Laura needs me now, more than ever before. You know, as twilight comes on, she and I so often walk the streets of our neighborhood; holding hands, and admiring the first stars in the evening sky.”

Board member Brown would have none of it. “Now, now, Dr. Lyons. I’m aware your wife is suffering the effects of dementia, and of course we feel badly about this development, but you can hire someone to walk Mrs. Lyons down the street in the evening. We need you here.”

By now the president’s feathers was getting a bit ruffled with this useless harangue. And he rose to leave.

Mr. Brown insisted he reconsider, and his final statement was devoid of any compassion whatsoever.

“Dr. Lyons, Dr. Lyons. Your wife is sick. She’d never know who was walking her. She’d never miss you. By now, word has it she doesn’t even know who you are. She would never know.”

The retiring president stood fully to his feet now, straightened his coat, and uttered a few poignant parting words.

“No, I cannot disagree with you, Mr. Brown. Laura would never know…

But I would."

 

And with that the noble old man strode out the door.

 

A  personal transcription of an old story, by Wm. McDonald, PhD