Affirmative Action

Donnie remembered his warehouse summers, hoping to save for grad school. One sweltering August late afternoon, a flatbed arrived, with twenty tons of steel pipe requiring immediate unloading. All hands on deck.

During break, sweaty, greasy, dirty, exhausted Donnie saw himself in the latrine’s mirror:

“I can’t.”

“I must.”

He did. Then headed home. Dad was already home from the mill:

“Professor Sheehan called. Got you the fellowship interview—a full ride to doctorate.”

Forty years on, Dr. Don had often told the tale of the twenty tons, but never mentioned Sheehan.

He claimed he didn’t believe in affirmative action.