"Praise for the Museum of the Year 1912, but not exaltation," read the Camperdene Daily Journal headline. "The Museum Association should be thanked for its work, but dubbing its founders 'God's Stewards' is going a bit too far, the Mayor decided last night. 'Isn't it beyond my jurisdiction to proclaim anybody God's stewards?' Mayor Driscoll asked. 'I have a problem with any proclamation that does that'."

Barrow publicly denounced the "scoffing" attitude of the Mayor toward the Association's founders. The Finance Committee requested that a record of the private trust funds held by the Association be made available to the committee during its review of the museum's budget. A reporter from the Boston Globe called Neil at home, asking for the exact figure of the Museum Association's trust funds. Neil had no idea. The writer asked how much Association money went into the institution's total operating budget. Neil reminded the reporter he was calling him at home, where he was just then playing with his five-year-old son, and not at work, and that he didn't have those figures handy.

Front page news, Saturday edition, Boston Globe: "Camperdene's Museum of the Year 1912 Curator Neil Oppenheimer Wright has refused to release the exact figure of the Museum Association trust fund and failed to provide an estimate of how much money from the fund goes to the Museum's annual operating budget. 'So much the worse for him,' said Finance Committee Chairwoman Martha Stronkski. 'If you are going to ask the town for public money, you have to show the town what you have got. It has too long been a deep, dark secret.' According to Stronkski, the request may mark the first time the Finance Committee has asked the private corporation that owns the museum to reveal the inner workings of its finances. The committee voted on the matter Wednesday. In a letter to Walllace Barrow, President of the Museum of the Year 1912 Association, the Finance Committee has asked for the latest audited statement of the corporation's assets and liabilities, according to Stronkski. Barrow said yesterday that the holdings of the non-profit corporation are a matter of public record. 'It amounts to a couple of hundred thousand dollars,' said Barrow, adding that the holdings of the corporation could be readily found in the public records at the museum.

"Although the museum is privately owned, the town funds the salaries of museum employees. According to Barrow, the arrangement was established by Town meeting. 'We are not asking for anything from the town other than what town meeting granted years ago,' said Barrow. He has taken issue with Mayor Driscoll's statement that the Museum could rely on its private holdings to weather fiscal crisis. The museum curator has chastened Driscoll for 'creating an adversarial situation' within Camperdene.' For years, the town has picked up the cost of musem staff salaries and supplies.Without that money, said Wright, 'it would be a part-time, volunteer parody of a museum.' The actual building is owned by the Museum Association, a private non-profit corporation. Corporation leaders say they are unwilling to use up investment principal to pay daily operating costs such as salaries. 'We could never do that,' said Wallace Barrow, President of the Association's executive committee. Barrow yesterday expressed confidence that Town Meeting members would restore some funding for museum staff. If not, he said, the museum will remain open only a dozen or so hours a week, with volunteer labor.

On the day the trustees of The Museum of the Year 1912 were scheduled to go before the Town Finance Committee, Wheel Barrow and Captain Cunnigham arrived at the museum and sat together at a long table, whispering, before crossing the street with Neil to meet with the Finance Commitee. As they stood to go, Barrow said earnestly, "Now let's not say anything to embarass one another." The Captain had a coughing fit. The mortician offered, "Captain, get a grip on. You'll have to come see me about your coffin. We'll measure you."

Before entering the school room, Barrow looked in the window and saw Ben Mulvane was in there, so he grabbed Neil's elbow and told him to go in and pull Ben out -- he needed to talk to him before the meeting got going.

At the meeting, the Committee Chairwoman, Martha Stronkski, asked Barrow for the Museum Association's papers, which she'd requested well in advance of the meeting. Wallace said "No, Martha. We're not handing over anything." Barrow immersed Chairwoman Stronski in his morass of details about money and the Museum Association. He told her nothing she did not know already. He said the members of the Fin Comm had to make an appointment and look at the papers at the Museum just like anybody else. Martha Stronski, exasperated, pointed out to Wallace Barrow that she and her colleagues were busy people. Barrow persisted. Ben Mulvane's eyes were rolling in his head.

Before leaving the room Neil remind the Committee, "I'm really between a rock and a hard place here. Just remember who really stands to lose in all this. The people of Camperdene."

Outside, Ben Mulvane was talking to himself: "Fuckin A's," he spit it out. "Those fuckin' pigs don't care a fuck about the museum. Fuckin' A's."

"Take it easy, Ben," Neil said. "Go home, write a letter."

That same day Martha Stronski got a letter, via the editor of the Camperdene Daily Journal, from one Alex Brandt: "Dear Mrs. Stronski, I am writing in support of the Museum of the Year 1912. I moved to Camperdene just a year ago. The museum was one of the first great things I discovered about the town. Since then I have visited the museum many, many times. It is a tremendous resource for all of us who live here. The museum is particularly impressive given its small size. The curator and his staff seem personally dedicated to their work. I understand the museum is in danger of losing a significant portion of its funding. It would be a terrible blow to Camperdene to lose the museum. I strongly encourage you to explore all possibilities that would enable the museum to continue to operate at full budget. Please let me know if there is anything I can do as a Camperdene resident to ensure that the Museum of the Year 1912 remains open, staffed, and fully functioning as the important resource that it is."

On March 14, Martha Stronski responded to Mr. Brandt: "As a native of this town and one who has spent nearly all of her 77 years in the town I am well acquainted with the Museum's value to our citizens. I am sure you must be aware that funding sources for Massachusetts municipalities and state agencies and services have been threatened with major cuts for the forthcoming fiscal year. Maybe you can tell us what the possibilities for saving and cutting are.Would you keep the museum open but close the public library? Would you fund the museum but desist from picking up curbside trash? There seems to be a huge lack of understanding in town of how our assorted community services are paid for. I had hoped to clear up the lack of knowledge on the part of this committee of the museum's support other than town funding. Unfortunately, the response by Museum President Wallace Barrow to the members of this committee did little to erase that lack. The Finance Commitee at this time is meeting twice a week -- trying to come up with a reasonable plan to fund all town services and most of our departments have been very helpful in supplying for us any information we have requested. Most of us do not have the time to go out searching for information needed to make our report to Town meeting members. There is not enough revenue to fund all of our departments. If we are to continue to provide needed services to our citizens there must be a clearer understanding on the part of citizens as to what problems we are facing. We meet every Tuesday and Thursday evening. Our meetings are open to the public. However, the public does not seem to be interested until they hear that their favorite town service is to be cut."

Later, back at the museum, Neil met with the Executive Committee of the Museum Association. Wallace Barrow told him that now only a majority of the Committee could sign official museum papers. Carla Spagnoli, Barrow, and The Captain next carried the meeting into a riotous discussion of a regular museum visitor, the former female minister of the Congregational Church, one Reverend Richeson, who had not too many years before been tarred and feathered and driven out of town after being charged by police for the molestation of a child. Eurydice Richeson, who still occasionally visited Camperdene, though she'd been cursed and driven like a dog from it, had the audacity to approach Wallace Barrow to ask if she could join the Museum Association: "Imagine! Eurodyce Richeson asking me if I would appoint her a Corporator of the Museum Corporation," Barrow hee-hawed.

Carla Spagnoli had a great howl over this, too -- as did then the whole group. "Have you heard of her, Neil?" Barrow neighed, eager to tell him about Richeson, soliciting hoots, neighs, and oinks from his colleagues. Carla Spagnoli next told the assembled a story Audrey Morris had told her, of how Neil had recently spoke with the former minister. Audrey had told Spagnoli of Neil's telling Richeson he would personally look into a certain matter for her. "So Mr. Wright here told Eurydice Richeson, the granddaughter of a murderer, herself under investigation, that he'd investigate. Oh, it is just too delicious." Oink! Oink! Oink! Oink! Oink!

Oinking all around -- the executive Committe oinked and oinked and oinked. Neil smiled and said, "Well, it was a good thing I was there. Audrey and Mary both told me afterwards they would not have served Richeson. But if she is turned away, will bums then also be? Alcoholics? The illiterate?" Neil excused himself.!

"I took care of Eurydice Richeson," Carla Spagnoli whispered. "She won't be back." Oink. Oink. Oink. Oink. Her swinish oinking seemed to follow Neil out.

"He has to learn how to deal with women," Wheel Barrow whispered.

At home, Mark had an ear infection. He woke up repeatedly throughout the night, screaming. It was like he'd wrestled with the devil. He screamed at it -- at the pain -- at the phantom knife-like searing pain. "Go a-way!" he shouted. "Stop it! Leave!"

In the morning, Minna was wild, angry with her husband because he remained in bed an extra hour, holding Mark in his arms. Minna said he was spoiling the boy. Neil said the boy was in searing pain, and needed to be held. Minna insisted Neil didn't know anything about anything. The piercing, sharp agony of the pain was good for him, Minna insisted, saying his jerks and starts and screams acted like medicine for what ailed him. She was going to pour oil into his ear, but Neil protested. He said they should first let a doctor make a diagnosis. It could be something worse than a mere ear-ache, for which the last thing they ought to do would be pour oil in.

Neil was far more concerned about Mark's pain than Minna's fury, so he dressed hurriedly and took Mark in his pyjamas to the car. Only then did Minna agree to take the boy, Mark Jillian accompanying, to the doctor. The doctor told Minna Mark had a blister in his ear caused by a particularly odd but not unknown virus infection. He did not recommend putting oil down Mark's ear. He insisted Mark would need an antibiotic. Minna agreed to that.

Neil walked to work in the rain. There he was greeted by the news, "Mayor Driscoll is prescribing stoicism for the town's ills. 'It's going to be an extremely lean year all around,' the Mayor said. 'Not everybody is going to be happy; probably not anyone is going to be happy'."

Neil went to his desk and wrote a letter -- not to the mayor, but to Eurydice Richeson, the granddaughter of the cyanide poisoner, Clarence Richeson. He said he hoped he would see her again (he wouldn't). He told her all he knew about her grandfather's arrest and electrocution. He included copies of the two news articles that Captain Cunningham had recently pressed on him, the one, "The Hansboro Pioneer, North Dakota, January 12, 1912" -- "Prominent Boston Pastor Confesses -- Rev. C.V.T. Richeson, former pastor of Immanuel Baptist Church of Cambridge, Massachusetts, today made a written confession to the effect that he poisoned his former sweetheart, Miss Avis Linnell ... he is indicted of murder in the first degree in taking the life of Miss Linnell by giving her cyanide potassium" and the other unattributed account, "Clarence V.T. Richeson, age 36, charged with murder, was executed by electrocution in Massachusetts on Tuesday, May 21, 1912. The former minister was electrocuted for the murder of Miss Avis Linnell, a Hyannis Port girl to whom he had been engaged. Richeson, originally from Virginian, had come to Massachusetts in 1906. After studying at the Newton Theological Seminary, he'd been called to be minister at the Hyannis Baptist Church, where he met the Linnell family of Hyannisport -- mother, father and four beautiful daughters. Richeson fell for 17-year-old Avis, a fine soprano singer and a student at the new Hyannis State Teacher's College. Richeson was soon preaching in both Hyannis and Yarmouth. He had a Southern style of preaching, filled with exuberance and zeal -- not to his conservative Cape Cod congregation's liking. In April 1910, he resigned. He had, meanwhile, given Avis a ring. The two were speaking of getting married in October. Richeson found new employment at Immanuel Baptist Church in Cambridge. He talked Avis, into applying for admission at the New England Conservatory of Music. In the early fall of 1910, she moved into the Y.W.C.A. in Boston to continue her education. The two never married. In early 1911, Avis told her mother she and Reverend Richeson were no longer seeing one another. In March, Richeson got engaged to a wealthy Brookline woman, Violet Edmands. On October 14, at the beginning of her second year in Boston, Avis committed suicide. They found her near-lifeless body in a Y.W.C.A. bathroom. Before anyone could call for an ambulance, she was dead. An autopsy revealed Avis was several weeks pregnant and that she had taken cyanide. Authorities wrote off the young woman's death as the suicide of one more good girl in a bad fix. In fact, Avis had been murdered by Richeson. Avis was carrying Richeson's baby, and earlier that day the minister had given the young woman a chemical preparation that he assured her would cause the fetus to abort. Instead it had killed her. Richeson would have gotten away with it, except for one small mistake. One of the matrons at the Y.W.C.A. had placed a call to the reverend less than two hours after Avis died. Richeson had demanded to know why he was being called when he barely knew the girl. 'We felt that, since you are her fiancé and that she was out to lunch with you during the day, it is right that we should notify you,' the matron replied. There was a pause on the other end. 'Did she say anything before she died?' Richeson asked. The matron replied Avis had not regained consciousness after her body had been discovered. The minister had assumed Avis had kept their affair secret. He was confident that no one could directly connect him with her death. But the Boston Post called for a deeper police investigation of Avis Linell's suicide. The Post found the druggist in Newton who had sold Clarence Richeson the cyanide. The Post called for Richeson's arrest, which occurred ten days after Avis's death. The Post, with its big front-page headlines, worked New Englanders into a fever pitch. After spending several months in jail and failing in a suicide attempt of his own (he tried to castrate himself with the sharp edge of a tin can lid), Richeson changed his plea to guilty and confessed. Judge George A. Sanderson of the Superior Court presided at the trial. He sentenced Richeson to death. On May 21, 1912, he was strapped to the electric chair."

On Saturday morning, Neil mailed his apologetic letter with the clippings. He took Mark along, and the two went out for breakfast. They walked along the railroad tracks and down Hart Street to The Golden Spoon restauarant. They planned their order along the route -- hot chocolate, pancakes, pan-fries, wheat toast, and eggs. When it came time to order, however, Mark stumbled. Neil knew Mark wanted to be elegant and eloquent, placing the order on his own. But now he balked. Neil knew he had the words clear in his head, but they were not coming out as wished. He was at a loss for words, and it threw him for a loop. Neil could see his boy's exasperration. Then Mark pulled himself together and addressed the waitress boldly, with sudden brightness gleaming in his eyes: "I know what I want. I want my egg cooked so that the sunshine's smiling at me."