Null Pointer

Variations on a CWE28 Theme

The Academy

Jim slowed to a jog, pulling his ringing phone out of his pocket. He’d slept well last night, and was more than half-way through his run, so it wasn’t as early as it could be, but it was still barely seven a.m. He’d blame his heart pounding on the run, if asked, but couldn’t deny the spike of anxiety. Good news didn’t come over the phone at this time of day; it just didn’t.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Frayne. I’m so sorry. I just realized what time of day it is for normal folk.”

“Good morning, Mr. Sanderson.” It was his contractor for the construction at Ten Acres. They’d be just getting started for the day. The forecast for the day was finally clear and bright, after pouring rain the past week. The builders should be eagerly getting back to work, to get back on schedule after the weather delays. “Is something wrong at the site?” Ponding, he could imagine, but not true flooding, not anything that would require consulting with him, not just delaying further to let the site dry more.

“I wouldn’t say wrong, per se, but can you stop by?”

“Sure; of course. I’ll be there in ten to fifteen minutes.”

“There’s no need to rush, Mr. Frayne. I know it’s early. Any time today is fine.”

“I’m already out. I run in the mornings. My route used to take me right through the site. I’ve been cutting back toward home one cutoff sooner since construction started, which is why you don’t see me every morning, but I can go the old way as easily as not.”

Jim wasn’t convinced the contractor’s words that nothing was wrong, per se, was really reassuring, but he also knew the only way to find out was to get over to the construction site, so he pocketed his phone and resumed his run.

His route through the preserve brought him to the back of the construction site, rather than the front. His contractor had obviously guessed from his description that would be the case, meeting him there. “Good morning, Mr. Frayne. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

“We put up fences at construction sites for safety, but also to deter theft – copper is surprisingly lucrative – and we expect a certain amount of vandalism, just because it’s there.” Jim’s mind skipped back to the Midnight Marauder debacle. Spray paint graffiti wasn’t the problem in Sleepyside that it was in New York City, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any. Still, the Ten Acres construction site was a long way off for casual vandalism. “But, well, in all my years doing construction, I haven’t seen anything like this.”

The contractor had led Jim around to the front of the site, the main gate at Glen Road, as he spoke. Jim took it in. It wasn’t vandalism as such. There were the usual signs on the fence next to the gate – advertising for the construction company and the ‘future site of Ten Acres Academy for orphaned and abused boys’ signage. Jim suspected the first bit of “vandalism” was the note penned on that sign, crossing out the qualifiers before boys and adding the words “ready for a brighter future.” There were more signs tucked into the chain link fence, optimistic words of encouragement for his future students. Some of the knitted hearts that hung off the fence looked like the practice work Honey had put Di’s younger sisters to doing when they’d asked her to teach them how to knit.

“There’s no evidence anyone’s been inside the fence that shouldn’t be, so it’s not a problem, but – between the weather and the nature of construction – I just can’t guarantee any of this will make it to the end of construction, and the fence will come down well before your first students arrive anyway. I wanted you to know you apparently have some significant community support for what you’re starting here, but I also wanted to suggest that there might be better ways to accomplish the objective. You don’t have to do anything about it right now, if you just want to let it play out. I’ll ask you about it again when we’re about ready to take the fence down, if this sort of stuff is still present.”

“Thanks; I appreciate the heads-up and your care for both the site and the obvious well-springing of support from the local community.”

Jim returned later that day with Mart. “Before we go on record, so to speak, were you part of this?” Jim asked his friend, gesturing toward the tokens left on the fence.

“Not yet,” Mart answered honestly. “I wanted to be, but I got called in to cover the MacHenison crash.” Jim winced. A family car had hydroplaned on the wet roads two days prior, jumped the guardrail, and gone into the Hudson. The car had been pulled up once divers found it. Both parents and the baby were dead. The older daughter had been resuscitated but was still in a coma and doctors weren’t optimistic she’d come out of it, and expected significant brain damage from the hypoxia, if she did wake up. The tragedy had rocked Sleepyside over the weekend.

“I didn’t think to tie this to that. Was this just folks needing some optimism in the face of tragedy?”

“No, no. Well, not in inspiration at least. I can’t speak to every single person’s motivation for leaving a message or token, but this started well before the crash. Anyway, what am I here for? You said you needed Ten Acres Academy’s favorite Sleepyside Sun reporter. If you just wanted to know who was involved, you’d have asked Ten Acres’ favorite shamuses. You’re not going to shut it down, are you?”

“I don’t want to stop it exactly, but I do want to collectively brainstorm ways we might drive a bigger, and perhaps more practical, impact. This display isn’t going to hold up in the weather, and the fence will come down when the construction finishes, anyway, long before the students have a chance to see how wanted they are.”

“Thought Matt loaned you a marketing intern. What do you need me for?”

Jim gestured to the sign, and the editorial correction. “I’d have caught it myself before we got to any permanent signage, but said intern obviously isn’t going to get the emotional impact without a lot of coaching and the particular message I’m looking to send right now needs to land on that front. To express how touched I am by the gesture, how grateful I am for the community support, how eager I am for the first students, how moved they’ll be if they get this kind of welcome consistently, and can we maybe move the collection point indoors, to somewhere like the library or city hall and plan for the long haul, so each new student to Ten Acres receives a welcome gift that’s maybe one of those knitted hearts and a card with some sort of message of encouragement and hope from the community. I need you to wordsmith all of that into a persuasive article. I also need you to help me iron out the details of the plan so that it still appeals to the same emotional check boxes as this display of empathy.”

“I can help with all of that,” Mart agreed.

“Thanks for this. And especially thank whoever started this.”

“You’re dying to know who it was, aren’t you?”

“I’m not going to say I’ll just die if you don’t tell me. I can respect the desire to do an anonymous good deed, and, in particular, to not want the attention now that it’s become a whole thing.”

Mart nodded, making a couple notes in his notebook. He took a couple pictures of the display. “I’ll put an article together and send a draft your way for review.”

“Thanks, Mart.”

“We’re all just doing our part to make sure Ten Acres Academy is the success it needs to be.”