Legacy of Terrance Wheelock

Terrance Wheelock is the current patriarch of the Wheelock family. The Wheelocks arrived in Massachusetts in 1702, settling in a small hamlet along the Blackstone River.  They opened up a mill, The Wheelock Woolen Mill, which provided a source of revenue for the town of Riverdale and its citizens.  The river was vital to the manufacturing of cloth.

As the factory’s success grew, so did the Wheelock’s wealth.  Their name became associated with such prominent buildings as the town hall, the library, and the high school. Over the years, they have faithfully served the community by filling official positions in town.

In 1960, Oliver Wheelock’s daughter was born with a severe ventricular septal defect and died. He immediately poured thousands of dollars into research hoping, that someday, others wouldn’t have to suffer his loss. When Oliver passed away, his son Terrance took over the business and managed the family wealth with the same philanthropic outlook.

 Terrance was also a civic leader in town as well as a Boy Scout volunteer. Whenever he found a young man interested in engineering, he would have him come to the mill and challenge the lad to find a way to improve the looms. Whether the young man was successful or not, Terrance would ask him if he had fun.  If the answer was yes, Terrance would pay for the boy’s engineering education and later hire him to work for the mill. That’s the way he was.

Terrance once held a seat in the Boston House of Representatives and later in the Senate. He helped pass several bills which enabled the underprivileged to live better lives. The Wheelocks were looked upon as a moral and upright family. Some may have been envious, but no one disliked them.

As the years passed, Terrance was ever mindful of the market and the economy and made several worthwhile investments. But despite his immense wealth, he still arrived at Milly’s diner every morning for coffee and conversation, always eager to buy a stranger a cup of coffee. If the gentleman was in need of work, Terrance would hire him. He still has the mill, except now it is used to experiment with different fabrics for NASA or the military.

Twenty-seven years ago, on New Year’s Eve, Terrance lost his only son and daughter-in-law in a fatal car accident with a drunk driver. They left behind a son, Terrance’s grandson, Alistair.

Alistair spent the rest of his life in his grandfather’s house where he flourished. He received a good education in the local school system. Terrance said he could have sent Alistair to a private school, but how would the boy learn how people live? “All people need empathy for one another in order to understand one another. If a poor man stops you on the street and asks for a dollar, don’t give him a dollar. Instead, take his hand and give him an opportunity!”

The years have been good for Terrance, but now his health is waning, and his time is near. Something is troubling him, weighing heavily on his heart, and he wishes to confess to Alistair.

Alistair enters his grandfather’s bedroom, which is as simple and modest as the man himself. He takes the chair from the writing desk and brings it to the bedside. Alistair gently takes his grandfather’s hand as he sits. “Good evening, Grandfather. Your secretary said that there is something you wish to tell me.”

Terrace squeezes the young man’s hand. “Aw, Alistair, you’ve grown into a fine man.”

“Grandfather, I owe it all to you. You’ve always been a perfect gentleman and a good example. You’ve persevered in showing the Wheelocks as trustworthy and honest. Never one to shy away from helping his fellow man. I’m proud to be a Wheelock and proud of you.”

Old Terrance sits propped up in bed, his face looking drawn and haggard as he sighs, full of sorrow and despair. He pulls his arthritic knarled hand from his grandson’s grip. “Oh, if that were only true. I called you here to tell you a secret, a secret not even Bernard, my secretary, knows. No one knows! But I feel compelled to tell you before I’m gone, and it is too late!”

Alistair’s brow furrows. “Grandfather! What are you saying? What could be so terrible as to cause you so much pain? You are the most honest and upright person I’ve ever known. Surely nothing you’ve done can be that bad.”

The poor old gent feebly shakes his head. “No.  What I’m about to tell you is true.  I’m telling you now because I need to unburden myself. I pray you won’t hate me for it.”

                                                                 …

“A long time ago, when I was young I came in contact with a boy named Mitchell. The moment I first laid eyes on him, I disliked him. He had an aura of trouble about him. His very presence made my skin crawl. He’d punch children for no reason, just because he thought it was fun. Mitchell was a filthy, dirty, low-life bully right from the beginning. And if you tried to interfere, you’d get the same; even the teachers feared him.

As Mitchell grew older, his behaviors worsened. By the time he was in his early teens, girls became his favorite prey. He’d leer at them, touch them, and took every opportunity to press up against them. But worst of all, Mitchell would say disgusting things to them and laugh if they cried. For some reason, he took to sneaking up behind boys, grabbing them by the crotch, and squeezing until they screamed in pain. Sick! Just plain sick.”

The elder Wheelock started to cough, so Alistair held a glass of water while Terrance took a sip. “Grandfather, I will say that this Mitchell fellow did sound most despicable, but I don’t see any reason to be so upset by it.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s more why I hated him, but I’m coming to that. One day, when I was about fifteen or sixteen, I was walking home with my friend Tommy when Mitchell stepped in front of us. “Hey. Wheelcock!” That’s what Mitchell always called me. “Give me some money! I need ten bucks.” I remained calm and replied that I didn’t have any money. “Of course you got money! Your old man is the richest son-of-a-bitch in town! Now give me some money!” Again, I stayed calm. “Mitchell, if you need money, why not go down to the mill’s hiring office and tell them I sent you?   My father likes to allow boys to work after school and make a few dollars.”   Mitchell’s face looked like I just made him eat soap. “Work? Working at what?”

“ Tommy told Mitchell we both worked at the mill after school.” He explained, “We sweep the floors and empty the trash and stuff like that. We get paid a dollar an hour for three hours and work four days a week! That’s twelve whole dollars, ya know.”   

Mitchell’s eyes grew dark as he shoved Tommy. “Who asked you, Meathead? Besides, I ain’t no janitor! If that’s all you have to offer, I’ll see you around, Wheelcock.” That’s when he sneered and tried to knee me in the groin, but I blocked him. His face got real ugly as he growled, “I’ll get you next time.” 

The years passed, and Mitchell did eventually work at the mill. It didn’t last long, though.  He kept skipping work, so they let him go. Of course, it wasn’t his fault. He blamed my father instead.

During my second year of college, my mother died unexpectedly of a stroke. Very sad. At the wake, my family was standing in line, meeting the people coming to pay their respects.  I looked up and saw Mitchell approaching. He looked clean and dressed in a suit. I believe a girl from our graduating class, Susan Massey, accompanied him.  Mitchell caught my eye and smiled like he had just thought of something evil. I looked away. When he reached where I was standing, he looked at me, cocked his left eyebrow, and flicked his fingers into my groin. When I flinched, he stifled a laugh and moved on. I was horrified, embarrassed, and humiliated beyond belief! I thought to myself, “That is the foulest creature to ever slither from a woman’s womb! A disgrace to human society! I have to kill him!”

Alistair slowly leaned back in his chair and whispered, “Grandfather!?”

“No, Alistair, it’s true because that is what I did! I killed Mitchell in cold blood!” Alistair lurched forward, “Grandfather, you couldn’t have! Not you!”

“Yes, Alistair, my boy. I did just that. Over the years, our family has collected quite a few firearms, one of which was a double-barrelled black powder deringer. Mitchell lived on a back road in Riverdale, far from town. I plotted his every coming and going. I waited behind a large oak tree for him to drive past, then fired my gun at the driver’s side window. I heard a scream and watched as the car swerved and struck a tree. I ran to the vehicle and pulled open the door. Mitchell was crying and trapped by the column of the stirring wheel.

“Wheelock! I don’t know what happened! Help me, I’m hurt! I’m hurt real bad!” I looked at him and said, “No.” With his eyes full of tears, he couldn’t understand what I just told him. “What?” he sobbed.

“I said I’m not going to help you, Mitchell. Why would I help a piece of filth like you?

His legs were trapped beneath the steering column. I could see fragments of bone protruding through his torn pants leg. “What are you talking about?  I never hurt you! For God’s sake, man, help me!” He looked so pathetic.

“Oh, yes, you have, Mitchell, but more than that, you’ve hurt the entire town of Riverdale. You’ve threatened and terrified practically every person living here. They lived in fear of meeting you on the street. Afraid of what might happen to them if they refused one of your demands. Mothers hid their children when they saw you coming. And the girls! All those poor girls! You belittled and humiliated and molested everyone you could corner alone. You’re a sick pervert, Mitchell! A sick degenerate pervert! And as for me. At my poor mother’s funeral, when we were in deep sorrow, you thought it would be funny to hit me in the balls. Well, it’s over now, Mitchell. You’ll never hurt another person again.” I lifted the gun to where he could see it and pulled the trigger. The fifty-caliber lead ball split his head open like a ripe watermelon. But just before I shot, I’ll never forget seeing the genuine terror in his eyes. They’ve haunted my nights ever since.”

Terrance laid his head back upon his pillow and sighed. “So there it is Alistair, my confession of murder in the first degree.  After I’m gone, please make the authorities aware of my confession. It may save my soul. Leave me now, for I need to rest.”

                                                                     …

At Saint Joesph’s Cemetery, the funeral of Terrace Wheelock has ended, and Alistair Wheelock addresses all who have attended.

“I would like to thank you all for coming. I’ve appreciated hearing all the fond memories of my grandfather and the help he gave to the citizens of Riverdale. He truly loved this town. However, my grandfather, like all men, wasn’t without sin. He was the same as you and I and, though we may never know the reasons for those sins, I will assume they were for the greater good. We have prepared a reception at the VFW and would be happy to have you all join us. Thank you, one and all.”