"Have you heard the rumors that I'm retiring?" asked Tim Wilkinson as I sat across from him in his office. "It is true; I am planning on retiring at the end of the school year. I figure 33 years in this school is long enough, and I have you to thank for the push."
"Me?" I asked incredulously. My thoughts suddenly became panicked, trying to figure out what I had done to make my principal retire. "Why me?"
"Calm down, Brucie, you haven't done anything wrong. In fact, the opposite is true." He got up, closed and locked the door, and sat back down in his tall, leather chair. He then took off what appeared to be a class ring and set it on the desk in front of me. "When I first came to this school as a teacher 33 years ago, I was an idealist, much like you were when you came here four years ago. In my fifth year, Mr. Walton called me into his office and told me he was retiring, much like I'm having this conversation with you now.
"He told me of his secret for keeping the school running as well as it had, and his desire to be relieved of the burden, such that it was. He had wanted to retire for a few years, but needed someone he could trust with the secret before he left."
I remembered Mr. Walton vaguely, mostly from stories my parents told me. He was the principal when they went to Central. The school prospered under his leadership, I had heard. He was legendary for his ability to create harmony and compromise among groups of people, his faculty adored him, and the students all respected him. The same could be said about Mr. Wilkinson.
"What does that have to do with me, Mr. Wilkinson?" I asked.
"Please, Bruce, I appreciate the tone of respect, but you've been here four years. I'm not your old teacher anymore; I'm your professional colleague. Call me Tim. I've said that before. Anyway, I find myself much in the same situation that Mr. Walton was in. I've wanted to retire for a few years, but I needed someone I could trust to pass the secret on to. Frankly, I was waiting to see if you were going to stay or bolt out the door for another school once you got tenure. I'm glad you stayed, and I think you will be as well."
My panic attack subsided a bit, but I was still confused. "I have no intention of leaving, Tim. I went to school here, my parents went to school here, and I was thrilled to be asked to join the faculty here. I owe a debt to the teachers of this school, and I intend to repay it by being one of those teachers who builds others up like I was."
"That's what I had hoped to hear you say," Mr. Wilkinson said. "Have you ever wondered what the secret to keeping this school running as peaceably and efficiently as it has been? It's all in that ring on the desk." He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned forward. "That innocent looking ring allows the wearer to influence the thoughts and actions of other people. That's the secret to how I can get what I want around the school, around the community, and especially out of the school board. I needed someone I could trust to give the ring to; someone who I knew was loyal to Central and would stay here. The ring doesn't work unless you are working here. It's an old Central High School class ring that was enchanted years ago. I don't know how or by whom, but I have an idea of the purpose." I stared at the ring while he kept talking to me. "You can get anything you want, pretty much. The only rule, if you call it that, that I have found is that if the ring thinks you are getting too selfish, it will start to tighten around your finger. Slowly at first, enough to let you know it is paying attention. If you continue to be selfish, it will tighten more, causing pain and suffering. Mr. Walton told me that one of the first to wear the ring couldn't stop himself from wanting more and more, and the ring eventually crushed his bone and the doctors had to amputate his finger in order to get it off."
I looked up at him, then back at the ring, then up at him again. "And you want to give this to me? Why?"