The University of Michigan

"Chris! I want you to write a letter!"

Whenever my Dad got a bee in his bonnet, he started bellowing. This would not be simple.

"OK, Dad, who do you want to send a letter to?"

"To the University of Michigan!"

Huh?

"You may not know this, but when I was a sophomore, I took a Physics exam and got a 96, but the grade got recorded as a 69 and the professor REFUSED to change it! I want you to write a letter DEMANDING that the grade be changed!"

Since my Dad graduated from the university in 1943, I knew this was the Alzheimer's talking. My sister and I had recently moved him into assisted living because of it.

I tried to buy time. "OK, Dad, I'm busy with work right now, but I'll get to it." Given his Alzheimer's, I hoped he would forget all about it.

He didn't.

Every time I saw him, he would bellow, "Chris! I want you to write a letter!" He forgot that he had asked me to write the letter, but he didn't forget that he wanted that letter written.

This went on for weeks.

Finally, I drafted a letter. When I showed it to him, it was wonderful to see him so engaged. He toughened the language, added additional supporting arguments (he had been a debater in school).

Of course, I never sent the letter. But soon thereafter, it was Christmas, and thanks to my color printer, he received a letter from the University of Michigan changing his grade. I strove for the utmost authenticity. At the top was a big blue and gold M. It was "signed" by the actual chair of the Physics department, Professor Tim McKay.

In my 47 years, I don't believe I had ever given my father a better gift. His face melted. I was so happy for him.

Given his Alzheimer's, I left the letter with him, as he would likely forget he had received the letter.

Two weeks later,

"Chris! I want you to write another letter!"

Oh no.

"I want you thank this Tim McKay for changing my grade."

"Of course, Dad. I'd be happy to."

"But now that my grade is changed, I believe I'm entitled to more benefits. I think I now deserve to be on the Dean's list and also to become a member of Tau Beta Pi (the engineering honor society)".

Oh no.

"Dad, I'll get to it, but I'm busy at work."

That weekend I was on a date; my cell phone rang. It was Dad. At that point he was still able to use the telephone, barely, to call me. Thinking it might be an emergency, I took the call.

"Chris! I just got off the phone with Tim McKay, and he doesn't know anything about a letter changing my grade!"

"Dad, how did you get hold of Professor McKay?!"

"Well, I don't know. I first spoke with his wife."

Apparently, thanks to a helpful telephone operator, my Dad was able to contact Professor Tim McKay, the actual chair of the Physics Department at the University of Michigan, at home, on a weekend.

I ended the date immediately, headed over to my Dad's place, confiscated the letter, and calmed him down.

"Dad, professor McKay is a busy man. I'm sure his secretary wrote the letter, and he just signed it. I'll call him on Monday to verify."

I was utterly terrified that Professor McKay or the university would---I don't know---charge me with identity theft or forgery or worse. The next day, I wrote a very long email to Professor McKay explaining everything, and waited nervously for his response.

The mornging after, I saw that I had an email from Professor McKay waiting in my inbox. Since it was going to be a long day at work, I waited until that evening before reading the fateful email. How angry was he? Was he referring the matter only to his personal lawyer or to the entire legal department of the University of Michigan?

After thanking me for my email, Professor McKay said he had "sort of figured out what was going on" during the phone call with my Dad.

And then he amazed me. "I'm traveling right now, but when I get back to the university, I'm going to ask the university to provide some kind of recognition to your father."

I was utterly speechless. It was not at all what I expected. My dear, demented father had bothered this poor professor (and his wife!) at home, and all he wanted to do to us was help.

I wrote back thanking Professor McKay profusely. But I declined the offer. All we needed was his understanding.

When I told my father that I had spoken with Professor McKay and that Professor McKay had confirmed that the grade had been changed as indicated in the letter, my Dad replied, "Good! Because that should have been corrected a long time ago."

Here's a picture of my Dad in his last year of life.