So, Emma agreed with Mitchell, and the general partner took care of everything.

This is how he accomplished all the promises he made to the Hancocks.


The general partner bought out the remaining years on Mitchell’s contract at Ohio State. For it to be a legal transaction, the general partner made a ‘substantial donation’ to the university’s general fund.

The general partner paid off the existing balance of the Hancocks modest home in Columbus and put the home up for sale. It sold very quickly to a friend of the general partner’s many vice-presidents. That friend’s son had just been accepted into the law school at Ohio State. The general partner split the modest profit amongst the Hancock’s and himself.

Now, because the general partner had gone to Harvard, and his father had gone to Harvard, and his grandfather had gone to Harvard, and his great-grandfather had gone to Harvard, and his great-great-grandfather had gone to Harvard, the general partner, like all the others who came from similar Harvard family trees knew how to play within the system of the most important learning citadel’s innermost secret to success – money!

And the general partner had lots and lots of the green stuff. And he, like his forefathers had donated tons of it to the school whose mascot was crimson.


Crimson is a deep red color. Money is green. Only people associated with Harvard really knew what the meaning of the mascot is.

After a few years of working at Harvard University, Wittenberg University graduate Emma Everly Hancock, wrote in her diary That she was sure that the deep red that crimson stood for was the working class blood that bled for the Harvard’s folks right to make lots of green.

The general partner could get what he wanted, and what he wanted was a nice beginning job for Emma Everly Hancock.

Now, a beginning teaching job at Harvard would be a high-entry level job at just about any other school of higher learning.

The general partner made his deals and Emma was hired at the medical school as a research assistant in the psychiatric department.

After all, the powers that be at Harvard were not just about connections; they loved the Red Sox, too.

And the general partner got the best of both worlds.

Emma got her job, which, as she wrote in her diary Started out bad, got worse, but after a few months, learning how to manipulate the ladder of success in the Yard.

The ‘Yard’ was slang for the Harvard campus. At least, that is what Emma was taught, but later wrote in her diary The people here say ‘Yard’, because it is the only time they might actually know what working in a yard is.

Dr. Mitchell Hancock got his new job as director under management for players for the Boston Red Sox Baseball Club. No one but a few sly journalists noticed they could forge an acronym for his position with the word DUMB.

Ohio State University got a huge honorarium from the general partner.

The Hancocks received (courtesy of the general partner) a condominium at 50 Follen Street in Cambridge.

And the general partner got his man.

And Mitchell’s first job was to cure the manager of echolalia.

He did that, and the Red Sox won the World Series for the second time in a row.



His second assignment was very delicate. It happened during the last half of the magical season that people dubbed ‘The Year of the Repeat”, after the manager’s echolalia was admitted to and Dr. Hancock introduced it to the press. One of the general partner’s big investors had a grandson who was a pretty decent baseball player at the college level. The Red Sox had drafted him with their last pick a few years back. The young man never tried to cash in on his connections. Instead, he worked his tail off and slowly, but surely, made it to the top farm club of the parent club located in Pawtucket, Rhode Island. On September 1st of every baseball season, a team, no matter how good or how bad they are, at that point can, expand their rosters and call up players. The Boston Red Sox called the young man up. The Red Sox were 15 games up on the Yankees and were already thinking playoffs. When the Red Sox started to beat the crap out of the opposing team the manager (now cured of his echolalia) would clear the bench to rest his regulars for the playoffs and give the kids a look-see.

It came time for the young man to get into the game. Of course, he was facing another young player who had just been called up by his team, the Cleveland Indians. The Indians’ pitcher could throw the ball very hard, but was even more nervous than the young Boston Red Sox player at the plate. The Indians’ pitcher’s first pitch hit the batter right where the flap of the helmet covers the batter’s left ear. The baseball was thrown so hard it broke the helmet and knocked the batter out cold.

The young man suffered from a severe concussion, and his grandfather was very worried that the player would get depressed, so was the general partner who had to please this partner at all costs.

And Dr. Mitchell Hancock was called to the rescue, which he, once again, performed brilliantly.

“It was one of the easiest cases I’ve ever had,” Mitchell boasted to Emma.

“How’s that?”

“The kid was only depressed that his first at-bat in the major leagues didn’t count as an official at-bat. He has courage. As long as he is cleared to play, he will be ok,” Mitchell said.

“And if he can’t play?” Emma asked.

“His grandfather is a billionaire”

Emma knew what that meant for the children and grandchildren of the rich. She had seen and heard enough about children who had parents worth ‘billions’ at Harvard to form an easy conclusion.


The last case Dr. Mitchell Hancock helped the Boston Red Sox with had a profound effect on Mitchell, Emma, Dr. Bill Hurt from Harvard’s Secret Advanced Studies Unit or HSAS, Irving Hanhart’s ownership of Moise Pipecks, Emma’s lawyers, and the hero of this book Charles Craig Curtis.

The big bucks earning star left fielder, for the Boston Red Sox, was the best five-tool player in all of Major League Baseball. While Mitchell was helping the manager conquer echolalia, and the team was in need of a spark, the outfielder told his teammates to ‘jump on his back and I’ll carry all of us.’ And he did (but not without a cured manager O’Malley setting the strategy), leading the team to win the World Series. However, after the season was over, the superstar was introduced to one of his biggest fans at a private party that featured the left fielder’s biggest fan, Dr. Bill Hurt.

Dr. Hurt was in charge of one of Harvard’s vast (and secret) research laboratories. It had lots and lots of money to play with and very little oversight. Dr. Hurt was also doing all sorts of experimentation with LSD.

LSD is the slang name for lyseric acid diethylamide. It is a man-made drug that alters the users’ senses.

After the tragedy, Emma wrote in her diary LSD is a synthetic psychedelic with psychedelic synthetic consequences.


At one of the many parties for the conquering heroes –the Boston Red Sox players who had just won another World Series — Dr. Hurt asked Dr. Hancock for an introduction to the star leftfielder, who was Dr. Hurt’s favorite baseball player.

This is how the one doctor knew of the other one.

By now, the entire Red Sox Nation had heard of the wonders that Dr. Mitchell Hancock had performed with the manager, and others on the team that (according to everyone involved) propelled the team to win the World Series. Dr. Bill Hurt loved the Red Sox.

And, according to various media outlets, Dr. Mitchell Hancock’s wife was working at Harvard, where all attractive newcomers to the faculty were well known before they had given one lecture.

And Emma Everly Hancock was one of those women who got better looking as she aged.



Mitchell hadn’t heard of Bill and Bill assumed just that. Being an avid LSD dropper and researcher it didn’t bother Bill at all that he wasn’t well known. Most other Harvard professors (at the minimum) would gnash their teeth if they were not the center of attention anywhere.

At the big party, Dr. Bill Hurt immediately recognized Dr. Mitchell Hancock from Mitchell’s picture in the Boston Red Sox team’s media guide. Hurt quickly worked the room like a politician to get close to Mitchell.

As a matter of fact, when Dr. Bill Hurt held out his hand to Dr. Mitchell Hancock, Mitchell asked Bill if he was a politician.

“Why do you ask that?” a stunned Hurt said.

“I’m an observer of human nature. I have been watching you work the room and just assumed you were a politician looking for votes or a photo opportunity,” Mitchell said.

“The worst thing in all of God’s creation is a politician,” Bill said. “Let me tell you who I am,” the doctor of LSD dropping and research said to the doctor of curing mentally hurting Boston Red Sox players.

And Dr. Bill Hurt took about ten minutes to explain who he was and what he did and what he wanted.

“Wow,” replied Mitchell. “They actually pay you to take mind alternating drugs?!”

“Pay me and pay me big. I’m sort of like the MVP of LSD research,” Dr. Hurt said with a smile that would have made the Cheshire cat envious.

“I haven’t taken an illegal drug for a long time,” Mitchell said. “But when I did, it was LSD, and it was quite fun.”

“But you prescribe a lot of drugs for others, don’t you?” Dr. Hurt pointed out.

Mitchell nodded that he did.

“Enough of the drug talk. I do have another addiction, and I would like your help,” Hurt said with a wink.

“Anything,” said Mitchell thinking he was getting a new patient.

“I’d like to meet the super-dooper-pooper-star!” gushed Dr. Hurt.

“Why don’t you sashay over to him, like you did to me?” Mitchell asked Bill.

Because celebrities don’t and won’t allow that,” replied Dr. Hurt.


“Good point. Come on, the introduction is on me,” Mitchell said.

Long after the party was winding down, Mitchell was amazed that the star left fielder and Dr. Hurt were still involved in a deep conversation.

Three weeks later, Mitchell found out why that happened.

Mitchell was summoned to the general partner’s office. He was to drop whatever the hell he was doing and hightail it as fast as he could.

Mitchell complied. The one thing he had learned about capitalism is that when the guy or gal signing the big checks wants you — run, do not walk. Mitchell made record time (despite the traffic), arriving at the office that he hadn’t been in for a while.

Nobody was in the office but the general partner and the crusty old veteran and advisor who had first told the general partner about Dr. Hancock. Mitchell could tell that this was serious, because the looks on the two men’s faces were very grim.

“Mitchell, we have a problem, and once again I need you to save the day,” the general partner said.

“Of course. Whatever I can do to help,” Mitchell said.

The crusty old vet cleared his throat and began “Dr. Hancock, our star left fielder is hooked on LSD and is in danger of going bonkers.”

“Would you know how this could have happened?” the general partner asked Mitchell.

Of course, Mitchell knew, but he didn’t bring up his introduction of Dr. Hurt to the left fielder.

“From the best of my knowledge, LSD isn’t addictive. It can cause the conscious mind some serious problems if the usage and dosage gets out of hand, especially if the potency level is high,” Mitchell said.

“He is getting his hands on the good stuff. We’re lucky it is the off-season right now. Get to work right away. Here are his contact numbers and reports from private security officers,” the general partner said as he handed Mitchell the dossier.

Mitchell went home and shared what was going on with his wife. Emma said she wasn’t aware of anyone named Dr. Bill Hurt, let alone any LSD studies or research going on.

Mitchell found the dossier heavy on speculation and light on facts. He put a call into Harvard.


He received no satisfactory answers and started to worry. But, before he called the general partner, he decided to play a little gumshoe and look around Harvard Yard.

Dr. Mitchell Hancock knew enough about the counter culture and the underground. He knew what Bill had told him at that party. He was flabbergasted that his wife couldn’t find out anything. He was totally baffled at what he couldn’t find out from the people at Harvard and that the dossier didn’t offer up any good leads. He started to worry that maybe Hurt was a fraud and this scared him.

“You catch on to things when one has been a university professor at a school the size of Ohio State when it comes to drugs and alcohol,” he told Emma later that night after he had indeed discovered more about the mysterious Bill Hurt.

Emma rolled her eyes to the remark and wrote in her diary That in the case of finding drugs at a university, size doesn’t matter. After all, at Wittenberg, which is a lot smaller than Ohio State, I knew where to find illegal drugs.

Mitchell went to a couple of counter culture coffee houses and independent bookstores. He found some underground bars where people loved to talk, and picked up enough tidbits of information that told him that there was such a person as Dr. Bill Hurt, and that he was affiliated with Harvard. It was when he bumped into some protestors that he got real answers.

After all, the protestors were demanding that illegal drugs be legalized.

Hit the mother lode, he mused as he started asking questions.

Most of the protestors not only had heard of Dr. Bill Hurt, but had taken part in his group therapy sessions where everyone had thought they had taken LSD. Some of the volunteers were given placebos until a general strike was called.

“By the faculty?” Mitchell asked.

“No. The volunteers refused to be given placebos,” one protestor said.

“His LSD was that good,” remarked a second protestor.

Mitchell smiled and politely asked for directions to Dr. Hurt’s place. Mitchell also signed one of the petitions that was for the legalization of marijuana and donated $50.

He received outstanding directions.

And he was stunned when he came to the address that he had been given.



The building was a huge one story box, the likes of which Mitchell hadn’t seen around the Cambridge area but remembered around the suburbs of Columbus.

“But we are not located in Cambridge. The building is in Somerville,” Dr. Hurt later told him.

“Oh,” was Mitchell’s simple remark (he didn’t know anything about Somerville).

Mitchell walked around the vast brick building and marveled at how close it was to the buildings on both sides, despite the other buildings being so much smaller. He also noticed that there was a parking lot, which at first he thought odd, given the size of Dr. Hurt’s building.

Then again, this is the greater Boston area where there will never be enough parking. He mused.

“In my line of work, we walk, and sometimes we fly,” Dr. Hurt later told Dr. Hancock. “Only an idiot would own a vehicle powered by the internal combustion engine in a city that has great mass transit and is easy to walk around in.”

“Then why the huge parking lot?”

“Throw people off from what is really going on in here.”

Mitchell walked to the front door and knocked. He heard loud music from behind the door and knocked louder. Suddenly, he heard someone from above yell out ‘heads up’!

Being a big sports fan, Dr. Mitchell Hancock should have known better. When someone hears another person yelling out ‘heads up’, it means the person hearing the phrase needs to cover their head, because some object (usually a baseball) is making a b-line towards their noggin.

Then again, Mitchell was more of a football fan than a baseball fan.

So, Mitchell looked up and got hit on his forehead by a water balloon.

A voice yelled down to him to walk through the front door because it wasn’t locked.

Dr. Mitchell Hancock wiped the water off his face with the back of his sports jacket sleeves and didn’t walk through the front door, he ran through the doorway after violently pushing the door open.

He was pissed (and wet). He spied the staircase where he assumed the water balloon assassin had to be and sprinted up the stairs two at a time.


He was out of breath when he arrived at the top landing. There was no one there, but the window that the balloon came out of was wide open. Mitchell walked over to the window and looked out it.

He was hit by another water balloon from above.

Mitchell took off his sports coat and used it to towel dry himself off to the best of his ability. He also yelled “come out, come out, wherever you are! I surrender.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” said Bill Hurt as he grabbed Mitchell from behind, spun him around and gave him a bear hug.

“Hey, you’re wet,” Hurt pointed out.

“And you’re in trouble if you don’t get me drier, stop that asshole from throwing water balloons at me, and tell me where the left fielder is hiding,” Mitchell  warned.

“He isn’t hiding. He is the one who threw the water balloons at you. No one else could have come close,” Bill said with a smile.

“Someone told me he was a great pitcher in little league,” Mitchell said sarcastically.

“Want to see the joint?” Dr. Hurt asked.

“But of course,” said Dr. Hancock. “Do you have a dry shirt I can borrow?”

“I have a sweatshirt that you can have,” said Bill as he handed Mitchell one that had HARVARD on the front.

“Were you expecting me?”

“The miracle of the modern texting era,” said Dr. Hurt. “The kid that gave you the address thought you were a government agent.

Mitchell laughed.

“Know what we say about the government and its agents at this place?” Hurt asked.

Mitchell shook his head no.

“I’m here from the government and to help you is the third greatest lie of all time,” Dr. Hurt pointed out with a chuckle.

“What is number one and number two?”



“What we call going to the bathroom as kids,” said Hurt as he took Mitchell by the left elbow and walked downstairs with him.

Dr. Hurt pointed to his office, which he told Mitchell they would go in to review documents and review video, after he saw ‘the playground’. He also told Mitchell that the left fielder was taking a shower and would join them, after he was done, in Dr. Hurt’s office.

“Is it always this dark in here?” Mitchell asked.

“Only when I have the lights off,” Dr. Hurt said as he switched on the lights and watched Mitchell’s jaw drop.

The giant room was a wet dream for people who loved to party.

In one area there was a trampoline.

In another area, there was a huge fish tank with white lights all around the tank. All sorts of exotic colored fish were darting in it.

Mitchell spied an old fashioned pinball machine.

Next to it was an older version of the Pac-Man game.

Everywhere Dr. Hancock looked, he saw fun and games.

“Wow!” he exclaimed.

“Now, to my office, and I’ll show you the real work,” Dr. Hurt said seriously.

Mitchell followed Bill to his office and was equally impressed with the size and the make-up of it.

All seriousness in here, Mitchell thought as he sat in the chair that was offered to him by Bill.

And Dr. Bill Hurt proceeded to educate Dr. Mitchell Hancock on his studies and findings of his experiments with LSD.

Mitchell was amazed at what he learned and what he witnessed when he watched the videos. He became an instant believer in what Dr. Hurt was doing and had accomplished.

He told that to Dr. Hurt. Dr. Hurt laughed and started shaking his head.

“What’s so funny?”


“You can’t believe until you have sampled the medicine.”

If you missed the earlier Chapters you can find them here.

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