Baelnorn
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Apr 25, 2010
- Posts
- 1,131
The news came on a slow Tuesday afternoon, suddenly but not unexpected. Jeremy Whishaw had passed two days ago. Almost exactly three months after his 89th birthday he eventually lost his fight against cancer, and the whole world of arts and literature was poorer for it.
Mr. Whishaw was a renowned collector of antique pieces regardless of their material; canvas, wood, clay, marble, silk, gold, silver, or paper, it didn’t matter to him. Over the years he became a generous donor of various pieces to various institutions – schools, universities, and museums alike – taking great pride in repaying past kindness or fostering cultural preservation or exchange.
And thus the university’s dean, Benedict Jackson, arrived in the institution's on-campus library. Dressed in his usual impeccable dark blue suit he moved swiftly and with determination through the corridors and rooms, while carrying a bundle of letters in hand. He quietly proceeded to assemble the present staff in a separate office, much to the bewilderment of the workers.
Looking into the faces of his staff which by now showed a mix of curiosity, nervousness, and concern for his unannounced and unexpected visit, he began relying the sad news.
“Hello everyone. I’m here to inform you that sadly Jeremy Whishaw has passed. I received the news just a few hours ago via courier, along with folders of documents and several letters to staff members. I know many of you had at least some direct contact with him to manage his book donations. If you need some personal time to process, we can organize something. And don’t forget that our counselor is also available if you need someone to talk to.”
Benedict took a step towards the gathered librarians and began handing out the letters, carefully taking the envelop and handing it over to the designated recipient with a level of care as if it was a raw egg.
“These letters were included in the package, and I was asked to make sure that each letter reaches their recipient. I have no information about their contents, nor the reason of their writing. I was assured that the letters would be helpful to you and that they would answer some of your likely questions.”
Each of the letters was quite heavy, with at least the envelop being made of thicker and sturdier paper than any normal envelop had any rights to. There were carefully sealed on their backsides with small but proper red wax seals, and on the front the recipient’s name was beautifully embossed in rich dark blue cursive on the off-white paper.
“In the coming months there will be a lot of work ahead of us. Based on the information provided to me it seems Mr. Whishaw left a significant part of his private library to the university. A collection of about 3400 works that need to be examined, cataloged, digitized, preserved, and stored. My office is in contact with the executor of Mr. Whishaw’s estate to organize the proper transfer.”
The dean handed over the final letter, then took a deep breath and straightened his posture.
“Mr. Whishaw was a longstanding, proud, and highly valued alumni of our campus. We are all poorer for his passing. I hope that as a final display of respect and appreciation to him we can handle his library with the utmost care and professionalism it deserves. I have full trust in you and your abilities. If you have any more questions, please read the letters first. Afterwards you can still reach out to me or my office, and I’ll try my best to help you. That is all I have for you for now. Thank you, and please take care.”
And with that Mr. Jackson excused himself and left the office and the library, returning back to the main administrative building where a mountain of legal and organizational work began looming like a mountain ahead.
Mr. Whishaw was a renowned collector of antique pieces regardless of their material; canvas, wood, clay, marble, silk, gold, silver, or paper, it didn’t matter to him. Over the years he became a generous donor of various pieces to various institutions – schools, universities, and museums alike – taking great pride in repaying past kindness or fostering cultural preservation or exchange.
And thus the university’s dean, Benedict Jackson, arrived in the institution's on-campus library. Dressed in his usual impeccable dark blue suit he moved swiftly and with determination through the corridors and rooms, while carrying a bundle of letters in hand. He quietly proceeded to assemble the present staff in a separate office, much to the bewilderment of the workers.
Looking into the faces of his staff which by now showed a mix of curiosity, nervousness, and concern for his unannounced and unexpected visit, he began relying the sad news.
“Hello everyone. I’m here to inform you that sadly Jeremy Whishaw has passed. I received the news just a few hours ago via courier, along with folders of documents and several letters to staff members. I know many of you had at least some direct contact with him to manage his book donations. If you need some personal time to process, we can organize something. And don’t forget that our counselor is also available if you need someone to talk to.”
Benedict took a step towards the gathered librarians and began handing out the letters, carefully taking the envelop and handing it over to the designated recipient with a level of care as if it was a raw egg.
“These letters were included in the package, and I was asked to make sure that each letter reaches their recipient. I have no information about their contents, nor the reason of their writing. I was assured that the letters would be helpful to you and that they would answer some of your likely questions.”
Each of the letters was quite heavy, with at least the envelop being made of thicker and sturdier paper than any normal envelop had any rights to. There were carefully sealed on their backsides with small but proper red wax seals, and on the front the recipient’s name was beautifully embossed in rich dark blue cursive on the off-white paper.
“In the coming months there will be a lot of work ahead of us. Based on the information provided to me it seems Mr. Whishaw left a significant part of his private library to the university. A collection of about 3400 works that need to be examined, cataloged, digitized, preserved, and stored. My office is in contact with the executor of Mr. Whishaw’s estate to organize the proper transfer.”
The dean handed over the final letter, then took a deep breath and straightened his posture.
“Mr. Whishaw was a longstanding, proud, and highly valued alumni of our campus. We are all poorer for his passing. I hope that as a final display of respect and appreciation to him we can handle his library with the utmost care and professionalism it deserves. I have full trust in you and your abilities. If you have any more questions, please read the letters first. Afterwards you can still reach out to me or my office, and I’ll try my best to help you. That is all I have for you for now. Thank you, and please take care.”
And with that Mr. Jackson excused himself and left the office and the library, returning back to the main administrative building where a mountain of legal and organizational work began looming like a mountain ahead.
