Ransom note, part two.

10-22-2007.

Now that I’ve turned in the manuscript of my new book, I can finally turn my attention to my really important work: namely, writing this fabulously narcissistic blog. It’s a good thing, too, because I have an important update for anyone who might have read my previous post.

(For those of you who didn’t, a brief summary: for ten years I have been taking care of a laminated plaque that I found in the basement of my college dormitory. It commemorates the awarding of a scholarship to a “Gisele J. Ransom” on behalf of the National Black MBA Association. Why I kept this plaque with me is rather a long story, and kind of funny, and in no way done justice by this dry précis. I recommend you go back and read the old post.)

Although I’ve frequently attempted to locate Ms. Ransom, I had long been unable to find her—until now.

About one week after putting up my first post, I received the following e-mail (all text in bold is quoted):

I was recently given your book Sunstroke and out of natural curiosity about the authors I read, I checked out your web site. Your notes on Gisele was obviously witty. I googled her name and found out she married Levi Alec Garraway a Harvard alumni. I hope you write more about your search. Good luck.

This e-mail made my jaw drop for many reasons, not the least of which is that I had tried googling Gisele J. Ransom a million times and come up with bupkiss. It was hard to believe, but all the evidence pointed to the fact that Ms. Ransom had somehow—somehow—escaped Google’s all-seeing eye. In fact, in my original post, I put a link that searched for her, inviting readers to check out her mysterious absence for themselves. I was flummoxed. How had I missed her?

As it turns out, this reader—whose name is Karen, and who really is the hero of this story—did something so elementary that I feel idiotic for not having thought of it myself: she searched for Gisele Ransom without quotes around her name. Knowing whether to go quotes-on or quotes-off is so basic a googling skill that I’d like to give myself some credit and think that I had tried it before. In fact, I know I did. But since my previous attempt, it seemed, a new page had gone up (or so my ego dictates).

Anyway, to make a long story short (too late), after following Karen’s suggestions and helpful links, I ended up finding not Ms. Ransom herself, but her husband, Levi Alec Garraway, a Harvard-educated oncologist and Harvard Medical School faculty member. I wrote to him:

Dear Dr. Garraway--

My name is Jesse Kellerman. I'm a novelist and a Harvard alum and this e-mail is not spam. I promise. Please bear with me as I explain my reasons for writing.

I'm trying to get in touch with Gisele J. Ransom, who I believe is your wife. I tried to write to her directly but I'm not sure that the e-mail address I found is still working. Or else she may have started to read my letter and then deleted it, thinking it spam. This is a weird story, but it's true.

I have a laminated plaque from the National Black MBA Association that belongs to her. I'd like to give it back. How I came into possession of this plaque is a rather complicated and strange tale. You can read it here, on my website :

[Here I put a link to the original post).]

After posting this piece I received an e-mail from a reader directing me to a genealogical website, showing that Ms. Ransom had married you (or someone with your name). Since you're in Boston, and a Harvard grad, I figured I’d found the right person.

I do hope that I'm not bothering you, that you read the essay, and that you help me restore Ms. Ransom's plaque to her.

With many thanks, and best wishes.

After sending this e-mail I realized just how bizarre it sounded. In a panic, I sent a second e-mail, headed “PS.” It said:

Dear Dr. Garraway--

Should you be totally weirded out by my previous e-mail (I probably would be if I were you), please allow me to provide you some photographic evidence:

[Link to evidence]

Hopefully this will convince you that I'm not a huckster trying to get you to buy junk stocks or Herbal Viagra.

Sincerely,

Jesse

I pressed send, then stupidly did what I always do when I’m afraid I’ve sounded loony: I went back and reread what I’d just sent. Sure enough, I sounded like an utter nutjob—and an increasingly agitated one, to boot. I despaired as I considered that the best-case scenario was for Dr. Garraway to ignore the e-mail. If he paid any attention at all he’d probably reach for the phone and call the cops.

It was hard for me to work that day. I kept checking my e-mail and pacing my office. I repeatedly went up and down the stairs, lost in a frenzy of self-loathing. My one chance to get to Gisele Ransom and what had I done? Scared the crap out of her husband.

Within hours, though—and to my shock—I received the following reply:

Jesse,
I was skeptical while reading your first email, but your story on the website convinced me. I am Gisele's husband. (She is truly wonderful.) I will show her your emails tonight and let her respond.
Best regards,
Levi

Words cannot describe. I jumped up and down. I forwarded his e-mail to my wife, my old roommate Zach, my parents… It was a triumphant moment and I wanted to share it with the people that I love.

Zach was perhaps most enthusiastic in his response. He himself had grown quite attached to Gisele’s plaque when we lived together, and had been just as frustrated as I in trying to track her down. When he heard the news, he immediately called me. “What I like best,” he said, “is how he mentions parenthetically that ‘She is truly wonderful.’ That’s completely gratuitous, and the sign of a deeply loving marriage.” [Note: Zach himself is recently married. Mazal tov!]

You can imagine how eager we were to hear from Gisele herself. Giddy, in fact. Basically I decided I couldn’t work until this was resolved. This allowed me not to work on my extremely overdue manuscript.

Unfortunately for my editor, I heard nothing from anyone Garraway for over two weeks.. Not a word. Either the good doctor had forgotten to send the e-mail to his wife, or—worse yet—she had seen it and decided to ignore my plight. Aggrieved, I called my father.

“What’s going on?” I wailed. “Why can’t this guy get his act together?”

Calmly he pointed out that Dr. Garraway might be busy with other things such as curing cancer.

“Nothing is more important than this," said I. "Nothing."

Of course, the last thing I wanted to do was scare the Garraways away. If I was going to nudge them I had to do it gently. I wrote to the doctor:

Dear Dr. Garraway--

Hope all is well. Just checking to see if your wife wants me to send her plaque back? Sorry to bother you again and all my best.

Jesse

Then I sat on my hands and waited. Would my prayers be answered? Would Gisele get her plaque back? Would this story have closure? Stories rarely do, and the idea of a real-life mystery solved resonated deeply within my hack-writer’s soul. If she didn’t write back I would be in for a lifetime of what ifs. What if I had written a less unhinged e-mail? What if I had skipped the e-mail and just sent the plaque to Dr. Garraway directly? What if I had waited another week before writing—maybe he would have gotten around to it eventually? The angst was intolerable.

Relief arrived within hours.

Dear Jesse,

Thanks for finding and maintaining my plaque for so many years. You have a very kind and patient wife --not many wives would allow their husbands to run a "lost and found" agency for Harvard alums in their homes.

I had completely forgotten about the plaque. During the time I was at Cabot and the plaque landed there (~1997), I was a recent Harvard MBA grad who had just married an MD-PhD student, Levi Garraway. Levi was a resident tutor at Cabot. Since I had massive HBS bills and he was an unpaid grad student, we decided to live our first 2 years of wedded bliss at Cabot House as resident tutors. I guess I was more concerned with moving on with life as "Mrs. Gisele Garraway" than keeping up with the plaque that lauded me as "Gisele Ransom". (I'm sure your story is true and not a grand yet veiled attempt by the National Black MBA to move former awardees to guilt over not having made a contribution to the agency that helped them through the financial strains of grad school. (I'll make a donation anyway just in case)

Sorry, the reality is less mysterious than it could have been. I'll share the story and the plaque with my kids and tell them to fight "Gisele discrimination" by naming their progeny after their illustrious mother!

Thanks very much!

Please forward the plaque to the following address[redacted]. Also, include your mailing address so that I might return the postage and accrued Windex fees.

Best regards,
Gisele Ransom Garraway

Here is what I felt:

Jesse’s state of mind upon receiving GRG’s e-mail

(If that doesn’t work, you can also try this.)

The next day, after carefully cleaning the plaque and taking some farewell pictures of it, I packed it up, drove to the local post office, and mailed it back to its rightful owner, in fulfillment of that which is written in the Bible:

You shall not see your brother’s ox or sheep or commemorative laminated plaque go astray and hide yourself from them; you shall surely return them to your brother (Deut. 22:1).

And so the Ransom Note Saga comes to a happy conclusion. There are, I think, a few lessons to take away from it.

First, at least a couple of people who are not my mother-in-law are reading these posts.

Second, nobody—and but nobody—can evade Google for long.

Third, and relatedly, the internet is just ridiculous. How else could Karen can found out about my story, found Gisele, and helped me find Gisele? We live in a very, very, very small world.

Fourth, the new postal rates are kind of brutal, as I discovered when I went to sent the plaque back.

And fifth—and most importantly—never give up. Hope is the thing with feathers. With a little help, it can grow jet engines.