After 60 years, Bob came back for homecoming. The donations coordinator pushed his wheelchair around the new buildings. Bob closed his eyes and remembered how it used to be. Then the coordinator steered him to the Main quadrangle. Banners and protest signs hanging from the windows. Kids with checkered scarves, screaming the most ignorant nonsense into megaphones. Bob said, take me back to the car. He pulled out his checkbook and a pen and began to write. When they got to the car, he folded the check and handed it over. It said not one red cent, self-loathing kapos.