Cabot was not thrilled with his name. Not only was it weird and old-fashioned, but it couldn’t be shortened to a cool nickname. Cab? Cabby? Bot?

Nope.

“You’re named after your grandfather,” his mother said when he complained. “He was an extraordinary man with an extraordinary name — Cabot Herkimer Jones.” She smiled a proud but sad little smile. Cabot knew she was remembering the man he would never know — the man she never talked about. “You are his namesake. I named you after him out of love but I understand it’s quite the moniker for someone your age. So, if you’d rather go by your middle name, it’s okay with me.”

Luckily, she hadn’t saddled him with the “Herkimer” part of his grandfather’s name. Instead, she’d added Sean to the middle. 

Sean. He rolled it around in his mind. Yes. He liked it. Quick, easy, and cool. Sean Sullivan. Yup.

His friends accommodated his wishes and after a while his teachers did as well. His mother had always used his full name when he was in trouble — Cabot Sean Sullivan! — and he was in trouble more than he liked to admit. So, he easily answered to this abbreviated version. 

One day, in the midst of Spring cleaning, his mother sent him to the attic to collect some boxes of summer clothes. In the far corner under the eaves, he spotted a dusty trunk. He opened it.

The rush of moth balls stung his nostrils and he nearly dropped the lid. But the contents peaked his curiosity. On top of a pile of folded men’s suits, lay a stack of notebooks, some framed certificates, and a bulging scrap book. He took the scrap book out and set it on the floor.

The newspaper articles tucked loosely inside were yellowed and crinkled at the edges. Bold headlines set him back on his heels: AWARD-WINNING SCIENTIST MISSING; CABOT H. JONES, GONE; MEDAL-OF-HONOR WINNER DISAPPEARS; AUTHOR OF “Scientists for World Peace” MISSING; CABOT HERKIMER JONES, A HERO FOR OUR TIMES; CABOT MYSTERY DEEPENS; WHAT HAPPENED TO C.H. JONES?

A quiet intake of breath behind him. He turned. His mother stood there, her eyes glistening. “I guess it’s time we had a talk,” she said as she sat down beside him.

“I realize now that you are old enough for me to tell you the story.  Then you can read his journals. They’ll help you to know him.”

“I’m sorry I snooped.”

“It’s okay. I should have told you earlier. I was wrong not to.” With this, she reached into the trunk and pulled out a framed photograph.

Sean looked down into a kind face. The eyes and mouth reminded him of his mother’s. The smile was definitely hers. 

“Your grandfather was very concerned about science and scientists being used for harmful purposes. He lectured and wrote books on the topic and on things like the dangers of certain pesticides on our food crops. He was considered a hero by many, but a threat to progress by others. They often tried to quiet him. They even made up lies about him. But he stood strong and kept at it.

“Traveling to give a keynote speech at an important European conference, he vanished and I never saw him again. Perhaps he had an accident. Perhaps someone harmed him. I guess we’ll never know. 

“The important thing for you to know is that he lived a noble life. He was a champion of what is right and decent and good.”

She looked down at the photograph in his hand. “Every time you smile or ask one of your wonderfully curious questions, you remind me of him. He would be proud of you. And so am I.”

On Friday, Sean stood before his class when it was time to give his book report. And for the first time, he wasn’t nervous at all. 

“My name is Cabot Sean Sullivan and I’d like to be called Cabot again. My report is on the book, “Science in the Modern World,” by Cabot Herkimer Jones, my grandfather.