Memories of Another Day (37 page)

He laughed.

''Did you speak to Mrs. Torgersen?" she asked.

"Yes. She's already moved into the baby's room so we can have the other bedroom. She sounded very pleased that you were coming with me. She likes you."

"She's known me for a long time," she said. "How's the baby?"

A note of pride came into his voice. "She says he's just fine. Getting bigger. Gained almost a pound and is no trouble at all. Sleeps right through the night."

"Anxious to see him?"

He looked at her, then nodded. "Yes. Funny, I never thought of myself as a father. But when I held him and looked down at him and realized that I was part of making him, I felt I was going to Uve forever."

She held her glass toward him. "FU take a little bit more."

He covered the bottom of the glass. "What's it like outside?"

"Sunny and warm," she said.

"Good," he said. "At least the strikers are in luck. It's not easy to look confident with the rain pissing in your face. The girl who typed my letter told me that her boss was very pleased. Paramount movie news-reel is coming out to cover the South Chicago demonstration. It'll be in six thousand theaters next Tuesday."

"I'm glad you won't be with them," she said. "At breakfast this morning, I heard Uncle Tom on the phone. He was talking to someone in the South Chicago police headquarters. He said he was expecting trouble at the mill, and he asked for a hundred and

fifty policemen to help protect it. When he came back to the table, he was smiling and told my aunt that if the Commies came looking for trouble they were going to get more than they bargained for."

He stared at her. ''He's got almost a hundred men inside the gates. Why does he need the cops outside?"

''I don't know," she answered. ''I was too busy figuring out how to leave the house with my bags without their finding out."

''He's going to be disappointed," Daniel said. "The meeting is in a hall a few blocks away. They're not even going near the mill."

She didn't answer.

A thought flashed through his mind. "Your Uncle Tom seemed sure that they were going to be at the plant?"

She nodded.

He put down his drink. "I'd better get right over there to make sure they don't go anywhere near the mill."

"It's not your business anymore, Daniel," she said. "You resigned. Remember?"

"I remember Pittsburgh in 1919," he said. "A lot of men got hurt because nobody had the guts to talk sense to them."

"This is 1937," she said. "And it's not your fight anymore."

"Maybe it isn't," he said. "But I got a lot of those men out there today into the union, and I don't want it on my conscience if any of them get hurt."

She didn't answer.

"Give me the keys to the car," he said.

"Let go of it, Daniel," she said. "We're going to start a new life. You told me that yesterday."

"Chris. There's no way I can start a new life over the dead bodies of my friends. Not if I have a chance to prevent it. Give me the keys."

"I'll go with you," she said.

'*No. You wait here for me." "You said you would take me with you wherever you go." Her voice was steady. ''It starts here."

The streets in front of Sam's Place were crowded with cars and people, and there was no place that Dan could park the car. He stopped in the middle of the street and got out. ''You park the car in the next block and wait for me."

Chris's face was pale. She nodded.

Dan turned and made his way toward the meeting hall. It had turned unexpectedly hot, and the crowd overflowing the street seemed more like a group of people at a family outing than a serious group of strikers. Many of the men had brought their families to the meeting, and women and children were moving around in the crowd of shirt-sleeved men.

Daniel pushed his way through the crowd into the meeting hall. It was packed solid with people. On the small platform at the far end of the hall several men were sitting, while one man was at a lectern shouting.

"There is only one way to show the cops that they do not intimidate us, that Girdler is not the law. They must see that we, the people, the strikers, are strong enough, brave enough to look them in the face and spit in their eye!"

A roar of approval went up from the crowd.

The speaker looked down at a piece of paper in his hand. "Be it resolved that we, the members of the Steel workers Union, Local , condemn the arbitrary and oppressive tactics of the Chicago Police Department in their attempts to frighten and intimidate the workers from exercising their consitutional right to free speech and strike for a better way of American life. All in favor say 'Aye.' "

The roar of Ayes deafened the ears.

"Let's show 'em now!" a voice yelled from the crowd.

*'Yeah," another voice shouted. ''Let 'em see what a real picket line is. Not just ten men but a thousand!"

Daniel made his way to the platform just as the hall rang with approval for the suggestion. He pushed the speaker away from the lectern. ''Hold it!" he yelled at the crowd. "Hold it!"

The meeting was still in a turmoil. The speaker turned to Daniel. "Get out of here, Huggins. We don't want you here," he said in a voice that reached only to Daniel.

"You're Davis," Daniel said. "You've got to Usten to me. I found out there are a hundred and fifty cops out there spoiling for trouble. You keep the meeting here. If they get outside in front of the mill, a lot of people are going to be hurt. Not only men, but women and children too."

"Workers have a right to express themselves," Davis said.

"Their leaders have a responsibility to see that they don't get hurt. In 1919 I saw what happened when leaders abdicated that responsibility. It can happen here."

"No," Davis said. "There are too many of us. Besides, the cops wouldn't dare try anything with the newsreel cameras out there. That's why we arranged to get them here."

"Cameras don't stop bullets," Daniel said. He turned back to the crowd. "Brothers!" he shouted. "You know me. Many of you were brought into this union with me. More than anyone else I want to win this strike. But we're not going to win it by demonstrating against the Chicago police. We're going to win it by closing down production at the mills, by getting the rest of the workers to join us. Let us turn our efforts here to that end, to find ways and means of persuading our brothers that our battle is their battle. Here, in the union hall, is where the battle will be won. Not out there in the fields in front of the mill."

A sarcastic voice shouted up from the crowd. "We know you, Big Dan. We know how you sold us out for a piece of Girdler pussy. We know you didn't want us to strike."

'That's not true!" Daniel shouted.

*'If it's not true," another voice shouted, ''then join us. Don't fight us."

Daniel looked down at the suddenly silent hall. "I'll join you," he said. "But only the men will go. Make sure that your women and children don't follow us."

A roar came from the crowd. Two young men leaped on the platform and, picking up the American flags, turned and started up the aisle.

Daniel looked at Davis. "You've got to help me, man. Let's try to stop them at least a block from the mill." He didn't wait for an answer but leaped from the platform and marched up the aisle between the two flag bearers.

The sun outside had turned bright and hot. Daniel tore off his jacket and held it over his arm.

"Across the field," a voice shouted. "The streets are blocked by the police."

Slowly, purposefully, they began walking toward the plant, about a mile across the open field. Daniel turned and looked behind him. Men were streaming behind them, in an unorganized, shapeless form. Despite Daniel's warning, women and children had joined them. There was an air of almost childlike gaiety in the crowd, more like people going to a Sunday-school picnic than a picket line.

"Get rid of the women and children!" he shouted back at them. His voice was lost in the noise. A hand pulled at his arm. He turned.

"Big Dan." Sandy was next to him with Davis. "I knew you'd show up."

Daniel didn't answer. He looked at Davis. "Look over there. There's an army of cops waiting for us. Now do you believe me?"

Davis stared. "I see them. But they won't do any-

thing. The newsreel truck is right behind them. We got to get in close enough so they can film how big a crowd we are."

"What's more important? People's Hves or movies?"

"The movies will take our message all over the country," Davis said.

Daniel looked at him. It was no use. It didn't make sense. They were going like lambs to the slaughter. "A block away," he said heavily. "Try to stop them a block away."

But there was no stopping them; the press of the crowd behind pushed them on. Daniel saw the police begin taking out then- guns and clubs. For a moment, a picture flashed through his mind. The Boche were waiting just across no-man' s-land.

They were halfway through the last open field, about two hundred feet away from the police, when Daniel turned his back on them and held up his hands to stop the crowd.

"Now!" he shouted. "Form your picket line here!"

An unexpected voice joined him. "Yes," Davis shouted. "Form the line here. One flag to the right, one to the left and spread out behind them."

The crowd milled around uncertainly, not knowing what to do. Daniel pushed at one of the flag bearers. "Get going, man!" The flag bearer began to move off. "Okay, now," Daniel shouted to the crowd. "Follow him!"

"Follow him!" Davis shouted.

Daniel glanced at him. "Thanks."

Davis' voice was grim. "Don't thank me. I'm scared."

"With some luck," Daniel said, "we may still be okay."

But luck was not to be with them. He heard the first few sounds of the shots. Then a sledgehammer hit him in the back, and he pitched forward to the ground. He tried to pick himself up on his hands, but his legs

wouldn't support him. He heard the sounds of women screaming and men shouting in their panic. Then there were blue-uniformed police all around him, lashing out indiscriminately with their truncheons and billy clubs. He saw Davis and Sandy fall to the ground under a hail of men in uniform, beating them long after they were inert and prostrate.

He felt the tears spring to his eyes. ''Oh, shit,*' he cried, the hurt in his soul greater than the one in his body. ''Shit, shit, shit."

Then his arms gaye way, and he fell into an ecUpse of the sun.

Now

Maybe because it was Sunday. Or lunchtime. Or maybe the Arab oil embargo of last spring had left its imprint on the psyche of the American motorist. But I had been sitting on the low stone wall for almost an hour and not one car had passed.

I remember my father's indignation as the lines formed at the gas stations and factories began to close, laying off thousands of workers. He held a news conference at which he blasted everybody. The President, the Congress, the oil companies. ''The same old story," he had growled. ''They're all in cahoots to bring up prices and pick the pockets of the American workers who built the very oil fields the fruits of which they are now denied. We gave the Arabs the power by developing their resources at the expense of our own and the American worker because we were told it would be cheaper. Now we find out how cheap it really is. The cost is blackmail and extortion. And there is only one way to deal with blackmailers and extortionists. Exterminate them. We have all the valid and legal reasons. Our national security, our very lives and welfare are threatened. Send in the marines!"

Accused by many of the papers and commentators of old-fashioned jingoism and warmongering, of being

pro-Zionist and anti-Arab, he replied in scornful tones. ''We didn't fight two major wars to make the world safe for the Arabs and the oil companies so that they could enrich themselves at our expense. Our country has a history of standing up and fighting for its rights. If we don't do that now, we may turn around five years from now and find we have delivered up ourselves and maybe all of Western civilization into the hands of Cam."

It wasn't that long ago; but now, it was forever. At least for my father. He was gone, and no one heard his voice anymore. Maybe. Except me. I wondered how long it would take for me to stop hearing him.

**When you know me, Jonathan.**

* I know youy Father. Fve always known you.** His voice was gentle. *'You only thought you did.

But now you*re beginning to learn.** ''Learn what?** '/Where I come from. Who I am.*'

* * Who you were, * * I said pointedly. He chuckled. "A point of view.**

"Nothing*s changed. You*re still what I always thought you were.**

'7 never claimed to be anything else. I will always be whatever you think I am. Just as you will always be whatever you think you will be.**

"Fm getting ready to go home, Father. Fm getting tired of sitting on walls and fence posts and standing at the sides of roads. Fm not discovering anything anymore.**

"You*re lonely. But be patient. The journey will soon be at an end. Then you will go home and put all you have learned together.**

"Idon*t know what it is Fm supposed to learn.**

"Love, my son. And that only a fool throws it away.**

*Tw tired of all that shit, Father, Fm going home. Nowr

* 'No. * ' His voice was strong and sharp. ' 'Look up the road, my son, and discover why no cars have passed in this last hour and why you have been sitting on this particular wall at this particular moment in time.**

A mile down the road a car had crested the hill and was moving rapidly toward me. I watched it, the sun sparkling brightly from its silver radiator. It sped past me, a white Rolls Comiche convertible, top down, driven by a girl with sun-yellow hair streaming behind her in the wind. Several hundred yards down the road I saw its brake lights go on, then, as the car stopped, the white backup lights as it reversed toward me.

The car backed off onto the side ramp and came to a stop in front of me. The girl in the car and I just sat there looking at each other. We didn't speak. Just looked at each other.

She was beautiftil. Suntanned bronze, almost white hair falling down below her shoulders now that the wind was not taking, high cheekbones, wide mouth and firm chin. But it was her eyes that did it. Pale gray with a splash of blue. I had seen them a thousand times before. But I didn't know where.