Root of His Evil (19 page)

My room was high up, but he took a suite on the second floor so his visitors could reach it merely by walking up one flight of stairs. I thought at first this was to make it convenient for them, but I soon found out it was also for secrecy. For they merely drifted into the hotel without having to announce themselves at the desk or attract the attention of elevator boys, and fifty or sixty a day would be in and out without any fuss. My salary was $40 a week. He offered me $60 but I told him $40 was all I would take. I would really have preferred to work for nothing, considering all the circumstances, but as this would have looked very peculiar I accepted $40 and paid my own bills.

I conscientiously made myself as useful as I could. I handled all phone calls, of which there were hundreds a day, did all sorts of small errands, kept the callers entertained while he was conferring with two or three of them in the inside room of the suite, kept a record of his expenditures. These were startlingly large. They included the pay of a large number of organizers who were working with him, the expenses of these men, the rent of halls whenever he felt it necessary to hold a large meeting, hiring of automobiles and all sorts of things.

In less than a week I could feel we were embarked on something on a very large scale that was going to mean a fight to the death. All these men who kept coming in and out, “key men,” as Mr. Holden called them, from the positions they occupied in the factory, were very grim and terribly in earnest. They had little to say when they were brought in by the organizers and waited their turn to see Mr. Holden, but there was no mistaking the frame of mind they were in. They meant business, and it was very different from the noisy pep meeting we had in Reliance Hall that night when the Karb waitresses got ready to strike.

And yet, try as I would to take some interest in it, since I realized it was important and would soon concern everybody, I remained throughout wholly indifferent to it. All I could think of was the desperate gamble I had undertaken on how it would all turn out. I was on the long distance phone every night talking to Mr. Hunt, and could hardly wait to get the afternoon papers to see what Geerlock common had done in the course of the day. For the first week things went very badly with me. Mr. Hunt made the short sales the day before Christmas while I was on the train at 111, 111
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/
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and 111
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in lots of 300, 300 and 400, and then the stock climbed
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or
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a point a day until it was selling for 113. He was frantic. He told me I was half wiped out already and pleaded with me to let him cover before I lost my whole $10,000. My hands would feel like ice every time I thought of it, but I made myself hold on and send him $5,000 more margin. A day or two before New Year’s one of our organizers was beaten up by company guards and ejected from the plant, and nine men were fired because they had been seen talking with him. Mr. Holden at once wired the National Labor Relations Board, then jumped in a taxicab, went downtown and gave the story to the newspapers, with a copy of his telegram. The day after that, the item appeared in the papers. That was the first general knowledge, I think, that things were brewing in the Geerlock factory. The day after that, while the market as a whole moved up, Geerlock had a little dash after it, meaning “no change.” Once more I felt a throb inside of me, for I felt it was the news of union activity that had caused my stock to sag below the others.

Next day there were more beatings at the factory, and then a representative of the National Board arrived and the day after that there was a long interview in the papers with Mr. Beauvais, the president of the company, who said the union was infested with Communists and charged the National Board with trying to run his company, and then went on to say he would fight to the last ditch. “And we’ll knock him into it,” said Mr. Holden, when he finished reading the paper. “He weighs 250 pounds, so he’ll make a fine splash.”

The day after that, although the market again moved upward, Geerlock went down a point to 112. When I went up to my room to change for dinner a message was there saying call an operator of a certain number in New York. I called and of course she put me right through to Mr. Hunt. He was quite excited. “Listen, you, what’s going on out there anyway?”

“Who’s looney now?”

“But, Carrie—baby needs shoes!”

“...It might go down more yet.”

“When?”

“Before it goes up. It might sag a little more the next few days and then drop. But if you lose your shirt don’t blame me.”

Next day, on another rising market, the stock dropped a half point to 111
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.

The day after New Year’s several big union officials arrived from Washington. Except for Mr. Holden they were the first men of their type I had ever seen and I began to understand why the labor movement is much more formidable than most people seem to realize. They were all men of fine presence, with beautiful manners, but that wasn’t what struck me about them. Although one or two were only medium size, and some of them were well up in middle age, they all seemed to walk in that same springy way that Mr. Holden walked, and you knew instinctively that they were fighters. In this respect they were exactly like Mr. Holden, and this side of him I could never quite forget, even in his most romantic moments. I don’t mean that it repelled me. There was something thrilling about it and yet something a little frightening about it too.

They arrived just before noon and went into a conference with Mr. Holden to which I was not admitted. I had sandwiches and coffee sent up and when I went in to serve them they seemed to know who I was, for they joked with me in a very friendly way. Then men from the factory began to arrive and for an hour or more they were packed in the inside sitting-room so tight I wondered how they could breathe. Then, by threes and fours, they began to leave. Then, around four o’clock, Mr. Holden and the men from Washington all went out very quickly and I was left alone. I knew something was about to happen. I sent down for a paper but there was very little about Geerlock. I turned to the financial page. Geerlock, which had been sagging steadily the last few days, was down to 109. I had about a $2,000 profit. I wondered if I ought to call Mr. Hunt and tell him to cover.

About five o’clock I remembered the radio which Mr. Holden always had in his suite, as he was very fond of music. I turned it on. There was music, but then all of a sudden it stopped in the middle and an announcer very excitedly said a meeting was being held that night by Geerlock employees to take a strike vote and it was expected they would all be out by morning.

From then on things happened so fast I don’t think I could remember all the details even if I tried. Whether it was the first big automobile strike I don’t know, but it was the first that
I
had anything to do with, and Mr. Holden directed it with an audacity that took my breath away. Once the blow had been struck he completely abandoned his policy of secrecy and invented a succession of stunts calculated to get him space in the newspapers. The day after the strike started he hired helicopters to drop food supplies to the pickets, on the pretense that the police had placed them in a state of siege. I protested against the cost and pointed out that police were permitting pickets’ wives to visit them, or anybody else who had sensible business, and that they could bring food. He laughed and said the helicopters made a better show. Then another day he found a number of GI students who happened to be musicians, called for their cards to make sure they were members of the union, and had them go over and give a concert to serenade the pickets who by now had put up some barricades. Almost every day he thought of something new and the result was that most of the stories in the newspapers were about what the union was doing, with the company’s end of it occupying almost no space at all. Not that the company kept quiet by any means. Mr. Beauvais called on the governor to declare martial law, and to use troops, and I don’t know what all, and in addition to that demanded that the police disperse the pickets with tear bombs, but they didn’t. Then he began denouncing Mr. Holden by name and calling him a Communist and saying that such a strike was really sedition against the Government. All this seemed to entertain Mr. Holden hugely, for he would laugh loudly every time he read the paper, and comment on “the stupidity of Capital” in dealing with the public. “Who reads statements?” he wanted to know. “And who believes them? You can see a helicopter. And you can listen to music. And it sounds friendly. Didn’t Henry Ford bring a lot of bagpipers into this town once? I’ve a notion to put them on the payroll, if they have their kilts with them...No, it was the King of England that had the bagpipers. Ford had fiddlers. I guess I’ll stick to trombones.”

T
HE STOCK DIDN’T DROP
when the strike started. It merely sagged another two points, down to 107, and hung there for more than a week. I now had a profit of about $4,000, and I was in an agony of wondering whether I shouldn’t cover. But then one day Mr. Beauvais issued another appeal to the governor, saying if the strike went on two more weeks he would be unable to make deliveries on his new model. Mr. Holden became excited when he read this and again had a great deal to say about the stupidity of business executives. “Think of that! Playing right into our hands. Only a fool would make that admission.”

The Beauvais appeal was in the morning papers. As soon as I saw it I pleaded business downtown, jumped in a taxi and dashed to a stock broker’s office. It had one of the big electrical boards and the light was constantly winking on and off for Geerlock. The stock was sagging steadily until, by the time I got there, it was 103. I rushed back to the hotel, went to my room and called Mr. Hunt. As soon as he answered I said: “Cover.”

“But, Carrie, the bottom’s dropped out of it. Let it ride! You’ll make—”

“Tomorrow the bottom may be in it again.” Because by now I had learned that Mr. Holden moved fast when he started and for all I knew the strike might be settled that afternoon. “How long before closing time?”

“Two hours.”

“All right. As long as it drops let it ride. At the least upturn, cover. And no matter what it does, cover today. Don’t leave me short for tomorrow morning’s market.”

“Is that a hint for
my
benefit?”

“No. I don’t know anything and nobody does. But I’ve made something and I don’t want to lose it by hanging on too long.”

It was after lunch when I got back to Mr. Holden. He was very pleased that he had been able to rent a new Geerlock, a display car. He went out to have his picture taken in it, surrounded by the GI band, so he could release it to the newspapers with a story telling what a fine car it was and how the company ought to settle so they could manufacture it. Shortly after he went out a telegram was delivered to me. It was from Mr. Hunt. He had covered at 102 to 103. Clear of commissions and interest, I had a profit of nearly $8,000.

Nothing happened that day or for a week or two. The men continued to hold the shops, Mr. Holden continued to put on his stunts and Mr. Beauvais continued to give out statements. There were several clashes outside the factory gates. Men kept coming in and going out of the hotel and Mr. Holden began to show signs of the strain. The stock continued to sag until it was down near 100 and I kept kicking myself that I could have made more by doing what Mr. Hunt said, but I kept reminding myself of something I had read somewhere, that more money is lost in the stock market by hanging on for the last dollar of profit than in any other way. But then, almost before I knew it, I was in the market again, for Mr. Holden happened to mention one day that they were moving in on Trent, another factory in Detroit, and I repeated my operation, this time making $3,000. And then he mentioned casually what was going on in other places, particularly the steel mills, and next thing I knew I was juggling four or five stocks at the same time, making money on them but becoming more and more nervous and less and less watchful of the Geerlock situation, which was the main thing we were concerned with.

So I was caught napping one day when a call came in for him. He made a memorandum while he was talking, then handed it to me and began putting on his coat. The memorandum gave the number of a room in one of the downtown hotels. “That’s where I can be reached—but
only
if it’s important.”

His face was set but he seemed exultant somehow. He started out, then came back to me and, as nobody was there, gave me a little kiss. Then he whispered: “I think Beauvais is going to settle.”

Then he was gone, and I let ten or fifteen precious minutes slip by, stupidly thinking how glad I was that the thing was all over, when suddenly I woke up. How I ever got up to my room I don’t know, but it seemed an eternity before I had the telephone in my hand and got the call put through and finally had Mr. Hunt on the line. “Bernie, how much of a credit have I with you now?”

“Hold the line, Carrie, I’ll look it up.”

I fairly screamed at him: “No! Don’t look it up! Don’t waste that much time! Bernie, are you listening?”

“And how.”

“Buy Geerlock for me, Bernie! Start
now!
Buy on margin up to every dollar I have on deposit with you! Have you got it?”

“I’m calling our floor man now.”

“Buy Geerlock! Every share you can get hold of for me!”

The joint statement over the names of Mr. Beauvais and Mr. Holden was given out at four-thirty. It called only for union recognition, all questions of wages and hours to be referred later to a board of arbitration. The men marched out at five o’clock, preceded by their band and met by their wives and families in a very joyous reunion. Mr. Holden returned around six in very high spirits and all ready to take me out to some fashionable place for dinner. He wanted to dress and really celebrate. But the settlement had been arrived at after the New York market closed and until I knew what my stock was going to do I didn’t trust myself with him or anybody else. I told him the reaction from the strain had given me a splitting headache and that I would have to go to my room. I went up there and called Mr. Hunt but he had left his office. Around six-thirty a telegram was delivered. I opened it and it was a long wire from Mr. Hunt, telling me where I stood. I had a credit of $31,000, which included the original $10,000 I had put up, the additional $5,000 margin I had sent, the $8,000 I had made on Geerlock, the $3,000 I had made on Trent and various amounts I had made on other deals, of course with commissions and other charges deducted. This afternoon for my account, on a ten-point margin, there had been bought for my account 3,100 shares of Geerlock common in lots of 300 to 500 shares, at prices ranging from 101 to 102
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. It was easy to see that my buying had run the price up nearly two points while my order was being executed. I had dinner sent up but could eat nothing. I changed into pajamas, went to bed and tried to sleep. By midnight I was up walking around the room. I made myself lie down again but was still awake when the sky began to grow light.