by Alan L. Moss
That afternoon, with most of their work finished, Michael and Claire made several telephone calls to track down this mysterious jeweler. Having no success, Michael called Georgia at the Parrot and Porpoise. She had Sammy’s telephone number and address.
After speaking to him on the phone, Michael drove Claire to a rundown neighborhood in Pago Pago. Pulling into the driveway, Michael asked Claire if she really wanted to risk the wrath of barking dogs and clucking chickens to throw money away on Island jewelry.
“Well, so far I don’t have much to show for this trip except a mediocre Hawaiian shirt,” she said. “Let’s live dangerously for a change.”
The two walked toward the dilapidated house. As they neared the front porch, a tall scruffy man came out on the front steps and assured them that the dogs wouldn’t bite. He opened the door wide and they walked through a dreary porch and up three steps into the main portion of the house breathing air saturated with stale cigar smoke.
“I just got a call from my friend Georgia who said I should treat you right. What can I show you?”
Claire stated her interest in the turtle with the diamond eyes. Sammy brought them back to a table and invited them to sit. He left the hallway and returned with a black felt cloth and a leather case. Unzipping the case, he produced several turtles and fish on gold chains and set them on the cloth. A few had diamond or emerald eyes.
“These pieces are quite unique,” Sammy said. “Only one other carver in the South Pacific can design such figures out of bone and inlay them with precious stones. Being in Samoa, I can sell these at incredible prices.”
Eyeing the turtle with the largest diamonds, Claire asked the price and Sammy said it would go for fifteen hundred dollars. Claire said she’d think about it and asked if she could make a phone call. Sammy showed her the phone around the corner and returned to Michael.
Sammy lit a cigarillo, tossing the match onto the floor. “You’re the economist for that minimum wage Committee?”
“That’s right.”
Looking Michael squarely in the eye, Sammy continued quietly. “Well, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but from what I’ve been told, you’ve done an amazing amount of work to get the people down here a decent wage. If you fail, don’t blame yourself. There are forces at play which have nothing to do with you or the economy of American Samoa. There’s no way you can fight that kind of power.”
Sammy took a drag from his cigar and blew the smoke into the air. “Look, when it comes to American Samoa, you must know what Samoans know. Samoa is kind to those who learn the lesson of not caring, and hard on those who fail to learn it. Please return my generosity by not sharing our conversation. If you do, I’ll deny it ever took place.”
Before Michael could grasp what was said, Claire returned and offered nine-hundred and fifty dollars for the turtle and Sammy accepted. Turning to Michael, Sammy again pitched his wares.
“How about you, my friend? As a reward for your efforts on behalf of Samoan workers, I can offer you the emerald turtle for just four-fifty, and we take all credit cards.”
Michael wondered if Karen would wear such jewelry. Her taste leaned toward simple and elegant pieces. Somehow, he couldn’t picture Karen with a turtle around her neck. Surveying the black cloth holding Sammy’s inventory, Michael saw a gold Hawaiian fishhook in the corner.
“How much for the gold fishhook?”
“For you, I can sell it for one-fifty. Both the hook and the chain are fourteen-karat gold. I’m sure your wife or girlfriend would love it.”
Stunned by Sammy’s reference to a girlfriend, Michael swallowed hard and let it pass. He said he would give him one-hundred dollars for it. Sammy countered with one twenty-five and Michael agreed.
With their new purchases in hand, Michael and Claire returned to the Fono, picked up the Redferds for the ride back to the lodge and stopped at Fantasy Gardens for dinner. After their second round of drinks, James described the course of their deliberations, expressing his frustration.
“We should be enjoying our last night in Samoa. Instead, I feel helpless and sick that our efforts were undermined. We were betrayed by the underhanded actions of Pecura, Echaveste, and the American Samoan Government.”
Michael and Claire appeared shaken. The rates were set based on a manufactured government fiscal crisis, quick cash promised by the tax certificate, unconfirmed threats of the tuna cannery, and intimidation of the Samoan Committee members. All of this reeked of manipulation and blatant disregard for the law and Regulations.
Through the rest of dinner, the four focused on their meals in quiet. Redferd’s revelation dissolved their spirit and enthusiasm.
Michael’s thoughts turned to Sammy Finn’s lesson of not caring. Throughout this project, Michael assumed Samoans paid a high price for not caring enough, for not fighting for their own interests. Yet, Sammy claimed those who cared the most paid the highest price; and what were these unknown forces that couldn’t be denied ?
On the drive back to the lodge, Claire turned to James.
“I don’t know if the outside conversations were illegal; clearly they were improper. Also, the early tax payments should not have been considered. I hope you don’t mind, but Michael and I will talk to the Committee members and see if we can get them to reconsider.”
As their car approached the Parrot and Porpoise, Michael thought of Stephanie. Although he had deep feelings for her, he didn’t consider buying her a gift. She rescued him from his fatigue and depression just as he faced the toughest battle of his career, thousands of miles from home. She asked nothing of him and he gave her nothing. Soon, he would leave and in all likelihood, they would never be together again.
Michael walked up the stairs and into the kitchen. Turning to his bedroom door, he wondered what this last night would bring. Tomorrow night at this time he’d be at the airport waiting for his eleven o’clock flight to Honolulu.
Quietly, he opened the door, closed it, and locked it behind him. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark. The top sheet covered her from the waist down. The ceiling fan spun slowly, gently moving her shoulder-length hair. Her perfume fueled his desire to touch her.
With Michael still standing at the door, their eyes met. She had been crying. Instantly, the failure he felt about the day’s deliberations was overwhelmed by remorse for the pain he caused this spirited woman. Before he could say anything, Stephanie, now staring at the floor, began.
“You know, these are not tears of sadness but tears of joy. It is the Samoan Way. It’s how we appreciate the beautiful relationships in our lives. I know this is the end but we must celebrate how lucky we’ve been to be together, even for just a few nights.”
Michael sat beside her on the bed. He reached into his pocket, found the gold fishhook in its small box, and fastened the chain around her neck. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her gently.
“Just know that I love you as much as a man can love a woman,” he whispered.
***
When the sun rose above the windowsill, Michael awoke. He opened his eyes to see her staring at him.
“Don’t say anything,” she said, holding the gold fishhook.
Michael reached out and held her hand. They looked into each other’s eyes with compassion and regret. Then, she pulled away and rolled under the covers.
Michael knew, if he left her alone, he would never see her again.
CHAPTER 48
THE APPEAL
June12, 2001
Ellicott City, Maryland
Michael sat at his desk in the Ellicott City townhouse stewing over the failed attempt to turn the Special Industry Committee around. Friday morning he and Claire met with the Committee members and listed the serious problems with their deliberations and decisions.
However, getting them to consider another course proved impossible. Home was the only thing on their minds. They worked hard and wanted to go.
The only high point of the day was a dissenting opinion
written by Eni Sagapolutele. He chronicled the deliberations and expressed his frustration at how the Samoan workers had been betrayed.
The rest of that day went by in a blur. It took several drafts of the final report before Michael, Claire, and Pecura agreed on its contents. Tracking down all the Committee members for their signatures also required extensive effort. Tired and beaten, Michael dropped Claire off at the airport and drove back to the Parrot and Porpoise, disappointed when he didn’t find Stephanie there. After a three-hour nap, he packed and drove to the airport.
Michael arrived in Honolulu at five-twenty the next morning, checked into his hotel and slept most of the day. Late that afternoon he had a long and comforting phone call with Karen, spent a few hours on the beach, and downed a good steak dinner.
His flight for Los Angeles left at seven Sunday morning, followed by a connecting flight arriving at Dulles just after midnight. As the hours wore on, Michael gained strength and nerve. He concluded that the Samoan workers had been robbed again and this time he was a party to the crime. In Samoa, he admitted, he simply couldn't stop it, couldn’t control the process.
Now, the ball was in his bureaucratic court. He was the one charged with preparing and publishing the final rule. Without publication in the Federal Register, the Committee’s recommendations would not take effect.
As Michael’s plane left Los Angeles, the captain told his passengers he worked out a way to pump the radio broadcast of the Lakers playoff game into the cabin. They could root for their team while flying across the country. The passengers applauded and the pilot made one more comment.
“If you know Lakers fans, we don’t give up until the fat lady sings.”
Well, Michael thought, maybe the fat lady had yet to sing for Samoa’s workers. He would stay home Monday, and develop an appeal.
***
Early Tuesday morning Michael called his Associate Administrator, Frank Hopper, and made an appointment to discuss an appeal of the rates recommended by the Special Industry Committee.
At twenty after ten, Michael was in Frank’s office with Loren Walsh, the Acting Wage-Hour Administrator. Michael got right to the point.
“I know the last thing you guys want is to ruffle the feathers of the new administration, but, Wage-Hour still has its principles to uphold and issuing these rates makes us a party to a fraud that violates the Fair Labor Standards Act.”
Hopper and Walsh exchanged skeptical looks.
“I’ve written a memo for the Secretary explaining what happened and suggesting how we might rectify the situation. Please, review it and let me know what you think. I can send it through you or I can transmit it directly to the Secretary. Whichever way you prefer is fine with me.”
Michael handed copies of his draft memo to each man. Both appeared in a state of disbelief.
They began reading immediately. The memo described the fraud and abuse that had determined the rates, covering the influence of the tax certificate, the way Pecura tabled a Committee proposal in favor of his more modest motion, and the outside communications with the Lieutenant Governor.
In closing, Michael recommended the Department set aside the Committee’s rates, institute safeguards to protect the integrity of the process, and form a new Committee to make recommendations based on the evidence.
Walsh, a veteran of many Wage-Hour Division wars, got up from his chair and paced the floor. He was a slender man with long, styled red hair and a well-lined face. He spoke in rapid fire.
“So, you have principles and that’s commendable. For as long as I can remember, Wage-Hour has tried to do the right thing, regardless of any pressure. The problem is there’s a thin line distinguishing law from policy.
“Let’s face it — this administration would prefer no increases in Samoan minimum wages. You’re upset because the recommended increases aren’t as large as you would have liked. If it had been the other way around, and that tax certificate and the outside communications led to rate increases of five percent or more, you would be a happy camper.
“Even though I don’t like how the rates were determined and next time we should work to avoid a reoccurrence, I don’t think anything illegal happened. From what I understand, under the Regulations we don’t have an option to alter what has been recommended. Once the Committee makes its recommendations, our job is to publish the new rates in the Federal Register.”
Violating strict Department rules, the Acting Administrator pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit up, blowing smoke toward the window.
“If you want to push ahead, go on. Send your memo. We respect your motives, but in the end, my guess is the rates will be published as recommended, and you and the Division will get a black eye for all your trouble.”
From previous stints when Walsh served as Acting Administrator, Michael was familiar with his tactics. Often, he would react quickly to an issue with an unexpected perspective. Many times, those not used to his approach would simply agree. By the time they got back to their offices and thought about what he said, they were too embarrassed to return and press their arguments, but Michael knew better.
“Loren, if you knew the history of this process for the past seventeen years, you would know there’s no danger of manipulation ever producing significant increases. The American Samoan Government, the Interior Department, and the tuna cannery and its expensive law firms have consistently and successfully conspired to keep raises well below increases in the cost of living. The result has been falling per capita income and increased poverty.
“Samoa has no unions or Department of Labor to take the other side. The fact that a majority of the Committee was ready to vote for a five percent annual increase is a sign of the bravery of the two Samoan members. It took no less than a call from the Lieutenant Governor and God knows what kind of threats to turn one of them around.
“Also, I don’t see a problem with us putting the recommended rates aside. As you may recall, the 1986 Committee recommended the Mainland minimum wage, which was actually published in the Federal Register, but political pressure caused the rate to be thrown out and a new Committee was then convened, which issued a lower minimum wage. That action established a precedent of disregarding recommendations and forming a new Committee.”
The fire in Michael’s eyes and the zeal in his voice ended their confrontation. Loren and Frank knew Michael well enough to know further discussion would be useless.
They wished him luck and asked to be kept informed. After Michael left, Loren took a deep drag from his cigarette and picked up the phone. He dialed the Acting Assistant Secretary to give him a heads-up on what was coming.
Michael returned to his office and asked his secretary to generate final copies of the memo. Later that morning he signed and hand delivered the original to the Secretary’s assistant and then carried copies to the Acting Assistant Secretary, Loren, and Frank.
On Wednesday, he put the Committee’s final report aside and moved on to other work. He briefed his staff on how the hearings proceeded but didn’t discuss his memo to the Secretary.
***
On Friday morning, Loren called Michael into his temporary office overlooking the U.S. Capitol. An ornate desk filled one corner and a worktable stood parallel to a wall of windows. As Michael walked in and glanced at Loren, he knew this would be the showdown. Loren closed the door and lit up.
“Michael, the Secretary read your memo. Also, she received calls from the Governor of American Samoa, the attorney for the tuna cannery, the CEO of Crest Foods, and a U.S. Senator, all asking when the new rates will be published in the Federal Register. They pointed out that until the new rates are official, we are denying Samoan workers the wage increases they’ve been promised.
“Now, I know how you feel, but in light of what’s going on, the Secretary wants you to swallow your pride and publish the final rule no later than Friday, the twenty-ninth. If you feel you just can’t do it, turn the material over to me and I’ll have other staff members
prepare the necessary documents.”
In his thirty-year career, Michael never failed to carry out a direct order. He managed to revise many assignments to take account of his objections; but this was not that kind of situation. He could either roll over and publish the rates or refuse and promise further action.
Michael pictured Tino Gabriel’s lifeless body swinging in the breeze. This time, he would not play by the rules. Michael cast a look of determination and responded with no emotion in his voice.
“Loren, give me fifteen minutes and I’ll provide you with the entire file.”
Michael paused and continued to stare coldly into the eyes of his Acting Administrator.
“The Secretary should know this issue isn’t going away. As soon as I see those rates in the Federal Register, I’ll provide the Office of the Inspector General with a packet of materials documenting the fraud and abuse which occurred in Samoa. That packet will include the dissenting opinion of one of the Samoans on the Committee and a copy of a letter I just received from James Redferd, the Committee’s union representative. He expressed the same concerns I have communicated to you and the Secretary. Also, I will send copies of the package to the Labor Group at the General Accounting Office and to the ranking member of the Senate Committee on Education and Labor.”
Michael saw Loren struggle to keep his cool. After all, he was only acting in a position that soon would be filled by a political appointee. It hadn’t been his idea to assign Bloom to the Samoa hearings, and up until the issuance of the Samoa Economic Report, things progressed smoothly.
Maintaining his composure, Loren responded.
