by John Hersey
Mr. WAIRY. I may say, Senator, that your investigators have some reputation, upstate in our area, for rigorous thoroughness, and I fear they've put their tape on me. I'm impressed.
Mr. BROADBENT. Would you fill the committee in, sir, on the basic facts about the town of Pequot—population, tax capabilities, so on?
Mr. WAIRY. We have—at the last census we had—a population of twenty-seven thousand five hundred. We have two high schools, three junior highs, and eight elementary schools; we run a K-six, seven-nine, ten-twelve school system, if you want to be technical. At the present time our tax rate is thirty-two point six mils. Frankly I believe our assessments are some years behind the times, and by and large the evaluations run only around forty per cent of true value. Personally I am deeply concerned about the trend of the town, because where you used to have a pretty fair balance of industry and real estate for your tax base, you now have these developers going ahead any old way and putting up a lot of cardboard ranchers for the young people, young breeders, and we're getting to be a bedroom town for Treehampstead, rather than keeping the growth of the grand list on an even keel all along the line. I don't like it.
Mr. BROADBENT. Thank you, sir, I believe that will do for now about the community you so ably represent. We were wonder-
ing, sir, if you would mind giving us a coherent account of the recent happenings in Pequot.
Mr. WAIRY. I will not burden your record unduly, gentlemen. I am not up on all the details. I'm not a great hand at inventing details.
Mr. BROADBENT. Since the man Wissey Jones has alleged certain so-called educational purposes, among others, for his activities, we thought—
Mr. WAIRY. Sir, we concern ourselves at Board meetings with bursted boilers. Whether the custodian can be asked to use the gang mower on the football field, that kind of thing. We don't get into educational matters near as much as some people think.
Mr. BROADBENT. Who would have the basic facts? Mr. Owing?
Mr. WAIRY. You won't get anything out of the Superintendent. We have the devil's own time at Board meetings getting him to give a dry description of anything, because he changes things around right in front of your eyes while he's picturing them. I have a standing joke about his mcmos being riddled with what I call his 'nearest exits.'
Senator MANSFIELD. I wonder, Mr. Walry, if you wouldn't just begin at the beginning, tell us what you know of the events of the past week.
Mr. WAIRY. Know of my own firsthand knowledge?
Senator MANSFIELD. Or what you've heard. It doesn't particularly matter, at this stage, just so as you begin at the beginning.
Mr. WAIRY. As it happens, I did see Mr. Jones arrive in Pequot the other afternoon, let's see, my gracious, has a week flown? I was just coming out of John Ellithorp's drugstore, with John, he's a portly figure, we were chatting there on the sidewalk—you see, Pequot's laid out along the river, the Pohadnock River, which is really only about thirty foot across, though it's capable of a severe rise in the backlash of these autumnal hur-
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ricanes we've been getting, recent years; the business street, River Street, with most of the stores and also a number of tenement blocks, backs right onto it. Ellithorp's store is next to the crossing of River Street and the Treehampstead Road Bridge. There's a stop light. First thing I heard was this funny hollow popping, like a baby outboard motor being run inside an oil drum, and I looked over, and there was this Mr. Jones, as I later knew him, on his folding machine with one foot down on the street waiting for the light to change. That's a long light there. We had a bad accident two years ago, this out-of-town Caddy, personally I think intoxication was involved, Mrs. Bur-ritt, seventy-one, gentle as a geranium, she was killed on the spot. The light finally changed, and the popping started up—I had my eyes on him all the way; he pulled up right alongside John Ellithorp and myself, and—
Mr. BROADBENT. We understand he made a very peculiar appearance.
Mr. WAIRY. Young fellow, I come from a long line of men who thought nothing of New England winters—liked 'em. We aren't intimidated by originals. We're used to originals up our way, believe my word. My grandfather was a knife sharpener, six foot nine inches, he could lift a telephone pole, played the flute nice as ever, summer evenings he'd have a big crowd of children in the street in front of his shop, playing tunes. No, sir, don't try to put me off. I like Mr. Jones. I admire him. He came to the plant and paid me a courteous call, and he was dressed like you and me, Mr. Counsel, in a regular store suit, and I commented on his previous costume upon arrival, and he said—he's outspoken, one of the qualities I value in a man— he said he's a corporation vice-president, and he owns thirty-two tailor-made suits, eighteen pairs of shoes, but he has this one moderate-priced ready-made brown suit that he wears to call on school people. Rotary wheel in the lapel buttonhole. The point
is, he understands how to sell an idea. The motorcycle clothes —he's not afraid of being spattered by raindrops, that's all. I don't need to be told what I think, Mr. Counsel.
Senator MANSFIELD. You were telling about the street corner.
Mr. WAIRY. Yes. He stopped his machine and tipped this hat he was wearing, to John and myself, and I must admit, Mr. Counsel, it was a funny-looking flattish hat, and he said, 'Day, gentlemen,' he said, and then he looked straight at me, and he said, 'Sir,' he said, 'you look like you might be Chairman of the Board of Education around here.' Well, that hit me right between the lungs, you know. Later turned out it wasn't any guess, he'd done his work in advance, he knew perfectly well who I was. Here's a businessman who isn't afraid to do his homework. I admire this fellow. He's first-rate. Well, we're standing there, he wants to know about the hotel, and he's making an appointment to see me, and here comes Dr. Gozar down the sidewalk.
Mr. BROADBENT. This Dr. Gozar—
Mr. WAIRY. This Dr. Gozar is principal of Lincoln Elementary. A woman.
Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, sir, we have called Dr. Gozar to testify, the Rudd boy being in her school, and I was wondering if, for the committee's benefit, you would give us your assessment of Dr. Gozar. It would be a help.
Mr. WAIRY. Assessment?
Mr. BROADBENT. If you would tell us a bit in confidence about the people we're going to have to question on this case.
Mr. WAIRY. You mean you have the prosecutor's itch, young man, you'd like to know a few weak points you can work on?
Mr. BROADBENT. Not at all, I—
Mr. WAIRY. I don't know whether your investigators happened on this fact for my dossier or not, Mr. Counsel, but I once went to law school myself, and we had an expression for
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the glint I see in your eye—the warmth of your cheeks: 'D.A. fever/ we called it. Right?
Mr. BROADBENT. I don't know what you mean, sir. You were about to say, on Dr. Gozar.
Mr. WAIRY. She's a great big man of a woman, and I'd say she's contented with her lot. She gives an impression—she has a constant, barking, bass laugh—that she's mighty glad to be so overwhelmingly a doctor. She's a Ph.D., that's where the 'doctor' comes from, and her doctorate is backed up by half a dozen other post-graduate degrees, because, my heavens, she takes a laborer's job in a factory every summer and goes to summer school to boot. When she talks about social adjustment, you can take one look at her and sec that she doesn't mean the pale, wishy-washy conformism that so often seems to be intended by school psychologists who use that phrase. She's what we call an old-timer; I mean a real New Englander. She's got a traprock forehead and a granite jaw; stone ribs, too—but there's a passionate optimist living behind all that masonry. Let's see, grew up on a farm, a survivor of Elton's Seminary for Women, sixty-seven years old, been principal of Lincoln Elementary for thirty-eight years, and she's grown younger ever since I've known her, which has been most of the time she's had that job. She started out kind of hidebound, but she's wound up wise, freedom-loving, self-reliant, tolerant, and daring. And flexible. For
about the last half of her tenure at Lincoln, she's demonstrated that she feels there's not any single mandatory school program for which there could be no substitute. She's a talker: she'll bend your ear! But verbum sap., Mr. Counsel. I would not press her too hard. I wouldn't try to take her skin off, because the first thing you know, young man, she'll have broken your whipper off from your snapper.
Senator SKYPACK. What about the G-man? What's his name? Where does he fit in? What was that name, Broadbent?
Friday, October 25
Mr. BROADBENT. Cleary.
Mr. WAIRY. Mr. Cleary? He's an ambitious young man. I understand he grew up in Watermont, and that he's descended from an Irish immigrant who came to America in the fourth decade of the nineteenth century and spent the vigorous years of his life laying railroad tracks up the Connecticut Valley and across Massachusetts to Boston; the old boy may well have been in the gang that Thoreau mentions as putting down the roadbed along the far side of Walden Pond from his cabin. In the rare moments when Mr. Cleary alludes to his background, he's inclined to say that he didn't come from the wrong side of the railroad tracks, he came from between them. That picture pleases him, I'd imagine, because it strengthens his idea he's going someplace. The feelings of his immigrant forebears about being Irish in anti-Irish times were evidently handed down to him; I mean he seems to have a firm conviction that the world is hostile. I don't know whether he sets any store by Our Lord, but he surely believes in the Devil, whose big job, Cleary'd say, is to snatch the hindmost. Survival of the fittest, that's him—to be fit and out front is the works with him: 'in shape,' he calls it. Know what he wants? He wants recognition; he thinks mere happiness isn't worth a candle. All this makes him very useful to us as Director of Guidance in Pequot—for the time being— because at the moment we're useful to him. He'll go far—far away from guidance and Pequot, I'd guess.
Mr. BROADBENT. This is all most helpful, sir. Now, there's one other person—I understand this lady has been rather recalcitrant, been fighting the proposition the man Wissey Jones has put forward. I mean the Rudd boy's teacher, Miss Perrin. Could you tell us—
Mr. WAIRY. I know Miss Perrin a bit, I ought to, she's one of the old hands around home. She was teaching when I was in school; she taught me. Right now she's a delicate, white-haired
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woman in her middle sixties. She's kindhearted, homey, rather old-fashioned; she seems—she's always seemed—tired and puzzled by life. She's docile, on the surface, and she'll appear to follow any policy the Super or the Board puts out, but she holds to the familiar ways of doing things, and she's leery of a lot of the newfangled educational notions. And she's got a steel backbone, believe me, fragile as she looks and acts.
Mr. BROADBENT. We understand she was in some trouble, radical activity—
Mr. WAIRY. That's all gone and forgotten, my boy. Thirty years ago! There was a depression then, people got emotional, and weVe discounted what she did. I wouldn't go into that, if I were you.
Senator VOYOLKO. What about this kid? Some guy wants to buy some kid, right? What's with the kid?
Senator SKYPACK. Aaron, sometimes we sit here and we think our distinguished colleague from Winfield County isn't listening to the proceedings, and then he comes up with a question that's right in the bull's-eye. You'd think we'd forgotten what we were here to investigate, but not our enlightened friend from Winfield County!
Senator VOYOLKO. This kid. This guy wants to buy this kid.
Mr. BROADBENT. The boy, sir, Barry Rudd.
Mr. WAIRY. Well, I've heard he was pretty clever. Struck me as a mouth breather the one time I saw him close up. His upper lip is rather short, his large upper teeth are tilted slightly forward, and the mouth tends to sag open. It's a habit that detracts a little from the reputation for quickness. Personally I wouldn't hire—
Mr. BROADBENT. Do you know, then, why Mr. Wissey Jones, whom you have pictured as an outstanding businessman, wanted to buy him?
Mr. WAIRY. We have only Mr. Jones's word—and look here,
young fellow, don't try to sneak thoughts into my head that aren't there.
Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, you're way off the track again. This is extremely frustrating. Mr. Wairy was trying to put together a straight account. We left him on the corner there with Mr. Jones and Dr. Gozar and that druggist, and you come along—
Senator SKYPACK. Wait a minute, Aaron. I'd like to hear some more about the proposition myself; you can't have your ducks in a row for every shot, Aaron. Now, sir, just what was this purchase supposed to be about?
Mr. WAIRY. Well, it was most extraordinary, Senator, a daring innovation in human engineering, as I understand it. I just got a sniff or two of it. I think I should leave the details to the man himself. I really don't know much about it. He's been secretive, you know.
Senator VOYOLKO. About this bomb.
Mr. WAIRY. I beg your pardon?
Senator SKYPACK. We understood there was a bombing down there.
Mr. WAIRY. You must mean the little stink bomb at the lecture.
Senator MANSFIELD. For shame, Mr. Broadbent!
Senator VOYOLKO. Who they fling it at?
Mr. WAIRY. It was at a clarifying lecture by the State Supervisor for—
Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, you really must curb—
Mr. BROADBENT. We'll develop this aspect a little later, Mr. Chairman, and we'll—
Senator SKYPACK. There was mention of other incidents, Broadbent.
Mr. BROADBENT. The compromising situation of the boy, Barry Rudd, with the young lady, the mortician's daughter,
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Miss Renzulli, sir, would you tell us—?
Mr. WAIRY. These are ten-year-old children, young fellow. You make it sound . . . You'd better ask Dr. Gozar and Miss Perrin about all that.
Mr. BROADBENT. About the assault on the Rudd home. Here are these decent working people sitting quietly in their home at night, and out of nowhere—
Mr. WAIRY. I'm not the man to ask about such things. Ask the proper authorities. We have law-enforcement officers in Pequot, sir. We may be off the main throughways, but we don't live in the Middle Ages, you know.
Mr. BROADBENT. Sir, I think you rather shrugged off the question of the man Wissey Jones's motive for making this and similar purchases. There's a possibility of a morals line here, and we can't afford to dodge it.
Mr. WAIRY. Morals? I thought it was a matter of dollars and cents.
Senator SKYPACK. Look, Wairy, you heard the committee counsel warn you not to duck this just because it smells bad.
Mr. BROADBKNT. Do you seriously and sincerely believe, Mr. Wairy, that the purpose of Mr. Jones's transaction was quote educational unquote? I mean when a man in his late thirties goes around buying ten-year-old boys.
Mr. WAIRY. We have what the man says. I have no reason, in the way of firsthand knowledge, to question his word, nor have I any reason to believe it—of my own sure knowledge, that is.
Mr. BROADBENT. Thank you, Mr. Wairy, you may step aside.
Senator MANSFIELD. The committee wants to express its gratitude for you coming up here, a busy, successful man, and testifying for us, and we assuredly thank you, sir. And I certainly hope you won't have taken any offense over—
Mr. BROADBENT. I will call Mr. Wissey Jones.
Senator MANSFIELD. Please stand for your oath, Mr. Jones.
Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you will give here before us will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?
Mr. JONES. Yes, I swear it will be so.
TESTIMONY OF MR. WISSEY JONES, OF UNITED LYMPHOMBLLOID CORPORATION
Mr. BROADBENT. Please identify yourself for our record, sir.
Mr. JONES. Wissey Jones. Vice-President, United Lymphomil-loid of America, Incorporated, in charge of materials procurement.
Mr. BROADBENT. You regard small boys as 'materials?
Mr. JONES. Yes,
sir. Indeed we do, sir.
Mr. BROADBENT. Sir, I will put it to you directly. Have you ever been booked on a morals charge?
Mr. JONES. I beg your pardon?
Senator SKYPACK. I think you heard him, mister.
Mr. JONES. Mr. Chairman, I think these subordinates of yours ought to know that my duties have an extremely high national-defense rating. I agreed to come up here—
Senator MANSFIELD. What a way to start, Mr. Broadbent! I really would suggest that you begin at the beginning for once.
Mr. BROADBENT. We have a responsibility—
Senator MANSFIELD. You heard Mr. Wairy's endorsement of Mr. Jones as a top businessman in the country, whom he admires. There's such a thing as common courtesy, Mr. Counsel.
Senator SKYPACK. All right, Broadbent, us 'subordinates' can come back to that stuff later.
Senator MANSFIELD. Senator Skypack is no subordinate but a co-equal colleague of mine, Mr. Jones, an able elected State Senator from Sudbury County. Only by virtue of a modicum of seniority—
THE UJH1L1J
Mr. JONES. I humbly beg your pardon, Senator.
Senator SKYPACK. All right.
Mr. BROADBENT. Our Chairman, sir, desires that you begin at the beginning. Would you tell us what your first act was on your arrival in Pequot?
Mr. JONES. I requested and obtained an interview with the Superintendent of Schools, Willard Owing.
Mr. BROADBENT. You didn't bathe and change first?
Senator MANSFIELD. Now, Mr. Broadbent.
Mr. BROADBENT. Well, Mr. Chairman, you put me on a spot. Exactly where is the beginning of things?
Senator MANSFIELD. Spare your sarcasm, Mr. Counsel. Please proceed, Mr. Jones, as you were going. We invite as much detail as you care to give.
Mr. BROADBENT. Where did this meeting with Mr. Owing take place, sir?
Mr. JONES. The school administration offices in Pequot are in a former private house, or mansion, on, I believe, Second Street, a big Victorian affair with a widow's walk on an octagonal tower above the roof. I am told Mr. Owing can be seen up there on the widow's walk some evenings after closing time, pacing back and forth in the fresh air and trying to think up ways of avoiding decisions. That's his reputation, anyway. In the rooms of the house there are ornate fireplaces of pink Vermont marble, and the floors creak so loudly that I judge very little deep thinking can be done in there. There's a smell all through the house of mimeograph ink, and the rattle of the buzzer and the clicking of the jacks of the telephone switchboard in the foyer can be heard upstairs and down. I want to give you a picture of a school system informed with rectitude, paper progress, safe activity, hesitation. The roofs of all the school buildings in Pequot are pitched; no modernistic chicken coops—
