Vic meanwhile was smiling, shaking hands with people as they were leaving and mimicking the politicians by introducing himself to those he didn’t know. The excitement of being around the invigorating atmosphere of an election campaign and being part of it was getting to him. Young Daley parted with a kiss on the cheek from Darlene and shook Vic’s hand, saying, “sorry for the interruption Vic, but my Dad insisted that I talk with Darlene before she left.”
“Don’t worry about it Rich, he’s becoming one of us and will probably run for office one day,” laughed Darlene.
“What made you say that,” Vic smiled, watching Daley hustling after an alderman who was heading for the exit.
“You think I can’t see how much you love all the excitement and don’t you remember how we use to talk that you wanted to do something to help people. That’s how all politicians start.”
He grinned, cocking his head and saying, “the thought of someday running for office has bounced around in my mind, but I didn’t think it was so noticeable.”
She squeezed his arm. “Well if you want some professional advice, I think it’s about time you start getting involved. Join a few organizations and become active,” she said seriously. “They can use men like you and when the time comes you’ll be ready. By the way it will be good for business too.”
A few months later, on the eve of election day in early November, the sun had almost disappeared in the west and the street lights were coming on; Frank and Vic were walking from the Wrigley building to the victory celebration at the Morrison Hotel. Hearing a loud crash they came to an abrupt stop as did all traffic on Randolph Street. A car had jumped the curb and crashed into a plate glass window of Maling’s shoe store just ahead of them. Vic ran to the scene. Inside the 1957 Buick, which was resting on the driver’s side a black women was unconscious, wedged under the steering wheel. People on the sidewalk were screaming and patrons from the store were stumbling as they wandered out, dazed but unhurt. Traffic in both directions stalled and a young policeman blowing his whistle came running as Vic discarded his coat and climbed on top of the car. He struggled to pull open the front door which was jammed shut. Giving up, he tried the rear one and was able to get it open and slip inside.
“You okay, “he said, shaking the heavy set woman.
She didn’t respond and he began maneuvering her to one side and tugging her into the back seat. A policeman was above and reached in trying to help as Vic pushed the woman toward him.
“Hurry Mister, the car is on fire, we gotta get her outta here fast.,” the policeman yelled .
“Easy ma’am,” Vic said as the woman moaned when he pulled and struggled to drag her toward the outstretched hands above. A second policeman appeared alongside on top. Smoke was coming in from fire in the front of the vehicle as Vic propped the woman up and was able to push her shoulders to the men above. Quickly they pulled the whimpering woman to safety and Vic followed pulling himself up and onto the street.
Frank grabbed Vic by the arm, pulling him away from the burning car as the policemen, carried the woman and propped her up in a sitting position against a wall where she appeared to be regaining consciousness. Vic went to her. “You alright ma’am,” he said touching her shoulder.
Head down she winced and nodded.
“Don’t worry we’ve got an ambulance coming,” the young cop said softly as he leaned over her.
Turning to Vic he said, “Jesus mister, it’s a good thing you got to her when you did. The whole car is full of smoke. We were able to put out the fire with an extinguisher but the smoke is still coming out.”
As Sirens blared, a flash bulb popped followed by another, then a few more.
The cops had already cleared a path in the street and a fire truck was pulling up.
Within minutes a policeman cornered Vic asking questions and trying to find out what had happened. A reporter was on the spot too, gathering information and attempting to talk to the woman who was being attended to by an ambulance attendant. It was over an hour before the Waynes were able to leave. At the Morrison Vic had Frank find Darlene and she came out to the lobby .
“My God, what happened to you,” she shrieked. .
Standing off to the side of the crowded lobby, smelling of smoke and wearing a torn suit jacket, hands in his pockets, Vic smiled.
“Sorry were late, but we had a small emergency,” he laughed.
The next evening Darlene greeted Vic as he came in for dinner, “Hi hero, how was work today any more rescues?”
“The calls were unbelievable. The news people and customers and people I haven’t talked to in years.”
“You know Victor, I’m not surprised. You’re always the first one to jump in and help. I’m proud of you and I’m saving all the newspapers. Now, tell me about the calls.”
“It wasn’t such a big deal. I’m sure a lot of people would have done the same thing.”
Shaking her head no, Darlene said, “no I don’t think so Victor.”
Within a week after Vic;s rescue of the woman trapped in the auto he received several invitations to join civic and charitable organizations. He also was interviewed by a reporter from the Tribune who followed up with a flattering story of the rescue. With Darlene’s urging and the coaxing of his old friend Jim Vogel, whose advertising agency specialized in election campaigns, he began thinking about the possibility of one day running for office. At the same time, he began attending events sponsored by the Democratic Party of Cook County and the State of Illinois. He also became a member of the Art Institute, City Chamber of Commerce and volunteered to serve on the Real Estate division of the Jewish United Fund.
In the early 70’s the trade unions were feuding with the builders and things came to a head in the spring of 1973. A strike was called by three of the local unions and all construction work in the area came to a standstill. While not all of the locals were sympathetic, they all agreed not to cross the picket lines. Chicago was a union city and a strike required solidarity.
Wayne Construction had six jobs; that up until the stoppage were proceeding according to schedule. Commitments had been made to the lenders and owners of the properties who had made plans based on expected completion dates. Any serious delay could not only damage the company’s reputation, it could possibly force them into bankruptcy. Vic had the supervisory staff stretched to the limit and he and Frank were frantically working on plans to avoid delays, but the jobs were falling behind schedule.
A project on Wells street was particularly at risk. The owners were two survivors of the Holocaust. They had recklessly built their first strip shopping mall on North Avenue near Halsted in an area abandoned after the riots that followed Martin Luther King’s assassination. Turned down by several other builders, Vic and Frank, impressed with the guts of the two men and their business acumen in finding a piece of property in an area that was beginning to show new life, agreed to do the job; accepting only personal signatures and the parcel of land with indeterminate value as collateral for the project. The property sold for a two hundred thousand dollar profit by the time the job was completed. Ever since then, Wayne Construction had been working with the two refugees. A sixteen story building on Wells Street started that year was the largest project the two partners had ever attempted. As always, they were strapped for cash and when one of their bridge lenders backed out, the completion of the job was seriously threatened.
Vic met with them at their small office at the construction site to get a check that had been promised. Frantically, the two begged for more time.
‘I’m sorry Sol, you and Joe promised us a substantial payment that is three weeks overdue. We can’t wait.”
“C’mon Vic,” Sol pleaded, his thick Polish accent, mangling the words, “You know us. You can’t go after us now. We’re in hock up to our ears and signed personally on everything.”
�
�Please Vic,” Joe joined in, if we default, I lose everything, my house and everything I own.”
For over a half hour they pleaded and Vic turned them down, promising only one more week before turning the claim over to a Lawyer. A week later the lawsuit was filed and papers were served. Sol called and cried on the phone, begging for time. Joe called an hour later. Each day, one or both called pleading for time. Vic felt guilty. He had encouraged them to take on the building and had already taken a two and half percent ownership interest in the project instead of a long overdue payment of two hundred thousand dollars. American National was insisting that Vic and Frank take over the property to shore up their own loans or face default themselves. Getting back to work immediately would postpone the pending foreclosure, giving the owners breathing time to line up more tenants or sell the property.
Friday of the third week of the strike, Vic received a call from American National telling him that their loan was being called and unless work resumed or a substantial payment was made the bank would cut them off. He and Frank met and considered the alternatives and came up empty. They had already pledged all their personal assets with the exception of their homes and exhausted all other sources. Calls to their lawyer confirmed that attempts to stall the bank at this point would be expensive and worthless.
Frank left the office at 6:00 with a shrug. “Let me know if you think of something,” he said softly, shaking his head, “I can’t believe that fucking bank is doing this. I thought they loved us”
“I dunno,” sighed Vic,” the bastards have us by the balls, especially on that Wells street deal. They know we’re tied up with Sol and Joe who can’t raise a dime; everything they have is leveraged to the limit. So now it’s up to us.”
Frank shook his head, turning as he made a half hearted wave and headed out.
Hearing the door close Vic reached for a bottle in his lower desk drawer and poured some scotch into a paper cup, draining it quickly. Taking one last look around, to be sure everyone had gone, he doused the lights, stopping the droning noise coming from the burnt out ballast overhead. Locking the door he walked to his car, late for dinner at Mitzi Rubin’s.
She noticed that that he was very quiet, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek and immediately sitting slouched on the couch, while she hung up his coat.
“Are you alright?” she asked, joining him in the living room.
Slowly he told her what was happening, while she sat quietly next to him, without interrupting until he finished.
“There has to be a way Victor,” she said taking his hand.
“I’ve tried everything, the only way we can keep from going under is getting back to work and I can’t see that happening anytime soon.”
His chin resting on his chest, he rubbed his eyes and sighed.
Mitzi quietly watched him, looking over her half glasses and running her tongue across her upper lip. “Have you talked to my son-in-law Bobby,” she said.
“What can he do, he’s only one of the workers,” he shrugged.
“What if he and some of the other men want to work?”
He looked up at her, “he’s a union guy, so I don’t think he’ll do it. There would be too big a price to pay.”
“I’ll talk to him Victor. He’s a good boy and never forgot how you helped Shayna and him, when he needed a job. In fact you were the one who got him in the union.”
“I dunno, do you think he would?”
“Pour yourself a drink, while I call him.”
Getting up she went into the kitchen. He listened to her talking from the living room, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. Drink in hand, he got up and walked toward the sound of her voice.
Seeing him, she shook her head and waved him away. Backing away he could hear her speaking calmly and smiled when he heard her laugh.
Twenty minutes later she came into the living room, her slickly polished fingers toying with the glasses dangling from the gold chain around her neck; she sat next to him. “Victor, call Bobby in twenty minutes,” she said softly. “Don’t tell him that we talked except to say that I called you and told you to call him. Now go home or back to your office and make the call. I think that between the two of you, you have a good chance to work this out.”
“What did you say?” he said, looking up, a small smile appearing.
Holding the glasses alongside her face, she smiled. “Victor, I love my son in law and daughter and they love me. I just reminded him that you have always been special and was a good friend to me and Shayna when we were new to this country. I know he agrees with me about you being a good friend and good man, and I think he wants to help you now that you need him. Now go talk to him and good luck,” she said, a slow smile spreading.
Shaking his head and rising, he hugged and kissed her, “Thanks Mitzi,” he grinned, “no wonder I love you.”
Ten minutes later he called and asked Bobby to meet him at the office. He arrived at 8:00. Vic was at the entrance and quickly let him in, locking the door behind them.
Moving to the lunch room, Vic handed him a coke and took one for himself.
Bobby unzipped his jacket and settled his tall frame into the metal backed chair, resting his elbows on the table. The can of coke almost disappeared in his large calloused hand.
“Thanks for coming Bobby, this has been a hell of a couple of weeks.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s been tough on me and all the guys too. You know we didn’t want to go out, but we were pressured. Everybody and nobody wants to buck the locals on strike. “
“I don’t know what Mitzi told you, but we got a real bad problem, and if we don’t go back to work this week, especially on Wells Street, American National is going to shut us down, which will put us outta’ business.”
“Look, Vic,” he said, stopping to swallow, “I know you and your brother a long time. You gave me a job right after I married Shayna and was broke. And then you got me a card in the Carpenter’s Union when nobody else could get in without knowing someone. “
“Hey Bob, you were one of our first full time employees and we appreciate all you and all the guys have done for us. We couldn’t have done it without guys like you.”
“Well, I gotta tell you, I never forgot and I know I’m not the only one you helped.”
Vic nodded, remembering Bobby Frankel the tall skinny kid with a crew cut, who came to him looking for job, when they were building houses in Morton Grove. He offered to do anything and Vic got him a card as an apprentice carpenter. Two years later he was the best man on the job and all the other men looked up to him.
Vic started, “Look,”
Bobby held up his hand to stop him. “When my mother-in-law called it was like a shot in the dark, but she’s one smart lady and she got me to thinking.”
Seeing Vic starting to say something, he held up his hand again. “You don’t know it, but some of the guys have been talking. We know this strike is hurting you guys a lot and to be honest our crews are getting hurt too.”
Bobby paused and Vic muttered softly, “Yeah Bobby, you’re right, it’s been a bitch. We need you to go back to work. I know we shouldn’t even be talking like this without goin’ through the union, but we’re up against it and somehow we gotta do something.”
“I think we can do somethin’ but we gotta be careful and smart.” Bobby agreed looking directly at Vic.
“You guys have always been stand up and have treated us fairly; in fact more than fairly and we should help you out. I know I speak for just about everybody on our crews, We all remember when you were new in business and were on the job sites every day, buying coffee and sandwiches for lunch.”
“Yeah,” Vic chuckled, “those were good days. We were really winging it.”
“We also remember how you helped old Tom O’Brian when his boy was sick and you
arranged for him to get a specialist from New York to take care of the kid.”
Vic listened carefully, as Bobby went on; realizing how risky it was for a tradesman to be in contact with him directly during a strike.
“And when you helped Jake Washington’s widow when he died.”
His lips drawn into a tight line, Vic nodded as he listened.
“You and your brother also helped a bunch of us buy our own houses when we had trouble getting loans.”
“Hey Bobby” Vic interrupted, choosing his words carefully, “You guys helped us get off the ground and there’s no way we could have built this company without you.”
“Yeah, yeah, but let’s face it most of us have worked for other guys and we know the difference. You never made a big deal out of doing these things and we all knew you would come through for us…. Well Vic, I think it’s time we paid you back. Meet me here tomorrow at 2:00 PM. I’ll get on the phone in the morning and I should have an answer by then.”
The next afternoon Bobby showed up with a grin. “Okay Boss, I got about thirty guys, you ready to cover our ass?”
“What about the union? Won’t you guys be in trouble?”
“Fuck the union, you guys done a lot more for us than they ever did. I will tell you this though, you better be at the building on Wells Street at 7:00 am Monday morning. I’m sure Tim O’Conner found out what was goin’ on as soon as I got on the phone this morning and he’ll be there with some of his union goons tryin’ to stop and threaten us and you. If you’re there, we know that between us, we can work it out with him. Just be prepared though, because he likes to raise a lot of hell and yell to make a show, especially if the news guys, that I’m sure he’ll invite to see the action are there, but he’s no fool. If he knows we’re gonna go to work, he’ll come around.”
Albany Park Page 31
