He returned to his car and debated whether to go to Lynn or Gloucester. Lynn was nearer, but Gloucester involved a long, pleasant drive along the shore road, and he felt he could use the relaxation. The manager of the Gloucester alley had nothing unusual to report; everything was going along smoothly.
“You sure nothing’s wrong?”
“What’s the matter, Mr Paff? Don’t you think I can run the place? Let me tell you–”
“No, that’s all right, Jim. It’s just that I’ve had one of those days when everyplace I went–Know what I mean?”
“Oh, sure. You through now?”
“Just Lynn, and then I’ll go on home. I covered some of the places yesterday.”
“Well, have a nice weekend, Mr. Paff. And don’t worry.”
The Lynn alley was empty when he arrived, save for the manager, who was leaning on the counter, puffing on a cigar.
“Slow day, Henry?”
“This time just before supper is always slow, Mr. Paff. You usually get here earlier.”
“I did Gloucester first. Everything all right? Those ashtrays look pretty full–”
“I’m just taking a breather for five or ten minutes. We’ll get a rush in about half an hour.”
“You go off in an hour.”
“Yeah, if Moose gets here on time. So far, he’s been late every night this week.”
He stiffened as a car drove up and a couple of men got out and headed for the door. “Fuzz,” he whispered.
“Here? What do they want? What’s the matter?”
“H’lo boys,” Henry greeted the plainclothesmen. “You want to bowl a couple of strings?”
“Not today, Henry. We just want to look over the joint.” One strode purposefully toward the little ell where the toilets were situated. Henry came from behind the counter to watch him. He stopped in front of the door marked LADIES.
“Anybody in here?” he asked.
“No, but you can’t go in there,” said Henry indignantly.
“Why not?”
“Can’t you read? That’s the ladies’ john.”
“So I’m feeling girlish.” He opened the door and went inside.
The other man had dumped one of the ashtrays onto the floor and squatted down to inspect the contents. Paff came over. “Look here,” he said. “What’s all this about?”
“Who’re you, mister?”
“I’m Meyer Paff. I own the place.”
“Do you mind standing back; you’re in my light.” He straightened up and went to the next lane to inspect the ashtrays there. “Police business,” he said. “We got a tip, so we’re checking it. You around here much?”
“Well, I–I come in a couple of times a week maybe. Sometimes only once.”
“You don’t mind how you mess up a place,” said Henry. “You going to leave that stuff there?”
“Sure, we’ll leave it for the sweeper.”
“You guys got a search warrant?” demanded Henry.
“No, no,” said Paff. “Never mind, Henry–”
The policeman looked at the manager in surprise. “What do we need a search warrant for? It’s a public place, and my partner had to go to the john.”
“Not to the ladies’ john.”
“Please, Henry.” Paff turned to the policeman. “Look, do you mind telling me what you’re looking for?”
“We’re looking for pot, mister.”
“But why here?”
The other policeman joined them, shaking his head in response to his partner’s look of inquiry.
“Well, we got a tip, so we checked it through. You ever see any kids acting high?” he demanded of Henry.
“The little bastards all act high,” said Henry indignantly. “That still don’t give you no call to come down here–”
“Without a search warrant? Look, Buster, we come down here with a warrant, we take the place apart.”
“No need to get excited, Officer,” said Paff. “We’re always happy to cooperate with the police.”
“Yeah? Well, tell your man.”
When he got home, Mrs. Paff greeted him at the door with, “Where were you? It’s so late I was beginning to worry. Hurry and wash up. Dinner has been ready for half an hour.”
“I don’t feel like eating now, Laura. I’m tired. I’ll eat later.”
“But we’ve got to go to the temple, Meyer. It’s Friday night.”
“I think I’ll pass it up tonight. I’m tired.”
“Come on, Meyer, sit down and eat something, and you’ll feel better. And then we’ll go to the temple, and you can relax. It’s the Brotherhood service. You always enjoy that.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
As Ted Brennerman strode to the pulpit the congregation settled back expectantly. He had a reputation as a “hot-shot” and a “character.” (“That Brennerman, he doesn’t care what he says; he gets away with murder.”) Leaning against the lectern in a manner obviously reminiscent of Rabbi Small he announced, “Good evening, this is your friendly Rabbi Brennerman.” There was a titter of appreciation, and he went on, “Seriously, folks, I’ve done a lot of public talking in my time, but this is the first time I’ve had to give a sermon. Let me tell you, it sobers a fellow up.” There was another appreciative chuckle, for among the Brotherhood members Brennerman was reputed to know what to do with a bottle.
“So when I found that the program called for me to give the sermon, I asked our rabbi if I could borrow his sermon book. (Laughter.) Well, he claimed he didn’t have one, that he made them up himself. So I thought to myself, I know what to get you for your birthday. (Laughter.) Actually, no one here has a greater appreciation of our rabbi than I have. I consider him one of the wisest and most intelligent men I’ve met. And I guess he proved it when he arranged to play hookey tonight. (Laughter.)
“So since I didn’t get any help from our rabbi, I went over his head and consulted his boss, Moses himself. Always deal with the top man is my motto. I took down the family Bible and began to read in Exodus. I read it in English, because I didn’t happen to have my Hebrew glasses around. (Laughter.) Well, it was a revelation. And there’s no pun intended. We all know the story of the exodus from Egypt, the ten plagues, and all the rest of it from way back in Sunday school. But when you read it in the Bible, you really get an idea of what clowns Pharaoh and the Egyptians were. And I guess recent events in the Middle East tend to prove that they haven’t wised up very much in three thousand years. (Appreciative laughter.) Except that then they wanted us to stay, and now they want us to get out. Can’t they make up their minds what they want? (Laughter.)
“But then as I continued reading I discovered that our own folks weren’t an awful lot brighter. Get the picture: They had just been treated to as classy a demonstration of God’s power as had ever been displayed to mankind. Again and again, God had demonstrated that He regarded the children of Israel with special favor. He had plagued the land with flies and with locusts, with darkness and with death, and in each case the Israelites got off scotfree. Did they need any more proof positive? He gave it to them: He parted the waters of the Red Sea to let them pass. How did the Israelites react? You’d think that after all that they’d be four-square behind Moses. But no, as soon as they realized the Egyptians were after them, some of them–I’m sure it wasn’t all of them–began to crack wise at his expense. ‘Did you take us out here to die in the wilderness because they didn’t have any graves in Egypt?’ And to the other Israelites they said, ‘Don’t you remember? I told you we ought to stay in Egypt and serve the Egyptians. It’s better than dying in the wilderness.’ Now you all know God’s answer to that. When the Egyptians came along, He rolled the waters of the sea back again and drowned the lot of them.
“Did that end the griping? Did that end the doubt? Not by a long shot. It happened again and again. Anytime the situation wasn’t a hundred percent kosher, this bunch–and I’m sure it was the same bunch all the time–would begin acting up. It happened when they got to
Marah and the available water was bitter. And again later on when rations were low and they yearned for the fleshpots of Egypt. That was when God sent down manna from the heavens. And later on when they ran out of water and they thought God was going to let them die of thirst. That was the time that Moses struck the rock with his rod and produced water. And then it happened again when Moses went up on the mount to receive the tables of the Law. When he didn’t come down right away, they were sure they had been abandoned, and they forced Aaron to make them an image of a golden calf so they could worship it.”
Brennerman’s tone had changed, and the congregation was giving him its full attention. “Now Moses had given them a set of laws. These weren’t laws of ritual and prayer; they were laws to live by, the laws necessary to maintain a workable society. It was a primitive society they had in those days, and they needed some pretty elementary ethical rules to make it work, laws like ‘Thou shalt not kill’ and ‘Thou shalt not steal’ and ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness.’ We all know that you can’t have a society where murder and stealing and bearing false witness are permitted or condoned. It would disintegrate overnight. Those laws were necessary for the society of that time to maintain itself and to grow and prosper. And isn’t that what our religion is essentially–a set of rules that men can live by?
“But now we live in a more complex society, and that calls for different rules, or perhaps for a new interpretation of the old rules. We know now that when large segments of our population have inadequate food and clothing and shelter–that is a form of murder. When we prevent the Negro from stating his case and protesting his true predicament, that is a form of bearing false witness. That when our young men are not permitted to listen to the voices of their own conscience and we force them to do the will of the majority, then you are setting up another god, the god of the Establishment. What I’m saying is that the true function of a temple–or a church, for that matter–is to see that the society of its time is workable, and in these days that means taking the lead in matters like civil rights and social justice and international peace.”
Brennerman adjusted his yarmulke on his head. “I would like to see our temple take a positive stand on all these matters and make our voice heard. I would like to see our temple pass resolutions on these matters and then notify the daily press of our stand and send copies to the state legislature and to our representatives in Congress.
“And I would have us do more. When our Negro brothers picket for social justice, I would like to see a team from this temple right there with them. And when there are hearings held on various social matters, I would like to see a group from this temple down at the hearing room making it plain that we regard these as religious matters.
“What’s more, I would like us to appropriate monies to be set aside in a special Social Action Fund so that we could make contributions–as a temple–to various worthy causes, like the Poverty March on Washington, legal aid for political prisoners in the South, and yes, even on occasion to support candidates for public office who represent our views and who are running against opponents who are known reactionaries and bigots.
“My attitude on this is no secret and comes as no surprise to you, because it is the platform on which I campaigned for the presidency of the Brotherhood, and it is the platform on which the present administration of the temple campaigned. And the fact of our election indicates that the majority of the congregation agrees with us and has given us a mandate to go ahead. And our platform can be stated in a few words: The job of the temple is to help make democracy work.
“As I said, none of this is a surprise to you, because we have been urging it all along. But it is one thing to urge and another thing to implement. So tonight I would like to announce the first step in our new temple program. We feel that democracy should start at home. So instead of the old system of reserved seats where the best ones always went to the same few individuals, we are going to institute a system of no reservations in the sanctuary, with seating on a first-come, first-served basis. Our president, Ben Gorfinkle, felt it only fitting that I should make the announcement, since the Brotherhood furnishes the ushers for the High Holidays.”
There was an excited buzzing in the congregation. But Brennerman went on. “Now, I know that not every member of the congregation or of the Brotherhood, for that matter, agrees with us on our idea of the function of a temple. I know that there are those who feel that a temple should be just a place where you go to recite prayers and go through ritual motions. I think they are the same kind of people who were worried when Moses went up on the mountain and insisted that Aaron make the golden calf. They are the people who are not interested in a real commitment, who are afraid of getting involved in controversy. What they want is a religion where you go through a bunch of religious motions. I consider that akin to the worship of the golden Paff–I mean calf. (Loud sniggers.) And I consider that golden”–he paused, as if to make sure that this time he got it right–“calf religion.” He went on for some minutes longer, comparing what he called real religion and calf religion. And each time he was exaggeratedly careful of his pronunciation. He ended up with a call for unity “so we can make this the best religious organization on the North Shore.”
He returned to his seat beside Gorfinkle, who rose and gravely offered him the customary congratulatory handshake. But after they were seated again, behind the concealment of his prayer book, Gorfinkle touched the tip of his forefinger to his thumb to form an O to indicate his unqualified approval.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Hello there, Hughie m’boy. ’Tis your old friend Kevin O’Connor.”
“Uh-huh.” Hugh Lanigan, chief of the Barnard’s Crossing police force, did not like to be called Hughie, and he did not particularly like Kevin O’Connor, chief of the neighboring Lynn force. He regarded him as a professional Irishman, even a stage Irishman, since he was American-born and the brogue obviously was put on. The most he would allow was that it might have political advantages in Lynn.
“You’ll be going to the Police Chiefs’ spring dance, won’t you, Hughie?”
“Haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Well, I wish you’d let me put your name down now. I’m on the committee, and I’d like to make a good showing.”
“I’ll let you know, Kevin.”
“You don’t have to send in the form.” Lanigan was amused to note all traces of brogue had vanished. “Just give me a call, and I’ll be happy to put your name down, and you can send me the money anytime you think of it.”
“Okay, Kevin.”
But the other was not yet finished. “Oh, and by the by, would you happen to be knowing an individual name of Paff, a resident of your lovely town, a kind of a Jew type?”
“Meyer Paff?”
“That’s the one.”
“Yes, I know him,” said Lanigan cautiously. “What do you want to know about him?”
“Oh, just the usual. Is he a respectable citizen? Have you ever had any dealings with him–in the way of business, you might say.”
“He’s well thought of here in town. No police record of any kind, if that’s what you mean. What’s he done?” But already Lanigan had scribbled the name on a memorandum pad.
“Well now, I don’t know that he’s done anything. But he owns a bowling alley here.”
“He owns half a dozen in cities and towns along the North Shore,” said Lanigan.
“I know, but none in Barnard’s Crossing.” It sounded like an accusation.
“We don’t have one here, but the one in Salem is near enough. What’s wrong with the bowling alley in Lynn?”
“Well,” said O’Connor, “some of the kids who have been smoking pot and have given us a little trouble, that’s one of their regular hangouts.”
“And you think he might be pushing the stuff?” Lanigan scratched out the name on the pad. “I can’t picture him in the part. He’s one of the big shots in the local temple, for one thing.”
&
nbsp; “Well now, Hughie, did you ever think that might be a kind of cover-up?”
“No, I haven’t, but I’ll think about it–when I’ve nothing better to do.”
“You’ll have your little joke, won’t you. And down there, aren’t you troubled with it?”
“With pot? We’ve had some,” said Lanigan cautiously. “As near as we can make out, it seems to be coming in from Boston.”
“Well, if anything comes to you, any bit of gossip about this Paff, I’d appreciate your letting me know.”
“Ye can bank on it, Kevin m’boy.” Lanigan banged the receiver down and glared at the instrument for a moment. Then he chuckled.
CHAPTER
NINE
Nice sermon, Ted,” said Meyer Paff. Most of the congregation had already filed out of the sanctuary to go down to the vestry, where a collation had been prepared. Paff, standing athwart the middle aisle, had waited for Brennerman and Gorfinkle, who were making their way from the pulpit.
“Did you really like it?” asked Brennerman eagerly, too eagerly.
“Sure, I liked it fine,” Paff said in his deep rumble. “All through it I was thinking–here we’re paying the rabbi a big salary. For what? To give sermons mostly. The rest of his job–making little speeches to the Bar Mitzvahs, marrying people, visiting the sick–we could have the cantor do it or the president. The one thing was the sermons. And now you prove that any fresh young punk can do just as well.”
“Now look here–”
“This is no place to pick a fight, Meyer,” said Gorfinkle quietly.
“Who’s fighting?” Several tailenders of the congregation filing out stopped to listen. “Would I fight in the sanctuary? Believe me, I wasn’t brought up that way. I’d as soon get up in the pulpit and insult one of the members.”
“Insult? Who was insulted?” asked Gorfinkle.
“I don’t know. Maybe Doc Edelstein. He doesn’t favor the temple getting into politics. I doubt he cared much for being called an idol worshiper. Or maybe he doesn’t know any better. He always thought he was a good Jew. He helped start this place and gave a lot of money to get it going. My friend Irving Kallen, he wasn’t here tonight, but he gave a lot of money, too, for this temple. And maybe you don’t know it but the Kallen Family Fund has made a contribution to the NAACP for years. But Irv Kallen never suggested that because he wanted to, I had to.
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