Angel in Blue Jeans

by Richard L. Coles

  “Good morning, gentlemen—George Simpson. Do come this way”—he turned back—“Kelly, if Mr Jackson calls, tell him I’ll be free tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Yes, Mr Simpson,” replied Kelly as the phone rang again. Dave reluctantly dragged his eyes away again.

  As they climbed the stairs, Dave observed that George Simpson’s head only just cleared the overhang in the ceiling as they reached the landing. George Simpson was indeed large, six-foot-five Dave guessed, thickset, with a commanding presence.

  As they were ushered into one of the two front rooms on the second floor, Dave felt at a distinct disadvantage. At work and in the community, he had no problems with confidence, but around lawyers, he was ill at ease—and this time was no exception. He sensed that Dwayne felt the same.

  “Please be seated.” Simpson indicated two leather armchairs as he rounded a dark, highly polished desk. He settled himself in his own leather chair, silhouetted against the large window, and picked up a small pile of papers and spread them on his blotter. He separated out one of them, and looked up at Dave and Dwayne.

  “Gentlemen, I appreciate your taking the time to come in to see me. It is Mr Hennigan’s wish that we deal personally, and not just by exchange of letters. As you may already know, Mr Hennigan is ninety-four now, but still very alert and—shall we say—‘with it’?” Simpson smiled.

  Dave relaxed a little; he no longer felt his pulse racing. He knew he was not on comfortable ground.

  “Mr Hennigan,” Simpson continued, “now lives in Kingston, has done so for many years in fact, but we, that is, my father and I, have continued to represent his legal interests.

  “When Mr Hennigan received your letter expressing your community’s concerns about the old brewery, he immediately telephoned me. He, too, was most concerned, and expressed regret that the matter had not been raised many years before.”

  Simpson smiled again. “In spite of his years, Mr Hennigan is well aware of what young people can get up to!”

  Dave smiled back, and nodded his head.

  “So,” continued Simpson, “Mr Hennigan has instructed me to work with you and your community to make the situation safe.” Dave felt a great load off his mind, sensing that Dwayne had relaxed too, evidently so noticeably that Simpson added, “I’m sure that’s a great relief to you. I can imagine that you quite expected that an opposite course could have been set.”

  “Well, yes,” said Dave. “To be honest, we really had no idea of what, or rather who, we might be up against. We are relieved.”

  Dwayne nodded in agreement.

  “Let me give you a little background,” continued Simpson. “You see, the brewery was first established in the late 1880s by Inge Hennigan, the grandfather of our Mr Hennigan. On Inge’s death, it was bequeathed to his son, Emil, on condition that it was never to be sold out of the family, nor be torn down. Given the demand for beer in the first two decades of the twentieth century, that was not an unreasonable wish. Emil wrote the same condition into his will.

  “Sadly, Emil did not survive his father by many years, and so it passed into the hands of Kurt, the last Mr Hennigan. Kurt revered his father and grandfather, having grown up in the brewery business, and was determined to continue a successful operation.”

  Simpson moved back in his chair, swivelling a little to cast his profile in silhouette. “But the winds of change were blowing across the country,” he continued. “Temperance and prohibition were killing the breweries, slowly but surely; and then the Depression came. Kurt had no option left but to close down the Hennigan Brewery. Twenty people lost their jobs.

  “Kurt could not do anything with the buildings or the site by way of disposal. In no way would he break the conditions of the wills. For years, the buildings were deserted, but in those days it was not a concern, being so far out from the city, with only a poor road as access, and the trains just steamed on past. During the war, a need for temporary barracks arose, and Kurt gave permission for the Army to upgrade the road and use the buildings.”

  Simpson swung round to face Dave and Dwayne. “After the war, the Army used the buildings for storage for a few years, and then turned them back, empty, to Kurt. I say empty, because back in 1934, Kurt had had the foresight to remove any machinery, and the vats and yeast tanks. So, there it stands, gentlemen.”

  “Very interesting,” said Dwayne. “Now I understand why it wasn’t pulled down long ago.”

  “Yes,” responded Simpson. “Let me give you Mr Hennigan’s, Kurt’s, proposal. He would like you, and others in your community as appropriate, to define what needs to be done, and to present me with the plan and its cost for his approval. He will then pay for the work and the materials; however, he asks whether there is someone in the community who is competent to contract and supervise the work. He has also asked me to work closely with you.”

  Dave looked at Dwayne.

  “Well,” began Dwayne, “that is a very acceptable proposal, and I’m sure the community will be pleased to work along. As far as a general contractor—do you agree, Dave—I think I can recommend Joseph—Pino—Ferruccio; he’s in that business, and he lives in Brewster Gardens. However, he has just lost his son in that tragic accident we noted in our letter to Mr Hennigan. I don’t know if he would be willing to take on the task at this time.”

  Dave nodded, and looked at Simpson, who had taken on a concerned expression.

  “Yes, Kurt and I were both greatly saddened to learn about the loss of the two boys. Kurt has asked me to find out the details of the two families; he wants to contact them to express his condolences. Would you be willing to approach your neighbour—Pino, was it—to ask if he would take on the contractor role, for the community?”

  “That we will try,” Dwayne replied.

  “Good,” said Simpson. “I’ll have my secretary put all this down in writing and send it to you. I’d appreciate a written response from you, for the record, so that I can keep Mr Hennigan properly informed. Here’s my card. Please don’t hesitate to give me a call if you have any queries or concerns.”

  Simpson stood up and shook their hands. “Dwayne—Dave—do please call me George. We’ll work together on this project. I’ll come downstairs with you. My, I don’t like the sound of that wind out there. Do you think we’ll have some of this job done before the deep winter?”

  “We’ll certainly see what we can do,” replied Dave, feeling much more confident and positive than when they had entered.

  - 3 -

  Tony stood at the east side of the school’s metalwork shop, checking on the chart for the correct drill size for the thread he was about to tap. His mind wandered as he gazed at the lists of numbers; he and Dana were meeting after school to go to a movie, and that was more attractive to think about than last class of the day in Metalwork TIN4.01.

  Actually, he enjoyed this class normally; it was one of his favourite courses. He was much happier with hands-on work than the more academic courses. But today was dragging, and thoughts of Dana tugged at him.

  There were only eight in the class. The teacher, Old Marky, as they called him, was checking out Sean’s lathe work over the far side of the room. Other students busied themselves at various tasks.

  Suddenly, Tony was startled by a loud shout and a yell. He turned. A fight had broken out. Lucasz Woslewski and Andre Gagne were going at each other. The next thing he knew, Lucasz had a knife in his hand.

  Marky buzzed the office. Johnny and Steve tried to hold off Lucasz and Andre, but Steve nearly got knifed himself.

  Then, Pete managed to knock the knife out of Lucasz’ hand with a steel bar. But Lucasz went berserk; he started throwing anything he could get his hands on.

  Tony ducked down behind the nearest work bench, and others did likewise. It seemed like an eternity as Lucasz raved on, swearing and cursing, throwing steel rods, tools, and anything else he could reach.

  At last, Vice-principal Lebrun arrived, followed quickly by the police. They soon had Woslewski tied
down.

  Tony and the others came out of hiding, relieved and shaken.

  “Take it easy, lads, relax,” said Mr Lebrun. “I’m sure this has shaken you. Sorry, but we’re going to have to ask you all to come along to the office, because the police will need to take statements from you—I really don’t know how long it will take.”

  Tony groaned inwardly. What about my date with Dana? She’ll wonder where I am.

  While the police went into the inner office with Woslewski, Lebrun, and Old Marky, the rest of them had to stay in the outer office.

  Tony couldn’t sit for long; he stood up and started pacing. This wasn’t good; he and Dana were really becoming a firm item, but he was still conscious of the risks of letting her down, or of putting doubts into her mind.

  The time dragged on and on. At last, one of the police officers came out and took statements. Tony was third in line. He told what he had heard and seen, and was then free to go.

  He ran to the bus stop, hoping a bus would come soon.

  Tony stepped off the bus and saw Dana waiting across the street, as planned. He marvelled at her, a shapely figure in a heavy white sweater and blue jeans, an angelic face under blonde hair. But she looked cold.

  He ran up to her, lifted her hand and kissed it. Surprised, she jumped. Quickly, he explained about the fight and delay.

  “’T’s okay,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Let’s go eat, I’m starving.”

  “Me too. Where? Harvey’s?”

  “Sure.”

  They set out to walk the two blocks to Harvey’s.

  “What made Woslewski do that?”

  “Don’t know. He’s had it in for Andre for weeks about something. But Johnny says Lucasz was drunk; he said you could smell it on his breath. Don’t know if the police did any tests; they took him into Lebrun’s office as soon as they’d got him tied down. We had to stay in the outer office.”

  “You know, a few days before the accident, Bryce said something at dinner that seemed strange at the time, but now I wonder …”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Something about polishing things off.”

  “Wonder what Bryce meant?”

  “Do’know. Er … Tone, I was talking with some of the other cheerleaders this morning, an’ we’d really like to do a cheer for your student council rally on Tuesday. The rest of the girls are really keen to support you—I’m getting quite jealous, you know!” Dana nudged him in the midriff.

  “Thanks, Dan. But I’m still a bit unsure I want to go through with it.”

  “Oh Tone, you can’t back down now, after all the work we’ve done with posters and campaigning for you. You’re by far the best. Everyone in my class says they’ll vote for you. Look, when we get home, I’ll give you a private showing of our cheer, okay?”

  “Okay, okay.” Tony knew in his heart that he couldn’t back out, but he was worried that he wouldn’t be strong enough to represent Grade Eleven adequately on the student council. He just didn’t seem to have the self-confidence that Dana showed. Change the topic, he thought.

  “Say, how did your meet with that cop lady go?”

  “With Jane? Great, she’s a really cool person. I like her. See, I thought she might be able to help with, like, how to cope with, er, grieving. Mum and Dad have hardly spoken since the accident except for, like, essential things. Iain just does his own thing, says nothing. My house is, like, dead. And, Tone, your house is no better. Your folks are, like, zombies. It’s a misery there.”

  “You’re right there. So could she help?”

  “Yeah, she had lots of suggestions, and gave me some leaflets to give to Mum and Dad. Maybe your folks should see them too. She even offered to spend more time with me, if I wished, to talk about new ideas for young people.”

  “Cool. You game?”

  “Yeah, I’ll have to think about it. Like, what kinds of things would we talk about? But she also told me that the police have a watch on some kind of youth gang that’s been doing break-ins in Ottawa, and across the river, too. She’s real cool: sharp, but nice about it.”

  “Yeah, she seemed okay, what I saw of her.”

  “You know, Tone, I really feel I want to do something for Bryce and Vince, like, I dunno, some kind of memorial, maybe. I know Bryce was often a pain in the ass, but he was my brother, an’ I really did love him, deep down. I can kinda understand how Mum and Dad must feel. It isn’t the same without him and Vince around.”

  “Yeah, the place is too quiet.” Dan’s right, thought Tony. Yeah, I do miss having Vince forever asking me questions, bugging me. But he was my brother. “Yeah, mebbe you’re right, Dan, some way to remember them.”

  “You know, Tone,” said Dana. “Another idea came to me after I’d talked with Jane. Maybe I could think of a career as a policewoman?”

  “Meh,” grunted Tony. “Not too keen on that, Dan.” Too risky, he thought.

  - 4 -

  Dave Adkins slumped down in his chair and stared at the carpet. How could this happen at this point? One day, the world is proceeding in an orderly fashion: you know your place in it, and you are secure, confident—then, bam, sideswiped, you’re out of a job.

  He knew the overall situation, or so he’d thought he did. He’d felt that he was safe for another year or so—that was what he’d inferred from the Director-General’s ‘chat with staff’ back in July. But he knew that deep cuts in the Federal Public Service were not far away, and now they had hit home.

  But why did it have to be me? After all that I’ve contributed to the unit; why, I came up with the new inventory system, even won an award for it. And then there was the info-chat idea I put to the Director—it resulted in those very successful Wednesday sessions—everybody thought they were great. Sheesh! It’s really knocked the wind out of my sails.

  “Hi, you’re home early! Are you okay?” came his wife Barbara’s voice from the kitchen. She walked through to the hall closet. “John has asked me if I would work full days for the next six months instead of just mornings.”

  She entered the room. Dave did not move.

  “Is something wrong, dear?” she knelt by his side.

  “Everything’s wrong.” His voice choked. “I’m being laid-off at the end of January.”

  “Oh, David.” She kissed his forehead and put her arms around him. “How could that be? That’s awful. Just a few weeks’ notice. How could they do that to you?”

  “Quite easily. They have to cut, and some have to go.”

  “But you thought you would be okay till next year or the year after?”

  “Well, I was wrong.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Thompson. He called me into his office and gave me an envelope; then he sat there and watched me read the letter. He made some platitudes about my work, and about regretting having to do this—all part of Government downsizing, and all that—told me about my options, and wished me well in the future. That was it—five minutes!”

  “David.” Barbara repositioned herself. “You mustn’t give up. You have to go out there and fight. You’ve got a lot of skill and experience that somebody else will want to use. Come on. Buck up! It’s not the end of the world. I’m going to have a scotch, you want one?”

  He nodded. Barbara set about pouring two drinks.

  “Has anyone else been given notice today?”

  “Not that I know of. I know Fred’s on the block, but that’s been common knowledge for a while. I think Sue and Janet might be surplused before long. Come to think of it, Thompson did have a long meeting with Sue yesterday. I don’t know.” David sighed. “I really don’t care about the place anymore. I’ve put a lot of effort into the job, and look what I get.”

  “Let’s look on the bright side, dear. Did you hear what I said when I came in—about me going full time? I think that’s just what we need right now. It’ll give you time to get back on your feet.”

  “I guess you’re right. But can you handle it?”

  “Of co
urse I can! I did before I had Cody, now, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but that was quite a while ago.”

  “Don’t worry so. It’ll be all right.” She sipped at her scotch. “Guess we will have to reduce on a few things though.” She looked at her glass ruefully.

  They sat in silence, sipping their drinks, gazing into space.

  Dave spoke first. “I’d really like to do something different. I’m fed up with this rat-race, and all the uncertainty, and reorganizations, and budget cuts. Something right away from government.”

  “Now that’s talking,” Barbara sat forward brightly. “Let’s think about what you’re good at.”

  “I don’t really know. You tell me.”

  “Well, for a start, you like dealing with people—”

  “We-ell,” Dave interrupted. “That depends.”

  “You know what I mean. Look at all your Scouting experience, and the Navy Reserves before that.”

  “Yes, but that was a long time ago.”

  “I know, but you get on well with people, and they seem to get on well with you, especially the young people. What else?”

  “Outdoors, I suppose.”

  “Yes, and you’re a good administrator. Think of the stuff you did way back, before I met you.”

  That last point brought a twinge of anguish to Dave. It brought back the rocky times with Helen, when he was so over-committed with scouting and church activities. But he and Barbara had always got on well, ever since they first met at the Shakespeare Festival in Prescott, a few weeks after Helen had left him.

  Nonetheless, Barbara was right. He had done a lot of things that he could perhaps do again, so long as there was a paycheck attached. Yes, I really did enjoy working with all those bright, energetic young people, full of ideas, full of energy. Wonder what they’re all doing now. “I just need a change.”

  “Don’t fret, there’s Christmas on the horizon. There’ll be Cody’s Christmas concert with the Scouts, and you did promise him that you would help them out this year. There’s a lot going on. Just do what you have to do at work and don’t worry about it. It’ll be somebody else’s problem soon.”