Forsaking All Others

by Jimmy Breslin

  “Here it is, anyway,” Haydee said. She dropped the envelopes on the woman’s desk.

  “Can I help you?” the woman said.

  “We’re here for the meeting,” Haydee said.

  “Which meeting?”

  “The judicial convention.”

  “Oh, you can’t go to that.”

  “Of course we can,” Haydee said.

  “No, you can’t go into that. Nobody’s allowed into that.”

  “I’m sorry, but we can.”

  “No, you can’t. They pick the judges today. You can’t go in there. That’s private.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Haydee said. “We’re from the Bronx Hispanic Coalition.”

  Relief brightened the woman’s face. “Oh. Then you have the wrong place. This is the Bronx Democratic organization.”

  Seguera said, “This is the place for us, all right.”

  “I said this is the Democratic Party,” the woman said.

  “We all registered Democrats,” Seguera said.

  There was a sound and a man rushed past them with his arms held out like a lineman and he fell onto a man and woman who had just entered the office.

  “Arthur!” Murray bawled.

  “Love you, Murray.”

  “Rose!”

  “Murray, darling.”

  The woman, obviously Irish, had on a grey fedora with the brim down. She had red hair pulled straight back. Her face was thin, suggesting an upbringing with porcelain on the mantelpiece, rather than a cement truck in the sideyard. A double-breasted dark blue pin-striped suit hung sternly from her thin frame. The man with her, who seemed to be her husband, was in a dark brown three-piece suit whose front needed a heavy metal buckle, rather than a mere button, to keep fastened over a pot belly. Much of his face was obscured by eyeglasses that were as large and thick as the bottom of a Coke bottle. The front of his head was covered by a black wig.

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” Murray said.

  “By the time I left work and went up to Larchmont to get her,” Arthur said.

  “I wouldn’t leave until the kids got home from school, I wanted them to see me leave,” the woman said.

  “That’s a good enough reason to keep us waiting,” Murray said.

  “Murray. Can you imagine it!” Rose said.

  “Sure, I can. “You deserve it,” Murray said. “Come on, let’s get in there now. We’re all waiting for you.”

  Murray walked the two to the door and he pulled it open for them and they walked in to the sound of applause. Murray shut the door and turned to face Maximo.

  “Now, can I help you?” he said.

  “Yes, if that’s the judicial meeting, you can let us in.”

  “You can’t go in there. This is for the judges,” Murray said.

  “Then that’s just the place for us,” Maximo said. “We’re all going to be judges.”

  “I going to give out twenty-year sentences,” Seguera said.

  Maximo stepped past Murray and pulled the door open. He made sure that Haydee and Seguera got inside with him. Then he noticed that he was in a long, narrow, paneled room that was filled with about seventy-five people, middle-aged men mostly, who sat in rows on folding chairs. At the front of the room there was a table and an American flag. Rose and her husband were at the table, being greeted by a man with sparse hair and rounded shoulders. The man’s eyebrows went up as he saw Maximo, Haydee and Seguera.

  “Help you?” the man said.

  From the doorway, Murray called out, “They claim they’re from some Hispanic group.”

  “We don’t claim to be anything,” Maximo said. “We are the Bronx Hispanic Judicial Coalition.”

  “Who says so?” the man at the table said. He looked at the middle of the room.

  “Luis?”

  The man with brilliant black hair and skin that was quite pale stood up.

  “You know these people?”

  “I don’t,” Luis said. No wonder he doesn’t remember me Maximo thought. The last time I was near him, he was under a chair because Teenager shot his gun.

  “Then if Luis Jimenez doesn’t know who you are, perhaps you’re misrepresenting yourselves,” the man at the table said.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Maximo said. “It seems to me that Mr. Jimenez has spent so much time hiding his head under a parasol that he hasn’t seen another Hispanic in the last twenty years.”

  Jimenez was embarrassed and he sat down.

  “We happen to be citizens who have a slight personal interest in who becomes a judge,” Maximo said.

  “But you’re intruding on regular Democratic Party business,” the man at the table said.

  “Isn’t party registration all that is needed to become a member of the party?” Maximo said. “Or is there some secret initiation that we seem to be in ignorance of?”

  In the front of the room, a stubby man popped up and began whispering. The round-shouldered man sneered and shook his head emphatically. The stubby man sat down and the one with round shoulders called out, “If everyone will please be seated, we’ll begin our program.” He waved at Maximo, Haydee and Seguera. “If you’ll just be seated.”

  “Why, thank you for having us,” Seguera said. His sarcasm produced a series of grunts from the men in the room.

  “All right,” the man in the front said, “my name is Henry McCafferty and I am the Bronx County Democratic leader.” The people clapped and McCafferty held up his hands. “I’d like to keep the traditions of this organization intact. Please do not clap until I tell you to. In fact, we have had county leaders in the past who did not permit you to breathe unless given permission. The late and great Charley Buckley—”

  At this, there was loud applause.

  “—Mr. Buckley raised horses and he appointed seven of them to the executive committee and he held the meeting in a barn. He said it was the best meeting the Bronx Democratic organization ever had because the horses didn’t talk back to him.”

  As the crowd laughed, McCafferty allowed the suggestion of a smile to seep onto his straight, dry face.

  “All right, what is our business here today?” he said. “Our business is the most important business, in fact it is the only business of this political organization. Today, we are going to vote for our candidate for a State Supreme Court nomination. This is the most solemn duty you will ever have as members of the Bronx Democratic organization. A State Supreme Court judge earns fifty-one thousand five hundred dollars a year.” He was interrupted by applause. “A State Supreme Court judge serves a term of fourteen years and never in my time in this city has a State Supreme Court judge failed to win reelection for a second fourteen-year term.” This time, McCafferty had to fight to be heard over the applause. “Only God in His wisdom can remove a State Supreme Court judge once we put him in! Only a fatal heart attack can get one of our judges off the bench!”

  This was met with such great enthusiasm that McCafferty had to pause for many moments. Then his voice lowered and his expression became dour as he outlined the specific problem the Bronx County Regular Democratic organization faced. He reminded them that under the usual deal with Republicans, the Democrat who got his party’s nomination would automatically get the Republican line on the ballot. This way there would never be an accident on election day, when the public became involved, he reminded them. However, this still left them with one painful obstacle. Because the Bronx had lost so much population, the choosing of a judge had been combined with Manhattan Democrats. The Bronx Democrats first had to agree today, and then go downtown on the next Monday to a joint meeting of Bronx and Manhattan Democrats and attempt to get the entire group to support the Bronx candidate. Someday, he said, control would be given back to the Bronx, but for now they must live in conflict.

  “You know what’s going to be at that meeting,” McCafferty said.

  A white-haired man in the center of the room called out, “Liberals!”

  “Reformers!”

 
; “The element from Harlem!”

  McCafferty, a pleased teacher, nodded his head. “We’re going down there and we’re not going to deal with these other people,” he said. “We’re going to deal with Manhattan Regular Democrats. The old guys. The good guys. We’re going to put this judgeship across without the help of any of this element that caused a lot of decent people to move out of this county because of the way this same element burned this place down until it looks like Dresden. So you see we live in serious times,” McCafferty said. “And we have serious business to conduct here today. Let’s get with it.”

  Everybody in the room clapped.

  “All right. Now we’ll hear from the candidates for the Bronx County backing for the State Supreme Court.” There was applause. McCafferty smiled. “Actually, there’s only one candidate. You know her and I know her for a long time. I first met Rose Keogh in the Sharkey-Melito primary at the Chippewa Club. That was so long ago that Rose Keogh and I both will deny being there. But over all the years, she has served this party well. And now she is going to put the lie to all those liberals and reformers. She is going to show that Bronx County is modern. She is going to be the first woman to be named to the State Supreme Court.”

  McCafferty began clapping and Rose Keogh, in her pinstriped suit, stood up. She smiled at the audience and gave little waves to people she knew.

  “I will make this brief because I know you all have places to be. I want to thank Henry McCafferty for what he has done for me. He is the greatest political leader in this city.” Applause. “I want to thank the various organizations that support me, particularly the Riverdale Jewish Women’s Club, the Kingsbridge Gaelic Society and, of course, my home political club, the Adlai Stevenson Club in Riverdale.”

  She spoke with her hands clasped. “I want to tell you that the State Supreme Court is the greatest thing that can happen to a human being. A fourteen-year term. Oh, I can’t believe it!” She shivered in delight and the audience applauded lustily. “Now some of you might ask my qualifications. Well, I graduated from Manhattan Law School and went to work for the State Liquor Authority. That appointment was given to me by Henry McCafferty and I want to say that publicly. I remained with the SLA for twelve years. I also was very active in the Bronx Women’s Bar Association. And as all of you know, I was the chairlady of the Bronx Democratic county dinner on three occasions. And if you ask Henry McCafferty, he will tell you. We never sold more tickets or more ads in the journal than we did at the dinners I was in charge of. As Henry pointed out, the first time he met me was in the Sharkey-Melito primary. That’s, of course, only one of the campaigns I’ve been in. I have devoted my life to the Bronx County Democratic organization and I am thankful to this organization for the great honor you bestow on me. I promise that I will attend the Bronx-Manhattan judicial convention and return to this room to say to you all, as a member of the State Supreme Court, thank you. I love you.”

  “Any questions?” Henry McCafferty called out.

  The stubby man in front popped up. “If you get the nomination, who will you name as your law secretary? That job pays twenty-five thousand.”

  Rose Keogh nodded and smiled. She looked at Henry McCafferty. McCafferty said nothing.

  “He hasn’t told me yet,” Rose Keogh said.

  Maximo stood up. “What is your position on capital punishment?” he asked.

  Rose Keogh smiled at him and said nothing. McCafferty stood up. “Well, I don’t see what we’re going to accomplish by making a candidate go on the record with what she’s going to do on sentencing. That’s what a judge is for. To make up his, or in this case her, mind at the appropriate time.”

  Maximo said, “I’d also be interested to hear some of the cases she has tried in a courtroom. Other than State Liquor Authority matters.”

  McCafferty looked over the audience. “Let’s give someone else a chance here. Henry, you’ve got a question?”

  A man rose. “I’d like to ask one thing. Rose, who replaces you at the State Liquor Authority? That’s a real good job there.”

  “It’s a Bronx job,” she said. “I know this county keeps the job. But if you want to know the particular person that gets the job, I refer you again to our county leader.”

  McCafferty said, “I can answer that one. Walter Halloran of the Parkchester club is going to get Rose’s State Liquor Authority job.”

  The answer made the man who asked the question become agitated. “Isn’t he Pat Walsh’s cousin?”

  “I believe he is,” McCafferty said.

  “Then that makes two cousins that Pat Walsh has on the state payroll.”

  A man against the wall stood up. “I’m Pat Walsh and I’ll answer that charge myself. That statement is a lie. I do not have two cousins on the state payroll. I have three cousins on the state payroll!”

  Maximo, Haydee and Seguera laughed and clapped their hands, and then Maximo looked around and saw that they were the only ones who found the remark amusing. The others in the room glared at them.

  “I think I can anticipate one important question you’re going to ask,” Rose Keogh said. “Since I am leaving my job at the SLA, what happens to me if somehow I am not nominated at the Bronx-Manhattan meeting on Monday night? Does it mean Rose Keogh after all these years is out on the street? No, it doesn’t. Henry McCafferty has a fallback job for me. I can have an appointment to the Criminal Court bench. This is not an elected post, as you know. It is the city court, not the state, so the Mayor appoints you. Henry says I can have an appointment Tuesday morning if, bite your tongue, anything goes wrong on Monday night. The only Criminal Court opening this time is for an eighteen-month term. The pay is, well, what can I tell you? Thirty thousand. You work in the most abominable conditions. Really crummy. You don’t have chambers. And what kind of a pension can you get from an eighteen-month term? Just as important to this gathering, a Criminal Court judge gets no secretary.”

  She finished saying this with a sweet smile that went off her face as Seguera, in his flag of Puerto Rico, stood up and said, “When you walked in here today, I heard you and your husband talking about Larchmont. That’s up in Westchester. What you doing being a judge in the Bronx with the poor people?”

  “I have a voting address in the Bronx, therefore I am a Bronx resident.”

  “You got kids?” Seguera said.

  “Three.”

  “Where do they go to school?”

  Rose Keogh’s facial composure fell apart. Her eyes were embarrassed and her throat was working.

  Seguera yelled. “Where do your kids go to school? With all the nice white suburban kids? Sure they do. Cause you live there too. You a suburban lady. What right you got to come in here and rule over people from the Bronx when you don’t even like us enough to live with us?”

  McCafferty stepped alongside Rose Keogh. “I think that should do it now. When questions become personal, it’s time we went home.”

  Maximo stood up. “I think we ought to get more personal. I have a personal question I’d be quite interested in having answered.”

  “There are no more questions for our judicial candidate,” McCafferty said.

  “The personal question is to you,” Maximo said.

  McCafferty pretended to be arranging papers on the table.

  “With all due respect to this woman, I am sure that she is a lovely woman and a fine mother, but in all due respect, she doesn’t appear to be much more qualified than a typist. I wonder how she has gained such stature in this organization that you are willing to fight to make her a State Supreme Court judge? Could it be that the reason she is your choice is that she has paid you more money than all the other people in the Bronx who aspire to the bench?”

  McCafferty’s chin came up in anger. Rose Keogh’s eyes became filled with poison.

  “Sergeant at arms!” McCafferty said. “These people are out of order. Remove them from the room.”

  Haydee’s finger poked into Maximo’s side. Her other hand pushed Seguera. T
he three went out the door, past the woman in the outer office without looking at her, out into the hallway and onto the staircase. Haydee said she wanted to get out of the way quickly and not be standing around at the elevator doors. “I don’t want anybody figuring out where we work,” she said to Maximo. “We’ll blow our jobs. I don’t know about you, but I need mine.” One flight down, she stopped and stamped her feet and began to laugh.

  “Did you see that white bitch’s face?”

  Laughing, they went down to the street to La Casa Wong.

  She was walking with happy strides and thinking about his face. I like everything about his face, she told herself. Then she remembered the letters in her purse. Scowling now, she walked over to the mailbox in the lobby of her office building and dropped in the two letters, one to her husband, the other, the one that irritated, the car payment to the Citicorp Bank. All those months later, she still was making payments on the car, three hundred twenty-five dollars a month, and the car was sitting in a government motor pool someplace, to be used by drug agents when they rode around impersonating peddlers. Meanwhile, Nicki reminded herself, she had to work for the money to pay for the car while her husband played basketball in jail. No, not basketball, she corrected herself. He stays in jail lifting weights. Lifting weights and sleeping. Then he complains, she thought. When she first was without the car, she was so mad at her husband that she did not visit him in jail for the first three months. Now, making another payment, she slammed the mailbox lid and, for an instant, its clanging sound caused her to think of a barbell dropping on her husband’s feet.

  At the top of the subway stairs, she took off her large gold earrings. Some black savage rip them off my ears in front of everybody. People stand there, let him get away with it. As it was still before five o’clock, it took only usual pushing for her to get a seat. She was surprised to find that not only was she sitting next to a white man, but that there were several on the train. When she got off at Fordham Road, she lit a cigarette, put a stick of gum in her mouth and, humming, walked up the street to La Casa Wong. She paused outside to put on her gold earrings, Chiquita Banana earrings she called them, for they were large and splashy enough to please a Spic. Head rocking slightly, so that the earrings would flash and be pleasing to Maximo, she walked into the restaurant. In front of her as she entered was Maximo at the bar talking to this black bitch in a T-shirt and this ridiculous black wearing a flag. Some element.