by Stuart Woods
“Did you know I was black before you met me?” They were driving south in Billy’s car, a state-patrol vehicle leading the way and another state trooper following behind in Tucker Watts’s car.
Billy smiled. “No, I didn’t. I think that was Chief Breen’s idea of a joke.”
“You seem to be taking his joke seriously.”
“Oh, I’m not taking you to Delano to waste your time, Major. I think you could be very good in this job.”
“Do you think the city council is going to agree with you?”
“Well, there’s a man named Hugh Holmes preparing the way for us. They’re going to have a hard time disagreeing with him. He’s been on that council since there was a council, and he knows how to get his way.”
“How did he get convinced?”
“He isn’t convinced, but he’s impressed with your record, and he’s willing to talk with you about it. He’ll convince the others to listen, too, I reckon. Did I tell you that my father was the first Chief of police in Delano?”
“No.”
“Back in the twenties. He was killed in the line of duty, when he went to get a young boy who was serving a short sentence in the local jail. He let the boy go home for the night, and he didn’t show up the next morning. His father was in a malarial delirium and came out with a shotgun. Thought he was somebody else, apparently.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“It was a long time ago. My mother took it pretty hard, but she wrote a letter to the governor asking him to pardon the fellow. He should never have been convicted in the first place. He was out of his head at the time.”
“That must have been tough on your family.”
“Yes, but not as tough as it was on the fellow’s family. His son was about my age. He ran. It was stupid, but he was charged as an accessory. My mother was trying to get the charges dropped against him, when he was killed, hit by a truck over in Alabama. Hitchhiking, I think. The father was finally sent to the electric chair, in spite of my mother’s efforts. It was a tragic business. Couldn’t happen today, at least I hope not.”
They were both quiet for a few minutes. Tucker turned toward him. “You mentioned a fellow in my outfit in the war, Marshall Parker?”
“That’s right.”
“I heard about him at a battalion reunion, I think. Didn’t he get shot at the jail?”
“That’s right. He was beat up by two police officers and then shot. He told a local doctor about it on his deathbed—Dr. Tom Mudter, you’ll meet him tonight at the council meeting—and the two of us and some others tried to get the cops convicted for it, but we couldn’t even get an indictment. One of the cops resigned under pressure, the other one ran. Damndest thing, he stole the police motorcycle and just disappeared.”
“On a police motorcycle? I wouldn’t have thought he’d get far on that.”
“We thought he had some help, that he must have been planning it. He ran before we heard from the grand jury. Never been heard from, as far as I know.”
“Sounds like the Delano Police Department has had a pretty turbulent history.”
“Oh, it’s been pretty quiet for a long time now. The Parker incident made the city council much more sensitive to the treatment of black prisoners. I don’t think there have been any serious abuses since that time. Hugh Holmes has always kept a pretty close eye on the police. He felt very badly about having had a hand in hiring this fellow Butts, the one who disappeared. I think his attitude will stand in your favor.” Billy opened his briefcase on the seat between them and fished out a large buff envelope. “By the way, Mr. Holmes sent these up. The departmental budget and an inventory of equipment. He thought you might like to look it over before the meeting.”
Tucker began reading through the material, and they were quiet for the remainder of the trip.
Holmes began the meeting by asking that all other business be postponed, in order to address an important matter; then he began a recital of attempts, all unsuccessful, to hire a qualified Chief of police for the town. For a moment he felt transported to another council meeting more than forty years before, when he had made substantially the same remarks. Then his mission had been to get the council to hire a farmer to be a policeman. Now it was to persuade them to give a black applicant a hearing.
He read through the man’s résumé, and as he did a murmur of approval and enthusiasm ran through the meeting. Then he told them, bluntly, that the man was black. This announcement was greeted with silence.
“Now, before we get into a discussion of whether it is appropriate for Delano to have a Negro Chief of police, there are some things I would like to say.” Everyone settled back to listen to him. “There are a number of points we have to consider that are new, that have never been necessary to think about before. You are all aware that, at the last council election, a Negro candidate ran and was nearly elected. I believe a colored candidate will be elected at the next election. Now, I am not saying that we should consider hiring a colored Chief because we might someday have a colored councilman. I bring this up as an example of changes that are coming to us. I believe that many of these changes are inevitable. It is only a matter of time. I also believe that we can make these changes easier to accept without unnecessary conflict by anticipating them. Enough said about that. I think you all understand me.” The council members knew that Holmes, as chairman of the state board of education, was talking about the integration of Delano’s public schools.
“Now, let me be even more pragmatic. This community is engaged in an energetic, and so far fruitless, search for new industry. It is likely that any new manufacturer we are able to attract will come from a northern state. They want to come south to get non-union labor. I believe you are all aware that earlier this year we came very close to finding our first new piece of industry and that the deal fell through, at least in part because the company had a key production employee who was colored, and they found another community where they felt he and his family would settle in better. I checked into this, and I discovered that the other community was no more integrated than ours is, but that there were some highly visible Negroes employed by the city, and this bore weight.
“Looking at it from another point of view, it is historically true that a large majority of violent crimes, of felonies, in Delano are committed by colored people, and if there is to be an effective crime-prevention program in this town, it will have to begin in Braytown. I think there exists the possibility that a colored police Chief might be more effective in implementing such a program than a white Chief.
“Finally, we have to consider Billy Lee and what he means to this community. I think it is no secret that Billy will run for governor next year, and I think you know what his election could do for Delano.” There was an affirmative stir among the councilmen, and Holmes knew he had them. “This is going to be a difficult race for Billy. He will be running at a time when things are in a state of flux. He will be running on a platform of orderly change, and tonight he is bringing us an opportunity to show that orderly change can work. I think we owe it to Billy to give this man careful consideration.”
Holmes took a deep breath and, as casually as he could manage, played his last card. “Now, I am not asking this council to accept this man sight unseen or because he is colored. What I am asking is that we consider him on the basis of his record and on our impressions of how he might behave in a sensitive job, and I would like to put that in the form of a motion. Do I hear a second?”
Dr. Tom Mudter seconded. “In favor?” A chorus of ayes. “Opposed?” There was silence. He had left the unconvinced councilmen an opportunity to object to the man, but he had effectively removed race as a subject of discussion. Now the council could reject Watts only if they found him personally wanting in the interview. Holmes knew from what Billy had told him that this was unlikely. It was 6:30. He rose and went to call Billy and Major Watts into the meeting.
Tucker Watts sat comfortably and looked around the conference tabl
e. He had been answering questions for half an hour. He had outlined his military record, his police training. He had been respectful in his answers and addressed each of the councilmen as “sir,” without being servile. After years of dealing effectively with white commanders, this came naturally to him and without resentment. He had made the men feel comfortable and unthreatened. He had been asked to leave the room and had been called back after only a couple of minutes. Now the old man, the banker, Holmes, spoke.
“Major Watts, the job pays ten thousand dollars a year, plus a city employee’s insurance program and pension. Will you accept the job?”
“Mr. Holmes, Gentlemen, I’m honored to be offered the job, and I believe I would like to accept it, but there are some points I think I should cover first.”
Holmes nodded. “Go ahead.”
“I’m satisfied with the terms you are offering me personally, that is, if I can expect salary increases if I am effective.”
“You can.” Holmes already had another two thousand dollars in hand, approved by the council.
“I would want it stated in my contract that I have full authority in the department with regard to personnel and expenditures.”
“You mean you want to be able to hire and fire?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You realize this will be a sensitive matter.”
“I hope you will trust me to exercise good judgement and to deal fairly with personnel, but I could not function without complete authority.”
Holmes nodded. “And what was that about expenditures?”
“I want to agree on an annual operating budget with the council, and I want authority in my contract to make expenditures in accordance with the budget, without further council approval. So much for personnel, so much for equipment—but I decide which personnel and what equipment.”
Holmes looked around the table and saw no disagreement. “I think that seems reasonable.”
“I’ve looked through the departmental budget and equipment list, and I think you’re not too badly off. I think you can get by for the time being with the six officers now on the payroll, but they’re underpaid. I think an additional three thousand dollars in the personnel budget would bring salaries up to a good standard and improve morale. I also think the department is going to need a full-time clerk, but I won’t know for sure until I see the state of the paperwork.”
Another half hour passed before Tucker worked through his list of requests and reached agreement with the council. Billy spoke for the first time. “Gentlemen, if you’ll all trust me as an objective party, I’ll draw up a contract. I have notes on what you’ve agreed.”
“That should be all right,” said Holmes, noting no dissent. “Major, when do you think you could start?”
“My retirement date is the second of December. I should think, if we can find a house, I could start by the fifteenth. Is that soon enough?”
“That will be just fine. I might be of some help to you in finding a house. Now Billy, if you and Major Watts—perhaps I should say Chief Watts—will excuse us, we have some other council business to attend to.” Hands were shaken all around, and Billy and Tucker left. Holmes turned back to the group. “Gentlemen, if it’s all right with you, I’ll write up something for the paper. I’d like to hold the news until just before Watts arrives, and I think it would be best if we kept his color quiet until that time. Agreed?”
Billy and Tucker shook hands in the cold night air outside city hall.
“Well, Chief,” Billy said, “congratulations. If there’s anything I can do for you to help you get settled just call me at the Capitol or at home. We’re in the book.”
“Thank you very much, Governor. I appreciate your bringing me into this. Chief Breen is going to be a very unhappy man.”
Billy laughed. “Oh, I hope so. I’ll send you a contract to look at first of the week.”
The two men parted. Tucker made a show of looking for something in the glove compartment of his car to give Billy time to drive away first. Then he started his car and drove away in the opposite direction—not toward Atlanta, but toward Columbus, to a point where D Street turned off the Columbus highway. He followed D Street past a number of ramshackle houses and stopped at the end of the street, in front of a house which seemed in better repair than the others, which had even been painted white.
He switched off the engine and sat quietly in the car, looking at the house, until it began to get cold in the car. Finally, his heart pounding and his breath coming quickly, he got out of the car, climbed the front steps, and knocked on the door. He looked around him in the frosty moonlight; it was so much the same. The door opened, and Nellie Cole peered into the night.
“Yes? Who is that?”
Tucker looked at her, clutching her quilted bathrobe about her in the cold. He took off his hat. “Mama,” he said, “it’s me. I’m home.”
Nellie looked for a moment as if she had received an electric shock. Her hand went to her mouth. “Willie? Is that you? Is it Willie?”
He put his arms around her and held her tightly. “Yes, Mama, it’s me.” Willie Cole was home.
6
ON SUNDAY Billy, Patricia, and son Will Lee played host to H. W. and Carrie Fowler and Eloise Lee for lunch. This meal, which was always fried chicken when at the Fowlers’, was always roast beef and Yorkshire pudding when at the Lees’. Wine was not served, only in deference to the Fowlers.
It seemed to Billy that, after an absence of a month, he drew as much sustenance from the presence of all the living members of his family as from the excellent food before them. He watched as they chatted among themselves: young Will, fifteen and still boyish and slight, with his mother’s dark red hair; Eloise, still a widow and indispensable in the management of both Mr. Fowler’s store and Billy’s campaign organization; Mr. Fowler, plumper and grayer, but seemingly otherwise unchanged for twenty years, though he was now seventy-five; Carrie, the same age, but infinitely older, suffering always from an undiagnosed illness Billy felt to be his father’s death; and Patricia, still beautiful, still alluring, aging slowly and improving like a fine wine.
They spent a drowsy hour together, shuffling through the Sunday papers, before the Fowlers excused themselves to go home for their nap. Eloise left with them. It began to rain. Hugh Holmes arrived, and Billy met him on the steps with an umbrella and brought him into the study, where Patricia had coffee waiting. Will excused himself to work on a school project.
Billy went to a cupboard under a bookcase and brought out an unopened bottle of brandy. His liquor was not as carefully concealed as that of Holmes, but it was concealed nevertheless. “Patricia’s father sent us a case of this for Christmas. He always allows six months for anything to be shipped.” He broke the seal and uncorked the bottle. “It’s a Fine Champagne 1928. I’m not waiting until Christmas.”
“I concur in your impatience,” said Holmes, reaching for a glass. He sniffed the brandy and tasted it. “This is definitely an old man’s cognac, my boy. I don’t know if you’re ready for this.”
“I’ll take a chance,” said Billy. He sat back and sipped his brandy.
“Well, now that you’ve set us on the road to perdition by sending us this colored gentleman for the police force—”
“Now, now, now. This is a good move for the city, and you know it very well.”
Holmes took a large sip of the brandy. “I suppose it is, but I know where it’s leading, and I’m afraid.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“It’s change, I guess. I never thought I’d be afraid of change— not change I could control. That’s what bothers me. This thing has begun to control us, instead of we it. It’s the first time in my life I’ve had the feeling of having to run to keep up.”
Billy looked into his brandy glass and knew that no reasoning would make it any easier for Holmes. This was too fundamental. “You’re doing the right thing,” he said finally.
“The right thing under the circu
mstances, I suppose. I guess that’s the best you can do when you’re running to keep up.” He heaved a deep sigh. “Now, what’s this business with the White House?”
“Not much business to it,” Billy said. “Just the mass transit money. That came by an unusual route. Apart from that it boils down to one visit from a presidential aide—David Kass, his name is—and one personal note from Kennedy. But I can’t help feeling something’s stirring.”
“Could be,” Holmes said, rather sadly. “There’s all this ‘Dump Lyndon’ business in the press. Maybe it’s true.”
“You know, if he asked my advice—not that he’s going to— I’d say keep him on.”
“So would I, but then I’m not John Kennedy. Neither are you. He can do it if he wants to, and nobody can stop him. He’ll be reelected with any vice-president he wants. Who’s going to beat him? Richard Nixon? Barry Goldwater? Not likely. He’s annoyed at not being able to get so much past the House Rules Committee. Dealing with Congress is supposed to be Lyndon’s great strength. Maybe Kennedy’s blaming him for the problem.”
“Maybe. I think they’re just different sorts of men. Not comfortable with each other. Suppose all this does mean something. How should I handle it?”
“Handle what? There’s nothing to handle unless they become direct. All you can do is continue business as usual. I think business as usual for you is compatible with the aims of the administration, anyway.” Holmes sipped his cognac. “Tell me, would you have brought Tucker Watts down here if you hadn’t thought the White House staff was keeping an eye on you?”
“Yes,” Billy said without hesitation. “I think he could be a really good thing for the town, for the state. If he works out, it could show a lot of other small communities that they have nothing to fear from giving their blacks responsible public jobs.”
