Moonshine, Coal, and Hope

by Richard Allen Evans

  Trish looked at Rachel.

  “What does all or that me for us?” She asked worriedly.

  “I wouldn’t worry Trish. Crystal Springs is a long way from New York,” Rachel said.

  ***

  When the bells on the ticker started going off, Evan literally ran out of his office into the newsroom. Bob and several other reporters got there first. Bill “Mac” McReynolds, a short heavy-set man with short dark hair and thick glasses, read aloud the Associated Press tape as it ran out of the ticker.

  “Flash...Dow plunges. More than 16 million shares sold off...Flash...Billions lost...many banks across county likely now insolvent...Flash,” Mac read.

  The ordinarily noisy group of reporters stood silently trying to process the information. The bells kept dinging and Mac started catching more tape and reading it to them.

  “Flash...Suicides confirmed across New York City....Grant Hamilton Windsor III, chairman of the board of National Banking Systems, Inc., among the suicides,” Mac read.

  Bob whistled.

  “Damn,” Evan said slowly and quietly.

  “NBS broke?” Asked reporter Jay Hood in disbelief. Jay, a Bowling Green native and recent University of Kentucky graduate, had been on the job only a couple months

  “He didn’t kill himself because he thought they’d make a few more million,” Evan said.

  “If NBS has gone under, how many people have been wiped out in one day?” Bob asked.

  Mac shook his head.

  “Too many,” he said.

  “I wonder how many local people had money tied up in NBS?” Jay asked.

  Bob pulled out a pipe and a tobacco pouch. He started packing the bowl.

  “We’ll know soon enough. I can just about guarantee that,” he said.

  His words proved eerily prophetic as the phone on Evan’s desk started ringing. Evan rushed to answer it.

  “Richards,” he said into the mouthpiece. “Oh my

  God. When?”

  The reporters watched as Evan slumped in his chair. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said as he shook his head as he hung up the ear piece of the stick phone. He then cradled his face in his hands and then looked up at the curious journalists with the color drained from his face.

  “Victor Winston just blew his brains out,” Evan said flatly.

  Each of the reporters reacted as if they suffered a tremendous body blow.

  “If this a coincidence, it’s a hell of a coincidence,” Mac said.

  “It ain’t — I’m sure of that,” Bob said.

  “W-what...what does that mean for the paper?” Jay asked.

  Evan pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket and looked at and put it back.

  “Unless somebody has a miracle to pull out their ass in the next day or two, this paper is done,” he said.

  “So what do we do now?” Jay asked.

  Mac offered a mirthless chuckle.

  “Pray another paper is hiring,” he said.

  “While you’re at it pray no other papers had a publisher ass-deep in the stock market,” Evan said.

  Mac slapped Jay on the back.

  “Look at the bright side kid: You’re young and have a better of latching on with somebody,” he said as Jay just sat staring in shock.

  “In the meantime, what about tomorrow’s paper?” Bob asked.

  Evan shook his head.

  “You mean if there’s a tomorrow,” Evan said.

  “I mean do we do a story about Mr. Winston?” Bob asked as he looked to his colleagues. “Boys, it’s still news and it’s what we do — at least for the time bein’.”

  Evan nodded and pulled the cigar from his pocket.

  “He’s right. I don’t know about any of y’all, but I want to stay here until the bank makes me leave. Bob, you got the story on Mr. Winston. Jay, I want a sidebar obit to go with Bob’s story. Mac, start digging and see exactly what the financial implications are for the paper. If we going down, I want us to let our readers and advertisers know. Those assholes at the Tribune don’t get to do it,” he said. “As everybody else starts coming in I’ll have assignments for them too. We’ll have a company—wide meeting at nine in the morning. By that time I should be able to let people if and when we’ll be out of business.”

  ***

  Hill looked over at Ed who stood by the floor model RCA radio in his living room.

  “Looks like ol’ Kennedy was right again,” Hill said.

  Ed nodded.

  “Yeah, it does,” he said as he weighed the dire economic news.

  Hill, sitting in a dark blue wing-back chair, looked at him again.

  “What’s on your mind boss? I can hear the wheels turnin’,” he said.

  “Market’s bottomed out,” Ed said.

  “Yeah, what about it? You got out at the right time,” Hill said.

  Ed had a glint in his eye.

  “And now it’s time to get back in and clean up,” he said as he walked to the phone on the small desk in the living room.

  Hill walked over to the radio to turn the volume down when the announcer offered an update of the day’s events.

  “And this just in, Lexington publishing icon Victor Winston committed suicide this afternoon. The fate of his publishing empire — which includes the Lexington Courier and the Louisville Independent — is in doubt. According to Dr. Rodney Lewis, professor of economics at Southern Kentucky University, ramifications of today’s events will likely be far—reaching and long lasting despite President Hoover’s insistence that the market crash will only have short—term effects on the economy,” the announcer said.

  “Turn that thing off. I’ve got some calls to make and I’ll be busy for a while,” Ed said.

  ***

  Jack and Lee sat in a hotel in New Orleans. Lee was stripped down to a t-shirt while Jack wore a short-sleeved light blue shirt unbuttoned to reveal his bare chest.

  Lee looked at the ceiling fan directly above where he sat. He wiped the sweat away.

  “Feels like a swamp in here,” Jack said.

  “Look where you’re at jackass. This whole damn state is a swamp,” Lee said.

  Jack got up and walked out onto the third floor balcony. He was sulking. Lee was rarely kind in his words but in recent days he hadn’t even been civil.

  He looked out at New Orleans and liked what he saw. The city came alive after dark — more than miles separated it from Kentucky. Off in the distance lightning flashed. It looked and felt like a thunderstorm was getting ready to roll in.

  Still, the party on the streets below him continued.

  “Hey Lee, why don’t we go out and see how much fun we can have in this town?” Jack yelled over his shoulder.

  Lee slowly stood and walked outside and joined him on the balcony. He looked up and at the distant horizon before he looked at the revelers on the street.

  “Looks like it’s going to rain,” Lee said.

  “Who cares? There’s a party happening and we’re not part of it,” Jack said.

  “I still need to keep a low profile. No piece of ass is worth going to the electric chair,” Lee answered.

  Jack considered his words.

  “What if I go out and maybe bring back a girl for each of us?” He asked.

  “Make sure she’s white. And bring me something to drink and a couple of packs of smokes,” Lee said as he handed him a twenty.

  Jack grinned.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said.

  True to his word — and a surprise to Lee — Jack returned in a little more than an hour later. He carrier a brown paper bag and had two women in tow — one was a pretty bi—racial woman with shoulder length wavy black hair; the other was a short and somewhat attractive white woman.

  “This here’s Thelma,” Jack said of the darker skinned woman. “And this is Marguerite. Ladies, this here is my friend, Lee.”

  “Come in,” Lee said as he took the bag from Jack and walked back into the room. “Follow me,” he said to first to Marguerite
and then to Jack, “Go to your own room.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jack answered with a laugh. “Let’s go sweetheart,” as they left the room.

  The young woman offered no expression as she followed Lee. He sat on the bed and looked up at her.

  “Not that it matters, but are you a working girl?” He asked.

  She shrugged.

  “Sometimes maybe,” Marguerite said, looking down at the floor.

  Lee smirked. “Don’t you know if you’re a whore?”

  “Just tryin’ to get by mister,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

  “You any good?” He asked.

  “Nobody’s ever complained,” Marguerite said.

  Lee chuckled.

  “I reckon you’ll do. Let’s see whatcha got. Take that dress off and whatever you’re wearing underneath.”

  She stepped back and started slipping out of her clothes. In just a couple of minutes, she was nude.

  He looked at her, silently appraising her young body.

  “How old are you?” Lee asked.

  “Nineteen,” Marguerite said.

  “Bullshit. How old? Tell me the truth or I’ll kick your ass out right and make you walk home naked,” he said gruffly.

  “Sixteen,” she said quickly.

  Lee offered a slight grin.

  “Ha! Thought so.”

  “This ain’t no set up, honest mister. I need the money,” Marguerite said pleadingly.

  “Like I said, I don’t care. If you do me right I’ll pay well — real well,” he said.

  She walked over closer to him and dropped to her knees. Lee genuinely grinned for the first time since he arrived in New Orleans.

  ***

  John sat in a chair next to the bed. Rachel was sleeping peacefully at last. A coughing fit a couple of hours earlier kept her awake for longer than John wanted. She needed her sleep — to rest and stay as strong as possible.

  He watched her and million thoughts ran through his mind but each it seemed were rooted in one question: How can I go on without her? John started to reach out for her and saw his hand trembling. Funny, he thought, he couldn’t feel the shaking. A noise to his right drew his attention. He saw Trish standing outside the bedroom door. She gestured for him to come to the door. When John got to the door, she leaned close and whispered.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you but Dr. Carter is here to see you. I can sit with her until you get back if you want.”

  John nodded and eased out of the room as quietly as he could.

  He walked into the living room and found Cat standing by the fireplace.

  “How is she tonight?” Cat asked softly.

  “Resting now. It’s been a rough night. What are you doing out so late?” John asked, his voice above a whisper.

  “Mrs. Avery went into labor tonight. Quick delivery. I was heading home when I saw your light on. I thought I’d see if there’s anything I can do,” Cat said.

  John just shook his head and looked down to the floor.

  “Grab your coat. Let’s step out on the porch,” Cat said.

  John wordlessly walked over and picked up his coat and followed his mentor outside. Once on the porch Cat pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to John, who accepted, and then put one in his own mouth. He struck a match and cupped the flame to keep the wind from extinguishing it. John leaned in lit his smoke and then Cat inhaled deeply before shaking the match and dropping it into an ashtray near a rocking chair.

  “She’s getting worse John,” he said.

  John never spoke. He just inhaled and then blew out smoke.

  “The worse she gets, the less you can do for her here. You know that,” Cat said.

  John nodded.

  “I know. I’ve begged her to go into the sanatorium in Corbin but she won’t budge. She says she wants to be home when...when, the uh, time comes.”

  Cat looked on sympathetically as he took a drag and scratched his chin, feeling the late night stubble.

  “But if she goes into the sanatorium there’s still a chance she will improve — maybe even go into remission,” he said.

  John laughed bitterly.

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I have to John. As long as there’s a breath in her body, there’s a chance — but only if we do everything we can and that means getting her into the sanatorium,” Cat said as he snuffed the cigarette butt out in the ashtray.

  “She won’t go and I won’t try to force her. She ain’t got much longer Cat. I know it and she knows it too. She wants to see Ginny as much as she can,” John said as he flicked the still flaming cigarette but into the chilly night drizzle and blew out a haze of smoke.

  “It might mean a few more days with her,” Cat said.

  “It might. Then again, it might not. We both know there are no guarantees. And it wouldn’t be on her terms. I owe her that much Cat. I can’t do anything else for her but I can do that,” John said, looking almost through his mentor. Tears trickled down his cheeks. Even in the glow of the dim porch light, Cat could see them.

  “About the only thing you can do now is try to keep her comfortable. You can count on me to help you,” Cat said.

  John nodded.

  “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without her,” he whispered hoarsely. “And Ginny...,” his voice trailed off.

  “I wish I had the words John,” Cat said as he pulled another cigarette from the pack. He offered another to his grieving friend, who just shook his head.

  “I wish you did too,” John said.

  ***

  Evan stood on Mac’s desk in the middle of the newsroom. Packed into the room was every employee of the paper. Men and women from composition joined pressmen, advertising representatives, secretaries, editors, reporters, and photographers to hear what Evan had to say.

  He looked around the room.

  “Before I go any further let me just say what a fine paper all of you put out today under the most difficult circumstances I can imagine. Mr. Winston would be proud,” Evan began.

  He looked out across the room. In every part of the crowd, he saw more than one person on the verge of tears.

  “I know you’re all wondering about the future of the paper and more importantly, your jobs,” Evan paused before breaking into a smile. “You can quit worrying about the future of the paper. Pending the final papers being signed, we have a new owner and he’s put up the capital to keep the company going until the deal is finalized,” he said as the room exploded in applause and relief.

  “Who’s the new owner?” Bob asked.

  Evan looked over to his left and saw Bob sitting on the front of his desk flanked by Cotton and Mac.

  “Last night, Edward Elkins agreed to purchase the entire Winston newspaper chain,” he said as Cotton gave a low whistle.

  “I understand David Winston has agreed to serve as executive vice president of the company, so we’re in good hands. That means you people need to get back to work and make our new owner some money. Newsroom, we’ll have a staff meeting in 15 minutes. That’s all,” Evan said as he hopped off of the desk.

  People were milling about, smiling, and hugging. It was a festive atmosphere and no matter how much he wanted people to go about their business, he shared their feelings of jubilation. It took about three minutes but Evan fought his way through the handshakes and hugs to get to Bob’s desk.

  “You didn’t know?” Evan asked.

  Bob shook his head.

  “No, I had no idea,” he said.

  “In any event I’m glad he stepped in because I don’t like the thought of being out of work — especially with the way things are these days,” Evan said as Cotton and Mac nodded.

  “Things ain’t good,” Bob agreed.

  “Suicides all over the country. Runs on banks. I think Hoover’s full of shit. This ain’t no little depression in the market,” Cotton said.

  “More like a great depression,” Mac said.

  �
�That’s kind of catchy,” Evan said.

  “Have you talked to Ed?” Bob asked.

  “No. I talked to Dave. I understand he and Mr. Elkins will pay a call on us soon,” Evan said.

  “Smart move bringing in the younger brother of our former publisher,” Mac said.

  “Ed’s a lot of things but stupid ain’t one of them,” Bob said. “He knows to hire people who know what they’re doin’.”

  Cotton nodded.

  “I’ll tell you something else about the market crash: Political corruption stories just got knocked off the front page,” Cotton said.

  ***

  “Let me get this straight. You want to set up soup kitchens to feed the unemployed? That’s gonna run into some money boss,” Hill said.

  “Probably, but I’ve got it to spend and it’s a cheap price to pay for what we get in return,” Ed said.

  “And what’s that?” Hill asked.

  “Goodwill. A hungry man remembers who fed him. We might need these people someday,” Ed said.

  “How about the strikers? They’re living in plank shacks and whatever else they can find since the companies kicked their families out of camp houses. They’re not just hungry, they’re homeless too,” Lucy asked.

  Ed looked at her and slowly smiled.

  “What do you think we ought to do?” He asked.

  “Bob had a story in the Courier yesterday about something called ‘Hoovervilles’ popping up all over the country. It’s people living the same way. I was wonderin’, what does the Army use for soldiers in the field?” Lucy asked.

  “Tents. They use tents for everything — kitchens, hospitals, even outhouses,” Hill said.

  Lucy looked at Ed with an arched eyebrow.

  “Hill, contact someone about Army surplus tents, cots, blankets — even stoves. Lucy, I’ll leave it up to you to get the number of things like that folks in the striking camps need. Get Mae to figure up a list of free dairy products to be delivered to the families of the strikers each week until the strikes are settled. Happy?” Ed asked Lucy.