The fear makers, p.3
The Fear Makers, page 3
The signature did it. Any time, anywhere, I’d recognize that particular wriggle and scrawl Clark called his signature. It was right before my eyes. Megassum watched me read it. I said I must have forgotten after all, and returned the agreement to him.
“We don’t want to cause each other trouble, do we, Al?” asked Megassum, folding the paper.
I said I wasn’t causing anybody trouble. I was going home. I said it was nice seeing him and I wished him the luck.
Megassum took my arm. “We’re in a jam, Al. You’re important, Al. Your name means a lot. People will listen to you. You were one of the founders of this outfit, and I got a right to ask you to help before some cigarette company or movie comes to you, asking for endorsements or the rights to your story.”
Even as punk as I felt I guess I must have laughed. That Megassum was something.
Earnestly, he said, “Al, I’m offering you ten thousand dollars to pitch in here for today and then you can go on to the Coast and act as our consultant from there. Don’t decide now. Think it over an hour—”
Just then the red-headed secretary entered. She said, “New York calling, Mr. Megassum. The private line.”
Megassum released my arm. He said, “I’ll take it in the other room, Miss Nelson. I’ll tell the operator.” He swung around at me. “This is important. I’ll be right back, Al. I want to finish discussing this.” At the small door on the other side of the room, he paused long enough to say hastily, “Miss Nelson, you tell Barney Bond to come in and give Captain Eaton the background.” The small door shut.
Miss Nelson looked at the small door and next at me and came to me and said, “Beat it. Beat it before something happens to you, too,” and continued on to Megassum’s desk with hardly a break in her stride.
I said try it again and missed when I grabbed for her arm. Neither of us saw Barney Bond enter from the hall.
He said, “Look here,” gazing tranquilly at us, smiling.
Miss Nelson pulled her arm farther away, stating furiously, “It’s bad enough to have people working here slobbering at a girl and making passes just because she wants to mind her own business, but if any soldier thinks he can do it he’s badly misinformed.” She gave her head a toss. “Either he beats it or I’m going to see something happens to him. I’ll tell Mr. Megassum.”
She slammed the door, hard.
CHAPTER II
To Barney Bond I said nice secretary, that Megassum had; and afterwards, it was one of those pauses.
He mumbled, “She has funny ideas.” He turned away from me, as if something was starting to happen to him and he didn’t want anyone to see it. About Barney, I can’t very well explain it.
From the beginning I’d had the feeling he was on my side. He was more than a youngish, slightly flabby guy inside an expensive suit with too many wrinkles, whose cinnamon-colored hair was thinning in the wrong places on top of his head. Maybe it doesn’t make sense. It was like seeing a bundle of soft, recently boiled tubes of round macaroni tightly bound about a coiled spring and wondering how soon the steel spring would break loose and tear free.
Back still turned, he said, “Mr. Megassum mentioned to you the need we have of your services?” All at once, the spring coming free, he moved. He jerked around. He said, “She’s a bitch.” He fumbled at a pack of cigarettes. He had trouble with the wrapper. He tore at the wrapper. He looked up. He said, “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’m not like this very often. I do hope you will come with us.” He opened the pack. He got himself a cigarette.
Twelve minutes previously, when I’d entered this office, I never expected I’d be glad to see Megassum again. Megassum pushed through the smaller door. He said, “Sorry, Al. You know how it is with a client…Hello, Barney. You told Al what we wanted?” He stopped midway. “Nothing wrong?” He half closed one eye, squinting at Barney and me, puzzled.
That boy, Barney, was good. With him something was wrong. But he pulled it inside himself. He found the redcheeked smile; on the outside he became all right again.
If something else was wrong, he didn’t show he knew it. Until I had a chance again to see Miss Nelson I didn’t get it. Everything was too quick. Maybe like the kid in the park, the redhead saw rain coming down on me and wanted to run.
“Nothing, Mr. Megassum,” replied Barney. He had a way of smoking cigarettes, too. He’d insert the cigarette in the middle of his mouth, sticking it to the underside of his upper lip. When he spoke, the cigarette waggled back and forth. It didn’t come unstuck, either. “I’ve told Captain Eaton I hope he will come with us.”
As Megassum sat himself in the chair behind the rosewood desk, I was still thinking of that red-headed secretary and still not getting it. I hadn’t made a pass at her. If there was a switchback hidden, I hadn’t seen it.
Heartily, Megassum said, “Let me give you the picture, Al. I want you to integrate yourself before refusing anything.”
So I still sat there, holding on to the cane, instead of shoving for home. And I listened. Megassum didn’t take long to state the situation.
His biggest client was a small, unincorporated association of stockholders, primarily composed of men who had retired from active participation in business. After the presidential elections last fall, evidently being surprised by the result, they’d engaged the Clark J. Baker Associates for a series of opinion polls to determine the attitude of the average voting citizen toward labor and labor unions, and particularly, to notice if any changes occurred.
That much I understood. That was clear; it didn’t have the switchbacks.
The first survey was most important because if it was successful, Megassum would be given a contract to carry over after the 1946 congressional primaries. The survey included Detroit, Pontiac, Flint, a number of small towns, and nine counties around these industrial areas. Furthermore, Megassum proposed to use a good, thick sample. Employing a hundred interviewers during the first two weeks of April, he planned to interview five thousand representative families, with particular emphasis on the city of Pont Dulac, a big industrial concentration near Detroit, which was electing itself a new mayor early in June.
I said what was unusual about Pont Dulac electing a new mayor? Didn’t that happen every couple of years?
Megassum explained, “Hillman’s Political Action Committee is trying to take over Pont Dulac. Our poll will indicate what’s taking place there. And you’ve come at the right time. Except for Barney, all we have left are women statisticians. The others were drafted. All Pm asking you is to take today and a couple hours tomorrow morning to go over our statistical breakdown. You can leave for San Francisco before noon.”
I asked what purpose would be served if I spent a few hours on a routine statistical examination?
Over on the other side of the room, Bond spoke: “Primarily, Mr. Megassum wishes to have you associated with us, Captain. As a consultant, your ideas will be valuable to our clients.”
Megassum cleared his throat. He glanced at Bond. He said, “Jesus, Al. Once you’re on the West Coast you can keep your hand in by writing us from time to time, can’t you? It’s a straight business proposition. Before the war your name meant something in this business. It means more, now. Probably you could get three or four times what we’re willing to pay by endorsing a breakfast food or letting a newspaperman ghost a book around your name.” He paused, breathing hard, wiping at his forehead. “Suit yourself.”
Bond said, “As a consultant, Captain.”
Maybe without knowing it, Megassum brought in the clincher. He explained, “It’s as I’ve told you, Al. Clark was talking about you and him both retiring and going to the
Coast and acting as consultants if we ever could begin to make real dough. Or have you forgotten?”
There it was.
Once or twice in his apartment, while listening to his records, Clark and I had mulled over the idea of busting loose around forty and traveling and seeing the world, and making some other guy do the work and supply us with an income. And Clark always had been casual with money. Hell, Clark and I were friends. Between us we had one pocket when we needed to reach for cash. The black feeling swept over me again, as once more I had to realize Clark was finished. He was done.
I said, “My God. Didn’t the police do anything about it?”
Megassum blinked. He moved his big paws down to push himself up from the chair and asked, “About what?” and I said I was thinking about something else and he sat back again, and Barney said gently, “I’ve always wished I’d known Mr. Baker, Captain. He must have been a wonderful man.”
Then Megassum said, “Al, try to concentrate, will you? Certainly, the police worked on the case. You know how it is with hit-and-run drivers. I’m asking if you’ll accept a job with us as consultant.” He took the blue filing folder on his desk, opened it, withdrew a sheet of legal-size paper. “Look at this. I told Miss Nelson to type it up. It’s just a formality.”
I don’t want to explain anything away. I’m not giving excuses. I read the contract. It stated for the fee of $834 a month, during the period of twelve months from the date of signing, I was to act exclusively for the Clark J. Baker Associates, with an option on my services for the next year thereafter, the fee to be increased by not less than ten per cent if the option was exercised. I was to act for no other organization whatsoever, or permit my name or services to be used, without the expressly written consent of the Clark J. Baker Associates.
I read it and it was easy money.
With that easy money every month coming in, I wouldn’t have to worry. On a beach I could sit, mountains behind me, the sun soaking into my skin for the next year or so. I’d be home. I’d rest. Everything would be fine. The headache would vanish. It was easy money and to any opinion-polling outfit nobody was worth that much money, three thousand miles away from headquarters. I tried to believe Clark had planned it this way. This is what he must have been working for, before he was killed.
Probably my voice was shaky when I told Megassum it was too much. I couldn’t spend more than an hour or so a day, at least at first, on any work. The doctors had been quite definite. I said suppose we tried it out for a couple of months before putting it on a fee basis?
Good-naturedly, Megassum said, “Old man, we’ve decided what you’re worth. All you do is sign.”
So I signed for the easy money and the beach and the mountains and all three of us shook hands and Megassum called in that red-haired secretary and told her to put the paper in the safe and she took it and never appeared to notice I was there. The safe clicked. It was like having the door to that small iron compartment shut in on a portion of me.
= 2 =
It was Bond who suggested we celebrate with a quick lunch before I began examining the statistics.
We had lunch together at the new Statler they’d built while I’d been away. I wanted to ask them more about the Michigan survey and the kind and number of questions the interviewers were expected to ask.
Instead, they asked me the questions. They wanted to know how it had been overseas. You know. The usual questions. It was all right. Megassum was friendly and good-natured. I had two glasses of milk and he said how long did
I stay on a baby diet and I replied not much longer. Near the end of the lunch, he mentioned he’d telephoned Senator Walder’s office this morning to say I was back with the firm. Walder would be in his office around four, this afternoon.
“We lost him as a client, Al. I thought you might like to see him before you leave tomorrow,” he suggested.
For a second or so the milk in the glass had a bitter taste. I put down the glass. I asked Megassum hadn’t he taken a risk telephoning Senator Walder before I was accepting the offer to act as consultant?
Megassum laughed. “You know me, Al. Jesus, I get things done.”
Sure, I knew him. He hadn’t changed so much after all.
Upon returning, Megassum apologized for the cubbyhole he was giving me to use as a temporary office. He explained my old office at the other end of the hall had been joined with a couple of others to form a single large room. It was used for training squads of interviewers, or rented as a lecture hall now and then.
I suppose I expected to see at least a few of the old-timers. All the office doors were closed. I heard the muffled click of typewriters behind the doors. I heard voices. Once more, I had that recurring sensation of being in the wrong place. To Megassum I said I thought I might take a few minutes out to say hello to Bill Montague and Jack Wright and any of the others around because I wouldn’t have much time tomorrow to—
Megassum said, “There’s a war on, old man. We’ve had to replace them with new people.” He nodded at Bond. “Barney, you take over with Al, will you?”
I said it would be helpful if I had a typewriter.
“I’ll ask Miss Nelson to arrange it. We want you to be pleased.” He continued on toward his office and halfway there, he paused. “Don’t forget to telephone Walder, Al? He’s important. We can do something for him.”
To me, Barney said wryly, “I’ll get the work sheets from our file room…”
I sat at the oak desk in the cubbyhole, and waited. Miss Nelson came in with the portable and when I started to get up she said she could manage, thank you. And she did. She even apologized for the portable. All the big machines were being used. I said a portable was fine.
She said, “You’ll like it here. Mr. Megassum is wonderful. He’s wonderful to everyone.” She passed the desk, her skirts fluttering.
I asked what was that for back in there, in his office?
She opened her eyes. They were nice eyes, too. She said, “Oh, you soldiers.”
I said I still didn’t see the connection.
She replied, “Just because a girl likes a good time now and then, doesn’t mean she wants to be rushed all at once, does it?”
I said no I guess not; and let it go at that, because even if she was a screw-ball, a redhead like that ought to have been in the movies. I didn’t blame Megassum. She opened the door; she stepped back, and Barney came on through, carrying the work sheets in front of him. She drew away from him, as if he were poison, going by fast, and not closing the door. With his foot, Barney kicked it shut. His face was pink.
Without saying anything, he placed all the work sheets on the desk. But the spring was again pushing inside him. That redhead must have been like a needle. A couple of times he swallowed. The cigarette nearly came unstuck. Finally he said, “I’m telling the truth. Only once did I ever ask her for a date. Girls…” His voice trailed off. “I’m not attractive to women.”
He was taking it worse than a kid receiving his first brush-off from the upper-grade dazzle-eyes in pigtails. To let it down easy I said probably with her opportunities, nobody could do much in that direction without a million dollars to back it up.
He straightened. Dead serious, this Barney Bond told me, “One of these days soon I’ll have a million dollars,” and next, he dismissed the whole thing entirely. It was like seeing two persons. He bent over the work sheets, placing them in order. He had one hundred, each sheet for an interviewer. On them were indicated the particular areas within the cities and nine counties the interviewers were to work in during the two weeks the survey was to run, and what type of families to interview. My job was to check the work sheets and decide if they adequately represented a sample of the industrial cities and the nine counties. As I riffled through the sheets, Barney drew up a chair. It was a larger task than I’d anticipated.
Barney said, “I’ve checked them myself and had our girls go over the totals twice on the adding machine. I imagine Mr. Megassum doesn’t expect you to spend too much time on them, Captain.”
I said I wished he wouldn’t call me “Captain.” For me, that was finished. I didn’t say it the hard way, or anything like that. I was beginning to appreciate Barney. He smiled back and said, “Of course.”
I asked to see the questions the interviewers were going to receive. He handed me a typewritten list, waiting silently for me to read through it. All ten questions on the list looked fine on the surface with the snatcher hidden. For example, the first one asked, “Are you favorable or unfavorable to unions, in politics?” with those last two words “in politics” supplying the heat.
A guy might be favorable to unions, for that matter might be in the A.F.L., and still sizzle around the collar at the idea of Sidney Hillman’s Political Action Committee of the C.I.O. It was a refined version of the old double-barrel, such as, “Do you think blondes, who go out nights, make the best wives?”, the blondes being one thing and very stimulating to the circulation as a rule, and going out of nights the horse of the other color. That puts the answer “no,” fast, and then from the “no’s” the statistical machines prove nine hundred and ninety-nine guys out of a thousand don’t like blonde wives—the thousandth guy who says “yes” being the dope, or the laddie who likes it that way, his wife finding it outside, whether she’s blonde or straight down the line, no matter what.
The other nine questions were just as cute, asking about Sidney Hillman; and, how about the service guy getting practically no dough and the war worker rolling in it—and that sort of thing. I told Barney the questions seemed loaded. They were fused against labor, time-bomb stuff.
He wasn’t disturbed. He took back the sheets and said mildly, “Oh, we’ll ask labor elements along with everyone else. When we release the answers to the newspapers we don’t wish to appear prejudiced even though our clients might be.”
I asked how long he’d been in the business and learned he’d taught mathematics at New York University until he came to Washington, D. C., in 1939 as a statistical analyst, being hired by Megassum after Clark died.
