Memories Of Another Day Part 38

'*How much do I have to pay her?"

'*It won't be much. She wanted to come out to California. She's had it with the cold and ice back East. She'll take two hundred a month. My sister was paying her three fifty."

'That's twenty-four hundred a year," he said. ''I figure food and other expenses at least sixteen hundred, two thousand. That doesn't leave me very much."

''What do you need money for?" she asked. "The union pays your expenses while you're on the road. And you're always on the road."

He took a sip of his whiskey. "You've got it all figured out, haven't you?"

"Not all of it," she said.

"What did you leave out?"

A touch of temper came into her voice. "If you're too stupid to know, I'm not about to tell you."

He was silent for a moment, searching her eyes. Theil, abruptly, he turned away from her, back to the window. His voice was tight with emotion. "I'm not ready to talk about that yet."

She walked to him and placed her hand gently on his arm. "I know that," she said softly. "But in time you will be."

Mrs. Torgersen was a take-charge lady. Just approaching fifty, she had been widowed twenty years before when her husband, a second mate in the merchant marine, had gone down with his s.h.i.+p, blown in half by a torpedo ft*om a German submarine. She spoke an almost perfect English, only the faintest trace of her original Swedish sounding in her voice, and there was almost nothing she couldn't do. Cook, sew, drive a car, clean house, laundry, garden. And she did it all with an efficiency that made everything seem almost effortless.

"You don't have to worry, Mr. Huggins," she said. 'Tm a good woman, a responsible woman. I don't fool around. I will take good care of your child. As if he was my own."

"I'm sure of that, Mrs. Torgersen," Daniel said. "I just want to make sure you have everything you need."

"I can't think of anything," she said. "The house i$ very comfortable. I feel very good here."

"Tomorrow morning, before we go to the hospital to pick up the baby, we'll stop at the bank. I want to open an account for you so that you don't have to wait for money each week," Daniel said. "I'll be moving around a lot, and there will be times I may not be able to send money as easily as I would like to."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Huggins," she said. "And when you do come home, I can sleep on the new couch here."

He smiled. "You don't have to do that. I think I can stand it for a few days."

She hesitated a moment before she spoke. "Is Miss Chris coming to the hospital with us?"

He looked at her in surprise. "I didn't think of it. She never said anything about it."

"You must excuse me, Mr. Huggins," she said, almost apologetically. "But I have known Miss Chris for almost ten years, since she was fifteen years old. She would never say anything. But I think she would like to come."

He nodded slowly. "Thank you, Mrs. Torgersen. I'll ask her at dinner tonight."

"No," she said. "I'm going back to Chicago in the morning."

He was surprised. "I thought-''

She interrupted. 'Tin sorry. Fve done all I can. I just can't take any more." She rose from the table in her bungalow and ran into the bedroom.

He followed her. She was standing in a comer of the room, her hands over her face. He put his arms around her shoulders and turned her to him. ''Did I say something wrong?''

Wordlessly she shook her head.

'Then what is it?"

"I just took a good look at myself. I have to be nuts to put myself through the things I have." She looked up into his face with moist eyes. "It was one thing to talk about our being together. But that was before I came here. It was almost in the abstract. But being here with you was not abstract. It was real. I saw your hurt-I saw your care. I love you. I know what you told me is true. That you need time. But I'm human. I hurt too much. I'll be better off home, away from you. Maybe it won't be as bad then."

Silently, he moved her close to him and held her tightly. "I didn't mean for it to be like this."

"It's not your fault. I did it all myself. You never said anything to make me think differently." Her voice was m.u.f.fled in his jacket.

The telephone began to ring. She looked up at him, then moved across the room and picked it up. "h.e.l.lo?" she said into it, then listened for a moment. "I'll tell him," she said, putting the telephone down.

"It was Mrs. Torgersen. She said Mr. Murray just called and wants you to call him right back. He said it was an emergency.''

"I can't stall any longer. There's too much pressure on me." Murray's voice was taut. "When will you be back?"

"I can leave Sunday," he said.

"Come to Chicago," Murray said. "I'll meet you there."

"Okay."

''Everything all right?" Murray asked. "What was it? A boy or a giri?"

Suddenly Daniel realized he hadn't let him know what had happened. ''A boy.''

''Congratulations," Murray said. "Give my best to your wife, and I'll see you in Chicago on Monday."

He put down the telephone and turned to Chris. "Maybe I'd better go home," he said heavily.

"No."

He looked at her.

She met his eyes. "I told you I was nuts. No way are you getting out of here without giving me a farewell f.u.c.k."

of the Boche in the war. I say to the misguided strikers, ''Listen not to false prophets who will betray you unto your enemies. Come back to your jobs and work. We are Americans, always ready to forgive and take our neighbors in as our brothers."

In contrast, Murray's statement was restrained, even temperate.

All we ask for the workingman is justice, the job security and the benefits already granted to his compatriots working for U.S. Steel and the other companies who have already recognized that their demands were simply fair and equitable. We have no mtentions to deliver anything into the hands of any foreign power or ideology, only to make life better for the American workingman whose labor makes our American way of life possible and a reality.

Daniel left the paper in the taxi as he got out in front of the union headquarters. Carrying his valise as he walked through the whole floor that served as the S.W.O.C.'s regional offices, he could not help thinking of the difference in organization between the present and the last attempt to unionize the steel industry in 1919. Then everything had seemed haphazard and improvised. Now all was planned. There were a complete information section, with over forty employees, who serviced the newspapers and wire services with up-to-date reports on the organizing activities; a statistical section, which kept abreast of all economic trends that might affect the union's position; a striker's help-fund section, which supplied aid, financial and otherwise, to the members. There was no doubt about it. It was very different. But was it?

Despite the application of the most modem business techniques and the solidest financiaLsupport any union organizing effort had ever had, something was miss- ing. Daniel could feel it but could not quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was just that the union itself, moving forward on the crest of the pro-union wave of the past few years, was overconfident and did not recognize the determination of the opposition. The sudden collapse of Big Steel last year, the success of the Textile Workers' drive in the South, the organization of the automobile workers at General Motors represented a trend which perhaps led to an illusion. In each of these victories it was the largest companies with which agreements had been reached, the companies whose share of their respective markets was so great that the net results could not affect them more than just a little. But the smaller companies, to which the differences had a major effect on their profit margin, had good reason to battle on. The Ford Motor Company was as far from agreement as it had ever been And so was Little Steel. And each of these companies' individual managements had translated this into a personal battle to retain what it felt was control of its own business and freedom. Neither Henry Ford nor Tom Girdler was about to bend his knee to the serfs. On the contrary, they felt that those who worked for them should be grateful to them for the opportunity to serve in their vineyards, especially after all they had given to them.

The executive offices were at the back of the floor, away from the elevators. Each with windows looking out on the city, respectably if not expensively furnished, rugs on the floor, in contrast with the ma.s.s grouping of most employees in large open rooms with as many as thirty or forty desks crammed into s.p.a.ce big enough for half as many. Now the union leaders were as effectively isolated from the rank and file of their organization as any executive of the companies with which they did battle. Suddenly Daniel knew what it was. A new hierarchy was in the process of developing. Sooner or later, the man inside that office.

behind the closed door, had to lose touch with the people outside, those whom he represented. No longer was there an emotional relations.h.i.+p. Now it was a calculated representation of an ideal that itself had turned into another form of big business.

Now Daniel could understand the pressure on Phil Murray to perform. Their organization was much like any division of General Motors. They had goals to reach, and if for some reason, whatever that might be, they were not achieved, new managers would be found who could reach those goals. The battle had to be joined, even if the outcome was in doubt. Murray had to prove that he was not afraid, nor was he s.h.i.+rking his task. And all the while, he was aware that Lewis was sitting back there in Was.h.i.+ngton, careful to maintain his position as the man who had settled Big Steel without a strike, and because of that carefully avoided taking a position within the union councils either pro or con regarding a strike effort. He was quite willing to leave it to Murray. If he failed, he would hang himself; if he won, Lewis could come in and share the glory because he had shown the way and had confidence that Murray could do it.

Daniel stopped in front of the door that had MR. MURRAY painted on it in gold letters and turned to the secretary seated at the desk just outside. She was a new girl, one he had never seen before. '*Is Mr. Murray in?"

She looked up from her typewriter. '*May I ask who wishes to see him?"

''Daniel Huggins."

She picked up the telephone. ''Mr. Huggins is here to see you, Mr. Murray." A moment later she put it down, a new respect coming into her voice. "You may go right in, sir."

Daniel thought Murray looked drawn and tired as he rose from behind his desk and came toward him. He shook Daniel's hand warmly. "I'm glad you're back."

**I am too/' Daniel said. And meant it.

*'Grab a chair," Murray said, going back to his own seat. "How's the baby?"

"Fine."

"Your wife must be very proud. Apologize to her for me for having to pull you back so fast."

Daniel met his eyes. "My wife is dead."

A stunned look came into Murray's eyes. "You never said anything."

"There was nothing to say. It happened, and it's over."

Murray was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, Daniel. If I had known, I wouldn't have pressed you."

"It's okay," Daniel said. "I did the things I had to do and now I'm back to work."

"Is your child in good hands?"

"I've got a fine woman to take care of him and the house. It's going to be all right."

Murray took a deep breath. "If there's anything I can do to help, you let me know."

"Thank you." Daniel waited. The amenities had been disposed of quickly, but from the moment he had come into the office he had felt there was something wrong. It was nothing he could put his finger on, just the feeling that Murray did not seem completely comfortable with him.

Murray shuffled some papers on his desk, finally coming up with the one he sought. Holding it in his hand, he glanced at it for a moment, then spoke. "I've got a new job for you. I'm bringing you into the office here as coordinator of the subregional offices in the Midwest. It will be up to you to see that none of them go off half-c.o.c.ked on their own."

"I don't know if Fm an office man," Daniel said. "I'm used to being out in the field. Why can't I just stay on my old job?"

"You're becoming too important to be running around in the field with the organizers. We need some- one in here to keep an eye on the overall picture for us."

*'WhodoIreportto?"

''David McDonald in Pittsburgh. He's taking over day-to-day operations. Fm moving back to Was.h.i.+ngton, where I can keep pressure on the government."

Daniel nodded. McDonald was a good man, a veteran of many years in the steel industry. There had been talk that he was Murray's heir apparent, just as the talk had been that Murray was Lewis' heu-apparent. Now, at least, the first part of the rumor had been confirmed. But Daniel could find no fault with it. McDonald was the logical candidate.

''Do I have any specific authority in the new job?"

"I thought you would get together with Dave and work that out between you," Murray answered.

Daniel took a cigar from his inside coat pocket. He bit off the end and lit it slowly, his eyes fixed on Murray all the while. Finally, when the cigar was going, he leaned back in the chair. "Okay, Phil," he said quietly. "We've known each other a long time. You can tell me the truth. Why am I being kicked upstairs?"

Murray flushed. "It's not exactly that."

"It's not exactly anything else either," Daniel said.

Murray shook his head slowly. "You won't let me off the hook, will you?"

Daniel was silent.

"Too many people have heard you say you were against the strike. Too many people know of your affair with the Girdler girl. They just don't trust you."

"Do yow trust me?"

"That's a stupid question," Murray flared. "If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't give you another job.'*

"Maybe I'd better quit anyway," Daniel said. "I don't like running up blind alleys."

Murray's voice was forceful. "You're not quitting. I don't want it, David doesn't and Lewis doesn't. You're the only man we know who has worked in all the subregional offices, the only one we can depend on to give us a clear picture of what's happening there. Besides, it won't be for long. When this strike is settled, weVe got something in mind for you."

''It's not going to be settled for a long time," Daniel said. ''I can't seem to make any of you understand just how tough Girdler is. He's managed to forge an unholy alliance with the other independents, and they're going all the way with him."

Murray was thoughtful. "An unholy alliance. I can use that phrase in the press conference I'm holding in Was.h.i.+ngton next week."

"Be my guest," Daniel said.

"Memorial Day is about three weeks off. We're planning ma.s.s demonstrations all over the region. I think that unholy alliance you talk about might have second thoughts when they see the ma.s.s of workers behind us."

"I don't think they'll give a d.a.m.n," Daniel said. "They're out to break this strike no matter what it costs."

"Daniel, stop fighting me." Murray's voice was suddenly weary. "I have enough people on my back now. Don't make it impossible for me to keep you. Just help me."

It was the first time Murray had ever come out and spoken so bluntly to him. It was only friends who talked to each other that honestly. Murray had been there when he needed help. For almost twenty years Murray had been there. Now it was his turn. "Okay," he said. "What's the first thing you want me to do?"

"Woric on the Memorial Day demonstrations. See that they go off without any trouble."

"I'll do my best," Daniel said. He got to his feet. "If I'm going to stay in Chicago, I'd better go out and find myself a place to live."

Murray looked up at him. "Thanks, Daniel."

"You don't have to thank me, Phil," Daniel said. "I owe you."

Murray smiled wearily. "We can argue about who owes whom someday. Right now the important thing is to get the job done. And incidentally, I forgot to mention that the executive board approved a salary of eighty-five hundred dollars a year to go with your new job."

Daniel laughed. *'You should have mentioned that first. Maybe I wouldn't have given you such a hard time."