“No, he didn’t,” came a booming voice in the foyer, and then a huge, wide-shouldered man pushed through the assembly and walked to the table. He was dressed in an old-style wide-lapel navy-blue suit and wore a white shirt cinched at the neck by a black string tie. His wing-tip shoes were as big as boats, and he had a nose that looked like the hooked beak of an eagle. “Homer Hickam didn’t do anything but what I told him to do,” he said. He smiled at Dad. “He knows how to give orders because he learned how to take them.
From me.
”
Dad rose slowly from his chair. I had never seen him look so deferential in all my life. In fact, he looked positively worshipful. I kept looking at the big man until finally it registered in my brain exactly who he was. Although he was a good bit older than when I’d last seen him, I knew him perfectly well.
Everybody did. His mark was everywhere you looked.
A big grin spread across his vast face. “Let’s talk turkey,” he boomed.
Captain Laird had come back to Coalwood.
39
TALKING TURKEY
“C
LEAR THE
room,” the Captain said. When most people hesitated, he put his head back and bellowed toward the ceiling—
“Now!”
Such was the rush to obey him that a few chairs were knocked over by people scrambling out of the parlor. “Not you, Homer,” the Captain said. “Sit yourself down.”
My father sat and the Captain kept barking orders. “Mrs. Dooley, how do, ma’am, stay with us, won’t you? Martin Bundini, stay. You two inspector gentlemen, I beg you to leave. This is company business. We’ll be talking to you later. Elsie, come on in. You’ll sit by Homer, of course. John Dubonnet? How do, John. You can stay—this involves the union, too. Tag, shut those windows and guard the door. Thankee. Floretta, how do, dear. You can stay.”
The Captain’s eyes landed on me and they sparkled. “Almost didn’t recognize this young man. Sonny, I hear you’ve turned into a combination coal miner and rocket scientist. That’s a mighty strange mix. Catherine figured you for a writer, as I recall.”
Catherine Laird was my third-grade teacher, and the Captain’s wife.
“Mrs. Laird used to mimeograph my stories and send them around the school, sir,” I said, confirming that I was that boy, indeed.
“Hell, boy, she used to bring ’em home and make me read ’em, too!” He laughed his booming laugh. “I thought they were pretty good, but I always thought you wrote down more than you needed. A reader don’t need a lot of descriptions, how somebody parts their hair, what color the flowers were on the other side of the creek, all that. Just give the reader a hint and he can figure out the rest. You know what I’m saying?”
“Just a hint. Yes, sir. I’ll try to remember that.”
“So what are you going to be? Rocket scientist, or author?”
Mom sat down beside Dad. “He’s going to be both, Captain,” she declared.
The Captain considered her answer and raised an eyebrow in my direction. “Well, that’s fine. But remember, son, a cauliflower ain’t nothing but a cabbage with a college education.”
“Yes, sir. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble remembering that.”
Tag opened the parlor doors, and I was astonished to see Rita come inside on the arm of an older gentleman. She was wearing a powder-blue suit, pillbox hat, and high-heeled shoes. I’d never seen her look so elegant—or so old. She even wore a strand of pearls around her neck. She might have passed for the First Lady herself, and I halfway expected John F. Kennedy to come in next, his head down, his hands behind his back, deep in thought about tax cuts or the Russians or the moon.
Rita led her gentleman over to me. He had a walrus mustache and twinkling blue eyes, and even though I didn’t want to do it—since I figured he was her date—I liked him at first sight. “Father,” she said, “I’d like you to meet Sonny Hickam. He’s my friend.”
I glanced at her, then looked at her father’s outstretched paw and took it. He nearly wrung my hand off. “I’ve heard a lot about you, young man.”
I took back what remained of my hand and gave Mr. Walicki a smile and a nod, signifying nothing.
Her father moved on, shaking hands around the room. Rita held back with me. “How do you like the way I look?” she asked.
“You look beautiful. You always look beautiful.”
She gave me a smile, but it didn’t last. “Father always likes to see me in a dress. I can play the good daughter when I have to.”
I was so happy to see her, and have her talking to me, I couldn’t help but gush. “Rita, you would look good in a flour sack.”
“I prefer my khakis. Listen, Sonny, I hope you know this isn’t my idea.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your mother came up with it,” she continued as if I hadn’t opened my mouth.
“Came up with what?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“Rita, I haven’t talked to my mom for a couple of weeks. I don’t have a clue.”
“You’ll see,” she said.
I started to demand an answer but before I could, Rita tottered along in her high heels to sit beside her father. When I looked, I saw Mom watching me from her chair beside Dad. Her face told a half-dozen stories at least, but one of them was
I’m in charge of this. Sit down, shut up, and listen.
I nodded to let her know I’d received her message and pulled up a chair near the door where I could watch everybody go through their paces, whatever they were about to be.
The Captain was still choreographing. “Amos? Sit yourself down over there. Yes, by yourself. You represent the steel company. What part of Ohio are you from, anyway?”
Mr. Fuller found himself a chair over by the fireplace. “I’m not from any part of it,” he said. “I’m from
California.”
“Do tell. Northern or southern?”
“In the middle.”
“Desert country?”
“Yep. Dry as the oil wells my daddy drilled there.”
The Captain eyed Jake. “Mr. Mosby, I don’t know you but I like the cut of your jib. You get up here and ask the questions. I’m too old to do all the talking. I’m going to sit down and hold Elsie’s hand. She’s the one who stirred me out of my cage, after all.”
The Captain did as he’d threatened, sitting down in the chair beside Mom and taking her hand. “You are the prettiest girl to ever come out of Gary, West Virginia,” he said to Mom. “Homer’s a lucky man.”
“You might want to remind him of that,” she said.
Dad frowned, then resumed his respectful expression.
“Come on, Jake,” the Captain said, raring back in his chair. “We don’t have all night. Let’s get this turkey talked and get on to more important things.”
Jake was looking bewildered. “Well, Captain, what brings you here?” he asked.
“Coalwood business. Sometimes I just have to get in the middle of it.”
“That’s because you caused most of it, Captain, one way or another,” Tag said from his guard post at the doors.
The Captain laughed. “You’re right, Constable. Me and the Carters—Walter, the father, and James, the son—we thought up this town, put together its proposition, and made it the place it used to be and the place it is. But what’s it going to be in the future? That’s the question now. Elsie here”—he patted Mom’s hand—“called to say it was time I got involved. Thankee, Elsie. You were right to do it. I’ve been moldering up in Elkins for too long.”
“You were the only one who could get things settled and sorted, Captain,” Mom said.
The Captain stroked Mom’s hand. “And you were right, Elsie.” He studied her. “But for more reasons than you know.”
Dad grimaced, but held his peace.
“You don’t have a part in this anymore, Captain,” Mr. Fuller growled from his isolation chair. “You’re retired.”
The Captain smiled benignly. “Amos, you’re a man who loves trouble and I respect that. A company needs a man like you who doesn’t care how much pain he causes another man as long as he gets his job done. That’s why they picked you to come down here and get rid of Homer. Bless me, I’m sorry, Jake. You’re in charge here. Go ahead and ask Amos why you boys have been working so hard all summer to get Homer out of Coalwood.”
Jake scratched his head. “Captain, Amos and I just came to make an investigation, not get Homer out of Coalwood.”
“Maybe that’s why you came, son,” the Captain replied, “but Amos here knows better. He came with explicit instructions to make certain Homer Hickam was cut off as mine superintendent.”
“I have nothing to say,” Mr. Fuller responded, and leaned back and crossed his arms.
The Captain shrugged. “All right. Let’s do it this way. Jake, ask me what happened when James Carter and I went up to visit Harry Truman back in 1947.”
“All right, sir, consider it asked.”
The Captain’s eyes narrowed, and he let go of Mom’s hand. He leaned forward. “It was after old Harry sent in the navy to force James—Jimmy was what I always called him—to unionize,” the Captain said. “Jimmy said he needed to see Truman about it so off we went. The president himself opened the door to let us in the Oval Office. Then he served us tea. For a pinko sumbitch, he could be pretty near charming when he put his mind to it. We bantered about this and that for a while, and then Jimmy got down to cases. He said—‘Mr. President, I guess you win. I’m going to give up, but before I do, I just wanted to tell you to your face that you’re a rat bastard.’ ” The Captain looked around, and then broke into a devilish grin.
“I suppose that made the president pretty mad,” Jake said.
The Captain slapped his knee. “Not a bit of it! President Truman thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. ‘Carter, you’re right much of a rat bastard, too,’ he said back. ‘But I like you. You and me, we can do some business.’ ”
The Captain looked at Mom. “Elsie, you remember when Homer asked you to marry him and you said you’d do it if he had a plug of Brown Mule in his pocket?”
Mom nodded. “That’s what you told me to say.”
“I did, didn’t I? Homer, you remember much about that week when you asked your bride here to marry you?”
Dad gave it some thought. “I remember you gave me a fresh plug of Brown Mule every time you saw me. I must’ve collected a dozen chaws. I had one in every pocket.”
Captain Laird threw his head back and laughed. His eyes found mine. “My most successful campaign!” After he trailed off to a chuckle, he waved at Jake. “Keep going, son. You’re doing good.”
Jake walked around the table and sat on its edge. “So what kind of business did Mr. Carter and President Truman do?” he asked.
The Captain leaned forward. “Well, Jimmy said, ‘Mr. President, my daddy built Coalwood from the ground up. Then my friend Captain Laird here and I came back from the war—the same war you fought in—and we made it into the nicest little town you ever seen. If I have to give Coalwood up just so you can show the country how much you love labor unions, I want a quid pro quo.’ And President Truman said, ‘If I can do it, I’ll do it.’ And Jimmy said, ‘I want you to get hold of John L. Lewis and make him do something that’ll be good for everybody across this great land, including you.’ ”
The Captain sat back, his huge hands grasping his bony knees.
“And what was that?” Jake asked.
The Captain squinted, as if it might help him see the memory better. “Jimmy said, ‘Tell John L. Lewis he has to agree to let in full automation, not just in Coalwood but the whole of West Virginia. It’s time to get away from the pick-and-shovel work. The union’s all that’s been holding our mining operations back from being the most productive in the world.’ ”
The Captain paused, maybe to let us all absorb what he’d just said. Then he started up again.
“Well, Mr. Truman chewed on Jimmy’s quid pro quo a bit and then said, ‘How can I ask for something like that? Coalwood—that’s just a little, insignificant place. The UMWA would never go for it.’ But Jimmy said, ‘Oh, yes, it will, because John L. Lewis has always wanted Coalwood. It’s his crown jewel. He’s fought for thirty years to get it. He’ll do what it takes to get it, even this.’ ”
Captain Laird looked over his shoulder at Mr. Dubonnet. “What do you think of that, John?”
Mr. Dubonnet allowed himself a hint of a smile. “I think Mr. Carter was correct.”
Dad turned around, eyed Mr. Dubonnet. His face told me how astonished he was. I felt pretty astonished myself. I remembered all the arguments between Dad and Mr. Dubonnet over the years about automation. Mr. Dubonnet was always going on about how it would end up cutting men off, and how dangerous it was. But somehow, Dad had always won those debates and the contracts were signed, letting in the continuous mining machines, and even the long wall plows.
“As soon as we got back to Coalwood,” the Captain continued, “somebody from the Truman administration had already left a message that it was a done deal. A week later, Jimmy sold out to you boys in Ohio.” He nodded to Mr. Fuller and then to Rita’s dad. “Then John L. Lewis rolled in here like he was Napoleon at Austerlitz, and within a few years, we all got automated. I never liked that pug-nosed bastard, but by God, if he gave you his word on something, he’d stick to it or die trying. That’s why West Virginia mines are the most automated in the world today.”
Jake got up from the table and walked over to the window. Maybe walking helped him think. In that case, I was ready to run a mile because I was thoroughly confused.
It turned out Jake was, too. “What does that have to do with why we’re here today?”
“I think I know,” Mr. Bundini said. “Steel’s down all over the country, and our steel company owners need money. Selling us is a good way to get it. But they’re having trouble with the sale.”
“Very good, Marty. How about it, Amos? What’s the problem with the sale?”
“We’re working on it,” Mr. Fuller said, grim as cold ashes.
The Captain’s eyebrows went up. “Yes, indeed, you are. You have been since the day Tuck got killed. The Ohio boys saw their opening then, didn’t they? Which brings us to why you came to Coalwood. Your buyer doesn’t want everything you have to sell, and that, most of all, is Homer Hickam. Am I right? You need to get rid of him first, correct?”
Mr. Fuller tossed his hand, a resigned wave. “Those are your words, Captain. Not mine.”
The Captain leaned over and looked at Dad. “Homer, the first day I laid eyes on you, I knew you’d take my place someday. Even though you didn’t have a degree, you were the smartest man who ever worked underground.”
Dad started to say something, but the Captain shook his head. “Let me go ahead and get this out. Martin here needs to hear it, too.”
The Captain looked at Mr. Bundini. “Martin, when the steel mill boys came down here in 1947 to sign the sales paper with Jimmy, it turned out they not only wanted to buy the mine, they wanted to buy me, too. If I wasn’t around to be mine superintendent, they said there’d be no sale. I guess I had a pretty good reputation as a mining engineer. But the truth was I was planning on quitting, going with Jimmy up to New York City and living a life of ease. But I thought about it and said I’d stay on here in Coalwood for at least five more years if they gave me the right to name my successor.”
My mother caught my eye. Silently, she said,
Keep listening. We’re all learning something tonight.