Later, sitting in a hotel suite in downtown Washington, Hinman pulled the knot of his tie downward and undid the top button of his shirt. He reached for a sandwich and a cup of coffee.
“My God, Ben,” he said, “I can’t take this every day!”
“I don’t know why not,” Butler said. “You did pretty well.”
“Those questions are stupid, Ben! Do I shake my fist at the enemy and curse him! Did I see dead Japs in the water! What the hell do they think a submarine captain does in battle?”
“That’s the point, Captain. They don’t know what a submarine captain does at any time! I know some questions are stupid. Some reporters are stupid. But sometimes the stupid questions aren’t stupid at all, they’re designed to make you angry, to get you to say something you don’t want to say!
“I think you handled it very well. A little rough around the edges here and there but Joan will smooth those out for you. She ought to be here in a few minutes. We’ll go out to dinner after we’re through here; she was in the back of the room at the press conference, you know, so she could watch you at work. Before I forget it, you remember that guy who asked you if you thought we were in the war wrongly?”
Hinman nodded.
“You fielded that very well. I liked the reference to Joe Louis. Good copy for the reporters. The guy who asked you that question, incidentally, works for a publisher who thinks that Adolf Hitler’s anti-Semitic stand is the best thing that could happen to the world! He’d a lot rather see us on Hitler’s side than fighting the Germans. You’re going to get more of this as you go around; not everyone likes this war, as I’ve told you.”
“I don’t like the war,” Hinman said. “I don’t know how anyone could like a war if they’ve been in it. But the whole Congress of the United States voted to go into this war after the attack on Pearl Harbor!”
“You’re wrong,” Butler said. “The vote for a declaration of war against Japan was not unanimous in the Congress. One very honest, decent lady from Minnesota, Representative Jeanette Rankin, voted no on the declaration of war.
“And don’t forget this: The America First Committee did its best to defeat FDR in the election two years ago, in Nineteen-Forty. They believed that FDR was dragging the United States into the war in Europe by helping England. They almost did beat him, Wilkie got a bigger popular vote than FDR did, which of course meant nothing but it scared FDR. Hell, Charles Lindbergh was one of the most effective speakers against the war for the America Firsters!
“There’s quite a lot of sentiment against the war and you’ll run into it on this tour. Give reasonable answers to unreasonable questions. Never lose your temper. And remember this little slogan my favorite uncle used to use all the time. ‘Never get into a pissin’ contest with a skunk.’ ”
Hinman shook his head. “You ought to give seminars at Pearl, Ben. Tell some of our officers what people think about the war. I didn’t know some of those things you’ve told me. Maybe it would help some Academy officers understand our draftees and Reservists. God knows we don’t understand them now.”
“You can’t cram too much education down a naval officer’s throat,” Butler said cheerfully. “I told Captain Severn once, at a staff meeting, that in thirteenth-century India, according to Marco Polo’s diaries, a sailor was not allowed to testify in any legal matter or even to be a guarantor of anything because at that time it was believed that a man who went to sea was a man in despair!”
“I’ll bet Captain Severn loved that!” Hinman said.
“He asked me what Fleet this Marco whoever-he-was had commanded and what did that have to do with winning the war against Japan? I had to admit, not much. Hasn’t got anything to do with our situation either except I thought it would amuse you. Just don’t forget you’re going to run into some bastards but Joan Richards will be able to brief you on most of them. I think that’s her timid knock on the door,” he got out of his chair as the room door rattled under a second firm knock.
Hinman got to his feet, buttoning his shirt collar and cinching up his tie as Lieut. (jg) Joan Richards, WAVES, entered the room. He looked away politely as Joan kissed Ben Butler solidly and affectionately.
“Ben, you old bastard! You outrank me!” She turned to Captain Hinman. “Editors of newspapers always pull rank on people who work in public relations and he’s done that to me for years and now he’s got two-and-a-half stripes to my one-and-a-half and he’s done it again! You’re Capt. Arthur Hinman and I’m glad to meet you.”
Hinman looked at Joan Richards. The WAVES uniform, designed in haste for the women who volunteered for service in the Navy, tried but didn’t hide the fact that Joan Richards was a woman. His eyes went from her small feet, encased in black uniform shoes, up past her slim legs and her flaring hips that nipped in to a small waist and then the deep bosom and above it a pert face with deep blue eyes and blue-black, curly hair. The woman vibrates, he thought to himself, she makes the whole room vibrate!
“Sit down, sit down,” Butler said. “Have a cup of coffee. There’s a couple of sandwiches left; we didn’t get a lunch. We’ll go out for dinner later. How the hell are you, Joan?”
“Full of fascinating information,” she said. She sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee. “The Navy is a funny place, Ben. They put us in a barracks that had been built for men. It had urinals in the toilets, those waist-high things? So one of the girls filled the urinals with dirt and planted some flowers in them. When the Captain came around on his first inspection he almost had a heart attack! He didn’t know what to say so he just stomped out so mad he could spit!” She grinned, her dark blue eyes dancing in merriment.
“And I’m absolutely up to the minute on venereal disease! They gave us lectures with motion pictures. Very graphic. Showed close-up pictures of how a man can tell if he’s got the clap. You should have heard some of the girls moan! I think they would have liked to date the man who was the model even if he did have the dirty old VD! Look at Captain Hinman! He’s blushing!”
“I am not!” he spluttered. “It’s hot in here!”
“Indeed it is,” she said, and took off her uniform jacket. The white fabric of her severely cut shirtwaist strained and threatened to burst as she turned and flung the jacket on the couch and Hinman felt a tightening in his groin.
“Don’t mind me, Captain,” she said. “I’ve been talking to editors like Ben here for so long I’ve forgotten how to talk like a lady, not that I ever was one. Is there any more coffee?”
“A ship’s captain, Joan,” Butler said, filling her cup, “usually reads the service record of a new person who comes aboard his ship to acquaint himself with the person’s abilities, marital status, age, things like that. Captain Hinman is now your boss so why don’t you fill him in on your background?”
“Fine,” she said. She pulled a package of cigarets out of her black Navy purse and lit one.
“Joan Esther Richards. Age, thirty-four years. Height, five-feet-two inches. Weight, one hundred twenty-five pounds. Condition of health, perfect. Father was Irish, mother Spanish. Temperament, said by some to be explosive. I think I’m rather sweet, myself.
“Marital status, divorced. No children. Married when I was twenty-one to a boy of twenty-three who was still a boy of twenty-three two years later. He showed no signs of growing into a man. I had become a woman, an adult. So I divorced him. No romantic interests at this time.
“Professional background: I went into advertising at the age of twenty-one as a secretary. Worked my way up to assistant copy writer, to copy writer, to assistant account executive, the first woman in my agency to hold that position and finally to head of public relations for the agency. Joined the Navy because most of the men in my agency were asking for special deferments to keep from being drafted. So far I’m not sorry. What else, Ben?”