The young man started to push his papers back in his satchel. “Yes, ma’am, that’s true.”
“You’re too young to remember but I remember the day he died, in thirty-one. Everybody put their lights out for one minute. But then after that they forgot all about him. But I don’t forget him. Do you know what I do each year on Tom’s birthday?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I turn on everything I own, all my lights, my washing machine, my fans, my radio, my TV, and I let them play all day. And I say, Happy Birthday, Tom. Now, that is how highly I think of Mr. Thomas Edison.”
“Well, thank you for your time, ma’am.” He stood up, ready to leave.
“Let me ask you this . . . do they have a picture of Thomas Edison on the wall down at the Missouri Power and Light Company?”
“Not that I remember, ma’am.”
“See what I mean? Here none of them would even have a job if it hadn’t been for old Tom Edison and they don’t even put his picture up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He started inching toward the door.
“Am I all done? Is it over?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh . . . well, how’d I do?”
“You did just fine.”
“Above average?”
“I’d say above average.”
She got up. “Wait a minute, let me give you some figs and plums before you go.” She walked over and grabbed a wrinkled brown paper bag from a drawer and started to fill it with fresh fruit. “Now, I used this sack once, but it’s clean, so don’t you worry about germs and you don’t need to wash these. I don’t put any poison on them. I figure whatever bugs get to them first, they are welcome to them. Besides, they always leave me plenty . . . so much I can’t even find enough people to give them away to and I hate to have them go bad, don’t you? So I’m gonna put some extra ones in for your mother, O.K.?”
Dazed, he took the sack and headed for the door. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Well, that’s just fine . . . and I wish you all the best of luck with your project. But tell them they ought to put Tom Edison’s picture on the wall.”
“Yes, ma’am, I certainly will.” He was halfway down the back stairs when she came to the door. “Hey, I just thought of something I forgot . . . put down my electric blanket. Add that to my list, will you? And hey, you need to go over to Norma’s house and give her the test. She has all kinds of appliances. She’s two blocks over at 212 Second Avenue.” Then she added, “But don’t tell her I sent you. She’s still mad about that insurance woman.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but he was not going to interview anybody related to her. They all might be crazy.
Chris-Crossed
EXCEPT FOR wearing shoes and the flower boutonnieres, all the prison trustees were certainly glad to be living in the governor’s mansion instead of jail and Cecil Figgs was as happy as a lark planning all the social events. But nobody on the governor’s staff was having a better time than his old friend Rodney Tillman. Being in charge of the governor’s public relations was quite a jump from used-car salesman, and he took full advantage of it. One afternoon Rodney came strolling into Hamm’s office looking like the cat who ate the canary, sat down, and casually said, “Hey, Hambo, how would you like to have a boat?”
Hamm looked up from his papers. “A boat? What kind of a boat?”
“A big boat.” He reached into his shirt pocket and threw a photograph of a brand-new thirty-five-foot Chris-Craft cabin cruiser on Hamm’s desk. Hamm picked it up and looked at it and smiled.
“You know I’ve always wanted a boat. Why?”
Rodney leaned in and said, “Because, ol’ buddy, I know a fellow that’s just dying to give you one just like that.”
“Give me one . . . what for?”
“He figured with all the stress you’re under that you need a place where you can go and relax, get away from it all. This boat he’s just dying to give you sleeps eight and can slip on down to Florida or the Bahamas for that matter, anytime you want to take a little trip.”
“Who is this guy?”
“Just one of your big supporters . . . who wants to do something nice for you.”
“What’s the matter with you, Rodney? As long as I’m governor, you know I can’t take any gifts from anybody.”
“Well, hell, Hambo, I know that . . . but there’s a lot of ways to skin a cat. Now, suppose he was to lock this boat up in a boathouse somewhere for you to borrow and take out for a ride anytime you wanted . . . that would be all right, wouldn’t it?”
Hamm looked at him suspiciously. “Come on, Rodney, this sounds fishy.”
“Now wait, hear me out on this. . . . Suppose he was to give me the key to this boathouse to keep it for you, until such time when you are no longer governor and can accept a gift from a friend.” Rodney leaned back in the chair and crossed his hands behind his head. “In the meantime, why, you don’t even know the name of the man who owns it. As far as you’re concerned, I just borrowed it from a friend of a friend.”
Hamm kept gazing at the picture of the boat. He had absolutely no intention of accepting it, but it was a beautiful boat, and for someone who had never made more than sixty-five dollars a week and could never hope to afford anything like this, it was tempting. He pushed the picture back across the desk. “Tell him thanks but I better not.”
Rodney shrugged and said, “All right, I was just thinking how much fun it might be for your boys down the line. You do what you want to . . . but if it were me, I wouldn’t be so quick to look a gift horse in the mouth like that. What’s the point of being governor if you can’t have fun?”
He walked out and left the picture lying on Hamm’s desk. For a week Hamm kept taking that picture out of his desk drawer and looking at it. The second week he called Wendell Hewitt, the attorney general, into his office and said, “Listen, as governor would it be illegal for me to borrow a boat from somebody?”
Wendell said, “No, why?”
“I just wondered.” On the fourth week Hamm decided it would not hurt to go down and just take a look at it. The friend of a friend had so hoped he would accept the gift, he had even gone so far as to have a name painted on the side for him. The moment Hamm saw The Betty Raye he was in love.
When Wendell, who had driven down with them that day, saw the name written on the side of the boat, he said, being no fool, “Don’t tell me a thing, boys. I don’t want to know. I’m just here for a boat ride.”
Hamm did not know it but the friend of a friend was a Mr. Anthony Leo from St. Louis, and when the governor commuted his brother’s scheduled execution to a life sentence he was grateful. All Hamm knew was that Rodney had come into the office that day and seemed very nervous until he had finished signing all his pardons. Wendell, who advised Hamm, agreed with Hamm’s decision; after all, the man had not killed an innocent person; he had just shot some other mob hood.
Hamm said, “He probably did the state a favor.”
They both had done Rodney a favor and did not know it; Rodney had a rather large gambling debt that had just been crossed off the books. But Hamm was no fool either. He never intended to accept a gift from anyone, never told anyone about The Betty Raye except a few people he could trust. But he did use it every chance he got.