Overload (67 page)

hastening the process, escorted the two trucks in, then the cars and taxis.

"Can you beat that for irresponsibility?" The speaker was another

convention delegate, standing beside Nim and identifiable by his NEI lapel

badge. "That dumb bunch would like to cut off the hotel's fire protection

and milk. In God's name, why?"

Nim nodded. "Doesn't make a lot of sense."

Perhaps it didn't to the demonstrators either for they were now dispersing.

Nim returned inside the hotel and took an elevator to the mezzanine floor,

the convention's headquarters.

Like any convention-tbat unique tribal ritual-the NEI gathering

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brought together several hundred businessmen, engineers and scientists,

their purpose to chew over mutual problems, exchange news of developments,

and mingle socially. The theory was that each delegate, afterward, would do

his or her job better. It was hard to put a cash value on such occasions,

though one existed.

In an anteroom outside the main convention ball, delegates were assembling

for the informal coffee klatsch which preceded each day's business session.

Nim joined the earlier arrivals, meeting officials of other power

companies, some of whom he knew, and some he didn't.

A good deal of the talk was about oil. An overnight news report revealed

that the OPEC nations were standing firm in their demand that future

payments for oil be in gold, not paper currencies whose value-particularly

that of the dollar-diminished almost daily. Negotiations between the United

States and OPEC were stalled, with the prospect of a new oil embargo

becoming alarmingly real.

If it happened, the impact on public utilities producing electricity could

be disastrous.

After a few minutes of sharing in the discussion, Nim felt a pressure on

his arm. Turning, he saw 'Murston Jones, his friend from Denver. They shook

hands warmly.

Tburston asked, "What news of Tunipab?"

Nim grimaced. "Building the Pyramids went faster."

"And the Pharaohs didn't need permits. Right?"

"Rightl How's Ursula?"

"Great." T'hurston beamed. "We're having a baby."

"T'hat's wonderful. Congratulations! When will the big day be?" Nim was

using words to fill in time while marshaling his startled thoughts. He

remembered vividly the weekend at Denver and Ursula's arrival in his bed.

Ursula, who confided that she and her husband wanted children but couldn't

have them, a statement T'hurston confirmed. "We both had medical tests . .

. my pistol will cock and fire, but I feed it only blanks. And I'll never

have live bullets .

"The doctor says around the end of June."

Christi Nim didn't need a calculator to know it was his child. His emotions

were whirling, as if in a blender, and what the bell was be supposed to

say?

His friend supplied the answer by clapping an arm around Nim's shoulders

"There's just one thing Ursula and I would like. When the time comes, we

want you to be godfather."

Nim started to say yes, he would, then found he could not get the words

out. Instead he clasped Tburston's band again, tightly, and nodded his

agreement. The Jones kid, Nim vowed silently, would have-tbe best, most

conscientious godfather there ever was.

They arranged to meet again before the convention ended.

Nim moved on, talking with more power people: from New York's

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Con Edison-in Nim's view one of the best-run utilities in North America,

despite its enforced role as a New York City tax collector and the abuse

heaped on it by opportunistic politicians-Florida Power & Light, Chicago's

Commonwealth Edison, Houston Lighting & Power, Southern California Edison,

Arizona Public Service, others.

There was also a contingent of a dozen delegates from Golden State Power

& Light, actively mingling with out-of-towners since theirs was the host

company. Among the GSP & L group was Ray Paulsen; he and Nim greeted each

other with their usual lack of cordiality. J. Eric Humphrey had not yet

appeared at the convention but would do so later.

As he concluded a conversation, Nim observed a familiar face, moving

nearer through the growing, increasingly noisy throng of delegates. It

was the California Examiner reporter, Nancy Molineaux. To his surprise,

she came directly to him.

"Hil" Her manner was friendly and she was smiling, but Nim's memories

were too close and sour for him to respond in kind. He had to admit

though, the woman was damned attractive; those high cheekbones and the

haughty manner were a part of it. She knew how to dress well;

expensively, too, by the look of her clothes.

He answered coolly, "Good morning."

"Just picked up your speech in the pressroom," Ms. Molineaux said; she

had a news release and a full-text copy in her hand. "Pretty dull stuff.

You planning to say anything extra that isn't printed here?"

"Even if I am, I'll be damned if I'd help you by telling you in advance."

The reply seemed to please her and she laughed.

"Dad," a voice broke in, "we're going up to that place now."

It was Benjy, who had dodged through delegates on his way to a small

convention hall gallery where a few visitors could be seated. Over by a

stairway Nim could see Ruth and Leah. Both waved and he waved back.

"Okay," he told Benjy, "you'd better go get your seats."

Nancy Molineaux had listened with apparent amusement. She asked, "You

brought your family to the convention?"

"Yes," he answered curtly, then added, "My wife and our children are

staying with me in the hotel. In case you consider making something of

it, I'll tell you that I'm paying their expenses personally."

"My, my," she teased, "what a terrible reputation I have."

"I'm wary of you," Nim told her, "the way I would be of a cobra."

That Goldman, Nancy thought as she moved away; he was strictly a

no-horseshit man.

Coming here today was an assignment she had neither expected nor

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wanted. But the city editor, spotting Goldman's name on the program, had

sent Nancy, hoping she would find some vulnerability, and thus continue

what he saw as a newsworthy vendetta. Well, old I'm-thecoach was wrong.

She would report Goldman's speech straight, even give it a buildup if the

material were worth it. (The printed version wasn't, which was why she had

asked her question.) Apart from that, Nancy wanted to get the hell out of

here as quickly as she could. Today was the day she had arranged to meet

the girl, Yvette, in the bar where they bad talked briefly a week ago.

Nancy could make it-she had left her car in the hotel's underground

parking garage-though time would be tight. She hoped the girl would show,

and would answer some of those puzzling questions.

Meanwhile there was Goldman. She went into the convention hall and took

a seat at the press table.

Even while addressing the convention, Nim found himself agreeing with the

Molineaux woman: A speech, as heavy with technical material as this one

had to be, was unexciting from a press reporter's viewpoint. But as he

described the load and capacity problems-present and future-of Golden

State Power & Light, the rapt attention of his audience showed that many

of those listening shared the problems, frustrations and fears which Nim

presented under his title, "Overload." They, too, were charged with

providing reliable power in their communities. They, too, realized that

time was running out, with a major electrical famine a mere few years

away. Yet almost daily their honesty was questioned, their warnings

disbelieved, their grim statistics scoffed at.

Near the end of his prepared text, Nim reached into a pocket for a page

of notes he had made only yesterday. He would use them to conclude.

"Most of us here-probably all of us," he said, "share two important

beliefs. One belief concerns environment.

"The environment we live in should be cleaner than it is. Therefore those

who work responsibly toward that objective deserve our support.

"The second belief concerns the democratic process. I believe in

democracy, always have, though lately with some reservations. Which

brings me back to the environment.

"Some of those who call themselves environmentalists have ceased to be

reasonable believers in a reasonable cause and have become fanatics. They

are a minority. But by noisy, rigid, uncompromising, often uninformed

fanaticism, they are managing to impose their will on the majority.

"In doing so, such people have prostituted the democratic process, have

used it ruthlessly-as it was never intended to be used-to thwart

everything but their own narrow aims. What they cannot defeat by reason

and argument they obstruct by delay and legalistic guile. Such

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people do not even pretend to accept majority rule because they are

convinced they know better than the majority. Furthermore, they recognize

only those aspects of democracy which can be subverted to their own

advantage."

The last words produced a burst of bandclapping. Nim put up a hand for

silence, and went on.

"T'his breed of environmentalist opposes everything. There is nothing,

absolutely nothing, we of the power industry can propose which does not

arouse their ire, their condemnation, their fervent and selfrighteous

opposition.

"But the fanatics among environmentalists are not alone. They have

allies."

Nim paused, having sudden second thoughts about his notes, aware that

what came next could get him into the same kind of trouble as five months

ago, after the Energy Commission hearing on Tunipah. It would also run

counter to J. Eric Humphrey's "stay away from controversy" instruction.

Well, either way, the worst they could do was hang him. He plunged on.

"T'he allies I spoke of," he declared, "are the growing number of ap-

pointees on regulatory boards, put there for political reasons only."

Nim sensed, among his audience, rapt and immediate interest.

"T'here was a time, in this state and elsewhere, when the boards and

commissions regulating our industry were few in number and could be

relied on for reasonably fair, impartial judgments. But not any more. Not

only have such boards proliferated to a point where their functions

overlap so they now compete brazenly with each other in establishing

power bases, but a majority of board members receive their appointments

as blatant political rewards. Seldom, if ever, do they get where they are

through merit or experience. As a result, such commissioners and board

members have little or no business knowledge-indeed, some openly display

an anti-business prejudice-and all have political ambitions which govern

their every action and decision.

"T'hat is precisely why and how our extremist critics and opponents find

themselves with allies. For it is the militant, so-called populist points

of view, the anti-power-company stances, which nowadays make news and

gain attention. T'he quiet, balanced, thoughtfully-arrived-at decisions

do not, and the commissioners and board members whom I speak of know that