The Nigger Factory (7 page)

9

Wheels in Motion

Ogden Calhoun came down the carpeted, spiraling staircase from his bedroom wearing a blue suit, white shirt, and tie. The tie was a bit loose at the collar and the jacket was a touch wrinkled, but the president had a stern policy of never holding any official university business when not dressed for the part. Consequently when he heard the bell ring he knew that Miss Felch had arrived and he came quickly down the stairs to meet her.

The maid, up and around at Calhoun’s request, showed Miss Felch in. She was a tall, willowy, white, matronly-looking woman with pinched features and thin rectangular glasses squatting on a razor-sharp nose. She was dressed in a navy blue, two-piece suit and carried a matching handbag plus a corduroy zippered satchel with papers and note pads. The expression on her face was one of severe annoyance. She had been upset when the call interrupted her movie, when the cab driver tried to take a long route to increase the fare (thinking perhaps she didn’t know the Black section of Sutton), and when she got out of the taxi realizing that she had forgotten her lipstick in the rush and looked like absolute hell. She pushed a lock of dirty-blond hair away from her eyes.

Calhoun stepped on the first-floor carpet like a man walking on eggs. He glided up to Miss Felch with his most gracious smile intact.

‘I’m terribly sorry, Miss Felch. I’ve had a real emergency situation arise in the last hour and I’ve had to call a rather hasty meeting. I thought it would be appropriate if you were here to take notes and keep things in some sort of order . . . As only you can.’ The compliment bounced off Miss Felch’s
unpainted face. ‘Louise, could you get Miss Felch coffee. Cream, no sugar. Right?’

Miss Felch attempted a smile and nodded. Louise began her exit.

‘And Louise, I’m going to be in my den. I’ll need a few of the light folded chairs from the back. Use the big coffee pot because I’ve invited quite a few men and we’ll probably be keeping late hours. I hope you don’t mind. This emergency, y’know.’ Louise made her exit. Calhoun and Miss Felch entered the den.

‘What makes you think this iz so much different from the las’ time when Peabody woke everybody up in the middle of the night?’ Vice-President Fenton Mercer was asking Calhoun in a corner of the den while the others who had been called were gathering. ‘I saw the meeting, but I didn’t even go out to investigate.

‘Maybe you should have,’ Calhoun told him. ‘There should have been a note on my desk when I got here.’

‘Most of the faculty members and administrators were gone. I was talkin’ to the man from that Kentucky Graduate Program an’ happened to look out the window . . . I thought it might’ve been a prep rally for the game on Saturday.’

‘It wasn’t,’ Calhoun said, keeping his voice lowered. ‘And I
don’t
know if it’s any different from Peabody.’

‘Then why are we here?’

‘I just didn’t like Thomas’s attitude when I questioned him about certain things. He looked . . . smug. That’s the way he looked.’

‘Like he had it in hand, huh?’ Mercer chuckled.

‘Yes. Like that.’ Calhoun walked away from Mercer and stood next to his desk. It seemed that everyone who had been called was present. Calhoun made a quick head count. Yes, eight people.

‘Harrummph. Uh, I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible,’ he said. ‘If everyone will be seated I’ll, uh, get things going. Most of you have some idea as to why this
meeting was called. I had a visit tonight from the president of the Student Government Association, Mr Earl Thomas. He presented me with a list of what he chose to describe as “requests.” Miss Felch?’ Calhoun turned to the secretary, who nodded. ‘Miss Felch has made everyone a copy.’ Miss Felch passed the stack of papers around and handed Calhoun the original folded print.

There was a slight buzzing and mumbling as everyone read the list. Calhoun sought out particular facial reactions from various individuals.

Mercer, the chuckling vice-president, wasn’t chuckling any more. Gaines Harper, the sallow-faced, flour-colored whale of a Financial Aid Officer was catsup-red and coughing. Cathryn Pruitt, the Dean of Women, was biting her right index fingernail. Edmund C. Mallory, the stocky, mustached football coach frowned and continued to sip his coffee. Arnold McNeil, head of the History Department and chairman of the Student-Faculty Alliance was nervously smoking his cigar and rubbing his balding head.

‘As you can see,’ Calhoun continued drily, ‘there are several issues covered in the document here, but I wanted to ask for a few comments from the people present here before continuing.’

‘You have your mind made up?’ Mallory asked, fingering his mustache.

‘Not entirely,’ Calhoun hedged. ‘Every president at every university has a different way of dealing with lists of in quotes requests. I have my particular way of dealing with them and may well do what I generally do . . . tone is important, Ed. I’ve been doin’ quite a bit of running here and there trying to align things for Sutton. I wondered what the tone was; what the feeling was that the group of you had gotten and then I would, quite naturally, proceed from there.’

‘I don’t think it’s good,’ Mrs Pruitt chirped. She never thought anything was good. ‘The girls have been coming to me talking constantly about things.’

‘
These
things?’ Calhoun asked surprised.

‘Many things. Primarily social things like curfews and late time and visiting time . . .’

‘These issues are not listed,’ someone reminded her before she went into one of her tirades about being handicapped at her job. They had all heard it before.

‘But it’s an indication,’ she continued. ‘It indicates the unrest.’

‘We live in an era of unrest,’ Calhoun said flatly. ‘Mallory?’

‘Yes, well, I would say that there are some things here worth investigating. I went to a meeting last week that Arnold was having and . . .’

‘Right,’ McNeil said rising. ‘Ed was at last week’s meeting of the Student-Faculty Alliance. Right in the middle of one of our discussions a student came in and started shouting loudly about our committee being the, pardon me ladies, “Bullshit Squad”. He went on about us never handling the
real
issues at Sutton. Who was that Ed?’

‘I didn’t know him. The students called him “Captain Cool” or something,’ Mallory laughed.

Calhoun leaned back against the desk. He struck an imposing figure. He was over six feet tall and his complexion was burnished leather. The silver hair gave him an air of importance and command.

‘And “Captain Cool” disrupted your meeting,’ Calhoun said, with the proper exaggeration applied to the use of the nickname.

‘In a sense,’ McNeil stated. ‘But then he left. Just like that.’

‘And this was not . . .’

‘No. I didn’t report it.’ McNeil rubbed his balding head again. He was, along with Mallory, the only under-thirty-five-year-old present. ‘I didn’t report it because I wasn’t sure what the complaint was.’

Calhoun was shocked. ‘You didn’t . . .’

‘Allow me to finish,’ McNeil said, waving a calming hand.
‘The implication was that our committee wasn’t really doing anything . . . it isn’t.’

Gaines Harper looked up. He and McNeil were the only two white men there. McNeil was turning red. ‘I mean,’ he continued, ‘I became the head of the Student-Faculty Alliance because I thought it would give me a chance to more closely associate myself with the students and become a part of some of the meaningful change that my classes are always speaking of as necessary . . . we have hassled over the price of a new score-board for the football field. We have handled a few minor disciplinary problems about curfews and violations of visitation, but we haven’t
really
done anything.’ He sat down.

‘Are you suggesting that we go along with these?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything!’ McNeil said, raising his voice. ‘I said that I didn’t report the man who interrupted my meeting because he was absolutely right! The damn committee
has not
done a damn thing! The things that are listed on this paper are the things that students come into the meetings to hear discussed. Instead the agenda is full of crap like the allowance for decorations at various dances and allowances for the Homecoming Committee to prepare for the Homecoming Dance!’

There was absolute silence in the room. Everyone, except Miss Felch who continued to jot things down in shorthand, was looking at Arnold McNeil who was self-consciously trying to pretend that he was unaware of their scrutiny.

‘Then I can gather that there is a mood of dissent,’ Calhoun said through a cloud of smoke from his pipe.

‘I think so,’ Mrs Pruitt chirped.

‘Looking at this list I would say that there are several alternatives left open for us as administrators and faculty members.’ Calhoun was fingering the paper carefully. ‘We can tell the students that this is a list of things that we will look into . . .’ There was a dramatic pause. ‘Or we can tell them that this is a document of intimidation and that the university will continue to work on the problems
which face the institution as a whole as we have done in the past.’

‘What about the remark about noon tomorrow?’

‘That’s when we’ll tell them.’

‘I think we should hold a meeting in the morning and discuss this with the whole faculty and everybody else on the nonstudent level,’ Mercer said.

‘Why?’ Harper asked.

‘Because there are going to be faculty members who do not want to be associated with the administration,’ Mercer replied.

‘Thank you,’ McNeil commented, head down.

‘We’ve all been grouped together by the students,’ Calhoun boomed. ‘They all realize full well that within this paper is a question of faculty solidarity. There is a deep professional question here for faculty members. It is a question of professional allegiance.’

‘It’s a question of whether or not a man is doing his job too,’ Coach Mallory stated.

‘I think there should be a meeting too,’ Mrs Pruitt said thoughtfully.

Heads started to nod all around the room. Calhoun squirmed. He knew that he could take charge and pull the rug out from under all of them and make it appear that he was just doing his job as he saw fit. That was not what he wanted to do however. This was an opportunity for him to take a good look at the people he had working around him and find out exactly where everyone stood. No matter what happened in the meeting he could always take over and say what he felt should be said.

‘Take this down please, Miss Felch,’ Calhoun said, striking a thoughtful pose as he leaned against the mahogany desk. ‘“To all faculty members and administrators. There will be a general meeting in the small auditorium tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. There will be a meeting of all department heads directly after this meeting.” Put a copy of that in every mail box in the morning. Post in the Student Union
Building and cafeteria that there will be no classes in the morning.’

‘Ten did you say?’ Mrs Pruitt asked in her singsong.

‘Ten,’ said Calhoun.

10

Angie

Angie Rodgers had been dealt most of the blows people have in store for them in life by the time she was twenty years old. Her mother had died when she was born. Her father’s death had occurred when she was eighteen. The young man who had spoken to her of marriage had run off when she became pregnant, leaving her to raise her son alone. Now, at twenty-three, she lived alone in the home that had been her father’s one achievement in life aside from his daughter. She had been lonely in the little red brick house with only her son Bobby as company. She had even gone so far as to invite her father’s unmarried sister to share the three-bedroom house with her, but she learned that her relatives felt that her unmarried pregnancy had contributed to her father’s death. In a bitter scene on the steps of Angie’s home her aunt had called her the Sutton whore and university tramp, unworthy of the love her father had given her.

Earl Thomas was the nicest thing that had ever happened to Angie. She trembled when she realized how she had nearly never met him, and even after their meeting had almost turned him away with her bitterness and icy reserve. He was so good to her. She felt so safe with him. And best of all, he got along well with Bobby.

Her relationship with Earl had not started off well. She had considered him just another application for a summer job when he applied for work at Sutton Computers, where she worked as the employment secretary. Her son’s father had been a Sutton student and nothing in the world meant more to her after her father died than saving enough money to leave Sutton and the rest of Virginia far behind.

But it hadn’t been that simple. Though her father had paid
for the house, after the funeral expenses and lawyer fees to close out all responsibilities to the hospital and the doctor, what little insurance there had been was exhausted, and what with car payments on her second-hand Volkswagen, and living expenses for herself and Bobby, there was no money to move and no time to do extra work to save any money.

She had been approached several times by the younger Black men at the factory, but she always felt she could detect a sneer behind their eyes because she was the mother of an illegitimate child and would supposedly have hot pants. At times she felt herself near tears because she was lonely but so far she had not found sincerity in any of the eyes that coolly surveyed her across her desk or over a cup of coffee in the lounge.

Once or twice when tossing restlessly, unable to sleep, she had even considered giving in to some of those inquiries, even though she knew it would only mean a fleeting chance to hold a man in her arms and later facing up to the bitter humiliation. She never tried to convince herself that she was a strong woman. She had missed Don, Bobby’s father, terribly, and even when she sat up late at night trying to balance her small budget, she never claimed that anything other than love for her son was making her so firm.

But Earl had surprised her. The first time he stepped into the front office she had been there. She gave him a cool ‘How are you?’ and handed him an application, pointing to various lines where specific information was required. When he had finished she took the form from him and said very formally, ‘Mr Egson will see you now, Mr Thomas.’ Earl passed through the gate, into the secretarial area, and on into the back of the office where Mr Egson waited.

She had thought about him only briefly. She considered him handsome. He was tall, well muscled across the shoulders and chest. He had a thick head of hair, but it was trimmed and neat as was his mustache. He had been dressed in a short-sleeved sports shirt, open at the throat, and a pair of slacks. His eyes were serious, almost sad, but he had a strong chin and his
nose was just right for the soft, but firm lips. The only point that she readily did not approve was the fact that he smoked and his index and middle fingers on each hand were stained yellow, clashing with the smooth amber of his hands, arms, and face. She had been tempted to ask him if he was Indian or of Indian descent, but that would have been definitely out of character.

She nearly forgot about him. Her position in the front office rarely brought her into contact with the mechanics who worked on the assembly line. It was almost three weeks later when she next saw him. He had come into the air-conditioned personnel department mopping a handkerchief across his forehead, dressed in a faded sweatshirt and work jeans with an oil-stained mechanic’s apron tied around his neck and waist. He had marched straight over to her desk.

‘I’d like to take you out this evening,’ he said quite suddenly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered trying to recover from his matter-of-fact approach. ‘I go directly home from work . . . I don’t even believe I know your name.’

‘Then you haven’t been nearly as interested in me as I have been in you,’ he replied quietly.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t go out with you.’

‘What about a movie sometime?’

Angie had looked furtively around the front office. The other secretaries and workers didn’t seem to be paying the least bit of attention to her. Earl propped himself on the corner of her desk and lit a cigarette.

‘Mr Thomas,’ Angie had exclaimed. ‘I’m . . .’

‘“. . . a liar,”’ Earl cut in. ‘“Because I said I didn’t know your name, but I do and though I can’t have dinner with you this evening I would love to have you drive me home after work because I didn’t bring my car in today.”’

‘How did you know I didn’t bring my car in?’

‘We mechanics get here early,’ Earl said, brightly smiling for the first time. ‘And if we saw a good-looking woman taking her car in to LeRoy’s the night before and happen to wonder whether or not she got it fixed, we look out the next morning to find out how she arrives. Never can tell when you might get a chance to drive somebody home.’

Angie was unable to control a smile. It had felt good smiling at him and with him that first time. She still felt warm when she remembered the way he sat on her desk in front of everybody as though he didn’t have a care in the world about being spotted by the boss and fired or reprimanded.

‘I’ll meet you by the punch-out clock at four-oh-five and if you work late I’ll wait.’ Earl had smiled a bit shyly then and left her sitting with her mouth open at the desk.

They had been dating now for almost five months. They stopped going out so often when he started back at Sutton, but Angie didn’t mind. She was a good cook and loved to cook for him. He always acted as though he were starving and as if she were the best cook on earth. And she loved the feel of his arms around her. He was strong and masculine. She liked to rub her hands over his shoulder blades and feel the muscles rippling under his skin. She loved to have him crush her and then revive her with a kiss when she was almost breathless. She loved Earl Thomas.

She was sitting alone in the kitchen at nearly eleven o’clock having a second cup of coffee when she heard a car pull up outside her house. Seconds later she heard a car door slam and steps trotting up the brick path that led from the curb to her front door. Then there was a knock.

‘If it’s not the late Mr Thomas,’ she said smiling at the door.

Earl kissed her on the forehead and stepped into the living room. ‘If it’s not the lovely Miss Rodgers,’ he said. She took his coat and hung it on a hanger in the closet next to the front door. Earl was looking out through the curtains at the darkness of Maple Street. She bent over his shoulder and pecked him
on the cheek. He turned to her and embraced her and kissed her mouth.

‘You’ve just got to tell me everything,’ she exclaimed, remembering the day’s activities. ‘Louise called me an’ told me just enough to drive me out of my mind. She said that nobody knows the full story but you and Baker and Calhoun. The rest of the campus is in a frenzy, I suppose.’

‘Everything’s fucked up,’ he said gruffly. ‘Where’s the eats? I think I jus’ may starve.’ He wrapped a long arm around her waist and walked side by side with her to the kitchen.

In the kitchen he sat in the corner and leaned back sighing. She watched him close his eyes as though he would go to sleep. He yawned a big yawn and stretched his long frame, finally exhaling while pounding his chest.

Angie took pride in her kitchen. It was, as was the rest of the house, spotless. Earl often marveled at how she managed to keep the place so clean, especially in the wake of the ‘Black Hurricane,’ which was his nickname for Bobby. Bobby had a tendency to lose baseballs and guns under beds and sofas and there were times when he had the entire Santa Fe railroad in miniature lined up to make stops all over the house.

She took a minute now to set the table with dishes that had been arranged across the drainboard. The pot was on the stove atop a low flame. When the lid was removed the kitchen was filled with the aroma of tomato sauce and Angie appeared to have a halo of steam around her head.

‘We had spaghetti for dinner and I added some for you and some meatballs,’ Angie commented without turning around.

‘Good,’ Earl said.

‘Uhl! Uhl, I knew you wuz here!’ Bobby’s head had appeared at the door and he was taking a flying leap into Earl’s arms. Earl caught him with a big laugh and placed the youngster down between his legs and held his giggling captive a prisoner between his knees while he tickled the boy lightly under the arms.

‘Bobby Rodgers if you don’t get back in that bed,’ Angie said,
coming to the table and reaching for her son with mock anger. ‘Earl, don’t tickle him. You know he won’t go back to bed.’

‘Bobby? Will you go back to bed?’ Earl asked continuing to tickle him while holding the lad away from his mother’s reach.

‘Can I have a soda?’ Bobby wondered. ‘I’ll go back to bed.’

‘No soda,’ Angie stated firmly. ‘You know he almost drank a whole thing full of Kool-Aid by himself.’

‘You can have some of my beer,’ Earl said. ‘Get me a beer out of the refrigerator.’ He let Bobby go and the youngster bounded away. ‘They gotta be makin’ four-year-old giants nowadays. I was seventeen befo’ I was as big as he is now.’

‘Earl, you oughta stop,’ Angie said going back to the spaghetti.

‘Here go,’ Bobby said climbing into Earl’s lap. Earl gave out with a muffled ‘Oof!’ as the boy plopped a slippered foot into his stomach.

‘Bobby, Earl may not want you climbing all over him. Earl has been busy today and he’s tired.’

‘You tired, Uhl?’ Bobby asked unbelieving.

‘Little bit, my man,’ Earl said. He had poured a couple of ounces of the beer into a glass and handed it to Bobby.

‘Cheers!’ Bobby said, imitating what Earl said when they drank anything together. Angie laughed.

‘Cheers!’

Bobby downed his beer thirstily in one gulp.

‘Good man!’ Earl said. ‘Now off to bed.’

‘Do I . . .’

‘You promised me,’ Earl reminded him. ‘But tell me something. Where you get them pretty eyes?’ he asked the boy, pretending to reach for Bobby’s eyes.

‘From my momma.’

‘And where’d you get that big ol’ smile?’

‘From my momma.’

‘And where you get them plump cheeks?’ Earl pinched a cheek. Bobby started laughing again.

‘From my momma.’

‘And where you gonna get a spankin’ if you don’t head for the sack?’

‘From you!’ Bobby cried wrenching away. He ran to Angie who stood laughing. She appreciated the routine that Earl and Bobby had worked out during his late visits.

‘G’night, Momma,’ Bobby said, holding her over for a kiss. She kissed him and he returned to Earl. ‘G’night, Uhl.’

‘G’night, my man,’ Earl said allowing himself to be smacked soundly on the jaw.

Bobby ran out of the kitchen and the couple heard his muffled footfalls on the stairs leading to the bedroom upstairs.

‘This spaghetti seems to be good,’ Angie said heaping Earl’s plate. ‘Bobby ate two plates full.’

‘Doesn’t have to be too good for Bob,’ Earl laughed. ‘Thass a big-eatin’ rascal.’

Earl dug into the large pile of spaghetti that was overflowing with steaming sauce and chunks of ground beef. Angie busied herself washing the utensils and pans she had used for cooking.

‘You’re not going to tell me, are you?’ she asked after Earl had finished and lit up a cigarette.

‘Baker took over,’ Earl said through a stream of smoke.

‘I know that. I mean . . .’

‘They had some grievances that the students approved. They called me ‘bout seven an’ tol’ me they wanted me to carry the things to Old Nigger Calhoun. I went over there an’ took ‘im the papers and did some other stuff.’

‘Other stuff relating to this?’

‘I checked my own papers relating to the things in the deman’s because me an’ Odds and Lawman all noticed how similar they were to the things we had been workin’ on.’

‘Were they your papers?’

‘Not exactly. Not there. I don’t know how much of my stuff they have. I figure they must have copied it all or Xeroxed it, but they put it back in the same order they found it.’

‘All your work is down the drain?’

‘I don’t know yet. It depen’s on what happens.’

‘How did Calhoun look when you went there?’

‘‘Bout as happy as a man walkin’ through hell wit’ gasoline drawers on.’

‘Oh, Earl. What did he say?’

‘Jus’ what I thought he would say,’ Earl admitted, lighting another cigarette. ‘That the list was intimidating and that he would see what he could do, but that that wouldn’ be much done. Hell! They asked for a reply by noon tomorrow.’

‘Noon tomorrow?’

‘High noon,’ Earl said shaking his head.

The phone in the living room rang and Angie got up to answer it. ‘I wonder who that could be,’ she said.

Earl smoked and waited, listening to Angie answer the phone, but not overhearing the muffled conversation that followed.

‘It’s for you, Earl,’ Angie called. ‘It’s Odds and Lawman.’

Earl went through the open door that separated the kitchen from the living room.

‘Earl the Pearl,’ he said, taking the receiver from her.

‘Look, Pearl,’ Lawman said in his ever-serious tone. ‘Do you know what’s happening over at Calhoun’s right now?’