The Ultimate Resolution

by Dave Sullivan

  On his way to lunch, he dropped the file off at Vicki's desk. She was gone so he left her a note telling her there was nothing more in the litigation file.

  After lunch, Vicki called him again. "No luck there either, huh?"

  "Same thing as the rest," he said.

  "Is this a test that we performed here at Cherokee, in-house?"

  "Yes," England replied.

  "Do you know who did it?"

  "Sure," England said, "Henry Tasler and I ran it."

  "I'll call you back," Vicki said and hung up.

  A few minutes later, she called back. "Bob?"

  "Yes?"

  "I think I found it," she said. "June 19, 1958. It says it's a test record for the T-350. The test supervisors are listed as 'Henry Tasler' and none other than 'Robert England'. Sound like it?"

  "Great job, Vicki. Can I come over and get it?"

  "Sure. I'll be here. It's right on my desk."

  "I'll be right there," England said as he rose from his seat and replaced the phone on its cradle.

  Vicki Paulson was at her desk when he arrived. She held several stapled pieces of 8 1/2" x 11" paper out to him. "Here it is."

  "Thanks, Vicki. Where did you find it?" England asked.

  "Well," she began, "it should have been in the permanent files you were looking at yesterday. I don't understand why it wasn't there. But we have a set of files by individual just as a sort of cross reference or easy reference."

  "What's that?"

  "My predecessor, Annie Burkhardt started it and I've kept it going. When stuff comes for filing, we make a copy for the file of the individual engineer if it's something he did. For example, this report was under Tasler as the main guy. I didn't look, but I doubt it was put in your file, too."

  "How come I never heard of these files?" he asked.

  "It's no secret, Bob." She removed her reading glasses and looked up at him as he stood before her desk. "It's just something Annie started to make it easier to find some things when you guys were looking. It’s not used very often."

  He looked at the copy of the report in his hands.

  "I would have mentioned it yesterday," she continued, "but I thought you would want to see the report in its regular filing location. I thought we'd find it in those permanent files."

  "Why wasn't it there?" England asked.

  "I don't know. It should have been." She fiddled with the chain to her glasses. "Maybe it was never filed correctly in the first place. Maybe it was accidentally purged when the file went to permanent status.'

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, you know the active files are in those filing cabinets, there." She pointed to the row of olive green four drawer cabinets behind her desk."

  "Yes, I know that. Usually someone gets the files for us, but I've gotten files from there myself," said England.

  "That's right. The files on the open shelves in back are the permanent files."

  "I know that."

  "When files go from active status to permanent status, they are cleaned up and unnecessary material is purged."

  "I didn't know that." England responded with interest.

  "I'm sure sometimes an extra piece of paper or two inadvertently goes with the stuff being thrown out. But I don't think that happens very often."

  "Why do you say that?" asked England.

  There are some safeguards. All files going to permanent status are approved by Dick Ellington before the purge is approved. I'm sure accidentally throwing out a test report wouldn't escape him," she looked thoughtfully at the paper in England's hands, "although maybe it did in this instance."

  "Why did you think this report wouldn't be in the file you keep on things I've done?" asked England.

  "We just usually use the name of the one in charge. You were pretty young in 1958." She smiled. "No offense."

  "How come you still have a file on Henry Tasler? He's been retired for a long time."

  Vicki stood up and turned toward the filing cabinets. "The purpose isn't just to keep files on active members of the group. It's more to be a locator for information. Somebody will remember the name of the engineer in charge, even if he is retired like Tasler, like you just did."

  She walked to one of the green cabinets. "They are in this cabinet." She pulled open one of the drawers. "See? Here's yours."

  England looked at the thick brown file she handed him. "Mind if I look at this?" he asked.

  "No, go ahead." She closed the drawer, turned toward him and touched the file he was holding. "You might find it interesting...a little nostalgic, perhaps."

  England thanked Vicki and returned to his desk, carrying the test report and the thick file.

  That night at home, England sat at his desk in the study and looked through the file. It was a bit of nostalgia, he thought. He saw test specifications, reports and studies he had done or supervised years before. Then he saw something he didn't expect. It was a report he had made to Dick Ellington back in 1964. That was when he had first voiced his concerns about the rollover problems of the T-350. There had been no response. He had decided not to press the issue then but to wait for a better time. The report was a long time ago. It occurred to him he had not seen it in any of the files he had been studying in the last few months.

  As England went through the file folder, he found some of the tests he had really been looking for, the rollover tests. These were tests he remembered. Tests he had been involved in. Some were tests that had given him reason to be concerned with the safety of the T-350 and the need for the kind of rollover protection system that was being designed and tested in the late fifties. In particular, the test records he found in the file folder kept on things he had done showed the performance of the T-350 to be much worse than suggested by the limited test records in the files or those produced in the personal injury suit he had read about.

  But the most important tests were not in this file folder. They had done specific rollover tests on the T-350 using the old test procedures from the works of E. G. McKibben done in the late 1920's and creating some new test procedures of their own. They were not in the file he was reviewing because Henry Tasler was in charge, he realized. He would have to see Tasler's file.

  England decided not to try to look at the other engineer’s files too quickly. He believed that Vicki Paulson didn't suspect that he was doing any more than he had suggested. He didn't want her to become curious.

  Before returning the Robert England file, he stayed late one night and copied its contents. The copies were placed in a new crisp brown file folder which remained unlabeled. This he took home to his study.

  Vicki Paulson was at her desk when he returned his file.

  "Interesting reading?" She grinned at him.

  "It really was," he said. "You were right, it was a nostalgia trip. I saw things I hadn't thought about in years."

  "I thought so." She stood and took the file from him. "People think filing and records is a boring place to work, but sometimes it's interesting...like going back in time...like history."

  "I bet."

  "Well, do you have everything you need, now?" she asked.

  "I do. The report you found in Tasler's file gives me the specs I need for the ASAE/ANSI standards."

  "Good."

  "Thanks a lot for your help, Vicki."

  "Anytime, Bob. See you later." She sat down at her desk and put on her reading glasses, peering over the top of the glasses and smiling at him as he left.

  The next week, on Wednesday, after everyone had gone home, England went to the main file room and found the Tasler file in the green file cabinet behind Vicki Paulson's desk. He did not examine it. He went right to work copying its contents. They were placed in another unmarked file folder which he took home to his study.

  At home, he carefully reviewed the contents of the Tasler file. There he found what he had been looking for. Besides the pulling strength test he had used as a ruse with Vicki Paulson, he found the records of the rollover test
s. Tasler had been in charge. The report cited the old articles by McKibben. The record showed under what circumstances front-to-rear rollovers would occur. There were several sets of tests conducted at different times, each with a separate test record, each with essentially the same result. The T-350 rolled over with incredible speed once power was applied and the rear wheels were prevented from turning. The record measured the speed of the occurrence showing the starting and finishing time to the nearest one hundredth of a second.

  We made a movie, he remembered. That's how the time was done, by the frames. Where the hell was the movie? He wondered.

  Looking again at the test records, he confirmed that on one of the days, a movie was made and noted on the record form. The form indicated that the film was attached. England, however, was looking at a copy of a copy of the file copy that should have the film. It should have been in the T-350 permanent files.

  He thought about what he was seeing. These test records had not been in the permanent files, either, and certainly the film had not been there.

  Why? he wondered. It seemed very unlikely that several test records and an eight millimeter film would be accidentally lost in a purge of unnecessary or duplicate material.

  England lit a cigarette and paced the floor of the study. The music of Karen and Richard Carpenter drifted gently from the speakers of the stereo.

  England could not escape the conclusion that someone was consciously removing the bad test records. Apparently, Dick Ellington was the one with the greatest opportunity, having the final control of files before they were changed to permanent status.

  But, why? He knew Cherokee was dealing with federal agencies and Congress about the ROPS issue and testing. If the company wanted to claim the T-350's performance was better than it had tested, the tests would have to be unavailable. That might be true in advertising as well.

  Then he remembered the lawsuit document production. He put out his cigarette and sat at his desk. He began making notes. The tests they produced in the lawsuit were stated to be all they had, implying that they were all that were done. If they had destroyed the others, the statement was true, if the implication was not.

  Also, Cherokee's position on ROPS would not look good if it were shown that they had these tests and had known for years of the potential hazard.

  England lit another cigarette and thought about what to do.

  A few days later, England met Dick Ellington in Ellington's office.

  "What is it, Bob?" Ellington put a hand on England's shoulder as he ushered him to a chair. Ellington moved around the desk and sat down. "Mavis told me you wanted to see me."

  England had scheduled the appointment in advance with Mavis, so they were less likely to be interrupted.

  "I wanted to talk to you about the T-350 and the ROPS business," he said. "Thanks for seeing me."

  "Happy to, Bob," said Ellington, picking up a pack of Marlboros, "but that's old ground, you know. Been covered pretty well before."

  "I know, but," England started.

  "But," Ellington interrupted, "you know how the Lawtons feel, don't you? I'd be careful, if I was you."

  "I know, but something new has come up."

  "Oh?" Ellington put down his lighter and looked at England with interest. "What's that?" England paused and mustered strength to overcome his last hesitation. He too lit a cigarette.

  "It's the test records, Dick. A lot of them are gone from the files." He puffed on his cigarette.

  "What test records?"

  "The records of the T-350. The tests that show why ROPS are important."

  "What do you need those for?"

  "I was looking for some old test procedures for the ASAE/ANSI standards we're working on for next year." He slipped into his cover story. "But I found a lot of stuff missing."

  "Well, I'm sure there's an explanation." Ellington ground his cigarette out in the ashtray.

  "There's more," said England. "Not long ago, Cherokee responded to something in a personal injury lawsuit with a few test records, saying that's all there are. That's bullshit, Dick!"

  "Whoa! Slow down, there." Ellington stood up. "You might want to be careful about what accusations you make. What were you looking in that file for?"

  "I thought I might find the test I needed there," said England.

  "Those litigation files are none of your concern, Bob," said Ellington. "And I'm being a lot more polite than our bosses, the Lawtons would be."

  "I know," said England, "but it all comes back to the tractor rollover problem. I thought maybe I was being stonewalled by the company these past few years. The cover up in the document production in that lawsuit convinces me."

  "Be careful," cautioned Ellington.

  "No, Dick, it's too late for that." England nervously lit another cigarette. "The company is simply ignoring a real problem and people are getting hurt . . . and killed."

  "But,"

  "No buts, Dick," England interrupted. "The attempts to cover it up in a lawsuit says it all."

  Ellington tried to calm England slowly. He was agitated.

  "Well, it's going to come to a head," continued England, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "There are ASAE meetings and OSHA regulation hearings. Cherokee's cover up won't be kept a secret."

  "Wait a minute. How can you be sure it's a cover up? And who is going to tell anybody?"

  "Our own files make the cover up obvious. There are probably plenty of other lawsuits where it has happened before. As for telling, I won't knowingly lie for the company about this. I don't think the other engineers here would either."

  "Do they know what you are accusing the company of?" asked Ellington.

  "Not yet. I came to you first."

  "Bob," began Ellington, "I'm sure there is some explanation. Let me check it out, look at the files and see what's going on. If I don't come up with anything different, then let's go to the brass together." He put a hand on England's shoulder.

  "I don't know what you could find that could explain this away, but go ahead."

  The two men walked out of Ellington's office together. Ellington showed England past his secretary's desk and said good-bye, shaking his hand and thanking him for coming to see him.

  After England was gone, Ellington quickly returned to his desk, picked up the telephone receiver and dialed a company extension number.

  A voice on the other end of the line answered, "Phillip Marquard."

  ************

  ***

  ************

  At the University of Minnesota Law School Jake stood in the courtroom facing the three-judge panel, waiting.

  "You may proceed, Mr. Kingsley," said Judge R. Walter Ferguson who was presiding over the panel as part of the appellate practice course given to second year law students.

  "Thank you, your Honor. May it please the Court," said Jake, as he began an oral argument he had rehearsed ceaselessly for over a week.

  ************

  ***

  ************

  In Los Angeles, Phillip Marquard prepared to leave a meeting.

  "Well," Marquard looked at his watch, "I've got a plane back to St. Louis. Anything else we need to cover?"

  "No," the other man said slowly. "Everything seems to be in order." He stared at Marquard. "Timing?"

  "Soon."

  The man nodded.

  Marquard noticed his eyes. They were green, the color of jade, dull and lifeless. They had no sparkle. Marquard had never seen eyes like them before.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  In Middlebury, Missouri, Robert and Mary England were planning a quiet evening at home.

  "Hurry back, Dear," Mary called. "I'm ready to beat your backside at Scrabble."

  "Okay," he feigned resignation to defeat. "You need anything else?

  "No, I don't think so," she looked thoughtful. "Oh, if you see some red licorice, get some. That would certainly go well with a victory."

  "You got it," Bob said. She was impossible. The game was
going to be hard fought, no mercy asked, none given. He looked forward to it.

  England turned out of the driveway to go to a nearby convenience store which was open late. They had run out of cigarettes. They both smoked Winstons. He had finally gotten off the unfiltered Camels he had smoked for years. The Winstons didn't taste as good, but now he couldn't stand the taste of Camels.

  He had replaced the old Chevy with a Ford sedan. He liked the solid feel of it. He drove down the dark street, not noticing the headlights that stayed a respectable distance behind him and turned at the same corners he did.

  England pulled the Ford into the parking lot of the convenience store. A nondescript green Dodge followed him into the lot. It parked on the other side of the parking lot. No one got out.

  England walked to the door. A sign warned that after eight o'clock, the clerk had less than fifty dollars in the cash register. Modern times, England thought, what are we coming to? He opened the door.

  The freckle-faced, red haired clerk was ringing up a customer's order. A woman waited in line. England found the red licorice and got in line behind the woman to wait his turn. The cigarettes were behind the counter.

  England looked around the store. There were only two other customers. A man in a baseball cap stood by the coffee machine adding cream and sugar to a large Styrofoam cup of coffee. The cap said "John Deere" on it. England smiled.

  The other customer looked like a teenager. He was picking out some junk food and Coke from the cooler.

  The man at the counter took his change from the smiling clerk, took his bags and started for the door. The woman ahead of England stepped forward and placed her purchases on the counter. The clerk looked up at her and smiled.

  "Good evening," he said.

  At that moment, the door burst open. Two men wearing ski masks came in. One pushed the man with the bags.