Harley Paton waited for them to be still. He addressed himself to the young man. “Apparently you haven’t heard about the Supreme Court decision,” he said.
Rev. Lorenzo Niesen spat a stream of tobacco onto the grass. “Don’t hand us that stuff now,” he yelled.
“We’re quite aware of the decision,” Adam Cramer said.
“In that case, the question does not make sense and requires no answer.”
“The people think otherwise,” Adam Cramer said. “Why didn’t you refuse to open the school?”
“Because I chose to obey the law.”
The group of adults moved closer to the steps. “That’s a crock, Paton,” someone shouted. “You could’a shut down.”
“I don’t have control over such decisions,” Harley Paton said quietly. “An appeal of this sort was made to the school board, and it was refused. There was no choice in the matter.”
“In other words,” Adam Cramer said, “you would have been fired. In other words, you let the Negroes come in because you were too scared of losing your job to do anything about it!”
Harley Paton’s hands bunched into fists. He put them behind his back. “I don’t know who you are, young man,” he said, “but I think you know perfectly well that you’re talking nonsense.”
“Mr. Paton, the people of Caxton demand that you turn the Negro students out of this school at once,” Cramer said. “And if you haven’t got the courage to do that, then the people demand that you resign your post.”
“That’d show how you feel about it,” a woman said, from the back.
“That’s right!”
Phil Dongen stepped up. “Paton, let’s get one thing straight here and now. Are you for or against this integration?”
The principal looked over the lawn, at all the children, at the people in the group; he looked up and saw Miss Angoff, standing at the window, waiting, along with the others, for his answer.
“I am against integration of the races,” he said firmly, “but—I am for law and order. For that reason, I have no intention of either sending the new students home or shutting down the school. As for resigning my post—I don’t believe, Mr. Cramer, that you represent the people of Caxton. However, if you can prove to me at any time that fifty-one per cent of the people no longer want me, I will leave. Until then, I am in charge, and there will be no change in the routine.”
“That’s the man who’s taking care of your children!” Phil Dongen shouted.
“Fifty-one per cent,” Harley Paton repeated.
“You might just as well start packing, Harley! It’ll be more like one hundred per cent.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Don’t worry; just don’t worry!”
Harley Paton met the eyes of the group, stared levelly for a moment, then turned and went inside. He closed the door. He felt his heart rapping deep in his chest.
He walked to his office and watched the people on the lawn, the familiar people, the people he had seen a thousand times and, perhaps, had never seen at all, watched them form into a loose parade and march with placards high into the quiet street.
He barely heard the door. “Yes?”
It was Miss Angoff. She walked to his desk and stood there.
“Yes, what is it?”
She looked at him and he found that he could not decipher her expression. Unaccountably, however, he glanced away, down from her gaze.
“Why did you say that?” she asked.
He focused on the 8-ball. “Say what?”
“You were strong and you faced them, but you lied. Why?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s almost one, Miss Angoff, and—”
“I don’t care about that. Mr. Paton, I’ve been with the school for four years. That isn’t very long, I suppose, but even so, I feel a part of Caxton High. It means a great deal to me.”
Harley Paton nodded, realizing that he would have to say it now.
“You mean a great deal to me too,” Miss Angoff said, then added quickly: “in the sense that I’ve always respected you, I’ve always felt that—well, that we thought alike. Even when you decided to go along with the Board; even then. But when you went down there just now—”
“Yes?”
The English teacher trembled slightly. “Mr. Paton, are you really against integration?”
Harley Paton picked up the 8-ball and turned it upside-down.
“I realize I’m overstepping myself,” she said, “but I’ve got to know. Because if you don’t believe, you can’t fight with me. And I can’t fight alone.”
The slender man turned in his chair and faced the window for a time; then he turned back.
“You won’t be fighting alone,” he said.
“Then why—”
“Miss Angoff, I’m going to tell you something now. I’ve never told anyone else, except my wife, and if you repeat it to a living soul I’ll deny it. I’ll say you misquoted me. Is that understood?”
Miss Angoff nodded.
“All right. I am in favor of integration. It has, in fact, been a dream of mine ever since I can remember. I not only want it to happen, I know that it must happen. And that is why I lied to them a few minutes ago and why I shall go on lying. If I took a radical stand now; if I proclaimed myself an antisegregationist, I would lose my power to help. The people would no longer trust me. And they have to trust me, that is vitally important.” He looked at Miss Angoff. “Do you understand?”
She hesitated, then said: “I think so.”
“But you’re not sure. I know. It took me a long time to get it clear. I thought, Whom will you offend by telling the truth? Only the bigots, the fools—but that isn’t true. If it were only the bigots and the fools we had to contend with, we’d have no problem. No; it’s the ordinary people, Miss Angoff. It’s our own friends. Mrs. Gargan and Mr. Spivak and Mrs. Seifried, schoolteachers, businessmen, politicians . . . Intelligent, honest, kind people. They’re the ones we’re contending with.”
Miss Angoff shook her head.
“That’s the most important thing to understand about the problem,” Paton said. “It’s a war in which you must defeat your own side.” He smiled bitterly. “Which almost makes us espionage agents. That’s right. I’m a saboteur, Miss Angoff. And saboteurs have always been more effective than assassins.”
“I’m sorry,” the English teacher said.
“Don’t be, there’s no reason for it. Direct action is wholesome. It’s honest. There is, please believe me, nothing I would rather do than go out and shake some sense into these people. I have arguments, just as you do, that are completely unassailable. Dialectically you and I could tear down the whole wormy edifice of segregation. We could call the children into the assembly hall this afternoon and lecture to them. But if we did that, we’d strike the most telling blow of all against the thing we want. I know that to be true.” He slammed the 8-ball down on the desk. Suddenly he looked angry. “This young demagogue, Cramer—he can do a lot of harm. But it’s nothing compared to the harm we can do, simply by telling the truth.”
“I’m ashamed of myself,” Miss Angoff said.
“So am I! I’m ashamed every time I sit at that table and listen to Harkins and Peterson talk about their law and order—as though this were the issue! I’m ashamed every time I tell that whole PTA crowd that integration is very bad, of course, but we must be good citizens and obey the law, though we may quarrel with it. Every time I hear an unthinking remark, or see one of those illiterate orange posters, or think of Simon’s Hill—I’m ashamed.”
Somewhere, far from Paton’s consciousness, a bell rang shrilly. He folded his hands and spoke in a soft voice. “Not so ashamed, though,” he said, “as I would be if I were to weaken now, when we’re so close.”
The door opened and a blonde girl came in. “Jimmy Foster wants to see you, Mr. Paton,” she said.
The principal glanced up. “All right, Leona. Tell Jimmy to come in.” Then to Mis
s Angoff: “Remember, I’ll deny it.”
“You won’t have to.”
As she walked down the teeming hall, Agnes Angoff thought about Harley Paton, and about the many faces of courage.
Hers was burning red.
13
The torero pants were tight; they reminded Ella of her body and of her years and of her excitement. She knew that Adam Cramer was going to kiss her tonight. But she did not know whether he planned to touch her. No one ever had, at least not as Lucy had described it, and she hoped, without realizing that she hoped, that it would happen. There wasn’t anything wrong about letting someone touch you, after all. Not really wrong. A lot of girls, some of them younger than Ella, just took it for granted. And with her own eyes she’d seen Alfred Clancy put his whole hand over Dorothy Watkins’ right breast and keep it there—on the outside, of course.
She drained the soda glass noisily and looked at the clock. It was seven-ten. In five minutes, she thought, he’ll pick me up. It didn’t even occur to her that Adam Cramer would be late. He wasn’t that sort.
She took thirty cents out of her wallet, went around the counter and put the money into the cash register. Mr. Higgins jumped at the sound.
“I’d forgotten you were here,” he said. Then, “Why are you here, anyway, all by yourself?”
“I’m meeting somebody,” Ella said.
“Oh. I beg your pardon.”
She went outside and waited and presently the Chevrolet pulled up. Adam Cramer got out and opened the door for her.
“I really appreciate this,” he said.
Ella got in and waited until they were headed down the street before she said, “I told Mother I was meeting Lucy.”
“My God, is she against me too?”
“No, but she doesn’t like the idea of me going out on a school night, you know. What’s this about, anyway?”
“Well,” Adam Cramer said, “it’s mostly about you.”
Ella shivered slightly; it was the same feeling she’d had before, alone with Adam Cramer. She tried to think of an answer, or a question.
“Mostly I wanted to see you again, that’s all. But for some reason your father plain doesn’t care for me. He told me I wasn’t ever to see you again. And that, milady, was a bitter, bitter pill.”
“But you said you had some important business or something.”
“Isn’t being with you important business?” Adam Cramer patted the space next to him on the seat. “Come on over here. I hate to shout.”
Ella moved a few inches toward him.
“I do have a little business you can help me with, as a matter of fact,” he said, “but it won’t take long. I want to speak to some of the kids at Rusty’s.”
“How can I help?”
“Just by being with me. That way I’m not a total stranger to them. See?”
“I guess so.”
“Afterwards we can take a drive. You still have a lot to show me.”
Ella saw the way his eyes traveled over her sweater, and suddenly she felt quite sure that he would touch her. And she would let him do it. On the outside.
She could think of very little else.
“Has he spoken to you?” Adam Cramer asked.
“Who?”
“Your father. Has he said anything about me?”
“Well, he hasn’t talked an awful lot. He—I don’t know. He doesn’t like you.”
“But why?”
“He says you’re a rabble-rouser.”
“I am, in a way. But is that bad?”
Ella shrugged. “I don’t know. Daddy seems to think so.”
“He must. My God, you’d think I’d poisoned his favorite dog or something, the way he acts. I mean, I’m working for the same thing he is, just in a different way, that’s all. You can see that, can’t you, Ella?”
“Sure, I guess.”
They were silent for a time. “Are you worried about being out with me?”
“Not exactly,” Ella said. “But I’ve got to get home early. And—well, I don’t like to tell lies. We better not do it again, not like this, anyway.”
“If you were worried, why did you agree to meet me?”
“I don’t know.” Ella bit her lip. Everything I say around him, she thought, comes out so dumb. I sound like an idiot.
Adam Cramer drove over the bridge, turned into the gravel path and parked the car beneath a large tree. He left the engine running. “Maybe if you put in a good word for me I could talk with Tom, with your father, and maybe then he’d see I’m not such a bad guy.”
“He’s pretty set in his ways.”
“I know. He tried to get me arrested—had you heard?”
“No!”
“It’s true. He claimed that I goaded the people into attacking those Negroes in the car—you must have been told about that. Or maybe you were there?”
“I heard some of the speech.”
“Then you know that I wasn’t even around when the incident happened. But your father blames me! He blames me for the whole thing. Ella, listen to me, listen now. If I’d been there, I would personally have called the sheriff, even before your dad did. That’s the truth. I don’t like to see people get hurt.”
Ella looked into his eyes, and she believed him. Most of the speech had been boring to her, because it didn’t seem that he had said anything other than what everyone else was saying, and it was all political stuff anyway, but she’d noticed how all the people had listened to him. All the grownups, listening to this young man. And a portion of her had begun to regard him as a celebrity—almost like a movie star. That was part of it. She was being courted by a celebrity.
“I wouldn’t get too upset about tonight, in any case,” he said. “I’m working very closely with Mr. Shipman, the man who employs your father. I think that when the two of them get together for a talk, Tom will be a little friendlier.”
Ella felt his hand cup her chin, gently. She relaxed and allowed his lips to press against hers, allowed them to linger. Then Adam Cramer pulled away. “You’re a lovely girl, Ella,” he said. “Let’s get the dull stuff over with and then I can tell you more about it.”
They drove to Rusty’s and went inside.
The juke box was blaring a popular song, but few of the teenagers seemed to be listening. Some clapped listlessly; others huddled in tight groups, talking loudly above the music. Ella slipped her arm inside Adam’s and smiled faintly, as they cut their way to a free booth.
“I’ve never seen it so crowded on a school night,” she said.
“Well,” he said, “I guess I’m slightly responsible. I had Danny Humboldt spread the word.”
Danny and George walked over, followed by Lucy and a girl whose name Ella had forgotten.
“Good deal, Danny,” Adam Cramer said.
“No sweat,” the young man said casually. “But I don’t know about talking. You got to see Joe Mantz about that. He’s the big guy over there behind the bar.”
“I’ve discussed it with Mr. Mantz.”
Danny Humboldt grinned. “You wheel and deal, man,” he said.
Adam Cramer laughed, and Ella saw that his teeth were white and straight. She was glad he did not show his gums. “You want to squeeze in?” she said.
Lucy winked. “Huh-uh.” Then she said, “Hank’s here. Over by the juke.”
Ella turned her head quickly, and back.
“He doesn’t look so happy.”
“No. Boy!”
Hank Kitchen, dressed in regulation open-collar white shirt and dark trousers, was not happy at all: Ella knew. Sitting there, he appeared to be brooding—and this was nice. Let him brood.
Ella moved a bit closer to Cramer and pretended to be absorbed in the conversation.
“. . . and you really shook up old Paton, man! I thought he was gonna blow away!”
“He’s a weak person, Danny. We can’t allow weak persons to lead us . . .”
Ella wished that they would get it over with in a hurry. She was anxiou
s to stride back out with the young stranger, anxious to be kissed.
Danny and Adam Cramer spoke for another three or four minutes, then Adam got up, excused himself, and walked over toward the bar.
“That,” said George Humboldt, “is one hell of a guy. I mean it. You know?”
Danny nodded. “Yeah.”
Ella felt proud and excited; the boredom of the years was swept away. They were talking about the man who was going to kiss her and touch her later on!
“What’s he like?” Lucy said, sliding into the booth. “I mean, really?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s a gentleman,” Ella said.
“He sure likes you, I can tell. The way he looked at you. I bet old Hank is just furious!”
“It serves him right.”
Ella put her hand around the cold-beaded coke glass and pretended that she was Deborah Kerr and that Adam was Rossano Brazzi and Hank was Dan Dailey and they were in a real triangle.
She turned in the booth when, suddenly, the juke box fell silent. Within a few moments the talking quieted, also. Then Adam Cramer began to speak.
He repeated most of what he’d said in front of the courthouse, about taking action and stopping the Negroes from attending Caxton; but, somehow, his voice wasn’t the same. It was more . . . boyish, and more cultivated.
“. . . and we’re going to need your help, kids,” he was saying, “most of all! But I want to stress something right here and now. It’s something most outsiders don’t understand. We have nothing against the Negroes themselves. We don’t hate them or wish them harm. But—and, see, this is the point—we do know that as a race they’re inferior, they’ve always been inferior, they’ll always be inferior. That isn’t only an opinion. That’s a recognized, accepted scientific anthropological fact! They have certain racial characteristics buried deep inside them which render them unfit for the responsibilities they would be forced to assume upon the acceptance of desegregation. Now that’s pretty general, and you’re all sharp, intelligent people. So I’ll be specific. I’ll go back and trace this thing, if you’ll let me. Because some of you may feel very strongly that integration is bad but maybe you’ve been hoodwinked by the race-mixers, those left-wingers with the big thick glasses—maybe you’ve heard that it’s impossible for an intelligent person to accept segregation, because we’re all humans and all humans were created equal, and so forth. Maybe some of you have begun to wonder if it is only so-called ‘tradition’ that makes you curl away from the idea of mongrelizing the South. So let’s look at the thing intelligently, with facts behind us. Let’s see exactly why we’re against it.
The Intruder Page 15