by Allen Weiner
Wednesday came fast. An early arctic blast enveloped Lehigh and Carbon County. Max searched his closet for a coat warm enough for the day but quickly realized his heavy wool coat was sitting in his closet at his parents’ house. He improvised with a long-sleeve undershirt and pullover sweater, which he wore underneath his faux leather jacket. Max was late to meet Tom, so he had no idea how ridiculous he looked.
Tom pulled into the Chronicle parking lot with only a few minutes to spare. There was no time to go across the street to grab a cup of coffee, so the two men hoped someone would have the courtesy to bring coffee to the meeting. That hope was quickly dashed when Max and Tom entered the large conference room in the newsroom’s far corner.
Jack Devlin was seated at the head of the table. On his right sat a tall, slender man who looked to be in his early forties. In front of him sat a pencil case and a large Big Chief notebook, the kind Max used to keep score for Phillies games. The extra-wide margin was ideal for writing in player names save for those such long ones as Joe Amalfitano or Red Schoendienst.
Seated across from the table was a striking woman with an olive complexion and a smile that lit the room. Her black hair was short and elegantly styled, making her look more mature, but she appeared to be in her mid-to-late twenties. In contrast to the other newcomer in the room, she had a traditional white spiral reporter’s notebook and a single Bic pen on the table in front of her.
The managing editor asked Max and Tom to sit down, and Max chose to sit next to the man with the cool notebook, being far too shy to even consider his other option.
“I have coffee coming for those who want it,” Jack Devlin said, kicking off the meeting. Behind him was a whiteboard with the words “Sunday Squad” written across the top. “I think it’s time for introductions. Tom, why don’t you start.”
Tom issued a compact bio, which was little more than name, rank, and serial number. He mentioned that he went to The Ohio State University and worked in the Nesquehoning bureau. Max followed with an even shorter summary saying that he was from Philadelphia and joined the Chronicle without any journalism experience in August of 1978.
The tall, slender man stood up as if he were reciting the pledge of allegiance and introduced himself as Aaron Grant. He was born and raised in Dothan, Alabama, and graduated from Auburn University’s journalism school in 1963. He worked for newspapers in Alabama, Kentucky, and Ohio before joining the Chronicle five years ago. After the meeting, Max later learned that Grant had been twice nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for investigative work.
Without any fanfare, the last member of the quartet spoke.
“My name is Ximena Ortiz. I am originally from Arequipa, Peru, but my family moved to Bethlehem when I was five years old. I went to Lehigh University, graduating in 1973, after which I joined the Chronicle as a feature writer. I also wanted to say that I loved the series you guys did on the chemical dumping and am excited to be part of this team.”
“With that out of the way, let’s get down to business,” Devlin said, taking charge of the session. “Let’s talk about goals, how we work as a team, how we vet ideas, and so on.”
Over the next hour, topics were brainstormed, and the four members of the Sunday Squad began to speak casually, peppered with light banter between serious topics. By the end of ninety minutes, Tom, Max, Aaron, and Ximena had a handle on each other’s strengths and weaknesses. They also knew where individual interests lay.
The meeting ended when Devlin said he had to get ready for lunch with the publisher and stated the team would meet once a week at the same time. Devlin added that he expected his four stars to regularly call each other to collaborate and bat ideas back and forth before bringing them to the meeting.
Tom and Max decided to stop at the Trivet for lunch on the way back to the bureau. It was noon, and the parking lot was packed. There was a short line out the door, and as the two men approached the diner, Max excused himself to use the restroom inside. Instead, he found a payphone on the wall between the men’s and ladies’ bathrooms. From experience, Max knew that a three-minute call to Philadelphia from a payphone would cost seventy-five cents. He dropped three quarters into the appropriate slots and dialed.
“Yo, Barrett,” Max said in hushed tones to his friend’s answering machine. “We are going to have to up our surveillance game. I hope you’re up for it. Allentown has a lot of elevators.”
Chapter Twelve
Allentown’s holiday season did not shine as brightly with cheerful decorations as it did in New York or Philadelphia. Save for twinkling lights and a sparkly fake silver Christmas tree in the window of Hess’s Department Store three blocks from the Chronicle office on Hamilton Street, the city’s “main street” was all business, dressed in December gray. Contrary to the lyrics of the song “Allentown” made famous by Billy Joel nine years later, the economy at that time was robust. The economic decline from the closure of the major factories, such as Mack Trucks and Alpo, would come years later.
Barrett had agreed to meet Max in the lobby of the nearby Renaissance Hotel at two o’clock. This meetup would give Max time to plan the next chapter in their surveillance saga and still make it to the bureau in time. Max got to the city early, scouting for apartments. While he had three months left on his lease, the landlord had offered him an early out. Given the nature of the apartment building’s flimsy construction, the second floor’s steps caused the lower unit to shake if someone ran up the twenty-five stairs too quickly. At 180 pounds, Max was hardly light on his feet.
Max found a few candidates for his next home. One was a bit too close to the college he attended for four long, challenging years. Another was a half-block from a fire station but close to the fairgrounds, which he found appealing. Max would whittle the choices down and have his parents come and help him decide.
At two fifteen, Barrett showed up in the hotel lobby demanding hot chocolate. Max remembered that Hess offered hot chocolate to its customers during the holidays, and the iconic department store was on the way to their destination.
With his sweet winter treat in hand, Barrett dove right in.
“So, with this new assignment, you want to eavesdrop not just on one building, but two?” Barrett said between sips.
“I’m not saying that I will rely solely on what I hear in the elevators, but I have to admit, those overheard conversations helped get me where I am today.”
“And where exactly do you plan on hiding these transmitters?”
“I was thinking Allentown City Hall and the federal courthouse. They are just a block apart.”
Barrett shrugged his shoulders. “I guess in for a penny, in for fifty pounds. Wait,” Max’s friend continued. “How do you plan on listening in on two locations? That will eat up a lot of time.”
“I have an idea that takes care of that.”
“Do you care to tell me, or should I guess?”
“Later. Right now, let’s go to the lobbies of the two buildings and scope out the elevators. By the way, I bought a second FM transmitter.” Max pulled a shiny new Heathkit gadget that was still in its factory wrapping.
A cold wind whipped in a circular frenzy as the two men headed east on Hamilton Street toward the two government buildings. City Hall was an old relic that dated back to the 1930s, while the federal building was a more modern glass-and-steel structure from the generic school of architecture. On the way, the two men walked past the old courthouse, where Max stopped and pointed to the plaque out front.
“Did you know that during the Revolutionary War, the founding fathers hid the Liberty Bell here?” Max said, his breath turning into a cold-weather cloud with every word.
“Am I supposed to care? I’m freezing my nuts off here, and you’re playing history teacher?”
Max and Barrett made their way to Allentown City Hall and scoped out three elevators that serviced four floors. They were older attendant-run elevators that had been updated to become self-service. Small billboards were fastened to the back
of the elevators advertising various upcoming civic events such as a Christmas charity drive. Placing a transmitter to the back of the frame that held the billboards was a piece of cake.
Moving on to the federal building, Max knew there were three elevators, but there were five floors. Like the building, the lifts were only a few years old; no doubt built with some pork-barrel money owed to a local, influential congressman. For that matter, a vote in favor—or against—can buy an elected official any number of rewards. In this case, a yes vote on some earmarked military spending was rewarded with a brand-spanking-new federal office building.
The elevators in the federal building had neither billboard nor ashtrays. It would take the team of Barrett and Fine some time to figure out how to hide the transmitter in those up-and-down machines.
Barrett walked Max to his car, which was parked a few blocks west of the Chronicle. It was not in the reporter’s best interest to be spotted to avoid explaining what he was doing wandering the streets of Allentown in the early afternoon on a day fit for polar bears or reindeer. As they approached Max’s car, Barrett reminded him to explain how they planned on surveilling two buildings.
“I have someone we can trust. I plan on asking her to help monitor the federal building while I tackle the city hall. Let’s talk in the next few days about an installation plan.”
Barrett shook his head in disbelief. “Man, if this goes south, please leave me out of it. This is getting a bit too out there for my taste.”
Max had decided to meet Sue the following Saturday afternoon for coffee at Heffelfinger’s Coffee and Tea, a few blocks from the campus of Max’s alma mater. He planned to confess to Sue why he was sitting on the bench outside the Carbon County Courthouse a month ago when she spotted him after cupcake shopping. Max wasn’t going to reveal all the details of his sleuthing, but enough to intrigue Sue into joining the upcoming caper. After his work on the chemical dumping—which was all above board—Sue had to know Max’s heart was in the right place and would be willing to give him wiggle room in his tactics.
Sue arrived on time, dressed for the weather. Max still had forgotten to retrieve his winter coat from Philadelphia and was wearing several layers underneath his faux leather jacket. Sue approached Max, kissed him on the cheek, and sat down for coffee and Funny cake, a Pennsylvania Dutch specialty.
With eyes fixed on Max, Sue listened as Max explained using an FM transmitter to nail Chris Albrecht in the arson case and how he planned on using it for his work with the Sunday Squad.
“And that’s where you come in,” Max offered in a serious tone. “I need your help.”
Max spoke deliberately, revealing about 90 percent of his and Barrett’s actions related to bugging the Carbon County Courthouse. Sue sat quietly, taking it all in between sips of coffee and bites of cake. She occasionally nodded to let her friend and colleague know she was listening intently. After ten minutes of what amounted to something between a confession and soliloquy, Max stopped.
“So, what do you think?” Max said after taking a deep breath.
“I understand you were in a tough spot because of your suspension, and while I don’t generally subscribe to the belief that the ends justify the means, I don’t condemn you for what you did. It was ingenious.” Sue smiled. It wasn’t exactly the face of evil, but it lacked any shred of innocence. “So, why did you want to tell me this secret?”
“Yeah. I need your help. I want to make a name for myself with this Sunday Squad, so my friend and I plan to bug the elevators at Allentown City Hall and the federal courthouse. I hope to use the stuff we hear to verify info we find through traditional methods—you know, good old-fashioned investigative reporting.”
“I’m in. What do you need me to do?” Sue said before Max could get his words out. “Who knows? Maybe it will help me somehow. Also, this way, you can owe me one.”
Startled by Sue’s eagerness, Max hardly knew how to respond.
“Wow. Barrett, my friend from Philadelphia who helped me plant the transmitter in the Jim Thorpe building, is working on a federal building elevator scheme. City Hall is a piece of cake.”
“Okay, just keep me posted,” Sue replied with confidence. “Listen, while we’re out, do you want to do something like go to a movie?”
“If you want to know the truth, I planned on looking at apartments here in Allentown. I am planning on moving here in the next few months.”
Max and Sue spent the rest of the day with the Chronicle classifieds, crisscrossing the city, looking at a wide range of places. Most of the landlords or those subletting assumed Sue and Max were a couple wanting to move in together. At one place—a two-bedroom near 27th and Tilghman Streets—Sue grabbed Max’s hand as a joke when they were being shown the unit.
“Oh, darling, isn’t this just the loveliest place?” Sue said in a breathy voice, just loud enough for all to hear. Max turned bright red and looked down at his feet, hoping his size twelve Chuck Taylors had an answer to Sue’s joke.
At 6 p.m., Max drove Sue back to Heffelfinger’s, where she had left her car. He told her that he had plans for dinner with some college friends, but Sue knew it was an excuse for Max to get his bearings after what was, for him, a confusing day. She kissed him on the cheek and got in her car.
The rest of the weekend was not as restful as Max had hoped. While taking care of his usual chores on Sunday, Max listening to the Eagles beat the New York Giants 20–3, making their first trip to the NFC Playoffs in eighteen years. As the game wrapped up, Max sat at his kitchen table with a yellow pad and made a list of possible investigations and targets he might focus on in his new role. Going back to his first eavesdropping score for ideas, he put “Payoffs” and “City Officials” at the top.
Max set his focus on Mark Donahue, the three-term Democratic mayor of Allentown. Donahue was the most popular elected official in Lehigh County over the past twenty years. He could be the man of the people in a rally supporting equal pay for women. Later that same night, he was a bigwig wining and dining CEOs of companies considering Allentown for relocation. Depending on your political stance, Donahue was either considered flexible or a phony.
Donahue came on the scene quietly in 1968, having moved from Springfield, Illinois, where he was a city councilman and high-profile car dealer. During his official campaign, Donahue, a burly Irishman who proudly wore his heritage, met his wife Margaret, who volunteered in the office. The former Margaret O’Brien graduated from Cedar Crest College in Allentown, but had moved to Illinois to do graduate work in nursing at the University of Illinois-Springfield. The two married and decided to move to the Lehigh Valley, where Mrs. Donahue had a prominent family.
After selling his car dealership in Springfield to a group headed by his cousin John, Mark Donahue decided to become a civil servant after he and his wife relocated east. He volunteered at several area shelters and became a deacon at St. Paul’s Catholic Church. Always with a friendly greeting, whether it was Sunday after mass or in the dining room at a local soup kitchen, Donahue’s magnetic personality led him to pursue political office. After two years on Allentown’s city council, Donahue ran for mayor and beat the Republican incumbent in a landslide. He was the darling of the local Democratic Party leaders and union officials.
Donahue’s meteoric rise and popularity were further bolstered by his success in bringing new companies to the area. The Royal Typewriter Company was convinced to move its operation from its original headquarters in Hartford, Connecticut, to Jordan Creek in the northern part of the city. The terms of the deal to bring Royal to the city were never made public. The same was true for Radio Flyer, the nation’s largest manufacturer of toy wagons. After fifty-three years with its main office in Chicago, Radio Flyer moved to a vacant building on South 7th Street in a rundown part of Allentown. The city, again with deal terms somewhat sketchy, promised the toy company the moon, including renovation of the abandoned site, which once made machine parts for long-haul buses.
In 1974, Donahue
ran virtually unopposed in his reelection for mayor. The Republican Party all but conceded by putting a retired judge on the ballot against the incumbent. The margin of victory was the largest in local political history. The celebration that marked his win made the headlines of the Chronicle as it brought out political bigwigs from around the state, including Governor Milton Shapp and State Representative James Ritter, a close friend of Donahue’s.
Call it instinct or maybe wishing thinking, but Max knew something was not quite right about Donahue. He wanted to know more about those deals that brought two companies to town that seemingly had no intention of relocating. Royal and Radio Flyer brought jobs and prestige to Allentown, but at what cost? Also, there had to be a lot of city money spent on renovating the dilapidated building on South 7th. How was that accounted for, and how were the bids for the construction jobs to do the massive renovation handled?
Al Hickey, the editor with whom Max worked closely on the chemical dumping series, shared a rumor that Mark Donahue was accused of playing footsie with one of his secretaries during his first term as mayor of Allentown. Hickey said there was an under-the-table settlement to keep things quiet lest the church deacon’s reputation take a major hit.
As per Jack Devlin’s instructions, Max wanted to team up with one of the other squad members to brainstorm how to approach digging into Mark Donahue. Max had already worked with Tom, but their styles were too complementary for this work. Max decided to go with Aaron Grant over Ximena Ortiz. Grant’s overall demeanor and vibe were a stark contrast to Max’s. If need be, one could play Devil’s Advocate to the other or good cop/bad cop if any interviews came up.
Max met Aaron Grant the following Tuesday at the Chronicle office in Allentown. Max was still working out of the Nesquehoning bureau, so Monday was devoted to wrapping up some local stories and assembling some year-in-review pieces related to Carbon County politics.