Standing in the Rainbow

by Fannie Flagg

  The big newspapers, who were all against him, always referred to him with derogatory names, such as Hamm “Pests in the Pantry” Sparks, Hillbilly Hamm, or sometimes even Honeymoon Hamm, but not one compared with the names he was being called by Earl Finley’s men when his numbers started to rise.

  As Election Day grew closer, to counterattack Hamm’s constant charges that Peter Wheeler was nothing but a rich man’s son, a new slogan was added to his campaign ads. They began billing him as Pete Wheeler, “the little man’s friend.” But Hamm was smarter than they thought. He went on statewide television and made a statement right into the camera. “Folks, usually I try to remain friendly with my opponents but when Mr. Peter Wheeler says he is for the little man, I just have to take exception to that. Because, ladies and gentlemen, there’s no such thing as a little man or a little woman in America. According to the Constitution we are all supposed to be equal. I may not be rich like old Pete, but being called a little man sort of hurt my feelings.”

  Hamm also announced that if elected he would ban all alcohol from the governor’s mansion and not allow it to be served at any state function. This was a good move. He knew that would sit well with the state’s large Baptist and Pentecostal population. Hamm also knew they would always vote dry as long as they were able to stagger to the polls. It was smart politics to give the church something to get behind and vote against.

  The Earl Finley crowd found out the hard way that Hamm was a scrapper. Everything they threw at him he threw right back. When a hastily staged photograph of Peter Wheeler sitting in a field of corn on a tractor appeared in all the papers, Hamm made the best of it. At his next press conference he said, “Old farmer Pete must have been surprised when he ripped up all his corn with that big number four wheat thresher he was sitting on.”

  On the morning of May 8 Cecil received a call from Coleman, at the advertising agency, who laughed and said, “Well, Cecil, where do I go and eat a little crow?”

  Cecil said, “Oh, honey, I’m just as surprised as you are.”

  What it all boiled down to in the end was not so much that Hamm Sparks won the primary but that more than a lot of people just did not warm up to Peter Wheeler. However, the next day a lot of people in the state woke up and said, “Who is Hamm Sparks?” Fortunately for Hamm, his Republican opponent in the election, incumbent Delbert K. Whisenknot, had a terrible voting record and the looks and personality of a hedgehog; but even still, beating him was no easy feat and the election was not a landslide by any means. Hedgehog or not, Delbert was at least a familiar hedgehog. Hamm and Delbert were neck and neck right down to the wire and Hamm won by only a narrow margin. In fact, he just barely squeaked in with a lot of last-minute help. In the rural counties the farmers backed him 100 percent, to the man. And late in the day, when it looked like he might lose, it was truly amazing how many goats, mules, bulls, and heifers showed up at the last minute to vote. One black-and-white sowbelly hog over in Sullivan County by the name of Buddy T. Bacon even voted twice. But this phenomenon was certainly no more amazing than the large number of deceased people around the state who suddenly rose from the dead and stuffed their names in the ballot boxes, voting for Hamm. And nobody knew more names of the dear departed than Cecil Figgs. It would not be an exaggeration to say that a lot of the polling places were loosely run. But none as loosely as the polling places set up in the Italian and Polish neighborhoods of St. Louis. One or two large fellows sitting outside the voting booth with a baseball bat more or less guaranteed a vote for Hamm.

  The New Administration

  Back in Elmwood Springs, Dorothy made it a policy never to discuss politics on her show or certainly never to brag about the important people she knew but she was so happy for Betty Raye she just had to say something. In early January 1957, after she announced the winner of the What Is Your Favorite Holiday and Why Contest, she said, “As some of you know, Mother Smith and Doc and I were lucky enough to be invited to the inauguration of our new governor and all I can say is we all can be mighty proud of the new first lady of Missouri. She looked as pretty as a picture in that stylish pink outfit and we all wish her just the very best of good luck!”

  Jimmy had received an invitation as well but he decided that he would stay home and watch it on television with his buddies down at the VFW hall. And he was glad he did because it turned out to be the TV event of the year. The entire Oatman gang showed up, including Chester, dressed in formalwear for the occasion, and they all sat on the platform behind Betty Raye. During the ceremony Minnie kept waving her big white handkerchief at everyone in the crowd and the whole time Hamm was being sworn in Chester was in camera range, shooting his eyebrows up and down at people in the front row. It was a live show and somehow the wrong button got pushed and the audience at home heard the director in the booth screaming through the headsets, “Get that #$%&*@! dummy out of there!”

  Other than that it went fine.

  On the morning of November 5, to her secret horror, Betty Raye had awakened and been told she was now married to the governor of the state of Missouri. She was not alone in her shock. A lot of other people had also been horrified to wake up and realize that some unknown ex–agriculture commissioner was now their new governor. But on the first day of his administration Hamm did an admirable and also a smart thing. His first phone call was to Peter Wheeler, to offer him a position in his administration. Which Wheeler graciously declined, as Hamm knew he would. Next he called Wendell Hewitt, another man he had defeated in the primary, and asked him if he would consider the office of state attorney general. Hewitt said yes. It was a good move. Even though Wendell Hewitt had been caught in a motel with a blonde, he was still a popular man with the people.

  The second thing he did was to save the taxpayers a lot of money. As part of his “Get Rid of the Pests in the Pantry” program, he announced he was eliminating all the paid staff at the governor’s mansion and replacing all the cooks, maids, gardeners, and so on with inmates, trustees from the state prison, and from now on all the vegetables used at the state dinners would come from the garden he was putting in at the back of the mansion and all the eggs and milk from their own livestock.

  And if anything could be said for Hamm, it was that he was loyal. His third order of business was to pay back all of those who had helped him. He brought in about twenty old friends and gave each of them an office. Everybody got something. Le Roy Oatman and the Missouri Plowboys were named “state musicians” and were hired to play for all the functions at the governor’s mansion during his administration. Rodney Tillman was appointed his press secretary and Seymour Gravel, another old army buddy down on his luck, was named public safety director and was to serve as his personal bodyguard. These appointments came as a slight surprise but, more important, everyone wondered just how Cecil Figgs would fit into the new administration. They were curious. Figgs was not a politician. What could he possibly want from Hamm?

  A few weeks later they found out. A very unhappy Rodney came into Wendell’s office with the bad news. “He’s just appointed Cecil ‘chief of protocol of the state.’ ”

  “What? There’s no such thing as chief of protocol for the state of Missouri.”

  “There is now. He’s giving him the office across the hall.”

  Wendell shook his head in disgust. “Jesus Christ . . . things are bad enough with all these bozos he’s brought in that don’t know what they’re doing. Now we’re going to have Cecil Figgs fluttering around here for the next four years.”

  In Kansas City Earl Finley sat in a room in the back of Democratic headquarters with ten other worried men, chewing on his cigar, his pig eyes darting back and forth.

  “Well, boys,” he said, “we now have a tractor salesman, an ex–gospel singer, a fairy mortician, and a drunk sitting up in the governor’s mansion. Now, just how in the hell are we going to get them out?”

  The Real First Lady

  PEOPLE MAY HAVE wondered why Cecil Figgs, who was so successful in the mortuary
and floral business and certainly did not need the measly little pittance the office of chief of protocol paid, had accepted the post. But Cecil had a very good reason. After reaching the top of his profession, he had become increasingly restless and bored as the years went by. He no longer planned the smaller funerals, only the large and important ones, but they were few and far between. Cecil had a burning need to stage the big event. He loved those with music, special lighting, spectacular sets, and fancy costumes. He had been so bored that last year he had thrown a big funeral for Miss Lily Mae Caldwell, who had been dead for over ten years. She had founded the Miss Missouri Pageant, so he invited all the ex–Miss Missouris to come back for the huge memorial service to be held on the stage of the theater where all the Miss Missouris had been crowned. Most of the girls had not liked her very much, but they came anyway. They more or less had to. Cecil had arranged for the entire evening to be filmed and not to show up would have made you look bad. The memorial pageant was a grand affair. He’d hired Bert Parks to emcee and had filled the stage with an orchestra and twenty-four different church choirs from all over Kansas City, wearing specially designed blue velvet robes with a jeweled Miss Missouri crown embedded on the front. Ten of the ex–Miss Missouris performed their old talent numbers and all of the others dressed in evening gowns were called onstage one by one. After they had all arrived there, when Cecil gave the cue, twenty-five white doves were released as a huge portrait of Lily Mae Caldwell, lit up at the top of a long pair of glittering silver stairs, was revealed, and Karen Bo Bo, an ex–Miss Missouri, sang “I’ll Build a Stairway to Paradise.” That extravaganza had kept him busy for a while but after it was over he felt empty and hollow again. What Cecil wanted was a bigger venue and now, thanks to his investment in Hamm’s campaign, he had the entire state to work with.

  The first thing Cecil did as the new chief of protocol was to insist on changing the state troopers’ uniforms. He came flying into the governor’s mansion with his costume designer from the Little Theater and hundreds of sketches of the costumes the designer had done for The Student Prince. He explained to a room full of flabbergasted state senators, invited for a gala breakfast, who would have to pass the bill to get the funding, that he wanted to eliminate all the old gray-and-brown uniforms and create a new look, bright blue with red stripes and lots of gold buttons. Cecil got nowhere fast. At the end of the day he’d managed to get funding to create a special governor’s Honor Guard uniform to trot out on state occasions. However, there were three stipulations in the bill: 1) No swords; 2) No plumes; 3) No white boots. Cecil was in a fit over that but at least he got his Honor Guard. The next week he had a slew of decorators descend on the mansion, laden with swatches and paint samples. Thanks to Hamm cutting the budget, the entire staff working in the governor’s mansion were trustees brought in from the state penitentiary. The cooks down to a woman were all murderers, as well as the maids and yard workers, with a few thieves and one five-time bigamist thrown in for good measure. But no matter their checkered past, Cecil set out to make sure they were all in starched white uniforms, neat and clean at all times. One ice-pick murderess named Alberta Peets, who did not like to wear shoes when she cooked, was told by Cecil that she was no longer allowed to go barefoot around the mansion. This upset her very much and some said Cecil was living on borrowed time.

  He did not seem to notice. He was too busy making sure that when out-of-town dignitaries came to visit they would not think they were in Dogpatch, USA. He was determined to see that Governor Sparks’s administration was one that would move the state forward and he had a lot of moving to do. Most of the men who surrounded Governor Sparks still wore white socks and brown shoes. After about a month of Cecil Figgs and his decorator friends running amok through the place, jerking down curtains, putting up new ones, and insisting that every male wear a fresh flower in his lapel, Rodney Tillman, at the behest of everyone, went into Hamm’s office and complained about him.

  But Hamm just dismissed it and said, “Oh let him have his fun—he earned it.”

  “But Hamm, he’s upsetting the staff,” said Rodney.

  “Well, that’s their problem. They’re just going to have to learn to put up with him; he’s not hurting anybody.”

  Rodney made no headway with Hamm. Whatever Hamm’s reason for keeping Cecil around, he must have known what he was doing. Hamm was not going to stop Cecil from doing anything he wanted. It was clear Cecil had full run of the governor’s mansion and there were no two ways about it. It also became clear that if you wanted the governor’s ear, it was a good move to go through Cecil.

  Of course, there were jokes. People snickered behind their backs that Cecil Figgs was really the first lady but Hamm didn’t hear it and, besides, he was too busy to deal with that silly little gossip stuff. And Cecil was far too busy, as he said, “trying to bring a little couth into the governor’s mansion.” He did complain daily about Hamm’s ban on alcohol. He said it had been an embarrassment to the state, offering only lemonade and grape Kool-Aid to the president and first lady of France when they visited. And even though he could be a holy terror and fly into a fit over the smallest detail, he was always kind to Betty Raye.

  As far as Betty Raye was concerned, she was more than happy, even relieved, to let Cecil plan the parties and act as host or hostess and entertain the various guests who came to the mansion. She was grateful to have someone who knew how to do all the things that she had no idea how to do. Even though Hamm had promised her she would not have to get involved, she would do the few events Cecil said she should. Cecil understood how shy she was and would ask her to come to a function only if he thought it was absolutely necessary. “Darling,” he would say, looking at her with his big eyes, “you really should come in just for a minute. It just wouldn’t look right for the state if you didn’t put in just a tiny appearance.” She would go whenever he did ask and try her best but she always felt uncomfortable and was glad when Cecil gave her the nod that she could slip out.

  Other than those few functions, she mostly remained pretty much in the background and tried her best just to stay out of everybody’s way. It was not too hard being first lady. Not many people ever recognized her. When Cecil had taken her shopping to buy a dress for the inauguration, one woman had come up to her and asked, “Miss, do you have this in a size fourteen?” And another had asked if she had anything in a black, off-the-shoulder evening gown. As a few unkind reporters had said in newspaper articles, she was not the most charismatic of first ladies. In fact, as only a few people had ever heard her, one said they even wondered if she could speak. The one thing she hated more than anything about being first lady was having to raise her children in the mansion. She felt as if they were living in a fish bowl. She was never alone, never had a moment to herself. The place was teeming with people night and day. She could not even go down to the kitchen for a drink of water without running into a tour group. And she could not leave or go anywhere without having a state trooper with her. But she did not complain. Hamm was happier than she had ever seen him. And, after all, it was only for four years. After this term was up, he promised her, he would go back to private life and buy them a home. For that, she could stand it for a few years.

  Missouri Power and Light, 1959

  IN HIS FIRST two years in office Hamm had proved to be more than just a greenhorn politician and stirred up one hornet’s nest after another but he was determined to do what he had promised, especially to save the taxpayers money. He upset Earl Finley’s sweetheart deals with the concrete and gravel companies and gave contracts to the lowest bidders, and he was particularly interested in utilities and finding out if they were efficient. He conducted surveys all over the state so he could learn where and how he could cut corners, and Elmwood Springs was high on the list.

  A thin young man of about twenty, wearing a white short-sleeved shirt, brown slacks, a clip-on bow tie, and black shoes that looked like the kind mailmen wear, walked up the front steps and knocked on the door. N
o answer. He knocked again. He could see the old lady in the kitchen at the back of the house as she passed back and forth. She was ignoring him but he needed three more people for the survey, so he walked around and knocked on the back screen door.

  The old lady looked up when she saw him. “Well, hey . . .”

  “Ma’am, I knocked on your front door but you must not have heard me.”

  The old lady said, “Hold on, let me go and get my hearing aid.” She came back in a moment. “What can I do for you? Are you selling something?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m from—”

  Before he could finish, she had opened the door. “Well, then, come on in. You’re not a mass murderer, are you? I can’t have any of those in my kitchen. I promised my niece, Norma, I wouldn’t let any men in the house.”

  He stepped inside. “No ma’am, I’m conducting a—”

  “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you. I am conducting a—”

  “Do you want a piece of pound cake?”

  “No, thank you, ma’am.”

  “Are you sure? I just made it.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Do you mind if I have a piece?” she asked, knife in hand. He stared at it.

  “Oh no, ma’am, you go right ahead.” He sat down and opened his large brown leather satchel.

  The old lady went over and cut herself a slice and put it on a plate, opened a drawer, and took out a fork. “You sure? It looks pretty good this time. The last one I made was a mess. . . .” She looked at the papers he was putting out on the table. “Are you a schoolboy?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m out of school. I’m conducting a survey for the Missouri Consumers Bureau for the Missouri Power and Light Company . . . and I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may?”