by Tom Hansen
The day Ray graduated with honors from Causeway High, his little brother Roy officially dropped out of school. During the last two months of his sophomore year, Roy was able to lift more than $500 from the purses of every female teacher at the high school. After methodically plotting the times for after-school faculty and grade level team meetings from the bulletins posted next to the office door, Roy would sneak into the teachers’ classrooms, pull out their billfolds from their purses and take only a couple of ones or fives. Not one teacher reported a theft because no one realized the money was missing.
In June of 1955, Roy Jackson bought a Greyhound ticket to Milwaukee. He wanted to work in a brewery, surrounded by hops and yeast and alcohol. He got off Bus 149 in Cincinnati at midnight to change to Bus 167 that would take him to the city of suds, but instead he accidently boarded Bus 197 to Pittsburgh. The driver wasn’t paying much attention and Roy was fatigued from the long ride north from Florida, so he found the first open seat and collapsed into a snore-laced stupor. He awoke outside of Wheeling, West Virginia, but didn’t have enough geographical sense to know he was traveling in the wrong direction. US Geography was taught in eleventh grade at Causeway High.
“The next bus to Milwaukee isn’t until ten tomorrow morning,” said the attractive brunette Greyhound ticket agent in Pittsburgh. “You’re kinda cute, kid, so I won’t charge you anything for the mess up.” The ticket agent smiled and winked at Roy.
“So what’s there to do in this city?” asked Roy as he looked at his watch, not noticing that the googly-eyed ticket agent was making passes at him. It was mid-morning and he had the day to kill. “You know any cheap place I can bunk down for the night.
“It’s such a nice day, you should walk downtown and stroll along the three rivers that come together here. There’s the Monongahela, the Allegheny and the Ohio. Very pretty, I must say.”
The gal was so sweet that Roy didn’t want to offend her by letting her know he wasn’t much for strolling. “Okay, that sounds like fun. So do you have any cheap hotels around here?”
The agent thought a moment and pondered her next response carefully. “Well, there’s no need for you to waste money at some dirty hotel. Why not stay at my apartment? My husband sells insurance, so he’s out in Harrisburg today and we have plenty of room for guests.” That was a stretch. The young lady actually lived in a one-bedroom apartment about the size of a large tree house.
Roy finally got the hint and was anxious to confirm spending the evening with this beautiful gal who looked to be just a couple of years older. He wrote down her address and directions. She got off work at five.
Roy left the Greyhound station, checked the city map the cute ticket agent had given him, then walked a few blocks southwest down Grant Street. He noticed a green section on the map that indicated Mellon Park Square was located just a block away up Sixth Avenue, and he decided to hunker down there to kill some time before checking out the Allegheny River.
“Wow, what a place!” whispered Roy to himself. He was looking at greenery and fountains that had just been erected on top of a parking garage. Then, he sat down on a park bench and gazed across the street at a skyscraper. It too looked new. Fifteen minutes later, Roy decided to check it out. There was a sign next to the entrance of the building that said: Pennsylvania, Ohio and West Virginia Aluminum Company World Headquarters (Built 1953).
The revolving doors were a novelty that Roy had never experienced. He started toward the open wedge of the door, but then stopped. The door was revolving quickly and he wasn’t sure his timing was just right. But then he got a nudge on his shoulder.
“Come on, buddy. I don’t have all day.” A man in a dark gray pinstripe suit, white shirt and a narrow silver and black-striped tie gripping a black leather briefcase stood waiting impatiently for Roy to make his move. Roy jumped into the next opening and tiptoed quickly until the door opened on the other side and he emerged into a grand lobby. He stopped and looked up and down and all around, stunned by the beauty of this towering superstructure.
Roy wondered if working here would be better than scrubbing and polishing copper fermentation vessels at Pabst Blue Ribbon. He had nothing to lose, so he strutted up to the receptionist.
Roy was wearing faded blue jeans, a red t-shirt and worn down tennis shoes. The receptionist gave him a once over and decided whoever this young man was, he needed to go. But Roy had a different plan.
“Howdy, young lady,” Roy said with shear confidence. “My name is Roy Jackson and I am the head of marketing for Clyde Hayes Western Wear, and I have an appointment with your personnel department manager.”
The receptionist looked back at him incredulously. “You have an appointment with Marvin Adams? Is that the way you always dress for an interview?”
“Yes ma’am! This is how Clyde Hayes wants us to present ourselves, just like we want our customers to look.”
“You’ve got to be kidding, right?” sputtered the receptionist. “Oh well, okay, but I need to give Mr. Adams a few minutes to get up to his desk. He was the man right behind you when you came through the revolving door.”
Roy’s face turned bright red. “Oh sure, yes, I thought that was him,” he lied. “I’ll just take a seat over here.” Roy sat down on a fabric chair by the window and picked up a copy of Life Magazine. He wanted to appear literate.
Ten minutes later the receptionist motioned for Roy to approach her desk. “Mr. Adams says he has no appointment scheduled with you, Mr. Jackson.”
“You’re right, I lied. But I know my experience working with Clyde Hayes is something that could be very beneficial to POWVAC.”
“Is that right,” replied the receptionist with skepticism. “You said you work at Clyde Hayes’ headquarters, Mr. Jackson. Where exactly is that?”
Roy had to think quickly. He wasn’t prepared for that question. “Well, it’s in Milwaukee, of course.”
“Is that so? Sorry to tell you this, but Clyde Hayes Western Wear is headquartered in San Francisco. I just got off the phone with their personnel department. They have no record of a Roy Jackson being employed there.” After a moment of dead silence, the receptionist added, “Is there something you want to say? If not, I suggest you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am very sorry that I wasted your time. But I am motivated by this company and would really like to work here someday. By any chance could you get me Mr. Adam’s business card?”
The receptionist looked around and saw that no one was waiting for her assistance. Roy had already checked that out, too. She reluctantly decided to go to the personnel department and grab Marvin Adam’s business card from his secretary. Customer service is what her company was all about and she aimed to please, regardless of how much she loathed the customer.
“Alright, Mr. Jackson. Please have a seat again and I’ll be back soon.” The receptionist locked her desk and headed for the elevators.
Roy looked around again. Still no one was in the lobby. He reached in his pocket and took out his multifaceted Swiss Army knife. Nary a teacher’s desk at Causeway High School had survived this trusty tool. Roy picked the receptionist’s desk in less than a minute and had ducked down where no one could see him. Her purse was in the bottom right file drawer. As luck would have it, she had two crisp hundred dollar bills tucked into a hidden compartment that only petty thieves like Roy Jackson would know where to look. He closed the purse, shut the drawer and waited as patiently as possible for the receptionist to return. Three minutes later, she returned and handed Roy the business card while bidding him farewell. The revolving door bumped his ankle and he stumbled to the ground face first onto the Sixth Avenue concrete sidewalk. People covered their mouths to hide their laughter.
Roy strolled aimlessly trying to find a clothing store. On the other side of Mellon Square he found the Union Trust Building. In an old railroad ticket office on the corner of Oliver and William Penn, he saw a luxury clothier with the name Larrimor’s posted above the entrance. He looked in the huge
picture window and saw a black suit fitting superbly on an equally superb manikin. A placard hanging from the ceiling just above the manikin said: Made from 100% washable Dacron.
Roy walked in the store and fifteen minutes later walked out wearing a dark blue Dacron suit, white shirt, red tie, a pair of Frank Brothers shoes and a dollar bill he received in change from one of the stolen hundred dollar bills. He tossed his t-shirt, blue jeans and tennis shoes into the garbage can by the door and walked out, proudly raising his chin in the air due to his new found opulence.
Having no destination in mind, Roy walked northwest on Oliver Street for a block until he came to Smithfield Street. Looking to his right he saw another skyscraper with many offices. He crossed the street and entered the Henry W. Oliver Building, with a strut as dapper as his dress. To his left were the offices of Marks, Taylor and Smith, Attorneys at Law. “Why not?” Roy thought with a grin of confidence smeared all over his face.
Roy walked over to the men’s room in the lobby and pulled out his Swiss Army knife once more. One of the gadgets that was tucked into it was a small metal file. He pulled out the POWVAC business card, unfolded the file instrument and scratched off Director of Personnel underneath Marvin Adam’s name. Then Roy dipped his forefinger in water and lightly rubbed the flakes off the card. He used the electric hand dryer to remove the moisture, then held the card up to the light. “Not bad, if I do say so myself,” whispered Roy.
After exiting the bathroom, Roy walked purposefully through the doors of Marks, Taylor and Smith and straight to Doris Doth’s reception desk. Doris was an attractive, middle-aged lady with curly blond hair and wearing a smart, yet elegant navy blue dress. Roy wished he had a briefcase. It would have looked much more professional. He smiled and handed the business card to Doris.
“Hello gorgeous,” cajoled Roy. “My name is Marvin Adams, lead attorney for POWVAC.” He added a wink to his smile.
“My, my,” replied Doris, totally flattered. “You look awfully young to be a lawyer.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that before. Personally, I don’t see it, but I sure appreciate the compliments.”
Doris handed the business card back to Roy. “So how may I help you today, Mr. Adams?”
“Please call me Marvin, thanks. Yes, is Mr. Marks or Mr. Taylor available this morning? If not, perhaps I could speak with Mr. Smith?”
“I’m sorry, Marvin. All three partners are in Minneapolis this week.”
“Ah, the Minny Apple, are they? What are they doing there?”
“Northwest Orient Airlines is our biggest client and they are still involved in a lawsuit over the crash that happened back in 1950. The family of the house that was destroyed is suing them.”
“Interesting,” proclaimed Roy thoughtfully. “What is your defense strategy?” He wasn’t sure that was the right lawyer talk, but it sure sounded good.
“We believe there was some sort of malfunction in the control tower’s radar system. I’m only hearing this second hand, you know, in the lounge at lunch, but the talk is that some unknown radio wave accidently interfered with the tower’s communication to and from the airplane. So the plane had to land on its own in a snowstorm with very little visibility.”
“Well, that’s just plain awful!” exclaimed Roy as he was pondering his next move. “So getting back to my visit, is there someone I can talk to for a few minutes about a lawsuit we are involved in? We might like some assistance from your firm on this one.”
“Certainly, Marvin. I think Hank Daughtry would be available. Hank’s our new associate. Fresh out of Yale, but you’ll have to listen closely when he speaks because he still talks with a southern accent. He’s from somewhere way down in Florida. Anyway, Hank is doing the scientific research for the Northwest case.”
“Well, that would be splendid, Doris. Thank you very much.”
Doris picked up the phone and dialed Hank’s office. Roy sat down in the visitor’s chair and stared at a picture of the three partners that was framed on the wall. He was in deep thought. Perhaps this Daughtry fella could be duped. He had nothing to lose by trying. If Marks, Taylor and Smith didn’t work out, there were plenty of other law firms nearby.
Hank Daughtry appeared a few minutes later, introduced himself to Roy and led him up two floors on the elevator to his office. Roy looked around at the messy room. Boxes of files were scattered everywhere and Roy saw only two personal items, both hanging on the wall behind Hank’s desk. Roy walked up and looked at the diploma from Yale, then glanced over to the picture next to it. It was a photo of Hank wearing a Yale shorts and t-shirt uniform holding a soccer ball in his left hand while his right arm was draped around the neck of a dark-skinned teammate with curly black hair.
“Who is this?” asked Roy as he pointed to the teammate.
“That’s my college roommate and best friend,” replied Hank. “We were the captains of the Yale soccer team. His name is Yussef Jasur, the son of a prince from Jasurbia.”
“Jasurbia? Isn’t that the place where there’s supposed to be a bunch of oil?” As soon as Roy said it he wished he hadn’t. He didn’t think a lawyer would use the word bunch, but it just slipped. He needed to step up his game and he wished now that he had studied those twenty vocabulary words he was supposed to learn in grade school each week.
“More than just a bunch, Mister, uh, oh I’m sorry. I forgot your name.”
This was Roy’s chance for the switch. If he was to be employed in a law firm, it would be much easier using his real name.
“Jackson. Roy Jackson is my name and there is absolutely no reason to apologize. It happens all the time.”
“Yes, thank you, Roy. As I was saying, SoCal discovered an abundance of petroleum in Jasurbia back in the thirties and a few years later, King Mustafa ibn Jasur and his family became very rich. The king’s son, Adil Al Jasur, sent his son, Yussef, to America to learn about petroleum engineering at MIT, but Yussef excelled at soccer and wanted to play for an Ivy League team. He ended up at Yale and received a BS in electrical engineering, then transferred to MIT and got a masters in physics. Smart man, if I do say so myself!”
“Sounds like it. So you’re new to Marks, Taylor and Smith? Are you enjoying it here?”
“Well, I just started a few weeks ago. Down the road I’d like to get into politics, but for now this will help me pay off my student loan.”
“I see,” said Roy. Hank was very amiable, but Roy noticed he was giving him the once over. Roy suspected that Hank was curious about his age. “Yes, I just graduated from Penn. I, too, have a large amount of debt.” Roy hoped that Penn had a law school.
“Well I must say, Roy, you certainly look awfully young to have a law degree.”
“Yes, actually I’m much younger than most. You see, I was accelerated through junior and senior high school and graduated when I was fifteen. Got a BS degree from Florida in two years and finished law school in three.”
“That’s quite impressive! So, are you from Florida? I’m from Haines City.”
“Well, what a coincidence. I’m from a small town on Lake Okeechobee called Pahokee. Ever heard of it?”
“Can’t say that I have, but I’ve fished the Big O many times. Best bass fishing around, right?”
“Sure is, Hank.” Roy guessed that Hank had bought his string of lies.
“So, how can I help you today, Roy?”
“Well, I understand you are conducting some research into the crash of that Northwest flight a few years back, right?” asked Roy and Hank affirmed with a nod. Hank had no idea that Roy received that information from Doris. “I just started as an attorney over at POWVAC, but the aluminum industry doesn’t exactly excite me. My bachelor’s is in aeronautical engineering and I would like to assist you in your research, if you happen to have an opening.” Now Roy hoped that the University of Florida had an aeronautical engineering program.
“It’s your lucky day, Roy. This case is huge and Mr. Marks called me this morning saying I should hire an assist
ant to help me out. He wanted me to work with someone who has a science background. You must be my gift from God!”
“I can start today, Hank. I just need to run back to POWVAC and give them my resignation.”
“That fast? You don’t need to give them a two-week notice?”
“I’m sure I can work that out,” replied Roy. “So where do I fill out my employment paperwork?”
“Doris can take care of that,” said Hank. “Well, welcome aboard Roy. I sure look forward to working with you!”
“I’ll be back first thing in the morning, Hank. Thank you so very much!” Roy left Hank’s office and went back to Doris’ desk. Hank had called down to her and she had the paperwork in hand. He needed to list a home address, so he wrote the address of the Greyhound ticket agent’s apartment. Roy would open a post office box as soon as he left Marks, Taylor and Smith, and then would change the address tomorrow. But tonight he would celebrate his good fortune.
With the few dollars he had left, Roy bought a bottle of fine champagne and searched for the Greyhound agent’s apartment. She lived in a worn down building on Mittenberger Street, just east of Duquesne University. The young lady was very impressed with Roy’s new threads and the bottle of Veuve Clicquot, but she wondered where he found the money to pay for it. He told her he met up with his rich Aunt Mamey who inherited a fortune from her late hubby, Uncle Mel. Roy claimed that he was always Aunty Mamey’s and Unc Mel’s favorite nephew. The naïve young Greyhound ticket agent bought it: lock, stock and barrel. Tomorrow her husband would return from Harrisburg, but tonight she would enjoy being wined and dined in style.