“That’s fine. You want to be the one to tell them?”
“I’d love to, but couldn’t you come down and let Reverend Nees thank you himself?”
“No, it’s probably better if I’m not seen in the limelight on this one. I might just decide to be a Senate spokesman on that investigation after all. Let the dust settle; then maybe we can all get together and plan the next move.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” TJ told him.
“Don’t give it a second thought. I don’t feel as if I’ve really done much at all. It’s the first time in quite a while that I’ve felt what it’s like to be the Lord’s instrument. I don’t mind telling you, it’s given me quite a thrill.”
TJ came out of his office feeling as if he were floating ten inches off the ground. Amy Lou was waiting for him. “It’s Nak on the phone, sir. He’s been waiting for you to get through. The Washington Post man wants to do an interview of you this evening also, to appear in tomorrow’s paper.”
It hit him then, truly like a thunderbolt out of the sky. The power of the message left no doubt from whence it came. TJ laughed aloud, thought to himself, I’m trying to climb out on every limb in sight.
“Tell Nak to bring the reporter down to the Community of Hope at 1417 Belmont Street Northwest. I’ll meet them there at six. Oh, and call that young lady at the television station, Miss Sandra Hastings. They’ll probably try to give you a runaround, but see if you can press them into paging her. If they do, ask her to join us as well. Tell her we have a story for her that she should really enjoy.”
****
The message had already come in from HUD. When TJ arrived, he found the place in absolute bedlam. Jeremy was swinging Anna around the front office like a drunken dance partner.
“I don’t know what you did, old friend, but from here it looks like solid gold.”
“You’re going to wring that poor girl’s neck,” TJ observed.
“Naw, they make ’em tough down here.” Jeremy swung around so as to be able to reach TJ with his free arm. “Now why don’t we go on into Tom’s office so’s you can tell the story just one time to everybody.”
“There isn’t time, Jem. The press should be here any minute.”
“Press?” Tom Nees appeared in his doorway. “You’ve brought the press into this already? Why?”
“Tom, if TJ Case has got the press comin’ down, you can bet your bottom dollar there’s a good reason for it.” Jeremy looked at his dancing partner, said, “You’re not gettin’ tired are you, miss?”
“Just try to loosen that headlock a little, would you?” She held out her hand to TJ, gave him a warm smile. “Nobody can believe what you’ve done.”
“The man didn’t do a thing except let himself be the Lord’s instrument,” Jeremy said. “If there’s anybody who oughtta be thanked right now, it’s the Man upstairs.”
“Absolutely right,” TJ said. “We’ve got just a few minutes before the press arrive. Do you think we could all join hands for a prayer?” The circle formed quickly, heads were bowed and quiet restored.
“Father, we thank you for the wonderful bounty which you have bestowed on us,” TJ began. Eleven of them had joined hands in a haphazard circle that snaked around the stairwell and the reception desk. “It is truly a wondrous event, to see the unfolding of your miracles, and to know that we have had a small part to play. Let us never forget how little it is that we ourselves have done, Lord. Simply because the action has been taken by ourselves, and because we cannot see with our physical eyes that you have made our road straight, let us never assume that we are responsible, that we have made this happen.
“You have guided me to ask the press here, Father. I do not even know why this is so, or what it is that I should say. Help me, please, help us all to speak the words that you place in our mouths. Let us pass on your message, sing your praises, speak of your holy presence in our lives. Let there be no room for selfish praise or self-seeking glory. Let us speak of the One who has made all things come to pass, who has granted us this miracle of service. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
People raised their heads, seemed reluctant to let go of one another’s hands. Anna quoted from memory the passage from Second Corinthians, “‘God in his mercy has given us this service, and so we do not become discouraged.’ ““Amen,” Jeremy chimed in.
They heard the murmur of voices rise from downstairs. “That’ll be the press,” TJ said. “Reverend Nees, is there any particular way you’d like to handle this?”
“Personally, I would have preferred to wait until I had the HUD agreement in writing,” Tom Nees replied.
Jeremy looked at TJ, said, “Did you have a push from above on this?”
“More like a kick in the hindquarters,” TJ replied.
“There’s your answer, Tom,” Jeremy said. “If the man’s gettin’ divine direction on this thing, the best we can do is hold our breath and dive on in.”
They moved downstairs, where the man from the Washington Post was decidedly upset to find the television station there as well. “I thought this was supposed to be an exclusive interview,” he grumbled.
“I agreed to nothing of the sort,” TJ replied, turned, smiled, and said, “Good evening, Miss Hastings. It’s so nice you could join us.”
“What, is she the one who did the interview last week?” The Post man was irate. “I don’t believe this.”
Jeremy limped up. “Sport, you’ve got two choices. You can shut up with the complainin’ and hear what the man’s got to say, or you can be deposited in the street.” Jeremy looked around, asked, “I’d say that was pretty clear, wouldn’t you?”
“That’s enough, Jem,” TJ said, and offered his hand to the Post reporter. “TJ Case.”
“Hank Weathers. Glad to know you, Mr. Case.” He indicated Sandra Hastings with a jerk of his chin, said, “She in on this too?”
“It turns out I have something new to report, which is why I asked you both down here,” TJ replied. “After we’ve discussed this, I would be happy to live up to the bargain and talk with you alone. How does that sound?”
The man grinned. “Fair enough. Thanks, Mr. Case.”
“Fine. I’d like to introduce you to the director of the Community of Hope, Reverend Tom Nees.”
Reverend Nees shook hands all around, said, “Why don’t we troop back upstairs and get started?”
While Sandra went out to gather her crew, Nak walked over, greeted his boss with, “Do we still have jobs?”
“As of five o’clock this afternoon, nobody had told me anything differently,” TJ replied.
Nak nodded, no expression. He looked over, said, “Nice to see you again, Mr. Hughes.”
“Son, what say I use your shoulder to get back up those stairs. I believe I’ve just about worn this lady plum out.”
“I think I need a neck brace,” Anna agreed.
TJ listened to their slow clumping procession, waited until Sandra Hastings reappeared, greeted her crew, and walked them upstairs. “I hope it wasn’t too difficult for you people to come over on such short notice.”
“As a matter of fact,” Sandra Hastings replied, “we’d just received a cancellation not twenty minutes before your message arrived. We were supposed to be downtown to interview the mayor about some questionable police matter, but it was put off until later tonight.” She laughed. “I suppose you’d call that another of your miracles, right?”
“Why don’t we wait until you hear what I have to say,” TJ replied. “Then you can decide for yourself.”
“If it’s anything like your prayer meeting,” Sandra Hastings replied, “I can’t wait.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” TJ told her.
“I don’t know if enjoy is the right word,” she said. “It certainly made me think, though. I’ve even found myself reading the Bible now and then.”
“Just remember that as long as you don’t commit yourself, you’re walking along a razor’s edge,” TJ told her. “The only safe
place in all the uNIVerse is within our Savior’s arms. The longer you wait, the harder it will be to take that step.”
“Amen,” said a voice from behind them.
Sandra Hastings turned, said, “I didn’t know you were a Christian, Mark.”
The bearded cameraman gave TJ a very embarrassed glance. “That’s pretty much the worst condemnation you could make, isn’t it, Mr. Case?”
TJ did not try to minimize it. “We do have a responsibility to share the truth.”
“Listen to the man, Sandy. You don’t know how important a choice this is. When I think of how close I came to turning it down, it leaves me cold.”
Sandra Hastings seemed quiet and troubled as she entered the office.
There was a brief period of small talk while the crew set up camera and lighting and mike; then Reverend Tom Nees made a short introduction to the Community of Hope, what they did, and the experiences they had in working with HUD.
He concluded with, “Yesterday morning I told Mr. Case about our difficulties. I don’t know what he did, but today we received a telephone call to say that the funding has been approved. And not just for the original two projects, but for the one that was turned down, and for two more that I didn’t even know were in the works.”
“Wow,” breathed the Post reporter, and was shushed by the camera crew.
“My sentiments exactly,” Reverend Nees agreed. “Almost four million dollars for new low-income housing. I know the word has become so abused as to be almost empty of meaning, but this is a miracle in the truest sense of the word.”
“Reverend, do you ever regret giving up the life you had to come down and work with the poor?” Sandra Hastings asked.
“Of course I do,” Tom Nees replied. “In order to have these people trust me, I must live as they do. It is extremely difficult to watch my family endure that kind of poverty because of a calling I’ve had. Thankfully, my wife and daughter support me one hundred percent. But there are still times when I wish I could give them things, and I can’t.”
He gave the reporters a tired smile. “Then something like this happens. Or I see a child who came to us so abused and emotionally battered that her little face is molded into a permanent scowl, turn and hug one of our ladies, and laugh, and say that she loves her. Or I see a family who came to us absolutely broken in spirit and body and leave with the pride of having a good job and a new home of their own. And I know that I am right where I should be. There is not the slightest question in my mind. I know this is right.”
There was a long, thoughtful silence, as TJ and Jeremy and Anna and Nak and Tom Nees watched the two reporters struggle with their own inner questions and doubts. Almost reluctantly they roused themselves, and asked TJ if he would trade places under the lights with Tom.
He did so, and with utter assurance made a compelling presentation. He described the talk he’d had with Senator Atterly, leaving out nothing but the man’s name. He told them of the hunting done by the senator’s assistant, and what he uncovered. He named the company, the Atlas Group. He described the change of attitude once pressure was brought to bear. And then he waited.
The atmosphere in the room had become electric. Sandra signalled to her crew, the lights were cut, and the Post reporter rested a weary hand.
“This is great stuff,” the Post reporter said. “I don’t suppose you could tell us which senator it was who gave you the scoop.”
“That’s not for me to say,” TJ replied.
“I think we’ll run this as a special,” Sandra Hastings said, thinking out loud in her excitement. “This is fantastic. I’m going to hit the mayor with it tonight, ask his opinion.”
The Post reporter perked up. “Yes—uh—I wanted to ask you about that.”
“Tell you what,” Sandra said to him. “If you’ll promise to share your next HUD scoop with our television station, I’ll let you tag along tonight.”
“Done.” The guy smiled. “Want it in blood?”
“Not in this room,” Tom Nees said.
TJ listened to their antics, felt the Spirit grow within him. Why now, he wondered. Why not before the interview began? But the Presence grew until all else was secondary, until little else mattered.
Sandra Hastings turned back to him, asked, “Do you think we could have something from you as a sort of conclusion? You know, some opinion that I could run alongside what the mayor’s got to say?”
“Of course,” he replied, having been given the words.
The lights were turned back on, the camera focused, and Sandra Hastings asked him, “Mr. Case, as the person directly responsible for overcoming this difficult and long-standing roadblock, do you have any opinion as to the general outlook for housing our nation’s poor?”
“We have arrived at a crossroads,” TJ said, his voice needing no volume to put across its strength. “We must stop the impersonal, wholesale approach of public agencies’ relief efforts by coupling government together with nonprofit organizations. Each need is specific. The only way to humanize the government’s heavy-handed assistance is to make it a partnership with individual Christian charity.”
Sandra Hastings objected, “Wouldn’t this open relief efforts to enormous risks of abuse?”
“The abuse is already there,” TJ replied. “It has always been there, and as the size of our government grows, so too will the magnitude of these abuses.
“Corruption will be found wherever there is a source of money as large as the government, and whenever man is ruled by greed rather than compassion. Our objective should be to set up guidelines that allow for relief to be given without strangling our ability to show compassion. We must stop making relief so faceless, and realize that money alone will not solve a person’s problems. The spirit must be healed as well, and this the government can never do.
“We as a nation must stop handing over our responsibility to the government, then criticizing it for failing to do what it was never meant to achieve in the first place. Relief efforts are every Christian’s responsibility. Not the churches, not the government, not some civic-minded organization allocated a budget and forgotten. Every single Christian has an obligation to his or her neighbor. Every neighbor. Regardless of race or income. Every neighbor.”
Reverend Tom Nees quietly quoted the words of Christ, “He who does for the least of these, does for me.”
TJ went on, “You cannot legislate hope. You cannot legislate mercy. Nor love. Nor compassion. This country, every individual, needs to reach beyond the limits of legislation. It needs to find a sense of compassionate caring. We must begin to live up to the Christian responsibility of helping one another. Only then will we see an answer to today’s crises.”
Chapter Twenty
For Norman Greenbaum, the only difference between Saturday and the other days of the week was that he tried to hold himself to an eight-hour day. Sometimes he even succeeded. He was busy at his desk, reveling in the relative calm, when his phone rang.
“Norman.” President Nichols did not need to identify himself. “Has Case been notified of his, ah, departure?”
“No, sir,” Greenbaum replied, wondering why everything to do with this Case fellow seemed to go wrong for him. “I went over to his office as soon as it was typed up. I wanted to give it to him personally. But he’d already left for the day.”
“Did you leave it there?”
“No, sir, I brought it back.” In truth, Greenbaum had found himself more than a little shook up by the experience. Why, he could not explain. Even his wife had noticed and commented on it, but he shrugged it off. The whole thing, now that it was over, seemed impossible. But just the same, he’d been very glad not to find Case there. “I was going to give it to him first thing Monday, but I could drive it over to his home tonight, or call him, if you like.”
“No.” The President half-sighed the word, went on reluctantly. “I’m going to ask you to hold off for a day or so.” He was silent a moment. “My wife, did you know she’s been going to h
is prayer meetings?”
Greenbaum gave a silent groan, said, “No, sir, I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Neither was I. But it seems that one of her staff had been getting so excited about it that last week my wife decided to go herself. Now she’s after me to go.” The President hesitated, said, “She’s been very insistent, Norman. You know what she can be like when she gets her teeth into something.”
“Yes, sir, I certainly do.” The First Lady was generally a discreet and reserved woman. But if she decided to press an issue she could be an absolute lioness. Greenbaum decided the President must have been catching it hard.
“So just hold off for a day, will you? I’ll be going on Monday, and once I’ve had a chance to see this thing for myself, we’ll see to our housecleaning. That clear?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President, I understand perfectly.”
“Good then. Oh, and Norman, don’t mention this change of plans to Edwards, will you? I’d just as soon keep this postponement between us.”
****
Congressman John Silverwood was not at all pleased. The urgent summons from Senator Erskins had wrecked his evening’s plans with Sally. The next day, Sunday, was her birthday. To celebrate, he had paid a scalper a hundred bucks a seat for tickets to “Phantom of the Opera.” He glanced at his watch for the tenth time in perhaps five minutes, and hoped they would finish up in time for him to make the second act.
It was very strange to see Mr. Shermann sitting in Ted Robinson’s dimly lit hotel suite still wearing his sunglasses. No matter how often he saw them, Silverwood would never get used to those two-tone shades. The dried-up face, or what he could see of it, was as emotionless as ever, and the sticklike body utterly still. That could not be said for the other two persons in the room.
Ted Robinson ground out one cigarette, fished the pack out of his shirt pocket, lit another. The man’s normally urbane appearance had vanished. His collar was undone, his tie at half-mast, his hair in disarray, his eyes very worried. Silverwood could not recall ever having seen him like this, not even at the close of a long and exhausting campaign.
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