Chapter 11 –
The Worst trip to Philadelphia ever
Over the next several days it became apparent that Elise’s ministry had decided she was recovered. Her eight to ten hour days moved back up to twelve to fourteen, and then they decided she was needed all weekend as well, after all, it was a national crisis and she had to be around to make decisions. I was less sure she was ready, but then it was a national emergency, and maybe the busy-ness of it all would help her recover from the shock of the terrorist attack. We went back to seeing each other around midnight when she crawled into bed, too tired to talk.
I went to the hospital a couple times to see President Jolliet. Once they wouldn’t let me in to see him; the other time we had a brief talk. They had him sitting up in a chair. The room was still overwhelmed with flowers, and I had to push my way through several huge plants just to shake his hand. It might have been better if I hadn’t. His hand was nearly lifeless, and very, very cold. He asked about Elise, but then almost before I could answer, he was back to comments about his staff members who had been killed. Two of the security guards had been killed at his door, he told me again. He had heard the shots, he told me again. I sympathized, and told him he looked better, you know, the things you say to someone who is really sick. And maybe that was the worst moment of our meeting – when I realized I was talking to him not as a great man I had come to admire, but as an old man who was in deep despair. Fortunately, a nurse came in to run some test, so I left. As I pushed my way back through the flowers, it occurred to me I was grateful for the excuse to leave. I hated myself as that thought crossed my mind. Jolliet deserved so much better.
A couple days later the workmen came to put the security system around the house. I watched three guys take two hours to hang one light and decided I needed to get out of town. I had promised to come home to Philadelphia, and now was the right time. I packed a bag, called Elise, and hopped a plane.
My folks were waiting for me at the airport. That hadn’t happened since I was a teenager. Usually I arrived and caught a cab for home. Why drag the folks through all the traffic? But here they were. My first thought was “who died”? Then it dawned on me, this was about me and about not dying. Their smiles were big, so big I was seeing their “brave” smiles. They were being brave for the son who had seen terrorism. But I wanted none of that.
“Thanks for picking me up.” I gave them each a hug and then threw my bag over my shoulder and practically pushed them across the airport toward the parking lot. I wanted to get home. I wanted to be back among the familiar rooms of my childhood. Come to think of it, maybe I did need some support after all. “How’s business, Dad?”
“We just had the best week in our history, largely because of Green Bay. The guys in the office there are beside themselves.”
“Oh. Do they need some help? I keep meaning to stop over, but…”
“No. They are fine. And you are the reason. That picture of you and Elise and President Jolliet… As far as our customers are concerned, you are the savior of Canada.”
“Actually it was Elise...” and I caught myself. I really didn’t want to go down that road. The details of that night were best left in Green Bay. “It was Elise who heard the explosions and said we should go back to the house. So that’s why we were there at the end to help President Jolliet in the truck.” By now we had made it to the car, and while Dad drove, it was Mom’s turn.
“How are all those cuts you got running through the woods? Are you keeping them clean?”
“They are mostly healed.” I rolled up one of my sleeves as proof. Mom took a close look. She really did want to see that the cuts were clean.
“I understand President Jolliet’s house was totally destroyed?”
“It was on fire when we got back there, so that would not surprise me. I haven’t paid much attention to the news lately, so I haven’t seen any of the latest pictures.”
“Well, it was very brave of you to go back to help the President.” My mother was patting my hand at this point. “I am sure it meant a lot to him to have you there.”
“The Canadian army handled the assault very well. We just stayed low until the fighting was over, and then we went to see how Jolliet had fared.”
“Well, we are both very proud of you,” my father added. Traffic was really bad, and most of his attention was focused on the road. Every time I come back to Philadelphia I am struck by how congested everything is. We must have ten times the population density of any city in Canada. Washington had had the right idea all those years ago. We Americans could use the extra room.
The rest of the ride home – which took over an hour because of the traffic – was an update by my mother on family and friends. These neighbors had another grandchild, this old friend had retired, that sort of thing. Oddly enough, I actually remembered some of the people she was talking about. Eventually we made it home.
Coming around the corner at Rittenhouse Square, I saw my brother and his wife getting out of his car. So, the family was coming to dinner. I am never sure how to feel about an evening with my siblings. As the youngest boy, I had plenty of memories of being bullied. Of course they had also protected me on occasion. Maybe that is how all siblings feel – there are good memories and bad.
Tonight would be a good memory. All three of my brothers were there with their wives and kids. My sister was traveling, but otherwise, the entire family filled our brownstone across from the park. And they were there, basically, to honor me. Not a bad feeling, especially if you are the baby brother.
There were greetings, hugs, comments about the kids – they had all grown. It didn’t take long before the beer came out – Guinness of course. Meanwhile my mother and the daughters-in-law put food on the table and got the kids seated. Dinner was corned beef and cabbage. Any doubt we were Irish?
I knew my brothers were there to hear the story, and even the littler kids seemed to pay some attention. So, over dinner I described the evening with President Jolliet, glossing over the obvious parts. I did include Elise taking her dress off so we could travel through the woods more easily. I expected Elise would do more than put an elbow in my ribs when she heard I had told that part of the story, but who could resist? If there is one action sure to hold the attention of men, women, and kids, it is the thought of a woman getting undressed. And of course, by giving her my coat, I appeared very gallant. That description also had the advantage of being so riveting, I could just gloss over the events that followed. We ran along the lakeshore, we climbed up the vineyard, we hid until the army had killed the terrorists. One of my brothers wanted to know if there were a lot of bodies, but his wife must have crushed his foot under her heel, for he let out a shout, everyone laughed, and I never answered. I did describe the house on fire, and that seemed to satisfy whatever urges for drama my brothers had.
Eventually, the questions turned to Jolliet’s condition. I mentioned we had been to see him in the hospital. He was sitting up, and looked good, but he was very concerned about all the household staff and security people who had been killed. I didn’t think I needed to give any details of his condition, and no one asked.
From this point on the talk turned political. Would there be more attacks, would Louisiana secede, would more Protestants come to the U.S., would that create problems for American Catholics? All of my brothers had opinions, and after three beers, all those opinions were voiced easily and often. I let them argue it out while I worked on my dinner. My mother is a great cook. The fact that I lived in Green Bay and might have an opinion too, never occurred to my brothers. After all, I was the youngest. But this was an occasion where I was grateful to be left out of the debate. Let them argue the future of the country where I lived. To me, it was more than a subject of debate. It was where I had friends – and another family. It was uncomfortable for me to even think about where the future might lead, much less present gory possibilities over dinner. That
was better left to big brothers.
Eventually my brothers’ wives brought them to heel, and the conversation turned to family. Rory here was losing his baby teeth, Molly had put on the greatest dance recital… That sort of thing. Each small child at the table was complimented and physically or metaphorically patted on the head. A couple liked it, and a couple were mildly embarrassed. But they all endured it. And then, since it was a school night, they were all pulled out of high chairs and booster seats, and taken out to cars to be put into safety seats. My brothers and I stood out in the street while all this was going on, shaking hands, talking about the family business, talking about cricket and soccer -- you know, male bonding stuff. And then they were off.
Back in the house, my father poured us each a Jamisons and led me to his office. Apparently there was business talk to complete before bed. The first topic I appreciated. Business was up, so my commission check would be even larger this quarter. Then came a bit of a stunner. Our company was to supply some materials to a mining operation in northern Canada. It appeared the project was on hold, so our contract had been voided. Could I check and see what the problem might be? How did I tell my dad I knew why the project was on hold, and I was the guy who suggested it? Oops. I had no idea we had been part of the project. Blocking the Foster family was still the right thing to do, but it was ironic that we would be caught up with them. I promised my father I would see if I could find out anything. Hopefully he would forget the contract by the time I got home the next time.
Then came the real reason for the meeting, and maybe the reason for the Jamisons. Senator Dodson wanted to have lunch with us tomorrow.
“I will cancel the meeting if you like, but I think it would be good to clear the air.” While my father often sat behind his desk while he talked with us about business, this evening he was sitting in one of the wing-backed chairs across for mine. The message he was sending was that we were equals. Obviously we are not, but I appreciated the gesture. I think he was saying I was free to say “no,” if it really mattered to me.
“Do you know what he wants?”
“I am pretty sure he wants to apologize, but he also wants to hear your evaluation of what is happening over there. He heads the Foreign Relations Committee. It is his job to know what is going on around the world.”
“Do you trust him?”
“No. He has never lied to me, so I have no reason distrust him, but I have never really gotten to know him either. We talk maybe twice a year, either because I need some help with some stupid new export regulation, or he needs campaign funds. We have never interacted socially. So do I trust him with the career and reputation of one of my sons? No.”
“But you think we should talk.”
“Yes. But carefully. I am still annoyed by the incident with the money. That just seems odd. But he is a U.S. Senator. We do have some responsibilities.”
“Okay. But can we do it someplace public? Some place that does not feel creepy?”
“Yes. In fact he was the one who suggested a restaurant. Is Bookbinders acceptable?”
“The last lobster I had was canned. Yes, Bookbinders would be great.”
And that’s how we ended up at Bookbinders the next day. Dad went into work the next morning as he always did, and I got to sleep late and then sit in the kitchen for about an hour having a breakfast with my mother. It was a great morning. I took a long walk around Rittenhouse Square, read a couple newspapers, talked more with my mother, and then – finally – well rested and feeling ready for anything, I caught a cab to Bookbinders.
Not surprisingly, I was the first to arrive. Dad often gets caught up in conversations with customers or employees, and Dodson? Maybe he was busy, maybe he was making a show of his importance. I wasn’t too bothered. A table had been set up for us – in a quiet corner, so apparently, while the lunch would be public, it would not be too public. I could live with that. I ordered a cup of coffee, did some people watching, and checked to see if anything had changed on the menu in the past couple years.
Dodson was the next to arrive. He was quite the show as he worked the room. Was there anyone at any table he did not know? He stopped and talked to nearly every person in the place. Big smiles, firm handshakes all around. This was his restaurant. Even the waiters got his attention and were addressed by name. He knew them all.
Eventually he took a seat opposite me, and I got the big smile and firm handshake. "Good to see you, Shawn. I am glad you finally had time to visit."
"It's been a little hectic in Green Bay."
"Ha," and he really did laugh a little. "You must be the master of the understatement." How do I describe Dodson? He was sixty and balding badly, but he kept himself in pretty good shape. Not a lot of fat, although if he did have a middle-aged spread, he was wearing a very nice suit that I assume would cover any problems. No glasses, good teeth, and big eye brows that framed a rectangular face. Not handsome, but expressive. "And I really am pleased to see you weren't hurt." Here he leaned toward me and gave me his best expression of concern.
"Thanks, but we were in no real danger."
"Shawn, I have pretty good contacts in Green Bay. I know what really happened. You were very brave, and frankly are pretty lucky to be alive." Now I was puzzled. How much did he really know?
"We just arrived at the end of the fight and were there when they got Jolliet into the military vehicle for the trip to the hospital."
"Shawn," and here he lowered his voice. "Elise killed four of the attackers, badly wounded two others, and basically stopped the attack, or at least pinned them down long enough for help to arrive. And you killed one." He emphasized the last sentence, pausing between each word. And - pause - you - pause - killed - pause - one. It sounded awful hearing it said that way. It was like each word was a bullet.
"My family doesn't know. When my father arrives..."
"Your father won't be coming. I thought it would be better if we had a private conversation. And he agreed."
"Okay, so if you know all this, and obviously you have good sources in the Canadian government, what do you need with me? What was all that nonsense with David Starr about?"
"Yes, David was not the man to send, but he was the man you knew, so I used him. I did need to talk with you, and you have been ignoring me for months. Poor David did his best, but he does not have the best judgment."
"He makes a terrible spy."
"Thankfully, he is not a spy. He is what he says he is -- a consular agent who helps Americans in Louisiana. And trust me, between drunk fishermen and rowdy college kids, he is kept very busy. Since I knew you had met, I asked him to go to Green Bay to talk with you."
"And the money?"
"Did you really give it to a food bank?" He laughed when I nodded. "That was his initiative. He knew your family was in business, so he assumed money was a motivator for you. Why cash and not a check? I have no idea. He's back in New Orleans getting drunk Americans out of jail."
"Okay, so all this confusion aside, you wanted to talk with me. Here I am. What do you want to talk about?
"Two things. First, I have good sources among the Canadians, but it never hurts to get a reaction from an American. Your perspective helps. I need to know if we are about to have a refugee crisis on our hands. Last summer a hundred thousand Canadian Protestants came to the U.S. for safety. This summer will it be a million? Ten million? Second, I need to know about Tilden Foster. I have been trying to talk with you about him ever since January.
"Foster?"
"This is a very dangerous man. I need to know what he is up to, and I need to know more about his character. What can we expect from him?"
"I assumed you knew about him. Sometimes I wondered if you approved of him."
"Shawn." The look of disapproval and disappointment took complete control of his face. He just stared at me.
"I have never been sure what the policy of
the U.S. is. Do we want the dissolution of Canada? Are we trying to help that process along?"
"Shawn, we are a democracy. We don't have a policy. We have a thousand policies, one for every member of congress, one for each governor, one for each TV talking head, and one for each billionaire who thinks he should be running the show. And all those policies will be different a month from now and different again a month after that."
"And Foster?
"Whatever our policies might be on a given day, they don't include having Americans starting battles in foreign countries."
"You know we are trying to stop him by turning his family against him."
"Yes, you had the government deny their mining permit. You think his brothers will be angry with Tilden? You should have spoken with me first. His brothers are more dangerous than he is. And you just cost them 1.7 billion dollars. They aren't going to come after Tilden, they are going to come after you -- and your family."
"That explains the contract..."
"That is step one in a very dangerous dance. And your family will lose. Your father is a good man, and his company is very successful. But he is not in the same league as the Fosters. And -- thanks to you -- he doesn't even know he is in a war. I will do what I can to help, but you have to do your part. That begins by keeping me informed. To start with, I want you to write a complete description of what happened in January. I want all the details, and every observation you have about Foster's actions and character. Email it to this address." He handed me a small card. "Now I need to get back to the office, and you should probably have a conversation with your father." He gave me a perfunctory handshake and then made his exit, stopping to talk and laugh with a few more people on his way out.
I sat stunned. The minute Dodson was gone a waiter came to take my order, but I had no appetite. I paid for my coffee and left. First stop? My father’s office. I caught a cab and then gritted my teeth as it moved across town at a glacial pace. Traffic was always bad in Philadelphia. But of course my impatience was not always this bad. Today, I sat in the cab and grimaced at every traffic light that turned red, every left turn lane that was backed up. I phoned my father to let him know I was coming. I chose not to tell him why I was coming over. This was news that should be delivered face to face.
Eventually the cab made it to my father’s business. I looked at it, and for the first time was fully aware of just how small it was, and where it fit in the pantheon of business. Basically, we were a large warehouse on the banks of the Delaware. We did some small scale manufacturing, but mostly we were a supply chain business, the classic business–to-business middle man. We had sources all over the world, and we had customers all over the world. If you needed something, you could try to find it on your own, or you could come to Murphy Manufacturing and we would find it for you, assure the quality, and do all the logistics work so it arrived at your door the hour you needed it, never an hour earlier or an hour later. In the world of just-in-time manufacturing, we led the way.
But of course, as I now saw with complete clarity, our place in the middle left us vulnerable at both ends. The Foster brothers could go after our suppliers, or they could go after our customers, and of course they could also go after both.
We have a six story office tower adjoining the warehouse. Dad’s office was on the second floor. He always wanted to be in the middle – close to both the folks on the warehouse floor, yet also close to all the administrators making calls and handling orders on the floors above him. His office was neat, after all, he entertained clients there, but it was hardly plush. He had a desk covered with stacks of papers, three computer terminals within arm’s reach, and a set of six good-quality chairs around a conference table. I pulled a chair from the conference table, and sat across from his desk. Either Dodson had called him, or there was something on my face, because it was clear he knew something was wrong the minute I sat down.
“Remember that mining supply contract we lost in northern Canada? That was my fault.” That was how I started things, and then I took the next twenty minutes to describe all the interactions I had had with Tilden Foster, my “brilliant” idea for getting him to stop his crazy actions, and then what I had just learned from Dodson about his brothers and the blow back we were going to experience. My father listened, and did not interrupt. Although at one point while I paused for breath and tried to determine what to describe next, he did say,
“Well, if you are going to rattle someone’s cage, one point seven billion dollars would do it.”
I nodded, and then continued on, going back to the fights in Dakota and Foster’s escape from his own men. I was trying to be as complete about Foster as I could be – his strengths and his weaknesses and his oddities. Finally my father said what I knew he had to, but what I had been dreading most.
“We need to bring your brothers in on this, and your sister if she is back in town.” He picked up one of his phones and talked with his secretary. She was to start tracking down all Murphy’s and get them to his office ASAP. There was nothing in his voice to imply panic, but it was clear Emily was to move as quickly as she could.
As it turned out, the all my siblings were reachable and arrived in dad’s office within about twenty minutes. Dad had them all sit around the conference table, and then started the conversation saying, ”Shawn has something to tell you.” Since I was telling the story for the second time, I had some opportunity to be a little more coherent. I gave some background on what had happened in New Orleans, but then I got to Dakota and I covered that in detail.
“They tried to kill you?” Ryan interrupted at one point. Dad motioned for him to stop.
“Let Shawn tell the whole story. It involves all of us.”
So I went back to the events in Dakota, Foster’s departure, and then the plan I had created for the Canadians to undermine the Foster family businesses.
“One point seven billion.” James said. There was a look on his face that was a combination of surprise and awe. “That would take a bite out of anyone. But what does it have to do with us?”
“There is a leak in the Canadian government. Senator Dodson is convinced they know the idea is mine, and all the Foster clan will now come after us.” I paused and looked around the table. “I’m sorry. It hadn’t occurred to me that this might happen.”
“Damn,” James again.”Why didn’t you just shoot the son of a bitch when you had the chance?”
“James!” Dad took control of the meeting at that point. “There will be no language like that. We have a problem. Maybe a very big problem. What we need is a strategy. This is a family problem, and that is why you are all here. So start thinking about how we can beat these people.”
“I have a suggestion.” Michael was usually the last to speak, so it was surprising to hear him initiate an idea. “We need a defense. They will try to go after our customers, and maybe our suppliers. But we can’t just stay on defense. We need to attack them too, if for no other reason than to keep them busy. I think we should create two teams.”
“Give me offense.” James was sitting high in his seat, looking like he wanted to jump up and get started.
“I’ll take offense too.” Catherine said that so emphatically there was no debate. And we could see immediately it made good sense. James would shoot from the hip. Catherine would make sure he aimed first.
“That leaves me and Ryan on defense,” Michael said. “That’s fine with me.” Ryan nodded his assent.
“And what do I do?” I asked.
“You go back to Green Bay,” my dad answered. “Use your connections there and tell us more about Foster.”
“I can’t just leave this all for you to clean up.”
“Are you kidding?” James was gathering up his notes and preparing to charge out of the room. “An hour ago I was wondering if I would make my quarterly projections. Now I get to take on a bunch of billionaires. This week just got much mo
re interesting.” I don’t think anyone else felt as sanguine about the conflict we were in, but sometimes bravado just sounds right. So we all left it there. Each brother popped me on the shoulder as they left the office – some traditions never die – and Catherine gave me a kiss on the cheek. Then they left, two by two, off to battle the Foster clan. You can’t imagine how proud I was to be a Murphy at that moment.
“And what do we tell mom?” I asked once the office was empty.
“We tell her everything. It is her company too, and besides, she has her own connections that may help.” And that is what we did later that evening over the dinner table.
The Canadian Civil War: Volume 4 - Mississippi Beast Page 11