Add to that ladylike good looks, obvious intelli gence, platform poise-and a veteran. I couldn’t have lived that wrong. I tried to catch Tohi Griffith’s eye to share my misery, but he was looking at her and the lunk was lapping it up.
Nelson-Miss Nelson-was going to town on housing. “You promised him that when he got out of that foxhole nothing would be too good for him. And what did he get? A shack in shanty-town, the sofa in his inlaws’ parlor, a garage with no plumbing. If I am elected I shall make it my first concern — ”
You couldn’t argue against it. Like good roads, good weather, and the American Home, everybody is for veterans’ housing.
When the meeting broke up, I snagged Tom and we rounded up the leaders of the Third District Association and adjourned to the home of one of the members. “Look, folks,” I told them, “when we caucused and I agreed to run, our purpose was to take a bite out of the machine by kicking out Jorgens. Well, the situation has changed. It’s not too late for me to forfeit the filing fee. How about it?”
Mrs. Holmes-Mrs. Bixby Holmes, as fine an old warhorse as ever swung a gavel-looked amazed. “What’s gotten into you, Jack? Getting rid of Jorgens is only half of it. We have to put in men we can depend on. For this district, you’re it.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t want to be the candidate; I wanted to manage. We should have had a veter “There’s nothing wrong with your war record,” pi~it in Dick Blair.
“Maybe not, but it’s useless politically. We needed a veteran.” I had shuffled papers in the legal section of the Manhattan project-in civilian clothes. Dick Blair, a paratrooper and Purple Heart, had been my choice. But Dick had begged off, and who is to tell a combat veteran that he has got to make further sacrifice for the dear peepul?
“I abided by the will of the group, because Jorgens was not a veteran either. Now look at the damn thing-What makes you think I can beat her? She’s got political sex-appeal.”
“She’s got more than political sex-appeal” — this from Tom.
When Dr. Potter spoke we listened; he’s the old head in our group. “That’s the wrong tack, Jack. It does not matter whether you win.”
“I don’t believe in lost causes, Doctor.”
“I do. And so will you, someday. If Miss Nelson is Tully’s choice to succeed Jorgens, then we must oppose her.”
“She is with the machine, isn’t she?” asked Mrs. Holmes.
“Sure she is,” Tom told her. “Didn’t you see that Cliff Meyers had her in tow? She’s a stooge-the Stooge with the Light Brown Hair.”
I insisted on a vote; they were all against me. “Okay,” I agreed, “if you can take it, I can. This means a tougher campaign. We thought the dirt we had on Jorgens was enough; now we’ve got to dig.”
“Don’t fret, Jack,” Mrs. Holmes soothed me. “We’ll dig. I’ll take charge of the precinct work.”
“I thought your daughter in Denver was having a baby?”
“So she is. I’ll stick.”
I ducked out soon after, feeling much better, not because I thought I could win, but because of Mrs. Holmes and Dr. Potter and more like them. The team spirit you get in a campaign is pretty swell; I was feeling it again and recovering my pre-War zip.
Before the War our community was in good shape. We had kicked out the local machine, tightened up civil service, sent a police lieutenant to jail, and had put the bidding for contracts on an honest-to-goodness competitive basis-not by praying on Sunday, either, but by volunteer efforts of private citizens willing to get out and punch doorbells.
Then the War came along and everything came unstuck.
Naturally, the people who can be depended on for the in-and-out-of-season grind of volunteer politics are also the ones who took the War the most seriously. From Pearl Harbor to Hiroshima they had no time for politics. It’s a wonder the city hail wasn’t stolen during the War-bolted to its foundations, I guess.
On my way home I stopped at a drive-in for a hamburger and some thought. Another car squeezed in close beside me. I glanced up, then blinked my eyes. “Well, I’ll be-Miss Nelson! Who let you out alone?”