so politically naive that he would stand without hitching, or so ambitious that it
would blind him to what he must do to keep the support of the machine. Either way
the machine could use him.
I got there just in time to be introduced and take a seat on the platform. I
couldn’t spot Nelson but I did see Cliff Meyers, standing with some girl. Meyers is
a handyman for Boss Tully-Nelson would be around close
McNye accepted the call of the peepul in a few hundred well-worn words then
the chairman introduced Nelson “-a veteran of this war and candidate for the same
office”
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The girl standing with Meyers walked up and took the stage
They clapped and somebody in the balcony gave a wolf whistle Instead of
getting flustered, she smiled up and said, “Thank you!”
They clapped again and whistled and stomped She started talking I’m not
bright-I had trouble learning to wave bye-bye and never did master patty-cake. I
expected her to apologize for Nelson’s absence and identify herself as his wife or
sister or something. She was into her fourth paragraph before I realized that
she was Nelson. j Francis X. Nelson-Frances X. Nelson. I wondered
what I had done to deserve this. Female candidates are poison to run against at
best; you don’t dare use the ordinary rough-and-tumble, while she is free to use
anything from a blacksnake whip to mickeys in your coffee.
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