“When a population is dependent on a machine, they are hostages of the men who tend the machines. If their morale is high, their sense of duty strong-”
Someone up near the front of the restaurant had turned up the volume control of the radio, letting out a blast of music that drowned out Gaines’ words. When the sound had been tapered down to a more nearly bearable volume, he was saying:
“Listen to that. It illustrates my point.”
Blekinsop turned an ear to the music. It was a swinging march of compelling rhythm, with a modern interpretive arrangement. One could hear the roar of machinery, the repetitive clatter of mechanisms. A pleased smile of recognition spread over the Australian’s face. “It’s your Field Artillery Song, The Roll of the Caissons, isn’t-it? But I don’t see the connection.”
“You’re right; it was the Roll of the Caissons, but we
adapted it to our own purposes. It’s the Road Song of the Transport Cadets. Wait.”
The persistent throb of the march continued, and seemed to blend with the vibration of the roadway underneath into a single tympani. Then a male chorus took up the verse:
“Hear them hum!
Watch them run!
Oh, our job is never done,
For our roadways go rolling along!
While you ride;
While you glide;
We are watching ‘down inside’,
So your roadways keep rolling along!
“Oh, it’s Hie! Hie! Hee!
The rotor men are we-
Check off the sectors loud and strong!
(spoken) One! Two! Three!
Anywhere you go
You are bound to know
That your roadways are rolling along!
(Shouted) KEEP THEM ROLLING!
That your roadways are rolling along!”
“See said Gaines, with more animation in his voice, “See? That is the real purpose of the United States Academy of Transport. That is the reason why the transport engineers are a semi-military profession, with strict discipline. We are the bottle neck, the sine qua non, of all industry, all economic life. Other industries can go on strike, and only create temporary and partial dislocations. Crops can fail here and there, and the country takes up the slack. But if the roads stop rolling, everything else must stop; the effect would be the same as a general strike-with this important difference: It takes a majority of the population, fired by a real feeling of grievance, to
create a general strike; but the men that run the roads, few as they are, can create the same complete paralysis.
“We had just one strike on the roads, back in ‘sixty-six. It was justified, I think, and it corrected a lot of real, abuses-but it mustn’t happen again.”
“But what is to prevent it happening again, Mr. Gaines?”
“Morale-esprit de corps. The technicians in the road service are indoctrinated constantly with the idea that their job is a sacred trust. Besides which we do everything we can to build up their social position. But even more important is the Academy. We try to turn out graduate engineers imbued with the same loyalty, the same iron self-discipline, and determination to perform their duty to the community at any cost, that Annapolis and West Point and Goddard are so successful in inculcating in their graduates.”
“Goddard? Oh, yes, the rocket field. And have you been successful, do you think?”
“Not entirely, perhaps, but we will be. It takes time to build up a tradition. When the oldest engineer is a man who entered the Academy in his teens, we can afford to relax a little and treat it as a solved problem.”
“I suppose you are a graduate?”
Gaines grinned. “You flatter me-I must look younger than I am. No, I’m a carry-over from the army. You see, the Department of Defense operated the roads for some three months during reorganization after the strike in ‘sixty-six. I served on the conciliation board that awarded pay increases and adjusted working conditions, then I was assigned-”
The signal light of the portable telephone glowed red. Gaines said, “Excuse me,” and picked up the handset.’
“Yes?”
Blekinsop could overhear the voice at the other end. “This is Davidson, Chief. The roads are rolling.”
“Very well. Keep them rolling!”
“Had another trouble report from the Sacramento Sector.”