Chiefs (41 page)

“Yeah. As I say, he wouldn’t pass for a flaming liberal in Massachusetts, but he’ll do, for a southerner.”

“Sounds like you’ve been doing some research on him, David. Maybe you can tell us why he went with Lyndon in ‘60, when he supported JFK for VP in ‘56?”

“Remember a guy named Hugh Holmes?”

“Uh, something with Roosevelt, wasn’t he?”

“Informally. Roosevelt saw a lot of him on the Warm Springs visits. Apparently had a lot of respect for him. Anyway, Lee is a protege of Holmes, and Holmes and Lyndon have known each other for a long time. I suspect that influenced Lee’s judgment at the time. He’s firmly in our camp now, though.”

“How’s he come off, personally?”

“He’s no redneck. Pleasant southern accent, clean-cut, forty-eight, but looks younger, in good shape—tennis player. Dresses conservatively. He’s no intellectual giant, but he’s bright. Well traveled, knows a few politicians in England and Ireland through his wife’s family.”

“Is the wife Catholic?”

“No, Protestant family. Goes to the Baptist Church with him. She’s the cattle farmer, apparently, and good at it. Handsome woman, good campaigner.”

“Okay, what’s the catch. Booze? Women?”

“Light drinker, straight arrow, from all accounts. If he fools around, he knows how to keep it quiet.”

“Does JFK know him?”

“They’ve met a number of times. Got along. Bobby spent a day with him in Atlanta during the campaign. He was impressed.”

“Sounds too good to be true.”

In the firelight, Kass could be seen to grin. “Did I mention that he’s a brigadier general in the Air National Guard? Commands an air-transport group.”

“Come on, David, you’re making this up.”

“I kid you not.”

“Barry Goldwater would shit in his pants. Okay, what’s the catch? Why isn’t he better known?”

“The catch is, he’s only a lieutenant governor. Can you name one lieutenant governor of any state except Massachusetts?”

“No, now that you mention it. So how does he overcome that?”

“He runs for governor in ‘63. Georgia governors are elected in off years. But there’s still a catch.”

“Yeah?”

“The race question has hardened up now. If he runs as a liberal he’ll have a tough time winning.”

“And if he backs off on race we can’t use him.” “Right.”

“What do you think are his chances?”

“No better than even right now, and they could get a lot worse. A wrong move, a misstatement, and he’s down the tube.”

“Then why are we even talking about him this early?”

“You asked. And he’s worth it.”

“What can we do to help him?”

“I’ll have a look in the pork barrel.”

“Careful, now, we don’t want to put some congressman’s nose out of joint. Tell you what. Send his file to me Monday morning—I’m assuming you’ve collected a file, or you wouldn’t know so much—and I’ll slip it to the boss when the time is right.”

“Okay.”

The senior advisor grinned. “Oh, David?”

“Yeah?”

“How does he get along with Georgia’s Jews?”

“Just dandy.”

“I thought so.”

Chapter 2.

BILLY LEE arrived at his office in the Georgia Capitol shortly before nine, having picked his way through the heavy traffic from Dobbins Air Force Base in Marietta. It was mid-November, and his group had been on alert, ready to be called to active duty, since mid-October, when the Cuban missile crisis had taken place. Billy had been working since that time to ready his unit for call-up, and he was relieved to be going back to a normal schedule, now that the crisis had abated.

His mail was stacked neatly on his desk in two piles, one of letters which his secretary, the formidable Sarah, had opened and screened, and one of those which appeared personal or of sufficient importance to be seen first by him. He was continually amazed at her uncanny ability to decide in which stack a letter belonged. He could not remember her ever having erred in that or any other regard, and he once again blessed the day that the Georgia civil service had disgorged her into his office on the occasion of his inauguration.

He hung up his overcoat, turned to his desk, and was immediately transfixed by the sight of a pale, green envelope resting on top of the “private” stack. He had received one or two letters from the president before, routine notes prepared by some anonymous White House staffer and, probably, signed by a machine; what struck him about this one was that it had been addressed by hand, and not the perfect hand of a top-notch secretary.

He picked it up and stared at it for a moment. It had been addressed to his home and forwarded. He had not been home for a month. He gingerly opened the envelope and unfolded the paper.

.

Dear Billy

I heard on the grapevine that on the recent inspection tour the 109th came out head and shoulders above any other ANG group in readiness. I’ve sent my official thanks to the unit, but I wanted to let you know personally how much I appreciate your doing such a fine job. I know it took you away when the legislature was in session, and I’m glad we didn’t have to call you to active duty in the end.

Next time you’re up this way, let me know you’re coming, and let’s get together for a chat.

With best regards

Jack Kennedy

.

Billy read the letter again, then placed it carefully in his brief case. He was astonished that the man had taken time to write the note, and he was giddy with flattery. He had been hearing a lot from the administration lately. That fellow Kass had been down in early October, and if Billy had read him correctly, he could expect an endorsement, perhaps even personal campaigning from the president when he ran for governor, although nothing had been promised, and the man had made it clear that the administration was looking to him for progressive action in race matters. Kass had also brought him confirmation of some mass-transit money for Atlanta from the federal government, something the city had not hoped to get for months. The governor was still wondering how Billy had done that. Billy hadn’t done it at all, really. It had just fallen into his lap.

He was pondering all this when Sarah came on the intercom, and if he hadn’t been preoccupied, he might have paid closer attention to the telephone conversation which followed. “Chief Breen on the line, Governor.” “Who?” He struggled to concentrate on the name. “The chief of police. Of Atlanta. You asked his help a few weeks ago, remember?”

“Oh, sure, put him on.” It had been more than a month since he had talked with the chief. “Morning, Chief.”

“Morning, Governor. You asked me a few weeks ago to keep an eye out for a man for you, a chief for Delano.” Breen never wasted time with pleasantries.

“Yes, Chief.” Billy was surprised to hear from the man. They had bumped heads a couple of times on the question of more black officers on the Atlanta force.

“I’ve come across a man who seems very well qualified. He’s a major in the army, commands the MP unit out at Fort McPherson. Retiring next month.”

“Retiring? How old is he?”

“Only in his early fifties. Joined real young, apparently. He applied to us, but we have a policy of promoting from within, and we couldn’t offer him anything anywhere near the level he’d want. I mentioned Delano to him, and he seemed interested. He’s from Columbus, originally, and knows the town from driving through.”

“Sounds like an interesting fellow. I’d like to meet him.”

“I’ll send a man over with a resume he left with me, and your secretary can set up an appointment for him.”

“Sounds good. What’s the man’s name?

“Ah,” Billy heard some papers shuffle. “Tucker Watts.”

“Chief, I appreciate your remembering about this.”

“Oh, glad to do it, Governor, glad to do it. Any time.”

As they hung up, Billy thought the chief had delivered his last statement with a lot of relish, more than he would have expected, but his mind was again occupied by the signals coming out of Washington, and he thought no more about it.

He buzzed his secretary. “Sarah, Breen is sending over a resume on a major out at Fort Mac named Watts. Will you set up an appointment with the man as soon as possible, please? It’s about the job in Delano.”

“Certainly, Governor. Mr. Holmes is calling from Delano.”

He picked up the phone. “Mr. Hugh, how are you?” He knew why Holmes was calling, and he was relieved that Breen had called first.

“I’m just fine, Billy.” He sounded fine, too, Billy thought. The man was, what—eighty-six, eighty-seven? He was still chairman of the state board of education, still chaired the city council, and still ran the bank. His wife had died of a stroke in 1948, and the event had seemed to concentrate his dedication to work. His only concession to age was a hearing aid. “Billy, I’m sorry to bother you, but we’re beginning to hurt for a new chief of police down here. Have you heard anything from your sources?”

“Yes, sir, I have. Chief Breen of Atlanta has recommended an MP major who’s about to retire from the army. I’m seeing him tomorrow.”

“Good. All of our force down here are pretty young and inexperienced. None of ‘em is really responsible enough even to be an acting chief. The city manager is tearing his hair out. How soon you reckon we can get this fellow?”

“Well, now hold on, I haven’t even talked to him yet. Breen says he’s good, though, and he expressed an interest in the job.”

“Tell you what. We’ve got a council meeting at six o’clock on Friday. You coming down this weekend?”

“Yes, first weekend in a month.”

“Well, if you like the looks of this fellow, why don’t you bring him down here to meet the council? We’re ready to move; if he’s any good, we’ll take him. Might even pay a couple of thousand more than we’d planned on.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve talked with him and let you know if he can come. How’s Patricia? You’ve seen more of her than I have, the last few weeks.”

“Thriving. Will, too.”

“Glad to hear it. See you this weekend, then.”

Billy hung up and mopped his brow. He’d almost dropped the ball on that one. Imagine being saved by Breen, who didn’t even like him, much.

Chapter 3.

SARAH’S VOICE came over the intercom. “Governor, Major Watts is here to see you.”

“Ask him to wait for just one minute, would you, Sarah?” He had not had time until this moment to look over the resume Chief Breen had sent him, but from what he saw now, the man had an outstanding record. Enlisting at age seventeen, he had finished high school, earned a degree while in the service, and attended a number of military police courses, in addition to the FBI training program for police officers.

Billy immediately thought that he would never find a city policeman so well qualified who would take such a job as that in Delano. He wondered why Major Watts was interested; then he remembered Chief Breen’s remark about promotion from within, and how it would be difficult to hire Watts into a police force at a level in which he would not be overqualified. At least Delano could offer the job of chief.

“Send him in, Sarah.”

As Major Tucker Watts strode into Billy’s office and toward him, Billy was immediately struck by a number of things: the man’s size, for he was six feet three or four, well over two hundred pounds; his bearing; his confident manner; the rows of ribbons on the perfectly pressed uniform. Most of all Billy was struck, forcibly, by the color of the man’s skin. He was black.

During the time it took to make introductions and shake hands, Billy fought the wild urge to laugh aloud. Breen, from his office at city hall, had fired an ironic arrow into the air which, Billy felt sure, could be seen at this moment protruding from his back.

“Major, I want to thank you for taking the time from your duties to come and talk with me.” After a year of baiting Breen about an insufficient number of blacks on the Atlanta police force, Breen was inquiring, through the presence of the man before him, about the number of blacks on the Delano police force. Billy wondered whether Breen had also called the press, whether they were waiting outside his office at that moment.

“Thank you for seeing me, sir. I was glad to come.”

The major’s speech was precise, perfectly enunciated. There was the musky, black intonation, but it seemed very unsouthern, almost West Indian. Billy thought it a pleasant sound.

Billy glanced at the man’s resume. “I see you’re out at Fort Mac. Been there long?” He was beginning to overcome the distraction of what Breen had meant as a practical joke. He wanted to know more about Major Watts.

“I’m just finishing up a two-year tour. My last one, in fact. I’ll complete thirty years this month.”

“How did you get to know Chief Breen?” Watts seemed completely at ease. Billy wondered whether he knew why Breen had sent him.

“I command the MP detachment at Fort Mac. We liaise closely with the Atlanta police. I’ve met him several times in the line of duty.”

“Like him?”

There was a tiny pause before Watts spoke. “I’m sure he’s a competent police chief.”