The Day Steam Died (12 page)

Chapter 22

“You have every right to be proud of your fathers’ and grandfathers’ miraculous achievements here in the Bankstowne Shops.”

The campaign

“Good evening my friends. I’m Tank Johnson. I want to visit with you for a few minutes to help you understand why we need to make changes in Raleigh. Governor Mathews wants to tax North Carolina’s major cash crop and largest industry out of existence. This state and especially District thirty four was built on the golden leaves of tobacco. His tax program will only cripple our economy, not dig it out of debt. I will fight any new any new taxes so our farmers can continue to make a living wage for their families. The tobacco industry in our district is the lifeblood of our economy and employs seventy-five percent of our labor force. Do you want to have a successful future? I will work as hard for you as I worked to become an All-American and go to the legislature with a game plan to ensure you and your family have that future. I need your help and your vote so I can fight for your future as your new Assemblyman. That’s about all the time I have. Good night and we’ll visit you again next week”

Sam and Tank made their way across Carmichael Auditorium toward the speaker’s platform through a crowd of more than five-thousand parents and relatives of the graduates. It was the largest class to ever graduate from the North Carolina Law School.

Sam sought out Chancellor Alexander Dolby to officially kick off Tank’s campaign for the Assembly.

“Mr. Johnson, so good to see you again.” Dolby greeted Sam with a vigorous handshake that expressed his personal thanks for Sam’s generous contribution to the expanded athletic and scholarship fund. Sam’s money and Tank’s talent had also secured Coach Turner’s future for the next decade with a million-dollar-a-year contract.

“Thank you, Chancellor, and you can call me Sam. Now, I want you to shake the hand of the next Assemblyman from Rowan County.”

Dolby beamed. “I’ll be happy to. We’re proud of your son, and I wish him well. I hope he’ll bring as much success to our state as he has to the University of North Carolina. I look forward to working with him to make our university even greater.”

Tank and Chancellor Dolby shook hands like two old friends.

“It has been a pleasure to know you and your father, Tank. I’m looking for big things from you in the future.”

“Count on it, Chancellor,” Tank said, talking through a smile. It’s like money in the bank.”

Sam and Tank turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Sam hadn’t wasted a moment the three years Tank was in law school. The campaign staff headed by Deano had built a network of grassroots organizations in the three counties that comprised his district. Meanwhile, George Klinger had devised a broadcast strategy that kept Tank’s name in primetime TV for the entire time he was in law school.

Tank delivered TV speeches written by Deano every Wednesday evening, much like the
Fireside Chats
President Franklin D. Roosevelt used to lift the spirits of Americans during the Depression years and dark days of World War II.

His speeches were broadcast from the law library to play out the campaign theme of
Grad School Assemblyman
who wanted to help the people of his district have a better life with fresh ideas. The brief bulletin messages were long enough to charm the audience with his All-American image and convey a concern for the working man but short enough not to give a detailed plan of action.

Tanks messages were beamed at District thirty-four weekly over a network funded by Sam. Ads were run in every district newspaper. Next, they were slipped into the more rural regions to establish a connection with the farmers and tobacco growers. Tank’s campaign labeled Mathews as the governor who never saw a tax he didn’t like. It caught on with frustrated voters.

All the press coverage of Tank Johnson’s campaign had been positive with no hint of scandal. Stumping the state to blunt Tank’s claims that he is running the state’s economy into bankruptcy, Governor Mathews hadn’t given the press anything new to write about. His first term was uneventful with little progress shown due to a large deficit inherited from his predecessor. Mathews’ campaign claims that increased taxes were necessary to get the treasury in the black again and to stimulate the economy were rejected by the people.

Polls showed Tank had effectively convinced voters he would put an end to Governor Mathews’ big tax policies. Double-digit leads over Ralph Simmons, his primary opponent from the beginning of the primary, assured Tank’s election. The following general election process was just a formality because there was no Republican opposition to worry about.

Rick had just returned from lunch at Wimpy’s when Dan came to his office door and asked him to come to his office for a conference. Rick followed his boss, taking a chair and pulling it to the front of Dan’s desk.

“Rick, I think you should look into the background of the people running Tank’s campaign,” Dan said. “We’ve been fair in our editorials about Governor Mathews and the clever politician Tank has become. But I still have a feeling in my gut we’re missing something. Tank isn’t smart enough to run this kind of campaign. We need to know who’s behind him. Heard lately from Wil?”

“Nothing we can use. I know this sounds bad for a journalist to say, but we need to find something before this runaway freight train actually gets elected. He’ll be nothing more than a puppet with Sam pulling his strings, and that’s a scary thought.”

“Tank has them eating out of his hand with those weekly broadcasts. Who’s writing his speeches?”

“Damn it!” Rick pounded his fist hard on his desk. “Tank can’t put two sentences together about the economy by himself. His speeches and press conferences are so scripted. It’s like he knows the answers before the questions are asked. Whoever is running his campaign is smart and knows how to stay hidden. I guess if you have enough money you can buy all the brains you need. And I think I have a lead on that.

“Let’s hear it. I need to hear some good news,” Dan said.

“Public records show Sam is bankrolling ninety percent of the campaign. I also found out an old friend from college is producing Tanks media campaign. He’s ambitious, and money talks loud and clear to him. I’ll see what he’ll tell me. How much time do I have on this?”

“As much as it takes. Mark Thompson from the county beat will cover for you. Take Candi Patovsky with you. She’s a good photographer and has sharp instincts. Maybe she can come up with something.”

“Candi? She’s only been on board a few months.”

“She comes highly recommended from the Art Institute of New York.”

“That’s what bothers me. If she graduated at the top of her class from one of the best photography schools in the country, why would she come down here? You would think she had her pick of big city newspapers.”

“Everybody has to start somewhere, Rick. You started on a small rag. All it takes is one big story, right? Give her a break. Besides, when’s the last time you’ve been outside this office with a female? She’s pretty good looking and has a knockout figure.”

“Oh, so now you’re not only my boss, you’re playing matchmaker too? I thought there was a policy about no fraternizing among staff members. Never mind, I’ll brief her tomorrow. I’m beat. See you in the morning. Maybe by then I can figure out what to do with miss hotshot photographer.”

Candi Patovsky did indeed come with high recommendations. She won first place in a New York City photo contest—which was open to professionals as well as amateurs—while still in college. For her senior year finals project at the Art Institute of New York, Candi was awarded the best of show entry. Her photo of a bleeding civil rights demonstrator being beaten by police with nightsticks was so dramatic the panel of judges from Time Magazine unanimously acclaimed it was the best they’d ever seen.

For all her talent as a photographer, she brought some heavy baggage as well. Sophomore year, she invited her parents to come to her first photo gallery showing in the campus library. Halfway there, a drunk driver veered across the centerline and crashed head-on into Virginia and Paul Patovsky’s car. Paul died instantly and Virginia lingered on for four days. Candi was holding her mother’s hand on a twenty-four hour vigil when she slipped into a coma. She never regained consciousness.

Candi was an only child with just one living relative out in Oregon. She blamed herself for her parents’ deaths and spiraled into a deep depression requiring hospitalization. After two months in a psychiatric hospital, Candi was released to the care of Dr. Ruben Shultz. After four months of three sessions a week with Dr. Shultz, Candi showed signs of being her old self.

But for no apparent reason her condition suddenly deteriorated. Candi’s behavior alarmed Phyllis Ackerman, her roommate and best friend. They had no secrets between them, so Phyllis pressed her friend for answers about her relapsing behavior. She was shocked when Candi finally broke down and revealed she was pregnant by Dr. Shultz. She refused to go to the school’s dean with her situation, instead threatening to expose the doctor if he didn’t pay for an abortion. He’d betrayed her trust and confidence by turning her weekly sessions into sexual encounters that he convinced her would help her let go of her guilt.

After her abortion, Candi dropped out of school for a semester and drowned herself in alcohol and drugs. She prowled bars to get picked up for sex. Days and nights ran together. She lost track of time for weeks. When she woke up naked in a sleazy hotel near campus with no memory of how she got there or who she was with, she realized things needed to change.

Candi staggered to the bathroom and propped herself up in front of a cracked mirror with streaks of reflective silver backing peeled off. She didn’t recognize the person staring back at her through puffy, bloodshot eyes with black circles beneath; it shocked her sober. She took control of her life and moved past her parents’ death and repeated rapes by her therapist.

Candi attacked her classes with vengeance when she returned to school. The result was recognition as the best photographer to graduate from Art Institute of New York in decades.

The day after she graduated with honors, she tossed her suitcase and cameras into the back seat of her new BMW convertible. After a tearful farewell with roommate Phyllis, she turned South onto I-95 to start a new life with the remainder of her inheritance and insurance settlement.

Chapter 23

“For more than fifty years, their efforts have touched and influenced everyone who lived a productive and fruitful life here.”

Taking charge

Tank was sworn in the General Assembly on January 20
th
,
1964. With Deano as his personal advisor, Tank had already connected with members of the Assembly who would be helpful to his agenda of putting down any attempt to raise the cigarette tax or change any laws banning smoking anywhere.

He had things well under control inside the walls of the Assembly building.

Rick’s award winning series of articles about the cover up of addictive cancer-causing nicotine in cigarettes was an early challenge facing Tank in his first session. Cover-up hearings of two leading tobacco companies by the federal government already had several General Assembly members rethinking their position on tobacco. Federal government threats to print health hazard warnings against smoking on each cigarette pack added to the damage control Tank had to do to protect Sam’s business.

Historically, North Carolina was one of the heaviest smoking states in the country. No surprise since it was the world’s leading tobacco and cigarette producer. On the horizon, however, was a growing grassroots organization called STOP whose goal was to prohibit smoking in all public buildings, government buildings, hospitals, and restaurants. Their first target was to attack the capitol city and to eliminate smoking in all government offices and buildings.

That would be a tough sell to a majority of assembly members who smoked or were involved in the tobacco industry in one way or the other. Not taking any chances, Tank organized a majority of members on select committees—members he could call on to bury any legislation in committee he didn’t want to come to the floor for a vote.

Deano had done his homework, and Tank was following the script perfectly before the first session had even started.

Opening of General Assembly

“We invoke the powers of Almighty God to guide this body of lawmakers, that they may govern over this great state in a manner pleasing to Thee and beneficial to the citizens who place their trust in You and those elected to serve. Amen.”

Despite Mary Madalyn O’hair’s efforts by the Civil Liberties Union, a guest chaplain opened each new session of the Legislature. The secretary read the role-call and turned the platform over to the Speaker of the House, Herman Walters. The session faced a tough slate of legislation dealing with taxes, tobacco issues, more funding for prisons and healthcare, and highway construction vital to the state’s economic progress. A strong floor fight on the new budget was expected to push the session beyond the August closing date.

Speaker Walters, small in stature but the most powerful man in the General Assembly, stepped to the podium. He pounded the gavel and called the General Assembly to order.

“Gentlemen, we face a difficult task in meeting the needs of our state and doing so in a fiscally responsible manner. I charge you to work diligently toward that end. For you new members, idealism is a powerful motivator. I welcome you and commend you for the hard work and sacrifices you have made to get here. However, I advise you to seek the council of your senior members as you learn the workings and duties you have sworn to fulfill. Committee assignments have been made. You are dismissed to discharge your sworn duties.”

The gavel sounded again, ending the first morning of the new session.

A warm spring breeze whipped through the trees surrounding Tank’s high-rise condo. A view of the General Assembly building through a floor to ceiling glass wall included a panoramic setting of the city. Filled with modern furniture of Tank’s choosing, it was the ultimate bachelor pad. Immaculately landscaped grounds surrounded a Caribbean style swimming pool complete with deluxe salon and beautiful masseuse. And if he had the time, a world class golf course was at his disposal.

Sam took in the view with his hands clasped behind his back. Tank approached with a glass of scotch in each hand.

“Well, Pop, what do you think of the new pad? You should have brought Mom. She would probably have the whole thing redecorated in Queen Ann style. It will be great for hosting big parties for my supporters. And at Christmas this place will look like Disney Land.”

“It’s nice,” Sam said, his jaw clamped tight on his cigar. He removed it both to take a glass from Tank and to speak more clearly. “But if you want to stay here and stick to the plan, you had better get serious. You made a lot of promises to get here and those people that voted for you are expecting you to deliver. I hope you don’t live to regret paying for all those case studies you turned in at law school. You’re in the real world now, son. All these guys may not be lawyers, but most have been here since Hector was a pup. They know how to play the game and you had better catch up fast or you will be out on your ass.”

“You’re worrying too much. Deano has me covered, and if anything troubling pops up, he’ll let me know.”

“And another thing, I don’t know if having Deano hanging around as your personal assistant is such a good idea. If some nosy newspaper reporter starts digging into his background, there could be trouble.”

Tank took a seat in a leather chair facing the view and propped his feet on a chrome and glass coffee table. “Deano has already gotten assurances of cooperation from the committees we need support from. It’s amazing what a few boxes of Cuban cigars and Jonny Walker Red can do for you.”

Intent on finding out who the brains behind Tank’s election were, Rick looked up George Klinger. He hoped his friendship from their Cannon College days would pay off. Working on the inside of the tight-knit team that put Tank in office, he thought George knew more than his clever ads revealed.

After the election, George turned down Tank’s offer to be his media director. Recognition of his work on the winning campaign landed him a job at the ABC TV affiliate, KXIR in Raleigh. He was a field reporter working his way up to be the eleven o’clock news anchor.

“Got a minute?” Candi was surprised to hear Rick’s voice on the other end of her first phone call of the day.

“Sure, be right there.”

She stared at her phone after hanging up. He hadn’t spoken two words to her since the election. She lit up a cigarette, checked her makeup, and picked up a notepad before heading to Rick’s office. She strode in, leaving a trail of smoke behind her.

“Well, Mr. Barnes, to what do I owe this honor?”

“Cut the comedy and put that cigarette out,” Rick said, fanning smoke from behind his desk.

“Oh my, aren’t we grouchy today.” She snuffed her cigarette on the inside of his empty trashcan since he didn’t have an ashtray in his office.

“I have a meeting with KXIR’s George Klinger, Tank Johnson’s former campaign media man.”

“Yeah, I know who he is. So what are you going to see him about and why talk to me about it?”

“You have a keen eye for detail and a nose for a good story. I thought I might bring you along and try to make a journalist out of you. Interested?”

Candi bristled and shot back. “Listen, I’m an artist with a camera. I already know how to write stories and illustrate them with my photos. And I don’t intend to spend the rest of my career taking pictures for this rag. I have plans. I expect to win a Pulitzer someday photographing what’s going on in Africa, where people are dying by the thousands every day from starvation or at the hands of some maniac dictator. It’s called photo journalism and it’s more rewarding than playing detective in some high school vendetta you have going on.”

Rick stared at her, blinking several times before responding. “I had no idea you had such high aspirations and low opinion of me. I thought we worked pretty well together on the campaign. But if you don’t think it’s important, I can get somebody else.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, but you didn’t deserve that,” Candi said, softening her voice. She liked Rick, thought he was a good journalist, but his obsession with Tank Johnson was something of a mystery to her. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. I’ll go with you if you still want me to.”

Rick smiled like he’d expected it to go this way from the start.

Rick and Candi arrived at Benny’s Brew and Beanery early. Each nursed a beer, against company policy, while waiting for George to show up. The atmosphere between them had warmed and they were actually enjoying a non-work related conversation.

“You must find life down here boring after living in New York City,” Rick said.

“Life does move a little slower, but that isn’t all bad. College in the big city can wear on you. I just needed to get away from a lot of stuff when I graduated.”

“But why Raleigh?”

“Dan made me an offer, and here I am. What about you? What did a small town reporter have to do to get the City Desk as his first job after college?”

“I covered a pretty nasty strike at the Coastline Railway Shops in my home town. Coastline was the only employer in the town. It boomed during World War II, but after the war the obsolete steam engines were replaced by diesels and they wanted to shut down the Shops. Sam Johnson was Chief Superintendent, which is the equivalent of vice president of operations in other industries. When the strike got violent, he had the governor call in the National Guard to put down the violence.”

“Wow, some story. Is Sam Johnson’s involvement why you’re going after his son?” “That’s a long story. I’ll give you the short version. Tank broke me and my girlfriend up by having his dad move their family out of town.”

“Why would he do that?”

Rick shrugged. “Tank had it out for me in high school. He just picked on me nonstop. I guess when he saw me happy for once, he had to stop it any way he could. My girlfriend’s father, like everyone’s fathers, worked for Sam. So . . .”

“So he had her family
moved
? Sam Johnson has more leverage than I thought.”

“You could say that. I covered the strike while a student at the local college and worked part-time at the town newspaper. I interviewed Sam, and he dropped several bombs in my lap during the strike that torpedoed the Union’s bargaining position. Anyway, I was covering the strike every day, and the Raleigh Times Herald paid a nice fee for rights to run my stories, which they then fed to the Associated Press. It was a good deal. They didn’t have to send a reporter and we made some money. Dan liked my work and dangled a job in front of me if I would transfer to N.C. State. And the rest you know.”

“Pretty neat story. I think I like you better out of the office. You turn into some little Dan Jenkins robot back there.”

“Be careful. Dan’s my best friend. You’ll see what a good guy he can be the longer you work for him.”

“I hope that won’t be too long. I was serious about going to Africa. I want to feel like I’m really doing something worthwhile.”

“Like getting yourself killed? Do you know how much bounty those rebels put on capturing a white woman over there? They don’t play by the rules and thumb their nose at any effort by the U.N. to settle the civil war.”

“Why, Rick, you sound like you care what happens to me. I’m flattered.”

“Well, there are things you don’t know about me too. I do care. I cared deeply about my high school girlfriend, too. We were going to get married. Tank and I had fights over the lies he spread about Ann. He did everything he could to break us up. He said or did something to her that she wouldn’t talk about. She was upset for several weeks. The next thing I know she and her family were gone. I’ll never forgive him or his father. And now Sam is running some kind of suspicious business that law enforcement doesn’t seem to care about, but I care. ”

Rick definitely liked Candi better in a relaxed atmosphere free of smoke. But their interaction came to an abrupt end when George Klinger showed up.

“Hi, guys, sorry I’m late. Had to interview some grieving mother for the five-thirty news.” George settled into a seat at their table. “What are you up to these days, Rick, now that the campaign is over?

“Just looking for the next story.”

George laughed. “I miss you guys hanging around, I really do. That was a fun gig. Sam gave me a free hand in handling the media campaign.”

“I’m glad you brought that up,” Rick said, opening up his notepad. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about Sam’s involvement in Tank’s election.”

“Off the record?”

“If that’s the way you want it.”

“Okay, shoot. What do you want to know?”

“I think we can all agree that Sam was the primary financial supporter for Tanks race, right?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” George said with a bite of sarcasm, “but you know what? If I had that much money, I wouldn’t blow it on a political campaign.”

“Exactly. So why was Sam so willing to spend nearly a million dollars on putting his son in the General Assembly?”

George put up his hands is false defense. “Hey, man, you got me. I didn’t get involved in all the finance stuff. I just turned in a requisition for what I needed and got a check to pay for it. It was great. I didn’t ask questions and they didn’t bother me as long as Tank’s poll numbers showed him leading by double digits.”

Candi cut in with a quick question. “Who coached Tank and wrote his speeches? And why didn’t we ever see him with the campaign entourage?”

“Some Italian guy named Deano pretty much called the shots,” George said with dismissiveness. “They were big buddies in college. He stayed out of sight most of the time. I don’t know what his deal was, but when he talked, Tank listened. On the bus or in the hotel when we were on the road, he was in Tank’s ear all the time.”