Blue Bloods of Bois D’Arc (4 page)

Chapter 9

Rod was all eyes as they drove down Constitution Avenue to Pennsylvania Avenue. “That’s the FBI building,” Harry said, pointing to his right. “That’s where J. Edgar Hoover lives, literally. The old guy doesn’t have a life, except for his job. Rumor is he’s a homo. Never married and has shared an apartment with his assistant for years. He’s served every president since 1924. Really a strange man, but he put the fear of God in the Mafia. You don’t want to get on his bad side. He’ll put you on his hit list, tap your phone, anything he wants to do, and he gets away with it.”

“Why don’t you do something about it?” Rod asked.

“Well, son, there are just some things you don’t mess with in our government and Hoover is one of them. I sometimes think he’s more powerful than the President. Nobody in Congress has the guts to go up against him.”

The rest of the ride was silent until they approached the U.S. Treasury building. “See that big building to your left? That’s the Treasury Department, where all the money is kept,” Harry said, laughing.

“Really . . . do they really keep the government’s money there, like a big bank?” Rod asked.

“Not really,” Harry said, “but that’s where they keep track of it and where it’s spent, at least that’s what they tell us up on the Hill. Okay, here we are. Executive Drive will take us to the back-door entrance to the White House.”

“We want jobs and we want freedom,” a large crowd of young black people were chanting outside the protective wrought-iron fence that surrounded the White House. A line of police stood poised between the fence and the crowd.

“What’s going on? Who are those people?” Rod asked, watching the demonstrators wave signs echoing their demand for jobs and freedom.

“They’re civil rights protesters,” Harry said. “They’re raising hell at the White House, warming up for the big march on Washington down on the Mall and at the Lincoln Memorial next week. More than a million protesters are expected. A few will get their heads busted, or get arrested for assault, or for getting a little too pushy with the police. It’s going to be a security nightmare. The D.C. Police, Park Police, FBI, and probably some Secret Service guys will be involved. I understand that even the National Guard is on alert for possible riot control duty. It’s really going to be a mess.”

“Sounds like some of the NAACP rallies back home when they were protesting to get Booker T. Washington integrated with our school. The judge gave them what they wanted and really upset some of the blue bloods. All kinds of threats were made to close the school and send all the white kids to private schools, but everything will calm down when football season starts. That will pull the town back together, whether some people like it or not. Football comes before everything else in Bois D’Arc, and they won’t let anything mess up our season. Most of the black players are friends of mine. I don’t think we’ll have any problems.”

“Yeah, son, that’s good, but it’s a little more complicated than that up here. This city is over fifty percent black, but their unemployment rate is twice as high as whites. And on top of that, they can’t vote or have any representation in Congress. It’s a real problem we will have to deal with sooner than later.”

“You’re a senator. Can’t you do anything about it?”

Jack nudged Rod and shook his head.

“It’s okay, Jack,” Senator Langtree said. “You’re pretty sharp, aren’t you, boy? Maybe we can get you a job up here. We need fresh young minds. I never could get Jack to come on board when I got elected.”

The police barrier recognized Sen. Langtree’s congressional license tag and made a path through the crowd, handing them off to the Secret Service manning the gate and guardhouse. A Secret Service agent opened the car door, and after an inaudible conversation with Harry, he led the visitors through the portico down a narrow hallway past the gymnasium and finally to the swimming pool.

“Good afternoon, Senator Langtree, good to see you, sir.” Samson greeted Harry like an old friend with a big smile and hearty handshake. The black valet was dressed in a stiffly starched white shirt, black bow tie, black slacks with a razor-sharp crease, and spit-shined shoes.

“Will your guests be swimming this afternoon?”

Harry nodded.

“Very well, sir, please follow me to the dressing room and I will issue your swim attire. This way please.” Samson extended his arm in the direction of the dressing room and led them away. In the dressing room, Samson issued them navy-blue swim trunks. They were also given thick white towels with the White House monogram, washcloths, bars of soap, and a locker.

“The pool temperature is a constant ninety-eight degrees,” Sampson said after assigning the lockers. “That’s a little warmer than most folks like their water, but most folks didn’t get a PT boat shot out from under them.” Without taking a breath, Samson continued. “The water is recycled every forty-five minutes and the pool is attended by a Red Cross certified lifeguard. That’s her sitting in the chair on top of the pole. She is a good swimmer, good looking, and holds a Black Belt in karate. She is also a member of the Whitehouse Secret Service team and fully armed,” he concluded with a smile. “Gentlemen, enjoy your swim.”

The low ceiling of the warm pool provided no relief from the humidity of Washington. It made Rod sympathetic for those crawdads he and Junior caught by the bucketful that Mrs. Jefferson steamed for supper. The warm water loosened Harry’s back up, and Jack said his sinuses were clear for the first time in days.

The hectic pace of the trip, the super-warm water, and the lack of lunch began to wear on Rod. He was getting hungry and hadn’t seen a single Mexican restaurant on their way to the White House. At this point, he would even settle for one of those awful Yankee hamburgers, a paper-thin patty drowned in mustard, pickle relish, and ketchup.

After half an hour, without warning, Harry pulled himself out of the pool and announced, “I don’t know about you two, but I have had about all I can stand for one day.”

“Yes, sir, me, too,” Rod said and climbed out of the pool.

Jack followed them toward the dressing room.

The stinging hot water steamed up the shower room. It took Jack and Harry back to their old football days at A&M. Harry snapped a towel on Jack’s rear, raising a red welt.

“Okay, you asked for it,” Jack said and returned the favor as the two jumped around, popping each other like a couple of kids. Rod had never seen Jack so spry but stayed clear of the towel fight and enjoyed the camaraderie between old friends.

“Mr. President, welcome back.” Samson’s greeting echoed through the locker room and stopped the horseplay in its tracks. The dark-haired young man entered the locker room after hearing the snapping of towels and howling by the two over-the-hill jocks.

“Harry, if you moved like that in the Senate we would already have my Civil Rights legislation passed by now,” the President joked.

“M-Mr. President . . .” Harry stammered, wrapping his naked body in his towel. “I thought you were up in Cape Cod. I hope you don’t mind me bringing my guests from Texas for a swim,” and added with no hesitation, “I’d like you to meet an old friend and A&M teammate of mine, Jack Workman.”

Jack also wrapped his towel around, covering the red welts. He quickly extended his right hand to meet the firm grip of the ex-Navy officer. “It’s an honor, sir.” Then Jack turned to Rod. “Mr. President, I have a young man here who wants to meet you. He’s going to be an All-American at A&M in a couple of years.”

Rod stepped out from behind Jack and sheepishly stuck out his right hand, holding his towel with his other hand, and said, “Glad to meet you, sir.”

“Congratulations, Rod. I played a little football myself. Nothing like the caliber of the Southwest conference of course, which the Vice President is always reminding me. I think if the Russians said they were going to attack the U.S. at precisely the same time as the kickoff between Texas and Texas A&M, he’d tell the Russians they’d have to wait,” he said, laughing in spite of the fact that everyone knew he was not especially fond of the Vice President.

“I thought you were out of town,” Harry said. “I apologize for not making prior arrangements, sir.”

“No apology necessary. I
was
up at the Cape, but needed to get back and work on our negotiation position with Mr. Khrushchev on the test ban treaty. But, gentleman, if you will excuse me, I have a guest waiting. Rod, good luck on your football career.” And with a nod, the President turned and was gone as quickly and quietly as he had arrived.

The crowded dressing room quickly emptied as the Secret Service men left with the President. “Well, boys, what do you think of your President?” Harry asked.

“Is he always that casual?” Jack asked as they got dressed, “I mean, he could have swapped places with one of those Secret Service guys and no one would notice. He looks so young, even younger than on TV.” Jack shook his head and pulled on his five-hundred-dollar ostrich-skin boots.

When the three left the dressing room, they could almost feel the piercing stare of the Secret Service men as they waited for their car. Harry quickly spotted the President’s guest as they walked down the portico and she definitely wasn’t the First Lady. And before Jack could say anything, Harry stonewalled him with a stern look and said, “Don’t ask.”

Back in Jack’s government-chauffeured car, with the windows up and the air conditioner blowing full blast, Harry craned his neck to face Jack and Rod in the back seat. “You didn’t see anybody at that pool today, is that clear? In fact, we weren’t even at the pool. Do you understand?”

“Come on, Harry, you sound like one of those TV soap operas. If you’re trying to tell us that the President of the United States is fooling around
in
the White House in front of a bunch of Secret Service agents, that’s bullshit!”

“I’m just saying that if anybody asks, you didn’t see anybody or anything. We only took a VIP tour of the house. That’s all.”

“Who
was
that dark-haired woman? She was beautiful, even hiding behind those big sunglasses.”

“Believe me, Jack, you don’t want to know. I wish I didn’t know.” Harry breathed a worried sigh as he turned back to face straight ahead in an unblinking stare. “Floyd, drop me off at the office and take these boys anywhere they want to go, short of Texas.”

Chapter 10

Floyd pulled away from the Senate office building into crowded traffic. Jack’s mind was full of questions Harry wouldn’t let him ask. He was quickly shaken back to the present by Rod’s firm grasp of his shoulder.

“Jack,” Rod said, frustrated. “Does that mean I can’t tell anybody, not even Junior, I shook hands with the President?”

“Nah, Harry’s just overreacting. He takes himself and his job a little too serious sometimes,” Jack said. “Just leave out the part about the lady at the pool. Besides, she’s probably just some movie star passing through town. He’s real popular with the Hollywood crowd.”

“I can’t wait to tell Junior I met the President of the United States, shook his hand, and swam in his pool in the White House. Man, will he be blown away! Junior says he’s done more for black people than any president ever. In fact, he said if it weren’t for the President, we wouldn’t be playing on the same team this year.”

“He just might be right about that.” Jack changed the subject. “You and Junior will be a real winning combination. Don’t you worry, if A&M doesn’t sign both of you, I’ll pull my scholarship fund and send that coach packing faster than a Blue Norther can raise goose bumps on your pimply ass.”

Jack relaxed when talking about his favorite subject, football. He became a Washington Redskins fan while stationed there the final year of the war and a couple of years as a civilian after the war. “Just think, one of these days you may be playing against the Washington Redskins.” He nudged Rod with his elbow. One of the best quarterbacks who ever played the game, Slingin’ Sammy Baugh, a skinny, West Texas boy with a rifle arm, took them to the championship in 1945. If he was still around he would be as good as Johnny Unitas of the Baltimore Colts.

“I think by the time the new Dallas Cowboys get enough good draft choices you will be ready to step in and be Rookie of the Year. A couple of seasons to get you used to the pro system and the Cowboys should be in the hunt for a NFL Championship, what do you think?”

“I don’t know, Jack, that’s a lot of what ifs. I’m just trying to figure out how we can win district in high school and you’ve already got me in the pros. Let’s take it slow and see what happens.”

“Where to, gents?” Floyd broke into the conversation.

“Where do you want to go, Rod?” Jack asked.

“I’m starved, but I haven’t seen a single Mexican restaurant,” Rod said.

“You’re right, but I know where they charcoal a pretty good steak. Floyd, take us to Blackie’s House of Beef.”

After devouring one of the thickest steaks Rod had ever seen, along with a big baked potato, a salad, and pecan pie with vanilla ice cream, he wanted to see more of monument city. There was so much history packed into one city and he wanted to see as much as he could and make those history books come alive.

“Now, that’s what I call a steak,” said Jack. “You wolfed that down like a true Texan. What do you say we rent a car and I’ll drive you around all the major historical buildings, you know, museums and stuff, until dark. Then you make a list of the ones you want to go through and you can tour them tomorrow while I visit Colonel Norbeck on business. I’ll rent one of those sightseeing cabs to take you anywhere you want to go and wait for you. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great to me.”

As promised, Jack drove Rod around to most of the major sights before dark set in. As darkness arrived and the monument spotlights came on, they drove through the always-heavy downtown traffic back to the Willard.

“How can I ever repay you for all this, Jack?”

“Just win district and go to A&M. That will be payment enough. Like I told you, I have plans for your future. I never had a son to do things for or share my life with. You have the makings of a fine quarterback and I’m going to do everything I can to help you get there.

“But there is life after football,” Jack paused. “And I want you to be ready for that, too. When you go through A&M you had better soak up some of that classroom stuff, especially engineering. Because by the time you get tired of those Sunday afternoon poundings in the NFL, I’m going to need somebody to help me run the business.”

Back at the hotel, Rod sat down in the overstuffed chair in the Victorian-themed room to try and digest Jack’s plans for him. He slipped off his shoes and stretched his arms and legs like a cat after a nap.
What if I don’t go to A&M? What if we don’t win district? Will he still be my friend?
Rod wondered as doubts crept into his mind.

Jack stood by the window and stared down at Pennsylvania Avenue. Without breaking his concentration, he said, “Knowing your way around up here can come in pretty handy and I’m not just talking about knowing where all the monuments are. A man needs to know how his country got to be as great as it is. We almost blew it a hundred years ago.” Jack shook his head slowly and continued his hypnotic gaze out the window toward the Capitol building.

“That war had to be fought because everybody needed to be shown that we can only survive as one undivided country. That there’s no chivalry or romance in choosing up sides and killing each other over misplaced ideals. Seems like we are still choking over that one. This is where it all happened, though. Almost single-handedly, Abe Lincoln held the government together. No small feat when you consider his election was a fluke and he was probably the most unpopular president we ever had.”

Turning to look Rod straight in the eye, Jack said, “I see your situation as being a lot like ole Abe’s. You grew up on the wrong side of town and aren’t particularly well liked by Bois D’Arc’s old-money blue bloods. Old man Worthington made that pretty clear when he told Cass not to see you, not that it stopped you. But, you have usable talent. And they will use you . . . let you think you have become an equal until they are through with you. Then the game is over. Do you understand what I’m saying, son?”

“I think so,” Rod said haltingly, “but what can I do for them?”

“Power, prestige, they want to pull the strings when all the college coaches come courting you after this season. Football is bigger than religion in Texas, and that’s pretty big. You’ll see. If you win your first three games, even old man Worthington will come around. Might even acknowledge you are dating his granddaughter, and believe me, he knows it. Nothing happens in that town that he doesn’t know.”

“I already know I’m going to A&M, thanks to you,” Rod said. “I don’t see how they can have anything to say about it.”

“Don’t kid yourself. You can bet old man Worthington will have plenty to say. He will insist you go to SMU if you want to continue seeing his granddaughter. He carries a lot of weight at the Hilltop. That’s what the well-to-do alumni call their old stomping grounds at SMU. There’s a little ten-thousand-dollar bet with some of his Dallas Highland Park cronies over who can recruit the best high school football players for their dear old alma mater. Money is no object and they throw a lot of it around. I’m not in their league when it comes to putting players on salary. I’ve sponsored a lot of scholarships, but that’s where it stops. The player has to earn his slot and make his grades. No free rides on my money.” With that, Jack headed for the bathroom to get ready to hit the sack.

Jack’s comment about Mr. Worthington allowing him to date Cass caught Rod by surprise and his heart was pounding just thinking about it. They had been caught taking a midnight skinny dip at the country club pool by Mr. Gardner. Mr. Worthington almost had a coronary when word leaked of the incident and made a belated effort to hush up what everybody in town already knew. Most people figured he and Cass would end up at SMU together because of old man Worthington, not in spite of him.

What if I have to choose between A&M and Cass?
The brief rush he felt quickly faded in light of Jack’s scenario. If he went to SMU and led them to a Cotton Bowl win on New Year’s Day, a future could be possible for him and Cass.

The senior Worthington’s own son was a complete disappointment to him. Dominated by a headstrong woman of impeccable breeding, he was putty in her hands. Her genes had been passed on to their only child, Cassandra. Cass knew she could have whoever or whatever she wanted, with or without her grandfather’s blessing. He would just have to accept the fact that Rod grew up poor living with Mexican and black families in the Flats. His pedigree was in football, and that outweighed her grandfather’s prejudice against Rod, whose troubles were only beginning.

“Well, sport,” Jack said, sauntering in from the bathroom, “I don’t know about you, but I need to be fresh for Colonel Norbeck tomorrow. The future of my business depends on it.”

Rod sat quietly in the dark in a quandary about the life altering-decisions he would have to make soon.