Butterfly's Shadow - Lee Langley [33]
‘Listen to this, Irving Fisher in the New York Times: “There may be a recession in stock prices, but not anything in the nature of a crash”.’
‘The guy’s a leading economist, I guess he should know. Here’s another.’
But suddenly Wall Street ceased to be some distant place located in the financial pages of the newspaper; it criss-crossed the country on railroad tracks and telegraph wires. Wall Street was right here in the neighbourhood, it was next door, it was tapping on the window at night as Pinkerton drew the blanket close around him, and recalled a time when he had no trouble sleeping.
‘Dad? Where’s the crash?’ Joey asked. ‘One of the kids at school’s dad says there’s been a crash.’
‘That’s just wild talk. There’s no crash.’
And he read out from the newspaper what Arthur Reynolds, Chairman of the Continental Illinois Bank of Chicago was quoted as saying.
‘He says it won’t have much effect on business.’
That was 24 October. Five days later the Dow Jones Industrial Average lost 11.73 per cent of its value.
‘Ben?’ Nancy said that evening, ‘Is this going to affect us?’
‘Stocks and shares? I don’t see why. We’re not playing the market.’
People who knew the family said there had always been something of the golden boy about Ben Pinkerton. At high school and college the star swimmer, glittering like the water that won him prizes. In the navy he shone in white and brass buttons. When he opened the automobile garage – one of the first in town – he glowed with the sheen of steel and spray-paint. Like the business, he expanded. But now he dimmed, the gold dull, like neglected brass.
When the bank called him there seemed little sense of urgency. Could Mr Pinkerton drop by at his convenience? Mr Daniels would like to have a chat.
The chat was more formal than he expected. Not at first; Gerry Daniels, who had always been so friendly and helpful was still friendly:
‘How’s Nancy? And the boy? Good, fine little feller . . .’ But when he moved on, discussing the economic situation, the problems the government was facing, words like contract cancellations, falling values and crisis floated across his desk. He pulled a rueful face.
‘Some finance houses have actually collapsed, Ben. Unwise use of investors’ funds.’
‘Come on, you’re not telling me banks are going bust! Am I supposed to feel sorry for the rich guys?’ Ben laughed. Daniels did not.
‘It’s not just the big boys; we’re all in the same boat. Difficult times, money tight all round.’
‘What are you saying?’
Daniels shifted his inkwell, blotter and a framed photograph of his wife from one place on his desk to another an inch to left or right. He looked up and smiled, still friendly, but suddenly less helpful.
‘The loan, Ben. It’s payback time.’
‘Hey, we’ve had ups and downs before this. I can come through, the automobile is the future.’
‘Ben, if I had a dollar for every time someone has said the automobile is the future I’d be a rich man today.’
‘Actually Gerry, I don’t think you would. How many people in this town can have said that to you? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? But it’s the truth. The garage was doing fine; it’ll recover. Just give me a little time.’
Daniels gave one of his helpless shrugs. ‘Well now, that’s the problem. Time. I’m sorry, Ben. If it was up to me personally . . .’
He, personally, would be only too happy, and so forth . . . but the bank required repayment of the loan. Without delay. Ben said he understood, and they shook hands, and Daniels saw him to the door, hand on his shoulder, a reassuring squeeze; give his best to Nancy.
But when, to Ben’s dismay, he found himself unable to hand back the money to the bank because his customers were, in turn, unable to come up with the cash