Jailbird - Kurt Vonnegut [4]
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Now Powers Hapgood came into the restaurant, an ordinary-looking Middle Western Anglo-Saxon in a cheap business suit. He wore a union badge in his lapel. He was cheerful. He knew my father slightly. He knew Uncle Alex quite well. He apologized for being late. He had been in court that morning, testifying about violence on a picket line some months before. He personally had had nothing to do with the violence. His days of derring-do were behind him. Never again would he fight anybody, or be clubbed to his knees, or be locked up in jail.
He was a talker, with far more wonderful stories than Father or Uncle Alex had ever told. He was thrown into a lunatic asylum after he led the pickets at the execution of Sacco and Vanzetti. He was in fights with organizers for John L. Lewis’s United Mine Workers, which he considered too right wing. In 1936 he was a CIO organizer at a strike against RCA in Camden, New Jersey. He was put in jail. When several thousand strikers surrounded the jail, as a sort of reverse lynch mob, the sheriff thought it best to turn him loose again. And on and on. I have put my recollections of some of the stories he told into the mouth of, as I say, a fictitious character in this book.
It turned out that he had been telling stories all morning in court, too. The judge was fascinated, and almost everybody else in court was, too—presumably by such unselfish high adventures. The judge had encouraged Hapgood, I gathered, to go on and on. Labor history was pornography of a sort in those days, and even more so in these days. In public schools and in the homes of nice people it was and remains pretty much taboo to tell tales of labor’s sufferings and derring-do.
I remember the name of the judge. It was Claycomb. I am able to remember it so easily because I had been a high-school classmate of the judge’s son, “Moon.”
Moon Claycomb’s father, according to Powers Hapgood, asked him this final question just before lunch: “Mr. Hapgood,” he said, “why would a man from such a distinguished family and with such a fine education choose to live as you do?”
“Why?” said Hapgood, according to Hapgood. “Because of the Sermon on the Mount, sir.”
And Moon Claycomb’s father said this: “Court is adjourned until two P.M.”
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What, exactly, was the Sermon on the Mount?
It was the prediction by Jesus Christ that the poor in spirit would receive the Kingdom of Heaven; that all who mourned would be comforted; that the meek would inherit the Earth; that those who hungered for righteousness would find it; that the merciful would be treated mercifully; that the pure in heart would see God; that the peacemakers would be called the sons of God; that those who were persecuted for righteousness’ sake would also receive the Kingdom of Heaven; and on and on.
• • •
The character in this book inspired by Powers Hapgood is unmarried and has problems with alcohol. Powers Hapgood was married and, so far as I know, had no serious problems with alcohol.
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There is another minor character, whom I call “Roy M. Cohn.” He is modeled after the famous anticommunist and lawyer and businessman named, straightforwardly enough, one would have to say, Roy M. Cohn. I include him with his kind permission, given yesterday (January 2, 1979) over the telephone. I promised to do him no harm and to present him as an appallingly effective attorney for either the prosecution or the defense of anyone.
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My dear father was silent for a good part of our ride home from that lunch with Powers Hapgood. We were in his Plymouth sedan. He was driving. Some fifteen years later he would be arrested for driving through a red light. It would be discovered that he had not had a driver’s license for twenty years—which means that he was not licensed even on the day we had lunch with Powers Hapgood.
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