Okay, so I had traveled to Little Rock to visit two young
urban planners and find out about job prospects. They knew of none. That’s what
I had expected. I should be on my way back to my boyhood home now, with the developing
skyline of Little Rock in my rearview mirror. I should be planning my route back
to California, this Arkansas caper at its end. Sex, drugs, and cable cars beckoned.
But no. They had invited me to lunch and there I sat, in the
Greyhound station waiting for the time to go and meet them. Idled passengers napped,
optimistic young ladies in short dresses mingled, children squirmed and
bounced, and this entire cross-section of America seemed to sense something
better just over the next horizon.
I waited and watched. Over the last four years, I had gotten
good at that. One of the young ladies offered to give me anything I wanted if I
happened to be interested. A job? Well no, something else. I’m fine. Too bad.
I waited some more. What would we talk about at lunch? I had
already confessed to them that I had little to offer a potential employer in
terms of experience or skills. I had learned to exist in close quarters with a
wide diversity of other people and I knew how to get a job done just in time, not
too soon, and not too late. I did share with them that I was anxious to gain
experience and skills and was well aware of the fact that I possessed little marketability
in the civilian world. In other words, I could be a cheap, but inexperienced
date for the right employer.
At last the time came to depart. As the last of the wandering
girls headed my way, I stood, winked at her, and walked back out onto Little
Rock’s Main Street. It was bustling with folks headed for lunch, or somewhere.
I passed the site of the F.W. Woolworth store where, at 11.a.m. March 10, 1960,
some 50 brave students from Philander Smith College had marched from campus, were
refused service at the whites-only lunch counter, and were arrested for their uppityness.
Things were changing in America, even in Arkansas. I thought
this was good and wondered what all the fuss had been about. Of course, though,
the United States Navy hadn’t allowed segregated eating facilities since the
Truman Administration, way ahead of the curve, as they say today.
A person thinks odd thoughts when alone on a big city
street. I began thinking about the various forms of bravery. There was the combat zone kind, the storm at sea kind, and the demanding human rights kind. I didn't think for long though,
I was already back at the Hall Building.
The guys didn’t take me to a lunch counter. They took me to
a place called “The Capitol Club,” and it was fancy, cloth napkins and the
whole bit. I’m sure I looked a bit out of place among all the suits. Jim Vines
was even wearing a three-piece one. Tom showed a great deal of self-assurance by
wearing a sports coat. Between the two of them, they seemed to know everyone
who walked by. I didn’t know a soul.
A waiter came. Tom knew him by name, or seemed to. It was
long before the time in Little Rock at which one ordered cocktails at lunch. I
watched them closely and when they ordered iced-tea, I did the same. I remembered
what a girl friend in college had told me about her mother’s advice to a
daughter who had begun dating. “Don’t order the most expensive item on the menu,
and don’t order the cheapest. Order something that looks healthy and wouldn’t
be difficult to eat in public.
I didn’t have to worry on that account. The Capitol Club
offered neither barbecued ribs nor corn on the cob. I ordered the same thing
Tom Hodges did. A person couldn’t go wrong that way.
Some small talk ensued as we dined. Jim told a funny story
about a planning commission meeting he had attended. Tom asked me about a legendary
football player from my home town named James “Jitters” Morgan. I was proud to
say I knew him and graduated a year behind him. Turns out Tom had played against
him in high school and still remembered the bone-jarring tackles. He asked
about a girl he knew from college, and I said I thought she got married and
moved away. Too bad, he said, with a far-off look in his eyes.
Was this it? Lunch in a fancy place with small talk? I had
begun to assess the time I had left to endure this. Once again, I could hear the
ships sounding in San Francisco Bay and hear the seagulls fighting overhead. I
took a bite, one that was to prove the most difficult in my life to chew and swallow.
Jim looked at Tom. Tom nodded and looked at me. I took the fork
from my mouth and looked back at the two of them.
“We thought,” Jim said, slowly as was his habit when putting
a lot of thought into what he said, “that we might offer you a job.”
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| Well I'll swan. |
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