Clinton Edmonds’ bank.
He stood a few more minutes watching the sunlight dry the dew on the grass, watching glue being slopped on papier-mache, watching two-feet-tall letters being measured out so they could be painted in-
And then he turned away.
He was too old and had been too many things to appreciate this sort of innocence anymore.
Even baseball, which had once been his favorite pastime, had become a burden. When he thought of the headaches he’d developed during the spring training camp in Detroit…
He hurried on to work.
Byron Fuller said, “Morning, Les.” He was passing on his way to his office, but then he stopped and came back. “Are you all right?” Les nodded.
“You look-sick, or something.”
“I guess I’ve got a headache, sir.”
Byron smiled. “Nobody’s around, Les. Remember, you don’t have to call me sir.”
He stared at Byron, thinking again how good it would be to dislike -even hate-the man whom Susan Edmonds loved. But he couldn’t…
Byron said, “Why don’t you go in the washroom and throw cold water on your face.”
“I’m all right. Really-”
“I know. But you want to look as wide awake as possible for when Clinton sees you. Otherwise he’ll get afraid that you won’t be all right for the game.”
“Well-”
Byron sighed and then sort of whispered. “You know how he is, Les. He can sort of-well, beat you down.”
Just as he’s beaten you down, Les thought. And Susan. And me. Les smiled briefly. “It’s kind of strange how people get so powerful, isn’t it?”
Byron nodded. “What’s even stranger, Les, is how power affects some people to do good things and other people-well, some people just can’t seem to handle it.” Then he flushed and realized he was saying something terrible about his own future father-in-law. “Of course, I wasn’t talking about Clinton.”
Les laughed. “No, of course not.”
Byron’s face was still red. “Well, I’d better be getting on to my office. Hope you feel better.”
“Thanks, Byron,” Les said and meant it. He felt that for the first time in two years of knowing each other, of being polite to each other, they’d finally said something that touched on reality, their shared fear and disgust with the tyrant Clinton Edmonds.
***
The morning went quickly.
The city streets were filled with wagons and carriages bringing provisions in and taking provisions out. Through the big plate-glass window, Les could see that the sidewalks were jammed with farm families getting ready for the holidays-making the sweep down First Avenue, then over past the Granby Building that held a myriad of small businesses and shops, then down Third Avenue with its variety of colorful awnings to offer customers shade from searing sun and a roof from pounding rain.
Clinton Edmonds came over only once that morning. As most people in the bank knew, he was negotiating to purchase a small bank in a nearby town called Tipton. He was preparing for a visit this afternoon. So, fortunately for Les, Edmonds seemed somewhat distracted when he slapped a beefy arm around him and said, “We’re going to make fools of that Des Moines team, aren’t we?”
In the most enthusiastic voice he could summon, Les said, “We sure are, sir!”
Placated, Edmonds moved on, eventually back to his office.
George Buss leaned over and said, "You’re going to get a promotion out of this game. You just wait and see.” Being George, he said this completely without envy. He was just awed by the process of how the world’s wheel really turned.
Les spent the last hour before lunch glancing up at the big Ingram watch just above the front door. He had already decided where he was going to go over the lunch hour and he was beginning
He stood a few more minutes watching the sunlight dry the dew on the grass, watching glue being slopped on papier-mache, watching two-feet-tall letters being measured out so they could be painted in-
And then he turned away.
He was too old and had been too many things to appreciate this sort of innocence anymore.
Even baseball, which had once been his favorite pastime, had become a burden. When he thought of the headaches he’d developed during the spring training camp in Detroit…
He hurried on to work.
Byron Fuller said, “Morning, Les.” He was passing on his way to his office, but then he stopped and came back. “Are you all right?” Les nodded.
“You look-sick, or something.”
“I guess I’ve got a headache, sir.”
Byron smiled. “Nobody’s around, Les. Remember, you don’t have to call me sir.”
He stared at Byron, thinking again how good it would be to dislike -even hate-the man whom Susan Edmonds loved. But he couldn’t…
Byron said, “Why don’t you go in the washroom and throw cold water on your face.”
“I’m all right. Really-”
“I know. But you want to look as wide awake as possible for when Clinton sees you. Otherwise he’ll get afraid that you won’t be all right for the game.”
“Well-”
Byron sighed and then sort of whispered. “You know how he is, Les. He can sort of-well, beat you down.”
Just as he’s beaten you down, Les thought. And Susan. And me. Les smiled briefly. “It’s kind of strange how people get so powerful, isn’t it?”
Byron nodded. “What’s even stranger, Les, is how power affects some people to do good things and other people-well, some people just can’t seem to handle it.” Then he flushed and realized he was saying something terrible about his own future father-in-law. “Of course, I wasn’t talking about Clinton.”
Les laughed. “No, of course not.”
Byron’s face was still red. “Well, I’d better be getting on to my office. Hope you feel better.”
“Thanks, Byron,” Les said and meant it. He felt that for the first time in two years of knowing each other, of being polite to each other, they’d finally said something that touched on reality, their shared fear and disgust with the tyrant Clinton Edmonds.
***
The morning went quickly.
The city streets were filled with wagons and carriages bringing provisions in and taking provisions out. Through the big plate-glass window, Les could see that the sidewalks were jammed with farm families getting ready for the holidays-making the sweep down First Avenue, then over past the Granby Building that held a myriad of small businesses and shops, then down Third Avenue with its variety of colorful awnings to offer customers shade from searing sun and a roof from pounding rain.
Clinton Edmonds came over only once that morning. As most people in the bank knew, he was negotiating to purchase a small bank in a nearby town called Tipton. He was preparing for a visit this afternoon. So, fortunately for Les, Edmonds seemed somewhat distracted when he slapped a beefy arm around him and said, “We’re going to make fools of that Des Moines team, aren’t we?”
In the most enthusiastic voice he could summon, Les said, “We sure are, sir!”
Placated, Edmonds moved on, eventually back to his office.
George Buss leaned over and said, "You’re going to get a promotion out of this game. You just wait and see.” Being George, he said this completely without envy. He was just awed by the process of how the world’s wheel really turned.
Les spent the last hour before lunch glancing up at the big Ingram watch just above the front door. He had already decided where he was going to go over the lunch hour and he was beginning
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