The Lacuna
Page 118
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Mrs. Brown rolled up the Washington Post like a log and waved it high, her eyes alight with mischief. “Here’s something to fuel the flames,” she suggested. Before long we’d cast in every one, the magazines too, warming our hands over those trumpeting false prophecies. The magazines with color in them curled in a blue-green blaze. By afternoon the house was so warm Mrs. Brown took off her gloves.
“You can’t give up,” she kept repeating. “You think you know it’s all hopeless but you do not, Mr. Shepherd. You know not.”
December 10
The United Nations have adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. It was all on the radio today, and even the howlers achieved a tone of deference. Eighteen articles, establishing every person on earth to be born free and equal, endowed with conscience to act toward every other in a spirit of brotherhood. Maybe Mrs. Brown is right, and we know not where a little raft of hope could carry us. Article 18 states: All persons have the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion or belief.
Mr. Harrison W. Shepherd
30 Montford Ave.
Asheville, North Carolina Date: December 13, 1948
Dear Mr. Shepherd,
The evidence indicates that at certain times since 1930 you have been a close associate of Mr. Deigo Riveira a person or persons who displayed active and sympathetic interest in the Communist Party. We also have evidence that your name has appeared in Life Magazine, Look Magazine, Echo, Star Week, New York Post, Kingsport News, New York Times, Weekly Review, Chicago Times Book Review, Washington Post, National Review, Kansas City Star, Memphis Star, Raleigh Spectator, Library Review, The Daily Worker, Hollywood Week, Asheville Trumpet making statements to the effect that you believe in the overthrow of the United States government.
The foregoing information indicates that you have been and are a member, close affiliate, or sympathetic associate of the Communist Party, and are therefore permanently dismissed from active employment by the federal government. All pension monies and any portion of salaries unpaid as yet, if any, are hereby claimed as property of the U.S. government.
Sincerely,
J. EDGAR HOOVER, DIRECTOR
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION The Raleigh Spectator, December 16, 1948
Communist Writer Fired for Misdeeds
The Associated Press
WASHINGTON, D.C.—Writer Harrison Shepherd, nationally known author of books on the topic of Mexico, was fired this week from federal employment for reasons of un-Americanism. The Asheville man had worked for the Department of State since 1943. His role there remains unclear, but Melvin C. Myers, chief investigator on the case, confirmed it could well have given access to sensitive information. The misdeeds came to light through the massive loyalty investigation of federal employees initiated last year, which has so far identified hundreds of cases of un-Americanism but no espionage. Myers cited this as proof the campaign is working to drive out potential spies that may be hidden in government ranks.
December 18
They seem so thrilled to pounce, these press men. Not before, when I was nobody of consequence, only now. Mrs. Brown says envy plays into it. “There are some who’d hardly lift a finger for kindness, but they would haul up a load of rock to dump on some soul they think’s been too lucky. They take it as duty, to equal out life’s misery.”
“They think I’ve been too lucky?”
She sighed. “Mr. Shepherd, it’s what you’ve said a hundred times, they don’t know a person’s whole story. They think you just sit in your little room making up tales and getting bags of money for it, while they have to go out rain or shine and talk to Mrs. Smith on Charlotte Street about a pie contest. They’re put out with you for having an easier life.”
“Mrs. Brown, who in this world has an easier life?”
“I wonder that too.”
January 26, 1949
An assignation. First of the new year. Tommy’s attention seems to be wearing thin. Lying on his back blowing smoke rings, his eyes kept going to the window like a bird trapped indoors, wanting out. Rather than gazing upon the spectacle of me, sitting in the Morris chair all bundled up in my long knitted scarf. Mrs. Brown’s Christmas present. If I can keep her long enough I shall be warm as a lamb, head to toe. I thought of getting out last year’s gloves and putting those on too; the little room was freezing.
Maybe I’m only imagining Tommy has gone cool. What do I know of hearts in winter? He’s tired, I know that much. And disappointed. No job in advertising yet, still a traveling salesman for Art, in Washington all last week before coming here. Something at the National Gallery.
“It must have been a hubbub in D.C., with the inauguration.”
“Hubbub” he said. “Cat, what language do you speak? My grandmother said ‘hubbub.’ Harry Truman says ‘hubbub.’ I believe it was the theme of his inaugural speech. ‘My fellow Americans, we face a great hubbub.’”
“Actually his theme was the false philosophy of communism. We will roll up our sleeves and defeat it.”
“That sounds like a variety of hubbub.”
“It’s not all that funny, Tommy. Not to me. I was hoping for a new theme.”
“Oh, cheer up. You’ll never get to move Winslow Homers for the Department again, poor you. Maybe this solid gold little writing hobby will pan out instead.”
“Because I still have money, I have no problems. Is that what you think?”
“It will get you through times with no friends, my friend.”
“So they say.”
Tommy was carefully studying the palm of his hand, for some reason.
“My motion-picture agreement is off, by the way. No reason given. They’re getting ever so touchy out there about the color red.”
“Stark! There goes my chance to meet Robert Taylor.”
“You could probably arrange it. If you wanted to help him testify against someone. The money’s fantastic, I hear.”
Cold was literally leaking into the room. I could feel it pour in like water around the edges of the window. I had a strange vision of the whole hotel sunk like a ship beneath the sea, entering the world of the fishes.
“Do you know what, Tommy? Next month we should get together at my house. Honestly, it would be nice. I’ll make a lomo adobado. You’ve never seen my house.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, but what will the neighbors think.”
“You can’t give up,” she kept repeating. “You think you know it’s all hopeless but you do not, Mr. Shepherd. You know not.”
December 10
The United Nations have adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. It was all on the radio today, and even the howlers achieved a tone of deference. Eighteen articles, establishing every person on earth to be born free and equal, endowed with conscience to act toward every other in a spirit of brotherhood. Maybe Mrs. Brown is right, and we know not where a little raft of hope could carry us. Article 18 states: All persons have the right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion or belief.
Mr. Harrison W. Shepherd
30 Montford Ave.
Asheville, North Carolina Date: December 13, 1948
Dear Mr. Shepherd,
The evidence indicates that at certain times since 1930 you have been a close associate of Mr. Deigo Riveira a person or persons who displayed active and sympathetic interest in the Communist Party. We also have evidence that your name has appeared in Life Magazine, Look Magazine, Echo, Star Week, New York Post, Kingsport News, New York Times, Weekly Review, Chicago Times Book Review, Washington Post, National Review, Kansas City Star, Memphis Star, Raleigh Spectator, Library Review, The Daily Worker, Hollywood Week, Asheville Trumpet making statements to the effect that you believe in the overthrow of the United States government.
The foregoing information indicates that you have been and are a member, close affiliate, or sympathetic associate of the Communist Party, and are therefore permanently dismissed from active employment by the federal government. All pension monies and any portion of salaries unpaid as yet, if any, are hereby claimed as property of the U.S. government.
Sincerely,
J. EDGAR HOOVER, DIRECTOR
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION The Raleigh Spectator, December 16, 1948
Communist Writer Fired for Misdeeds
The Associated Press
WASHINGTON, D.C.—Writer Harrison Shepherd, nationally known author of books on the topic of Mexico, was fired this week from federal employment for reasons of un-Americanism. The Asheville man had worked for the Department of State since 1943. His role there remains unclear, but Melvin C. Myers, chief investigator on the case, confirmed it could well have given access to sensitive information. The misdeeds came to light through the massive loyalty investigation of federal employees initiated last year, which has so far identified hundreds of cases of un-Americanism but no espionage. Myers cited this as proof the campaign is working to drive out potential spies that may be hidden in government ranks.
December 18
They seem so thrilled to pounce, these press men. Not before, when I was nobody of consequence, only now. Mrs. Brown says envy plays into it. “There are some who’d hardly lift a finger for kindness, but they would haul up a load of rock to dump on some soul they think’s been too lucky. They take it as duty, to equal out life’s misery.”
“They think I’ve been too lucky?”
She sighed. “Mr. Shepherd, it’s what you’ve said a hundred times, they don’t know a person’s whole story. They think you just sit in your little room making up tales and getting bags of money for it, while they have to go out rain or shine and talk to Mrs. Smith on Charlotte Street about a pie contest. They’re put out with you for having an easier life.”
“Mrs. Brown, who in this world has an easier life?”
“I wonder that too.”
January 26, 1949
An assignation. First of the new year. Tommy’s attention seems to be wearing thin. Lying on his back blowing smoke rings, his eyes kept going to the window like a bird trapped indoors, wanting out. Rather than gazing upon the spectacle of me, sitting in the Morris chair all bundled up in my long knitted scarf. Mrs. Brown’s Christmas present. If I can keep her long enough I shall be warm as a lamb, head to toe. I thought of getting out last year’s gloves and putting those on too; the little room was freezing.
Maybe I’m only imagining Tommy has gone cool. What do I know of hearts in winter? He’s tired, I know that much. And disappointed. No job in advertising yet, still a traveling salesman for Art, in Washington all last week before coming here. Something at the National Gallery.
“It must have been a hubbub in D.C., with the inauguration.”
“Hubbub” he said. “Cat, what language do you speak? My grandmother said ‘hubbub.’ Harry Truman says ‘hubbub.’ I believe it was the theme of his inaugural speech. ‘My fellow Americans, we face a great hubbub.’”
“Actually his theme was the false philosophy of communism. We will roll up our sleeves and defeat it.”
“That sounds like a variety of hubbub.”
“It’s not all that funny, Tommy. Not to me. I was hoping for a new theme.”
“Oh, cheer up. You’ll never get to move Winslow Homers for the Department again, poor you. Maybe this solid gold little writing hobby will pan out instead.”
“Because I still have money, I have no problems. Is that what you think?”
“It will get you through times with no friends, my friend.”
“So they say.”
Tommy was carefully studying the palm of his hand, for some reason.
“My motion-picture agreement is off, by the way. No reason given. They’re getting ever so touchy out there about the color red.”
“Stark! There goes my chance to meet Robert Taylor.”
“You could probably arrange it. If you wanted to help him testify against someone. The money’s fantastic, I hear.”
Cold was literally leaking into the room. I could feel it pour in like water around the edges of the window. I had a strange vision of the whole hotel sunk like a ship beneath the sea, entering the world of the fishes.
“Do you know what, Tommy? Next month we should get together at my house. Honestly, it would be nice. I’ll make a lomo adobado. You’ve never seen my house.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, but what will the neighbors think.”
