Authors: Donis Casey
All Men Fear Me (17 page)
“Are you doing all you can?”
âWorld War I propaganda poster
Rising at four in the morning, even before his early-rising parents, getting himself the two miles into town, working a shift at the plant, and then coming home and working just as hard on the farm for the rest of the day was beginning to wear Charlie down. Considering the fact that he was sixteen years old and as energetic as a squirrel, that was saying something. Not that he would ever tell his mother and father that. After the fuss he made in the first place, he would just as soon fall over from exhaustion as admit defeat.
By the time he rose from his bed, ate a leftover biscuit, grabbed the lunch pail his mother had packed the night before, saddled his horse and got to work, the sky was light and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon.
The white-maned roan never gave him trouble in the mornings. It enjoyed the pre-dawn ride as much as Charlie did, just the two of them on the road in the relative cool before the July heat kicked in. Charlie came up on the brick plant from the south, and could see the buildings from quite a distance, peeking over the fence that surrounded the yard. He usually exchanged greetings with members of the early morning crew straggling up the road on their way to work, preening when someone inevitably complimented him on his fine mount.
He was running a little behind his normal time this morning, and the road was deserted. He urged the roan to a trot and was just passing the outer fence when a movement in the gray light caught his eye. Something almost out of his line of sight. Someone was slipping through an opening in the fence, far at the back of the property where it backed up to the brushy clay hills.
Charlie reined in and squinted into the distance. Had he really seen what he thought he had? It looked like a skinny man in a tan Stetson with a high, uncreased crown. For a moment, he sat on horseback in the middle of the road, wondering if the viscous light of dawn was playing tricks on him. He didn't have time to ponder long. The steam whistle blew, signaling the start of the shift, startling him and causing the horse to sidle. Charlie dug his heels into the roan's side and headed for the gate. I'm getting too chary, he thought. It was probably only a deer.
Work was somewhat frantic that day, and between hauling and loading and packing rail cars, Charlie didn't have time to form any theories about nefarious fifth-columnists sneaking around the plant.
Still, the image of the skinny man preyed on him throughout the shift. When the noon whistle blew, ending his half-day, he found himself watching the men clocking out and retrieving their gear from the hooks in the changing room. But he saw no tan Stetson with an unshaped crown.
The roan was settled in the stable along with the other workers' horses, and wasn't eager to leave his friends and head back to the farm in the heat and dust. Charlie spent a good quarter-hour wrestling on the bridle and bit and getting the horse saddled for the twenty-minute trip home. By the time he arrived, the family had started eating without him.
He threw the horse's reins over the picket fence and left him standing unsaddled until after dinner, feeling resentful that the horse had made him late for dinner and that the family had not waited for him.
He washed up on the back porch before he went into the kitchen. Alafair stood up as soon as she saw him and filled a glass with sweet tea as he took his place at the table.
“You're late today, son,” Shaw said. “Did the shift run long?”
Charlie reached for a piece of cornbread. “Nossir. Old Lightning Bolt just wasn't of a mind to hurry home today.”
Sophronia chortled. Charlie changed the subject before she could comment. “There's a carload of bricks for Fort Bliss going out soon, and Mr. Cooper nearly run us all off our feet getting the order stacked and loaded so it'll be ready when the train comes through. I feel like I've been pulled through a knothole backwards. I'm mighty hungry, too, Mama. I could eat a boot.”
The idea of a boot meal struck Grace as hilarious and Shaw had to raise his voice to be heard over peals of childish laughter. “You'd better save that knothole for bedtime, son,” he said. “Fort Reno is expecting fifteen harness-broke mules by the end of the month, so there's a lot of work to be done to get them ready.”
“Sounds like the U.S. Army has reason to appreciate your hard work and diligence, Charlie Boy,” Gee Dub said.
Charlie spoke around a mouthful of rice and gravy. “I hope somebody does.”
“I recognize the danger that arises from the slacker who opposes the country. I realize that every breeder of sedition is as great a menace to our homes and our freedom as are our armed enemies across the sea. I therefore pledge myself to report to the chairman of my school district council of defense or to my county defense chairman any disloyal act or utterance that I may at any time know of. I will stamp out the enemies at home whose every act or word means more American graves in France.”
â Oklahoma Loyalty Pledge, 1917
The special Friday Liberty Sing started out with a potluck picnic spread out over long tables that stretched along one side of the hall. The afternoon was hot and muggy, and everyone was milling about the grounds of the Masonic Hall, fanning themselves and talking too loudly.
There were a lot of people there that day whom Alafair didn't know. Including a young fellow who came in with one of her least-favorite neighbors, Dutch Leonard. They parked their buckboard and got out, but they stuck together, eyeing the crowd, like they were looking for somebody. Alafair saw Trenton Calder go over to talk to them, but he told her later that they didn't have much to say. Considering that it was Dutch, he expected the stranger had leftist tendencies and he meant to keep an eye on them. When he told her that, she cast an eye around for her brother. She was relieved to see that he was with Shaw and the boys. He took no notice of Dutch and his friends, and they didn't seem to pay any attention to him.
On this particular day, eight of the twelve men Scott had deputized were named Tucker, including Shaw, Gee Dub, and Scott's own son Slim. Gee Dub got a kick out of being a law man, teasing all the little children that he was going to arrest them. Trent told him that a real criminal with any brains would be out burgling houses, since there wasn't a solitary soul left at home.
Before the singing began, Scott instructed Gee Dub and Shaw to stand by the door and make sure nobody came in with a weapon. They were told to watch over any attendee with a German name. Scott wouldn't have put it past some of the local hotheads to decide not to wait until they got to Europe to begin killing Germans.
Blanche and Sophronia had decided to stay home with Phoebe's family. Kurt wanted to come and show his neighbors he was a loyal American, but Mary had talked him into staying away until the draft lottery was over. Mary herself refused to stay home, and had ridden in with her parents. Alafair was sorry that Kurt felt unwelcome, but she was glad he had decided to skip this particular gathering.
For an hour, enthusiasm reigned as the crowd belted out patriotic songs, and Alafair's voice rose as lustily as anyone's. No matter how much she was against getting into it in the first place, she did want America to win the war now. And besides, the singing was fun. Even Rob was enjoying himself and singing along. Grace joined several small children at the front of the hall to skip and dance to the music, and young men and women hovered about the buffet in gender-specific groups, eyeing each other and passing flirtatious remarks across the table. Younger folks like Charlie flitted in and out of the hall, sometimes joining in the singing and sometimes heading outside to look for mischief. Shaw spent half the hour at Alafair's side, singing loudly, if not always exactly on key, and the other half chatting with his brothers and other farmers about the effect the war was having on the price of cotton.
Just as everyone was growing hoarse, the singing wrapped up with “America the Beautiful,” and there was a five-minute lull while the participants wet their whistles with lemonade and sweet tea.
Mary left her daughter Judy dancing with the other tots under Alafair's watchful eye, while she made her way through the crowd to retrieve a couple of glasses of lemonade. She was encouraged that several of her neighbors spoke to her, mostly to assure her that they harbored nothing but goodwill for her and her fine patriotic husband. So when Billy Claude Walker approached her as she began to walk back toward her mother, she was feeling secure enough to give him a friendly smile.
He did not smile back. “Where's your Bosch husband?”
Mary's mouth dropped open. She was so taken aback that she didn't reply.
Billy Claude had plenty more to say. “Smart of him to lay low. You better warn him to stay out of sight if he knows what's good for him. That family of your'n is full of traitors. All I have to do is say the word and the whole bunch of y'all will end up in Leavenworth.” He paused long enough to draw a breath before continuing his harangue. “Just think how lonely it will be, you and your brat out there in your pretty white house when your Kraut husband goes to prison. We know that there's a Wobblie out to your folks' place, too. Maybe we won't go to the trouble of writing to the Justice Department about your traitor kin. The patriots around here might decide to save the state the cost of a trial and do a little hanging and burning ourselves.”
Mary was just about to dash a glass of lemonade into Billy Claude's face, when a voice behind her said, “Mary, honey, we've been waiting for you!” Her heart lifted when she turned around and recognized Grandfather Khouri, gazing at her with concern.
“Yes, Mr. Khouri, I was just coming!”
Billy Claude grinned at the old man. “Well, if it isn't the town Jew shopkeeper!”
The look Grandfather Khouri gave him would have frozen flames into orange icicles. He put his arm around Mary and guided her away into the crowd without wasting a word on the likes of Billy Claude Walker.
“Thank you, Mr. Khouri.”
He patted her shoulder. “Sometimes we all need a friend to help us escape, dear heart.”
“That man scares the liver out of me and makes me afraid for my family.”
Grandfather Khouri's expression hardened. “I knew many men like him when I was a boy in Turkey. Unless he is stopped he will cause misery wherever he can. Mark my words.”
“⦠red-blooded Oklahomans, Americans all,
rose to their feet as if one, and cheered and sobbed
and yelled atâ¦the name of President Wilson.”
â
The Daily Oklahoman
, 1917
Mayor Jehu H. Ogle stepped up to the podium and banged his gavel until the crowd fell quiet. He called on Mr. Lacy, pastor of the First Christian Church of Boynton, to deliver the benediction. Then Lee Perkins harangued the crowd for exactly four minutes on the duty of patriots to buy Liberty Bonds and do everything possible to support the war effort.
Mr. Ogle returned to the podium and consulted his notes. “As y'all know, according to the Draft Act, every healthy, unmarried man between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-one had to register for service on June fifth. We are gathered here because today, at the county seat in Muskogee, the numbers are being drawn to determine who will have the privilege of serving his country. Mr. Kirby, editor of the
Boynton Index
, will be receiving the list by wire as soon as possible after the last number is drawn this evening. He will thereupon get himself over here to the hall and our senior Council of Defense officer, Mr. Emmanuel Clover, will read out the numbers, after which we'll post them on the wall.”
An ugly murmur arose from the corner where the Dutch Leonard and his friends had stationed themselves. Out of the corner of her eye, Alafair saw Rob glance back at them over his shoulder.
Mr. Ogle plowed on. “Most of y'all may be wondering what will happen next. Within a few days or weeks, the boys whose numbers have come up will receive a notification from the War Department which will tell them when and where to report. If any man needs help arranging his affairs before he leaves, let me or Mr. Clover know and we will see that you get taken care of. Also, the Town Council will pay for transportation into Muskogee for any recruit who needs it. Come see me after the meeting if you want to know more.”
Ogle looked up. “Ya'll know Miz Streeter McCoy, wife of our city treasurer.” He gestured toward the right side of the room, and Martha waved. “Miz McCoy has taken on the task of organizing our local Red Cross chapter. She'd like to hear from every woman who can spare a minute to roll bandages, knit socks, pack supplies for the troops, and she hopes that includes every woman in town⦔ He squinted down at his notes. “â¦and she don't care what your name is.
“Also, we need more men to volunteer as Four Minute Men to talk before every public gathering, like at church or the moving pictures. The three we've got are going to have to figure out how to be in two places at once, otherwise. If some of you pastors know somebody in your church who likes to hold forth, put a bug in Emmanuel's ear about it.” Ogle fell silent and assumed a benign expression as he waited for the crowd to stop murmuring. “Now. Mr. Clover has asked me if he could have a minute to speak, so I'll turn the meeting over to him. Emmanuel?”
Mr. Clover positioned himself behind the podium. His gaze swept the group, and his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of the Khouri family sitting together against the wall under the windows. Aram Khouri slumped down just a tad. But his father sat up straight and glared at Clover, his normally pleasant face as dark as an impending storm.
Clover straightened his tie, removed his glasses from his breast pocket, and positioned them on his nose before he began. “So happy to see y'all here today in this great demonstration of American solidarity. I wanted to mention that we've just been issued a new list of Food Administration restrictions for stores and shops. I already asked Isaiah Kirby to print the rules, and we'll be getting you shop owners your own copies to post directly. As you know, these restrictions are voluntary, but as your Council of Defense representative, I will be reminding y'all to comply.” Mr. Clover ripped his spectacles off and jabbed the air with them. “We've got to stick together and we'll get through this, friends. I know many of you have already sent your sons and brothers to take up arms. I expect every healthy young fellow to join up if he isn't drafted. I expect everyone in this town to support the war effort as best they can. No hoarding. No profiteering or raising prices.”
Emmanuel straightened and cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his voice rang against the rafters like a revival preacher's. “I am sure you all have heard of the death of my fellow CD representative, Win Avey, under suspicious circumstances. Why did he die? Was he killed by anti-war activists? By German sympathizers? Fifth columnists? The enemy is at the gates, my friends. I do not countenance vigilante justice. But every true American has to do everything he can to support our boys who will be putting their lives on the line for the one-hundred-percent American way of life. We must be ever vigilant against subversion and dissension. If I find a disloyal person in our midst, I intend to give his name to the Department of Justice in Washington and tell them where to find him. And it is y'all's duty to report to me if you hear anybody talk against the war, even if it's your friend or your brother⦔
“Oh, shut up, Clover!”
The crowd gasped, everyone craning this way and that to see from where the comment had come. A tide of noise arose, like a moan, crescendoed, then receded. Rob was standing to Alafair's right, next to Shaw, with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Alafair couldn't read his expression, but his cheeks sported hectic spots of red.
Shaw leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Get the children.” It was time to get out of there.
Alafair took Mary's arm and the two of them began to make their way forward through the sea of neighbors, intent on finding Grace, Judy, and Chase.
Mr. Clover jerked with shock and glanced wildly around the room. “Who said that?”
“I did, you idiot!”
Mary seized Chase Kemp and Judy and made her way out. Alafair spied Grace at the front of the hall, elbows up, leaning against the stage. She reached under a man's arm, seized the tail of the little girl's frock, and drew her back into the crowd. She recognized the voice. People drew back, repelled.
The crowd parted to reveal Dutch Leonard standing alone in the middle of the space, one hand on his hip. He didn't appear to be worried about the consequences of his outburst. In fact, he was just getting started. He raised his voice to be heard over the shocked commentary going on around him. “I'm not joining up to fight the German Army. Let them Europeans tend to their own house. I ain't shedding blood for the damn capitalists! Leave us real Americans alone. And you, Billy Claude Walker, you pile of shit, you and your pinhead âKnights of Liberty'!”
Alafair hoisted Grace into her arms, but momentarily forgot about leaving. She had a good view of Leonard, standing in the clear spot. She had always thought of the Leonard brothers as sneaks and cowards, and certainly did not consider Dutch a man who would stand in the middle of a hostile crowd loudly espousing an opinion that was likely to get him beaten up or worse. She waved at Martha and Alice and gestured for them to head out. On her way to the door, Alafair passed Shaw, going in the opposite direction. “Get the children out of here,” he said again, as though she needed reminding.
Scott was elbowing his way through the milling crowd, desperate to get to Leonard and shut him up.
Charlie was standing at the food table with Henry Blackwood when Dutch made his move. Charlie gasped and gripped Henry's arm. “That's him!”
“What are you talking about?
“I recognize that hat! It was Dutch I saw sneaking into the plant⦔
Henry wasn't paying attention. Things were getting ugly. “Come on, young'un, let's get out of here.”
Emmanuel Clover was leaning over the edge of the stage, gesticulating at the crowd and yelling. “There are spies among us! Spies! We've got to be vigilant, for there are spies amongst us and we've got to root them out. Anybody who talks against the war might as well be fighting for the Germans!”
He pointed directly at Dutch Leonard, who launched himself forward like he had been shot out of a cannon.
***
Trenton Calder had never seen a riot before, but he figured he was about to. He could see Billy Claude Walker and two or three of his cronies standing at the back of the hall, waving their fists in the air, and over on the other side of the room, the Khouris and a couple of the Schmidts were looking like they could eat nails. Trent could see Scott with Shaw Tucker next to the stage. They looked as apprehensive as he felt. Women and children were flooding out of the hall.
Trent craned his neck to see where Ruth Tucker was, and was relieved to catch sight of her going out the door with her mentor Beckie McKenzie in tow.
Dutch Leonard went after Emmanuel Clover, but he never made it, because that's when everything went to hell. Trent didn't see who threw the first punch, but next thing he knew the whole world was nothing but fists and elbows, knees and boots. The rest of Clover's rant was lost in the hubbub. The mayor was pounding his gavel on the podium, but nobody paid any attention. Somehow Trent ended up on the floor, looking up at two men in overalls trying to strangle each other. He had to taste blood before he realized that someone had socked him in the mouth. He saw red, then, and forgot all about keeping the peace and restoring civic order. He was on his feet in a trice and throwing punches with the best of them.
Trent was just hitting his stride when the blast of a gunshot roared through the hall, and the brawlers froze in place like they'd been hexed.
Scott had pulled his sidearm and blown a hole in the ceiling. For a minute, the only sounds in the hall were the panting of combatants and chunks of plaster hitting the floor.
“Anybody who ain't out of this hall in five minutes is going to jail.” Scott's voice boomed like the trump at the Second Coming. “And if me or my deputies find anybody on the street tonight, he'll spend the night in irons!”
It was unclear how many heard the last bit, since Scott had hollered it over a stampede of men heading for any exit they could find, door or window, as long as it was convenient.
“Not you, Billy Claude!” Scott grabbed Billy Claude Walker by the collar as he passed and jerked him back. Only a few people were left in the hall by this time. Scott was surrounded by his deputies Shaw, Gee Dub, and Slim, and Mayor Ogle. The rest of the Knights of Liberty made a feeble attempt to back up their leader, but Scott gave them a heated glare and they slunk out, muttering. The .45 in his hand helped persuade them. Trent made his way over, wiping the blood off of his lip and counting his teeth.
“Billy Claude, dad blast it!” Scott was too furious not to blaspheme. “What in the name of Saint Peter and his eleven sidekicks do you think you're up to? I ought to fling you behind bars for inciting a riot.”
“Me?” Billy Claude protested. “What about that clown Dutch Leonard? What about them Red rabble rousers that have come to town? You know as well as I do that anyone who utters any scurrilous language about the government should to be sent to prison.”
“Yes, I've read the Espionage Act, too, Billy Claude, you don't need to educate me. And I'll take care of Dutch. You stick to watching the bridges for saboteurs and invaders and leave the law-enforcing to me.” He let go of Billy Claude's collar like it was something nasty. “Now go home, and stay there for a few days, if you know what's good for you.”
Billy Claude straightened his shirt with as much dignity as he could muster. “Mark my words, Sheriff. You'll be sorry about this.” He looked around at the rest of the group. “You'll all be sorry.”
After Billy Claude was gone, Gee Dub turned to Trent and shook his head. “I'll bet he doesn't have any idea what âscurrilous' means.”
“Well, neither do I, Gee Dub,” Trent admitted. “But I can tell it's nothing good.”