George marched to the computer console. He had to type the inquiry twice. He erased his own input the first time. The first print out led him into a second, which resulted in a third, which created a fourth.
Three hours later, George felt he'd bridged all the gaps and was ready to play it out. --"George, That was a Magnificent End Run. You understand why we couldn't afford to Make a Touchdown, don't you?"
George understood all too well.
"And I think that you should handle the Housing and Export Portfolios from now on, as well as acting as a consultant to Perron Riccardo on Banking and Labor. You have Handled a Sticky Situation Quite Tactfully."
James Boulin Chartwell, III poured himself a glass of One Hundred Percent Pure Mineral Water and took a small sip. He looked at George.
"Will you join me in a glass?"
George declined tactfully.
The Not Quite So Junior Staff Economist had barely collapsed behind his desk when the viewer buzzed.
"All right, how? Just how?" It was Gus Bargunn from Union Negotiating. He looked green.
George settled back in his chair to enjoy himself.
"Really want to know, Gus?"
"Yeah, how did you ever get Weasilin to sign that… that…"
"You take me to lunch, I'll explain." George was not hungry, but principle was principle.
"All right, the Burr Room at twelve thirty."
Gus was waiting at the table, impatiently chomping on a cheese stick. George sat down.
"A drink, sir?" intruded the red coated waiter.
"Coke, fresh lime, please."
"Another Scotch and water," demanded Gus, "and send the waitress around."
"Yes, Mr. Bargunn."
"Know you here, Gus?"
"I'm here often enough. Now how did you get old Weasilin at Headquarters to sign that agreement?"
"I promised him more jobs for construction workers."
"Are you ready to order, gentlemen?"
"I'll have the special," grumbled Gus.
"Steak sandwich, Colorado beef, if you have it," added George, "with French fries and another Coke.
Roquetoast dressing on the salad."
"Would you like your coffee with dinner or later, Mr. Bargunn?"
"Later." Gus gestured the girl away.
"You got them to support this deal by promising more jobs? From what I know, Houseman cuts eighty percent of the labor costs with his system. That's going to increase jobs?"
"Look, Gus, the new jobs don't have anything to do with low income housing. They're based on Houseman's black industrial parks."
"Run that one by me again," demanded the Union official.
"All right. Houseman designed each housing area with space for an industrial park, based on the hope that he could bring in black industry or persuade some of the larger corporations to locate branch operations there and staff them with blacks."
"You mean the guy has been planning a total black environment the whole time?"
"Don't sound so outraged, Gus. Union labor will build all those beautiful black plants. That's what you want, isn't it? More jobs?" George reached for the radishes.
"Just assuming that this massive construction, effort will create more Union jobs, and I'm not too sure of that, but assuming it would," asked Gus quietly, "just how are you going to get the money for this Great Industrial Relocation?"
"We've already got it, Gus." George took a satisfying crunch on his radish.
"Yeah? How?"
"We played a little switchy switchy behind the scenes, Gus. We, or I should say, my boss, went to the President and showed him that subsidies for low income housing could be eliminated from the budget.
Houseman's methods are ten thousand dollars cheaper and need `no subsidy. Besides, no builder wants to do the stuff; they just do it to keep their Federal Developer ticket so they can keep on the FHA, PC, and VA approved lists.
"Anyway, extending VA, PC, and FHA approvals to plastic housing is all the help the low income buyer really needs. And that's an Executive decision. The President was delighted. In fact, he muttered a bit about `why hasn't it been done before?" "
Gus showed no reaction to George's fairly passable imitation of the President. George picked up the Coke as soon as the waiter set it down, took a quick swallow, and went on.
"Then the `boss went to bat for Labor. He persuaded the President to budget the money we saved by eliminating the subsidies for the Labor Market. Instead of subsidizing houses, we subsidize new construction loans. But only if Union labor is used. And the Congressional leadership says there's enough votes to pass it."
"So Labor gets a few jobs. Great." Gus's tone was flat.
"Of course, those loans are designed for those companies who want to spur minority employment."
"Meaning Houseman's damn black industrial parks," finished Gus. "That had to be the fly in the ointment."
"You can't complain, Gus. Houseman has to use Union construction workers."
"Yeah, maybe. But what companies are going to make this kind of move? Even with subsidized loans?"
"How about Sequoya Northwest for starters? Friend of mine, Murray Weiderhausen, his family owns the whole glotch. They've been watching Houseman all along. They're ready to put an epoxy plastics plant in Houseman's Point Ultimate, with all all black staff. The shift from timber to plastics will help them.
Placate the conservationists."
"Graylin, you got more solutions than a damn chemist. What else?"
"Tossed in a couple more economic goodies, mostly to please my boss. Underdeveloped-excuse me, the rapidly developing-countries can use a cheap house, and exporting Houseman's process will help Balance of Payments and Balance of Trade. Labor should be happy with extra jobs in the machine tool and plastics Industries."
George finished the Coke and started on the ice cubes.
"Then I showed your President Weasilin the statistics. Houseman really doesn't have much effect" on standard homebuilding. He's strictly low income, and he'll be plenty busy with that backlog. Moderate and high income house construction won't be affected.
"In areas where there has been no low income housing, Houseman will actually increase construction employment. Your Mr. Weasilin seemed satisfied with that."
"For God's sake, Graylin. Houseman won't stay in low income housing forever."
George sat back. "No, I figure about five years, Gus."
"And then what do you figure?" Gus Bargunn's voice was very, very level.
George leaned forward and smiled. "Why, then I figure he'll take over the rest of the housing market. Or rather, his techniques will." George pulverized an ice cube with his molars.
"You damn calculating back alley bureaucrat. This agreement you had us sign means that in five years we'll all be out of work."
George's smile became a wide grin. "If you Union men had gotten in the habit of projecting a little more into the future, you could have seen that. But you've never looked beyond the end of your next exorbitant contract to see what was happening in this country.
"No, you guys have had it coming for a long, long time. You've fought integration. You've fought innovation. And you've created inflation for longer than anyone can remember.
"But you could have seen what was coming, Gus, if you hadn't been so short sighted."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Houseman warned you himself."
"Didn't you ever look at the way he signs his name, or the way ft appears in his ads?"
"Signs his name?"
"Uses his initials. T.O. Houseman, and he capitalizes the M"
Gus wrote it out on the `linen napkin. Then he wrote it out again.
He pushed back his chair and stood up.
"If you think we'll keep,that agreement…"
"Cut it, Gus. You and I both know what the courts would do to you under the revised Sherman Anti Trust Act if you broke it. And I can see the headlines now: UNION DENIES WORKERS CHEAP HOUSING."