"I just have one request, from a fellow engineer. Would you fix this Roentgen gauge? It's microchip-activated, of course."
"What?" said Remo, looking at a small metal box with a window and a gauge on it. "I don't know what that is."
"How about your fine friend?" asked Dastrow. "He doesn't know mechanical things that well either. We're social-environment consultants."
"All righty. Thank you for your time, " said Dastrow with the same unflagging cheery boosterism with which he seemed to greet everyone and everything.
As he left the house, he told Palul that a little grease under the latch would probably save it for five more years. And that he should look at rewiring the house. The Indian climate was not kind to electrical equipment.
He also fixed an old Mercedes truck on his way out the driveway, a truck a driver was having trouble getting started, just by seemingly touching one wire to the other.
"Who was that?" asked Chiun.
"No one," said Remo.
"That is just who we are looking for," said Chiun.
Chapter 6
Robert Dastrow whistled while he worked. He knew it bothered people but he always bothered people. Robert Dastrow bothered everyone but his parents.
Robert understood early that he was never going to win a popularity contest. At school dances he was the one who made sure Grand Island Nebraska High School had a public-address system that didn't make whooming noises. He did not have dates. Not that he didn't ask. Not that he didn't approach the problem in a systematic manner.
In fact, because he was so systematic he knew there wasn't a single girl who would go out with him, except perhaps the most beautiful one in school. Unfortunately, she was the one always involved in social causes. She was willing to go out with him as a favor.
"I didn't want favors from anyone, least of all someone I might want to marry and raise a family wth. "
"I just was willing to go out with you. I didn't mention anything about marriage."
"I don't want favors. I don't want favors from anyone. I don't need favors."
"Well, I do feel sorry for you."
"I don't want people feeling sorry for me. I am the most capable person you have ever met. And if you hitch up to me, I'll make you rich. You'll never want for anything."
"Actually, Robert, I'm sorry to say, the only thing I want from you is to spend absolutely no more than an evening with you."
"Keep your favors. You'll see. I'll be the most employable graduate of this high school."
"I'm sure you will, Robert. Everyone says you know how to make anything work."
"And someday I'll know how to make people work, too. You'll see. I'll have the most beautiful women. "
Robert was only partly right. He ultimately did get beautiful women, but his career did not go smoothly at all. Despite his high marks in both high school and college, despite the fact that he successfully held many jobs to work his way through his degree, despite the fact that he scored at the very highest level on engineering aptitude, Robert Dastrow was virtually unemployable in the United States of the 1970's.
Every interview was almost the same. The personnel officer would be impressed with the young graduate and his high marks. He would be impressed with the young man's alertness, enthusiasm, and energy.
And then he would ask what Robert's specialty was.
"I just make things work," Dastrow would say. "I know how to make things work."
"Design engineering then?"
"Well, no. I'm not all that good at inventing. But you show me something somebody else has made and I'll show you how to make it work perfectly. I'll show you what's right or wrong about it. What's good and bad about it. I'll make it go. I'll make it hum. I'll make it buzz."
"I see. Do you have any marketing experience? That's big. Engineers who have marketing experience are always in demand for top jobs."
"Not my cup of tea," said Robert.
"If you know how to make things work, then you know what to sell about them. Sales. A sales engineer is the best paid of all engineers."
"Once had a newspaper route. Had to give it up. Couldn't afford to keep buying newspapers. Only people I ever sold a copy to were my parents. I couldn't sell an ice cube in the Sahara," said Dastrow.
"I see. Well, do you have a sense for structure then? We can use structural engineers."
"Not especially."
"How about environment? An environmental engineer?"
"Sorry. Just know how to make things work. I see your clock is broken," said Dastrow. He took a little screwdriver from his pocket and within moments had the desk clock humming again.
"You can't tell me you don't need a man like that," said Robert.
"Unfortunately, that's just what I'm telling you," said the personnel manager.
And so did many others. Because in the America of the 1970's the rage was not to make things work, but to make them more beautiful, more modern, and cheaper to produce.
The engineers who got the jobs were those who dealt in theory. As one company put it to young Dastrow, "You should have seen the handwriting on the wall. At most engineering schools, they've closed the machine shops. Nobody cares whether something works well or not because they're designing new ones anyway. It's not important that it work. It's important that it's new. That it's cheap to make, and attractive."
Robert Dastrow, with his degree in engineering, spent the first year of his employable life as a messenger. And then an accident changed his life and ultimately helped change America too.
While visiting a relative in California he noticed a car go out of control. Robert saw the steering-wheel bearings were obviously misaligned. Anyone could see that. It was the manufacturer's fault.
Being from the Midwest, he shared this knowledge with anyone who would listen. Every other witness to the accident suddenly claimed not to see a thing.
A young lawyer, who just happened to hear an ambulance and just happened to be taking the identical route for the last fifteen blocks of the trip to the accident site, and just happened to stop to see what was going on, heard Robert Dastrow talking.
"Would you swear to it in a court of law?"
"Sure. It's the truth," said Dastrow. "But I've got to return home to Nebraska tomorrow. I may have a job. I'm not specifically saying I have a job. I'm not stating it is a sure thing. But golly, it looks good. Looks real good. Looks wicked good."
"I understand," said the lawyer. "I would be the last one to expect you to hang around Los Angeles for a trial when it's costing you money. I would be the last one to expect you to pay money out of your own pocket. But I think I could arrange a little per-diem payment for you, just to stay around."
"Is that legal?" asked Dastrow.
"If you get it in cash, and no one knows, and you don't tell anyone, and I don't tell anyone, there's nothing illegal about it."
"Sounds fishy to me," said Robert Dastrow. "Sounds like a bribe to me," said Dastrow.
"What's your name?"
"Dastrow. Robert Dastrow," said the unemployable engineer, and then sounding like a thousand steel guitars twanging their ugliest notes, he spelled out his name.
"Robert, I'm a lawyer. The law is not open-and-shut like laymen think. Nothing is illegal unless a court and the written law say it is illegal. That's the law. No court ever ruled on anything it didn't know."
"But concealing the truth doesn't make it less than the truth."
"Robert, we're talking about five thousand dollars in cash, minimum."
Robert Dastrow thought about truth and honesty. He thought about the values of his small Midwestern city. He thought about how he had been raised. Five thousand dollars would indeed go a long way toward a comfortable life in Grand Island.
"You said minimum."
"More if we win, Robert," said the young lawyer, who brought him back to his office to take a deposition. It was a storefront with some Spanish written on the front in case a passing Latino might need legal help.