It was a mighty rasp we drew over wounded ancestral pride. We had shown that not all the mighty have halos of purest gold, that not all the Redcoats were strutting bullies — or angels, and the British Empire, except South Africa, refused entry to both pictures and made violent passes at the State Department. The spectacle of Southern and New England congressmen approving the efforts of a foreign ambassador to suppress free speech drew hilarious hosannas from certain quarters. H. L. Mencken gloated in the clover, and the newspapers hung on the triple-horned dilemma of anti-foreign, pro-patriotic, quasi-logical criticism. In Detroit the Ku Klux Klan burned an anemic cross on our doorstep, and the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick, the NAACP, and the WCTU passed flattering resolutions. We forwarded the most vicious and obscene letters — together with a few names and addresses that hadn’t been originally signed — to our lawyers and the Post Office Department. There were no convictions south of Illinois.
Johnson and his boys made hay. Johnson had pyramided his bets into an international distributing organization, and pushed Marrs into hiring every top press agent on either side of the Rockies. What a job they did! In no time at all there were two definite schools of thought that overflowed into the public letter boxes. One school held that we had no business raking up old mud to throw, that such things were better left forgotten and forgiven, that nothing wrong had ever happened, and if it had, we were liars anyway. The other school reasoned more to our liking. Softly and slowly at first, then with a triumphant shout, this fact began to emerge; such things had actually happened, and could happen again, were possibly happening even now; had happened because twisted truth had too long left its imprint on international, sectional, and racial feelings. It pleased us when many began to agree with us, that it is important to forget the past, but that it is even more important to understand and evaluate it with a generous and unjaundiced eye. That was what we were trying to bring out.
The banning that occurred in the various states hurt the gross receipts only a little, and we were vindicated in Johnson’s mind. He had dolefully predicted loss of half the national gross because “you can’t tell the truth in a movie and get away with it. Not if the house holds over three hundred.” Not even on the stage? “Who goes to anything but a movie?”
So far things had gone just about as we’d planned. We’d earned and received more publicity, favorable and otherwise, than anyone living. Most of it stemmed from the fact that our doings had been newsworthy. Some, naturally, had been the ninety-day-wonder material that fills a thirsty newspaper. We were very careful to make enemies in the strata that can afford to fight back. Remember the old saw about knowing a man by the enemies he makes? Well, publicity was our ax. Here’s how we put an edge on it.
I called Johnson in Hollywood. He was glad to hear from us. “Long time no see. What’s the pitch, Ed?”
“I want some lip-readers. And I want them yesterday, like you tell your boys.”
“Lip-readers? Are you nuts? What do you want with lip-readers?”
“Never mind why. I want lip-readers. Can you get them?”
“How should I know? What do you want them for?”
“I said, can you get them?”
He was doubtful. “I think you’ve been working too hard.”
“Look—”
“Now, I didn’t say I couldn’t. Cool off. When do you want them? And how many?”
“Better write this down. Ready? I want lip-readers for these languages: English, French, German, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Greek, Flemish, Dutch, and Spanish.”
“Ed Lefko, have you gone crazy?”
I guess it didn’t sound very sensible, at that. “Maybe I have. But those languages are essential. If you run across any who can work in any other language, hang on to them. I might need them, too.” I could see him sitting in front of his telephone, wagging his head like mad. Crazy. The heat must have got Lefko, good old Ed.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, I heard you. If this is a rib—”
“No rib. Dead serious.”
He began to get mad. “Where you think I’m going to get lip-readers, out of my hat?”
“That’s your worry. I’d suggest you start with the local school for the deaf.” He was silent. “Now, get this into your head; this isn’t a rib, this is the real thing. I don’t care what you do, or where you go, or what you spend — I want those lip-readers in Hollywood when we get there or I want to know they’re on the way.”
“When are you going to get there?”
I said I wasn’t sure. “Probably a day or two. We’ve got a few loose ends to tie up.”
He swore a blue streak at the iniquities of fate. “You’d better have a good story when you do—” I hung up.
Mike met me at the studio. “Talk to Johnson?” I told him, and he laughed. “Does sound crazy, I suppose. But he’ll get them, if they exist and like money. He’s the Original Resourceful Man.”
I tossed my hat in a corner. “I’m glad this is about over. Your end caught up?”
“Set and ready to go. The films and the notes are on the way, the real estate company is ready to take over the lease, and the girls are paid up-to-date, with a little extra.”
I opened a bottle of beer for myself. Mike had one. “How about the office files? How about the bar, here?”
“The files go to the bank to be stored. The bar? Hadn’t thought about it.”
The beer was cold. “Have it crated and send it to Johnson.”
We grinned, together. “Johnson it is. He’ll need it.”
I nodded at the machine. “What about that?”
“That goes with us on the plane as air express.” He looked closely at me. “What’s the matter with you — jitters?”
“Nope. Willies. Same thing.”
“Me, too. Your clothes and mine left this morning.”
“Not even a clean shirt left?”
“Not even a clean shirt. Just like—”
I finished it. “—the first trip with Ruth. A little different, maybe.”
Mike said slowly, “A lot different.” I opened another beer. “Anything you want around here, anything else to be done?” I said no. “O.K. Let’s get this over with. We’ll put what we need in the car. We’ll stop at the Courville Bar before we hit the airport.”
I didn’t get it. “There’s still beer left—”
“But no champagne.”
I got it. “O.K. I’m dumb, at times. Let’s go.”
We loaded the machine into the car, and the bar, left the studio keys at the corner grocery for the real estate company, and headed for the airport by way of the Courville Bar. Ruth was in California, but Joe had champagne. We got to the airport late.
Marrs met us in Los Angeles. “What’s up? You’ve got Johnson running around in circles.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“Sounds crazy to me. Couple of reporters inside. Got anything for them?”
“Not right now. Let’s get going.”
In Johnson’s private office we got a chilly reception. “This better be good. Where do you expect to find someone to lipread in Chinese? Or Russian, for that matter?”
We all sat down. “What have you got so far?”
“Besides a headache?” He handed me a short list.
I scanned it. “How long before you can get them here?”
An explosion. “How long before I can get them here? Am I your errand boy?”
“For all practical purposes, you are. Quit the stalling. How about it?” Marrs snickered at the look on Johnson’s face.
“What are you smirking at, you moron?” Marrs gave in and laughed outright. I did, too. “Go ahead and laugh. This isn’t funny. When I called the state school for the deaf, they hung up. Thought I was some practical joker. We’ll skip that.