If Jobbins knew how to ask questions, he also knew how to listen. In fact, he may have been one of the world’s great listeners, a skillful user of the long silence and the sympathetic, understanding nod that seemed to say, “I know, I know, God, how well I know,” as his guests stripped themselves of their last shred of dignity, reveling, it often seemed to Jobbins, in their self-abasement.
But immolation paid because “Jake’s Night” commanded a large and loyal audience that actually bought the books and records and went to the shows that the writers and singers and actors crucified themselves to tout. As one publicity man put it, “Christ, after you see some poor slob strip himself bare you feel so sorry for him that you go out and buy his record just to cheer him up.”
This would be Donald Cubbin’s third time on “Jake’s Night.” When he had first appeared on the show three years before, Jobbins had been unable to penetrate Cubbin’s formidable dignity and the show had been dull. The next time Cubbin had unbent a little and admitted that yes, he thought that Jimmy Hoffa was a thief and that the late Walter Reuther had been a damned fool to take his auto workers out of the AFL–CIO and besides that Reuther had been a smart aleck who never knew when to shut up. As for the war in Vietnam, George Meany could say whatever he wanted to say, but Cubbin thought it was senseless, tragic waste and Cubbin had said so since sixty-four and would go on saying so even if a cut in defense spending would throw his members out of work. Furthermore, Cubbin felt that if Hubert Humphrey hadn’t sold his soul to be Johnson’s nominee and had come out against the war when he should have, back in sixty-six or even sixty-five, he’d be the most popular man in the nation today instead of a has-been. And no, Cubbin wasn’t worried about becoming an alcoholic although sure, he took a drink every now and then, but who didn’t?
If Jobbins’ second interview with Donald Cubbin hadn’t been too revealing personally, it had at least produced enough pungent remarks to make the wire services move a seven-paragraph story on it. This time Jobbins had a little more material to work with and almost before Cubbin could seat himself, Jobbins began.
“The last time you were here, Don, you called Hubert Humphrey a has-been among other things. Now that’s what a sizable portion of your membership is calling you. They say that you’ve lost touch with them. Why do they say that?”
“The man who wants my job says that, Jake. The members don’t say it.”
“I checked with a couple of Chicago bookmakers this afternoon and they’re willing to lay eight to five that you won’t get reelected.”
“You should have bet five; you’d make yourself some money.”
“Let’s get back to this charge that you’re losing touch with your membership. You belong to some rather exclusive clubs around the country, don’t you?”
“I belong to some clubs; I don’t know how exclusive they are.”
“But not everyone can join them, right?”
“Not everybody would want to.”
“You belong to one in Washington called the Federalists Club, don’t you?”
“Yes, I belong to that.”
“And hasn’t it been called the most exclusive club in Washington?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Well, not many of your members belong, do they?”
“No, I don’t think they do.”
“Could they join, if they wanted to?”
“If they were invited and if they could afford the dues. I sometimes think that I can’t.”
“If they were invited, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Who belongs to the Federalists Club?”
“Mostly men who have an interest in politics and government, and in the arts and sciences.”
“And in business?”
“Yes, certainly. Business.”
“Big business, you mean.”
“All right. Big business.”
“And one has to be invited?”
“Yes.”
“And you were invited?”
“Yes, I was invited.”
“Isn’t it true that you asked to be invited?”
“No, that isn’t true.”
“It isn’t?”
“No.”
“I have a copy here of a letter from you to a Mr. A. Richard Gammage. Mr. Gammage is president of Gammage International. You’ve heard of Mr. Gammage and Gammage International?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, I suppose you would have since Gammage International owns about half of Cleveland and some thirty thousand of your members work for that concern.”
“I know Mr. Gammage.”
“Yes, apparently you do. In fact, you seem to know him well enough to call him by his first name.”
“I call a lot of people by their first names.”
“Of course, Don, we all do. Well, in this letter you call Mr. Gammage ‘Dear Dick.’”
“So?”
“So I’m just going to read a paragraph. Just one. This is a letter from you to A. Richard Gammage whom you call ‘Dear Dick.’”
“Yes.”
“Before I read it, I suppose it should be mentioned that Mr. Gammage is one of the principal negotiators when you conduct your industry-wide bargaining, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he’s one of them anyhow.”
“In fact, he might be called the chief negotiator, mightn’t he?”
“I said he was one of them.”
“Well, he’s sort of your counterpart in industry, isn’t he, Don? I mean you’re the principal negotiator for your union and Mr. Gammage is the principal negotiator for industry, isn’t that roughly it?”
“Roughly.”
“In other words, just to simplify things, it’s Mr. Gammage and you who finally decided just how much your members are going to get in take-home pay?”
“That’s a gross oversimplification.”
“But there’s an element of truth in it, right?”
“Just barely.”
“Well, in this Dear Dick letter which is signed by you, you say, ‘I have done some checking around and if you and Arthur could resubmit my name, I am sure it would go through this time. I certainly do not want to embarrass you and Arthur again, but from what I have been able to learn, there should be no objection to my membership this time around and you know what it would mean to me.’ Does that sound like you, Don?”
“I don’t remember writing it.”
“No? Well, on September third, 1965, according to the records of the Federalists Club, your name was submitted for membership on the recommendation of Mr. A. Richard Gammage and Mr. Arthur Bolton. It received only one blackball at a general membership meeting and so on September fourth, 1965, a letter inviting you to join was sent by the club’s membership secretary. I should add here that Mr. Arthur Bolton is the general counsel to Gammage International. I should also add that the records of the Federalists Club show that on January ninth, 1965, your name was submitted for the first time by these same two gentlemen and it received three blackballs, which was one more than enough to keep you from being invited to join. Would you like to make any comment?”
“No, I don’t think it deserves any.”
“Well, do you have any idea of why you were black balled the first time?”
“Apparently someone didn’t like me. Not everyone does.”
“But why did you want to join a club that didn’t want you?”
“There were only three members who didn’t.”
“So you asked Mr. Gammage and Mr. Bolton to try to get you in again?”
“Yes, I suppose I did.”
“Why did you ask them?”
“Because they were members.”
“Are they friends of yours?”
“Well, yes, I suppose they are.”
“In other words, you negotiate the contracts for your union members’ income with your friends. Isn’t that all rather cozy?”