Excellent One day at a time One Man's Calling : One Man's Calling, Ch 41 by Wayne Fowler

In the last part Ben met the oldest and about the earliest settler of San Francisco, Juana Briones. Henry informs Ben that Paladin had had a Mason Salinger contract to kill him when Ben lived in Creede. “Juana said that you didn’t need any ancient history. But you need to know a little. Those twenty-one white residents were back in ’42. In ’48, the population was less than 500. That’s when Mexico gave California up to the States. Of course, you know about the ’49 gold rush and statehood because of the gold in ’50.” Ben nodded. “San Francisco went crazy. Money was flying like so many sparrows, Jaybirds, more like. There were millionaires, and wanna-be millionaires. The police were as corrupt as any of them. And not enough of them, either. Crime was horrible. Of course, I wasn’t here yet. I was born in the state capitol, down in San Jose. Moved to the city when I became an attorney. Juana was one of my first clients.” Henry smiled and shook his head. “’51 there was the first of the Committee of Vigilance. Their concentration was on the gangs.” Filling in the pause, Ben shook his head. “Not liking the sound of that.” “Oh, I guess they did all right. A little hard-nose in their ways, some of them. A little rough. “And then again in ’56. The same thing – the vigilance committee. They did it better that time. Three thousand of them, three-month stints. They didn’t get as full of themselves. Some of the police joined their ranks, glad to have backing for stopping crime. The difference that time was that they took over the whole government, either running things or overseeing things.” “So what happened?” Ben asked. “Probably the same as a lot of other places where growth is too fast, too much money slung about, and the opportunities for corruption too widespread. And … add to that hiring policemen who have no business carrying a badge.” Ben nodded agreement. “Almost like when you ask for applications, you should never hire those who apply.” “Or those who’d been arrested for violent crimes the week before.” Ben snapped his head around to see Henry respond by nodding the truth of it. “Look, Ben. Next Saturday evening there’s a party. All the wheels will be there. The governor’s supposed to be there. You have a suit?” “I can get one.” “Well if you can’t … anyway come to my office Saturday about six. One of my partners is about your size. I’ll have one. We can leave from there.” Ben nodded agreement. +++ Henry introduced Ben to a few of the party attendees, but soon joined toward a group of women, one in particular. Ben ambled about the room. One conversation caught his attention, the loudest of the four or five men obviously affected by his drink, a half full glass that he sloshed, causing his neighbors to pay more attention to what was more than likely not his first. “Will you send me your troops, Governor? You know what happened lash time!” “The last time, Mayor? You mean when an honest bureaucrat couldn’t be found in the entire government of San Francisco?” The Governor laughed, condescension evading the mayor who was well on his way to inebriation only a half an hour into the party. “We have laws! And vigilante-ism is against all of ‘em. There’s rumors …” By this time, surprised at his presumptiveness, Ben found himself beside California’s governor and across from San Francisco’s mayor. Ben felt compelled to pelt the mayor with accusatory questions. “Is there a street you would fear to walk, day or night, Mr. Mayor? Is there a policeman you would advise your friends, or your own children to avoid? Is there an inspector, or permitter who you would trust to charge only what is lawful and pocket nothing? Are there kickbacks in your contracts, Mr. Mayor?” The governor leaned back in order to more fully appraise Ben. “Mr. Mayor would you shave your mustache, dress as a commoner, and expect one of your police officers to come to your aid if accosted by a ruffian? Would you care to leave this building and walk even two blocks with me right this moment?” “Well, what say you, Mister Mayor?” the governor asked with a certain challenge in his tone. Ben nodded, his expression bordering scorn as he turned and walked away from the group. “Your opposition next election, or your overseer next Committee of Vigilance? Best to clean it up, Roger. And I don’t mean window dressing.” With that, the governor signaled his aid that he was ready to leave. Once at the edge of the room, Ben turned back, nearly bumping into a gentleman who’d been following him. Fascinated by the man’s tangle of hair, Ben almost missed the man’s comment. “Your suit doesn’t suit you.” The man bore into Ben’s eyes waiting a response that wouldn’t come. Ben knew that the comment was not a reflection of the borrowed attire. “Sam Clemens of the San Francisco Call.” He extended his hand. “Ben Persons.” Ben saw the squint in Clemens’ right eye, obviously attempting to recall how he might recognize the name. “I’m thinking a pickax in your hands, or maybe a gun.” Again, Clemens offered Ben a chance to explain himself. “Or a Bible,” Ben finally said. Clemens’ head bobbed as if agreeing. “Or a Bible. Not a thumper, though. And not a scholarly apologetic. “You’ve read my letters to the editor about police corruption?” “Sorry to say I haven’t. Only really been in town a few days. After getting off the train few months ago.” Clemens studied Ben’s face, pointing an unlit cigar at him. “Shanghaied.” Ben smiled, soliciting a guffaw from Clemens. Responding to Sam’s outburst, two men sidled beside him. “Oh, Ben Parsons, meet Bret Harte and… oh what in tarnation are you going by today?” Clemens grinned amiably at his friend who wouldn’t play along. “Oh, right, Ambrose Bierce.” “Persons,” Ben corrected, shaking the two men’s hands. “Dare say, you missed Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson by only a few days,” Ambrose said. “On his way up to Sonoma from his house in Monterey. Dare say, that man is one to watch. He’ll be the famous one.” “Might want to walk backwards, or solicit some friends to watch your back, the one named Harte said. “Heard the mayor’s man asking about you. You came with Halleck?” After Ben nodded, Harte added, “A good man, a good lawyer to have on your side.” “My side, gentlemen? I hate to think that truth, and justice, and common human compassion has a side, but rather is the floor upon which humanity attempts to stand,” Ben said. “Upon which humanity stands,” Clemens repeated in a loud enough voice to gain attention. Continuing as if delivering a performance, his eyes invited a crowd. “My uncle Jeber, back in Hannibal, Missouri, had this mule, a Jenny, she was, not no Henny, the product of a male horse and female donkey. No sir, Ol’ Hubert, Uncle Jeber called him, was a Jenny of proper Jack and a Morgan mare. “Ol’ Hubert, he thought to be envious of the true bloods, all primped and fawned over, carrying gentlemen and ladies, all riding side-saddle, mind you, to the balls and socials. Ol’ Hubert never toted no gentleman, nor lady, either one. Never tasted a single barley or oat, either. Grass of the stemmiest nature, hay even was his fare. “Yessir, Ol’ Hubert, he was even somewhat envious of the donkeys that gave him sire. Why those creatures were the pets of the young and the old, alike, petted, and fondled, never required to carry heavy burdens, or to travel great distances. No sir. The horses and donkeys all, favored and cherished. “Unlike Ol’ Hubert and his ilk. Hubert’s lot was to pull a Sears and Roebuck two-bottom plow.” The women among the gathered, which was most of the room, blushed, fanning themselves. “Why, to do the necessities bought him a taste o’ the whip. Yessir. “Well, Ol’ Hubert, in short order, he decided that plowing those Missouri rocks wasn’t for him. No siree. He followed uncle Jeber right into the house and stood himself up on his hind legs for the whole world to see his nether parts.” The crowd chuckled at Clemens’ picture. “Well, soon enough, Ol’ Hubert grew fingers and a voice box and right away, he thought he was as good, or better, a man than Uncle Jeber. “’Jeber,’ Ol’ Hubert said, ‘think I’ll be runnin’ fer mayor. Git me a suit made outta the flag.’” Even Ben smiled as the room rang laughter. Author Notes Ben Persons: a young man following God's call Henry Halleck: a San Francisco lawyer Samuel Clemens: Mart Twain, reporter for the Fan Francisco Call Bret Harte: author, friend of mark Twain (in S.F. at the same time) Ambrose Bierce: author, friend of mark Twain (in S.F. at the same time) Apologetics: reasoned arguments, theory of religious doctrine Liberties are taken with respect to the historical timeline of the Committees of Vigilance and the writers, Mark Twain, Bret Harte, and Ambrose Bierce, though the vigilantes were real and the writers were in San Francisco at the same time and knew one another. The San Francisco Vigilance Committee was a vigilante group giving themselves the more peaceful name in hopes of presenting a more honorable face.

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