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“M.H.” Meets President Harding

Michael Zagst

Copyright 2011 by Michael Zagst

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 1987 by Michael Zagst

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole

or in part in any form. Published in the United States of America

by Donald I. Fine, Inc. and in Canada by General Publishing Company Limited.

Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number: 86-8210

ISBN: 1-55611-010-3 Manufactured in the United States of America

10 987654321

This book is printed on acid free paper. The paper in this book

meets the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Committee on

Production Guidelines for Book Longevity of the Council on Library Resources.

"Yes, We Have No Bananas" © 1923 by Skidmore Music Co., Inc. Renewed. Used by permission.

Although some of the characters in this book were real people, and at times their dialogue consists of their actual words as recorded in speeches,

interviews, and biographies, the story is fictional. My account of the

incidents in their lives is not intended to be a reflection of their character,

and is to be considered only a work of the imagination.

For my mother, and also for JEAN, JOHN, and CATHERINE

1

DEBBIE TELEPHONED THIS MORNING, AS SHE DOES every morning. Debbie is a volunteer, a member of a group of charitable people that has taken it upon itself to phone old men and women who live alone to make sure they are still alive. I do not mind the calls. In fact, I look forward to the ring of the telephone. The pleasures and activities of a man as he approaches a century of life can be somewhat restricted.

When she calls, I have already been up for hours. Early in the day, I tend my vegetable garden, and my conversations with Debbie have a definite agricultural slant to them. You might say that the garden is the center of my life. It is not only a conversation piece; it also satisfies my need for exer­cise and my taste for fresh vegetables. For a person like myself living on a fixed income, a garden can be a near-necessity.

I was born in 1892. My doctor tells me that I am in excellent physical condition for a man of my age. He says I have the body of a seventy-year-old. My doctor is the fun­niest man alive. I am not without a sense of humor myself. My faithful companion is my Irish setter, a dog as red as a fire engine whose name is Blue. Blue runs in circles around me when I work in the yard, picking black-eyed peas or corn or squash. At this time of year, which is autumn, Blue runs in circles around me when I pick pecans off the ground. Oh yes, the doctor has said my mind is still fine. He says I am as sharp as a tack, but I wouldn't know about that.

Memory is a funny thing. It is my understanding that when a body cell dies, a new cell forms and replaces it. This is a constant thing, this cellular relay race we call growth and aging. After six or seven years, each and every cell in your body has been replaced. But memory hangs as tough as

2 • "M.H." MEETS

a barnacle, passing along through the various stages of life, somehow not losing its way in the shuffle, as do hair cells and good eyesight.

I have outgrown a dozen bodies since 1892, and as near as I can tell, my memory is fairly intact. I find this fact utterly remarkable, almost miraculous. Exactly what is a recollec­tion from long ago? It is like newsreels of marching dough­boys on Fifth Avenue at the end of the Great War. Movement is stiff and jerky. A wave from someone in the ranks becomes a flyswat. Confetti clouds the air. Smells and sounds are muted in black and white. Memory is an old man standing in a creek, water to his knees. See that shadow on the bottom, filtered through murky, flowing water and cast on uneven rocks? That is memory. It is up to my interpretation to say what these shadows are. The face reflected is hardly my own.

To answer the question of why this particular memory I will shortly describe remains intact, well, it was simply the highlight of my life. It was an adventure. I was in love. I was not an old-timer unearthing new potatoes. Let me remove my present self, then. Let me step back, at least for now, until my focus is sharp. I will crack pecans and comb Blue's ears.

It is 1923

2

SIDNEY MARTIN HALVERTON WAS A SUPERVISOR WITH the Trenton Canvas Company. He oversaw workers whose job it was to manufacture boat sails, store awnings, tents of every size, camp stools and deck chairs, trampolines, tar­paulins, even lamp shades and boxing ring mats. In the event

President Harding • 3

of rain in the 1923 World Series, wherever it would be played, chances were that the field would be protected by canvas assembled in the Trenton factory.

In the beginning of April, a sketch for twenty tents reached Halverton's desk. The plans called for six designs of various sizes, including an enormous dining tent. Halverton unrolled the plans, anchoring the paper with ink bottles, erasers and pads. He bit off a chew of tobacco and made notes on the most efficient and least complicated method of producing the job. He saw that the order was being billed to Mr. Thomas Edison in nearby West Orange, and it gave Halverton great satisfaction to know that his work would end up in the hands of such a man. He had read that Edison, now 76 years old, had been in Florida since the first of the year in poor health.

He gave the tent order priority, and it was filled within two weeks under Halverton's supervision. Another week passed. The tents had been trucked to West Orange, and Halverton was at work on a huge order from the Ringling circus. He happened to glance from his desk in his glass-enclosed office. There was an entourage worming its way through the work area, and Halverton was astonished to see Thomas Edison among its members. Halverton opened the office door and watched him. Edison's features were without a trace of illness, his eyes vibrant. As various machines and procedures were pointed out to him, Edison would cup a hand behind one ear. But the noise of the machinery was overpowering, and Edison was all but deaf. Halverton joined the group now and was introduced to the famed inventor. After shaking hands, he tapped on Edison's wrist in Morse code, "Good morning, sir."

Edison beamed. "Ah, a man who speaks my language!" The old telegrapher latched on to Halverton's arm for the remainder of the tour. Halverton had been part of the radio crew aboard the USS Delaware during the World War, and

4 • "M.H." MEETS

though he had not used his knowledge of Morse code since his discharge from the Navy, he was able to tap out the highlights of the factory for their guest. Edison wanted to know all sorts of things, from the life expectancy of the average needle to the components of a waterproofing com­pound used on some of the tarps. When he asked who their most difficult customer was, Halverton named the present one, Ringling.

"The circus," Edison said. "Myself, I prefer large-scale problems. The larger the better."

The group posed for photographers in front of the build­ing, some of them holding their hats. Their expressions were more serious than the situation demanded. Someone helped Edison into his car, and he motioned for Halverton from the front seat.

"I want to thank you personally for the work on the tents," he said, almost shouting. "I'd like you to join us on the campout if you can."

"I'd be honored," Halverton said. At that moment he would have walked away from his job had Edison asked.

"It'll be the first part of June," Edison added. "There's a part of West Virginia the crowds haven't discovered yet. The caravan disembarks from West Orange. We can send a ve­hicle for you, or you can drive your own car. If it's a Ford."

Halverton smiled. "It's a Ford," he said.

"Good," Edison laughed. "Henry won't allow us to bring nothing but Fords. You just write down where a letter can reach you, and I'll see you get instructions for the trip."

A picture of Edison and Halverton appeared in the paper the following morning. It was reported that an invitation had been extended to Halverton for the campout in June. Henry Ford, Harvey Firestone and possibly President Harding were expected to be among the campers.

Sid Halverton felt like fainting when he read his name in association with those luminaries. He bought several copies

President Harding • 5

of the paper and mailed clippings to his relatives. At work, he was kidded about hobnobbing with the upper crust.

The following Sunday, Halverton played the piano for an hour at the YMCA. He then took in a double bill, a forget­table feature shored up with a fine unbilled Stan Laurel Comedy. Halverton laughed out loud more than once in the darkened theater, and as he rode the streetcar to the park, he found himself in a pleasant and receptive mood.

He unbuttoned his collar and lay in the grass, watching a group of children kicking a ball. He leaned on his side, lost in thought. So deep was he into his reverie that he failed to notice where the woman had come from. In fact, he wasn't conscious of her at all until he realized he was staring at her. Her dress was softly fluttering in the afternoon breeze like a flag. She was majestically tall, and he could see in the few steps that she took, graceful. She was slim, with radiant amber skin. Her black, black hair was tied above her, accented here and there with single strands of grey. She was, perhaps, forty years old. Halverton couldn't take his eyes from her.

Plainly, he was attracted to her at first sight. But protocol of the day prevented him from speaking out and introducing himself. It just wasn't done. In the war, it was easy. On leave in London and Aberdeen, Halverton could sit at a piano, give a wink, tap the bench lightly with his hand, and he'd have a girl on each side for the rest of the night. When he thought about it, that's what war was to him — total aban­donment of all manners. If society permitted a young man to kill, it certainly wasn't about to frown on his attempts to find companionship and love. The leeway there came with the territory. He would be crazy to say that he missed the war, but if Halverton was honest with himself, and he usually was, he had to admit that some of it wasn't so bad.

But lying there in the park, who was there to censure him,

6 • "M.H." MEETS

other than himself? If he didn't speak, the moment would be gone.

"You're very pretty," he said.

She caught his eyes with her own and seemed to smile.

"That's an awful thing to blurt out to a total stranger, I know. If it embarrasses you, I apologize right here and now. But any man within a mile of here would say the same thing if he spoke his mind. You are very pretty."

"Do you always speak your mind?" she asked him.

"Of course not," he said.

"Not when you wish to spare the feelings of those you care about," she said.

Halverton brought himself to his feet and found himself straightening his clothes. "That's right," he said. Suddenly, he was the self-conscious one. She recognized his discomfort.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," she said. "I wish more people cared enough to be a little less than honest. I've always believed that absolute honesty will bring pain, sooner or later. I say, if you care about someone, make them feel good. Learn to lie to them now and then."

Halverton smiled at the remark. There was something in the cockeyed logic he liked. He didn't know whether she was serious or just trying to be entertaining. But he knew he liked her. He liked talking with her. And she really was very pretty. No, she was beautiful.

3

IF QUESTIONED ON THE CHARACTER OF HER boarders, Mrs. Meek was quick to point out that, when Prohibition was about to be enacted, only one, Sidney

President Harding • 7

Halverton, had not run wildly into the streets for one last legal bottle. If pressed, she would further state that she not only believed Halverton to be a teetotaler, but that he had never taken a woman to his room. Prone to exaggerate, Mrs. Meek could truthfully say with the flair of a Holy Roller testimonial that not a single creditor had knocked on her door looking for Halverton since he had moved there in 1919.

And if asked of her own marital status, or of the where­abouts of Mr. Meek, she would not utter a sound until the subject was changed.

Halverton stopped for a shoeshine on the way to Margarete's hotel and entered the expense in a meticulously kept ledger he carried in his vest. "Shine .15," he wrote. Accumu­lated during the week were such investments as: Tobacco .10, Stamps .20, Lunch .45, Moving Picture .50, Haircut .30. Halverton's handwriting was a piece of art, flowing and rolling with such beauty that an illiterate could appreciate it at a glance.

Stopping to adjust his tie in the window of a shop, he absentmindedly whistled a song that was sweeping the coun­try, its lyrics as simple as the tune. The words went:

Yes, we have no bananas,

We have no bananas today

We have stringbeans and onions,

Cabbages and scallions,

All kinds of fruit, and say. . .

Yes, we have no bananas,

We have no bananas today.

Margarete was a striking woman. Halverton had called for her from the lobby, and as she descended the stairs to greet him, his were only one pair of eyes among a dozen men's that watched her. She moved like a feather floating to earth.

When he had first walked her to the hotel, Margarete had

8 ■ "M.H." MEETS

told him that she was Dutch. This frankly astonished Halverton, since she didn't have a trace of an accent. She went on to say that she was in Trenton visiting a distant relative of hers.

"My cousin was to join us, but he was suddenly taken ill," she told him. "I'm afraid he's indisposed for the evening."

"I hope it's not serious," Halverton said.

"No," Margarete said. "Vincent has a flair for the dra­matic and a low resistance to pain. I've seen a headache put him to bed for two days. I have decided that he is a very odd fellow, and if one had a say in such matters, I would never choose him as a relative. Shall we go?"

In the restaurant, Halverton was at a loss for words. He was so taken with Margarete's appearance, her hair, the flush in her face, her amber skin, her presence, that he didn't know whether to make conversation by saying that his sister had bobbed her hair or that he had met Edison.

"I met Thomas Edison last week."

"Really?" Margarete said. "What was he like?"

"Very nice," Halverton answered. "I'm sure he's been taken advantage of through the years. Because of his fame and all. But he seemed to me to be unspoiled by all the attention. I liked him."

"How did you meet him?"

"It was through a project that the company I work for did for him. We made him some tents, and he invited me on his campout in June. It's an annual event for him. Henry Ford's supposed to be there as well."

Margarete fanned herself with a menu. "You have some high-class friends," she said.

"I just met Mr. Edison," Halverton said. "I'm no big shot. But I'll tell you something. I don't mind being a wage-earner. I know that you're supposed to have the ambition to own the company one day, but I like my job. I've had it since I was discharged from the Navy in Boston. That may show a lack

President Harding • 9

of aggressiveness, but so be it. Being in charge of the whole works sounds like nothing but headaches to me."

"Where are you from, Sid?"

"Texas," Halverton said. "Houston. My father's in politics down there. Right now, he's a city commissioner. He used to represent our ward as an alderman when the city was set up that way. He gets his name on plaques set into buildings and bridges, and he does a lot of good. I'm proud of him. He's a Democrat. If he loses an election, someone just appoints him to a post. In Houston, I'm known as H.A. Halverton's son. And that's fine with me. I have a brother and three sisters back home too."

"And why did you not marry some nice Houston girl?" Margarete asked.

"I was going to," he said. "I was on leave in Aberdeen, Scotland, when her letter arrived. She married a friend of mine. They have two children now."

"I used to be married," Margarete said. "I found out how little I knew him in a year. He was French. He became an officer and died in the trenches."

"The war was the worst thing that has ever happened," Halverton said. "That must have been terrible for you."

"He used to beat me," she said blankly, then a waiter arrived, and they ordered their food.

In the following weeks, Margarete did not mention her relative again, and Halverton did not inquire about the cousin. Perhaps she had invented him. She lived in the hotel, and whether or not her cousin actually existed was of no great concern to him. They took walks in the evenings of his workdays or sat in the porch furniture of Mrs. Meek's room­ing house. Since they were respectable people, discretion was used. When they met at her hotel, it was usually for the night.

For the first time, Halverton was allowing his work at the

10 ■ "M.H." MEETS

canvas company to pile up. On weekends, he and Margarete would be found in the audience of a New York vaudeville show, bellylaughing along with the crowds. They saw Will Rogers in a matinee, bought tickets to the evening perfor­mance and were delighted to discover that he did not repeat a single joke. They wept with laughter when they saw the Marx Brothers on stage. Other days were spent at the ocean where they rented weekend cottages. He was spending money he didn't have, and he had lost his expense ledger.

Halverton's stomach ached. He did not sleep well, and he ate irregularly. His attention drifted. He was in love, and it was making him miserable.

4

WHEN HALVERTON RECEIVED EDISON'S CAMPING instructions in the mail, he mentioned to Margarete that he simply would not go without her.

"There's not a reason in the world for us to be apart," he said.

"Sid, it's the middle of June and could hardly be hotter," she said. "I don't like tents. I'm allergic to a variety of insect bites. It might be for men only, then where would I go?"

"It doesn't mean that much to me," Halverton said. "If you won't come with me, then I'll stay here."

"That's foolish," she told him. "Can't you see that the men on this trip have shaped our society and are still writing our history? You have a rare chance to see them as few others are in a position to. Whenever you come across the name of Edison or Ford, you'll have the satisfaction of remembering them as you knew them. They will still impress you long after you've forgotten me."

President Harding • 11

"Why do you say things like that?" he said. "I love you. There's no end to that."

"You're in love with me," she said. "And I don't expect you to be reasonable under the circumstances. You told me once you were no big shot. What do you think I am? I am the Dutch widow of a French soldier." She removed a silver bracelet from her left wrist and showed her arm to Halverton. "It's a tattoo," she said. "A snake swallowing its own tail. I used to dance the tango until dawn with young men who would be sent away to die, while my own husband was out there himself dying somewhere. Like all of Paris, I was starving. But I made the soldiers forget that they were dying, and they saw to it that I was well nourished. Over the years there have been many other men as well."

One day Halverton hoped to marry. He just assumed it would happen. And he would have sons and daughters to bounce on his knee in his own home. In his gut he knew that Margarete was not the woman to fulfill that dream with him. You didn't marry a woman like her. But, somehow — at that moment — it didn't seem to matter. He couldn't imagine his life without her.

"I don't know why you're telling me all of this," he said.

"Love is many things, Sidney," she said. "That's all. When are you leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow."

Margarete consented to accompany him, but made him promise that she could stay in a hotel if she became uncom­fortable. This was fine with Halverton, since he was skeptical that they would be anywhere close to a hotel.

The morning of June nineteenth was cool — cool enough to drench the ground in dew and suspend a fog as thick as clouds in the low spots. Margarete wore a scarf to tie down her hat, and she had begun to look forward to the drive. Not

owning a car of her own, it was a luxury for her to travel by private means. They were on the road to West Orange, where they would meet up with the start of Edison's caravan.

12 ■ "M.H." MEETS

Halverton could never have found the actual campsite on his own, because Edison in his note had pinpointed it no more specifically than the Monongahela Forest, nearly a million acres of West Virginia's wilderness.

They drove onto the grounds of the huge Edison complex. It looked as if everyone had been given the morning off. Thousands of workers, in overalls, in lab coats and street clothes, were walking in one general direction, coming down every street and flowing together to form an enormous crowd.

"What do you think it is?" Halverton asked.

"I don't know," Margarete answered, sitting high in her seat for a better view. "Ask somebody."

Halverton pulled over to the curb. He stepped onto the running board and looked ahead as far as he could see. "What's all the excitement?" he asked of a passerby.

"The old man's getting a sendoff. On up ahead."

Halverton sat in the car again.

"They're getting ready to leave. I don't know if we can drive through all these people."

"You'll have to," Margarete said. There was a panic in her voice. "Let's go, Sid. They'll get out of our way."

Halverton stepped to the front of the car and cranked the engine, then idled his vehicle through the crowd. The work­ers were a genial bunch and willingly parted to allow them through. There was a line of three huge trucks overloaded like gypsy wagons and a string of cars in the rear of them that Halverton parked behind.

Then they saw Edison as he stood in the seat of the lead car. He made a short statement that Halverton was unable to make out, then waved his derby. Edison's employees, all 8000 of them, cheered enthusiastically. Halverton could hear a single voice sing out, "Hip hip," followed by an artillery of hoorays. After three cheers Edison waved again. Then he sat down and the vehicles began to move. Hats sailed in the air.

President Harding • 13

"This is wonderful," Margarete shouted, leaning over to kiss Halverton's cheek. "Thank you for talking me into it."

They heard the enthusiasm of the employees dim with distance, and before long they found themselves back in Trenton, where they turned south to pass within two blocks of Mrs. Meek's house on Perry Street. Philadelphia, Balti­more and Washington were obstacles in their path, and the circuitous route Edison had mapped led them around the larger cities. There were fifteen cars in all. Occasionally Margarete and Halverton caught a glimpse of Edison when there was a turn in the road and they were able to see a distance ahead.

"Look," Margarete would say. "There he is again."

"I see him," Halverton would answer.

At the same time, another fleet of vehicles was traveling southeastward out of Columbiana, Ohio. Its cargo included one hundred cleaned and dressed chickens and dozens of cakes, pies and cookies prepared by Harvey Firestone's Aunt Nannie and the Columbiana Ladies Aid Society. Among the passengers were six cooks, three assistant cooks, a camera­man, two journalists, a Methodist bishop and various wives, sons and in-laws.

In the lead truck, which was equipped with an oversized refrigerator on one running board and an oven on the other, Firestone was making a point to his friend Henry Ford.

"Henry, I'm telling you it's balloon tires from here out," he said. "They're safer, they give you a smoother ride, which won't make the car shake itself apart, and they cost a fraction of the amount to produce."

"All right," Ford said. "Now let me ask you this. What if one blows up when a man is changing it? What if an infant happened to crawl by when one gave out? It would be good-bye baby."

"You don't understand. Look, you're filling the tire with about thirty pounds of air, not dynamite."

14 ■ "M.H." MEETS

"I'm not sold yet, Harvey."

"Well, what is it you don't understand? Will you listen to what Edison has to say about them? You trust Al's opinion, I know.''''

"We'll see, Harv," Ford said. "Oh, by the way, a Ford does not shake itself apart under any circumstances — with or without the miracle Firestone balloon tire."

In Washington, President Harding's train car, the Superb, was delayed from leaving for one day by a convention of the Nobles of the Mystic Shrine. The press had reported the President's itinerary for what he was calling his cross­country "Voyage of Understanding." But the scheduled dates of speeches were not firm, and the Shriners were fitted in before his departure. For the occasion, Harding had dressed the capitol in the Shriners' colors. Red, green and yellow bunting drooped in the heat of his viewing platform. Platoons of Shriner brass bands passed before him, and Harding welcomed the 20,000 members and their families that day to the White House. He was pleased to shake every man's hand, but by the end of the day his own hands were swollen as if they'd been crushed.

He was soaking them in warm water, standing at the sink in his bedclothes.

"Wurr'n, that was a foolish thing to do," the First Lady chastised him. "Your poor hands. Look at them, Wurr'n."

Harding raised his hands from the bowl. "I love to meet people," he said. "It's the most pleasant thing I do. It's really the only fun I have. It doesn't tax me, and it seems to give them great pleasure."

"They don't care about you," Mrs. Harding said. "They wouldn't even let you join them until you were President. Your influence is all they care about."

"They don't care?" Harding said. "I'll have you know, my dear Duchess, that they inducted me into the Tall Cedars of

President Harding • 15

Lebanon today. It's a new order, and a very prestigious one."

"Some honor. You get to wear a hat that's sillier than most of the others. Shaped like a pyramid. It's an insult."

He reached for a towel and made his hands into fists within it. "God damn it, Florence," he said. "Would you please just shut up?"

Harding walked into the hall, where he was greeted eagerly by his Airedale, Laddie Boy. They went wearily to his bedroom, and Mrs. Harding retired to hers.

5

THE FIRST GROUP OF CAMPERS — THE ONE LED BY Edison — had reached Elkins, West Virginia. Elkins was a small town, and a string of automobiles the length of the campers' never passed through it unless someone important there was being buried. Because of this, townspeople re­moved their hats as the cars drove past them, and they wondered who it might be who had died.

Outside the town, Edison directed the lead car to pull off the road, instructing someone to go back into Elkins to rendezvous with Ford's and Firestone's gang. "Word of our arrival," he said, "will not be far behind. We could have a thousand people on our hands if Henry and H.S. are lagging along the roadside somewhere. Go wait for them at the post office."

Halverton felt conspicuous at best. He had been thinking that he was the only person in the entire expedition who wasn't some sort of scientist, entrepreneur, or Edison con­fidante. He had waved when anyone in a car ahead of him

16 ■ "M.H." MEETS

had turned in his direction, and now that they had halted, he felt completely out of his element. Some of the passengers were getting out of their cars now, and he and Margarete did the same.

"I never know what to do around new people," he said to her. "I don't know what to say."

She took him by the arm. "We'll simply walk up there," she said. "We'll introduce ourselves, keeping in mind that we are all equals."

"And forget that some of us are millionaires," Halverton added.

Halverton had a tendency to take his own skills and vir­tues for granted. He didn't find the ability to decipher and execute a set of plans at his job the least bit unusual. But he was in awe of Edison, someone who could dream up projects with no apparent effort. And he assumed that Edison's friends and employees were just as distinctive and creative. So he held back, rather than place what he felt was his obvious ignorance on display.

They joined a group in some shade at the side of the road. Halverton had been wearing a straw hat, and he held it now by the brim with both hands as he talked with the others. Most of them were older than he, but many were near his own age. He didn't recognize any of their names.

"And how are you connected with Mr. Edison, Mr. Halver­ton?" someone asked him.

"Just barely," was the answer. "I have the idea that I was invited on a whim." He related the incident at the canvas factory.

"No, if he took a shining to you — and he certainly doesn't to everyone — it was no whim," Halverton was assured. "Have you spoken with him yet today?"

"No, I haven't had the chance."

"He'll remember you. He's not one to forget someone."

Halverton could see Edison in the background. Mrs. Edi­son had brought him a pillow a minute earlier, and he was

President Harding • 17

now sound asleep in the gravel, as comfortable as if he were at home in his own bed.

Sandwiches were passed around, and Halverton sat on a blanket with Margarete. "Does it bother you that I'm so much younger than you?" he asked her.

"And how old do you think I am?"

"I don't know. Forty maybe."

"That's exactly it," she said. "In Europe, it's very com­mon for a woman to have a younger husband, a younger lover." She watched his reaction, or lack of one. "Does it matter to you?"

He shook his head and squeezed her hand. Horns began to sound from the direction of the town, strained, joyous toots that were an integral part of the wooden-spoked, simple machines. The campers began to stand, some of them hold­ing their plates, smiling to themselves as the first truck rounded a curve into view. It was a boxlike thing with the words Buy Firestone Tires emblazoned across its hump. Someone stirred Edison from his sleep, and the old man jumped to his feet, the first to meet the reinforcements.

"Another quarter hour, and we'd have left you behind," he shouted.

Henry Ford opened the door and stepped onto the ground. "We found a family whose car had broken down on the road," he said. "It was a Chrysler. Couldn't leave them in that condition. Fixed their car and sent them on their way. If not for that, we'd have beat you here."

"And what's your excuse, Mister Firestone?" Edison asked. "Are you sticking to that lame story?"

"We stopped once or twice," Firestone said. "I knew you'd lay down the rules once we got together, so I took the chance to shave when I had it."

"You're a tenderfoot, Harvey," Edison said. "Before you know it, you'll be dressed as a dude. No baths except in rivers, and no shaves. Period. We've left that back in civi­lization."

18 • "M.H." MEETS

Firestone slowly broke into a grin, his face suddenly show­ing the cause of its wrinkles. The youngest of the trio at fifty-three, he didn't mind being the butt of their ribbing. He stepped forward and hugged Edison warmly.

"Harvey's got an announcement to make," Ford said. "Let's get everyone together for it, and we can get on our way.

Firestone gestured and shouted the group closer to him. There were nearly sixty people around him now.

"Gentlemen and ladies," he spoke from the running board. "This little excursion has become an annual event. It's our seventh year in a row now, our third since we lost our partner, our good and gentle friend John Burroughs. We're just a bunch of Ohio boys ourselves. For those of you joining us for the first time, take it from me that we'll do our share of the chores. Mr. Edison here claims to have a camp­site staked out. Experience has shown that to mean that we'll follow his nose."

Firestone calmed the laughter with a hushing motion of his hands before continuing.

"There's another Ohio boy starting a trip to Alaska in the morning. I invited him to meet up with us weeks ago, and I talked with him by telephone last night. He said if we can leave a trail he can follow, he'll be happy to be our guest for a few days. President Harding has a speech northeast of here in Martinsburg tomorrow and will motor into our camp sometime in the late afternoon or evening."

Halverton squeezed Margarete's arm at the announce­ment. "Then it's true," he said. "It was rumored he was coming, but I could hardly believe it. I still can't."

Margarete strained to hear whatever else Firestone was saying, but he had finished. "Now aren't you glad you're here?" she asked.

Edison did not appear impressed by the news. He either hadn't heard it clearly, or it just was not a matter of great importance to him. He turned his back on Firestone when he

President Harding • 19

had finished speaking and began to walk through the con­gregation toward his automobile. Seeing Halverton for the first time that day, he stopped abruptly and sought him out.

"Mr. Halverton," he said. "I'm so happy you could come. Didn't have any trouble getting off work, did you?"

"Not when I told them why," Halverton answered.

"You've surely put a roof over our heads with those tents of yours. Seems I neglected to design a presidential model, though."

Halverton was embarrassed, overwhelmed actually, at being face to face with Edison. "I don't know what to say," he said.

"Then introduce me to the pretty lady you're with," Edi­son said, cupping his hand behind his ear.

"Yes, of course," he said. "This is Margarete Fabry."

Margarete was six feet tall and towered impressively over Edison, who reached out and shook her hand. "A lovely lady," he said. Then he turned and walked to his car where he gathered his hat from his wife. He made his way back to Firestone's truck in order for the expedition's leaders to ride three abreast.

"You were right about him, Sid," Margarete said. "He could charm the salt out of the sea. A nice old man."

Engines began to start. Halverton had one of the few cars without an electric starter, and while he was cranking the thing up, vehicles began to pass him on their way into the woods. Edison was again in the lead, and true to Firestone's prediction, he began to take the campers as far from the beaten trail as the cars and trucks would carry them. They bounced in and out of ruts, on occasion jarring a passenger out of his seat, vaulting him a foot into the air amid shrieks of delight. They discovered Sully, a town of a few dozen mountain people. There the power lines came to an end, but deeper into the Monongahela Forest they drove. If a cross­roads looked more promising, that is, more difficult to traverse, Edison would halt the progress of the fleet and

20 ■ "M.H." MEETS

direct the lead car that way. Once, the entire string of vehicles had to back up nearly half a mile after Edison's choice of a dead-end logging trail. They wound through the mountains for an hour. Birds crisscrossed above them, and views of valleys and mountaintops when they could be seen through the trees were breathtaking. They passed the last sign of civilization, a cabin on a ridge, the smoke of its chimney its only hint of habitation. Ahead was a small clearing. It lay spread out on the banks of a creek. The cars and trucks drove over a wooden bridge and at last shut off their motors.

The workers in the party swarmed like drones around a hive to put the camp in order. Several projects were simul­taneously shaping up, Ford supervising the management of a pile of wood, taking his own turn with the ax when someone needed a breather. Firestone was discussing with the cooks the evening meal and the most efficient arrangement of the galley with the dining area. Edison offered only a suggestion or two to some young men climbing trees, stringing from one to the next a wire that unreeled from the rear of one of the trucks. He walked beneath them and pointed with a stick to strategic places that would best support the cable. It was Edison's intention that the camp would not only be supplied with lights, including electricity in the individual tents, but the galley would have the latest electric conveniences, from fist-sized marshmallow toasters to a walk-in refrigerator. For their entertainment, an electric player piano could provide background accompaniment to the dozen films that were stowed away with the movie projector.

The source of the electricity was a single storage battery perfected by Edison and his "insomnia squad," as he called them. Once developed, the Edison storage battery vaulted into immediate use by the fleet of American Express trucks, on trolleys where there were no power lines, to operate

President Harding • 21

floating buoys' flashing lights in harbors, for lighting systems on yachts, for the New York subway system's signals, in rural homes far from power stations, as well as on farms and for lighting submarines as they sailed underwater. The bat­tery was but one of nearly eleven hundred Edison patents.

"That does it, sir," Halverton could hear from one of the trees. "Would you like to throw the switch and see if she works?"

Edison smiled and shook his head. The system had been tested countless times before.

The focal point of the campsite, the center of activity shared by all the campers, was the dining tent. Its support pole was a birch tree stripped of its limbs. The canvas was attached to a metal ring hoisted over and secured to the treetop and draped out like a skirt, where ropes and stakes conformed its perimeter into four-foot walls. Its height at the center was twelve feet above a circular table that had been fitted around the smooth white bark of the tree's trunk. There was room in the tent for a sit-down dinner for eight­een. The tent could take advantage of breezes by opening on two sides. It was designed by Edison and assembled at the Trenton Canvas Company.

The trip had been tiring. Cooks began setting out hams, with a tub of potato salad and a cauldron of beans. The weary campers served themselves, eating in shifts in the dining tent or finding room on stools and canvas chairs. Halverton and Margarete leaned their backs against a tree trunk, holding their plates over their laps. Edison passed up the conventional meal and filled himself instead with a large slice of apple pie and a handful of cookies washed down with two cups of coffee heaped with sugar. Taking note of the dinner, Halverton recalled an admonishment he used to re­ceive at meals as a child. "An unbalanced meal makes for an unbalanced boy." But he wouldn't dream of suggesting such a thing to Edison, living disproof of the childhood warning.

22 • "M.H." MEETS

Halverton began stowing his things away in his quarters. He shared a tent with three other bachelors, and Margarete's tent housed two of their fiances. He and Margarete drew some stares because of the differences in their ages, but mainly because no one in camp really knew who they were. Everyone took them for a respectable couple, and they slept in separate tents. Halverton was a good sport about accept­ing the restriction. He and Margarete could always steal away for an hour or two alone, and he had every intention of doing just that. But the campground was divided into men's and women's quarters. Even married couples were split apart. Halverton wondered whose idea it was. The only pairs who enjoyed the privacy of their own tents were the Edisons, the Fords and the Firestones.

Ford and Firestone meandered through the camp after eating in order to meet people they didn't know. They were genuinely friendly, more like neighbors than anything else. "What's your name? Where are you from?"

"Sidney Halverton, sir. I'm from Texas originally, but I've lived in Trenton about four years. This is Margarete Fabry."

Ford shook his hand, and Halverton saw something in the man's expression, or within the face itself, a wildness or intensity about the eyes that put him on edge. He released his grasp, and Ford bounded ahead two steps and leaped, latching on to a tree limb where he began to rapidly chin himself.

"I'll take on any man in camp," he said without straining. "Forty-yard dash, hundred-yard dash, a mile overland. I don't care." He dropped to the ground. "Any takers?" He looked at Halverton. "You seem in pretty good shape."

"No thanks," Halverton said. He felt conspicuous, not knowing whether he could joke along with Henry Ford or to take the challenge seriously.

"Lucky for you," Ford said before going his way.

Just as Halverton made himself comfortable on the ground again, he had to stand to shake Firestone's hand. "Sit back

President Harding • 23

down," Firestone said, joining them in the grass. "You're here at Al's invitation, is that right?"

"Yes sir," Halverton said. "My company, or should I say, the company I work for, made some of the newer tents for the trip."

"Oh, then you're the one who knows Morse Code. Al certainly got a kick out of that. I really like that dining tent," Firestone told him. "We'll get out money's worth out of it, I'm sure."

"This is such a beautiful place," Margarete said. "How did you ever discover it?"

"That was Mister Edison's doing too," Firestone said. "And 'discovered' is the right word in this case. He has some government maps, and they point us in the general direction. He writes us, giving us the route. Then he writes us again, changing to another route. And when we actually start, he usually selects a third. We don't ever know where we're going. I don't think he does either. You saw how we got here."

Margarete took a drink of water she had poured. Firestone had scarcely taken his eyes off of her while he was talking. She had had that effect on men since about the age of fifteen, and it was something she took for granted now. Something about the delicacy of her features contrasting with her black hair made one think of Asia. She could be Indian, Spanish, Oriental, Mexican, anything exotic.

"When do you expect the President?" she asked.

"Late tomorrow sometime," Firestone answered. "We don't know for sure. I'm sending a man back into that last town we passed through. He's to join the presidential party and guide it here. They're a pretty good-sized group them­selves. Did you two get enough to eat? There's plenty left if you're still hungry. Don't be bashful."

"None for me, thanks," Halverton said.

Margarete shook her head.

"Well, enjoy yourselves," Firestone said. "Come to me if

24 ■ "M.H." MEETS

you have any complaints." He shook their hands as they stood. Then he walked to the next cluster of people.

"It's funny meeting someone famous," Halverton said over their food.

"How do you mean?" Margarete asked.

"Well, their faces are already so familiar from years of exposure in magazines and papers and newsreels. It's like you already know them. How strange it must be for them to see that look of recognition in every stranger's eyes."

"It must make them quite cautious, I would think."

"Maybe so, but they're so outgoing that they put you at ease. They seem genuinely friendly."

When the sun was about to set, the lights around the perimeter of the camp began to glow, and the tents with their lights within looked like a cluster of Japanese lanterns. A fire burned in the center of the site, and when it had been reduced to a pillow of coals, the lights were extinguished one by one.

From his cot, Halverton could see out the flap of his tent across the way to the dining tent. Seated alone at the table was the only person to have brought along any books. Edi­son was reading Robert Burns. He placed the book on the table and sat for a long time, his gaze upward, either in contemplation of the poetry he had just read or in fascina­tion with the light bulb. Halverton watched for a few min­utes, his eyes blinking slowly and heavily. With the image of Edison seated at the table, he began to sleep soundly.

6

ALTHOUGH HE SUPERVISED THEIR CONSTRUCTION by the dozen, Halverton had not slept in a tent since his