Основы политической системы США (стр. 14 )

Alex argued, “Our profit last year was thirteen percent. That’s damned good for any business, as all of us know. This year the prospect’s even better – a fifteen percent return on investment, maybe sixteen. But should we strain for more?”

The treasurer, Orville Young, asked, “Why not?”

“I already answered that,” Straughan shot back. “It’s shortsighted.”

“Let’s remind ourselves of one thing,” Alex urged. “In banking it’s not hard to make large profits, and any bank that doesn’t is manned by simpletons. In plenty of ways the cards are stacked in our favor. We’ve opportunities, our own experience, and reasonable banking laws. The last is probably the most important. But the laws won’t always be as reasonable – that is, if we go on abusing the situation and abdicating community responsibility.”

“I fail to see how staying in Forum East is abdicating,” Roscoe Heyward said. “Even after the reduction I’m proposing, we’d still be committed substantially.”

“Substantially, my foot! It would be minimal, just as the social contribution of American banks has always been minimal. In financing of low-income housing alone the record of this bank and every other is dismal. Why fool ourselves? For generations banking has ignored public problems. Even now we do the minimum we can get away with.”

The chief economist, Straughan, shuffling papers, consulted some handwritten notes. “I intended to bring up the subject of home mortgages, Roscoe. Now Alex has, I’d like to point out that only twenty-five percent of our savings deposits are currently in mortgage loans. That’s low. We could increase it to fifty percent of deposits without harming our liquidity position. I believe we should.”

“I’ll second that,” Alex said. “Our branch managers are pleading for mortgage money. The return on investment is fair. We know from experience the downside risk on mortgages is negligible.”

Orville Young objected, “It ties up money for long term, money on which we can earn substantially higher rates elsewhere.”

Alex slammed the flat of his hand impatiently on the conference table. “Once in a while we’ve a public obligation to accept lower rates. That’s the point I’m making. It’s why I object to weaseling out of Forum East.”

“There’s one more reason,” Tom Straughan added. “Alex touched on it – legislation. Already there are rumblings in Congress. A good many there would like to see a law similar to Mexico’s – requiring a fixed percentage of bank deposits to be used for financing low-income housing.”

Heyward scoffed, “We’d never let it happen. The banking lobby is the strongest in Washington.”

The chief economist shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Tom,” Roscoe Heyward said, “I’ll make a promise. A year from now we’ll take a fresh look at mortgages; maybe we’ll do what you advocate; maybe we’ll reopen Forum East. But not this year. I want this to be a bumper profit year.” He glanced toward the bank president who had still not joined in the discussion. “And so does Jerome.”

For the first time Alex perceived the shape of Heyward’s strategy. A year of exceptional profit for the bank would make Jerome Patterton, as president, a hero to its shareholders and directors. All Patterton had was a one-year reign at the end of a so-so career, but he would go into retirement with glory and the sound of trumpets. And Patterton was human. Therefore it was understandable the idea would appeal to him.

The scenario afterward was equally easy to guess. Jerome Patterton, grateful to Roscoe Heyward, would promote the idea of Heyward as his successor. And, because of the profitable year, Patterton would be in a strong position to make his wishes work.

It was a neatly ingenious sequence, devised by Heyward, which Alex would find hard to break.

“There’s something else I haven’t mentioned,” Heyward said. “Not even to you, Jerome. It could have a bearing on our decision today.”

The others regarded him with fresh curiosity.

“I’m hopeful, in fact the probability is strong, that we shall shortly enjoy substantial business with Supranational Corporation. It’s another reason I’m reluctant to commit funds elsewhere.”

“That’s fantastic news,” Orville Young said.

Even Tom Straughan reacted with surprised approval.

Supranational – or SuNatCo, as identified by its familiar worldwide logo – was a multinational giant, the General Motors of global communications. As well, SuNatCo owned or controlled dozens of other companies, related and unrelated to its main purpose. Its prodigious influence with governments of all stripes, from democracies through dictatorships, was reportedly greater than that of any other business complex in history. Observers sometimes said that SuNatCo had more real power than most of the sovereign states in which it operated.

Until now SuNatCo had confined its US banking activity to the big three – Bank of America, First National City, and Chase Manhattan. To be added to this exclusive trio would boost immeasurably the status of First Mercantile American.

“That’s an exciting prospect, Roscoe,” Patterton said.

“I expect to have more details for our next money policy meeting,” Heyward added. “It appears likely that Supranational will want us to open a substantial line of credit.”

It was Tom Straughan who reminded them, “We still need a vote on Forum East.”

“So we do,” Heyward acknowledged. He was smiling confidently, pleased at the reaction to his announcement and certain of the way the Forum East decision would go.

Predictably, they divided two by two – Alex Vandervoort and Tom Straughan opposed to the cutback of funds, Roscoe Heyward and Orville Young in favor of it.

Heads swung to Jerome Patterton who had the decisive vote.

The bank president hesitated only briefly, then announced, “Alex, on this one I’II go with Roscoe.”

“Sitting around here feeling sorry won’t do one damn bit of good,” Margot declared. “What we need is to rise off our collective asses and initiate some action.”

“Like dynamiting the goddam bank?” someone asked.

“Nix on that! I’ve friends in there. Besides, blowing up banks isn’t legal.”

“Who says we have to stay legal?”

“I do,” Margot snapped. “And if any smart cats think otherwise, you can find yourselves some other mouthpiece and another pad.”

Margot Bracken’s law office, on a Thursday evening, was the scene of an executive committee meeting of the Forum East Tenants Association. The association was one of many groups in the inner city for which Margot was legal counsel and which utilized her office for meetings, a convenience, for which she was occasionally paid, but mostly wasn’t.

The day before yesterday, in a public announcement, First Mercantile American Bank had changed rumor into act. Financing of future Forum East projects was to be cut in half, effective at once.

The meeting now was to determine what, if anything, could be done.

The word “tenants” in the association’s name was a loose one. A large segment of members were Forum East tenants; many others were not, but hoped to be. As Deacon Euphrates, a towering steelworker who had spoken earlier, put it, “There’s plenty of us, expectin’ to be in, who ain’t gonna make it if the big bread doan’ come through.”

“The way I see the ball game,” Seth Orinda, another committee member, said, “whatever we do, and legal or not, there’s no way, but no way, we can squeeze that money out of those banks. That is, if they’ve their minds set on clamming up.”

Seth Orinda was a black high school teacher, already “in” at Forum East. But he possessed a keen civic sense and cared greatly about the thousands of others still waiting hopefully on the outside. Margot relied a good deal on his stability and help.

“Don’t be so sure, Seth,” she responded. “Banks have soft underbellies. Stick a harpoon in a tender place and surprising things could happen.”

“What kind of harpoon?” Orinda asked. “A parade? A sit-in? A demonstration?”

“No,” Margot said. “Forget all that stuff. It’s old hat. Nobody’s impressed by conventional demonstrations anymore. They’re just a nuisance. They achieve nothing.”

She surveyed the group facing her in the crowded, cluttered, smoky office. They were a dozen or so, mixed blacks and whites, in assorted shapes, sizes, and demeanors. Some were perched precariously on rickety chairs, and boxes, others squatted on the floor. “Listen carefully, all of you. I said we need some action, and there is a kind of action which I believe will work.”

“Miss Bracken.” A small figure near the back of the room stood up. It was Juanita Núñez, whom Margot had greeted when she came in.

“Yes, Mrs. Núñez?”

“I want to help. But you know, I think, that I work for the FMA Bank. Perhaps I should not hear what you will tell the others…”

Margot said appreciatively, “No, and I should have thought of that instead of embarrassing you.”

There was a general murmur of understanding. Amid it, Juanita made her way to the door.

“What you heard already,” Deacon Euphrates said, “that’s a secret, ain’t it?”

As Juanita nodded, Margot said quickly, “We can all trust Mrs. Núñez. I hope her employers are as ethical as she is.”

When the meeting had settled down again, Margot faced the remaining members. Her stance was characteristic: hands on small waist, elbows aggressively out. A moment earlier she had pushed her long chestnut hair back – a gesture of habit before action, like the raising of a curtain. As she talked, interest heightened. A smile or two appeared. At one point Seth Orinda chuckled deeply. Near the end, Deacon Euphrates and others were grinning broadly.

“Man, oh man!” Deacon said.

“That’s goddam clever,” someone else put in.

Margot reminded them, “To make the whole scheme work, we need a lot of people – at least a thousand to begin with, and more as time goes on.”

A fresh voice asked, “How long we need 'em?”

“We’ll plan on a week. A banking week, that is – five days. If that doesn’t work we should consider going longer and extending our scope of operations. Frankly, though, I don’t believe it will be necessary. Another thing: Everyone involved must be carefully briefed.”