Основы политической системы США (стр. 16 )

A security guard directed him, “Over there for new accounts.”

The guard pointed to a desk where a clerk – a young girl – sat waiting. She appeared nervous. The big man walked toward her, smiled reassuringly, and sat down. Immediately a press of others moved into a ragged line behind him, waiting for their turns.

Edwina could see the big man leaning back expansively, still holding his dollar bills. His voice cut across the noise of other conversations and she heard him proclaim, “Ah’m in no hurry. There’s some things ah’d like yo’ to explain.”

Two other desks were quickly manned by other clerks. With equal speed, long wide lines of people formed in front of them.

Normally, three members of staff were ample to handle new account business, but obviously were inadequate now. Edwina could see Tottenhoe on the far side of the bank and called him on the intercom. She instructed, “Use more desks for new accounts and take all the staff you can spare to man them.”

Even leaning close to the intercom, it was hard to hear above the noise.

Tottenhoe grumbled in reply, “You realize we can’t possibly process all these people today, and however many we do will tie us up completely.”

“I’ve an idea,” Edwina said, “that’s what someone has in mind. Just hurry the processing all you can.”

Yet she knew however much they hurried it would still take ten to fifteen minutes to open any single new account. It always did. The paperwork required that time.

First, an application form called for details of residence, employment, social security, and family matters. A specimen signature was obtained. Then proof of identity was needed. After that, the new accounts clerk would take all documents to an officer of the bank for approval and initialing. Finally, a savings passbook was made out or a temporary checkbook issued.

A further problem was that the growing mass of arrivals in the central public area of the bank was preventing access to tellers’ counters by other customers. Edwina could see a few of them outside, regarding the milling scene with consternation. While she watched, several gave up and walked away.

Two assistant managers had gone to the central floor area and were trying to regulate the flood of people so as to clear some space at counters. They were having small success.

But still no hostility was evident. Everyone in the now jam-packed bank who was spoken to by members of the staff answered politely and with a smile. It seemed, Edwina thought, as if all who were here had been briefed to be on best behavior.

She decided it was time for her own intervention. Signaling two security guards who elbowed their way toward her, she instructed, “That’s enough people in the bank. Hold everyone else outside, letting a few in as the others leave. Except, of course, allow our regular customers to enter as they arrive.”

The older of the two guards put his head close to Edwina’s to make himself heard. “That won’t be so easy, Mrs. D’Orsey. Some customers we’ll recognize but a good many we won’t. We get too many here each day to know 'em all.”

“Another thing,” the other guard put in, “when anybody arrives, those outside are shouting, ‘Back of the line!’ If we play favorites it could start a riot.”

Edwina assured him, “There won’t be any riot. Just do your best.”

Turning back, Edwina spoke to several of those waiting: “I’m the manager. Would some of you please tell me why you’ve all come here today?”

“We’re opening accounts,” a woman with a child beside her said. She giggled. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“You could say,” an elderly cadaverous man chimed in, “we’re all from Forum East.”

A younger voice added, “Or want to be.”

“That still doesn’t tell me…” Edwina began.

“Perhaps I can explain, ma’am.” A middle-aged, distinguished-looking black man was being shoved forward through the press of people.

“Please do.”

The man who had been thrust forward said, “Good morning, ma’am. I didn’t know there were lady bank managers.”

“Well, there are,” Edwina told him. “And getting to be more of us all the time. I hope you believe in the equality of women, Mr. …?”

“Orinda. Seth Orinda, ma’am. And I sure do believe in that, and lots of other things besides.”

“Is it one of the other things that brings you here today?”

“In a way, you could say that.”

“Exactly what way?”

“I think you know we’re all from Forum East.”

She acknowledged, “I’ve been told that.”

“What we’re doing might be called an act of hope.” The well-dressed spokesman mouthed his words carefully. They had been scripted and rehearsed. More people drew close, conversation stilling as they listened.

Orinda went on, “This bank, so it says, doesn’t have enough money to go on helping Forum East get built. Anyway, the bank has cut its lending cash in half and some of us think that other half will get chopped too, that’s if someone doesn’t beat a drum or take some action.”

Edwina said sharply, “And taking action, I suppose, means bringing the business of this entire branch bank to a standstill.” As she spoke, she was aware of several new faces in the crowd and of open notebooks with racing pencils. She realized that reporters had arrived.

Obviously someone had alerted the press in advance, which explained the presence of the TV camera crew outside. Edwina wondered who had done it.

Seth Orinda looked pained. “What we’re doing, ma’am, is bringing all the money we poor folks can raise to help this bank through its time of trouble.”

“Yep,” another voice threw in, “ain’t that good neighborin’ for sure?”

Nolan Wainwright snapped, “That’s nonsense! This bank is not in trouble.”

“If it ain’t in trouble,” a woman asked, “why’d it do what it done to Forum East?”

“The bank’s position was made perfectly clear in its announcement,” Edwina answered. “It’s a question of priorities. Furthermore, the bank has said it hopes to resume the full financing later.”

Even to herself the words sounded hollow.

“Whichever way it looks to you folks here,” he asserted to Edwina, “the fact is, we’ve all come to put some money in your bank. That’s what I mean by an act of hope. We figure that when you see us all, and realize the way we feel, you’ll maybe change your minds.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then I reckon we’ll go on finding more people and more bits of money.”

“Of course,” Orinda said, his expression innocent, “some of the folks who are putting money in the bank today may have to come and take it out tomorrow, or the next day, or next week. Most haven’t got so much that they can leave it in long. But then, soon as we can we’ll be back to put it in again.” His eyes glittered mischievously. “We aim to keep you busy.”

“Yes,” Edwina said, “I understand your aim.”

One of the reporters, a slim blond girl, asked, “Mr. Orinda, how much will all of you be depositing in the bank?”

“Not much,” he told her cheerfully. “Most have come with just five dollars. That’s the smallest amount this bank will take. Isn’t that right?” He looked at Edwina who nodded.

* * *

The heavyset black man, who had been among the earliest arrivals, was getting up as Edwina arrived. The girl who had dealt with him, no longer nervous, said, “This is Mr. Euphrates. He just opened an account.”

“Deacon Euphrates. Least, that’s what most call me.” Edwina was offered an enormous hand which she took.

“Welcome, to First Mercantile American, Mr. Euphrates.”

“Thank you, that’s real nice. In fact, so nice that I think maybe after all I’ll pop a little more bread in this here account.” He examined a handful of small change, selected a quarter and two dimes, then strolled over to a teller.

Edwina asked the new accounts clerk, “What was the initial deposit?”

“Five dollars.”

“Very well. Just try to keep going as fast as you can.”

“I’ll do that, Mrs. D’Orsey, but that one took a long time because he asked a lot of questions about withdrawals and interest rates. He had them written out on paper.”

“Did you get the paper?”

“No.”

“Others will probably have the same thing. Try to get one and show it to me.”

It might provide a clue, Edwina thought, as to who had planned and executed this expert invasion. She did not believe that anyone she had spoken to so far was the key organizing figure.

Outside, the lengthening line stayed fixedly in place.

It was now 9:45.

Also at 9:45 A. M., three blocks from First Mercantile American Headquarters Tower, Margot Bracken was operating a command post from an inconspicuously parked Volkswagen.

Margot had intended to remain remote from the execution of her pressure ploy, but in the end she hadn’t been able to. Like a war horse which paws the ground at the scent of battle, her resolve had weakened then dissolved.

Margot’s concern about embarrassing Alex or Edwina remained, however, and was the reason for her absence from the front line of action on Rosselli Plaza.

If she appeared she would be quickly identified by members of the press, whose presence Margot knew about since she had arranged advance tip-offs to newspapers, TV, and radio.

Therefore, messengers were discreetly bringing news of developments to her car and carrying instructions back.

Since Thursday night a sizable feat of organization had been carried through.

On Friday, while Margot worked on the master plan, Seth, Deacon, and several committee members recruited block captains in and around Forum East. They described what was to be done only in general terms, but the response was overwhelming. Almost everyone wanted a piece of the action and knew others who could be counted on.

By late Sunday when lists were totaled, there were fifteen hundred names. More were coming in fast. According to Margot’s plan it would be possible to maintain action for at least a week longer if enthusiasm could be sustained.

Among the men with regular jobs who volunteered help, some like Deacon Euphrates had vacation time due which they declared they would use. Others simply said they would absent themselves as needed. Regrettably, many who volunteered were unemployed, their numbers swelled recently by a seasonal work shortage.

But women predominated, in part because of their greater availability in daytime, but also because – even more than with the men – Forum East had become a cherished, hopeful beacon in their lives.