Last Summer Boys(66)

The people below are silent—spellbound, it seems, by Kemper’s words. I ain’t ever heard him talk like this before. His squeaky voice is powerful behind that podium.

A terrible pit forms in my stomach as Kemper draws a breath and continues.

“This is America. We are not about to force people from their homes . . . But this is 1968, and we are about progress. Times change. Needs change. Attachments to old things, when they no longer serve the greatest good for the greatest number, must be severed. To refuse to let go of these attachments might at first seem an overstrong dose of sentimentality or nostalgia. Let me tell you, it is far worse. It is selfishness. Disguised and hidden, but selfishness nevertheless.”

My jaw drops.

Next to me Will starts forward off his bench, catches himself.

“This selfishness is subtle,” Kemper goes on. “It says ‘Let my neighbors fend for themselves; I care only about me and mine.’ But that is not who we are. Such thinking runs contrary to everything we believe in as a society. It is frankly un-American.”

I’m boiling inside. Kemper is leaning forward over his podium, like a deranged pastor filled with the fervor of his own words.

“To those who think this way, I say this: You can still choose to do right by your neighbors. You can even profit from it. You will be generously compensated. So let go. Don’t stand in the way of progress. Don’t stand in the way of kindness. Do the right thing.”

Kemper looks out over the room, stands up straight, and finishes:

“If those people want to ignore the rights and needs of their neighbors, that’s their business. But it is not the business of this council,” he thunders on. “We cannot make them see the right thing. But we can make them do it, whether they wish to or not. Council has that power. Council should use that power. I urge council to support the measure. Thank you.”

Kemper returns to his seat, smiles as several people in the front clap. A few even cheer. A cold salamander feeling runs down my spine as I see several men at the table clapping. When they finally stop, Travers looks down at his list.

“Council will now hear from Mr. Gene Elliot.”

I automatically come forward at the sound of my father’s name. Down below us, Dad rises from his chair and walks stiffly to the podium. He looks oddly different in his suit and tie: out of place, not like Kemper or the chemical company men. But then he puts both hands on the podium and stands up tall, and I feel a certain change fall over everyone in the room. The people in the seats go still.

My father ain’t even spoken yet, but everyone is paying attention.

Dad begins by thanking council for holding the meeting. Travers smiles tightly. Kemper’s black eyes seem shiny and dark at the same time.

Next Dad looks to the chemical company men. “I appreciate you gentlemen bringing your topographical map. I have lived my whole life along the creek, aside from a few years in Korea. During the war.”

The men narrow their eyes at him.

Next to me, Mr. Halleck says quietly, “That was good.”

“How so?”

“Your father has just reminded everyone of his valor during the war.”

“What’s that got to do with any of this?”

The old man turns his white head, looks down at me. “Nothing. Except this is a battle between your father and Kemper, and Kemper called him selfish. In life and politics, you fight selfishness with selflessness.”

At the podium Dad speaks again to the chemical men. “Yes, I have lived my whole life along the creek, so I know this area well, and your map is as accurate as any as you can find. It also shows a naturally occurring geographic depression, approximately seven miles northwest of the proposed reservoir site. This depression is essentially a big bowl in the earth, wider and longer than the proposed reservoir. And your map shows no homes in it.”

Dad pauses. Council stays quiet.

I know then that Dad isn’t saying anything they don’t know.

Dad goes on, “I make no objection to those who have spoken before about the rate of growth in our town. Our country is growing; our town is growing, and we will need the water. And a bigger reservoir would better serve our businesses and our families.”

Dad looks at the audience. He turns to the council members. Now Dad levels his blue eyes at Kemper.

“So why not build it in this other location?”

Dad puts his hands in his pockets.

“Well, it’s true there are no houses in that other location. At least not yet. But that land is privately owned by a company which has on its board several people who are sitting in this room today. And if the council builds the reservoir where it is currently planning, that other location will become very valuable. It will be beside a beautiful lake. I expect you would see many houses built there then.”

Behind their long table, the council members sit still as stone.

Kemper stares hard at Dad.

“It’s not a question of personal virtue,” says Dad, drawing to a close. “It’s a question of principle. Do people have a right to keep what they have worked and paid for? Should government become a partner in profit to help some people make money by taking things from others? I say no. And so I ask the council to vote against this proposition. Thank you.”

Dad returns to his seat next to Ma. Our people in the back of the room clap and cheer. I clap till my hands sting. But Mr. Halleck stays very still.