I will be deaf to pleading.
—Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
“Why me?” Arthur Nolan asks the governor.
“Because you’re a lawyer, and a good one,” Woodbridge Ferris says in the patient, measured, schoolmasterish tone that annoys so many. “Because you’re a judge, and a fair one. Because you have a reputation for getting parties to settle matters out of court. Because I’ve known you for thirty years and I trust you. And because I’ve been warned that if we can’t get this matter resolved on our own, Clarence Darrow will grace our fair state with his august presence.”
“Darrow! That grandstanding publicity hound—”
“The very man, and I don’t want him up in Calumet turning this strike into an international cause célèbre.”
“While drumming up his next spectacular case. Loves the headlines, our Mr. Darrow.”
For a time there is only the soft crackle and pop of the wood fire, its warmth caught and kept near them by the high-backed wing chairs pulled close to the hearth. Not ready to make a decision, Artie Nolan buys himself some time by puffing on his cigar before he asks, “How’s Mrs. Ferris doing these days?”
The governor makes a half-hearted gesture toward the fire. “A bright flame, flickering,” he says, slumping into the upholstery. “We’ve given up on the sanatorium. She’d rather be home in Grand Rapids. The girls bring their children to see her, and she enjoys that, but . . . This miserable job keeps me from her side, just as her illness keeps her from mine, here in Lansing.”
“And yet, the opportunity to do good for the citizens . . . ?”
“Is some recompense. Yes. It’s what Helen wanted for me, you know. I think she was—is—more political than I ever was. She urged me to run for the office, but in all honesty, we never expected a Democrat to win.”
“And the lovely Miss McCloud?” Nolan murmurs. “She is well?”
Ferris sits up a little straighter. “She is well. A fine secretary—a partner in my daily tasks.” There is a delicate pause. “And she allows me some hope for a future that will not be entirely devoid of companionship.”
“Helen has been unwell for a very long time,” Arthur observes, by way of absolution.
Ferris stands and moves soundlessly across a Turkish rug to the polished rosewood sideboard. “I am still not used to all this,” he admits, filling two snifters from a cut-glass decanter. “The statehouse. The staff. The deference. It’s easy to forget what real life is like.” He returns to the fireplace. “Artie, please,” he says, offering the brandy. “Michigan needs you. The people in the Copper Country need you. I need you.”
Nolan takes the glass from him. Cradling it in his palm, he gazes at the fire’s glitter, seen through the deep golden glow within the crystal. Finally, he makes the decision. “All right. I’ll do it.”
Ferris sags with relief. “Thank you, Artie.”
“Tell me about James MacNaughton. What is he like?”
In the changeable light of the fire, the governor’s face is hard to read, though an entire thesaurus of descriptions is passing through his mind. Impervious. Unreasonable. Unmovable. Uncharitable. Sanctimonious. Utterly content in his smug self-satisfaction . . . In the end, a chest-deep chuckle escapes him, and it is as sardonic a sound as Artie Nolan has ever heard from his old friend.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the governor says. Then he raises his glass and advises, “Drink up. You’re going to need it.”
* * *
The governor’s words circle Arthur George Nolan’s mind as he listens to steel wheels click over the rails. A lawyer, and a good one. A judge, and a fair one. And what transforms a good lawyer into a good judge? Their tasks are very different.
An attorney’s merit is measured by a knowledge of precedent, a command of the facts, and rhetorical skill. To navigate the legal waters and deliver the client to a desired destination, the lawyer must employ the strongest elements in a client’s favor: the law, the facts, the emotion of a case, an appeal for justice or a plea for mercy. It is very easy to succumb to a conviction that every client’s case is good and right, and that justice is served when you prevail. You can blind yourself with your own advocacy and lose sight of fairness.
A judge, on the other hand, must not go into the courtroom convinced of anything except the sanctity of the law. He must listen carefully to each litigator’s argument. He must be alert to the possibility that neither side deserves to win on the merits, and when that is the case, he must bring both advocates into chambers and open their eyes. He must show them the weaknesses of each argument, presenting them both with the possibility that neither case is as airtight as they’ve come to believe. Letting each of them realize that they might well lose, that the judge could rule against their clients.
Sometimes Artie Nolan lets the attorneys work it out for themselves, remaining out of the discussion, biting his tongue when necessary. And yet, his own finest moments in the profession have come when he has been able to lead two advocates toward a clever solution that provided minimal dismay and sufficient satisfaction to both sides.
His task in Calumet will be unlike anything he has tried before. There are two opposing parties, but no private chamber where their representatives can be reasoned with. There will be no judge to make a ruling, no jury to come down with a verdict. In labor disputes, a business can speak with a single loud, clear, well-paid legal voice, while each employee is alone and hardly any of them can afford the most rudimentary representation. This places employees at an almost insuperable disadvantage in any dispute with an employer. They are prevented from joining together in a single legal voice—unless and until the employer recognizes their union as a legitimate representative empowered to bargain on their behalf.
And that is the crux of the matter. That is at the base of the strike.
Gazing out at the snow-covered landscape beyond the train window, Artie Nolan knows now what he must do. He must get the copper companies to agree in principle to recognize the union. Then, surely, it will be possible to craft a truce that will end the strike, bring union members back to work, and return the mines to full production, temporarily. Two years might do it: enough time to allow passions to cool and minds to become clearer.
He will have to convince the union leaders that their wages, hours, and working conditions are all contingent on a single point: recognition of their union’s legitimate capacity to negotiate for them. Exchange recognition now for a better contract later. Live to fight another day. This walkout was a noble effort, but two years will give you time to build a strike fund, to coordinate with the national union, to be better prepared to act from a position of strength.
And what might convince James MacNaughton to agree? President Wilson has just put together his Commission on Industrial Relations. There’s talk of a new federal statute, one establishing the principle that unions, strikes, picketing, and boycotts are not illegal conspiracies. Don’t let the government take the decisions out of your hands. You’ve always been good to your employees. Why not get ahead of the changes that are coming? Exchange a simple recognition of the union’s right to exist for two years of labor peace.
A lot can happen in two years, Artie will murmur. When the next war breaks out in Europe—and, God help us, there’s always a next war—copper will be in greater demand than ever. Larger profits will produce a bigger pie—one that can be shared more equitably. Skilled miners will be in demand. The industry will want all the workers it can hire. Win some goodwill now, and Calumet & Hecla will be the company that gets the best workers in the industry.
Yes, he thinks, beginning to relax. I can do this. I can fix this mess.
* * *
When he returns to Lansing ten days later, Arthur Nolan, too, has collected a thesaurus of terms to apply to James MacNaughton, most of which are unspeakable in polite company.
“You knew,” he accuses Ferris. “You sent me up there on a fool’s errand. None of the other copper companies will buck Calumet & Hecla, and you knew what MacNaughton is like. That trip was an utter waste of my time!”
“I suspected as much,” Governor Ferris admits. “I had to try, Artie! I’ve only spoken to him on the telephone. I truly believed that if you could sit across the table from him and make a reasoned and reasonable case—”
“That bastard wouldn’t let me into his office! He let me cool my heels in his waiting room and then canceled my appointment with no explanation! And when I got back to the hotel, this was waiting for me,” Art says, tossing a typed statement onto the governor’s desk.
The governor smooths out the crumpled note and sighs when he recognizes both the quote and the anger with which Art Nolan had crushed it.
The rights and interests of the laboring man will be protected and cared for—not by the labor agitators, but by the Christian men of property to whom God has given control of the property rights of the country.
“George Frederick Baer,” Artie says. “Lawyer for the coal industry during the 1902 strike. And it took a presidential intervention to settle that one. I never had a chance!”
“Did you talk to MacNaughton at all?”
Nolan snorts. “He invited me to a hockey game. A hockey game! I swear he did that just to watch me freeze. I tried to talk about the strike, but he’d say, ‘I do not negotiate.’ Like the goddamn King of Siam. I made every argument I could. If you could just see the children in that town—those kids are starving! I warned MacNaughton. I told him, ‘When a poor man is down to his last dime, he won’t buy food. He’ll eat the rich.’ MacNaughton just watched that game on the ice and smiled. . . . He smiled. And then he asked me if I’m a socialist! ‘I do not negotiate. I do not negotiate . . .’ My balls were numb, but that bastard’s heart was even colder. I swear to God, I will write to Clarence Darrow myself and beg him to come. I will pay his fee out of my own damn pocket!”
Woodbridge Ferris watches the other man pace and fulminate and mutter and shout. To have reduced Judge Arthur George Nolan to this state of rage . . . What chance can there be for a settlement?
He waits until Artie finally collapses into a chair, his fury spent. “I’ll contact President Wilson,” the governor says. “Maybe he’ll be willing to do something.”
* * *
Four hundred miles north as the crow flies, James MacNaughton gazes at the latest report from his spy and finds himself cheered, for the neatly written note confirms all his expectations. There will be no further bailouts from the Western Federation of Miners. The money from those Schenectady communists will be gone soon. The union leadership is split, arguing over what to do next.
Christmas, he thinks. This will all be over by Christmas.
Even more gratifying: the preliminary figures gathered by his accountants for the year-end report to stockholders. Over the past months, some of the more softheaded investors have expressed concern as the strike dragged on; now he can reassure them as to the outcome of their patience.
With a small smile of satisfaction easing across his features, he initials each page, then calls his secretary in. “These numbers look excellent. Have Finance draft the report. I’ll work on the cover letter this morning. Oh, and send Mr. Fisher a letter this afternoon. Thank him for his services, which are no longer required. He and his men are to be paid until the end of the week.”
“Will you be providing references for him, sir?”
“Nothing in writing.”
When he is alone again, James MacNaughton removes a Mont Blanc pen and a single piece of company stationery from the middle drawer of his desk. For a moment he sits in contemplation, readying himself to compose his report. It comes to him then that there is a distinct similarity between the furious action of a hockey game and the noisy display of a strike. The point of it all is to reach a goal. A losing team can pressure the opponent, even get into the offensive zone, slap two or three good shots, and still accomplish nothing. Of course, that is too informal a metaphor to use in his letter, but Mary will appreciate it when he writes to her.
Uncapping his fountain pen, he lets the words of his report roll smoothly across the texture of the paper.
During my tenure as Chief Executive Officer, I have emphasized efficiency throughout the company. These efforts are paying off for you, the stockholders of Calumet & Hecla. The past six months have been challenging, but you will be pleased to know that we have increased productivity while driving down the cost of production without yielding to a single demand of the labor agitators. Despite their efforts to intimidate and abuse loyal workers, many of our most reliable employees have denounced the criminal and violent actions of these outsiders. A majority of our miners have already come back to work.
What did that idiot from Lansing say? Why not get ahead of the changes that are coming? Well, that is precisely what James MacNaughton has done.