XXVIII

Clyde, like any self-sufficient New England town, had a long if inaccurate memory. In fact the better one came to know Clyde the more one grew impressed with the town’s inability ever wholly to forget anyone who had ever dwelt within its limits. Instead of forgetting, Clyde inhabitants, through their exaggerated powers of recollection, were able in each generation to elevate two or three of their fellow townsmen to a folk status that approached the myth. After all, memory and mythology go hand in hand, and on any afternoon, a dozen or so members of the Clyde Men’s Club could be found there working in the field of legend, and the same was true of the women’s clubs and the church alliances and sewing circles. From its earliest days, Clyde had always preferred legend to scientific history.

Willis probably was never aware that Clyde was in the process of making him a Great Figure. Since he had never been obliged seriously to consider local town opinion businesswise, he was not aware of the great number of persons in Clyde who eagerly watched his every move.

As president of Harcourt Associates Willis had made a few public appearances there for the benefit of good plant relations. He had once spoken at a Rotary Club luncheon to the largest attendance there had ever been in Clyde, although he had not been aware of this fact. Willis had been deeply flattered when Mr. Roderick Holhalter, Clyde superintendent of schools, had invited him to address the graduating class of Clyde High in June, 1944. He was delighted to do so because the stockholders’ meeting of Harcourt Associates came only two days later. He never knew, when he made some sound inspirational remarks on the subject of success, that the high-school auditorium was unduly crowded and that there was a large crowd in the corridor outside. Willis was also glad to accommodate the Reverend Morton J. Heatherby, who had been minister of the Congregational Church when he and his mother had attended there, by giving a talk during Young People’s Week. He had not realized that plans to hold the event in the parish hall had been canceled because of the turnout—not only of youths but of older people—and that the church had finally been opened for the meeting. Willis certainly never suspected that most of the people in Clyde who greeted him with courteous applause when he stood before a lectern were not gathered to hear what he had to say as much as to observe him.

He was not a snappy dresser, according to Clyde standards. His double-breasted business suits disappointed many, and also the words he said were only what could be expected from someone in his position. Nevertheless his presence was impressive. He was tall and he had good features, and his manner conveyed earnestness and self-confidence. His shoes were beautifully shined and his trousers accurately creased, which may have been the basis for the rumor that a personal valet always traveled with him. Willis always came to town in a chauffeur-driven Cadillac, and there was some debate as to whether or not this was a Cadillac hired in Boston or one owned by Willis Wayde in Massachusetts. On the whole better-informed people were sure that the Cadillac was his own. He would have been ashamed to ride in a hired car. There was also some debate as to whether Willis Wayde’s chauffeur might not be a valet on the side, since one read about valet-chauffeurs in light fiction, but on the whole this theory was not accepted.

When Willis became first vice president of Simcoe, and when the Harcourt Mill became the Harcourt Division of that corporation, nearly everyone in Clyde reacted with great pleasure to the news; for it meant that the small-town boy had risen higher, to a plateau far beyond Clyde experience. Simcoe, as everyone knew, was a multi-million-dollar corporation, or a billion-dollar corporation, now that a billion dollars had grown to be an ordinary unit of financial measure. There could not be the slightest doubt that Willis Wayde had acquired a great many million dollars through the deal. Even skeptics began to accept the Wayde legend when the Meltonian Publishing Company succeeded in selling to the Clyde Public Library a volume entitled Industrial Leaders of America, which contained a photograph and a biography of Willis Wayde. Willis must have been surprised, during his last visit to Clyde while he was still working on the integration of Harcourt Associates with Simcoe, to be approached by a committee of Clyde businessmen, including his friend John Sparks, vice president of the Dock Street Bank, who asked him, because of his well-known love of sport while at Clyde High, if he would not donate a football stadium to the town, suitably lighted for night games. No one could seriously have believed him when he said he could not afford the five hundred thousand dollars necessary for the project. Clyde was already drawing an idealized portrait of Willis Wadye, and everyone had already begun to scorn any homely truth that did not fit in with this ideal.

Mrs. Willis Wayde had seldom appeared in Clyde, but a number of readers in the periodical room of the Clyde Public Library had seen her picture in the Willis Wayde family group on the lawn in front of his house called “Waydeholm” that had appeared in Fortune magazine. In fact there had been complaints in the reading room when it was discovered that some reader had abstracted the picture from the pages. At any rate, those who saw the picture said that Mrs. Willis Wayde was very beautiful and quite a lot like Dorothy Lamour, and that she was wearing a diamond bracelet, a diamond clip, and an enormous diamond ring.

When the Wayde family moved to Chicago, and when finally an article appeared in Town & Country, handsomely illustrated, describing the new Wayde home at Lake Forest recently built by the Chicago architectural firm of Guthrie, Gompers, and Clutch, the myth of Willis Wayde assumed greater stature. In a sense this was a proof of the old adage that absence made the heart grow fonder, but other reasons also could be ascribed to the rise of Clyde interest. Now that no one saw Willis Wayde, it became necessary to draw his character with broader strokes, making still fuller use of the material at hand. Bowker’s newsstand on Dock Street sold out its supply of Town & Country three times over, and might have sold even more if Mr. Bowker had not said he was tired of reordering. But there was also eyewitness evidence, because Howard Twining, the president of Willis’s high-school class, who ran Twining’s Real Estate and Insurance, had the energy and vision to make a business gamble. He had personally boarded a Chicago plane at Boston’s Logan Airport, had flown to Chicago, and had personally called on Willis Wayde at the offices of Simcoe Rubber. The Twining version of the whole meeting may have become garbled but it was, at least, based on fact.

It seemed that Willis had a very large private office that looked out over Lake Michigan, and, believe it or not, Mazie Minton, a Clyde girl herself—and who did not remember Mazie?—was his head private secretary, right up there wearing a gold charm bracelet, with lots of other private secretaries under her. Mazie had received Howard Twining herself in the outer waiting room, it being her duty to screen visitors for Mr. Wayde. She had recognized Howard right away and said it was just like Old Home Week to see him. With a start like that it took almost no time before he was led right up to Willis Wayde’s private office, and Willis was very glad to see him too. Willis had remembered Howard Twining very well, although he started in by calling him Harold. As Howard said at the outset, he did not want to take up too much of Willis’s time but he had dropped in to have a little talk about life insurance. No matter how much insurance a man had, he could always do with some more, and how about remembering the good times they used to have together at the old Cylde High?

Nothing could have been more gratifying than the reaction of Willis Wayde to these remarks. It showed what everybody knew, that Willis was a man of high caliber who could take time out to be a human being. Willis said of course he remembered the good times they once had at the old Clyde High; and then he began asking about people, calling them all by name. He asked personally for Steve and Winnie Decker. He asked for any news about Miss Minnie Wilson, whom he remembered very well as their room teacher back in Clyde High. He would always have a warm spot—that is to say a lasting and genuine affection—for Miss Minnie Wilson. And he hoped that if she was retired she was comfortable on her pension.

Seriously, those had been great days at school; and he wished he were not so far away from Clyde, because he would have loved to have sweetened some of those old contacts. Unfortunately, the manifold responsibilities of running an organization the size of Simcoe contrived to keep him chained to the Chicago office. For the last few years, frankly, he was only able to keep in touch with the Harcourt Division in New England through correspondence, the telephone, and through memory, but he did know that Hank Knowlton was doing as fine a job as he could under the circumstances. Willis would always have a warm spot—that was to say, a very abiding sentiment, a weakness almost—for the old Harcourt Mill. Well, well, time moved on, didn’t it?

When Willis made this remark about time, Howard took him right up on it, saying it was wonderful to have had this visit, but he knew that Willis had every minute occupied, so how about getting back to insurance? At this point, Howard had stated very categorically that he never did think that talking about insurance was an intrusion on friendship. In fact the most friendly thing a man could do was to talk insurance. It was warming to see how heartily Willis responded to that idea. His insurance schedule, he said, was pretty well filled up but he wouldn’t mind considering a hundred thousand more in straight life, if only because Howard had come all the way to see him.

At this point Mazie Minton came back. It seemed that they had the display of Simfoam cushions set up now in the conference room, and that Mr. Gregorian from the agency wanted Mr. Wayde’s reaction. Willis was dreadfully sorry, but if Howard wouldn’t mind waiting they could go on with their talk. Then Willis asked Mazie for his engagement calendar and looked at it. Then, after a moment’s thought, Willis had extended a very gracious invitation. He asked Howard if he wouldn’t come out to Lake Forest and take potluck at supper, since just the family would be at home. They could talk business going out in the Cadillac. Howard would not have dreamt of accepting this invitation if Willis had not urged him warmly. After all, as Willis had put it in a very graceful way, Howard Twining was a sort of ambassador, a liaison link between him and his many dear friends in Clyde. Frankly, they had just moved into a rambling and rather informal home. It had been built by the Chicago architectural firm of Guthrie, Gompers, and Clutch, and he and Mrs. Wayde had given many happy hours of thought to the plans and to arranging their antique furniture, which was more of an investment than a luxury. The landscaping was well along now, and being in the real-estate business, Willis was sure that Howard understood the intangible plus values which surround a home, and the latch-string was always out for old friends from Clyde High. It was a play day for the kids, and they could both have a dip in the pool, a cold drink and a pick-up supper, after which Howard could be returned to his Chicago hotel in the Caddie. It was a fact that Willis Wayde called it a Caddie.

“Mazie, my dear,” Willis said, “would you see if you can get me Mrs. Wayde? And then I’ll go right into the conference, and maybe Mr. Twining won’t mind waiting here, and you might show him our new booklet, the one called ‘Simcoe Magic’ I mean.”

Until the telephone rang, Willis talked about the thought behind the booklet called “Simcoe Magic.” His basic idea had been that Simcoe and its conveyor belting had formed a magic carpet that now was girdling the globe.

“Is that you, sweetness?” he said when the telephone rang. It was a fact that he did call Mrs. Wayde sweetness, and there was something rather nice in the way he said it. “I’ll be starting out in about a half an hour. I want to see the end of the tennis and also the Australian-crawl lessons, so please ask Mr. Crock and Mr. Ginsberg to synchronize their schedules, based on a normal run between home and office, beginning in half an hour, sweetness. And by the way, who do you think is sitting here right beside me this minute? Howard Twining. Isn’t that something, after all the times I’ve talked to you about Howard? I’ve asked him out to have a bite and Howard’s gracious enough to say he can come. He understands it’s a wife-and-kiddies’ day, and Gus can take Howard back right after supper. If the children want to go to the movies Axel can drive them in the other car, or I could, myself, in the convertible. Well, I’ll be home in no time now, sweetness.”

Howard Twining wished he had the powers of description to paint a real word picture of the Wayde home at Lake Forest. He could only say that even in that suburb of magnificent homes the Wayde home took its place with the best of them. He could only say that the whole place had a welcoming, outgoing quality—and Howard was sure that he was not influenced in his judgment simply because he had made a hundred-thousand-dollar sale. Curiously enough the estate reminded him in a funny, though in a quite different, way of the old Harcourt place. The rhododendrons on the drive were like the Harcourt rhododendrons; and believe it or not, there was an artificial pond with a swan on it. When Howard spoke of this resemblance Willis Wayde was delighted.

“You’re the first one who’s ever said that, Howard,” he said, “and I’m flattered you perceived it, because I did draw quite a lot of inspiration from the Harcourt place while Sylvia and I were pooling our ideas.”

The house was made of gray stone like the Harcourt house and it had a gray slate roof; but the whole thing was modern, with picture windows and things like that. To Howard’s regret he never did get upstairs. He washed up in a very commodious downstairs lavatory that had a cloakroom as a vestibule, evidently designed for large parties. His main impression was made up of gracious hallways, large rooms with oil pictures, and very lovely furniture. There was not much time to see all this because, being summer, they dined outdoors on a terrace overlooking the pool, on a lovely glass-topped table lit by hurricane candles, and were served by a butler named Axel in a white coat. The whole family were at the table, seeing, as Willis said again, it was a wife-and-kiddies’ night. But a whole lot of interesting things happened before they ever sat down to dinner.

Mrs. Wayde, Howard Twining said, was a lovely, gracious hostess. If she had seemed vague as to who he was, then why shouldn’t she have? You could see, though, that she was used to making people at home, proving that Willis must have used the place freely for business entertainment.

“Howard,” Willis said shortly after they arrived, “why don’t you and I take off our coats and relax? Sylvia won’t mind, will you, sweetness?”

Howard had to confess that he was wearing suspenders, but Willis said that Mrs. Wayde would not mind in the least, this being in the nature of an old Clyde High reunion, and Mrs. Wayde didn’t mind. You could see at once that there was a lovely relationship between her and Willis, that she was a real wife and mother, and very handsome too. She was wearing a lovely tailored linen dress, and everything about her was spic and span. Incidentally she wore no jewelry except for a diamond bracelet and a very handsome solitaire diamond ring.

“And now, Howard,” Willis said, “let’s all go down and see the kids. This is one of their sport afternoons. They have tennis and swimming instruction three times a week. I feel these skills are important for them, and Sylvia and I try to see that nothing interferes. Are they down at the court now, honey?”

“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Wayde answered. “Mr. Crock is finishing up with Paul. And Mr. Crock is very anxious for you to see how much Al has improved with his forehand.”

“Has Louise picked up any on her serve?” Willis asked.

“Mr. Crock said he was very happy with her serving, darling,” Mrs. Wayde said. “But you must hurry if you want to see Paul.”

You could see that a beautiful relationship existed between Mr. and Mrs. Wayde.

“Crock thinks Paul has the makings of an outstanding player,” Willis said. “I always maintain you have to learn the rudiments of tennis when you’re young. Is Ginsberg at the pool yet, dear?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Wayde said, “I think he’s getting ready, Willis.”

“I wonder if you’d tell him, sweetness,” Willis said, “that he needn’t get out the dumbbells or the mat? I won’t have my workout as long as Howard’s here.”

As a matter of fact Willis Wayde looked fit enough to skip the workout. Even at the end of a hard day he was right on his toes showing off the place. The tennis court was very beautiful, and when Howard mentioned it, Willis confessed he had constructed it mostly from his memories of the court at the Bryson Harcourts’.

The children had lovely manners. One of the boys was playing tennis with a muscular young man, and another boy, Al, about thirteen, with a sweater around his shoulders, was sitting beside a very cute little dark-haired girl aged eight.

“It looks to me,” Willis Wayde said, “as though you were having a happy time, kids.”

You could see that there was a real and deep affection between Willis and his children. They all gave a big shout when they saw him, and the little girl, whose name was Louise, jumped right up into his arms.

“How’s Daddy’s darling?” Willis said. “And now I want you all to meet Mr. Twining. Believe it or not, Mr. Twining went to school with Daddy.”

There was no doubt at all that the Wayde children were good at tennis, and when it came to swimming Howard Twining was frankly a little embarrassed to put on a pair of trunks and get into the pool with the Wayde family and Mr. Ginsberg. He did not mean that the pool was small. It was oversized and beautifully landscaped, with dressing rooms, and showers, and foam-rubber chairs, and everything. Howard Twining only meant that he was embarrassed because he could merely do the side and breast strokes, whereas Willis and all the Wayde children swam the Australian crawl. But Mrs. Wayde put him at his ease.

“I think Willis overdoes the Australian crawl,” she said. “It’s always been an obsession with him. He even took crawl lessons on our honeymoon.”

“Oh, now,” Howard said facetiously, “not on your honeymoon, Mrs. Wayde.”

She laughed. She had a lovely sense of humor.

“Well, you know Willis, if you went to school with him,” she said. “And now I see Axel’s bringing down some cooling drinks. If Willis will stop doing the crawl he’ll make you a Martini. He’s quite an authority on the making of Martinis.”

What Howard Twining always tried to emphasize when he told of his visit was its homey informality. You could see that there was lots of money around—swimming pools, old silver, butlers, chauffeurs, Cadillacs, tennis instructors, and things like that; but none of this made you self-conscious. All that mattered was the hospitable friendliness of Mr. and Mrs. Wayde and the beautiful relationship they and the children all shared together. It was a privilege to be taken into the bosom of such a family, every member of which tried to make a guest happy. Howard was very deeply regretful when Gus came with the Cadillac, but he carried the picture back of the Waydes in their lovely Lake Forest setting. Furthermore he could never say too often that success and riches had not changed Willis Wayde. Willis was the same fine modest Willis Wayde who had debated at Clyde High on whether capital punishment should be abolished, and had walked in the grand march with Patricia Ryan at the graduation dance. In conclusion there was one remark of Willis’s that Howard always remembered.

“Howard,” he said, “although we live here in Lake Forest and try in our small ways to play our part in the community we are essentially New England folks. Sylvia is a Cambridge girl essentially and my heart is right back there at Clyde. Sylvia and I have put our heads together to see what we can do to give our children the benefits of that New England heritage that you and I both value. That’s why Al is going to Middlesex School this fall, just outside Concord, Massachusetts, and Paul I hope will follow him later—but Louise will stay with Daddy, won’t you, honeybee?” At least these were approximately the words of Willis Wayde, and at least Howard Twining had conveyed the sense and spirit.

Howard Twining had made his trip to visit Willis Wayde in the summer of 1950, just at the bginning of the Korean difficulties. The signs on the Harcourt Mill had been changed almost a year before to read “Simcoe Rubber Hose and Belting,” and underneath in smaller but highly legible lettering “Harcourt Division.” There were no rumors then or undercurrents of uneasiness in Clyde regarding the future of the Harcourt Mill. Why should there have been, as long as Willis Wayde had a personal interest in the mill and was also first vice president of Simcoe Rubber? Willis was actually not moved up to the presidency of Simcoe until 1953, when P. L. Nagel finally became chairman of the board of directors—later than P.L. had promised, but then, older people always liked to hold on.

Clyde myths seldom died easily, and in a town like Clyde, disillusion could never wholly destroy belief. When Willis Wayde became president of Simcoe Rubber the news was announced in headlines that extended clear across the front page of The Clyde Herald, and everybody loved the news, for Willis Wayde was too great now to be the target of envy or malice. It was clear to everyone in Clyde that the town at last had a great protector. If there was any jealousy at all, this uncomfortable sentiment was directed toward the lucky executives and employees of the Harcourt Mill, who, under Willis Wayde’s especial care, would always be employed, in good times and in bad, and who would always have prompt support in sickness or in sorrow.

It was, therefore, a shock to Clyde when the disaster finally struck, the more so since there were no rumors to precede it. The news first took the form of a brief notice placed on all the bulletin boards at the Harcourt Mill, almost two months to the day after Willis had been made president of Simcoe. The next morning there was another banner headline across the front page of The Clyde Herald:

SIMCOE CLOSES HARCOURT MILL—PROPERTY FOR SALE

There was, of course, an official explanation carefully prepared by the management of Simcoe Rubber Hose and Belting. It said, among other things, that this step was taken only after long deliberation, and with deep regret, due to the necessity for closer integration of the Simcoe processes, thus achieving greater economy and efficiency. Positions, it was added, would be made available as far as possible to employees who might want to work at the Simcoe Ohio or Illinois plants. And out of consideration to all employees, operations at the Harcourt Mill would not be discontinued for two full months. The announcement was signed by Willis Wayde as president of Simcoe.

This last was very hard to believe, because the announcement was completely devoid of his well-known warmth and sympathy. In fact, after a few stunned days when no one could talk of anything else, a group of die-hards, including many Harcourt laborers, who still had faith in Willis Wayde, banded together in his defense. They knew that if the Harcourt Mill had closed it was because Willis Wayde could not help it. He was sick about it, he had fought against it every inch of the way. It was not Willis Wayde who had closed the Harcourt Mill. It was a ring of Wall Street bankers who had secretly gained control of the Simcoe Company, and who had forced this humiliation upon Willis Wayde.

Thus the final dissolution of the Harcourt Mill was perhaps not quite so tragic as it might have been. True, it disrupted the economic life of Clyde and the private lives of many families who lived within its limits. It was an especially heavy blow because it soon was clear that the Harcourt property was unsalable for future industrial purposes. There were many hard words spoken, both in sorrow and in anger, but there was one thing which was a real tribute to the town, and a fact of beauty, when one came to think of it. Treachery and disaster—such was the loyalty of Clyde—could not destroy the myth of Willis Wayde. There were those who believed in him still, and who even believed he would return in his Cadillac some day and repurchase and run the Harcourt Mill again.