I am Gabriel...and am sent to speak to thee, and to show you these glad tidings.
Luke 1:19
And he said to me...the third, who is set over all powers, is Gabriel
Enoch 40:9
Spring 1963, Columbia
Carter never stayed at the Governor’s Mansion, its late Federal architectural style gave it a certain elegance, but it was run-down, and small in relation to the much larger and elegant Galanos a little over an hour’s drive away. Instead of residing at the mansion, he used it as his political headquarters since he’d vacated the old library following his election. He also used it as the barracks for the cadet guard regiment that was now a permanent presence around the governor’s office in the State House. Standing sentry at the entrance to the mansion were two guards in full regalia, who would change positions each hour, and rotate in two new guards. Additionally, there were cadets assigned as liaison interns working with his political advisers, between the governor and the various arms of the state government: the state Senate, the state House, and the state Attorney General. Within the governor’s executive office on the main floor of the State House, Carter had appointed the recently graduated cadet major who had served on his campaign, Darren Adams, as his Chief of Staff.
Darren had been Margot’s shadow during the 1962 campaign, and had seen how she ran the campaign office with a firm, tight hand, how she was detail-oriented using her big notebook to take notes, to follow up with staff, and communicate through her daily memos what needed to be done, by priority, each day. He’d learned how to set expectations by giving clear instructions, when to use charm, and when to be more severe. By the time he began his new role following completion of his studies at the Citadel, Margot was ready to begin her new life as well.
She returned to New York City in the early spring of 1963, both for a well-deserved vacation following two years of incessant planning and running the Ridge for Governor campaign, but also to begin the second phase of her long-term plans for Carter. She took an apartment in Manhattan that allowed her to continue her socializing, albeit on a smaller scale than the lavish Galanos events she had presided over. Never having lost her love for fashion and design, she went to Vogue instead of Harper’s Bazaar, no longer as Alexey’s right-hand girl, but as an editor-at-large, working with Diana Vreeland on an as-needed basis for special articles and projects. It wasn’t a full-time job, by mutual decision, but it kept her connected with designers, trends, and most importantly, to remain creative. But her most important project remained the same — Carter.
“Alice, this is Margot, is the governor available?” she called from her apartment on W. 56th Street.
“One moment please, Miss Margot,” the switchboard operator said, as she put her through to the governor’s office.
“Governor Ridge’s office, how may I help you?” answered one of the cadets in the office.
“This is Margot, is the governor available?”
“Hello, Miss Margot, this is Cadet Sawyers, let me check with Mr. Adams.”
She was put on hold, and then the phone line went dead.
“Oh for crying out loud,” she said to herself as she redialed the number to the State House. A moment later she was back on the line with the cadet.
“Hello, this is Margot again,” she said politely but firmly. “You dropped my call, Cadet Sawyers, is that what your name is?”
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry, yes, Ma’am, this is Cadet Sawyers.”
“Well, dear, that’s not very professional on your part is it?”
“No ma’am, and again I apologize. It’s my first morning on the job and I’m still learning how the phone system works.”
“Well, I suppose we’re all allowed one mistake or two on the first day, but don’t make it a habit,” she scolded gently.
“Ma’am, it won’t happen again. Mr. Adams said that the governor was expecting your call, let me transfer you immediately,” he said quickly.
“Now Cadet Sawyers, when you put me on hold to transfer, you have to remember to mash the transfer button before you hang up, okay dear?”
“Yes, ma’am, I know that now,” he said.
“All right now, I’ll let you do your magic, have a good day,” she said as she waited.
“This is Carter,” she heard next.
“My word, I felt like I was playing tag with all of those connections between Manhattan and that crypt of an office you have down there.”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Carter said.
“Listen, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be coming down on this Thursday’s train instead of Friday. I’ll still be staying the week, but I have a lot of news, and a lot of scheduling I need to coordinate with Darren.”
“I’ll let him know to make himself available for you,” Carter said.
“Oh, well, when you say it like that, maybe I should wear something more revealing,” she teased. “Is he still as handsome as ever?”
“Yes, and still dating that girl back in Charleston,” he needled her.
“Well, be that as it may,” she let the thought dangle out there.
“So, I’ll see you Friday morning. I’ll make sure a car is waiting for you,” Carter said.
“Lovely, have a good week, dear.”
Soon Darren came into Carter’s office, cutting short his midday reverie of the buzz-cut-headed Gabriel seated thirty feet from him. As Chief of Staff, he had been working hard the past couple of months putting together an innovative meeting that both Carter and he hoped would essentially bypass the obstructionist legislature regarding integration. A visiting professor, one of the “Very Smart People” whom Margot had found and brought down to South Carolina to meet with Carter, had pioneered the concept of Deliberative Democracy.
Deliberative Democracy was the epitome, in substance, not just rhetoric, to the throwaway quote of conservative author and publisher, William F. Buckley. Buckley had famously said during an Esquire magazine interview in 1961 that he “would rather be governed by the first thousand people listed in the phone book than by the faculty members from an Ivy League University.” The idea that the professor had researched and developed was to bring together a group of people who represented a specific demographic population dealing with a controversial issue which was not being resolved by normal political processes, and to have them sit in small groups, to debate, argue, and ask questions to expert witnesses in the belief that eventually they would arrive to a consensus solution that the overwhelming majority would agree to. In this instance, it would be a group of one hundred people, not a thousand, who would be selected from a pool of invitations sent under the authority of the newly elected governor to come to meet in Columbia for the weekend, and advise him as to how South Carolina would leave its segregated past, and lead the nation in an integrated future.
Over five hundred invitations had been sent out to various random citizens across the state, asking them to indicate if they would be interested in this event, and if so, to respond to a few quick demographic questions regarding their race, gender, and occupation. All expenses would be paid for by the office of the governor, including travel, meals, and hotel lodging. Additionally, childcare would be provided if needed. Margot had advised Darren that the event should be conducted in as dignified and solemn an environment as possible, to lend it the gravitas necessary to maintain decorum amongst the participants, both black and white in the same civic function for the first time. Darren had arrived at the brilliant idea to have the event hosted at the First Baptist Church in Columbia, which had been the scene a hundred years earlier of the drafting of the Articles of Secession by the white aristocratic political elite, which had eventually led to the Civil War.
The weekend of the Deliberative Democracy meeting had finally arrived, and Darren needed Carter’s approval for the last minute changes to the prepared remarks, the itinerary, and the assembled expert witnesses.
“The pastor at First Baptist has given me his opening prayer and invocation that he’ll deliver from the pulpit on Saturday morning,” Darren said, giving him the document with the First Baptist Church of Columbia letterhead. “I read it over lunch and it seems anodyne enough, conciliatory in all of the right places.”
“Great, and what about the swearing in of the participants?” Carter asked.
“The Attorney General will be there along with the Chief Justice of the State Supreme Court, both as expert witnesses, and Chief Justice Taylor is happy to do the swearing in.”
“Fantastic. That’s a huge relief, because it’ll really give the participants pause, making them reflect on the importance of the role they are playing.”
“How did it go with Speaker Blatt and the leadership at lunch today?” Darren asked. “They’re still not on-board with the whole meeting?”
“Completely against. Although, afterwards, Speaker Blatt told me that, and this is off-the-record he said, it was a very clever move on my part, and would effectively force the legislature to abide by whatever this citizens’ caucus decides.”
Darren laughed, and then said, “He didn’t call it a ploy this time?”
“No, not this time. But he largely let his leadership minions do all of the barking about it over lunch.”
“Well, if we are successful in pulling this off, and get a decent, liberal consensus on how to move forward, I’ll be the first one to be barking with joy,” Darren added.
“Have you finished on the media angle?”
“Yes, we’re going full on Margot-mode, with camera positions and lighting already blocked out, and press briefings scheduled at midday and evening both Saturday and Sunday. If we are a success, we’ll have you give a press conference, if it is a failure, I’ll issue a statement on Sunday evening.”
“Let’s plan for success,” Carter said. “When is the final walk-through scheduled?”
“Wednesday morning,” Darren said.
The following day Carter arrived at his State House office from Galanos as usual a little after nine o’clock, but this day he had that feeling he had from his days at Aiken Prep, when he’d had his crush on Lane. He straightened his shoulders as he strode across the State House marble-floored lobby towards his office, knowing that he would see Cadet Sawyers upon his entry. Once Carter entered the Governor’s lobby, Cadet Sawyers stood at attention for two brief seconds, and said, “Sir.”
“Cadet Sawyers,” Carter replied passing by.
Throughout the morning Carter sat at his desk, receiving various legislators, the mayor of the town of Ninety-Six, who was being honored for something or other by the state Senate, a delegation from a local chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy to present him a plaque commemorating the hundredth anniversary of some battle during the Civil War, or rather the War Between the States as they referred to it. Each time a new visitor arrived for their scheduled appointment, Cadet Sawyers would escort them into his office, and announce their arrival, looking at Carter with those eyes, those eyes that seemed to indicate that he too had been in a state of preoccupation, that he too had spent the evening and morning in anticipation of seeing Carter stride into the office, those eyes that hinted he had waited patiently the previous thirty-one minutes to again come into this mahogany-walled cell to see Carter, and that he would gladly wait again for the next visitor summons.
By his fourth meeting, Sawyers had just the slightest, almost imperceptible smile as he announced the entrance of Mr. Canyon from the Farmers and Merchants Bank. Carter saw the hint of the grin, and wondered if it were meant for him, that they were now mentally dancing together during this morning waltz of meetings, or was he mistaken, and had Sawyers been merely thinking of something that had transpired earlier out in the lobby. Carter realized moments later that he had completely lost his attention with Mr. Canyon as he was making his opening pitch to the governor for a proposal on small business lending practices.
Wednesday brought with it the series of meetings that included each of the expert witnesses scheduled to support the Deliberative Democracy meeting that weekend. Darren had whittled down the list to include only Southerners, no Ivy League faculty out of deference to the Buckley-ite wing of reactionary conservatives who would undoubtedly be in attendance as part of the representative sample of citizens. Carter had invited his old friend from Georgia, Elbert Tuttle, who was now Chief Judge on the Federal Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit, to explain the futility of resisting desegregation orders through the court process. Carter had wanted an ally to dissuade any thoughts that the courts would grant South Carolina any waivers or free pass for equality of access to all public institutions and businesses. He also invited several professors from Vanderbilt University and Duke University to present the issues that would be coming next—voting rights and public school desegregation. Finally, he included revered local white dignitaries and respected leaders within the Negro community, who would be there to calm tempers if any arguments became too heated.
The group of experts met at the Governor’s Mansion to role-play and rehearse the process of finding consensus.
By the end of the afternoon, they all agreed that they had perfected their roles, and were ready for the weekend meeting. Navigating the hundred invitees towards a seventy percent consensus regarding a fully integrated future would require their collective talents and powers of persuasion, but they were optimistic they could nudge them during their deliberations. The entire premise of the Ridge governorship hung on its successful conclusion.
Carter’s thoughts periodically drifted away from the Governor’s Mansion, back down Main Street, to the ground floor of the State House, wondering if Gabriel was thinking about him as well.
The next day was to be a tour of the local television stations and newspapers, meeting with the political reporters and editors to brief them on the upcoming weekend’s goals and methodology. Carter arrived as usual not long after nine o’clock, and gave the barest hint of a grin to Gabriel as the young cadet stood at attention Carter arrived in his office. He reciprocated in kind.
Darren soon arrived with the day’s agenda, and reminded Carter that Margot would be arriving soon from New York City.
“When will you be meeting with her?” Carter asked.
“Later this afternoon, after she gets settled in at the Governor’s Mansion.”
Carter hadn’t forgotten that Margot was going to be participating informally during the weekend, but her perceptive surveillance of him would probably pick up on his distracted glances and staring at Gabriel in the days to come.
“Remind me, is there to be a cadet presence this weekend at the deliberations?”
“Yes, of course! We’re bringing a squad in full regalia to add to the pomp and circumstance of the occasion.”
“I see.” Carter mused.
The tour of newspaper and wire service offices, television studios, and radio stations passed without drama, and after returning to the Governor’s office in the State House, Carter saw that Margot was chatting with Darren in the lobby.
“Well don’t you look ravishing as always,” Carter said as he greeted her.
“Why thank-you, although I must say that the quality of the train service is deteriorating on a regular basis, you really must do something about that, Mr. Governor.”
He smiled, and then introduced Gabriel to her.
“This is Cadet Sawyers, who is assigned to my office this month.”
“Oh, so this is the infamous Cadet Sawyers!”
“Ma’am, it’s my pleasure to meet you,” Gabriel said in his genteel Citadel manner.
“I’m sure it is, darling. Carter, dear, you need to keep an eye on this one, he’s going to be a handful.”
Carter blushed and turned to Darren, who was preparing his briefcase.
“Darren, are we going out with Margot to dinner? I’ll have Cadet Sawyers keep Shelby for us.”
“Yes, I made reservations for us to meet at the country club for drinks and dinner.”
“Cadet, could you let Shelby know, and then, you’re free to go back to barracks.”
Gabriel stood at attention and then nodded before turning to leave. Carter realized that he watched him walk away a beat too long, and sensed that Margot had caught him. He didn’t look at her, and instead gestured for them to head back out as well.
Once seated in the Buick for the twenty minutes’ drive towards Blythewood, Margot began recounting her news from New York City. After lighting a cigarette, she said, “First of all, thank God for this air-conditioning, what did we ever do before? So, as I was telling Darren before you came back this afternoon, I had the most interesting meeting with Happy Rockefeller earlier this week. She and I met for lunch at Saks, and she wanted to let me know that Rocky was going to be running for president in ’64.”
“That’s hardly a bombshell,” Carter said. “We’ve assumed that since the 1960 election.”
“Yes, well, apparently he’s already looking at his strategy for beating Goldwater in the primaries, and wants to blunt Strom’s influence over the Southern Republicans by using you as his proxy throughout the South and border states.”
“Really?”
“She strongly suggested that you should come up to Manhattan sometime in July, and meet with Rocky. I, of course, said that was a marvelous idea, and would talk with you about it.”
Darren turned from the front seat, and said, “At the very least, it will continue to raise your visibility outside of South Carolina if you campaign for Rockefeller.”
“Exactly,” Margot said. “And need I remind you, that we have Strom’s word that he won’t switch parties and become a Republican until next year, at which time things will be complicated for us.”
“I really don’t want to get involved in national politics. I have more than enough on my plate here in South Carolina.”
“I understand, but this is an investment in the future. You need allies wherever you can find them, particularly in your future tangles with Strom. He says he won’t get involved in state politics, but do you really believe him?”
“So far he’s been very gracious with me,” Carter said. “He wants me to meet with Goldwater in Washington this summer.”
“All well and good,” Margot said. “But your future is with the liberals, and Rocky is the most high-profile liberal Republican in the country, and if he were to win the nomination, a natural balance for vice-president would be a certain, young, charismatic, Southerner.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Carter cautioned. “I don’t want to have any distractions from the big tasks at hand, this deliberative caucus first and foremost. Then after that, we need to figure out our legislative strategy for the budget bill coming this fall. Our latest headcount in the House is what, Darren, forty-four?”
“That’s correct, with another ten uncommitted.”
“So we still need to wrangle those ten and flip another nine to get a majority, if we get our version of the bill out of the House budget committee. I want us to focus on that committee next, not on trips around the country speaking for Rockefeller.”
Margot turned and looked out of the window, saying nothing. Carter knew that he had awakened the wasp’s nest that was Margot’s stubborn persistence in pursuit of her goals. It had been an ongoing series of skirmishes since he’d been elected; each month brought a new small conflict—a proposal by Margot to come to Manhattan for a photo pictorial in Look magazine, or to appear as a guest on the new The Jack Paar Program, or to come to Washington to meet with key politicians. Each time there was a brief volley of tactical shots between them, and sometimes he won, while other times she did. It never got personal, but there was a growing tension as to what was the ultimate goal. Initially, it had been to become governor, but since his election, the range of possibilities had grown for her. She viewed it as her role to pull him along towards this new frontier, whereas he wanted to stay in the present.
“I feel that if I get involved in national politics it will provoke Thurmond,” Carter added. “Our gentleman’s agreement was to stay out of Washington politics, and he would stay clear of South Carolina’s politics.”
“You would be acting in your own interests, not out of any maliciousness to the senator,” Margot said.
“We could reach out to the senator and see if it would pose a problem for him,” Darren said.
“I’m not going to ask Thurmond for permission to support Rocky,” Carter said. “I’m perfectly capable of making my own decision, I just want to make sure it doesn’t create problems for us with our agenda here.”
Margot stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, then said, “I don’t disagree with that. But let’s carve out some space for you to meet with Rocky this summer, whether in Manhattan or elsewhere. Then you will have more information, and we can make a proper decision.”
She looked at Carter who was focused on the horizon out the car window.
“Remember when we started on this path almost ten years ago,” she continued. “We are building an image for you, an epic myth that will inspire people. This weekend is a continuation of that process, creating a moment that is emblematic of you—serious, regal, in pursuit of justice. These people, coming from all over the state, will sense that they are making history, in a sacred place that has a shameful past, but which can redeem itself if they believe in a better future.”
Carter nodded.
“I understand that you want to continue to build my image, to raise my profile outside of South Carolina,” he said. “There is just so much to do here though, Margot. There are so many obstacles to getting The Good Life agenda moving through the legislative process. We always knew it wouldn’t be easy, but getting it through the House, even by a hair’s breath, would be the easiest part. The Senate is going to be infinitely more difficult. I need to keep pushing this forward, even if it seems insurmountable, because that is what these people who elected me want me to do. The Negroes, the poor, the young, they all might be coming from a different place and different needs, but they all expect me to work and to fight for my agenda, not to be flying up to New York City and sitting next to Jack Paar on the television. But I will do it. I’ll fly up in July, and you can pack as much as you can schedule for me to do while I’m there, but after that, I need to stay here. I need to bang some heads. I need to charm. I need to find compromise if needed. Just give me some space to do that down here, and I’ll let you continue to work your network up there.”
She nodded.
“Okay, sounds good,” she said.
Soon they were rounding the curved driveway to the clubhouse of the Columbia Country Club, and as they approached, Carter saw that the doorman, a Negro, recognized him and had a large grin on his face. Shelby got out of the car and opened the door for Margot, who exited and was followed by Carter.
“Sir, I just wanted to thank-you in person for all that you are trying to do,” the doorman said.
“Why thank-you, that’s very kind,” Carter replied.
“I’ve seen you having lunch sometimes at Smokin’ Joes, and I knew you was a good man.” He then reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small sheet of paper, and slipped it into Carter’s suit pocket.
Carter shook his hand, and thanked him again as they walked into the clubhouse towards the dining room.
“What was that?” Darren asked.
Carter pulled out the note and took a quick look at it, then handed it to Darren.
“Anytime someone sees a Whites Only or Coloreds or Negroes Only sign, I told Bradford to have someone let me know, and slip me a note. But sometimes it is just a simple thank-you or a request for help. I get them a lot.”
“So, the note said Moe’s Piggie Park,” Darren said. “I take that it is still denying service, despite your televised address.”
“Yep,” Carter said, as he greeted the hostess at the dining room.
After his inauguration as governor in January, Carter had addressed the state on live television. In his speech he said that the days of segregation were now past and that he would be convening a citizens’ caucus, the deliberative democracy he was now about to bring to fruition. He’d closed his brief remarks with the coda, “While we work together to find our way forward in an integrated society, as a measure of good faith I expect that all overt signs of segregation to be removed from all premises, public and private.”
Once they sat down at their corner booth, Carter continued. “At least there are no Whites Only placards here anymore. You couldn’t have said that a year ago. But whether any Negro could get accepted to this club and pay the membership dues, that’s going to be the true test. We’ll see. In the meantime, Darren, can you have a meeting set up between Mr. Maurice Berringer and me for next week?”
The next day Carter came to the State House following a fitful evening, unable to fall asleep, and then when he did only sleeping sporadically, nervous about the coming deliberative caucus meeting, but also thinking about Gabriel. He knew he shouldn’t go any further in the gentle flirtation he pursued with the virile cadet, and yet his mind bounced from speculation as to what Gabriel thought, to wondering if he needed to play a more forceful role in the Saturday session of the caucus, to if Gabriel was aware of Carter’s interest or just placating his authority, to not sure if the management of the hotel hosting the invitees had communicated the expectations of the Governor’s Office to the entire hotel staff. He finally rose from bed after midnight and walked down to the pool, and dove in, naked, and swam for twenty minutes to cleanse his mind, and empty his stress. Sometime after two he was back in bed, and was asleep when his alarm went off at 6:30. He slept in the car on the way to Columbia, something he seldom did, and then walked into the office.
His heart flickered when he saw that Gabriel wasn’t in his usual post at the front desk. He scanned the area and was relieved when he saw that he was in Darren’s office giving him some paperwork. Darren saw him as he passed, and soon was in Carter’s room.
“I’m going to need frequent infusions of coffee today, I’m afraid,” Carter said as he sat behind his desk. “I barely slept last night.”
“Cadet Sawyers,” Darren called over his shoulder. “Could you have some coffee brought up from the commissary for the governor, please.”
The idea of Gabriel coming in on a regular basis with warm cups of coffee changed his mood. As he and Darren ran through the final details for the weekend, his spirits revived, and Carter felt better about the preparations. About Gabriel, however, he still had the perilous feeling that he was in flight and diving, then soaring again, and then plunging.
A midday lunch had been scheduled with the pastoral staff at First Baptist, so Carter left the office a little before noon, accompanied, as always, by Gabriel. As soon as they left the office door and were in the expansive lobby of the State House, Carter asked, “How are you doing?’
“Sir?”
“How are you doing today? It’s almost the end of your first week working in my office, I imagine you’re ready for your weekend.”
Carter saw Gabriel blush, followed by him saying, “Sir, well, to be honest, I am loving working with you.”
They neared the door letting them outside, and this time Carter jumped ahead and opened it for the two of them. He saw Gabriel smile when he did that, and Carter then said under his breath, “Better not tell your cadet major I did that, or I’ll get you in trouble.”
“Your secret is safe with me, sir.”
Carter felt his heart flutter.
“Sir, I’m not invited to participate in the deliberative meeting tomorrow and Sunday. The Summerall Guard platoon is scheduled to be there in their full uniform instead, assisting in the event. But I was wondering. Would it be possible for me to attend, just to watch?”
As they passed the obelisk monument commemorating the Confederate dead, Carter smiled. “Yes, of course, I’d be delighted to know you were there. I’ll let Darren know to contact your cadet major.”
That evening Carter had no problem falling asleep. He dreamt many a dream, and woke rested, ready to conquer the day, to seize this moment and lead these willing citizens in their desire to make history. When Shelby finally pulled up in front of the brick, four-columned Greek Revival church on Hampton Street, he saw that hundreds of people had assembled to watch the spectacle. The press had been sequestered across the street, and once he descended from the Continental, the crowd let out a roar of applause and cheers. He heard the blast of the church organ blaring from the open doors of the sanctuary, and the half dozen Summerall Guards, dressed in their finest descended and accompanied him as he strode into the sanctuary. The invited attendees, formerly seated in their pews, rose and turned to see him march down the center aisle and up the steps to join the senior pastor at the podium.
As he turned to face this civic congregation, and assembled guests and dignitaries, with the organ ringing in his ears, he mustered the nerve, the self-possession, to project confidence to everyone that this was the time to sever the poisonous tentacles of the past, and move forward in equanimity, in grace, in hope for a more just future. He stood there, chin up as Margot constantly reminded him, and scanned the crowd. His eyes shot up to the upper balcony, where on the front row of the left wing, he saw Gabriel, and he grinned. Gabriel immediately smiled back, his slight gap in his teeth visible.
Carter soared.
“Please be seated,” the pastor intoned, and with that admonition, the meeting began.
By Sunday evening, the deliberative meeting, the first of its kind ever attempted on such a large scale, adjourned. To Carter’s relief, it had been a resounding success, with seventy-two of the ninety-eight (two had not been able to attend), voting in favor of the final resolution, an unequivocal declaration ending racial segregation, urging reconciliation, and calling for local school choice. In alignment with The Good Life agenda, they also agreed that state funding instead of local funding of public education would ensure equal resources for all students. After thirty minutes standing in front of the press pool answering their questions, Carter smiled and waved, thanking the journalists, and ducked into his waiting car, seated next to a beaming Margot.
“Let’s go celebrate!” she said.
“I’m exhilarated and exhausted at the same time,” he said.
“Where should we go?” Shelby asked.
“I want to go home to Galanos and have some champagne in the pool.”
“Much deserved,” Shelby said as he turned south onto Main Street, headed towards Aiken, and Galanos.
“Good thing I packed an overnight bag,” Margot said. “Always prepared...”
“Just like a Boy Scout,” Carter joked.
“Oh, honey. I think we’re both masters in that department,” she said.
The following Monday had been given as a day off to the entire staff of the governor’s office due to all of the extra work they had contributed towards the two-day event. Carter and Margot spent the day at Galanos relaxing. They tried not to talk about work, about the politics facing Carter and his program once the autumn arrived and the General Assembly was back in session, or about the gravitational pull of national politics as the 1964 presidential campaign approached, instead Carter asked Margot about her life back in Manhattan, and how she felt back among her people as she called the various artists, writers, and actors with whom she socialized.
“Are you dating anyone?” Carter asked after finishing the last of his scrambled eggs and toast.
She poured herself a bit more of the coffee and then said, “Define dating.”
He laughed, and said, “Okay, are you seeing someone on a regular basis with whom you have romantic feelings?”
“Well, I am having quite a bit of sex, darling. But I wouldn’t say it was particularly romantic. I do have a couple of gentlemen suitors who are clearly infatuated with me, which is always nice. One of them is particularly interesting, he works as the cultural attaché at the Italian consulate.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
By midday they were over at the Ridge manor playing canasta with Idella and Mrs. Kneece in the kitchen, where the air-conditioning was turned on. The rest of the house was in various states of renovation since Carter had contracted with a local company to install centralized air-conditioning (and heating) for the large old estate, temporarily dislocating his brother, Carlton, and his family from their rooms into the guest rooms in Idella’s wing of the mansion. The installation was nearly complete, and was a frequent topic of conversation for all of the resident Ridges. As per usual, Margot regaled Idella with her stories of celebrity sightings and interactions in New York City as they played cards and sipped iced tea.
“I miss your special weekends down here at Galanos,” Idella said as she reshuffled the deck for the next game. “The entire town was gossiping about the comings and goings back when y’all had those gala evenings. You should do them again sometime!”
“It’s more difficult now to organize since Carter became governor,” Margot said.
“I’m not saying to do it for him, I want you to do it for me!” Idella teased.
“Momma, President Kennedy was just here three months ago! Surely that is enough for this year!”
“Well, he didn’t come with Jackie, so it doesn’t quite count,” Idella said, starting to deal the cards around the table.
“Now we know that it was because she is pregnant,” Mrs. Kneece said, arranging her dealt cards.
“They do make a lovely family, that’s for sure,” Idella said.
She put down her cards and looked at Carter, about to say something, then stopped. He caught her eye, and subtly shook his head no, as if he knew what she was about to say. Margot grinned, and then after picking the top card from the remaining deck said, “Shall we?”
Creeping into his thoughts throughout the day were shadows of Gabriel, random speculation as to what he was doing with his day off, who were his friends among the other cadets, where he went when he wasn’t at work at the barracks of the Governor’s Mansion. Like building a meld with each successive card, the accumulation of idle musings regarding Gabriel created a partial story for Carter that added new dimensions to this enigmatic youth.
In one scenario, Gabriel was a young innocent, having had no prior physical contact with another man, but who secretly desired to be led and guided into the mysteries of masculine love by an older erastes. In a subsequent musing, Carter wondered if perhaps Gabriel was already very well-versed as a lover, having many covert carnal adventures among the other cadets both at school and the barracks. The range between each extreme lent further fantasies to him, with each card played.
The next day, after dropping Margot off at the Governor’s Mansion, Carter returned to work in the State House, where upon walking towards the lobby, everyone on his staff greeted him with applause, congratulating him for the success of the deliberative caucus. He acknowledged their acclaim, and scanned the crowd to find Gabriel, clapping and cheering the loudest.
“Thank-you all,” Carter said, raising his hands a bit to calm them. “It was truly a team effort, and we should all be proud that we are turning the page to a brighter, more just, South Carolina.”
After shaking their hands, he retired to his office, where soon Darren arrived with the day’s agenda. At the top of the list was a meeting with the apparently racist owner of a local restaurant, the subject of the note from the doorman at the country club. Carter frowned, not enjoying the role he was about to play, but knowing it was necessary.
“Mr. Berringer,” Carter said later, once the proprietor was ushered into the office, “I understand you own a restaurant here in the western part of town?”
Carter didn’t stand, nor did he greet the visitor with a handshake. He barely looked up from the papers on his desk he pretended to be reading.
“Yes sir,” Mr. Berringer replied. “Plus another couple down in Orangeburg and thereabouts, why do you ask?”
Carter picked up a paper and appeared to be reading from it. “Apparently you are denying service to our Negro citizens, I’m told.”
He stopped and looked him in the eyes for the first time.
“If that is the case, Mr. Berringer, you need to explain yourself, because this will not be tolerated anymore in my state.”
“Excuse me, sir, but your state? I have every right to conduct my business as I see fit, and as it relates to the nigras.”
“Yes, my state. The people of South Carolina elected me governor, and as such, I am here to ensure that every person in this state has equal access to everything, whether it is a quality education, a well-paid job, or even a plate of barbeque from your restaurant. You no longer have the right to deny service to anyone because of the color of their skin.”
“I didn’t come here to be lectured to, Mr. Ridge.”
“No, I suspect you didn’t. But you need to understand that today was your first and only warning from me. If I hear that any of your staff or restaurants continues to discriminate against the Negroes, I will have the county health inspectors arrive in force for a very intensive inquiry of the sanitary conditions of your kitchens, your storerooms, and your facilities. I suspect that they may even need to have you close down for several days, or even weeks, if they find any irregularities.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
“I have the right to run my business the way I want. It’s a free country. The nigras can order at the window, but they can’t come inside.”
Carter shook his head, and then stood, leaning over his desk.
“You don’t seem to be listening, Mr. Berringer. Your day has ended. The era of Jim Crow is over. If you continue, I will make an example of you. Sure, you will become a hero for the thirty percent of South Carolinians who still think that your kind of pernicious racism should not only be tolerated, but be celebrated, yet for the overwhelming majority of us, you are an embarrassment, a pimple that needs to be excised.”
“Are you finished with your rant?”
“Oh, I’m just beginning. One day soon, very soon, your name will become synonymous with the silly, childish backward nostalgia that has no place any longer in this state. You and your business, or what used to be your business, I should say, will be remembered, if at all, for the kind of petty hatred that will be relegated to history. So, Mr. Berringer, as you leave here, know that I am not messing around.”
Berringer stood there for a moment, fuming.
“You realize what you’re doing, Mr. Ridge, don’t you? If you go after me, you’re going after some of my very powerful friends, folks like Senator Thompkins, and —”
“I know Mr. Thompkins, yes, I know all about him. I believe I just beat him, and pretty badly, this past election. I know all of your powerful friends, and they all know me. It’s a small state, sir. So whatever it is you are thinking in that Neanderthal brain of yours, let it go. The end result will always be the same. You. Will. Lose.”
With that final point, Carter stood straight and pushed his shoulders back.
“I believe you can find the way out on your own, Mr. Berringer. Good day.”