SEVEN

John Hofstead was all ready to go. He had packed his suitcase before he had gone into the office and had given his Cadillac a full tank of gas on the way home. He now sat in the blue plush chair next to the entry, wearing his snowmobile suit over his best charcoal gray business suit. As he listened to Martha’s final preparations, with drawers closing and closet doors slamming, he contemplated the weekend to come.

He had designed this weekend to objectively rate the candidates for the presidency, but earlier in the week, as he considered the best way to proceed, he had come to a definite conclusion. He knew who his president would be. All evidence pointed clearly to the best candidate. At first, he considered that, instead of screening his employees, he would use the time to get them used to their new boss. But the more he thought about it, the more he began to consider that announcing his decision would only disappoint the members of the company not selected, and why not get everybody to enjoy themselves on their corporate retreat? Besides, he might change his mind, and, in any event, it just might be enjoyable to see to what lengths they would go to suck up to him. No doubt about it! This had the makings of a great weekend!

“A year from now,” he mused, “I’ll be playing golf in Fort Meyers. Maybe I should even try scuba diving. Heck, I’m not too old to try something new. If that old Jacques Cousteau fellow could do it, I should be able to do it, too. I suppose I’ll miss my snowmobiles, though. Maybe I should have taken my own sled along to the Otter Slide Resort. Nah, as long as they’ve got some for the guests, I might as well try a different sled. I don’t want to go through the trouble of hooking up that trailer anyway. Oh, what is taking that woman so long?”

He called up the stairs: “Marthaaaa. You ready pretty soon?”

Martha, who was having trouble with her hair, yelled down, “Just give me a couple more minutes, John,” and gave the left side of her head a cloud of hair spray. Martha was a beautiful woman. She was sixty-five years old and therefore her beauty was of a different sort than that of the Fergus Falls Flying Falcons homecoming queen. Her hair, once honey blond, had acquired just the right shade of “elderly but respectable” tint that her hairdresser provided. Her complexion, always wonderful as provided by nature, was augmented by the craft of Mary Kay. Her blue eyes were highlighted in such a manner as to bring out not only their beauty but their owner’s personality. She looked good because she took the trouble to do so, and because, in the absence of children, she had always had plenty of time to practice. It was a tradeoff that she would not have willingly made, but she accepted what God had given her. And that, she decided one day while daydreaming during the sermon at the First Norwegian Lutheran Church, was quite a bit.

She was looking forward to this weekend with the same anticipation that a fourteen-year-old has for her last trip to the dentist to have her braces taken off. She seemed to enjoy the company of all of the wives of John’s employees. The key word here was, unfortunately, “seemed.” Martha was such a charming, genuine person that none of them could tell that it was always a chore for her to be gracious to each of them. The maintained perkiness of Faye Janice made her tired. The whining earnestness of Iris nauseated her. She had tolerated Joey Sandberg’s tiresome platitudes for a quarter of a century, and if she heard another word about her semi-lovely daughters again she would scream! An employer can choose his employees, but an employer’s wife had to take what comes with them. She had performed the role of the gracious president’s wife so long and so well that she felt she had earned the right to quit along with the president. She held an imaginary glass of champagne to the mirror and toasted herself with “Here’s to new friends in Florida!”

She couldn’t help but wonder who John had in mind for the new president. It was unusual for him to be so close-mouthed about such matters. Usually he talked over all major decisions with her. This time he had simply announced he was turning over the business to someone else and asked her who she thought it should be. Without a pause Martha had said, “Borghild, of course,” but she didn’t really think John would accept that. Instead of arguing with her, however, he had merely nodded and said, “hmmmmm.”

Downstairs, John was getting warm and was entertaining the idea of taking off his snowmobile suit. Instead, he forgot his discomfort and went on planning for the weekend. “I’m going to act as if they all have a chance. Then, when they have all given me their best pitch, I’ll just bring up my choice in an off-handed manner and see how they react. That’ll tell me a lot right there. I don’t know how Clarence will react if I don’t pick him. I suppose he will be hurt. But he’ll stay with the company. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go. And doggone it, I got to do what’s best for the whole company. And then there’s Pek. Well, I don’t think he really expects to be chosen, but I bet that he thinks he deserves it. And maybe he does. But would I be taking a chance trusting my business to a Finn? The first thing you know he’d get drunk and get in a knife fight. And then where would the business be?

“I suppose the big thing will be how to break the news. I can just see Gary jumping up and down inside his pants. No doubt about it. His innovation in computerizing the business has made a world of difference and he deserves to be rewarded. But, goldarnit, when the other guys joined the company they all added things, too. And would Young Gary provide the harmony that has always been a part of Hofstead Hail? On the other hand, I suppose I will lose him if I don’t pick him as president. I’m not sure I can afford that.

“And then there’s Borghild. Martha sure thinks she could do the job. And Martha is right, as usual. Borghild knows the score and knows how to work with all three of those guys. I wonder if she would even take the job.”

Hofstead reached inside his snowmobile suit and scratched his belly. “So, how do I handle this? Should I get them all together and make a big announcement or should I meet with everybody personally first? I rather like the surprise element, I guess, but in any event, I’m going to keep that to myself and not tell anyone, including Martha.

“Uffda, it’s getting warm in here. Well, if I’m going to be in Florida, I might as well get used to it. Let’s see, when’s the last time I spent more than a week away from Minnesota? My gosh, it was that summer I went to that eight-week actuarial seminar at the University of Iowa. Boy, that was sure some experience!”

And John Hofstead let his mind wander back to the summer of 1971. He and Martha had taken over an apartment on Dubuque Street in Iowa City from a graduate student who was doing research in South America. They had been amazed and amused at the changes that had come over college life since their days at Concordia College. John had graduated in the Class of 1956. He had been just a little ashamed of the fact that he had not been in the service to help the boys in Korea. But in Iowa City he found people plotting how to get out of the draft. He had been genuinely alarmed at what he heard about people doctoring up their urine samples or chopping off a toe, lying on their eye charts and faking deafness. He was disgusted to see atheists trying to get into the seminary just to avoid the draft. Still, he had to admit it was an interesting summer. At noon he’d even gone into the Airliner Bar and maybe even into Joe’s, with its beery smell and the juke box loudly playing Ike and Tina Turner. He never felt at home in a place like that, but it sure fascinated him.

But as he thought about it, a chill permeated his snowmobile suit. He had seen a murderer. He was on his way to the library one night when a side door opened and a man came running out with such blind fury that he had careened right into him. They both fell to the sidewalk and while they were lying in a heap, the ground shook with an explosion the likes of which he had never heard before or since. The man who ran into him frantically tried to get to his feet and they both stumbled again. This time it seemed he looked deeply into John’s face. He had a full beard and hair down to his waist. “A crazy hippy,” John had thought at the time.

After the man had gone, John had picked himself up and watched with growing excitement as the police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances came. It was only the next day, as he read an account of the explosion in the Daily Iowan, that the full significance of what he had seen became apparent. A librarian had been killed in the explosion, and it was presumed to have been a bomb planted by a radical political group. Indeed, a person with long hair and a beard was seen running from the library just before the bomb went off. My God! He had seen a murderer!

Of course, he had reported everything to the local sheriff’s office. “The Johnson County, Iowa, sheriff could sure take a few lessons in manners from Palmer Knutson,” he thought in retrospect. But at the time, what could he really say about the suspect other than that he needed a shave and a haircut, and that described just about everybody in Iowa City in those days. Anyway, they finally figured out who he was even though they never caught the guy. Ever since then, John had told the story that there was a murderer out there who knew that John Hofstead was the one man who could place him at the scene of the crime. Things like that never happened at good old Fergus Falls State University, and they’d never happen in a town where Palmer Knutson was sheriff.

At last Martha was ready, and John helped her into her coat. He just couldn’t help asking, “So, do you think you can get by with this coat for another couple of months and never buy a winter coat again?”

Martha smiled and zipped up John’s snowmobile suit to his chin. “Yes, John,” she smiled. “Come Easter time, this coat is going right to the Goodwill store.”