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Father and Son

FINN SAT IN HIS father’s study on Hancock Street, glum like a scolded child.

“Finn, what were you thinking?” Earl said.

“I was thinking I needed the money.”

“This isn’t the worst of it,” Earl said. “The DA wants to make an example of you three, even of you, who has no prior infractions! You know they’re bearing down on the booze trade harder than ever.”

“Ironic, since people need work more than ever,” Finn said.

“Not illegal work.”

“Any work they can get.”

“Is this your plan for life now?”

“No, Father. It’s my plan for November.”

“Charges of bootlegging, and right before Christmas. Finn, you’re a banker!”

Finn couldn’t look at his father in his shame and his anger.

“You have so much to be thankful for,” Earl went on. “Why would you want to throw it all away?”

Finn slumped in a chair next to the sofa where his father sat.

“Say something.”

“Are you going to help me or not? It’s just a misdemeanor.”

“It’s 250 cases of whisky! They want to fine each of you a hundred dollars per case and give you a week in jail times two fifty.”

“Al Capone is still running loose in Chicago and they want to give me five years in jail?” Finn laughed.

“I’m going to do what I can,” Earl said. “But that’s not—”

“I’m not the only one who needs help. Lionel and Lucas too.”

Earl’s rigid body was disappointed, his limbs downcast. Welcome to the club, Finn wanted to say.

“Did Lucas get you into this mess?”

“No,” Finn said. “I got him into it. I couldn’t go alone, and I asked him and Lionel to come with me. I can’t repay them with prison.”

“Lucas has been courting prison for the better part of a decade.”

“Not because of me.”

Father and son stared at each other.

“It’s not your fault he’s got a record,” Earl said.

“Or yours,” said Finn.

“Mostly drunk and benign,” Earl continued quickly, “but there’ve been fights, some ugly brawls; there’s been stealing. There’s been this too.”

“I know.”

“I’m going to have to stick my neck out,” Earl said. “The DA is not going to be happy with me.” Finn and Earl appraised each other for a pained moment. “Son, you have to consider the whole weight of your importance to your family. It’s not just to overcome the present crisis, which I’m not denying is real and exists. But there’s also the future. It can’t be overlooked.”

“Father, if I don’t deal with my present crisis, there won’t be a future.”

“There won’t be a future as you had once imagined, true.”

“I read that in New York,” Finn said, “eleven hundred men waiting in the soup line ambushed two bakery trucks and made off with their bread. That’s one way to feed your family.”

“Yes, but that way you will only feed them once. What about next week? And the next?”

“That’s for future Finn to worry about,” said Finn.

“Much like your present situation, eh?” When Finn didn’t deny it, his father spoke again. “You didn’t let me finish my earlier point,” Earl said. “Your value to your family is based on three things. One is all the years you’ve already put in. Two is the things you are doing right now. And three is the things you are yet to do, the things you will do in the years to come. Your value to your family, who need you and love you and depend on you, is determined by all these factors. And if you get yourself into trouble that I can’t get you out of and get sent to prison, you will have taken from your family both their present and their future. I’m begging you to consider your role in your life and to refrain from activities that will deprive you of the opportunity for renewal and rebirth.”

“Father, you know that bootlegging and coming to you afterwards are both measures of last resort,” Finn said. “That’s how you know what terrible trouble I’m in. Because I’m here.”

“I know, son,” Earl said. “Last time you came to see me at home, your mother and I had to mortgage our house.”

“I wish that selfless act on your part would have done us more good.”

“It bought you a little time before you had to resort to crime,” Earl said. “That’s a measurable good.”

Finn had nothing to say. Nothing positive, anyway.

“I worry that you didn’t listen to me the last time we spoke about this,” Earl said, “so I’m asking you to please listen to me now. Last October you came merely for my residence. But now you’re coming for my livelihood, Finn. If I don’t help you, you and your friends will face prison. But if I help you, I will damage my career. Defense counsel has filed ten motions today demanding my recusal on all matters of similar crimes, which make up 50 percent of the current cases in my court, and the DA, fearing I’m hurting his chances for convictions, is seconding those motions! I haven’t even asked the DA to drop your charges yet and already, simply by your actions, you are making it difficult, if not impossible, for me to continue my work. Which I need to do to feed my family. Your mother needs to eat, no? Would you like me to join you on these bootlegging runs to Canada? I’m seventy-two, Finn; I don’t think I’ll be of much use.”

Finn could not bring himself to respond.

“Son, listen to me,” Earl said, reaching across and cupping his palm over Finn’s lowered head. “You’ve always been a boy who’s held himself responsible for everything. And I know you feel the weight of the entire catastrophe on your shoulders. I would agree with you if we were the only ones to suffer in last year’s collapse. But since I personally know many families who have been made destitute, bankrupt, broke, and since I’m a man who can read the papers and thus can attest that millions of other families are suffering the same hardships as you, I can’t blame you entirely for what happened. Could you have been more prudent? Maybe. But what you’re doing now is compounding the misery. You might as well rob banks like Dillinger; what would be the difference?”

“Oh, I would in a flash,” said Finn, “but there’s hardly any point. All the banks are bust, too.” He nearly broke down. “I don’t know what to do, Dad,” he said, putting his face into his hands. “I just can’t keep it going.”

“Keep what going?” Earl asked gently, his parental hand on Finn’s back.

“All of it,” Finn said, struggling to his feet. “Any of it.”