Chapter Nineteen
"Echoes"
New York – 1950's
The door to the suite of the midtown hotel opened and the bellhop ushered an older, heavyset man into the room. There was a strange calm about him as he just smiled and handed the bellhop a twenty.
"If there's anything else, Mr. Brown, just ask," the bellhop said.
"A bottle of your finest would do nicely," Hecky Brown replied. He peeled off another twenty and held it out to the bellhop with a wink. When the younger man reached for it, the man flicked it away from his grasp with a smile.
"When you bring it back," Hecky said.
"I'll have it here right away, sir."
Hecky nodded and turned away as the bellhop left. Once the younger man was gone, Hecky took a deep breath and looked around him. It had been too long since he'd been in a room like this. It seemed like only yesterday he'd been one of the top comedians in the business and one of the stars of a hit show on the rapidly growing new medium of television. Life had been so sweet. All those years of struggles and hardships had finally paid off.
There was a knock on the door. Hecky went over and opened it. The bellhop was back and he pushed in a cart. A bottle of champagne sat wrapped in a bucket along with two glasses. Hecky smiled at the sight.
"I got it here as fast as I could, Mr. Brown."
"Well done, young man, well done."
Hecky fished out the twenty and added another to it. He slipped them into the breast pocket of the bellhop.
"Thank you, Mr. Brown and if there's anything else you need," the bellhop offered.
"No, this will be it," Hecky replied.
"Well, if you change your mind, just call," The bellhop said. "Have a pleasant stay."
"Thank you."
The bellhop smiled again and left the room. Hecky loosened his tie and opened the top two buttons on his shirt. He slowly moved over and opened the window. There was a light rain falling and he could hear the sound of the traffic far below. Hecky gazed out at all the bright lights of Broadway. His name used to be up there with the greats, but no more.
Turning away from the window he smiled as he saw the champagne bottle waiting. Where are my manners, I shouldn't keep you waiting, Hecky chuckled to himself. He rolled the bottle back and forth in the ice, savoring the anticipation for a few moments. With a flourish, he popped the cork and poured himself a glass. Closing his eyes, he tasted the bubbly and smiled. This is how it should be, he thought.
A second glass followed the first rather quickly. He knew no one would disturb him; they'd all stopped calling long ago. They wouldn't even take his calls anymore. He was on the list. Once you're on the list, all those friends you'd made and helped over the years seem to vanish.
The tragic irony of it wasn't lost on Hecky that all this nonsense was over the fact he marched in a parade so he could hit on a sexy girl with a great body. What was her name? Margaret? Muriel? She had been a fun weekend that was for sure, Hecky remembered. What a body and those cans, fantastic.
When his producer told him to go to their office, Hecky hadn't even realized that was what it was all about. As soon as Hecky sat down the man started right in with the accusations, in a cold, matter of fact way. He'd tried to tell him about the sexy girl, but the man Hennessey just sat there with disgusted look on his thin mustached face. The very thought that Hecky Brown was a radical and a communist was silly. He was a borsch belt comedian, that told mother in law jokes. He wasn't political by any stretch of the imagination. He voted for Eisenhower, for God sake, Hecky told him.
Hennessey said if he wasn't a radical then he shouldn't mind telling who else was in the parade. It was at that moment Hecky knew what this was all about. They wanted him to inform on others. They wanted him to turn on dear, sweet Muriel. She was a just a seamstress protesting for better hours and pay, not some threat to the country. It had been five years; Hecky said he didn't remember her name.
Hennessey continued asking who else was in the parade? Hecky tried to tell him he was only there for the girl with the hot body, but Hennessey pressed him. Surely he must have noticed some of the people at the parade? Hecky said he didn't. Hennessey wasn't happy.
Quickly his focus turned to others in show business. How about Dashiell Hammett, Dorothy Parker, Orson Welles, Zero Mostel, Pete Seeger, Stella Adler, Uta Hagen, even Gypsy Rose Lee? Hennessey wanted to know about them. Hecky said he hadn't seen any of them at the parade, but Hennessey asked if he'd heard any rumors or gossip about them? Had they ever expressed opinions about the Red Fascists and their sympathizers? Had he seen them sign any letters in support of ending the embargo against the Loyalist Spanish Government or for the American Committee for Yugoslav Relief?
Hecky told him he didn't know about those things, but Hennessey pressed harder. What rumors had he heard? If he had to guess whom would he think might have those sorts of leanings in his industry? Hecky told him he really didn't know, which was the truth. Hennessey continued for another twenty minutes before dismissing Hecky.
Hecky was shaking as he left the office. He stopped at the nearest bar and had several drinks before he finally calmed down. That's when the fear set in. Hecky, like everyone in the industry, knew about what was happening in Washington. McCarthy and the House Committee on Un-American Activities had been looking into Communist influences in the entertainment industry. Everyone had heard of the Hollywood Ten. To make matters worse, Red Channels: The Report of Communist Influence in Radio and Television soon followed. Blacklisted, that's what happened if your name appeared in Red Channels. The networks were scared of even the hint of scandal. Advertisers and viewers would simply melt away if the network was linked with communism.
They weren't even a government agency, but their little report ruined lives. Hecky realized he'd just been interviewed at their offices. He was in deep, deep trouble. Hecky rushed back to the studio, desperate to speak to his producer. He'd sent him there, so he would know what to do.
The producer was waiting for Hecky when he arrived. He had the head of the network legal department with him. Hennessey had called and wasn't satisfied. Hecky was in a panic as he asked what could he do or say to make it right. The network's lawyer told him he needed to write a letter, confessing everything and renouncing in the strongest language, communism and radicals in general. Hecky should reaffirm his belief in America and democracy. Hecky agreed immediately and promised to write the letter that very evening.
The lawyer told him that he also needed to name names. Hecky pleaded with them, telling them he didn't know anything about the people Hennessey was after. I'm just a comic, Hecky said. The lawyer asked if he had met any of them, Dashiell Hammett for instance? Hecky said yes, he'd seen him at a few parties, but they'd never really spoken to each other.
Well, give Hennessey Hammett's name, the producer offered; he's already blacklisted, anyway. It will show that you're cooperating, the lawyer added. Here's a list of names of people already blacklisted, just pick a few and say you overheard them making leftist statements.
Hecky went home that night to write the letter they wanted. He admitted everything and renounced the communist party and reaffirmed his love of America. When it came time to write the names of others, the pen seemed to stop just about the paper. His eyes moved slowly over the list they'd given him.
There were so many names, almost a hundred and fifty.
Hecky had only really met a few of them and certainly didn't know anything about their political beliefs. Hammett was already in jail for refusing to name names. Now it was Hecky's turn to make a choice. The threat while implied was clear, name names or lose his ability to make a living. Tears welled up in Hecky's eyes as he realized he couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to rat out people just because they voiced their opinion. He couldn't lie and slander others to save his own skin. He put the pen down and sealed the letter. It would have to be enough, he told himself.
A week later the producer informed him that his character had been written out of the show. The excuse was they were going in a new direction, but Hecky knew the truth. He tried to find work at the clubs he'd always worked at. Many of them owed him favors, but suddenly no one was returning his calls.
In what seemed like a blink of an eye, Hecky's career in show business was over.
Hecky poured the last of the champagne into his glass and slowly drank remembering the good times.
The sickening thud followed by screams and screeching tires reach all the way up to the twentieth floor and an open window. A cool breeze gently moved the curtains. The champagne bottle lay on the floor. The room was empty.
The Watchtower
Karen thought she was prepared for the reaction when she arrived at the tower. It was the late shift, so there weren't that many members still around. The knowing looks and suggestive remarks she let slide. As she made her way through the station, she began to notice something different, almost uneasiness. This she wasn't prepared for. The tension was palpable. As she entered the cafeteria, everyone suddenly went quiet. Karen got herself a cup of coffee and started towards the tables. No one met her eye and they even seemed relieved when she didn't sit at their table.
She took an empty table in the back and wondered what was going on. Pretending not to be paying attention to the others, she gazed out the window. Slowly she let her hearing reach out and listen to what people were saying. There were the usual graphic descriptions of her anatomy and some snarky comments about her and Clark, but nothing to explain the uneasiness. Then she heard it. It was only a whisper, but the words were plain.
"They're both aliens after all, who knows what that means them being together."
"More important, what will it mean for the League. Now, Shhh, she'll hear you."
Karen nearly gasped in shock. Is that what this was about? They were afraid of her and Clark being together? In all her time as a member no one had ever said anything about her being an alien before. Did her dating Clark change all that? Why were they suddenly a threat?
She spent the next half hour pondering this. It suddenly dawned on her that in all the time she'd been on the station, no one had spoken to her. They were distancing themselves from her. While she wouldn't classify most of the members on the station as close friends, they had always been on friendly terms. The change was so noticeable. When she looked at people they would turn away almost ashamed at doing it, but doing it anyway.
The sense of isolation was almost overwhelming. Perhaps sensing this, Jonn called with a mission for her. It was a solo mission and not a top priority, but Karen was just happy to get off the station. She could hear the relief from all over the station as she stepped up on the transporter.
She finished the mission and contacted Jonn. She told him if there wasn't anything urgent, she was going to call it a night. He thanked her and said he would let her know if anything came up.
Flying back to New York, Karen couldn't shake the unsettling feeling from the station. She was so deep in thought; she almost didn't hear her name being called. Stopping in midair, she felt herself smile as she saw him hovering above her. He looked glorious, like an angel to her. In the next moment she was in his arms.
New York
Harry North was an unhappy man. He dreamed of being a famous photographer when he was young, but reality had shot that idea down. The truth was Harry wasn't very good. He had no imagination or talent, only a desire. The disappointment turned to envy and then hatred of those better than him.
He eked out a living selling paparazzi photos of celebrities to the trashy scandal rags and websites. He was one of those people that hung out at restaurants and clubs hoping to get an embarrassing photo that would sell. He wasn't above shouting a nasty insult or two to get a reaction. Harry got a strange satisfaction out of pissing celebrities off. He told himself they were no better than him, they'd just got a lucky break.
Tonight was Harry's lucky break.
After being forced to vacate his usual haunts by the police, he was finally heading home, his camera with an unused memory card. What made him glance up at the sky, he wasn't sure. All his countless hours of stalking celebrities paid off, as his camera instantly came up and snapped a picture. He only got one chance. They were gone before he could take another.
As he checked his camera to see if he'd gotten what he thought, a smile spread across Harry's face. There it was, the picture that would make him rich and famous. Superman and Power Girl in each other's arms and they were kissing.
New York – 1950's
The dream of the young lovers came back to Wesley Dodds. It had been years since he'd had one, but it was just as vivid as the first time. The sense of fear was palpable all around them. He awoke in a cold sweat knowing it was a warning. Of what, Wesley didn't know. It was useless trying to get back to sleep, so he dragged himself out of bed to meet the new day.
The morning paper informed Wesley of the news that Hershel 'Hecky Brown' Brownstein was dead. The report said it was an accident, but that was probably just for the family's sake. Grown men don't just accidently fall out of twentieth story windows. After a few calls to well placed sources, Wesley found out it was a suicide.
He'd been a theater fan and music lover for years, so Wesley had met Hecky at some of the smaller clubs of Harlem in the thirties. Hecky was just a struggling comedian, but you could already tell he would make it. He had one of those natural outgoing personalities that seemed to draw people to him. Their shared love of jazz made them friends. They only saw each other now and then, but Hecky never failed to stop and talk. It had been a couple of years now, but Wesley was deeply saddened by the news. It felt wrong, somehow. The Hecky Brown he remembered didn't fit the profile of a suicide. He had such gusto for living it was hard reconciling the two.
The funeral was schedule for the afternoon and Wesley would attend to pay his respects. In the intervening hours he tried to piece together what had happened.
He was semi-retired from his other life, realizing it was a younger man's game, but he still kept a hand in it. The more he learned about what had happened the deeper his sadness grew. The Red Scare seemed to cut through every level of society. Political fortunes rose and fell because of it. People were scared.
Wesley knew the threat of communism was real, but somehow he found it hard to imagine lovable Hecky Brown the comedian was a major cog in the Red Menace. It just seemed he'd been swept up in the current climate. Still that had to be more to it for Hecky to take that drastic a step.
The cold rain hadn't let up from the previous night. Black umbrellas formed a circle around the grave, protecting the mourners. It was a small gathering, much smaller than Wesley expected. It was mostly family, but here and there, Wesley saw some familiar faces. Absently he wondered where all those friends and people Hecky had helped over the years were?
Sadness was the prevailing feeling, but there were others, Wesley realized. Fear seemed to tinge the edges of all of it. As he looked into the eyes of some of the mourners, he became aware of another emotion, shame. It only deepened his desire to understand what happened.
The final words were said and then one by one the mourners picked up the shovel and filled the grave with three shovelfuls each, as was the tradition. Wesley made his way over to the family to offer his condolences. He noticed the others seemed to be slipping away, taking the side exits as if they didn't want to be seen. The whole thing felt almost surreal to Wesley.
As he exited the graveyard he caught his first sight of them. The standard black sedans and suits spoke of government, but something was off. Wesley realized they were taking pictures of everyone at the funeral, himself included. Now his interested was peaked and he knew he had to get to the bottom of this.
It took several days, but slowly the pieces began to come together. The men photographing the funeral turned out to be worked for something called American Business Consultants Inc. It was a for profit-organization staffed by a group of former FBI agents which issued a newsletter called Counterattack. Its self-declared purpose was to "expose the most important aspects of Communist activity in America each week."
The more Wesley dug into it, the more alarmed he became. Under the banner of exposing communists in the entertainment industry, the group issued something called Red Channels, which named names of those suspected of radical leanings. Both the television and radio networks used this pamphlet. They were too afraid not to, as the perceived threat of being sympathetic to communists could ruin them.
Wesley managed to get his hands on a copy and was shocked by it. Red Channels provides little or no evidence for its assertions that Communists "dominate" American television and radio. Blind items from newspapers, rumors and gossip seemed to be their main substantiation.
It was during this, that the name Hennessey first came to Wesley's attention. It seemed Hecky wasn't the first person Hennessey had ruined. He had been a career FBI man, never rising above mid-manager. There were rumblings of discontent over being passed over for jobs, but nothing specific. From all outward appearances, he was a competent agent but nothing remarkable.
It was after Hennessey left the Bureau and joined American Business Consultants that he made a name for himself. It seemed his zeal to uncover communists was unrivaled. The more Wesley looked into him it became apparent that Hennessey and his whole group relished their newfound power. In the current climate of fear, they both stoked it and profited from it.
Careers were ruined and lives lost, but legally their hands were clean. It was all hints and innuendos designed to keep the networks in a constant state of fear, while paying the Consultants handsomely for their work. The most frustrating thing for Wesley was there was nothing legally he or anyone else could do to stop them. They would go on ruining lives like Hecky and profiting from it.
Wesley continued to read through the information and a rage began to build inside him. He prided himself on being even keeled, moderate in all things. Somehow this felt different. A murder might devastate a family and a community for years, but what these men were doing ran deeper. They were undermining the very fabric of the society. Callously they exploited the fears of everyone for profit and wrapped it in the name of patriotism.
A message needed to be sent. Profiting on the fear of others has a nasty way of coming home to roost. If the authorities couldn't do anything about this, then perhaps someone less bound by the rules could.
New York – Offices of American Business Consultants Inc.
It was late, as Edward Hennessey sat at his desk going over pictures from Hecky's funeral. His staff had already identified everyone in attendance. Most of them were relatives or minor actors on the fringes of show business. They weren't worth the Consultants time. One new face caught Hennessey's interested. The report said his name was Wesley Dodds, a wealthy businessman and importer.
Hennessey sensed a new opportunity. The communist menace wasn't limited to just the entertainment industry. Businesses and corporations, both large and small, were prime targets for subversives. The firm could do the same thing it did for the networks for industry. It would put them in the big leagues and more importantly for Hennessey it would enable him to expose more of the subversives that were ruining this country.
He'd already opened a file on this Wesley Dodds. The man was very private, but what he'd been able to learn concerned him. It seemed Mr. Dodds spent many years in the Orient, another hotbed for communists. Yes, Hennessey thought, our campaign needs to expand and root out every communist, subversive, malcontent and their left leaning brothers.
The new campaign would start with one, Wesley Dodds.
Hennessey sat back with a satisfied smile on his face. He knew it was late and the office was empty, but he wasn't concerned.
Then the light on his desk went out. It caught him by surprised and took him a few moments to adjust to the darkness. The sound of his office window opening put him on edge. He could just make out a figure in the room with him.
"I know you're here and I warn you I'm armed," Hennessey announced.
"Violence isn't your style," a strange voice replied. "Too messy. You prefer to keep your hands clean, don't you, Hennessey?"
"Who are you?"
"The voice of those that no longer have a voice," the stranger replied.
Hennessey glanced at the door, but wasn't sure he could make it before the stranger got to him. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow, as the first tremors of fear went down his spine.
"What-What do you want?"
"The same thing you want, fear," the stranger whispered. The sound of the rain and the traffic far below filtered in through the window. On the verge of panic, Hennessey saw the figured move and made a mad lunge at him. The stranger easily countered his attack and wrenched his arm painfully behind his back. Hennessey found himself powerless to break the hold.
"I'm former FBI and well known, you won't get away with this," Hennessey gasped. "Important people depended on me!"
The stranger slowly started to move Hennessey towards the open window.
"Well know, important, respected, yet it can all vanish in a instant," he whispered. "You know what that's like, don't you?"
"I-I don't know-know what you mean?"
"Yes, you do," the stranger replied. He continued to slowly move Hennessey towards the open window.
"It's happened right here in this office, hasn't it? How many lives have you ruined sitting right there behind your desk?"
"I was only doing my job," Hennessey said in defense of himself. His eyes were focused on the open window as it got closer and closer.
"Oh, yes, your job, right," the stranger chuckled. "What is your job again?"
"Fight-Fighting the communist menace!"
"No it isn't," the stranger replied. "Your job is fear. This whole company traffics in fear."
"We provide a valuable service for out clients," Hennessey justified.
"No, you provide fear and ruin lives to make a profit off it."
"That's not true!"
"Tell that to Hecky Brown," the stranger roared. He pushed Hennessey's head out the window, holding him so he was looking down at the busy street far below.
"Hecky Brown had his chance to cooperate!" Hennessey screamed, panic filling his whole body. "He got what he deserved! He thought he was better than everyone else!"
"Better than you, don't you mean?"
"He killed himself, I had nothing to do with it!"
"Lies!" The stranger roared in anger. "Lies will not be tolerated tonight!"
Hennessey screamed as the stranger pushed more of his body out the window. His whole upper half was outside now.
"Can you imagine what Hecky was feeling? The end that you forced on him was right in front of his face, just like it is yours."
"Don't kill me, please," Hennessey begged.
"Hecky begged you, didn't he? What was your response?"
Hennessey began to weep.
"Killing me won't change anything," he sobbed. "Someone else will take my place! This office will continue with its work! They'll keep hunting subversives to our way of life. Killing me will change nothing!"
The stranger pulled Hennessey back inside and tossed him to the floor. He scrambled back away from the window until he was against his desk.
"I'm not going to kill you, although you deserve it," the stranger said. "You and all those like you that profit on fear."
"The threat is real," Hennessey replied. "Communists and subversives pose a danger to our very way of life! I've done nothing wrong, except fight for my country!"
"And Hecky Brown? What great crime did he commit to deserve what you did to him?"
"America is too important to let anything happen to it, even if sacrifices have to be made."
"You'd trample every right and all the time claim it was to defend the country. You'd play on everyone's fears to gain power and profit,' he stranger said with contempt.
"I don't care what you say," Hennessey acidly replied. "You haven't changed anything!"
"Oh, that's where you're wrong," the stranger said. He moved closer and Hennessey gasped in horror. The stranger didn't look human in the dim light, but something out of a nightmare.
"Now you know what that fear feels like. Every time you pick up the phone or a pen to ruin someone else's life, it will come back to you. You can't escape it even in your sleep, because I'll be there."
"I'm The Sandman."