Chapter 36
May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan March 24, 1938
If any doubts had remained in my mind that Van has truly changed his ways, the past four days would have obliterated them. Like Will Lane when he first returned to New Bedford, he has personally visited every one of the pen pals in Grace's program to offer his thanks for what they have done this past year. From what Grace has told me, it meant a great deal to those brave children to hear how profound the hope and comfort was that their kindness and friendship brought to his comrades.
There was a time when I would have spoken the word comrade with a sneer. I still have no love for the Communist leadership in any country, but many of the rank and file are another matter. I cannot bring myself to look with anything but respect on courageous men who are placing their lives between murderous insanity and all that we, as civilized people, cherish. I pray that the lack of news about the Lincolns and Mac-Paps since Monday isn't, as Van fears, a portent of further disaster.
Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry Mar. 24, 1938
As I write this, Van and his brother are in a back room of the lodge of the New Bedford Chapter of the Fraternal Order of the Eagles playing in the movers and shakers poker game. Of course, when he told me that he had been invited to the weekly meeting of the Eagles, he was shocked to find that I knew what some of the members and the occasional guest got up to afterwards. He was even more shocked to learn that my father was not only a charter member of the New Bedford chapter, but one of the founders of the movers and shakers poker game.
I wasn't surprised to learn that Mr. Cramp, with his old-fashioned ideas of what was suitable for the hearing of respectable young ladies, had told him not to mention the game to me. "Be careful of him. He's sneaky. If he can't persuade you to grant him an interview, I wouldn't put it past him to ask you questions while you're playing and print your answers."
Van smiled. "Maybe he just wants a donation for the Eagles' charity work."
"Most likely both."
"At least he tries to do some good."
"And makes sure that he and his wife get full coverage for it in the Chronicle."
Van was amused. "He wouldn't be the first newspaper owner to use his rag to blow his own horn."
"He isn't all bad," I felt compelled to add. "He and Mrs. Cramp are sincerely glad that you made it back safely."
Van nodded in acknowledgement. Then, he asked half seriously, "Should I be afraid of him at the poker table?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Not just him. We have some real hardboiled characters in this town. They actually play for pennies instead of matches like those pikers in Pinebury."
I hope Van is enjoying himself and that I am wrong about Mr. Cramp's plans for the evening. Except for the donation, of course. Van could use some relaxation. In the past three days, putting aside his own fears and griefs, he has comforted pen pals who have lost or are anxious for friends in the Lincolns and Mac-Paps. He tries to play it down, but the experience has unsettled him and the lack of news about the two battalions hasn't helped. Anything that takes his mind off his and his friends' troubles for a couple of hours is welcome.
From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -
… For all my joking, I still worried a little about Van's chances with the experienced players at the movers and shakers. When Lionel arrived to drive Van to the game, I warned Lionel to keep an eye on his brother. He just smiled. "Van's held his own in much rougher company. I once saw him win $18,000 from Arnold Rothstein."
I still can't believe that I didn't faint on the spot. I'm sure my eyes were wide as windows. "The man who fixed the World Series?"
Lionel's smile got even wider. "Or took a cut for making it easy for others to fix it. I've heard it both ways. Don't get my brother wrong, though. Even when he was still grifting, he only played poker for amusement." Lionel winced. "I don't miss those days. It's a relief to hear the phone ring and know that it's not the news that Van is under arrest."
… It was past eleven when they got back. My eyes were having trouble focusing on the print of the novel I was reading when I heard Lionel's Dusenberg pull into the driveway. I hurried to the front door and opened it, shivering at the blast of freezing air from outside. After waving goodbye to his brother, Van turned to me and said, "It was nice of him to give me a ride back, but I almost wish I could have walked. The night air would have done me some good."
The thought of Van walking alone in near zero temperatures with no one to help him if something bad happened frightened me, but I concealed it with a dry comment. "If the cold didn't kill you, Juanita would for risking your health."
Van grinned. "You're probably right. If we'd had her at Teruel, Franco would still be trying to fight his way in."
I asked Van if he had a good time. He allowed that it had been an interesting game. Besides Mr. Cramp, Mr. Graham and Archie were there. So was Mr. Bridgeman. I winced. "I'm sorry. He does sit in sometimes if the Knights of Columbus meeting breaks up early. I should have remembered to warn you he might be there."
"It's alright," Van reassured me. "He wasn't pleased to see me, but he was willing to put politics aside temporarily for the sake of poker." A sly smile crept across his face. "I don't think Mr. Cramp was happy when I said that I also planned to forget the war for one evening and enjoy myself."
I smiled back. "He probably saw that as throwing down the gauntlet against his interview plans."
"He did. He spent the first part of the night trying to worm his way into my confidence by singing your praises. Of course, he eventually worked around to your fund raising for the Republic and your pen pal project. He may not share your devotion to the Republic, but he admires your organizing ability and dedication to humanitarian work."
I couldn't have been less surprised. "Mr. Bridgeman must have loved that."
"He was steaming. He raised on the next hand when he should have folded."
It was terrible of me to giggle, but I couldn't help it. Van continued. "Poker isn't for the thin-skinned. Everybody at the table could tell when he had bad cards."
"I hope the rest were more of a challenge."
"Mr. Cramp is clever, but he gets excited when he's doing well. Mr. Graham is competent, but a little too cautious. My brother's eyes narrow slightly if his cards aren't good. They didn't used to. I'll have to warn him about that. Archie is the best player. I had a hard time reading his expression. There's a lot more to him than meets the eye."
I had to agree. "There always was. I'm starting to think that's true of a lot of children of domineering parents."
From the Journal of Honey Sutton Mar. 25, 1938
… Grace was uncharacteristically irritable at lunch today. Callie Cramp is still pestering her to get Van to give an interview on CRNB. Grace actually threatened to tell him how outrageously she's been flirting with his brother if she doesn't let the subject drop. Rebecca is trying to get Lionel to appear as a guest on her Moments with Fashion segment to talk about antique fashions and furniture. Grace's imitation of her mooning over his handsomeness and sophistication was wicked. Apparently being the center of a triangle isn't enough for her. She thinks she can handle a quadrangle.
In two weeks: Bad news from Spain. Two interviews. Van gets an offer.