Irving Wallace - The Man

Dilman knew what was foremost in his mind. It was time to end his son’s false ticker-tape parade. Dilman interrupted. “Julian-”

Julian stopped, saw his father’s face, and waited suspiciously.

“I’m glad you’re so popular,” Dilman went on, “but tell me one thing. Was Chancellor McKaye among those eager to seek you out?”

Julian’s expression showed that he suspected a trap, and his protruding hyperthyroid eyes rolled, as they always did when he was wary. “No,” he said. “Why?”

“Well, he sought me out,” said Dilman. “I had a letter from him the day before our late President’s death.”

Julian attempted an evasive tactic, but it was halfhearted. “You mean about having you come up to the school to speak on Founders’ Day? I heard some talk they were planning to invite you. I hope you-”

“You know that was not the invitation Chancellor McKaye sent me,” said Dilman with annoyance. “It was an invitation, yes, but to discuss what’s happening to you. He informed me you’re heading for an F in at least one course, and you may not maintain a passing grade in two others. If your grade point average goes below a C, he will find it necessary to put you on probation. You know what that means. You not only need to get passing grades, but you need a B average in order to be accepted in law school. I must say, I was surprised, Julian. You were averaging between a B and C. You’ve been complaining that the curriculum was too easy. Now, suddenly, this nose dive. The Chancellor indicated that you are rebellious, inattentive, and more interested in outside activities than in your classes. Before going to him, I wanted to hear you out. We’ve always been honest with one another, Julian. More than ever, this is a time for honesty. What’s happening with you at that school, Julian?”

Julian had been wriggling in the antique chair. Now he was sullen. “Nothing,” he said. “I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

“Busy with what?”

“Well, you know, I’m on the students’ administrative board of Carver Hall, and there’s the Debate Club, and lately they’ve been overloading us with homework.”

“You’ve managed up until now.”

“And then the Crispus Society. Now that I’ve become the campus rep to National Headquarters, and I’m on the Students’ National Advisory Council of Crispus, I have to go into New York more often. Ask your friend Spinger the amount of work that entails. Anyway, don’t worry, I’ll-”

“I am worried, Julian. I’ve not stood in the way of outside activity. As far as I’m concerned, have it, but only if it doesn’t interfere with your real job, and your real job is getting through the university, and later getting a Bachelor of Laws.”

Dilman could see the venom shooting across his son’s face, and Julian’s lips puckering to contain their trembling. “I don’t care what, but I disagree with you,” said Julian, his voice cracking. “My real job isn’t in that intellectual Catfish Row, getting a black sheepskin so’s I can practice on Chicago’s South Side like you did, protecting my people from petty civil suits. My job is protecting my people’s rights under the Constitution, seeing they’re not subjugated. I can do that better devoting more time to the Crispus Society, fighting for my whole people, than by trying to do graduate work in a Negro college, so’s I can become a Negro lawyer to represent Negroes over matters that don’t count. My first duty is to help the country straighten itself out, so that when I get my law degree, I’ll have one as a lawyer, not as a Negro lawyer, and I can live among people, not just Negro people, and can represent clients of every color-that’s my duty and my job. I don’t care what you say to it, Dad, but you went and put me in that school to keep me in my place, to keep me a Negro, like the whites do-”

Dilman had heard much of this before, but never spoken with such indignation. He held his own temper in check, determined to reason with the boy. “I didn’t try to keep you a Negro or anything else, Julian,” he said. “What you are, what you become, is in your own hands. Certainly there are gross inequities being practiced against us, but we’ve made gains and we’ll make more, and one day, under due process of law, this country will be everyone’s country.”

“The payment’s overdue more than a hundred years,” said Julian angrily. “We’re not waiting any more. We’re collecting.”

Dilman stared at his hands on the desk, “We’re being gradually paid up,” he said quietly. “Slavery and bondage are gone. Segregation is going. You’ll have it easier than I had it, and even the way times were, look what a Negro like your father could accomplish in this country. Both whites and blacks put me in Congress-”

“On the white man’s terms,” said Julian. Hastily he added, “I’m not being disrespectful, but I mean-”

“Julian, look where I’m sitting, look around the room you’re in-”

Julian had grasped the desk. “They didn’t mean for you to be here, Dad, they don’t want you here. We want you, but they don’t.” His voice was cracking again. “I haven’t told you everything I’ve been hearing.”

Dilman wanted to end this painful scene with one who was of his own blood, one who would not understand. “I know what’s going on, Julian,” he said. “Nevertheless, I’m here, and that speaks well of our situation in our country. It is proof of what is possible. I’ll do my job here, and all I want of you is that you stop trying to turn over the country with one push and concentrate on learning some reason in school-”

“Dad, I’m going to tell you, I’m going to tell you,” Julian interrupted. “All of us think it’s like a miracle, your being put here. You’ve got the chance of a lifetime to do in a little while what our people, and the ones who died and suffered, all the societies, couldn’t do in a century. You can force the whites-”

“I’m not forcing anybody to do anything.” Dilman’s tone had become harsh. “I’m the President of the United States, not the President of the Negro population, and whatever’s best-”

“I’m still going to tell you-listen, Dad, please listen-you’ve got to know what our people are saying outside-they’re saying if you were the President of the United States, all of it, that would be fine, too, but you’re not-won’t be-you’ll be like the ones before-the President of the whites-”

Dilman’s hands balled hard. “That’s enough from you, Julian, that’s quite enough. You remember who you are and who I am, and that I’m the one who’s still in charge of seeing you think right and behave right-me, not your callow friends.”

Sulkily Julian released his grip on the desk, and pushed back into his chair. “Okay, if-if you don’t want to talk-”

“Don’t bait me. And stop being childish.”

“I’m not baiting you the least bit. I’m only thinking how you always wanted us to be your kind of Negro, and none of us wanted it, not Mom, and not Mindy, and not me either. I always envied Mindy because she was born lucky, and got away, and I was born this way and got stuck. When I wanted to do something about it, become a person like everybody else, like Mindy, you wouldn’t let me, and you still won’t.”

At the first mention of his daughter’s name, Dilman had automatically begun to scan the office, to make certain that every door was closed to hostile ears. He could see that the doors were shut tight.

He brought his gaze back to his son. “I don’t want to discuss Mindy here.”

“And you don’t want to discuss me, either,” said Julian bitterly. “I’d trade places with her tomorrow, if I could.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” said Dilman. “All Negroes who pass aren’t so happy. The deceit-”