Isaac Asimov - The Mammoth Book of Golden Age SF

When I stop to think, it’s probably just as well that neither of us married. We, of course, have hopes for the future, but at present we’re both tired of the whole human race; tired of greedy faces and hands. With a world that puts a premium on wealth and power and strength, it’s no wonder what decency there is stems from fear of what’s here now, or fear of what’s hereafter. We’ve seen so much of the hidden actions of the world — call it snooping, if you like — that we’ve learned to disregard the surface indications of kindness and good. Only once did Mike and I ever look into the private life of someone we knew and liked and respected. Once was enough. From that day on we made it a point to take people as they seem. Let’s get away from that.

The next two pictures we released in rapid succession: Freedom for Americans , on the American Revolution, and The Brothers and the Guns , about the American Civil War. Bang! Every third politician, a lot of “educators,” and all the professional patriots went after our scalps. Every single chapter of the DAR, the Sons of Union Veterans, and the Daughters of the Confederacy pounded their collective heads against the wall. The South went frantic; every state in the Deep South and one state on the border flatly banned both pictures, the second because it was truthful, and the first because censorship is a contagious disease. They stayed banned until the professional politicians got wise. The bans were revoked, and the choke-collar and string-tie brigade pointed to both pictures as horrible examples of what some people actually believed and thought, and felt pleased that someone had given them an opportunity to roll out the barrel and beat the drums that sound the call for sectional and racial hatred.

New England was tempted to stand on its dignity, but couldn’t stand the strain. North of New York, both pictures were banned. In New York State, the rural representatives voted en bloc, and the ban was clamped on statewide. Special trains ran to Delaware, where the corporations were too busy to pass another law. Libel suits flew like spaghetti, and although the extras headlined the filing of each new suit, very few knew that we lost not one. Although we had to appeal almost every suit to higher courts and in some cases request a change of venue, which was seldom granted, the documentary proof furnished by the record cleared us once we got to a judge, or a series of judges, with no fences to mend.

It was a mighty rasp we drew over wounded ancestral pride. We had shown that not all the mighty have halos of purest gold, that not all the Redcoats were strutting bullies — or angels, and the British Empire, except South Africa, refused entry to both pictures and made violent passes at the State Department. The spectacle of Southern and New England congressmen approving the efforts of a foreign ambassador to suppress free speech drew hilarious hosannas from certain quarters. H. L. Mencken gloated in the clover, and the newspapers hung on the triple-horned dilemma of anti-foreign, pro-patriotic, quasi-logical criticism. In Detroit the Ku Klux Klan burned an anemic cross on our doorstep, and the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick, the NAACP, and the WCTU passed flattering resolutions. We forwarded the most vicious and obscene letters — together with a few names and addresses that hadn’t been originally signed — to our lawyers and the Post Office Department. There were no convictions south of Illinois.

Johnson and his boys made hay. Johnson had pyramided his bets into an international distributing organization, and pushed Marrs into hiring every top press agent on either side of the Rockies. What a job they did! In no time at all there were two definite schools of thought that overflowed into the public letter boxes. One school held that we had no business raking up old mud to throw, that such things were better left forgotten and forgiven, that nothing wrong had ever happened, and if it had, we were liars anyway. The other school reasoned more to our liking. Softly and slowly at first, then with a triumphant shout, this fact began to emerge; such things had actually happened, and could happen again, were possibly happening even now; had happened because twisted truth had too long left its imprint on international, sectional, and racial feelings. It pleased us when many began to agree with us, that it is important to forget the past, but that it is even more important to understand and evaluate it with a generous and unjaundiced eye. That was what we were trying to bring out.

The banning that occurred in the various states hurt the gross receipts only a little, and we were vindicated in Johnson’s mind. He had dolefully predicted loss of half the national gross because “you can’t tell the truth in a movie and get away with it. Not if the house holds over three hundred.” Not even on the stage? “Who goes to anything but a movie?”

So far things had gone just about as we’d planned. We’d earned and received more publicity, favorable and otherwise, than anyone living. Most of it stemmed from the fact that our doings had been newsworthy. Some, naturally, had been the ninety-day-wonder material that fills a thirsty newspaper. We were very careful to make enemies in the strata that can afford to fight back. Remember the old saw about knowing a man by the enemies he makes? Well, publicity was our ax. Here’s how we put an edge on it.

I called Johnson in Hollywood. He was glad to hear from us. “Long time no see. What’s the pitch, Ed?”

“I want some lip-readers. And I want them yesterday, like you tell your boys.”

“Lip-readers? Are you nuts? What do you want with lip-readers?”

“Never mind why. I want lip-readers. Can you get them?”

“How should I know? What do you want them for?”

“I said, can you get them?”

He was doubtful. “I think you’ve been working too hard.”

“Look—”

“Now, I didn’t say I couldn’t. Cool off. When do you want them? And how many?”

“Better write this down. Ready? I want lip-readers for these languages: English, French, German, Russian, Chinese, Japanese, Greek, Flemish, Dutch, and Spanish.”

“ Ed Lefko, have you gone crazy ?”

I guess it didn’t sound very sensible, at that. “Maybe I have. But those languages are essential. If you run across any who can work in any other language, hang on to them. I might need them, too.” I could see him sitting in front of his telephone, wagging his head like mad. Crazy. The heat must have got Lefko, good old Ed.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, I heard you. If this is a rib—”

“No rib. Dead serious.”

He began to get mad. “Where you think I’m going to get lip-readers, out of my hat?”

“That’s your worry. I’d suggest you start with the local school for the deaf.” He was silent. “Now, get this into your head; this isn’t a rib, this is the real thing. I don’t care what you do, or where you go, or what you spend — I want those lip-readers in Hollywood when we get there or I want to know they’re on the way.”

“When are you going to get there?”

I said I wasn’t sure. “Probably a day or two. We’ve got a few loose ends to tie up.”

He swore a blue streak at the iniquities of fate. “You’d better have a good story when you do—” I hung up.

Mike met me at the studio. “Talk to Johnson?” I told him, and he laughed. “Does sound crazy, I suppose. But he’ll get them, if they exist and like money. He’s the Original Resourceful Man.”

I tossed my hat in a corner. “I’m glad this is about over. Your end caught up?”

“Set and ready to go. The films and the notes are on the way, the real estate company is ready to take over the lease, and the girls are paid up-to-date, with a little extra.”