Sloan Wilson - Man in the Gray Flannel Suit

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

There was another long pause before she said, “That’s awfully nice of you, dear, but I think I want to be alone for a few months. I’m awfully tired.”

“Of course,” he said.

“One more thing. Could you get rid of this place out here? I don’t know — with Susan gone, there doesn’t seem to be much point to it any more. I don’t want to have to worry about it.”

“Leave it to me,” he said. “I’ll have it put on the market, or think of something to do with it.”

“Thank you, dear,” she said, and there was still another long pause.

“I’m going to start driving out now,” he said. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Ralph,” she replied, “would you mind waiting? I don’t know, I don’t want to talk to anybody right now. I just want to go to bed.”

“I understand,” he said.

“I’ll see you in a few days. Get me on a boat that leaves as soon as possible, will you?”

“I’ll make all the arrangements.”

“Thank you, dear,” she said quietly. “Good-by.”

Later that afternoon Miss MacDonald told Tom that Hopkins would like to see him that evening at seven o’clock. At two minutes after the hour, Tom knocked at Hopkins’ door. Hopkins opened it. He was alone, and to Tom’s surprise, he looked tired. He was pacing restlessly up and down the room jingling the change in his pockets and gesticulating as he talked. The first thing he said after greeting Tom was, “I’ve definitely decided to go ahead with this mental-health committee. I want to get rolling on it now fast.”

“Maybe we should start by. ” Tom began.

“Wait a minute,” Hopkins said. “Here’s what I want to do. I’m going to expand it beyond the publicists — I want a really representative group. Begin by asking about a dozen people to form an Exploratory Committee — choose the people we’ll eventually want as trustees. For labor, Bill Krisky. For a Catholic, Fred Bellows. For a Jew, Abraham Goldberg. For a liberal, Mary Harkins. For a hard-shelled businessman, I’ll do. For a Democrat, Pete Cronin. For a Republican, Nat Higgins. How many is that?”

“Seven,” Tom said. He was taking notes furiously.

“All right. For a Negro, Herbert Shaw. For radio and television, I’ll do. Sam Peterson for newspapers. Ted Bailey for mass circulation magazines. We should have an intellectual: make it Harold Norton, up at Harvard.”

“That’s eleven.” Tom said.

“What are we missing? Oh, somebody from the movies. Ross Pattern. Make that the first twelve. Write letters of invitation to them tomorrow for my signature and find out a convenient day for all of us to meet at the Waldorf next month.”

“Right,” Tom said.

“Now an advisory medical panel. Make it seven members. The heads of all the major medical associations, and fill up the rest of it with the best psychiatrists — make sure you don’t get the crackpots.”

“I’ve got a list all made up,” Tom said.

“Fine — show it to me tomorrow. Now a tentative program — enclose it with your letter of invitation. We’ll start with a broad publicity barrage aimed to make people more aware of mental-health problems. We’ll want spot announcements on both television and radio, all networks. Have films and records made to send out to the local stations. Get the agencies to work on the copy and bring me samples as soon as possible. I’d play up the theme, ‘An enemy in the dark is more dangerous than one in the light — bring the problem of mental illness into the open!’ That’s not the wording, of course — I’m just thinking out loud.”

“I’ll get the agencies to work on it,” Tom said.

“Start getting the National Mental Health Committee incorporated.”

“I’ve done the spade work on that already.”

“Good — make sure the lawyers have it done as soon as the Exploratory Committee meets.”

Hopkins continued to pace as he spoke. He ordered drafts of the preliminary program readied for the foundations, lists of possible members, bylaws, and news releases announcing the formation of the committee.

“Now the program,” he said. “First, your general publicity barrage — and while you’re on that, make sure that mats are sent to all newspapers and that plates are made up for the magazines. See if the Advertising Association will foot the bill. The advertising boys ought to arrange for outdoor posters and car cards for buses and subways, too. Second, we’ll want a small study group to develop a long-range plan for attacking the problem. I’ve already got foundation support lined up for that. Don’t worry about the money on this — all the foundations are interested in the study part of it.”

He paused, walked over to a table, and poured himself a drink. “Now Tom,” he said, “I want you to carry the ball on this. You did a grand job on that speech — I think I can count on you. You’ve got the signal. I’m not going to be able to give this project much time, other than to arrange the financing and look over your plans just before they’re final. I’ve got several new projects underway. Wrap this whole thing up for me. Figure out the details for yourself. Just remember that nothing can go until after the Exploratory Committee meets, but you’ve got to be ready to jump the next day. The Exploratory Committee won’t do anything but approve what we submit to them, and you can’t expect any work from them.”

“We’ll get everything ready,” Tom said.

“And while you’re making your publicity plans, don’t forget the outdoor advertising boys. I want this campaign to break in all media within a week after the full committee is formed, and I want the full committee formed within a month after the Exploratory Committee meets. So you’ve got to work fast.”

“We can do it,” Tom replied.

Hopkins smiled. “Thanks, Tom,” he said.

Tom stood up to go. He was surprised when Hopkins added, “Don’t rush. Sit down and have a drink.”

“Sure,” Tom replied, sitting down again. “Sure.” Expecting more directions concerning the mental-health committee, he took his pad out of his pocket and held it ready.

“Put that thing away,” Hopkins said, and then with unusual hesitation in his voice, “I don’t know, I just thought it might be fun to sit and talk a little while.”

“Of course,” Tom said, feeling curiously embarrassed. There was a moment of silence. Hopkins got up, mixed two strong highballs, and handed one to Tom. Tom was astonished to see him drink his very fast. The silence became painful.

“Do you have any children?” Hopkins asked suddenly.

“Yes,” Tom said.

“How many?”

“Three.”

“That’s a nice family,” Hopkins said. He mixed another drink for himself and to Tom’s surprise stretched out comfortably on the couch. He seemed to be staring at Tom — he never turned his eyes away from him. On his face was an expression Tom had never seen there before: a look of exhaustion, confusion, and, incongruously, great kindness.

“Do you like working on this mental-health committee?” Hopkins asked after an awkward interval of silence.

“Yes,” Tom said. “I like it very much.”

“What are your plans?”

“I don’t know,” Tom replied. “I want to do my job here as well as I can, I guess, and see where it leads.”

“That’s the best way. When I was your age, I didn’t have any plans — I was just thinking about the job at hand.”

There was another interval of silence, during which Hopkins apparently was thinking, but he never took his eyes off Tom’s face.

“I had a son once,” Hopkins said suddenly. “He was killed in the war.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tom said, although he had heard it before.