Sloan Wilson - Man in the Gray Flannel Suit

“I’ve got some correspondence I’d like you to answer for me,” Hopkins said. “Miss MacDonald, you can give Mr. Rath the morning’s mail after I’ve looked it over and let him rough out the replies.”

“Yes, sir,” Miss MacDonald said.

Hopkins returned to his inner office. An hour later Miss MacDonald brought Tom a wire basket containing about thirty letters. Some were requests from charities, some suggested various new projects for United Broadcasting, and others concerned complex business transactions already underway. On the latter Hopkins had written in his small, neat handwriting, “See me.” On some of the simple requests he had written, “Tell him no,” and on others, “Tell him yes.” On still others he had written, “Maybe — don’t commit us.”

Tom was not surprised at all this — he knew that the stage after having a girl to take dictation is to have someone to do the dictating. He had often written letters for Dick Haver at the Schanenhauser Foundation. Calling one of the stenographers over to his desk, he began the letters for Hopkins’ signature. In reply to a letter from a newly formed charity on which Hopkins had scribbled, “Tell him no,” he said, “I was most interested to see the information you sent me, and I certainly agree with you that this is an important and worthy endeavor, but it is necessary for us to plan ahead on this sort of thing, and I’m afraid that we’ve already committed ourselves so heavily on other similar projects that we won’t be able to include this one on our list of contributions now. I certainly hope your program is successful, however, and at some later time we would be glad to give your needs thorough consideration. Sincerely, Ralph Hopkins, president, United Broadcasting Corporation.”

When he had several similar letters typed up, he sent them into Hopkins’ office. To his surprise, they came back almost immediately with carefully inked corrections on them. Most of the letters had been made a little more gracious, a little more informal, but on the letter saying no to the charity, Hopkins had written to Tom, “Don’t agree with him that project is important and don’t wish him success. I never heard of this outfit. They might use my letter as an endorsement, and they might be phonies.”

Tom glanced up, and, seeing that Miss MacDonald was looking at him smugly, he realized that she had been the one who had answered the letters before and that she was pleased to see his work needed correction. He called the stenographer to his desk again and redictated the letters.

A few moments later, Hopkins spoke to him through the interoffice communication box. “Come in and bring the rest of the mail,” he said. Tom picked up the letters on which Hopkins had written, “See me,” and entered the inner office. Hopkins was pacing back and forth, looking ill at ease. “The reason I’m having you start out on this mail is that I think it’s the best way for you to learn how I work and to get an idea of some of the projects we have underway,” he said. “Now, take that letter from Richardson at the Henkel Manufacturing Corporation. That’s a long story. They manufacture television sets which go out under various brand names. For some time we’ve been trying to work out a deal that will let us market our own sets — United Broadcasting Corporation sets. We’ve got two or three other companies interested in supplying the sets, but this is more than a matter of just getting bids. We’re trying to work out a deal where we tie in with some big retailing outfit. ”

He talked on for a long time. To Tom, the whole subject seemed hopelessly complicated. “Anyway,” Hopkins concluded, “the point is, we’ve got to stall Richardson now without letting him think we’ve lost interest. Tell him that several other people here want to study the specifications he sent us and that he’ll hear from us in a few days.”

Hopkins went on to discuss this and other letters, while Tom took notes. By the time Tom got back to his desk, his head was whirling.

“Mr. Ogden called you,” Miss MacDonald said. “He wants you to call him back.”

“Thanks,” Tom replied, and immediately called Ogden. “Oh, Tom,” Ogden said. “Can you drop in at about ten tomorrow to review what you’ve done for the mental-health committee?”

“Sure,” Tom said. “I’ll be there.”

“There was another call for you,” Miss MacDonald said as soon as Tom had hung up. “A Mr. Gardella. He said it was personal.”

“Gardella?”

“Yes. He left his number. He wants you to call him back.”

Miss MacDonald handed him a slip of paper with an outside telephone number written on it. Tom dialed it himself. “Hello,” Caesar’s deep voice answered.

“This is Tom Rath. Did you call me?”

“Yes, Mr. Rath,” Caesar said. “I just thought I ought to tell you. ”

“Did you hear anything?” Tom interrupted.

“No — not yet. I just thought I ought to tell you that I’ve got a new job. Gina and I got a job taking care of a new apartment building over in Brooklyn — we’re going to be custodians. We get an apartment for ourselves with the deal and everything. Anyway, I probably won’t be around the United Broadcasting building much any more, but I wanted to tell you that when we hear from Maria, we’ll let you know.”

“You think you will hear?”

“Sure, sooner or later. When Louis gets on his feet, they’ll get in touch with Gina’s mother. Anyway, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks,” Tom said, and hurriedly added, “I’m glad you’ve got a good job. I wish you luck.”

“Same to you,” Gardella said. “Good-by.”

Tom put the telephone receiver down. Miss MacDonald was looking at him curiously. Quickly he picked up a letter lying on his desk and started to read it. So Caesar’s got a new job, he thought — I won’t be running into him on the elevators any more. Suddenly he felt sure he would never see or hear from Caesar again. So that is my punishment, he thought — I probably never will know what happened to Maria and the boy. Maybe this is just retribution. The hardest thing of all for me is going to be never to know. She and the boy could be starving. They could be dead. Or they could be getting along fine. How strange it is never to know. He picked up the piece of paper on which Miss MacDonald had written Caesar’s telephone number and carefully put it in his wallet.

The next morning Ogden said to Tom, “For the time being your duties as Mr. Hopkins’ personal assistant will be in addition to your work on the mental-health committee. We’ll start looking for someone else for that, but until we find someone, it’s still your responsibility.”

Tom hoped he’d go on and discuss an increase in salary. Instead, Ogden said, “As you know, Mr. Hopkins wants to get cracking on the mental-health committee. Fill me in now. Where are we?”

“I’ve been getting some tentative bylaws drawn up to show the exploratory committee when it meets,” Tom said.

“Good. How about a statement on the background of this committee — something to tell how it got started.”

“We haven’t discussed that,” Tom said.

“You mean you haven’t even thought of it? It’s the first thing Hopkins will want. How did this whole thing begin, anyhow? Everybody’s going to be asking that. You’ve got to answer it.”

“I’ll work something out,” Tom said.

“Have you got sample news releases announcing the formation of the committee?”

“Yes.”

“Suggested budget?”

“Nothing yet,” Tom said. “We haven’t discussed that.”

“Haven’t discussed it! Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that someone might inquire how much this whole operation is going to cost? What’s Mr. Hopkins going to say: ‘I’m sorry, but we hadn’t thought of that’?”