Arthur Hailey - Wheels

"Cut!"

Brett whispered to Leonard Wingate beside him, "What's this all about?"

The Negro executive was still mopping his face. He said, low-voiced,

"They're in trouble. The two of them had some real money for the first time in their lives, so they went wild, bought furniture, a color TV, took on payments they couldn't meet. Now, some of the stuffs been re-possessed. That isn't all."

Ahead of them, Gropetti was having May Lou and Rollie Knight change positions. Now Rollie faced the camera.

Brett asked, still speaking softly, "What else has happened?"

"The word is 'garnishee,'" Wingate said. "It means a lousy, out-of-date law which politicians agree ought to be changed, but nobody does it."

Wes Gropetti had his head down and was talking to Rollie in his usual way.

Wingate told Brett, "Knight's had his wages garnisheed once already. This week there was a second court order, and under the union agreement two garnishees mean automatic dismissal."

"Hell! Can't you do something?"

"Maybe. It depends on Knight. When this is over, I'll talk to him."

"Should he be spilling his guts on film?"

Leonard Wingate shrugged. "I told him he didn't have to, that it's his private business. But he didn't seem to mind, neither did the girl.

Maybe they don't care; maybe they figure they can help somebody else.

I don't know."

Barbara, who had overheard, turned her head. "Wes says it's part of the whole scene. Besides, he'll edit sympathetically."

"If I didn't think so," Wingate said, "we wouldn't be here."

The director was still briefing Rollie.

Wingate, speaking softly but his voice intense, told Barbara and Brett,

"Half the problem with what's happening to Knight is our own attitudes - the establishment's; that means people like you two and me.

Okay, we help somebody like these two kids, but as soon as we do, we expect them to have all our middle-class values which it took us years of living our way to acquire. The same goes for money. Even though Knight hasn't been used to it because none ever came his way, we expect him to handle money as if he'd had it all his life, and if he doesn't, what happens? He's shoved into court, his wages garnisheed, he's fired.

We forget that plenty of us who've lived with money still run up debts we can't manage. But let this guy do the same thing" - the Negro executive nodded toward Rollie Knight - "and our systems all set to throw him back on the garbage heap."

"You're not going to let it happen," Barbara murmured.

Wingate shook his head impatiently. "There's only so much I can do. And Knight's just one of many."

Camera lights were on. The director glanced their way, a signal for silence. Rollie Knight's voice rose clearly in the quiet, hot room.

"Sure you find out things from livin' here. Like, most of it ain't gonna get better, no matter what they say. Besides that, nuthun' lasts." Unexpectedly, a smile flashed over Rollie's face; then, as if regretting the smile, a scowl replaced it. "So best not to expect nuthun'. Then it don't hurt none when you lose it."

Gropetti called, "Cut!"

Filming continued for another hour, Gropetti coaxing and patient, Rollie speaking of experiences in the inner city and the auto assembly plant where he was still employed. Though the young black worker's words were simple and sometimes stumbling, they conveyed reality and a true picture of himself - not always favorable, but not belittling either. Barbara, who had seen earlier sequences filmed, had a conviction that the answer print would be an eloquently moving document.

When camera lights went out after the concluding shot, Wes Gropetti removed his black beret and mopped his head with a large, grubby kerchief.

He nodded to the two technicians. "Strike it! That's a wrap."

While the others filed out, with brief "goodnights" to Rollie and May Lou, Leonard Wingate stayed behind. Brett DeLosanto, Barbara Zaleski, and Wes Gropetti were going on to the Detroit Press Club for a late supper, where Wingate would join them shortly.

The Negro executive waited until the others had passed through the mean hallway outside, with its single, low-wattage light bulb and peeling paint, and were clattering down the worn wooden stairway to the street below. Through the hallway door, the odor of garbage drifted in. May Lou closed it.

She asked, "You want a drink, mister?"

Wingate started to shake his head, then changed his mind. "Yes, please."

From a shelf in the miniscule kitchen, the girl took a rum bottle with about an inch of liquor in it, which she divided equally between two glasses. Adding ice and Coke, she gave one to Wingate, the other to Rollie. The three of them sat down in the all-purpose room.

"There'll be some money coming to you from the film people for using your place tonight," Wingate said. "It won't be much; it never is. But I'll see you get it."

May Lou gave an unsure smile. Rollie Knight said nothing.

The executive sipped his drink. "You knew about the garnishee? The second one?"

Rollie still didn't answer.

"Somebody tol' him today at work," May Lou said. "They said he don't get his paycheck no more? That right?"

"He doesn't get part of it. But if he loses his job there'll be no more checks anyway - for anybody." Wingate went on to explain about garnishees - the attachment of a worker's pay at source by court order, which creditors obtained. He added that, while auto companies and other employers detested the garnishee system, they had no choice but to comply with the law.

As Wingate suspected, neither Rollie nor May Lou had understood the earlier garnishee, nor was Rollie aware that a second one - under company-union rules - could get him fired.

"There's a reason for that," Wingate said. "Garnishees make a lot of work for the payroll department, which costs the company money."

Rollie blurted, "Bullshit!" He got up and walked around.

Leonard Wingate sighed. "If you want my honest opinion, I think you're right. It's why I'll try to help you if I can. If you want me to."

May Lou glanced at Rollie. She moistened her lips. "He wants you to, mister. He ain't been himself lately. He's been . . . well, real upset."

Wingate wondered why. If Rollie had learned about the garnishee only today, as May Lou said, obviously he had not been worrying because of that. He decided not to press the point.

"What I can do," the executive told them, and you must understand this is only if you want it, is have someone look over your finances for you, straighten them out if we can, and try to get you started fresh."

He went on, explaining how the system devised by Jim Robson, a plant personnel manager for Chrysler, and copied nowadays by other companies - worked.

What they must do, he informed Rollie and May Lou, was give him, here and now, a list of all their debts. He would hand these to a senior Personnel man in Rollie's plant. The Personnel man, who did this extra curricular job on his own time, would go over everything to see how much was owing. Then he would phone the creditors, one by one, urging them to accept modest payments over a long period and, in return, withdraw their garnishees.

Usually they agreed because the alternative was pointed out: that the man concerned would lose his job, in which event they would receive nothing, garnishee or not.

The employee - in this case Rollie Knight - would then be asked: What is the minimum amount of money you can live on weekly?

Once this was decided, Rollie's paycheck would be intercepted each week and routed to the Personnel Department. There, every Friday, he would report and endorse the check over to the Personnel man making the arrangements. The Personnel man's office - Wingate told them - was usually crowded with fifty or so workers who had been in financial trouble and were being helped to straighten out. Most were grateful.