sat down. He seemed to be crying. Chisholm asked again to be recognized.
“I haven’t finished,” said the mayor. “I’ve described this meeting as a courtesy and I’ve encountered nothing but troublemakers. You, Mr. Chisholm, have, I happen to know, never served in the armed forces of your great country and you have no understanding, of course, of our wish to raise a memorial to our patriotic dead. You would like, I know, to prove that our fill in Beasley’s Pond is comprised of leachates and contaminants. My father was an honest Yankee fisherman. He was a soldier. He was a patriot. He was a churchgoer. He was the husband of a contented, loving and happy wife and the father of seven healthy and successful children. If I spoke to him about leachates and contaminants he would tell me to speak English. This is the United States of America, my son,’ he would say, ‘and I want you to speak English.’ ‘Leachates’ and ‘contaminants’ sound like a foreign language, and to bring governmental interference into our improvements of Beasley’s Pond is like the work of a foreign government.”
“I would like to request a postponement,” Chisholm said, as politely as possible. “The Marston Laboratories are working on the specimens we gave them and they’ve promised a report by Thursday.”
While Chisholm spoke the mayor conferred with the three members of the board and when Chisholm had finished he said, “Your request has been refused by a majority of the board, but before we close I would like to read a letter I have in my possession. This letter was written by youremployer, Mr. Lemuel Sears, on the twenty-ninth of February last year and was published in the newspaper the following day. ‘Is Nothing Sacred’ was the heading of Mr. Sears’s observations.
“‘I have been skating on weekends on Beasley’s Pond,’ he wrote, ‘in the company of perhaps fifty men and women of all ages and for all I know all walks of life, who seemed to find themselves greatly refreshed for the complexities and problems of the modern world by a few hours spent happily on ice skates. The findings of the discredited paleontologist Gardener who claimed that the skate—or shate—was the turning point in the contest for supremacy between
Homo sapiens
and primordial man have been proven fraudulent—but isn’t it true that we enjoy on ice skates a sense of fleetness that seems to be a primordial memory? Last Sunday, carrying my skates to the pond, I found that it had been rezoned as fill and had become a heap of rubbish, topped by a dead dog. There is little enough of innocence in the world but let us protect the innocence of ice skating.’ That is your letter, isn’t it, Mr. Sears?”
“Yes,” said Sears.
“On one hand we have the grief of mature and thinking men and women who hope to commemorate the sacrifice of life made by their beloved sons and husbands in the cause of freedom. On the other hand we have this. The meeting is adjourned.”
Almost everyone in the room, including the minister, looked at Sears with contempt. “I had forgotten about the letter,” he said to Chisholm. “I wish they had,” said Chisholm. Betsy Logan joined them and Chisholm introduced her toSears. Her view of him was obviously prejudiced by the letter. “The town board may give us another hearing,” said Chisholm, “if the laboratory reports are devastating. It is still too early to be hopeless. We can try the district attorney, although he’ll refer us to the governor’s commission and the governor’s looking for campaign contributions.” They were almost the last to leave the hall and go down the steep stairs. Betsy kissed Chisholm goodnight and started up the street. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear from the laboratory,” said Chisholm. They shook hands on the sidewalk, but as Chisholm started to cross the street a car that had been double-parked and was without lights came down the street at a high speed and struck
“I haven’t finished,” said the mayor. “I’ve described this meeting as a courtesy and I’ve encountered nothing but troublemakers. You, Mr. Chisholm, have, I happen to know, never served in the armed forces of your great country and you have no understanding, of course, of our wish to raise a memorial to our patriotic dead. You would like, I know, to prove that our fill in Beasley’s Pond is comprised of leachates and contaminants. My father was an honest Yankee fisherman. He was a soldier. He was a patriot. He was a churchgoer. He was the husband of a contented, loving and happy wife and the father of seven healthy and successful children. If I spoke to him about leachates and contaminants he would tell me to speak English. This is the United States of America, my son,’ he would say, ‘and I want you to speak English.’ ‘Leachates’ and ‘contaminants’ sound like a foreign language, and to bring governmental interference into our improvements of Beasley’s Pond is like the work of a foreign government.”
“I would like to request a postponement,” Chisholm said, as politely as possible. “The Marston Laboratories are working on the specimens we gave them and they’ve promised a report by Thursday.”
While Chisholm spoke the mayor conferred with the three members of the board and when Chisholm had finished he said, “Your request has been refused by a majority of the board, but before we close I would like to read a letter I have in my possession. This letter was written by youremployer, Mr. Lemuel Sears, on the twenty-ninth of February last year and was published in the newspaper the following day. ‘Is Nothing Sacred’ was the heading of Mr. Sears’s observations.
“‘I have been skating on weekends on Beasley’s Pond,’ he wrote, ‘in the company of perhaps fifty men and women of all ages and for all I know all walks of life, who seemed to find themselves greatly refreshed for the complexities and problems of the modern world by a few hours spent happily on ice skates. The findings of the discredited paleontologist Gardener who claimed that the skate—or shate—was the turning point in the contest for supremacy between
Homo sapiens
and primordial man have been proven fraudulent—but isn’t it true that we enjoy on ice skates a sense of fleetness that seems to be a primordial memory? Last Sunday, carrying my skates to the pond, I found that it had been rezoned as fill and had become a heap of rubbish, topped by a dead dog. There is little enough of innocence in the world but let us protect the innocence of ice skating.’ That is your letter, isn’t it, Mr. Sears?”
“Yes,” said Sears.
“On one hand we have the grief of mature and thinking men and women who hope to commemorate the sacrifice of life made by their beloved sons and husbands in the cause of freedom. On the other hand we have this. The meeting is adjourned.”
Almost everyone in the room, including the minister, looked at Sears with contempt. “I had forgotten about the letter,” he said to Chisholm. “I wish they had,” said Chisholm. Betsy Logan joined them and Chisholm introduced her toSears. Her view of him was obviously prejudiced by the letter. “The town board may give us another hearing,” said Chisholm, “if the laboratory reports are devastating. It is still too early to be hopeless. We can try the district attorney, although he’ll refer us to the governor’s commission and the governor’s looking for campaign contributions.” They were almost the last to leave the hall and go down the steep stairs. Betsy kissed Chisholm goodnight and started up the street. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear from the laboratory,” said Chisholm. They shook hands on the sidewalk, but as Chisholm started to cross the street a car that had been double-parked and was without lights came down the street at a high speed and struck
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