Authors: Myles (Mickey) Golde
She started to follow and stopped at the door, watching him gun the motor and pull away. “Son of a bitch,” she swore and under her breath….. “I’m going to take David and fly back to Chicago.”
She called the airlines for fares and then thought of calling her mother or Fred Berman, they would help. Ten minutes later, she pounded the table and got up. “God damn you Howie,” she cried out. “he’s going to school away from here.” By late afternoon, she decided to wait him out. He loved his son, but she was right. She also knew he lied about the man who had been killed two weeks before and didn’t want to talk about him. Howie’s work could prove to be dangerous and they both knew it. So she waited, knowing it was only a matter of time before he would agree that David should go away to school.
Howie didn’t come home for two days and she began to worry. Maybe she misjudged him or he was in some kind of trouble. Around three am she heard him come in and heard the door to the spare bedroom close. She laid awake for several minutes before deciding it was best to wait until morning to find out if he was ready to talk.
David was gone early for a day at the beach with friends. Seeing the door to the third bedroom was still closed, she took her time dressing. The morning radio news mentioned the Cuban shooting victim in Miami earlier in the month, reporting he was reputed to be laundering money for a drug running operation in south Florida. Shirley recalled that Howie had referred to him as his banker when she was introduced. She wondered if she should call Howie on his lie, or wait to see what kind of mood he was in before confronting him.
She heard the shower in their bathroom and waited in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. About eleven she could hear him in the bedroom and a few minutes later heard the bedroom radio go silent.
Entering the kitchen, he smiled, “Hi, is the coffee still hot?”
“Sure,” she smiled back, “how bout some eggs or a toasted bagel?”
“Bagel is fine,”
His dark hair still damp from the shower and clean shaven, wearing a light blue silk shirt, she thought he looked especially attractive and calm, recalling their last breakfast.
He reached for her hand and cleared his throat, taking a seat at the table.
Feeling his soft touch, she relaxed, raising her eyes to meet his.
“Look Shirley, I’ve thought it over and maybe you’re right, we should think of David. How about tellin’ me what you think we should do.”
A slow smile spread, as she poured a fresh cup of coffee for herself and one for him. .
“Thank you, Howie, I know you want whatever is good for David.”
She watched him closely as he raised the coffee to his lips and then continued, “I’ve looked at several brochures and made a lot of inquiries and think that this boys’ school near Atlanta is the best. It’s not too far from here, so we can visit and he can come home fairly often. The school has a terrific academic reputation and a great sports program. They also have a girls’ school close by that shares some of the same programs. I think David will love it once he gets used to it. I also think that starting him in the fall at the beginning of high school is an ideal time.”
He lit a cigarette and sipped his coffee as he listened quietly before saying, “Yeah, but how much is all this gonna cost?”
She grinned, her front teeth covering her lower lip, “I thought about that, too. Do you remember our interior decorator, Judy Fine? Well, she’s also in real estate and she offered me a job. She’ll send me to classes with a salary for the first year. After that, I know I can make it. You know how hot the housing market is in Florida.”
A thin, tight smile crossed his face as he shook his head. “No. I don’t want people thinking I can’t take care of my family.”
Leaning in close, she said,. “Please Howie, I want to do it and I don’t want you to have all the pressure.”
“Nah, you know me, I don’t want you workin’, “
Taking his hand, she cupped it ,kissing and licking his palm, at the same time dropping her shoe under the table and slipping her toes between his thighs.“Please Howie, I want to do this.” She purred.
The look on his face softened as he shook his head and grinned. “Man, you really want this, don’t you?”
Her smile widened and she leaned closer .
“Hummph, Shirley,” he said slowly and smiled.
“Okay,” You were always a smart broad; I knew you had the whole thing figured out when you brought it up the first time. But what about David, have you talked with him?”
“No, but I think he’ll be okay,” she answered, taking his hand and unbuttoning her blouse with the other. “He’s a bright boy, and has a lot of ambition, even at this age. He’ll know we’re doing the right thing for him. Let’s go to a nice dinner someplace special tonight and talk to him.”
“Sounds good,” he said softly, allowing her to pull him toward the bedroom. “By the way, what’s this school called, anyway?”
“Calhoun Prep, Oh, and thank you Howie, You are a good father.”
In 1963 Wayne Construction built fifty six homes in the close-in suburbs north of the city. Working with a developer they also built two four unit co-op apartment buildings in Chicago. After several extended discussions Vic persuaded Frank that they should sell Wayne Supply to a competitor who had offered them a substantial sum of cash; which they would use to expand into larger construction projects.
Once the sale was complete the brothers began building a ninety six home tract in Niles. They also built two apartment buildings, working with a group of out of town investors Frank had contacted that owned some vacant property in Skokie. As each project was completed, the brothers poured a large part of the profit back to the company to buy land and more equipment, hoping that Wayne Construction would become better known.
Frank joined the Standard Club the following year to have a place to meet and entertain customers. It also presented an opportunity to meet many of the members, who were some of city’s best known businessmen. The company also acquired season’s tickets for all Cubs, Sox and the Bears games which they handed out to customers and used for entertaining clients.
As the company expanded Vic hired two assistants to handle much of the day to day supervision of the jobs, giving him more time to find new sites, arrange financing, and directing all administrative work, planning and production. He also began taking an interest in politics when attending meetings and events hosted by the local Democratic Party organization during the 1964 presidential campaign. Darlene’s boss at the United Fund, John Donnelly, was raising funds for the party and angling for a job with the Johnson Administration so Vic tagged along. Rubbing elbows with congressmen, state and city officials he found was exciting and a good way to make contacts for business. He also was fascinated by his wife’s familiarity with the Campaign process and the movers and shakers of the government.
“You know sweetie,” he said one night at the conclusion of a campaign dinner she had organized at the Palmer House; that raised over seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. “You certainly handled that well. I was really impressed when the mayor and Hubert Humphrey thanked you and called you by your first name.”
“Oh Hubert, I met him when he came here with Jack Kennedy in 1960. Like every good politician, he never forgets a name. And of course you know I’ve met the mayor at several events over the years.”
They were interrupted by Rich Daley, the mayor’s son, who whispered to Darlene that his father wanted a list of all the guests and the amount of their contributions for his files. In a livelier voice, he added smiling, “my dad really likes you and told me to keep an eye on you.”
Vic meanwhile was smiling, shaking hands with people as they were leaving and mimicking the politicians by introducing himself to those he didn’t know. The excitement of being around the invigorating atmosphere of an election campaign and being part of it was getting to him. Young Daley parted with a kiss on the cheek from Darlene and shook Vic’s hand, saying, “sorry for the interruption Vic, but my Dad insisted that I talk with Darlene before she left.”
“Don’t worry about it Rich, he’s becoming one of us and will probably run for office one day,” laughed Darlene.
“What made you say that,” Vic smiled, watching Daley hustling after an alderman who was heading for the exit.
“You think I can’t see how much you love all the excitement and don’t you remember how we use to talk that you wanted to do something to help people. That’s how all politicians start.”
He grinned, cocking his head and saying, “the thought of someday running for office has bounced around in my mind, but I didn’t think it was so noticeable.”
She squeezed his arm. “Well if you want some professional advice, I think it’s about time you start getting involved. Join a few organizations and become active,” she said seriously. “They can use men like you and when the time comes you’ll be ready. By the way it will be good for
business too
.”
A few months later, on the eve of election day in early November, the sun had almost disappeared in the west and the street lights were coming on; Frank and Vic were walking from the Wrigley building to the victory celebration at the Morrison Hotel. Hearing a loud crash they came to an abrupt stop as did all traffic on Randolph Street. A car had jumped the curb and crashed into a plate glass window of Maling’s shoe store just ahead of them. Vic ran to the scene. Inside the 1957 Buick, which was resting on the driver’s side a black women was unconscious, wedged under the steering wheel. People on the sidewalk were screaming and patrons from the store were stumbling as they wandered out, dazed but unhurt. Traffic in both directions stalled and a young policeman blowing his whistle came running as Vic discarded his coat and climbed on top of the car. He struggled to pull open the front door which was jammed shut. Giving up, he tried the rear one and was able to get it open and slip inside.
“You okay, “he said, shaking the heavy set woman.
She didn’t respond and he began maneuvering her to one side and tugging her into the back seat. A policeman was above and reached in trying to help as Vic pushed the woman toward him.
“Hurry Mister, the car is on fire, we gotta get her outta here fast.,” the policeman yelled .
“Easy ma’am,” Vic said as the woman moaned when he pulled and struggled to drag her toward the outstretched hands above. A second policeman appeared alongside on top. Smoke was coming in from fire in the front of the vehicle as Vic propped the woman up and was able to push her shoulders to the men above. Quickly they pulled the whimpering woman to safety and Vic followed pulling himself up and onto the street.
Frank grabbed Vic by the arm, pulling him away from the burning car as the policemen, carried the woman and propped her up in a sitting position against a wall where she appeared to be regaining consciousness. Vic went to her. “You alright ma’am,” he said touching her shoulder.
Head down she winced and nodded.
“Don’t worry we’ve got an ambulance coming,” the young cop said softly as he leaned over her.
Turning to Vic he said, “Jesus mister, it’s a good thing you got to her when you did. The whole car is full of smoke. We were able to put out the fire with an extinguisher but the smoke is still coming out.”
As Sirens blared, a flash bulb popped followed by another, then a few more.
The cops had already cleared a path in the street and a fire truck was pulling up.
Within minutes a policeman cornered Vic asking questions and trying to find out what had happened. A reporter was on the spot too, gathering information and attempting to talk to the woman who was being attended to by an ambulance attendant. It was over an hour before the Waynes were able to leave. At the Morrison Vic had Frank find Darlene and she came out to the lobby .
“My God, what happened to you,” she shrieked. .
Standing off to the side of the crowded lobby, smelling of smoke and wearing a torn suit jacket, hands in his pockets, Vic smiled.
“Sorry were late, but we had a small emergency,” he laughed.
The next evening Darlene greeted Vic as he came in for dinner, “Hi hero, how was work today any more rescues?”
“The calls were unbelievable. The news people and customers and people I haven’t talked to in years.”
“You know Victor, I’m not surprised. You’re always the first one to jump in and help. I’m proud of you and I’m saving all the newspapers. Now, tell me about the calls.”
“It wasn’t such a big deal. I’m sure a lot of people would have done the same thing.”
Shaking her head no, Darlene said, “no I don’t think so Victor.”
Within a week after Vic;s rescue of the woman trapped in the auto he received several invitations to join civic and charitable organizations. He also was interviewed by a reporter from the Tribune who followed up with a flattering story of the rescue. With Darlene’s urging and the coaxing of his old friend Jim Vogel, whose advertising agency specialized in election campaigns, he began thinking about the possibility of one day running for office. At the same time, he began attending events sponsored by the Democratic Party of Cook County and the State of Illinois. He also became a member of the Art Institute, City Chamber of Commerce and volunteered to serve on the Real Estate division of the Jewish United Fund.
In the early 70’s the trade unions were feuding with the builders and things came to a head in the spring of 1973. A strike was called by three of the local unions and all construction work in the area came to a standstill. While not all of the locals were sympathetic, they all agreed not to cross the picket lines. Chicago was a union city and a strike required solidarity.
Wayne Construction had six jobs; that up until the stoppage were proceeding according to schedule. Commitments had been made to the lenders and owners of the properties who had made plans based on expected completion dates. Any serious delay could not only damage the company’s reputation, it could possibly force them into bankruptcy. Vic had the supervisory staff stretched to the limit and he and Frank were frantically working on plans to avoid delays, but the jobs were falling behind schedule.