Wheels (42 page)

"Th
ere's a line in Genesis somewhere," the Silver Fox said. "I think it
goes, 'Your eyes shall be opened
.”

' He added cautiously, "But let's not
get carried away. We may have something. Even if we do, though, there's
a long road ahead
.”

Brett was already sketching, his pencil racing through shapes, then
discarding them. As he ripped off sheets from his pad, they dropped to
the floor. It was a designer's way of thinking, just as others exchanged
ideas through words. Adam reminded himself to retrieve the sheets later
and save them; if something came of this night, they would be historic.
But he knew that what Elroy Braithwaite had said was true. The Silver
Fox, through more years than any of the others here, had seen new cars
develop from first ideas to finished products, but had suffered, too,
through projects which
looked promising at birth, only to be snuffed out later for unforeseen
reasons, or sometimes for no reason at all.
Within the company a new car concept had countless barriers to pass,
innumerable critiques to survive, interminable meetings, with opposition
to overcome. And even if an idea survived all these, the executive
vice-president, president, and chairman of the board had veto powers .
. .
But some ideas got through and became reality.
The Orion had. So . . . just barely possibly
might this early, inchoate concept, the seed sown here and now, for
Farstar.
Someone brought more coffee, and they talked on, f ar into the night.

Chapter
eighteen

The OJL advertising agency, in the person of Keith Yates-Brown, was nervous
and edgy because the documentary film Auto City was proceeding without a
shooting script.
"There has to be a script," Yates-Brown had protested to Barbara Zaleski
on the telephone from New York a day or two ago. "If there isn't, how can
we protect the client's interests from here and make suggestions
.”

Barbara, in Detroit, had felt like telling the management supervisor that
the last thing the project needed was Madison Avenue meddling. It could
transform the honest, perceptive film now taking shape into a glossy,
innocuous m6lange. But, instead, she repeated the views of the director,
Wes Gropetti, a talented man with enough solid credits behind him to make
his viewpoint count.
"You won't grab the mood of inner city Detroit by putting a lot of crud
on paper because we don't know what the mood is yet," Gropetti had declared. 'We're here with all this fancy camera and sound gear to find
out
.”

The director, heavily bearded but diminutive in stature, seemed like a
shaggy sparrow. He wore a black beret which he was never without, and was
less sensitive about words than he was with visual images. He went on, "I
want the inner city jokers, broads, and kids to tell us what they really
think about themselves, and how they look on the rest of us lousy bums.
That means their hates, hopes, frustrations, joys, as well as how they
breathe, eat, sleep, fornicate, sweat, and what they see and smell. I'll
get all that on film-their mugs, voices, everything unrehearsed. As to
lan
guage, well let the crud fall where it may. Maybe I'll prick a few people
in the ass to get them mad, but either way they'll talk, then while they
do, I'll let the camera wander like a whore's attention, and we'll see
Detroit the way they see it, through inner city eyes
.”

And it was working, Barbara assured Yates
-
Brown.
Using cin
ema verite
technique, with a handheld camera and a minimum of
paraphernalia to distract, Gropetti was roaming the inner city with a
crew, persuading people to talk frankly, freely, and sometimes movingly,
on film. Barbara, who usually accompanied the expeditions, knew that
part of Gropetti's genius lay in his instinct for selection, then making
those he chose forget that a lens and lights were focused on them. No
one knew what the little director whispered into ears before their
owners began talking; sometimes he would bend his head down,
confidentially, for minutes at a time. But it produced reactions:
amusement, defiance, rapport, disagreement, sullenness, impudence,
alertness, anger and once
from a young black militant who became impressively eloquent-a blazing hatred.
When he was sure of a reaction, Gropett
i
would spring instantly back so
that the camera
already operating at the director's covert signal
would
catch full facial expressions and spontaneous words. Afterward, with
limitless patience, Gropetti would repeat the process until he had what
he sought-a glimpse of personality, good or bad, amiable or savage, but
vital and real, and without the clumsy intrusion of an interviewer.
Barbara had already seen rushes and rough cuts of the results, and was
excited. Photographically, they had the quality and depth of Karsh
portraits, plus Gropetti's magic mix of vibrant animation.
"Since we're calling the film Auto City," Keith Yates-Brown had commented
when she told him all that, "maybe you should wise up Gropetti that there
are motorcars around as well as people, and we'll expect to see
some-preferably our client's
on the screen
.”

Barbara sensed that the agency supervisor was having second thoughts about
the over-all authority she had been given. But he would also know that any
film project needed to have someone firmly in charge and, until the OJL
agency removed or fired her, Barbara was.
She assured Yates-Brown, "There will be cars in the picture-the client's.
We're not emphasizing them, but we're not concealing them either, so most
people will recognize the kind they are
.”

She had gone on to describe the
filming already done in the auto company's assembly plant, with emphasis
on inner city hard core hiring-and Rollie Knight.
During the assembly plant filming, other workers nearby had been unaware
that Rollie was the center of the camera's attention. Partly, this was out
of consideration for Rollie, who wanted it that way, and partly to keep
the atmosphere realistic.
Leonard Wingate of Personnel, who became interested in Barbara's project
the night they met at Brett DeLosanto's apartment, had arranged the whole
thing without fuss. All that anyone in the plant knew was that a portion
of Assembly was being filmed, for purposes unexplained, while regular work
went on. Only Wes Gropetti, Barbara, and the camera
and soundmen realized
that a good deal of the time they appeared to be shooting, they were not,
and that most of the footage taken featured Rollie Knight.
The only sound recording at this point was of assembly plant noises while
they happened,
and afterward Barbara had listened to the sound tape played back. It was
a nightmare cacophony, incredibly effective as a background to the visual
sequence.
Rolli
e Knight's voice, which would be dubbed in later, was to be recorded
during a visit by Gropetti and the film crew to the inner city apartment
house where Rollie and May Lou, his girl friend, lived. Leonard Wingate
would be there. So-though Barbara did not report the fact to Keith
Yates-Brown -would Brett DeLosanto.
On the telephone, Keith Yates-Brown had cautioned, "Just remember we're
spending a lot of the client's money which we'll have to account for
.”

,'We've stayed within budget," Barbara reported. "And the client seems
to like what we've done so far. At least, the chairman of the board
does
.”

She heard a sound on the telephone which could have been Keith
Yates-Brown leaping from his chair.
"You've been in touch with the client's chairman of the board
.”

The
reaction could not have been greater if she had said the Pope or the
President of the United States.
"He came to visit our shooting on location. The day after, Wes Gropetti
took some of the filin and screened it in the chairman's office.
-
"You let that foul-mouthed hippie Gropetti loose on the fifteenth floor
I"
"Wes seemed to think that he and the chairman got along well
.”

"He thought so I You didn't even go yourself
.”

"I couldn't that day
.”

"Oh, my God!
" Barbara could visualize the agency supervisor, his face
paling, a hand clapped to his head.
She reminded him, "You told me yourself
that the chairman was interested, and I might report to him occasionally
.”

"But not casually
!
Not without letting us know here, in advance, so we
could plan what you
s
hould say. And as for sending Gropetti on his own
. .
.”

I was going to tell you," Barbara said, "the client's chairman phoned
me next day. He said he thought our agency had shown commendable
imagination
those were his words-in getting Wes Gropetti to begin
with, and urged us to go on giving Wes his head because this was the
kind of thing which ought to be a director's film. The chairman said he
was putting all that in a letter to the agency
.”

She heard heavy breathing on the line. "We haven't got the letter yet.
When it comes . .
.”

A pause. "Barbara, I guess you're doing fine
.”

Yates-Brown's voice became pleading. "But don't, please don't, take
chances, and let me know anything instantly about the client's chairman
of the board
.”

She had promised that she would, after which Keith Yates-Brown -still
nervously-repeated that he wished they had a script.
Now, several days later and scriptless as ever, Wes Gropetti was ready
to film the final sequence involving hard core hiring and Rollie
Knight. Early evening.
Eight of them, altogether, were packed into the stiflingly hot,
sketchily furnished room.
For Detroit generally, and especially the inner city, it had been a
baking, windless summer day. Even now, with the sun gone, most of the
heat
inside and out-remained.
Rollie Knight and May Lou were two of the eight because this was
where-for the time being -they lived. Though the room was tiny by any
standard, it served the dual purpose of living and sleeping, while a
closet-sized "kitchen" adjoining housed a sink with cold water only, a
decrepit gas cooker, and a few plain board shelves. There was no toilet
or bath. These facilities, such as they were, were one floor down and
shared with a half dozen other apartments.
Rollie looked morose, as if wishing he had not agreed to be involved
with this. May Lou, childlike and seeming to have sprouted like a weed
with skinny legs and bony arms, appeared scared, though she was
becoming less so as Wes Gropetti, his black beret in place despite the
heat, talked quietly to her.
Behind the director were the camera operator and soundman, their
equipment deployed awkwardly in the confined space. Barbara Zaleski
stood with them, her notebook opened.
Brett DeLosanto, watching, was amused to see that Barbara, as usual,
had dark glasses pushed up into her hair.
The camera lights were off. Everyone knew that when they went on, the
room would become hotter still.
Leonard Wingate, from the auto maker's Personnel department and also
the company's ranking Negro executive, mopped his perspiring face with
a fresh linen handkerchief. Both he and Brett were backed against a
wall, trying to take as little space as possible.
Suddenly, though only the two technicians had seen Gropetti's signal,
the lights were on, the sound tape running.
May Lou blinked. But as the director continued to talk softly, she
nodded and her f ace adjusted. Then swiftly, smoothly, Gropetti eased
rearward, out of camera range.
May Lou said naturally, as if unaware of anything but her own thoughts,
"Ain't no good
worryin', not about no future like they say we should, 'cos it ain't ever
looked as if there'd be one for some like us
.”