Sincerely, Willis Wayde (66 page)

At this point Mazie Minton came back. It seemed that they had the display of Simfoam cushions set up now in the conference room, and that Mr. Gregorian from the agency wanted Mr. Wayde's reaction. Willis was dreadfully sorry, but if Howard wouldn't mind waiting they could go on with their talk. Then Willis asked Mazie for his engagement calendar and looked at it. Then, after a moment's thought, Willis had extended a very gracious invitation. He asked Howard if he wouldn't come out to Lake Forest and take potluck at supper, since just the family would be at home. They could talk business going out in the Cadillac. Howard would not have dreamt of accepting this invitation if Willis had not urged him warmly. After all, as Willis had put it in a very graceful way, Howard Twining was a sort of ambassador, a liaison link between him and his many dear friends in Clyde. Frankly, they had just moved into a rambling and rather informal home. It had been built by the Chicago architectural firm of Guthrie, Gompers, and Clutch, and he and Mrs. Wayde had given many happy hours of thought to the plans and to arranging their antique furniture, which was more of an investment than a luxury. The landscaping was well along now, and being in the real-estate business, Willis was sure that Howard understood the intangible plus values which surround a home, and the latch-string was always out for old friends from Clyde High. It was a play day for the kids, and they could both have a dip in the pool, a cold drink and a pick-up supper, after which Howard could be returned to his Chicago hotel in the Caddie. It was a fact that Willis Wayde called it a Caddie.

“Mazie, my dear,” Willis said, “would you see if you can get me Mrs. Wayde? And then I'll go right into the conference, and maybe Mr. Twining won't mind waiting here, and you might show him our new booklet, the one called ‘Simcoe Magic' I mean.”

Until the telephone rang, Willis talked about the thought behind the booklet called “Simcoe Magic.” His basic idea had been that Simcoe and its conveyor belting had formed a magic carpet that now was girdling the globe.

“Is that you, sweetness?” he said when the telephone rang. It was a fact that he did call Mrs. Wayde sweetness, and there was something rather nice in the way he said it. “I'll be starting out in about a half an hour. I want to see the end of the tennis and also the Australian-crawl lessons, so please ask Mr. Crock and Mr. Ginsberg to synchronize their schedules, based on a normal run between home and office, beginning in half an hour, sweetness. And by the way, who do you think is sitting here right beside me this minute? Howard Twining. Isn't that something, after all the times I've talked to you about Howard? I've asked him out to have a bite and Howard's gracious enough to say he can come. He understands it's a wife-and-kiddies' day, and Gus can take Howard back right after supper. If the children want to go to the movies Axel can drive them in the other car, or I could, myself, in the convertible. Well, I'll be home in no time now, sweetness.”

Howard Twining wished he had the powers of description to paint a real word picture of the Wayde home at Lake Forest. He could only say that even in that suburb of magnificent homes the Wayde home took its place with the best of them. He could only say that the whole place had a welcoming, outgoing quality—and Howard was sure that he was not influenced in his judgment simply because he had made a hundred-thousand-dollar sale. Curiously enough the estate reminded him in a funny, though in a quite different, way of the old Harcourt place. The rhododendrons on the drive were like the Harcourt rhododendrons; and believe it or not, there was an artificial pond with a swan on it. When Howard spoke of this resemblance Willis Wayde was delighted.

“You're the first one who's ever said that, Howard,” he said, “and I'm flattered you perceived it, because I did draw quite a lot of inspiration from the Harcourt place while Sylvia and I were pooling our ideas.”

The house was made of gray stone like the Harcourt house and it had a gray slate roof; but the whole thing was modern, with picture windows and things like that. To Howard's regret he never did get upstairs. He washed up in a very commodious downstairs lavatory that had a cloakroom as a vestibule, evidently designed for large parties. His main impression was made up of gracious hallways, large rooms with oil pictures, and very lovely furniture. There was not much time to see all this because, being summer, they dined outdoors on a terrace overlooking the pool, on a lovely glass-topped table lit by hurricane candles, and were served by a butler named Axel in a white coat. The whole family were at the table, seeing, as Willis said again, it was a wife-and-kiddies' night. But a whole lot of interesting things happened before they ever sat down to dinner.

Mrs. Wayde, Howard Twining said, was a lovely, gracious hostess. If she had seemed vague as to who he was, then why shouldn't she have? You could see, though, that she was used to making people at home, proving that Willis must have used the place freely for business entertainment.

“Howard,” Willis said shortly after they arrived, “why don't you and I take off our coats and relax? Sylvia won't mind, will you, sweetness?”

Howard had to confess that he was wearing suspenders, but Willis said that Mrs. Wayde would not mind in the least, this being in the nature of an old Clyde High reunion, and Mrs. Wayde didn't mind. You could see at once that there was a lovely relationship between her and Willis, that she was a real wife and mother, and very handsome too. She was wearing a lovely tailored linen dress, and everything about her was spic and span. Incidentally she wore no jewelry except for a diamond bracelet and a very handsome solitaire diamond ring.

“And now, Howard,” Willis said, “let's all go down and see the kids. This is one of their sport afternoons. They have tennis and swimming instruction three times a week. I feel these skills are important for them, and Sylvia and I try to see that nothing interferes. Are they down at the court now, honey?”

“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Wayde answered. “Mr. Crock is finishing up with Paul. And Mr. Crock is very anxious for you to see how much Al has improved with his forehand.”

“Has Louise picked up any on her serve?” Willis asked.

“Mr. Crock said he was very happy with her serving, darling,” Mrs. Wayde said. “But you must hurry if you want to see Paul.”

You could see that a beautiful relationship existed between Mr. and Mrs. Wayde.

“Crock thinks Paul has the makings of an outstanding player,” Willis said. “I always maintain you have to learn the rudiments of tennis when you're young. Is Ginsberg at the pool yet, dear?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Wayde said, “I think he's getting ready, Willis.”

“I wonder if you'd tell him, sweetness,” Willis said, “that he needn't get out the dumbbells or the mat? I won't have my workout as long as Howard's here.”

As a matter of fact Willis Wayde looked fit enough to skip the workout. Even at the end of a hard day he was right on his toes showing off the place. The tennis court was very beautiful, and when Howard mentioned it, Willis confessed he had constructed it mostly from his memories of the court at the Bryson Harcourts'.

The children had lovely manners. One of the boys was playing tennis with a muscular young man, and another boy, Al, about thirteen, with a sweater around his shoulders, was sitting beside a very cute little dark-haired girl aged eight.

“It looks to me,” Willis Wayde said, “as though you were having a happy time, kids.”

You could see that there was a real and deep affection between Willis and his children. They all gave a big shout when they saw him, and the little girl, whose name was Louise, jumped right up into his arms.

“How's Daddy's darling?” Willis said. “And now I want you all to meet Mr. Twining. Believe it or not, Mr. Twining went to school with Daddy.”

There was no doubt at all that the Wayde children were good at tennis, and when it came to swimming Howard Twining was frankly a little embarrassed to put on a pair of trunks and get into the pool with the Wayde family and Mr. Ginsberg. He did not mean that the pool was small. It was oversized and beautifully landscaped, with dressing rooms, and showers, and foam-rubber chairs, and everything. Howard Twining only meant that he was embarrassed because he could merely do the side and breast strokes, whereas Willis and all the Wayde children swam the Australian crawl. But Mrs. Wayde put him at his ease.

“I think Willis overdoes the Australian crawl,” she said. “It's always been an obsession with him. He even took crawl lessons on our honeymoon.”

“Oh, now,” Howard said facetiously, “not on your honeymoon, Mrs. Wayde.”

She laughed. She had a lovely sense of humor.

“Well, you know Willis, if you went to school with him,” she said. “And now I see Axel's bringing down some cooling drinks. If Willis will stop doing the crawl he'll make you a Martini. He's quite an authority on the making of Martinis.”

What Howard Twining always tried to emphasize when he told of his visit was its homey informality. You could see that there was lots of money around—swimming pools, old silver, butlers, chauffeurs, Cadillacs, tennis instructors, and things like that; but none of this made you self-conscious. All that mattered was the hospitable friendliness of Mr. and Mrs. Wayde and the beautiful relationship they and the children all shared together. It was a privilege to be taken into the bosom of such a family, every member of which tried to make a guest happy. Howard was very deeply regretful when Gus came with the Cadillac, but he carried the picture back of the Waydes in their lovely Lake Forest setting. Furthermore he could never say too often that success and riches had not changed Willis Wayde. Willis was the same fine modest Willis Wayde who had debated at Clyde High on whether capital punishment should be abolished, and had walked in the grand march with Patricia Ryan at the graduation dance. In conclusion there was one remark of Willis's that Howard always remembered.

“Howard,” he said, “although we live here in Lake Forest and try in our small ways to play our part in the community we are essentially New England folks. Sylvia is a Cambridge girl essentially and my heart is right back there at Clyde. Sylvia and I have put our heads together to see what we can do to give our children the benefits of that New England heritage that you and I both value. That's why Al is going to Middlesex School this fall, just outside Concord, Massachusetts, and Paul I hope will follow him later—but Louise will stay with Daddy, won't you, honeybee?” At least these were approximately the words of Willis Wayde, and at least Howard Twining had conveyed the sense and spirit.

Howard Twining had made his trip to visit Willis Wayde in the summer of 1950, just at the bginning of the Korean difficulties. The signs on the Harcourt Mill had been changed almost a year before to read “Simcoe Rubber Hose and Belting,” and underneath in smaller but highly legible lettering “Harcourt Division.” There were no rumors then or undercurrents of uneasiness in Clyde regarding the future of the Harcourt Mill. Why should there have been, as long as Willis Wayde had a personal interest in the mill and was also first vice president of Simcoe Rubber? Willis was actually not moved up to the presidency of Simcoe until 1953, when P. L. Nagel finally became chairman of the board of directors—later than P.L. had promised, but then, older people always liked to hold on.

Clyde myths seldom died easily, and in a town like Clyde, disillusion could never wholly destroy belief. When Willis Wayde became president of Simcoe Rubber the news was announced in headlines that extended clear across the front page of
The Clyde Herald
, and everybody loved the news, for Willis Wayde was too great now to be the target of envy or malice. It was clear to everyone in Clyde that the town at last had a great protector. If there was any jealousy at all, this uncomfortable sentiment was directed toward the lucky executives and employees of the Harcourt Mill, who, under Willis Wayde's especial care, would always be employed, in good times and in bad, and who would always have prompt support in sickness or in sorrow.

It was, therefore, a shock to Clyde when the disaster finally struck, the more so since there were no rumors to precede it. The news first took the form of a brief notice placed on all the bulletin boards at the Harcourt Mill, almost two months to the day after Willis had been made president of Simcoe. The next morning there was another banner headline across the front page of
The Clyde Herald:

SIMCOE CLOSES HARCOURT MILL—PROPERTY FOR SALE

There was, of course, an official explanation carefully prepared by the management of Simcoe Rubber Hose and Belting. It said, among other things, that this step was taken only after long deliberation, and with deep regret, due to the necessity for closer integration of the Simcoe processes, thus achieving greater economy and efficiency. Positions, it was added, would be made available as far as possible to employees who might want to work at the Simcoe Ohio or Illinois plants. And out of consideration to all employees, operations at the Harcourt Mill would not be discontinued for two full months. The announcement was signed by Willis Wayde as president of Simcoe.

This last was very hard to believe, because the announcement was completely devoid of his well-known warmth and sympathy. In fact, after a few stunned days when no one could talk of anything else, a group of die-hards, including many Harcourt laborers, who still had faith in Willis Wayde, banded together in his defense. They knew that if the Harcourt Mill had closed it was because Willis Wayde could not help it. He was sick about it, he had fought against it every inch of the way. It was not Willis Wayde who had closed the Harcourt Mill. It was a ring of Wall Street bankers who had secretly gained control of the Simcoe Company, and who had forced this humiliation upon Willis Wayde.

Thus the final dissolution of the Harcourt Mill was perhaps not quite so tragic as it might have been. True, it disrupted the economic life of Clyde and the private lives of many families who lived within its limits. It was an especially heavy blow because it soon was clear that the Harcourt property was unsalable for future industrial purposes. There were many hard words spoken, both in sorrow and in anger, but there was one thing which was a real tribute to the town, and a fact of beauty, when one came to think of it. Treachery and disaster—such was the loyalty of Clyde—could not destroy the myth of Willis Wayde. There were those who believed in him still, and who even believed he would return in his Cadillac some day and repurchase and run the Harcourt Mill again.