Page 173 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

By Monday morning, George was moving like an old man, cautiously, trying to minimize the twinges of pain. The Birmingham Fire Department's water cannon produced a pressure of one hundred pounds per square inch, according to the newspapers, and George could feel every pound on every inch of his back.

He was not the only one hurting on Monday morning. Hundreds of demonstrators were bruised. Some had been dog-bitten badly enough to need stitches. Thousands of schoolchildren were still in jail.

George prayed their sufferings would prove worthwhile.

There was hope now. The wealthy white businessmen of Birmingham wanted to end the conflict. No one was shopping: a black boycott of downtown stores had been made more effective by the fear of whites that they might get caught up in a riot. Even the hard-nosed owners of steel mills and factories felt that their businesses were being damaged by the city's reputation as the world capital of violent racism.

And the White House hated the continuing global headlines. Foreign newspapers, taking for granted the Negroes' right to justice and democracy, could not understand why the American president seemed unable to enforce his own laws.

Bobby Kennedy sent Burke Marshall to try to make a deal with Birmingham's leading citizens. Dennis Wilson was his aide. George did not trust either. Marshall had undermined the Commission on Civil Rights report with legal quibbles, and Dennis had always been jealous of George.

Birmingham's white elite would not negotiate directly with Martin Luther King, so Dennis and George had to act as go-betweens, with Verena representing King.

Burke Marshall wanted King to call off Monday's demonstration. "And take the pressure off, just when we're gaining the advantage?" said Verena incredulously to Dennis Wilson in the swanky lounge of the Gaston Motel. George nodded agreement.

"The city government can't do anything right now anyway," Dennis responded.

The city government was going through a separate but related crisis: Bull Connor had mounted a legal challenge to the election he had lost, so there were two men claiming to be mayor. Verena said: "So they're divided and weakened--good! If we wait for them to resolve their differences, they'll come back stronger and more determined. Don't you White House people know anything about politics?"

Dennis pretended that the civil rights campaigners were muddled about what they wanted. That, too, infuriated Verena. "We have four simple demands," she said. "One: immediate desegregation of lunch counters, restrooms, water fountains, all facilities in stores. Two: nondiscriminatory hiring and promotion of black employees in the stores. Three: all demonstrators to be released from jail, and charges dropped. Four: for the future, a biracial committee to negotiate desegregation of the police, schools, parks, movie theaters, and hotels." She glared at Dennis. "Anything muddled there?"

King was asking for things that should have been taken for granted, but all the same it was too much for the whites. That evening, Dennis came back to the Gaston and told George and Verena the counterproposals. The store owners w

ere willing to desegregate fitting rooms immediately, other facilities after a delay. Five or six black employees could be promoted to "tie jobs" as soon as the demonstrations ended. The businessmen could do nothing about the prisoners, because that was a matter for the courts. Segregation of schools and other city facilities had to be referred to the mayor and the city council.

Dennis was pleased. For the first time ever, the whites were negotiating!

But Verena was scornful. "This is nothing," she said. "They never ask two women to share a fitting room, so they're hardly segregated in the first place. And there are more than five Negro men in Birmingham capable of putting on a tie. As for the rest--"

"They say they have no power to reverse the decisions of the courts or change the laws."

"How naive are you?" said Verena. "In this town, the courts and the city government do what the businessmen ask them to do."

Bobby Kennedy asked George to put together a list of the most influential white businessmen in town, with their phone numbers. The president was going to call them personally and tell them they needed to compromise.

George noted other exciting signs. Mass meetings in Birmingham churches on Monday evening collected an amazing $40,000 in donations to the campaign: it took King's people most of the night to count it all, which they did in a motel room rented for the purpose. Even more money was pouring in by mail. The movement normally lived from hand to mouth, but Bull Connor and his dogs had brought a massive windfall.

Verena and King's people settled in for a late-night session in the sitting room of King's suite, discussing how to keep the pressure on. George was not invited--he did not want to learn things he might feel obliged to report to Bobby--so he went to bed.

In the morning he put on his suit and went downstairs to King's ten o'clock press conference. He found the motel courtyard crammed with more than a hundred journalists from all over the world, sweating under the Alabama sun. King's Birmingham campaign was hot news--again thanks to Bull Connor. "The activities which have taken place in Birmingham over the last few days mark the nonviolent movement's coming of age," King said. "This is the fulfillment of a dream."

George could not see Verena anywhere, and the suspicion grew in him that the real action might be elsewhere. He left the motel and went around the corner to the church. He did not find Verena, but he did notice schoolchildren coming out of the church basement and getting into cars parked in a line along Fifth Avenue. He sensed an air of forced nonchalance about the adults supervising them.

He ran into Dennis Wilson, who had news. "The Senior Citizens Committee is having an emergency meeting at the chamber of commerce."

George had heard of this unofficial group, nicknamed the Big Mules. They were the men who held the real power in the town. If they were panicking, something would have to change.

Dennis said: "What are King's people planning?"

George was glad he did not know. "I wasn't invited to the meeting," he said. "But they've cooked up something."

He parted from Dennis and walked downtown. Even strolling alone he knew he might be arrested for parading without a permit, but he had to take the risk: he would be of no use to Bobby if he hid in the Gaston.

In ten minutes he reached Birmingham's typical Southern-town business district: department stores, cinemas, civic buildings, and a railway line running through the middle.

George figured out what King's plan was only when he saw it going into operation.

Suddenly Negroes walking alone, or in twos and threes, began to congregate, brandishing placards that they had until now kept hidden. Some sat down, blocking the sidewalk, others knelt to pray on the steps of the massive art deco city hall. Conga lines of hymn-singing teenagers wove in and out of segregated stores. Traffic slowed to a halt.

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