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The Credit Union Lady by Paul Thompson This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either fictional or used fic- titiously. Dedicated to Evelyn, my wife and best editor Second Edition c Copyright 2011 by Paul Thompson All Rights Reserved Back Cover Photo by Elizabeth Thompson Contents Book One: 1927..............1 Book Two: 1934............37 Book Three: 1944..........71 Book Four: 1956.........175 Afterword....................287 About the Author........288 Book One - 1927 1 2 1 In the Alley As Stumpy Peterson exited the speakeasy's side door into the alley, massive arms seized him and slammed him against the wall of the building. The small work- man's balding head smacked painfully against the brick. "Think you can sneak out of the plant without paying me, do you?" rumbled Bull Bukowski. "Jeez, Bull, I can't pay. I really can't." Bull seized Stumpy's right hand. The hand missing the little finger, lost in a shop accident. Bull tightened his grip. "Oh, Christ, that hurts, Bull. Let me go. I'll find some way to pay you, if I have to rob a bank." The pressure steadily increased. Stumpy yelled. There was a crack, and Stumpy sank to his knees, sob- bing. Bull released him. "You better go rob that bank." And lumbered away. Stumpy returned to work on Monday with his right hand in a cast and a bandage on the back of his head. "I had an accident," he muttered curtly to inquiries. He worked clumsily at his metal lathe until the day shift foreman, big, blond Hank Schmidt, called him into his little office off the shop floor. "Shut the door, " Hank told Stumpy, motioning him to sit in the straight chair in front of Hank's ancient wood desk. "All right," Hank said, "tell me what happened." "Like I said, it was an accident." "I don't believe you." "Well, it was." "Tell me about it." "I — uh — fell going home from work. In the side alley by Northern Lights, where I cut across to Stevens Street." "You managed to break your hand and hit the back of your head in the same fall?" "Yeh." 3 "Somebody saw Bull coming out of that alley. And you came out afterward." Hank didn't add the humiliat- ing fact that Stumpy had been wiping tears from his eyes. The foreman took a deep breath and turned in his chair to look at the wall calendar, with its picture of the Hauser Specialty Manufacturing Company plant, the company's slogan: "American Spirit, Swiss Craftsman- ship," and the address: Brighton Falls, Wisconsin. Business had boomed during the Great War. After the post-War slump, the company had rebounded. Work was starting on an addition to the shop, and new lino- leum had been installed in the office wing. Wages were rising — Stumpy now earned 80 cents an hour — but not enough for Stumpy to free himself from Bull's grasp. Hank's silence focused Stumpy's mind on his trou- bles. Stumpy wanted very much to talk to Hank about Bull. But for crying out loud, Hank Schmidt already knew about Bull. Everyone knew about him. He wasn't a particularly good workman, but he was useful for lifting heavy stuff, and you couldn't fire a guy for lending money. Nobody was forced to borrow from Bull. And even if Bull were fired, he'd still be expecting his money. Stumpy said nothing, and Schmidt moved on. "Bull's overstepped this time. He's hurt you. He's costing us production. How much do you owe him?" Stumpy sighed. "I don't know. It keeps going up all the time. The last time he said anything, it was a hun- dred and ten." "Let me put it this way: How much have you bor- rowed from Bull, in total? Without all this extra interest he keeps tacking on?" "Let me think — twenty." "I can take care of Bull," Hank said slowly. "That solves YOUR problem — but it doesn't solve THE prob- lem." "THE problem?" "What to do about all the other Bulls. Every shop has them. And if they don't, there's some loan shark down the street. You know how those small loan guys show up at our pay office every Friday to get their cut before the men get their packet. The trouble is, us working stiffs need an alternative — and there isn't any. 4 “The banks won't look at us unless we live on the West Side. The company can give us an advance on our pay, but they deduct the entire amount next pay packet, with high interest." He turned back to Stumpy. "Let me think some more about it." Stumpy left the office, feeling maybe, just maybe, something good might happen. He thought of the doctor, who had looked at him in sympathetic exasperation when he presented his broken hand. If Bull was taken care of, maybe he could pay something to the doctor. And the dentist. And bring the rent up to date. Hank followed Peterson out of the office and walked slowly around the shop floor, pausing now and then to speak to one of the workmen on the machines. He did not notice the August heat, the acrid tang of metal and lubricants, the whine and squeal of machine tools, the creaking of overhead cranes, the voices raised over the noise, the fluttering sparrow trying to find one of the opened clerestory windows of the two-story brick shop. He was thinking about Stumpy's dilemma. The machinist made good money, but he had to feed a wife and six children, and he didn't seem to know much about handling money. He was easy prey for loan sharks, as were many of the other workers. Hank's reverie ended when he came upon Bull load- ing a handcart with metal bars. He looked on silently until Bull turned. "Yeah?" "In my office." Hank turned around and Bull hulked after him. Hank was a big man but Bull was bigger, and it felt uncomfortable to have him walking behind, but Hank said nothing. They entered the office and Hank shut the door, then turned to face Bull. "Yeah, boss?" "You like working here, Bull?" Bull glanced around, as if it were a trick question. "Sure." "Well, you've got a bad habit." "What's that?" "Lending money to men who can't afford you." "What do you mean?" "I mean, you stepped over the line, Bull, when you hurt Stumpy. I can't have that in my shop." 5 Bull glowered, finally nodded, and turned as if to go. "And I can't have my people hounded for their money week after week." "I loan it fair and square." "No you don't. You're milking them for every dollar you can squeeze out of them. It's got to stop." "And if I don't?" "You're fired. And I'll blackball you with every shop around here." Bull curled his pile-driver fists, and Hank half- expected to dodge a blow. But Bull was sharp enough to know that would ruin his chances of finding any work. "And that's not all I need from you," Hank continued evenly and firmly. "All those men who borrowed from you. You let them repay the amount they actually bor- rowed — no interest, no add-ons — at fifty cents a week. And like I said, no more lending." Bull smoldered, but finally nodded his heavy head. One problem solved. But Bull was only a symptom, Hank knew, of the larger problem. Was there any answer to that? Hank sighed. He had his own money problems. Not so pressing, but very real all the same. He pondered the talk he and his fifteen-year-old daughter, Nancy, had had the night before. He was already paying to send her and her three younger brothers to St. Teresa School. And now Nancy was talking about going to college. "Sister Anne says I'd make a wonderful teacher. And I would, Papa. She's going to have me tutor this year." Nancy stood impatiently in the middle of their small living room. Hank, seated in his favorite chair, kept his gaze on his book, volume L-M of the encyclopedia. "I know you're smart, Nancy, and you'd make a good teacher. But we just don't have the money for something like that." He set the book aside and unconsciously worked his thick fingers together, callused as they were and stained with shop dirt too deep ever to scrub out. "You know, I never went to high school. I had to help on the farm. Now you're going to high school. That's a step up. Maybe one step is all we can do." He got up from his chair and awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders. "And anyway, chances are you're going to get married and then you won't want to teach." 6 "Oh, Papa. I'm going to teach, one way or another." "Maybe you will, Nancy. Maybe you will. But I don't know how." 2 Goddess of the Air While Hank was delivering his ultimatum to Bull, his daughter was shepherding her three younger brothers, Bert, Bobby, and Harry, through the homemaking ex- hibits at the Jenson County Fair. It was hot and not much fun being responsible for telling them no, they couldn't see the reptile lady or the sword-swallower. To compensate, she fingered the five- dollar bill in her skirt pocket — the hard-earned money that would buy her an airplane ride later.