The Boy Orator by Tracy Daugherty

Author:Tracy Daugherty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: The Boy Orator
ISBN: 9781938604713
Publisher: Dzanc Books
Published: 1999-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

PATRICK NAGLE WAS A GENTLE man, generous and kind, ardent, full of conviction, but a poor public speaker. He stood onstage with Harry just long enough to mumble, “If present economic conditions persist, years from now we won’t be asking this boy, ‘What business are you in?’ but ‘Who do you work for now?’”

He was more comfortable behind the scenes, he admitted, writing articles, drafting speeches for others. “I don’t really have what it takes to be a hand-shaker or a baby-kisser,” he said. Harry liked his presence, his striped suit and slick, black mustache. He was disappointed when Nagle rushed off “to other party business.”

As he stepped into his jitney he winked at Harry. “You’re a good Irish lad,” he said. Harry was glad his father had named their mule for him.

Dora Mertz and Stanley Clark were charismatic leaders, but around the supper fires at night they were loud and a little too friendly with the bottle. “It’s always a shock to learn your heroes are human,” Warren Stargell whispered to Harry one night, registering the boy’s reaction to the pair.

But Oscar Ameringer, the great Oscar—he exceeded his billing. He knew so much! He’d read all the primary Socialist works, both European and American. He was a fine speaker but he didn’t try to whip the crowd into a frenzy. He was more of a teacher, Harry saw, patiently explaining political principles. Some of the party faithful thought he wasn’t fiery enough—he didn’t support an all-out revolution. He believed capitalism would inevitably fail, and that democratic Socialists would gradually take the reins. Harry believed him. It thrilled the boy when Ameringer told a crowd one day, “The word Socialism indicates association, organization, and cooperation.” After that, Harry would have followed him anywhere. He was just plain good.

One afternoon, while Warren Stargell and others were watering the horses, J. T. Cumbie complained to Ameringer about the “religion nuts” gnawing steadily away at the party.

“Who do you mean, J. T.?” Ameringer swept a lick of thick brown hair off the tops of his ears. His eyes were steady and gray.

“This boy, for one.” Cumbie pointed at Harry, who was kneeling by a stream, washing the dust from his face. “He’s been telling the crowds it’s okay to be a Catholic or a Jew and still be a Socialist.”

“I agree with him,” Ameringer said with a precision, Harry heard, that dramatically thickened his heavy German accent. “The party considers religion an individual matter. You know that.”

“And you know, Oscar, that preachers are the spiritual cops of the capitalists. If they gave a damn about the working class, they’d back our strikes instead of fretting about sinners.”

“You don’t need to orate, J. T. It’s me you’re talking to. And I think the boy’s okay. Leave him alone, all right?”

Cumbie glared at Harry. It was best to let the moment pass. Cumbie had wronged him, but the old goat was a revered party elder.

To be a good Socialist, did you really have to like

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