The Daily Novel

| CHAPTER SEVENTEEN |

1960

Jessie groggily raised her head from the pillow. Yes, that is the phone ringing. She wearily rolled out of bed to answer it, and, hearing MaryBeth’s worried tone, snapped to attention.

“Jessie, Ben’s real bad. The doctors don’t think he’ll make it through the night.  Please come.”

Telling MaryBeth she’d be right over, Jessie reached into the closet, grabbed slacks and a shirt, and dressed as quickly as possible. She combed her fingers through her hair as she exited the kitchen, snatching her purse off the counter, and ran down the path to her car.

Jessie raced to the hospital, oblivious of her speed. Nothing mattered now except that she reach Ben in time.

When she entered his room, Ben’s eyes were closed and MaryBeth was sitting next to him.  Jessie tiptoed to the bed and, taking one of his long but now-thin hands in hers, whispered,  “How you doing, big guy?”

Ben stirred; his eyes flickered for a moment before opening. When he saw Jessie standing close, he smiled.  “Hi, kiddo,” he replied, before dozing back off for a few minutes.

Jessie couldn’t believe how such a hulk of a man could have shriveled up like Ben had done in the past months.  He’s just so weak …

“Bo was here yesterday,” Marybeth whispered.

“That’s wonderful.  But I suppose he had to get right back to his hectic office?”

“Yes, he had an extremely important client meeting, and we didn’t know how long all this was going to last, so Ben ordered him back to D.C.  He took the red-eye flight late last night.”

“Sounds like Ben.  Always thinking of others.”

“Yes, Jessie.  It was the sweetest reunion.  Ben seemed so thirsty, but he had trouble swallowing. Wish you had seen Bo feeding his father ice chips.  I’m so glad they had that time together.  He’ll call today to check in and hopes to fly back again tomorrow.”

When Ben woke again, Jessie sat next to MaryBeth, very still, her eyes full of tears. He reached over and patted Jessie’s hand, watched as tears silently slid from her big green eyes, falling to her cheeks.

“It’s time, kid; you’ve got to let me go.”

MaryBeth began to sob quietly.

“I know,” Jessie replied, “but it’s hard, Ben.”

“I’m going to a better place … you know….” Ben tiredly faltered. “We’ve had some great adventures, haven’t we, kid?”

“Sure have—you and I have been the best team.”

Ben motioned for MaryBeth to come closer.  He clutched her hand and kissed it. “I’ll always be with you, darling, remember that?”

MaryBeth nodded.

“It’s awful nice, having my two best girls here with me.” He closed his eyes and dozed, fitfully, for some time. When he seemed to rest, the girls relaxed a bit.

About six a.m., the monitor began to buzz.  MaryBeth buried her face against Ben’s chest as a nurse rushed into the room to check her husband’s vital signs.  The nurse shook her head sadly and discreetly left the room.

Jessie cradled her arms around MaryBeth, and together they rocked until they had cried themselves out.

Bradford Buchannan pitched pensively in the massive oak chair at his executive desk, contemplating the phone call he’d just received. It came from Ben McCarey’s secretary, relating the grave news that Ben had died earlier that morning.

Buchannan decided to capitalize upon this immediately. He’d call each of the directors on the board personally:  Though the news was sad, the receiver might identify in a positive or sympathetic manner with the bearer.  He began with Kendall Brackman, the assistant chairman, and pointedly mentioned that an emergency board meeting could be called. Kendall agreed, and they set a time. Buchannan told Kendall he’d handle getting the meeting news to the board members.

Jessie swiveled her chair around behind her desk, so she could view the brilliant autumn scenery outside her window. The park was lovely this time of year—a myriad of shades:  yellow, gold, rust, and red, intermingled with the few remaining greens. As the breeze stirred, leaves quietly danced through the striking complementary brilliant blue of the sky.

How Big Spring had grown! It looked much more like a city now, though still smaller than Tulsa. Business buildings stretched for blocks. Coming into the city from a distance, she knew, visitors were surprised by the panorama of skyscrapers unexpectedly erupting like wildflowers on the prairie.  With its taller height, the McCarey Oil building stood out.

She drifted back, revisiting many of the fine things that had come to Big Spring and how influential this company and her family had been. The McCarey family had helped finance the new school and hospital buildings; the community center, where renowned artists performed; the large library, with its renaissance-inspired gigantic clock face joyfully booming out musical time for everyone within earshot.

Jessie relished what really made their family’s success so sweet: sharing their wealth with others. The past few years, she’d often stayed behind the scenes in benevolent ventures, so she wondered if other people remembered that about her.  I hope the community doesn’t think I only care about money.  Oh well … she sighed.

She gazed outside for some time, then back toward her desk, where an assortment of pictures of Jake and her close-knit large family were prominently displayed.

She reminisced back to the beginnings of McCarey Oil Company and tried to visualize the dusty roads, the lean-to buildings. Their family built this company, and she was grittily resolved to keep a family member at the head for as long as she could. Now that Ben was gone, she would call on the rest of the family for some support and innovation.

Jessie picked up the phone and visited with Stephen, Jason, and Bo, asking each of them to meet with her at the ranch on Saturday afternoon. Stephen said he would arrange to fly in from a meeting in New York, and she promised to pick him up at the airport.

Images of Buchannan trying to suck in the board kept entering her head. He’d convinced them to have him “temporarily” sit as Chairman until a decision could be made on the permanent appointment. Jessie knew what his intentions were: mainly to keep her from the Chairman’s desk and himself in it.

What a dipstick!  What was that ridiculous statement he’d made? Something about ‘continuity of authority’ or something about as pompous. He must certainly be insecure if he was afraid of her. Of course, she did have an influence with the other managers. But why shouldn’t she? She knew this company inside out, had struggled to build it.

I’m the one who took the responsibility (and heat) for that strategic financing during the depression of the railroad spur and the monumental pipeline construction, not to mention all the risky overseas and offshore drilling investments through the years. Why the heck shouldn’t I run this company?

Anyone who had been with McCarey Oil any time at all should realize her power behind the throne. Ben knew it and accepted it and appreciated her for her strengths.  What is the matter with some of these other men?  Women, too, for that matter (after all she’d done to promote them)? Look at Joyce Hiffler—she, of all people, should be pushing for me to take the helm—after all, she’s one of those who’ve begun pushing for women’s equality! She’s ambitious as heck, but a conniver, not a team player.

Jessie’s first impression of her—that she was a backstabber—held over the past two years Joyce had been with the company. Jessie tried on several occasions to work with her, giving her the benefit of the doubt, but with no success.  Joyce constantly tried to upstage the other women on her projects and wasn’t well received by any of them.  Jessie’s only consolation: that she wasn’t the one who’d hired her.

Ben was right. We should have stayed private. This company was just growing too big. There were so many personnel and other decisions to be made that, years ago, they’d lost the individual contact with many of the people in the organization, ultimately delegating the hiring to Human Resources staff.

She sighed, just a sign of the times.

Before she left the office, Jessie had forced herself into a sense of calm, and a deliberate plan of action formed in her mind. She smiled at Marsha, who had worked as Ben’s secretary and was now hers, when she passed Marsha’s desk in the outside office.

“Have a good evening, Mrs. Trenton,” Marsha encouraged.

“You have a nice evening, too, Marsha. And thank you, I will,” she responded purposefully.

Marsha looked at Jessie intently, trying to read her thoughts. Then she smiled reassuringly. Jessie looked confident, and Marsha hoped fervently that she would be able to handle the board meeting next week.

“If anyone can, she can,” Marsha said quietly to the steno sitting across from her.

The next morning, Marsha came in to the office about half past six and found Jessie already at work at her desk.

“Good morning, Mrs. Trenton, I had hoped to get here early and make your coffee for you.”

“Thanks, Marsha. That’s a nice gesture, but you’re not expected to do that.  I made some about half an hour ago.  And also … since you’ll be working exclusively for me now, I’d like for you to call me ‘Jessie.’  Would you be comfortable with that?”

Marsha registered delighted surprise on her face and nodded approvingly.

“Maybe you’d like a cup of that coffee before we get started? Whatever are you doing here at this hour, anyway? This isn’t a sweatshop.”

Marsha beamed at Jessie. She was the nicest boss Marsha could imagine. She already felt that Jessie treated her like an important member of the staff.  Marsha certainly admired Jessie’s respect of other people in the office, and this simply re-established that opinion.  Too bad a few of the other managers can’t act this way.

“I wondered if there’s anything in particular I can help you with, especially the board meeting coming up. Thought you might have a lot of work to prepare for that …”

Roger Clayton suddenly stuck his head through the outer door. “Hi, girls, how’s it going this morning?” He grinned like a kid scrambling through a candy box.

Roger, now V.P. of Financial Services, was a favorite with the secretaries in the executive suite. Always so cheerful; friendly to the point of being flirtatious, but the secretaries knew Roger was only teasing them and joined in his banter. Roger actually thought of the ladies like they were his kids, often bringing them flowers or pastries. The steno pool reciprocated by totally spoiling him, immediately waiting on even his most trivial requests.

Marsha giggled and responded, “Just fine, Mr. Clayton. How are you?”

“Fine, myself.  Just fine.  Jessie, can we get together for a while this morning?  I’d really like to talk to you about yesterday’s meeting.”

“Of course, Roger, whenever you’re free.”

“How about now?”

“That’s fine. Grab a cup of coffee and sit down.”

Jessie and Roger began to discuss the upcoming board meeting. After they talked awhile, it was evident Roger felt concerned about how extremely difficult this was for her, right after Ben’s funeral and all. Blast them all!  he thought. They should be more respectful to her.

“Roger, I’m okay—I know what you’re thinking.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that. I know you’re worried about me, but I’m handling this. It wasn’t sudden or anything; I had faced up to this weeks ago—it was Ben’s time.  I couldn’t see him suffer any more.”

“I know, but the buzzards could have waited a few.…”

Roger was interrupted by Marsha’s buzz at Jessie’s desk. When Jessie pushed the intercom button on her phone, Marsha explained the intrusion:  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Trenton … er … Jessie, but you have a phone call I thought you might like to take.”

“Who is it?”

“A lady from the New York Sentinel, a Miss Stevens. She said she heard about what’s happening at our company from some woman named Loretta Wingett—Wingate, or something—who’s the national chairman of the Women’s Rights Society. She wants to ask you about an interview.”

“Roger, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll take this call.”

“Go right ahead, Jess. You need all the good publicity you can muster.  I’ll wait outside till you’ve finished your call.”

“No, please stay.  I need you in on everything.”

The following Thursday, Marsha appeared at the door of Jessie’s office to announce the arrival of Ms. Loretta Wingett, along with Ms. Laurie Stevens, the reporter who had telephoned. Jessie asked her to show them in, then stood and extended her hand to each.

“Please sit down, ladies. May I offer you a cup of coffee or tea?”

When they both accepted tea, Jessie moved to the credenza to pour for them from the steaming container Marsha had ordered earlier.

Jessie smiled as she sat down. “What would you like to know about me?” she asked.

Loretta Wingett hesitated for a minute as she took in the surroundings: expensive wood paneling, massive heavy desk, book shelves, Italian leather chairs.  Stunning view from the ornate window.  She was impressed with Jessie’s selection of office décor (though it leaned a bit toward masculine) and said as much to Jessie.

“Thank you.  Ben’s lovely wife chose the furniture and drapes for me, as well as those of my brother’s office, also.  Ben and I agreed on furnishings; our offices are similar. We enjoy things MaryBeth selects for us—she has such wonderful taste.”

Loretta cleared her throat and ventured, “Mrs. Trenton, I’ve heard quite a lot about the selection of the Chairman of the Board of this company. It appears you’ve got your hands full, with the comments I’ve been hearing.”

“Really?” Jessie cocked an appraising eyebrow.

“Well, now that your brother is gone, it’s obvious that the Board is going to try to railroad you out of the chairman’s position. And from all the research we’ve done on you, I think you’re the most capable candidate for the job.”

“Thank you for your commendation, but the decision is still up in the air. I am only one of several vice presidents, so McCarey Oil has many candidates quite capable of handling the CEO position.  We may have a big shakeup of management restructuring before we’re through.”

“Well,” Loretta continued, “I’m hearing that you’re in for a big fight, and I think you should ‘come out with both barrels blasting.’ Let the McCarey Oil Company board see what you’re really made of!  Our organization would like to assist you in your fight.”

“What do you base your opinions on?  How much do you know about this organization?” Jessie asked directly.

Jessie noticed Laurie move around nervously in her chair.

“I’ve done some research, or, rather, Ms. Stevens has researched your company. We then contacted several of the local businesses and asked questions about the early startup of the operations of McCarey.  Most people around here have a very favorable opinion of you.”

“Yes?” Jessie nodded for her to continue.

“Generally speaking. However, some of the male occupants of this city feel that you are ‘way outta your league’ to try to take over as Chairman of the Board. I totally disagree, and I’d like to help you, with our organization’s backing, to force the board to consider you as head.”

“Force the board?”

“Right! You can’t let them railroad you out of this position. You can do a great deal for our organization, and the women’s movement in general, if you defeat the board’s rejection of you as Chairman.”

“You assume, then, that I won’t get their cooperation?” Jessie asked quietly.

“It doesn’t appear so, from what I’ve gleaned. Laurie talked to another reporter, with the Oklahoma City Register. Bradford Buchannan interviewed with their paper last week. An article will be forthcoming shortly. He apparently thinks he has more influence with your board than you do.”

Laurie interjected: “Um … I spoke with several others of your former managers, Mrs. Trenton. Tom Brigance, for example. He told me that he held you in the highest esteem and would not have left McCarey Oil if he hadn’t been offered a very lucrative vice president’s position at the firm he moved to. I believe that you have more influence here than Mr. Buchannan.”

“Well, I don’t agree,” Loretta added. “I think you’ve got a real struggle on your hands, and if you don’t get some help, you may get ’shot outta the saddle,’ as they say around here.  I’ve heard Buchanan referred to as a tough old bulldog.”

Jessie’s glance narrowed as she studied Loretta. Her smug expression made Jessie feel queasy. Jessie surmised that Ms. Wingate’s opinion of Oklahomans probably wasn’t very high. Does this woman believe we’re all ignorant and uneducated?

“So, you think I need your organization to come in here and intimidate our board—is that what you’re saying?”

Laurie looked intently at Jessie, apparently sensing that this interview wasn’t going well.

“Yes, I think we’re just what you need right now!” Loretta committed to her faux paux.

“Well, I appreciate your time, ladies, but I believe I’ll handle this situation in my own way….”

“You mean you’re not going to take advantage of my offer!!?” Loretta asked incredulously.

“No, I believe that your organization can be helpful, but after specific incidents, gained a bad reputation for turning people off.  I realize your goals of equality for women are well-intended; however, I sometimes disapprove of your methods.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“When emotional intensity is high, certain people sometimes engage in non-productive efforts to change another person’s or organization’s opinion. When this type of emotion is vented contemptuously, it is usually ineffective, and that is how I perceive some of your past experiences. I don’t want to be considered just another of those angry women.”

Loretta hesitated, apparently perturbed.

“So you feel we would not be effective in helping you?”

“Ms. Wingate, it is never easy to move away from ineffective fighting toward a firm assertion of what is and is not acceptable to us, particularly a woman in a man’s business realm. However, I feel that by the time of the board meeting, I will have done what I can to persuade the board of my competence. I believe that women must show their abilities by their experience, not by making an issue of the fact that they’re women.  Regardless, I will have resolved this conflict within myself, and I will deal with whatever decision the board makes.”

Loretta face twisted into an openly sour expression. “You’re making a big mistake!”

Jessie hesitated, contemplating the most diplomatic way to respond.  However, her irritation overrode diplomacy.

“I don’t think so, MS. Wingate. And I’m finished with this interview.”

“Well, I can’t believe you’re …”

“Good day, Ms. Wingate.  Ms. Stevens, under the circumstances, I don’t have any statements to make to the press right now.”

Loretta jumped from her seat and started toward the door.  “You’re making a mistake, a big mistake.”

When Laurie hesitated, Loretta looked back and said, “Come along, Laurie, I don’t believe we’re welcome here.”

Laurie replied, “Please go ahead without me, Ms. Wingate. I’d like to speak with Mrs. Trenton, alone, if she’ll spare me just a moment.”  Laurie looked appealingly at Jessie.

“I really don’t have anything to say from a woman’s movement point of view, Ms. Stevens…”

“I can see that, Mrs. Trenton, but if you’d  extend me a few minutes, I’d like to hear a little more about you.  I want to write an objective article, exclusively from a reporter’s point of view.  I believe you’ll think my approach will be fair.”

Jessie scrutinized Laurie’s expression.  She finally decided that Ms. Stevens looked sincere.

“All right, I’ll talk with you. I don’t believe you had an ample opportunity to speak …”

Loretta stared indignantly at Jessie and then marched out of the office.

“Would you like another cup of tea, Ms. Stevens?”  Jessie asked.

“Yes, please. And it’s Laurie.  All this ‘Ms.’ stuff is getting to me.” Laurie laughed. “And thank you, Mrs. Trenton, for giving me a chance at a real interview. I realize that this meeting was originally Ms. Wingate’s idea, but I have to tell you, the more I’ve been around her the past few days, the more I have regretted coming with her. I have a completely different viewpoint of your board’s situation and your position than she does, and I’d appreciate a chance to get to know your opinions firsthand.”

“Please call me Jessie. What would you like to know, Laurie?”

“Everything!”  Laurie smiled. “I know I said only a few minutes, earlier, but I’d really like to get to know the real you, how you started this company, and how you’ve been so successful. I really admire what you’ve accomplished, and I think our readers would enjoy hearing about your life.”

“Well, that’s very flattering, Laurie, but I’m not sure where to start.…”

“At the beginning, please!” Laurie asked enthusiastically. “I hope my article might give you a little extra support during the next few weeks. I promise to let you read every word I write before it’s published.”

“Do you have that kind of editorial clout?”

“Well, I don’t, but my supervisor does. If you’ll tell me your thoughts, I’ll write a draft and discuss it with him. He’s usually very good about giving me freedom when I’m really onto something I’m excited about, and I think yours will be a great human interest story.”

“All right, I’ll tell you what I can remember, but I warn you, this may take awhile,” Jessie joked.

“I don’t have to be back in New York right away, Mrs. Trenton.  If you have the time to spare, I’ll stay over as long as it takes.”

As promised, Laurie Stevens provided a copy to Jessie’s office as soon as she completed her feature article. She added a note, saying that if Jessie wished to change anything, to pencil in her suggestions and call her. She assured Jessie that her boss approved the copy just as written. Jessie asked Roger to stop by her office and she read to him:

Mrs. Jessica Trenton is, without question, the most qualified candidate to head the staff of McCarey Oil Company. She is to be admired for the unheard-of success that she has achieved, in spite of the fact that this industry characteristically shuns women managers. In fact, when McCarey Oil Company was organized in 1914, the industry rejected women employees altogether…

The copy went on for several pages.  After she finished reading, Jessie asked: “Roger, can you believe this? It’s so flattering, I’m … embarrassed.”

“It’s not exaggerated one bit, Jess. It appears Miss Stevens has a good insight into your personality and abilities. I think this article could be very influential with our stockholders, and, ultimately the board.  You let her publish it, without a change, you hear me? It’s excellent, just as it is.”

“I don’t know, Rog— don’t you think it’s a little much!!?”

“Not at all. Why can’t you accept compliments when they’re sincere, Jessie?”

Jessie hesitated for a while, re-reading parts of the article.  Finally: “Okay, I’ll let it rip.”

“Good girl. Write her a note, giving your approval, then hand me that copy.”

When Jessie looked questioningly at him, he teasingly added: “I’ll call Miss Stevens myself, before you have a chance to change your mind.”

A few days later, Bradford Buchannan was busy at work in his office at McCarey Oil.  His secretary appeared at his open door.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Buchannan, but thought you might like to see this.”

She handed a copy of the New York Sentinel to Buchannan, pointing to an article she’d circled. Stepping just outside the door, she waited quietly, eavesdropping with one of the stenos for a few moments. From inside they shortly heard the expected expletive:  “Damn, Damn Damn!”

The two women giggled.