“You are appearing today, Mr. Brown, in response to a subpoena, which was served upon you by this Senate committee about activities which may be deemed un-American. Is that correct?” asked the chairman.
“Yes, sir.”
From there they kept asking him questions, and he kept refusing to answer for the reasons he already gave.
I whispered to Dad, “Why won’t he answer anything?”
“The law says, if he answers one thing he has to answer everything.”
It seemed like a stage play without any action.
Eventually the man was told to step down, and someone else took his place, a woman this time. The same kind of back-and-forth questions happened all over again. She kept refusing to answer, too.
This went on for a couple of hours, until the chairman called out, “The committee calls Mr. Dennis Collison to the witness table.”
I sat up very straight.
Dad looked at Ma, who gave him a tight smile, and then he went to sit at the table with his lawyer. I checked around the room. That’s when I saw Ewing sitting there. He saw me and waved.
I didn’t wave back.
The chairman said, “Will you raise your right hand. Do you swear the testimony you are about to give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
“Please identify yourself by name, residence, and occupation.”
“My name is Dennis Collison. I live at One Forty-five Hicks Street, Brooklyn, New York. I teach American history at New City College.”
“How long have you been teaching there?”
“Six years.”
“Do you have a specialty?”
“The American Revolution.”
“So you have particular interest in revolutions?”
“It’s how our country began.”
“The committee has been given information that you were a member of the Communist Party.”
“I was.”
“Thank you for your honesty. When?”
“It was in 1934. I went to one meeting. I was nineteen years old.”
“Why did you join?”
“I don’t think you have the right to ask me that. If you think I have committed a crime, the lawful authorities can bring charges against me.”
“You are now required to answer.”
“I won’t do it.”
“On what grounds?”
“It’s not the government’s business to ask what I think.”
“By answering questions you have already waived your right not to answer. Please tell us the names of those with whom you attended meetings of the Communist Party.”
“I only went to one meeting. I won’t tell you who was there.”
“You can be held in contempt of Congress.”
“I won’t give you names.”
“You may go to jail.”
“I intend to hold on to my own thoughts.”
“Even if it is a conspiracy against the United States of America?”
“If I have broken laws you can prosecute me. I will not be a party to prosecuting people because of their political convictions.”
“We have information that your father, Thomas Collison, went to the Soviet Union in 1934. Why did he go?”
“To find work.”
“Was he a Communist?”
“No.”
“Where is he now?”
“He died.”
“Died?” The man seemed surprised.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have any written proof of that?”
“No.”
“Who informed you?”
“A member of my family.”
“Very well. Now you also had a brother, Frank Collison. He too went to the Soviet Union, with your father. Tell us what happened to him.”
“I refuse.”
“On what grounds?”
“Because I hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men—”
“Mr. Collison, please answer the question.”
“—are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator—”
“You are out of order, Mr. Collison.”
“—with certain unalienable rights—”
“You are in contempt of Congress, Mr. Collison.”
“That among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
“Mr. Collison, you may be sent to prison. Again, do you know what happened to your brother?”
“You heard my answer.”
The man leaned over and whispered to the man sitting next to him. Then the chairman looked at the clock, banged his gavel down, and said, “Witness dismissed.”
I was proud of my dad. But I was also fearful that he might still be in trouble.
We headed out of the court. As we were passing through the doors, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around. It was Ewing.
He said, “Hey, Pete, who was that dead guy?”
I stood there, looking at him, unable to think of something to say, when Dad came forward. “Who are you, sir?”
“Special Agent Ewing, FBI.”
Dad said, “Do you know what they call people who try to intimidate kids?”
Ewing looked startled, but said nothing.
“Cowards,” said Dad.
41
That night at dinner, Dad said, “You all should know I won’t be returning to my college. They learned about my hearing and asked me what I intended to say. When I told them I wouldn’t cooperate, they said I was not welcome back.”
I said, “Didn’t they care why you kept your mouth shut?”
“Nope,” said Dad.
“You hate them?” Bobby asked.
“I’m sad, mostly. And disappointed.”
“Dad,” I asked quietly, “you going to jail?”
Dad looked at me. “Don’t know.”
“You’ve lost your job and everything is all messed up,” said Bobby. “What are we going to do?”
“We’ll do what people always do. Try to survive. Find a way. Try to live a normal life.”
Ma said, “For instance, we have a family party this Sunday.”
“Do we have to go?” Bobby asked.
“Absolutely. We can practice being ourselves.”
On Sunday, when I got up, I found that the Giants, having been beaten by the Cubs, had dropped to third place. But mostly I was thinking about the family gathering. About seeing Uncle Chris.
It was hot and humid when we took the subway to Aunt Shirley’s place. She lived in the bottom apartment of a brownstone building in Park Slope, Brooklyn. I was worried. Would people say something mean to Dad?
The same people were there, from Grandma in a corner, already knitting, to my little cousin Toby. He was in a cowboy costume, shooting everybody with a cap pistol.
When we walked in, I was sure all the grown-ups looked at Dad in a different way. People were quieter than usual. I felt tension. I kept my eyes on Uncle Chris. He had his eyes on Dad. When he saw me looking at him, he moved away.
Dad went up to Grandma and kissed her cheek. He said a few words and then went on to other relatives. I don’t know what he said to Grandma, but it was clear to me that he hadn’t said anything to her about Frank.
My cousin Ralph got a bunch of cousins to play Clue. I wasn’t interested but played anyway. We were playing in a room that overlooked a little outside yard, where Uncle Chris was sitting in a chair. He had his Daily Worker in front of him, like a billboard. Or a challenge.
I dropped my marker—I had been Professor Plum—and announced, “I’m out. Got to speak to Uncle Chris.”
Ignoring protests, I went out the back. At first, Uncle Chris acted as if he didn’t see me. I stood before him. He looked up. We stared at each other.
“You tell your father I was there?” he asked.
I said, “All those years ago, when my grandfather disappeared, you knew where he went, didn’t you?”
“Hey, back t
hen, Russia was the future. Far as I can tell, still is. He was smart to go.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
“I should have. But the Party had work for me here, getting people to join up. You believe in something, you work with your comrades. When they ask you to do a job, you do it.”
I said, “My father ran away so he could be different from the family, so he could go to school. And to get away from you.”
“Yeah. Dennis always thought he was better than his family. Still does. Forgets where he comes from. Ran off without telling his mother. Disgusting. She wanted to know where Dennis and Frank went. I found out about Tom, too—not Frank. When your grandma heard where Tom went, do you know what she said?”
I shook my head.
“She said, ‘I refuse to believe it.’ ”
“You found out Dad joined the Communist Party.”
Chris shrugged. “One meeting. He should have gone to more. He would have learned more than from those books he read.”
I said, “You’re working with the FBI, aren’t you?”
“Who told you that?”
“I figured it out myself.”
He gazed at me, a slight smile on his lips. “Regular detective, aren’t you? Okay. A few years ago, I got into a little trouble about taxes. Small mistakes. But the feds knew about my politics and said if I gave them info, they’d go easy. Hey, sometimes enemies can cooperate. Look at World War Two, Russia and the U.S. So sure, I give the FBI names—names of stupid people, people who don’t matter, wishy-washy liberals like your father. Figured I’d keep the FBI interested in little fish and they’d leave me and my comrades alone.”
I said, “But Dad’s your nephew.”
“I wanted to teach Dennis which side he should have been on.”
“And you dragged Bobby in.”
“Bobby’s smart. He wants to get into that rocket camp. Good for him. I tell him I got contacts in the government. Give me some info about your old man and I’ll see what I can do. Bobby says, ‘Pete is Dad’s favorite. Tells him everything.’ I say to Bobby, ‘There you go. We find out stuff from Pete and you got yourself a deal.’
“Then all of a sudden you come along and start asking questions about my brother Tom. You ask Grandma questions. You ask me. You’re like some stupid junior detective. I gave you the name of that idiot, Al Depaco, to see if you’d ask him. You did. I’m thinking, what’s going on? Why is this kid asking all these questions about my brother? Maybe Tom turned on Russia and came back to America. Dennis knows and tells Pete. Hey, if I can find out about Tom, and tell the FBI, I’ll be their hero and all my problems disappear.”
I stood there, hardly believing how selfish—and wrong—he was. “You made Dad lose his job,” I said.
“For a good cause.”
“What cause? You?”
“Nothing to do with me,” he said with indignation. “I’m a Communist and proud of it. The last thing my side needs is for old Tom to come back here and tell people lies about the Soviet Union. I don’t want that to happen. Hey, your dad turned his back on what he believed. And his family. He’s getting what he deserves. Thanks to me, the FBI wastes time on him. A nobody.
“They check your school. Talk to your teacher. Checked to see where you were going Thursdays. The blind guy. That time I called, you said you were going to visit your father at school. I got them to follow you. A nursing home. Big break! Maybe Tom is there.
“Then what do you do? You go to Ewing, tell him you know who I am. Hey, I don’t want anyone knowing I’m working with the FBI, do I? I thought, I’ll scare the kid a little. And it works. You tell Ewing you won’t say anything.”
He disgusted me more and more.
But he went on. “You know what, Communism is the future. What future you got that’s better than that?”
I said, “I won’t let anyone tell me what to think.”
“You’re a kid! What do you know about thinking? All I want to know is, you going to tell all this stuff to Dennis?”
“Doughnut.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he called after me, because by then I had walked away.
I had two thoughts: how much I hated Uncle Chris, and how I had been right about everything.
I went and found my dad. “I’m feeling sick,” I said. “I think I need to go home.”
“We could find a place for you to lie down here.”
I shook my head.
“Okay,” he said, “I’ll take you. Mom and Bobby can stay, make our apologies.”
We got out onto the street.
“Need a taxi?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I thought you were sick.”
“Didn’t want to stay.”
Dad considered me. “Let’s go to the park,” he said. When we got there, we sat down on a bench.
Dad said, “Guess what? When your Uncle Mort heard I lost my teaching job, he offered me a position with his insurance company.”
“You going to take it?”
“Funny, in a way. I’m a historian,” he said. “I’ve spent a lot of time dealing with the past. By selling insurance, I have to work on the future. I guess I can do it.”
I sat there thinking how complicated families were. Uncle Mort being nice. Uncle Chris, rotten. And Bobby . . . I was still mad at him, but I just couldn’t tell Dad about what he had done.
“Dad,” I said, “I don’t like Bobby. Don’t know what to do about it.”
“Hey, Pal, you only have one brother. And older brothers have it hard.”
“How?”
“We think we always have to be better, smarter. But we aren’t. Older brothers need help now and then. Try to be nice to him.”
I said, “You know what the Giants’ manager said?”
Dad shook his head.
“ ‘Nice guys finish last.’ ”
“Hope he’s wrong.” Dad laughed as he put his arm around my shoulder. “Hey, Pal, we’re going to be okay.”
That night it was so hot and sticky humid, I found it hard to sleep. On his side of the room, I could hear Bobby thrashing about.
Then he said, “It’s all so stupid.”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“Dad. He’s lost his job. Maybe he’ll go to jail. All because he went to a Communist Party meeting years ago.”
Then I said, “And because of you.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “What do you mean?”
“I know you talked to Uncle Chris.”
Bobby appeared at the edge of the partition. He glared at me, his lean face full of anger.
I said, “The FBI told Uncle Chris they’d get you into that rocket camp if you told him things about Dad.”
“Not true,” he cried.
“Yes it is. I just talked to Uncle Chris. He told me I’m right.”
I felt like Sam Spade laying out the truth, the truth that hurts somebody.
The tightness left him. He seemed to go limp, like dead flowers in old water. For a long time he just stood there, then he said, “You tell Dad? About me? Uncle Chris?”
Remembering what Dad told me all those weeks ago I said, “Pal, if you don’t take some wrong turns, you aren’t going anywhere.”
“Where’d you get that?”
All I said was, “I’ll make a deal with you.”
“What?”
“If I promise not to tell Dad or Ma what you did, you have to promise not to run off.”
He actually seemed to have to think that through. “I am going away to college,” he said.
I said, “I can’t wait for that.”
He went back to his side.
“Hey, Bobby.”
“What?”
I said, “I’m a Giants fan. You’re a Dodger fan. But you’re still my brother.”
It took a while for him to call out, “Pete.”
“What?”
“Thanks.”
I never told Dad about Bobby. Or Uncl
e Chris. I didn’t turn Bobby in. I wasn’t Sam Spade.
But this story doesn’t end here. A miracle was about to happen.
42
After that family get-together, I went back to Mr. Ordson’s and told him what had happened.
“You truly are a detective,” he said. He actually grinned.
“Yeah. Me and Sam Spade.”
“A fine partnership.”
Loki wagged his tail.
But I wouldn’t talk politics.
Dad started to work for Uncle Mort. Ma didn’t take the summer off the way she used to. Bobby got a summer job at some electronics company. He was mostly running errands and fetching coffee. But he told us he was learning about the future, something called “computers.” I had no idea what they were and didn’t care.
I got a job too, at Ritman’s Books. Every morning I opened the store, emptied Mr. Ritman’s ashtray, swept the sidewalk, sold a few things, sat behind the counter, and read mysteries. I didn’t smoke.
In the afternoons, I listened to ball games, every Giants game. I knew Russ Hodges’s voice—the Giants’ announcer’s—as well as my own.
Summer seemed to last forever. It was hot and sticky, with not much to do. No friends. I just kept reading. Hammett. Chandler. Macdonald.
Ma took just two weeks for vacation. Ritman gave me time off. Ma and I took a Greyhound Bus to Indiana, where we spent time with her family.
I got to know my cousins a bit. They were okay. They rooted for the Cincinnati Reds, like Ewing.
On August 8 I picked up Ma’s afternoon paper and read the top story.
Senator McCarthy said today he intends to give the Senate tomorrow the names of twenty-nine past or present employees of the State Department whose loyalties have been questioned. “Some very high officials are on the list,” Senator McCarthy said.
The next day I got a coded letter from Kat.
dear traitor i am in maine at girls camp silver lake okay fun stuff sometimes but no punch ball pounds of mosquitoes and black flies my mother said i can come back to the city and live with her when i start high school hope you will be there what high school will you go write to me dodgers k
I wrote back in code.
dear angel my life is very boring but i learned everything will tell you if i ever see you again wish i could see you now city hot when you come back will you live in the neighborhood miss you a lot giants p