if we let her leave this room in this way, we're all shortsighted
fools."
Celia could scarcely believe what she heard. She had a momen-
66
tary sense of shame for doubting Sam's motives. What he had just done, she
realized, was to put his own job, his ambitions, his promising future at
Felding-Roth, all on the line on her behalf
Still the uncanny silence persisted. There was a shared awareness of a
moment of high drama in which no one seemed certain what would happen
next.
It was Eli Camperdown who moved first, returning to his seat beside the
chairman of the board where the two senior officers began a second
urgent, low-voiced conversation. This time Camperdown was doing most of
the talking-it seemed, attempting to persuade while the elderly VanHouten
listened. At first the chairman shook his head adamantly, then appeared
to relent, and finally shrugged. Camperdown beckoned Irving Gregson to
join them.
Since decisions were obviously taking shape at highest level, others
waited, though now a buzz of conversation filled the hall,
It diminished as the vice president of sales left the other two and
ascended the speakers' platform. He took over the microphone from Sam
Hawthorne, who returned to his seat below. Gregson surveyed the sea of
curious faces, paused for effect, then permitted himself a broad grin.
"Whatever else you may say about our sales conferences," he declared, "we
always promise you they are never dull."
It was the fight thing to say and there was a roar of appreciative
laughter in which even the dour VanHouten joined.
"I am instructed by our chairman and president," Gregson said, ,.an
instruction in which I personally join, to state that a few moments ago
we may all have acted hastily, even unwisely." Again the grin, a pause,
and the sales chief continued.
"Many years ago, when I was a small boy and sometimes got into trouble-as
all boys do-my mother taught me something. 'Irving,' she said, 'when
you've made an ass of yourself and an apology is called for, stand up
straight, be a man, and do it handsomely.' My dear mother, rest her soul,
is dead; but somehow I can hear her voice saying, 'Irving, my boy, that
time is now."'
Watching and listening, Celia thought: Gregson had style. It was clearly
not by accident he had been promoted to the hierarchy of sales.
She realized he was pointing directly at her. "Mrs. Jordan, come this
way, please. You too, Sam."
When all three of them were on the platform--Celia dazed, almost
unbelieving-Gregson said, "I announced I would apologize,
67
Mrs. Jordan, and I do. We will, after all, consider your suggestions
carefully. And now I'll relieve you of that file of yours if you don't
mind."
Turning to the audience Gregson said, "I believe you have just
witnessed an example of why ours is a great company and will
11
T he remainder of his remarks were drowned out by applause and cheering
and, moments later, executives and others were surrounding Celia,
offering congratulations and shaking her hand.
"Why did you risk it?" Sam Hawthorne asked.
"If it comes to that," Celia answered, "why did you?"
It was a week later. Celia and Andrew were spending an evening at the
Hawthornes' home and during dinner-a superb meal attesting Lilian
Hawthorne's culinary skill-they had avoided the subject of the sales
convention and talked of other things. A few days earlier the Russians
had announced the shooting down of an American U-2 plane and the capture
of its pilot, Gary Powers. Moscow charged that both were spying. The
United States at first denied the charge but soon afterward President
Eisenhower admitted, redfaced, that it was true. Most Americans, the
Hawthornes and Jordans agreed, felt embarrassed too.
In Britain the Queen's sister, Princess Margaret, had set tongues wagging
and raised eyebrows by marrying a professional photographer, Antony
Armstrong-Jones. The wedding took place in what the press described as
a