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Show TV Listings, May 23, 1985 Page throw this into that beautiful belly of yours before you could I could 8 blink. . And I could scream loud enough for the constables to hear. They ff. tssSt Im so sorry, he said, not sounding like he was sorry at all. He made ' no move to pick up the notes. Could I ask you some questions? Why? He cocked his head to one side and removed his hat, obviously enjoying the conversation. You are Sean OConnor, leader of the Catholic workers. So the lass knows me name, does she? You have not yet been interviewed in the papers. The people want to know what you are like, what you are thinking, why you do Then she stumbled onto Sean OConnor, or he onto her. The beaud female tiful, educated, journalist face to face with the most notorious ruffian of Philadelphia a young bull, indomnitable, crude in his dress and manners, unwilling to take his hat off to any man. He was the Catholic worker who had led his companions, armed with clubs and knives, into street battles with Protestant workers. Over 30 men had been killed. Sean OConnor was a wanted man, a fat prize for the apwell-dresse- - proaching constables. But Caroline didnt scream. She had another idea, and was suddenly very interested in the young rebel, more interested than she had been in any man for a long time. It wasnt a romantic interest, but a professional one. In the young Irishman she saw a story, one that could further her career as a writer, one that could get her out of the society pages and into the important part of the paper, maybe even the front page. None of the male reporters had ever been able to interview Sean ' OConnor. It was doubtful that any had tried very hard. The young Irishman had a quick temper, and a reputation for punching people who didnt agree with him, or who asked hard questions. There was electricity in the air as Caroline looked into the eyes of the young ruffian. He didnt look away, and neither did she, as she wondered how she might get him to answer her questions. Should she appear timid, perhaps frightened by his presence? Or should she be bold and confident? Should she just be herself, hoping his interest in her as a woman might keep him around long enough to answer her questions? OConnor was the first to speak. What kind of a lass is this? he whispered, more to himself than to Caroline. Not plain like the working lasses," he continued, finally taking his eyes away from hers to inspect the rest of her. Might you be a rich lady? he continued, obviously impressed with her dress. "No, a reporter, replied Caroline, and in your clumsiness you just scattered my notes all over the ground. She wanted to sound firm, but not bossy. what you do. And you will help me tell them? Caroline nodded. Many reporters are afraid of you. For the first time, OConnor showed a look of surprise. Afraid of me? Why? They know about your temper. They are afraid you might hurt them. OConnor, as if he were to believe that all it hard finding other men werent brave and bold Me? said like he was. Can I ask you some questions? No. Caroline suddenly became tired of what seemed like senseless banter. At the same time, some of OConnors boldness seemed to be rubbing off on would hang you for sure. A waste, a real waste. He was still fingering the knife blade. Would you give the Catholic workers a fair story? If I didnt, would it be very hard for you to find me? OConnor put the knife back under his belt, nodding for Caroline to begin with the questions. Twenty She turned away from OConnor, dropped to her knees, and began to gather the papers, guessing that he wouldnt leave. Almost before she realized what was happening, the young Irishman was on his knees beside her, helping with the papers. She started to protest, but decided to remain silent. When he handed her the last of the papers, she looked up into his face, hoping some of the stubbornness had disappeared. She tried to jerk back.Jbut it was too late. The young Irishman caught her by surprise, kissing her quickly on the mouth, before leaping away with the agility of a cat to avoid the blow she delivered too late. Caroline was about to scream for help when she suddenly realized her advantage. Getting back on her feet, she said. Mr. OConnor seems to have forgotten why he came into this tent. The Irishman didnt respond, not understanding what she was getting at. There are three constables not fifty feet away, sitting on a bench at the concession, drinking iced tea. A cry from me and they will be upon you. You wouldnt, lass. I will, if you wont answer my questions, or if you take one step towards me. Sean O'Connor reached into his belt and retrieved a silver-bladeknife. He ran his finger over the blade, then looked up at Caroline. d later, Sean tent, looking quickly back at the empty bench where the iced tea was being sold. She wondered how things might have turned out had OConnor peeked under the tent to catch her in the lie about the tea-drinki- consta- bles. The interview with OConnor was a smashing front-pag- e success, winning for Caroline the envy of the other journalists. Of course, she left out the part about the kiss, and even the lie about the constables. The editor paid her five dollars instead of the usual two dollars per article. Caroline felt that her career as a writer was starting to blossom. Who should she interview next? A week later she received a letter from the Sears and Chadwick Publishing Company, inviting her to discuss a project with Mr. Sears. Certainly a writing project, maybe a book. But why would anybody want her to write a book? Chapter 2 her. Then get out of here so I can pick up my papers and get back to work. minutes OConnor slipped under the back side of the tent and disappeared down an alley. Caroline gathered together her notes and headed out the front of the It was a sunny afternoon in early November when Caroline hired a carriage to take her to 315 South Warsaw Street, where the Sears & Chadwick Publishing Company was headquartered. She was wearing her best dress, one of peach satin with a modest neckline and full skirt, the popular style of the day. Her blond curls were held back with a black ribbon, and a white shawl was draped lightly about her shoulders. The streets were lined with maple and sycamore trees, already red and yellow from the first fall frosts. The d buggy noisy clatter of wheels on the cobblestone streets was frequently mufled by a matted blanket of newly fallen leaves. The sky was blue, the air cool and crisp but iron-rimme- pleasant, thanks to the afternoon sun. It was a perfect day for a buggy ride, but Caroline didnt notice. She was deep in thought, still trying to figure out why Henry Sears wanted to see her. Since receiving his letter asking her to come and see him, she had thought of little else. A hundred questions had been going through her mind. Why had Mr. Sears written to her? Did he want her to write a book? Why her? She was only 20 years old and just beginning a career as a newspaper reporter. What kind of book could she write? She had only been writing newspaper articles for a year, and she had only made the front page a few weeks ago, with her Sean OConnor interview. An older person would have been more patient, hoping for good news about a great opportunity, but ready for the disappointment of being of-fered a secretarial or errand-giposition. In her 20 years, Caroline had learned the value of persistence and hard work, but patience was not one of her virtues. She was a young woman in a hurry. Still flushed with the success of the OConnor interview, she was looking for more of the same, and had convinced herself that this rl meeting with Henry Sears would open the door to another great opportunity. Henry Sears greeted Caroline in the front office. He was a short man, maybe five and a half feet tall. His body had a thick; sedentary look from too many hours behind a desk, but his brown eyes were clear and bright, his smile spontaneous. He wore a brown tweed suit, glossy black shoes, and a white shirt with a stiff collar and ruffles down the front. What he lacked in hair on the top of his head, he made up for with thick, curving sideburns to the middle of his pink cheeks. His chubby hands were white, freckled, and soft like those of a pampered woman. Caroline couldnt help but contrast him with the daring, strong Sean OConnor. The refined book publisher seemed no match for the Irish street fighter, certainly not as interesting to a woman at least not at first appearance. Henry Sears was a warrior of a different kind, one whose weapons were in the end much ideas and words more powerful than Sean OConnors fists and clubs. Men like Henry Sears pulled the strings and made the decisions, while men like Sean OConnor died on the battlefield. Henry Sears was not in a hurry to uncover his reasons for inviting Caroline to see him. After the initial greetings were exchanged, he took her on a tour of the print shop and bindery, - where they had to step carefully among the glue pots, then to the storage bam where the 26 titles published by Sears & Chadwick were stacked in neat, piles. Caroline was awed at the sight of so well-cared-f- or many new books. Why is he doing this? she kept thinking. Why doesnt he just get down to business and tell me why he wanted to See me? Mr. Sears seemed very confident, like he knew exactly what he was doing, like there was a good reason for her to see his entire operation before he sat down with her to discuss business. It must be pretty important, thought Caroline. He wouldnt go to so much trouble if he didnt have something heavy on his mind. Carolines heart beat faster. Her cheeks flushed with the conviction that this meeting with Henry Sears was really going to be something big. He ushered her into his office and closed the door, askhis ing secretary to hold all disturhigh-ceil-ing- ed bances. After guiding Caroline to her place d on a chair beside a huge mahogany desk, Mr. Sears made himself comfortable in the big chair behind the desk. Before saying anything, he bit the end from a new cigar and proceeded to light it with a wooden match. He didnt offer one to Caroline. That would have been rude. Henry Sears puffed on the cigar, looking into Carolines face, still not saying anything. She was beginning to get nervous, but was determined not to let it show. velvet-cushione- |