The Hotel

“Being a crook” is how Harry’s wife referred to it. “Compromise” is how Harry thought of it. He knew that carrying out his political ambitions meant doing some unsavory things; Harry felt that he could be another James Michael Curley, the Robin Hood style former mayor of Boston, Massachusetts. Harry Sellers was in Boston for just one day. He had to get back to Woodbrook, Illinois, his hometown, by tomorrow evening in order to continue his first campaign for mayor of his city.

Harry’s political hero was the former mayor of Boston, James Michael Curley who maintained his political strength by giving the working population benefits and by accepting his punishment when the law dealt it out to him. On one occasion, Curley’s constituency elected him to Boston’s Board of Aldermen while he was in jail. On another occasion, a federal jail sentence interrupted Curley’s term as Mayor of Boston.

Harry had first learned about Curley’s career during Harry’s high school days when he saw the motion picture "The Last Hurrah."

“That’s the kind of power and respect I want when I get into the work force,” Harry told his date that evening.

Studious Harry had gone on to earn his undergraduate degree in government and history at Woodbrook University. While there, he had read several books written by or about James Michael Curley, including Curley’s autobiography, "I’d Do It Again." In each of the four years of his undergraduate studies, Harry had written term papers on the career of James Michael Curley.

Harry had earned his law degree at Boston’s Suffolk University, on Boston’s Beacon Hill, next door to the Massachusetts State House. He had passed the bar exam in four states; Massachusetts, Florida, Michigan and Illinois and he was a member of the bar in each of the four states.

An employee of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts district attorney's office had offered to pay Harry as a consultant if Harry would testify against his former partner, Jeffrey Broadmoor. For five years, Jeff and Harry had dominant control of the Board of Directors of Bigoness Concrete Supply Corporation. They had supplied building materials for Boston’s Big Dig. Now the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was suing both, the corporate entity and Jeff Broadmoor specifically, for deliberately supplying inferior materials. The state was hoping to recover ten million dollars in charges, overcharges, damages, and punitive damages. If the jury found the corporation and Jeff guilty of deliberate fraud, the corporation would be bankrupt and Jeff would spend three or four years in jail.

At Harry’s request and as part of the compensation, the lawyer from the prosecuting attorney's office was putting Harry up in the Liberty Hotel, the renovated Charles Street Jail where Harry's political hero had spent time as a convict. Harry had insisted on this fringe benefit as part of the “consulting fee” for his “expert” testimony against Jeff.

Harry knew that his former partner Jeff was not responsible for supplying Boston’s Big Dig with inferior products but Harry was having an affair with Jeff's wife and it would be nice to have Jeff out of the way for a few years. Harry knew that his son-in-law, John Drurer, had deliberately shipped the inferior materials to The Big Dig and had shipped the better quality materials to John's cousin in Vermont. Harry did not want to make his daughter suffer by sending her husband to jail, especially when Harry could send his mistress's spouse away instead. Besides, a free night at the Charles Street Jail where Harry's political hero had spent part of his Robin Hood career meant a lot to Harry.

Harry had just left the prosecuting attorney’s office after three hours with his “benefactor.” They had spent the three harrowing hours rehearsing tomorrow's testimony. It was the Monday of Labor Day weekend and the attorney’s office had made special arrangements with building security to get Harry into the Government Center building that housed the office. When they had finished rehearsing tomorrow’s testimony, there was no doubt in Harry's mind as to what he would say in court tomorrow when he testified. Harry was content that his partner, Jeff Broadmoor, would spend two or three years in prison and that Judith - Mrs. Broadmoor - would welcome Harry’s attentions.

Harry strolled casually but efficiently from the DA’s office in the Government Center towards the Liberty Hotel, the former Charles Street Jail. He wanted to see the sights along Boston’s Cambridge Street, a street with which he had grown familiar during his law school days at Suffolk University. Harry also did not want to lose a minute of his brief stay in Liberty Hotel. Harry only casually glanced sideways at the Old West Church and the Harrison Gray Otis house as he passed them. He caught a distant view of the Ether Dome of the Massachusetts General Hospital as he crossed Anderson Street. Harry continued on Cambridge Street, onto Charles Street, where he entered the Liberty Hotel. He was a full hour ahead of his scheduled check in time.

“I’ll go to the Clink, the hotel’s restaurant, and get something to eat. That way, I won’t have to leave the room,” Harry thought to himself. “I want to savor every moment of my stay in James Michael Curley’s temporary home.”

While eating, Harry drank a Tom Collins and got into a conversation with the waiter. In the course of conversation, the waiter told Harry about the mug shot of former Mayor Curley that hangs on the wall of the Alibi, the old drunk tank that now serves as a liquid refreshment center for the hotel. “I gotta go there and toast the Mayor’s mug shot,” Harry told the waiter excitedly.

“Clink! Alibi! It’s a little tacky how they chose those nostalgic names for the rooms of the hotel, but I like it,” Harry mused to himself as he adjourned to the Alibi.

Harry found the former mayor’s mug shot and ordered a boilermaker from the bartender. Harry carried it to a table near his hero’s picture and raised the whiskey glass to the mayor’s honor. “Salude,” Harry said in his one word Italian vocabulary, and then chug-a-lugged his shot of whiskey. As he sipped his beer, Harry admired his hero’s mug shot. “I wish they had a gift shop where I could buy a copy of that picture,” he thought dreamily.

Harry reluctantly left the Alibi and registered for his room. “That doesn’t happen to be the same room that Mayor Curley was in,” Harry asked the desk clerk.

“I don’t know, sir,” the clerk politely responded.

Harry could not conceal the disappointed look in his face. The desk clerk offered Harry a drink of French Champagne that he accepted. He carried the champagne to an easy chair in the lobby and drank in both, the champagne and the lobby atmosphere.

A porter ushered Harry to his room and, perhaps, Harry tipped the porter a little less generously than he should have.

Upon entering his elegant room in the Liberty Hotel, Harry noted his disheveled appearance in the full-length mirror mounted on the bathroom door. The mirror called to Harry’s mind that episode of Star Trek when Kirk, Spock, and McCoy stepped through a time portal.

Harry entered the bathroom, used the toilet, and washed his face and hands. He was tired from the daylong trip that had started at his home in Illinois. A taxi ride to the airport, a flight from Chicago’s O'Hare Airport to Boston’s Logan Airport, and a taxi ride to the lawyer's office all contributed to Harry’s sense of fatigue. The three hours of intense rehearsal of tomorrow's testimony at the law office had drained Harry's emotions more completely than the travel.

Harry’s drinks, the Tom Collins followed by a Boiler Maker and a little French Champagne, were showing their effects on Harry’s enthusiasm. Harry stretched out on the king size bed in his room and closed his eyes.

Although there were no windows open in his room, a gentle breeze caused Harry to open his eyes. There at the foot of his bed was the handsomely dressed, former mayor, James Michael Curley. Harry recognized the mayor instantly but being startled, asked, "Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get in? What do you want?" Harry was too frightened, or overjoyed, to believe that his hero was visiting him.

The apparition spoke. "I am James Michael Curley, mayor of this jail house. I have come to guide you on a tour of my jail." Harry sat up in silence; speechless, his mouth was wide open.

"Come," the apparition ordered as he reached his hand out to Harry.

Harry willingly obeyed. He would follow Mayor Curley to the ends of the earth if he had the opportunity to do so. Mayor Curley took Harry's hand and led Harry through the full-length mirror on the bathroom door and into a gloomy granite corridor of gated jail cells. A man dressed in prison stripes occupied each cell. Although Harry could see their mouths move as though they were screaming, the only thing Harry heard was a low moaning sound. Harry and Mayor Curley stopped before cell 331, the same number as Harry's room. The cell contained a clean-shaven man of average height and build. This man was dressed in civilian clothes and was crying.

Mayor Curley spoke, "This man is Nicola Sacco. He is a guest here in my hotel for all eternity. He has a story to tell you."

Sacco spoke with the accent of an Italian immigrant. "I dinna kill anyone. I'm-a go getta passport when those bastardos kill-a de guard. The consul, he's-a know dat. He's-a too lazy to come-a tell-a datt crooked judge the truth. Why-a for da lie?" Sacco's apparition colored his short speech with a few blasphemous words in both Italian and English. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning dissolved Sacco's apparition. Zap! Sacco was gone. An odor of burning flesh reminded Harry of Sacco’s death by electrocution..

The thunderclap that followed the lightning announced the arrival of another presence in the jail cell. In Sacco's place stood a mustachioed man, slightly heavier set, and well dressed in a business suit and tie, somewhat reminiscent of the styles popular in the 1920's. Mayor Curley spoke. "This man is Bartolomeo Vanzetti. He is also a permanent guest here in my hotel with his friend, Nicola Sacco. Listen to his story."

Vanzetti spoke. "My-a friends, they-a leave-a me when I need-a dem. I’m-a no kill-a anyone. My–a friends, days-a know dat. They-a no tell datt-a crooked judge. You-a tell-a my friends to tell-a the truth. Why-a for day lie?" Vanzetti stooped over and began crying. Zap! Another sudden bolt of lightning dissolved Vanzetti's apparition. Vanzetti was gone. Again, the odor of burning flesh reminded Harry of Vanzetti’s death by electrocution.

The thunderclap that followed seemed to shake the granite walls of the prison and announced the arrival of another presence in the cell. Jeffrey Broadmoor, Harry's partner, dressed in his blue striped suit, now stood in Vanzetti’s place. Mayor Curley spoke. "This is Jeffrey Broadmoor, your former partner. We've made reservations for him to stay here in my hotel…." The mayor's voice faded as Harry screamed. His own screams awakened Harry from his troubled sleep.

Harry was sitting up on his bed. He looked around the room. It was just as it was when he had entered it. Nothing had changed. Nothing, that is, except Harry himself. Harry now knew what he would say in court tomorrow, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He did not need to rehearse his testimony with the an attorney. Harry kicked off his shoes and went calmly to sleep despite the late summer thunderstorm raging outside.