response was overwhelming. Almost everyone wanted a piece of the action and knew others who could be counted on.
By late Sunday when lists were totaled, there were fifteen hundred names. More were coming in fast. According to Margot's plan it would be possible to maintain action for at least a week, longer if enthusiasm could be sustained.
Among the men with regular jobs who volunteered help, some like Deacon Euphrates had vacation time due which they declared they would use. Others simply said they would absent themselves as needed. Regrettably, many who volunteered were unemployed, their numbers swelled recently by a seasonal work shortage.
But women predominated, in part because of their greater availability in daytime, but also because even more than with the men Forum East had become a cherished, hopeful beacon in their lives.
Margot was aware of this, both from her advance staff work and this morning's reports.
The reports she was getting so far were highly satisfactory.
It had been Margot's insistence that at all times, and particularly during direct contacts with bank representatives, everyone in the Forum East contingent should be friendly, courteous, and ostensibly helpful. This was the mason for the phrase, 'Act of Hope,' which Margot coined, and the projected image that a group of interested individuals though with limited means was coming to the 'help' of an FMA 'in trouble.'
She suspected, shrewdly, that any suggestion that First Mercantile American Bank was in trouble would touch a sensitive nerve.
And while there would be no concealment of the Forum East connection, at no point would outright threats be made, as for example that paralysis of the big bank would continue unless construction funds were reinstated. As Margot told Seth Orinda and the others, 'Let the bank come to that conclusion.'
At briefing sessions she had underlined the need to avoid any appearance of menace or intimidation. Those who attended the sessions made notes, then passed the instructions on.
Something else passed on were lists of questions to be asked by individuals while accounts were being opened. Margot had prepared those, too. There were hundreds of legitimate questions which anyone dealing with a bank could reasonably ask, though for the most part people didn't. Their ancillary effect would be to slow the bank to a near halt.
Seth Orinda would act as spokesman if an opportunity occurred. Margot's script needed little rehearsal Orinda was a quick study.
Deacon Euphrates had been assigned to be early in line and the first to open an account.
It was Deacon no one knew whether Deacon was a given name or a title from one of the offbeat religions in the area who headed the staff work in advising volunteers where to go and when. He had worked with an army of lieutenants, fanning out like radii of a spider web.
Initially, for Wednesday morning, it had been essential there should be a large attendance at the bank to create a strong impression. But some of the attendees must be relieved periodically. Others who had not yet appeared were to be held in reserve for later that day, or other days.
To accomplish all this, a patchwork communications system had been set up with heavy use of local pay phones, monitored by more helpers stationed on the streets. Already, allowing for weaknesses in a short notice, improvised scheme, communication was functioning well.
All these and other reports were being funneled to Margot in the back seat of her Volkswagen. Her information included the number of people in line, the length of time it was taking the bank to open each account, and the number of new account desks in operation. She had heard, too, about the jam-packed scene inside the bank; also the exchanges between Seth Orinda and bank officials.
Margot made a calculation, then instructed the latest messenger, a gangling youth now waiting in the car's front passenger seat, 'Tell Deacon not to call any more volunteers for the time being; it looks as if we've enough for the rest of today. Let some of those standing outside be relieved for a while, though not more than fifty at a time, and warn them to be back to collect their lunches. And about the lunches, caution everyone again there's to be no litter on Rosselli Plaza, and no food or drinks taken into the bank.'
The talk of lunch reminded Margot of money which, earlier in the week, had been a problem.
On Monday, reports filtering in through Deacon Euphrates made it clear that many of the willing volunteers lacked a spare five dollars the minimum required to open an account at FMA. The Forum East Tenants Association had virtually no money. For a while it looked as if their scheme would founder.
Then Margot made a telephone call. It was to the union the American Federation of Clerks, Cashiers & Office Workers which now represented the airport janitors and cleaners whom she had aided a year ago.
Would the union help by lending money enough to provide a five-dollar stake for each volunteer who could not afford it? Union leaders summoned a hasty meeting. The union said yes.
On Tuesday, employees from union headquarters helped Deacon Euphrates and Seth Orinda distribute the cash. All concerned knew that part of it would never be repaid and some of the five-dollar floats would be spent by Tuesday night, their original purpose forgotten or ignored. But most of the money, they believed, would be used as intended. Judging by this morning's showing, they were right.
It was the union which had offered to supply and pay for lunches. The offer was accepted. Margot suspected a self-interest angle somewhere on the union's part but concluded it would not affect the Forum East objective, so was none of her business.
She continued to instruct the latest messenger. 'We must maintain a lineup until the bank closes at three o'clock.'
It was possible, she thought, that the news media might do some closing time photography so a show of strength for the remainder of today was important.
Tomorrow's plans could be co-ordinated late tonight. Mostly, they would be a repetition of today's.
Fortunately the weather a spell of mildness with mainly clear skies was helping, and forecasts for the next few days seemed good.
'Keep on emphasizing,' Margot told another messenger a half hour later, 'that everyone must stay friendly, friendly, friendly. Even if the bank people get tough or impatient, the thing to do is smile back.'
At 11:45 A.M. Seth reported personally to Margot. He was grinning broadly and held out an early edition of the city's afternoon newspaper. 'Wow!' Margot spread the front page wide.
The activity at the bank commanded most of the available space. It was more, far more, attention than she had dared to hope for. The main headline read:
BIG BANK IMMOBILIZED
BY FORUM EASTERS
And below:
First Mercantile American In Trouble?
Many Come To 'Help' With Small Deposits Pictures and a two-column by-line story followed.
'Oh brother!' Maryot breathed. 'How FMA will hate that!' They did.
Shortly after midday a hastily called conference took place on the 36th floor of First Mercantile American Headquarters Tower in the presidential suite.
Jerome Patterton and Roscoe Heyward were there, grim faced. Alex Vandervoort joined them. He, too, was serious, though as discussion progressed Alex seemed less involved than the others, his expression mostly thoughtful, with once or twice a flicker of amusement. The fourth attendee was Tom Straughan, the bank's young and studious chief economist; the fifth, Dick French, vice-president of public relations.
French, burly and scowling, strode in chewing an unlightod cigar and carrying a bundle of afternoon newspapers which he slapped down one by one in front of the others.
Jerome Patterton, seated behind his desk, spread out paper. When he read the words, 'First Mercantile American In Trouble?' he spluttered, 'That's a filthy lie! That paper should be sued.'
'There's nothing to sue about,' French said with his customary bluntness. 'The newspaper hasn't stated it as face. It's put as a question and in any case is quoting someone else. And the original statement was not malicious.' He stood with a take-it-or-leave-it attitude, hands behind his back, cigar projecting like an accusatory torpedo. Patterton flushed with anger.
'Of course it's malicious,' Roscoe Heyward snapped. He had been standing, aloof, by a window and swung back toward the other four. 'The entire exercise is malicious. Any fool can see that.'
French sighed. 'All right, I'll spell it out. Whoever is behind this is good at law and public relations. The
