Free The Executioner's Song by Norman Mailer

aJ1 that time. Right there, a lawyer could spring him on a Writ of Habeas Corpus, and Gilmore could take off. The more he was realy in trouble, the more he’d look to get himself lost real fast. Whereas, GiLmore, coming back on his own, would be fortifying the positive side of himself. He would know Court had been right to trust him. That would give a base on which to work. The idea was to get a man into some kind of positive relationship with authority. Then he might begin to change.
    Court had been a Mormon missionary in New Zealand and he was a believer in the power of authority to be a change-agent, that is, be able to effect a few real changes in people’s personalities. Of course, a person had to be willing to accept authority, whether it was Scripture, the Book of Mormon, or in his case, just accept the fact that he, Mont Court, a probation officer, was neither a hardnose, nor superheat, but a man willing to talk openly and take a reasonable chance on you, He was there to help, not to rush a man back to an overcrowded prison for the first minor infraction.
    Of course, he laid it out. Gilmore had certainly been in violation of his parole agreement. Any more violations would jeopardize his parole. Gilmore nodded, Gilmore listened politely. He was looking old. They were about the same age, but Gilmore, Court was thinking,
    • looked much older. On the •other hand, if you put up a profile of what
    an artist of 35 might look like, Gthnore could fit that physical Profile.
     
    Court had seen some of his artistic work. Before he met him, Brenda had shown Mont Court a couple of Gary’s drawings and Paintings. The prison information he was receiving from Oregon made it clear that Gilmore was a violent person, yet in these Paintings Court was able to see a part of the man simply not reflected in the Prison record. Mont Court saw tenderness. He thought, Gilmore can’t be a evil, all bad. There’s somethingthat’s salvageable.
     
    After the session with Mont Court, Gary decided to talk to Spencer McGrath about a new job. Brenda took him out to Lindon for the meeting, and took a liking to McGrath. He was really okay, she thought, just a little guy with rough features, a dark mustache, and a
    down-to-earth manner, who you could think was a plumber when
    you first looked at him. The kind who would walk around and say to
     
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    [ THE EXECUTIONER’S SONG
     
    his people, “Okay: guys, let’s get this done.” She thought he was ter rific even ff he was short.
     
    A couple of days back, Gary had been to see a man with a sign-painting company but had been offered only $I.5o an hour. When Gary said that wasn’t even minimum wage, the man replied, “What do you expect? You’re an ex-con.” Spencer agreed it wasn’t fair. If Gary was doing the same work as somebody else, he should be paid the same money.
     
    It turned out, however, that Gary did not have much experience applicable here. He was good at painting but they didn’t do much sign-painting, just covered machinery with a paint gun. “Still,” said Spencer, “you impress me as intelligent. I figure you can learn.” He would put Gary on at $3.5o an hour. The government had a program for ex-cons and would pay half of this salary. Next day, he would start. Eight to five with breaks for coffee and lunch.
     
    It was seven miles and more from Vern’s home in Provo to the shop in Lindon, seven miles along State Street with all the one-story buildings, The first morning Vern drove him there. After that, Gary left at 6 to be sure of getting to work by 8 A.M. in case he wasn’t able to find a hitch. Once, after catching a ride right off, he came in at 6:30, an hour and a half early. Other times it was not so fast. Once, a dawn cloudburst came in off the mountains, and he had to walk in the rain. At night he would often trudge home without a ride. It was a lot of traveling to get to a shop that was hardly more than a big shed with nothing to see but trucks and