Free My Mother the Cheerleader by Robert Sharenow

Men, New York
    Nothing out of the ordinary there. His toilet kit also yielded very little of interest. Although he did use some very pleasant-smelling brand of aftershave and talc called Pinaud Clubman. The label read “World Famous Since 1810.” I unscrewed the cap of the aftershave and took a deep sniff—it was thesource of the faintly sweet but masculine scent that I had noticed at dinner.
    Although I was usually disappointed to find nothing of interest in a guest’s room, with Morgan I was relieved. I didn’t want to have my image of him dimmed by some hidden vice tucked away in his underwear drawer. In truth I was searching in the hopes of not finding anything incriminating.
    I completed my accounting of his possessions and was returning everything to exactly where it was when I noticed a small leather briefcase beside the door. Of course I couldn’t let something like that elude my investigation. The first thing I pulled out of the case was an unopened pack of Lucky Strikes. Next I retrieved a 257-page manuscript of a book called Landing the Job: Tips for Recent Graduates , by Alice Timmons. I flipped through the pages and read through some of what I assumed were Morgan’s comments written in blue ink along the margins.
    Page 71—“Let’s move the résumé section earlier. Maybe Chapter 3?”
    Page 128—“Great section on what not to wear. Line about the purple tie made me laugh out loud.”
    Page 232—“More sample interview questions would be useful. Something about long-term goals, etc.”
    None of the notes made much sense without really knowing the context, but I assumed they were all brilliant and helpful. Insane jealousy swept over me at the thought of Alice Timmons getting to work with Morgan. Did this girl realize how lucky she was?
    The next item I retrieved was a small newspaper. I was just going to put it aside when the name flashed before my eyes and I froze. A chill ran through my entire body as the words sank in.
    DAILY WORKER
    I instinctively dropped the paper like a hot coal and stared in horror. This was the paper of record ofCommunist conspirators and enemies of all things good. Pornography, guns, moonshine—none of those hit me with the same shock of revulsion as was caused by Morgan’s copy of the Daily Worker . For a moment I was afraid to touch it. In my universe Communists ranked neck and neck with Satan on the chart of evildoers. Was Morgan one of them ?
    I dumped out the rest of the briefcase, fearful I’d find a cache of microfilm, a dagger with the Soviet hammer and sickle emblazoned on the handle, or a secret transmitting device to communicate with the Kremlin. But there was nothing else in the bag save a Zippo lighter and a pack of Juicy Fruit gum. My mind raced in the opposite direction, hoping to absolve Morgan of this ugly suspicion. He must work for the FBI, I assured myself, and he was merely researching the enemy. Yes…he must be some sort of government agent. That must be it.
    I turned my full attention to the paper. The front-page headline read “Garment Strike Looms.” I flipped through the entire contents, scanning the articles, all of which concerned the oppression ofworkers and other abuses by bosses and corporations. Nothing really penetrated until I got to the very last page, the sports section, where Morgan’s name jumped out at me from the byline of an editorial column.
    Boston Still a Racist Stronghold
    By M. I. Miller, Sports Editor
    Imagine an outfield with both Ted Williams and Willie Mays. Sounds like a fantasy, right? That fantasy could have been a reality. The Boston Red Sox had the opportunity to sign Willie in 1949 and perhaps build the greatest baseball dynasty of the 1950s. The Red Sox sent a scout to look at the young Say Hey Kid, but the game was delayed by rain. The scout left, deciding it wasn’t worth waiting to check out a Negro ballplayer, because they