Free The Detroit Electric Scheme by D. E. Johnson Page B

his words. I returned to the managers’ office and got back to work on the stack of paper, though I spent more time tapping my pencil on the desk, thinking, than I did working.
    Did the Wobblies coming here today make them more or less likely to have been involved? I wasn’t sure, though I thought it less likely, as it made more sense to distance themselves from the murder if they’d been responsible. On the other hand, I’d never heard the Industrial Workers of the World described as “sensible.”
    The next time I looked at my watch it was two o’clock. I’d missed my lunch break by an hour and a half. That told me all I needed to know about my state of mind. I asked Cavendish if I could take a break to use the telephone. He glared at me for a moment, smirked, and shook his head.
    It was clear from the phone call this morning that Frank’s mother would never let me speak with him. My only chance was to catch him at work. Phoning Frank would have to wait until Monday.

 
CHAPTER SEVEN
    The cake, chocolate with chocolate frosting, stood three feet high, in the shape of an automobile, though the elongated front end made it look more like a gasoline car than an electric. Inscribed on top in white frosting was DETROIT ELECTRIC WORLD RECORD—211.3 MILES ON A SINGLE CHARGE! It was quickly cut into pieces by two of our female typewriters and handed out to the men along with a tangy red punch.
    My father stood on a wooden box and raised his arms over his head. “May I have your attention, please?”
    The four hundred or so men who had been milling around and chatting while they ate turned toward him and listened. I was fidgeting, anxious to leave, though no more than many of the other men, who were late for their after-work smoke. Anderson Carriage employees were occasionally caught smoking at work, but most, knowing it was worth their job, managed to hold off until their lunch break or after six, and then smoke only off of the company’s property. They had good reason. My father paid higher than average wages (more than five dollars a day for skilled craftsmen), limited the workweek to fifty-four hours, hired no one under sixteen years of age, and was known as a fair man, often keeping on employees who were unable to do their jobs because of age or injury.
    My father cleared his throat and projected out over the floor. “I’ll make this quick because I’m sure you are not interested in hearing anyone, even someone as entertaining as I, go on all night.” He smiled, and the men laughed politely.
    â€œThere are forty-six companies building electric automobiles in this country today. Well, actually, that was yesterday. Who knows how many more sprang up today?”
    The men laughed again.
    â€œOf those forty-six companies, only one made history yesterday—Detroit Electric. A Model A Victoria, powered by Edison batteries, driven by Will Anderson, and witnessed by Dr. J. O. Miller, went two hundred eleven and three-tenths miles on a single charge, breaking the Baker Electric record by almost ten miles!”
    The men cheered.
    â€œWe will be running advertisements in
Horseless Age
and
The Automobile,
not coincidentally the same magazines in which Baker ran the advertisements for their record.”
    The men laughed and gave a hurrah. They seemed to truly like my father, in spite of what some might feel was a bit of priggishness, and the general tendency of many men to resent their superiors.
    â€œThis gives us real momentum. The quality of Detroit Electric automobiles is second to no brand, be they electric, gasoline, or steam.” His voice had been steadily rising, and now he shouted, “This year we will overtake Baker as the number-one supplier of electric automobiles in the country!”
    Applause and whistles echoed through the plant.
    He held out his arms, quieting the men. “But our job has only begun. Remember, our competition is not just