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Even while speaking, Nim knew he had gone too far, had broken recklessly the normal constraints of public hearings, as well as restrictions placed on him by GSP & L. Perhaps he had even given Birdsong grounds for claiming libel. Yet another part of Nim's mind argued that what he had said needed to be said, that there were limits to patience and reasonableness, and that someone had to speak out plainly, fearlessly, accepting whatever consequences came.
He stormed on, "You sound off about forty percent conservation, Birdsong. That isn't conservation; that's deprivation. It would mean a whole new way of life, and a damn sight poorer one.
"Okay, there are some who say we ought to have lower standards of living, all of us, that we live too well and should be deprived. Well, maybe that's true, maybe not. But either way, that kind of decision for change isn't for power companies like GSP & L to make. Our responsibility is to maintain the living standards which people-through their elected governments-tell us that they want. It's why we'll go on protecting those standards, Birdsong, until ordered otherwise-but ordered officially, not by overinflated, self-appointed pecksniffs like you."
As Nim paused for breath, the commissioner inquired coolly, "Have you quite finished, Mr. Goldman?"
Nim swung to face the bench. "No, Mr. Chairman, I haven't. While I'm on my feet there are a couple of other things I'd like to say."
"Mr. Chairman, if I might suggest a recess. It was Oscar O'Brien, competing for attention.
Nim said firmly, "I intend to finish, Oscar." He observed that everyone at the press table was scribbling and the official stenotypist had his head down, fingers racing.
“There will be no recess for the moment," the commissioner said, and O'Brien subsided unhappily, with a shrug. Birdsong was still standing, silently, but a balf-smile now replaced his surprised expression. Perhaps be was reasoning that Nim's outhurst had harmed GSP & L's cause and was helping p & lfp. Well, Nim thought, whether that was true or not, having gone this far he was damned if he would get fainthearted. He addressed the commissioner and the administrative law judge, both watching him curiously.
"This entire exercise, Mr. Chairman-and I mean this hearing and others like it-is a futile, time-wasting, costly charade. It's futile because it takes years to accomplish what ought to be done in weeks, and sometimes even longer to do nothing. It's time-wasting because those of us who are real producers, not paper-eating bureaucrats, could spend the endless hours we're required to be here a helluva lot more usefully to the companies we work for and society as a whole. It's outrageously costly because taxpayers and power users-who Birdsong claims to represent, but doesn't-get stuck with paying millions for this crazy, coun-terproductive, comic-opera pseudo-system. And it's a charade because we pretend that what we are doing here makes sense and reason when all of us on our side of the fence know damn well it doesn't."
The commissioner's face flushed crimson. Decisively, this time, he reached for his gavel and slammed it down. Glaring at Nim, be pronounced, "That is all I will allow on that subject, but I give you due warning, Mr. Goldman: I intend to read the transcript carefully and consider other action later." then to Birdsong with equal coldness: "Have you concluded your questioning of this witness?"
"Yessir!" Birdsong grinned broadly. "If you ask me, he just pissed in his own nest."
The gavel slammed. "I am not asking you."
Oscar O'Brien was on his feet again. Impatiently the commissioner waved him down and announced, "This hearing is adjourned."
* * *
There was a buzz of excited conversation as the hearing room emptied. Nim did not share in it. He had glanced toward O'Brien, who was stuffing papers into a briefcase, but the lawyer shook his head-a gesture combining disbelief and sadness-and a moment later stalked out alone.
Davey Birdsong joined a group of supporters who were noisily congratulating him, and they all went out, laughing.
Laura Bo Carmichael, Roderick Pritchett, and several others from the Sequoia Club regarded Nim curiously but made no comment as they, too, left.
The press table emptied quickly, except for Nancy Molineaux, who appeared to be reviewing her notes and making more. Her bead came up as Nim passed by. She said softly, "Baby, oh baby! Did you ever crucify yourself!"
"If I did," he told her, "I'm sure you'll make the most of it."
She shook her head and smiled lazily. "Don't need to make anything, man.
You stuck your own ass in the blender. Man, A man! Wait till you see tomorrow's papers."
He didn't answer and left Ms. Molineaux still working on her notes, no doubt seeking the sharpest quotes with which to impale him. Nim was sure the bitch would slant her story to make him look as had as possible and she would enjoy it, he thought, even more than her report about the helicopter at Devil's Gate.
A sense of loneliness engulfed him as he left the bearing room alone.
Outside he was surprised to find several TV reporters with mini-cameras awaiting him. He had forgotten how fast the visual media, once tipped off, could cover a breaking story.
"Mr. Goldman," one of the TV men called out, "we heard about 1some things you said in there. Would you repeat them so we can have a story on the news tonight?"
For a second Nim hesitated. He didn't have to do it. Then he decided: He was in so much trouble already that nothing more which might be said or done could make things worse. So why the hell not?
"Okay," he responded, "here's the way it is." He began speaking forcefully, heatedly, once more as cameras rolled.
14
"From this moment on," J. Eric Humphrey said, his voice with a cutting edge like steel, "you will cease to be a spokesman for this company about anything. You will not appear on TV or radio. You will not give interviews to the press or respond to a reporter's question, even if asked the time of day. Is that clear?"
"Yes," Nim said, "it's clear."
The two faced each other, the chairman's desk between them. The setting was unusually formal since Humphrey had chosen not to use the more casual conference area where he and Nim normally had discussions.
It was the afternoon of the day following Nim's outhurst at the California Energy Commission bearing.
"As to public bearings," Humphrey went on, "you will, of course, no longer appear at any. Other arrangements will be made."
"If you want my resignation, Eric, you can have it."
Nim had been thinking about that possibility all day. His departure, he reasoned, might relieve GSP & L of some embarrassment, and be was aware of owing a loyalty to the utility which in the past had treated him well.
Also, from his own point of view be was not sure be wanted to continue working with some kind of stigma, expressed through a restriction of his activities. His pride was intervened there, and why not?
One thing Nim knew for sure: He would have no trouble getting a senior appointment elsewhere. Plenty of public utilities would jump at the chance of recruiting someone with his background and experience, as he had learned from job offers before now. On the other band, he was reluctant to leave California, which Nim, and a multitude of others, believed to be the most agreeable and exciting place in the world to live and work. Someone had said: If something happens good or bad-it happens in California first. Nim agreed wholeheartedly. There was also the problem of Ruth and Leah and Benjy. Would Ruth want to move-to Illinois, for example-the way things were between them? Probably not.
"No one said anything about reigning," Eric Humphrey acknowledged huffily.
Nim resisted an impulse to smile. This was not the moment. But be knew, without indulging in egotism, that he was valuable to the chairman in a host of ways, entirely apart from public appearances. His planning role was one. In fact, being a GSP & L policy spokesman had not been part of Nim's original duties, but had been added later and increased as time went by. In a way, Nim thought, he would be glad to be rid of the public aspect, so maybe he could put the pieces together and carry on. Anyway, he decided, for the moment he would do nothing rash.
"That is all for now," Humphrey said coldly, returning to papers he had been studying when Nim was summoned. It was clear that the chairman would need time to get over his personal displeasure.
* * *
Teresa Van Buren was waiting in Nim's office.
"I want you to know," the PR director said, "that I spent an hour with Eric this morning arguing against his decision not to let you loose in public anymore. At one point he got as angry with me as be is with you."
