8
J. Eric Humphrey sat red-faced and uncomfortable in the elevated, hardbacked witness chair. He had been there half a day—already several hours longer than the “brief appearance” Oscar O’Brien had promised him.
Three feet away, in the courtroom-like setting, Davey Birdsong stood facing the witness and towering over him. Birdsong swayed slightly as he transferred his formidable weight from his heels to the balls of his feet, then back, forward, back again. “Since you must be hard of hearing, I’ll repeat my question. How much do you get paid each year?”
Humphrey, who had hesitated when the question was first posed, glanced at O’Brien, seated at counsel’s table. The lawyer gave the slightest of shrugs.
Tight-lipped, the GSP & L chairman answered, “Two hundred and forty-five thousand dollars.”
Birdsong waved a hand airily. “No, sport, you misunderstand me. I didn’t ask the capitalization of Golden State Power & Light. I asked how much bread you earn.”
Humphrey, unamused, replied, “That is the figure I gave.”
“I can hardly believe it!” Birdsong clapped a hand to his head in a theatrical gesture. “I didn’t believe that any one person could earn so much money.” He emitted a long, low whistle. “Wow!”
From the audience in the warm, crowded hearing room came echoing whistles and other “wows!” Someone called out, “We consumers are the ones who pay it! Too damn much!” There was applause for the heckler and stomping on the floor.
On the bench above, looking down at witness, questioner and spectators, the presiding commissioner reached for a gavel. He tapped with it lightly and commanded, “Order!” The commissioner, in his mid-thirties and with a pink, boyish face, had been appointed to his post a year ago after service in the ruling political party. He was an accountant by training and was rumored to be a relative of the Governor.
As the commissioner spoke, O’Brien lumbered to his feet. “Mr. Chairman, is this harassment of my witness necessary?”
The commissioner regarded Birdsong, who was wearing his uniform of shabby jeans, a multicolored shirt open at the neck, and tennis shoes. In contrast, Humphrey, who ordered his three-piece suits from deLisi in New York and went there for fittings, was sartorially impeccable.
“You asked your question and you received an answer, Mr. Birdsong,” the commissioner said. “We can manage without the theatrics. Proceed, please.”
“Certainly, Mr. Chairman.” Birdsong swung back to Eric Humphrey. “You did say two hundred and forty-five thousand dollars?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Are there other compensations which go with being the big cheese …” (Laughter from the spectators.) “Excuse me—the chairman of a public utility? A personal limousine perhaps?”
“Yes.”
“Chauffeur-driven?”
“Yes.”
“Plus a fat expense account?”
Humphrey said huffily, “I would not refer to it as fat.”
“How about enormous?”
More laughter.
J. Eric Humphrey’s intense displeasure was beginning to show. Essentially a high-level administrator and in no way a rough-and-tumble fighter, he was ill-equipped to handle the flashy showmanship of Birdsong. He responded coldly, “My duties involve certain expenses which I am permitted to charge to our company.”
“I’ll bet!”
O’Brien was halfway to his feet. The presiding commissioner waved him down and instructed, “Confine yourself to questions, Mr. Birdsong.”
The huge bearded man grinned broadly. “Yessir!”
Seated in the public section, Nim fumed. Why didn’t Humphrey answer bluntly, aggressively, as he could and should? My salary, Mr. Birdsong, is a matter of public record since it is reported to regulatory agencies and the information is easily available. I am certain that you knew it before asking the question; therefore your show of surprise was phony and deceitful. Furthermore, the salary is not out of line for the chairman and chief executive of one of the nation’s largest corporations; in fact, it is smaller than in most other companies of comparable size. One reason for the level of my salary is that industrial organizations like GSP & L are aware they must be competitive in recruiting and retaining executive talent. To be specific: My own experience and qualifications would certainly earn me an equal or larger salary elsewhere. You may not wholly like that system, Mr. Birdsong, but while we remain a free enterprise society, that is the way it is. As to a chauffeur-driven car, this was offered to me at the time of my employment on the same competitive basis as salary, and also on the assumption that a chief executive’s time and energies are more valuable than the cost of such a car and driver. One more point about that car: Like other busy executives I am accustomed to work in it on my way from one place to another and seldom relax there. Finally, if the company’s directors and shareholders are dissatisfied with my performance in return for money paid, they have power to remove me …
But no! Nim thought glumly: The soft approach, excessive worrying about an elusive public image, pussyfooting, never standing up to the Birdsongs of the world by employing their own tough tactics in reverse—all these were the order of the day. This day and other days to come.
It was the second day of hearings on the license application for Tunipah, first stage. The preceding day had been filled by formalities, including submission by counsel for GSP & L of a mammoth 500-page “Notice of Intention” (350 copies printed), the first of many similar documents to come. As O’Brien put it sardonically: “By the time we’re through we’ll have caused to be chopped down a forest of trees to make the paper we shall use which, put together, could fill a library or sink a ship.”
Earlier today, J. Eric Humphrey was summoned as the applicant’s first witness.
O’Brien had led the utility’s chairman quickly through a recital of the need for Tunipah and the site’s advantages—the promised “brief appearance.” Then there had been a more lengthy questioning by counsel for the commission, who was followed by Roderick Pritchett, manager-secretary of the Sequoia Club. Both cross-examinations, while occupying more than an hour each, were constructive and low-key. Davey Birdsong, however, who was next and appeared for p & lfp, had already enlivened the proceedings, clearly to the delight of supporters in the audience.
“Now then, Mr. Humphrey,” he continued, “I guess you wake up in the morning figuring you have to do something to justify that enormous salary of yours. Is that right?”
O’Brien called out promptly, “I object!”
“Sustained,” the commissioner pronounced.
Birdsong was unperturbed. “I’ll ask it another way. Do you feel, as the main part of your job, Eric baby, that you have to keep dreaming up schemes—like this Tunipah deal—which will make huge profits for your company?”
“Objection!”
Birdsong swung toward the GSP & L counsel. “Why don’t you have a tape made? Then you could press a button without opening your mouth.”
There was laughter and some scattered applause. At the same time the young commissioner leaned over to confer with a second man seated beside him—an elderly administrative law judge, a civil servant with long experience in the type of hearing being conducted. As he spoke softly, the older man could be seen to shake his head.
“Objection denied,” the commissioner announced, then added, “We allow considerable latitude at these hearings, Mr. Birdsong, but you will please address all witnesses with respect, using their correct names, not as”—he tried to suppress a smile but was unsuccessful—“sport or Eric baby. Another point: We would like some assurance that your line of questioning is relevant.”
“Oh, it’s relevant all right! It’s really relevant.” Bird-song’s answer was expansive. Then, as if changing gears, he slipped into the role of supplicant. “But please realize, Mr. Chairman, I’m just a simple person, representing humble people, not an important, fancy lawyer like old Oscar baby here.” He pointed to O’Brien. “So if I’m awkward, overfriendly, make mistakes …”
The commissioner sighed. “Just get on. Please!”
“Yessir! Certainly, sir!” Birdsong swung toward Humphrey. “You heard the man! You’re wasting the commissioner’s time. Now quit futzing around and answer the question.”
O’Brien interjected, “What question? I’ll be darned if I remember it. I’m sure the witness can’t.”
The commissioner instructed, “The reporter will read the question back.”
The proceedings halted and those on hard chairs and benches shifted, making themselves more comfortable while a male stenotypist, who was keeping the official commission record, flipped back through the folded tape of his notes. At the rear of the room several newcomers slipped in as others left. As those participating knew, in months and years to come, long before any decision was reached, this scene and sequence would be repeated countless times.
The oak-paneled hearing chamber was in a twelve-story building near the city’s center, occupied by the California Energy Commission, which was conducting the present series of hearings. Directly across the street was the building of the California Public Utilities Commission, which would later conduct its own hearings on Tunipah, in large part repetitious. Competition and jealousy between the two separate commissions were intense and, at times, took on an Alice-in-Wonderland quality.
Two additional state agencies would also get into the act soon and conduct hearings of their own; these were the California Water Quality Resources Board and the Air Resources Board. Each of the four government bodies would receive all reports and other papers generated by the remaining three, most of which they would ignore.
Then, at lower level, it was necessary to satisfy an Air Pollution Control District which might impose restrictions even more severe than those of the state agencies.
As O’Brien put it privately, “No one who isn’t directly involved would ever believe the incredible duplication and futility. We who participate, and those who set up this crazy system, should be certified as lunatics. It would be far cheaper for the public purse, and more efficient, if we were locked up in asylums.”
The stenotypist was concluding,“… schemes—like this Tunipah deal—which will make huge profits for your company?”
“The objective of Tunipah,” Humphrey responded, “is to provide service to our customers and the community generally, as we always have, by anticipating increased demands for electricity. Profit is secondary.”
“But there will be profits,” Birdsong persisted.
“Naturally. We are a public company with obligations to investors …”
“Big profits? Profits in the millions?”
“Because of the enormous size of the undertaking and the huge investment, there will be issues of stocks and bonds, which could not be sold to investors unless …”
Birdsong cut in sharply, “Answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Will there be profits in the millions?”
The GSP & L chairman flushed. “Probably—yes.”
Once more his tormentor rocked back and forth on his heels. “So we only have your word, Mr. Humphrey, about whether profits or service comes first—the word of a person who, if this monstrous Tunipah fraud is foisted on the public, stands to profit in every possible way.”
“Objection,” O’Brien said wearily. “That is not a question. It is a prejudicial, inflammatory, unsubstantiated statement.”
“So many big words!—okay, I withdraw it,” Birdsong volunteered before the commissioner could rule. He grinned. “I guess my honest feelings got the better of me.”
O’Brien looked as if he would object again, then decided not.
As Birdsong and others were well aware, the last exchange would be in the record, despite withdrawal. Also, reporters at the press table had their heads down and were writing busily—something they were not doing earlier.
Still observing from his spectator’s seat, Nim thought: No doubt Davey Birdsong’s comments would be featured in reports next day because the p & Up leader was, as usual, making colorful copy.
Among the press group Nim could see the black reporter, Nancy Molineaux. She had been watching Birdsong intently, not writing but sitting upright and unmoving; the pose emphasized her high cheekbones, the handsome if forbidding face, her slim, willowy body. Her expression was thoughtful. Nim guessed that she too was appreciating Birdsong’s performance.
Earlier today Ms. Molineaux and Nim had passed each other briefly outside the hearing room. When he nodded curtly she raised an eyebrow and gave him a mocking smile.
Birdsong resumed his questioning. “Tell me, Eric old pal … oops, pardon me!—Mister Humphrey—have you ever heard of conservation?”
“Of course.”
“Are you aware there is a widespread belief that projects like Tunipah would not be needed if you people got behind conservation seriously? I mean, not just played at conservation in a token way, but sold it—with the same hard sell you’re using right now in trying for permission to build more plants to make fatter and fatter profits?”
O’Brien was halfway to his feet when Humphrey said, “I’ll answer that.” The lawyer subsided.
“In the first place, at Golden State Power & Light we do not try to sell more electricity; we used to, but we haven’t done that kind of selling in a long time. Instead we urge conservation—very seriously. But conservation, while helping, will never eliminate steady growth in electrical demand, which is why we require Tunipah.”
Birdsong prompted, “And that’s your opinion?”
“Naturally it’s my opinion.”
“The same kind of prejudiced opinion which asked us to believe you don’t care whether Tunipah makes a profit or not?”
O’Brien objected. “That’s a misrepresentation. The witness did not say he didn’t care about profit.”
“I’ll concede that.” Abruptly Birdsong swung to face O’Brien, his body seeming to expand as his voice rose. “We know all of you at Golden State care about profits—big, fat, gross, extortionate profits at the expense of small consumers, the decent working people of this state who pay their bills and will be stuck with the cost of Tunipah if …”
The remainder of the words were drowned in cheers, applause and foot-stomping from the spectators. Amid it all, the commissioner banged his gavel, calling, “Order! Order!”
A man who had joined in the cheering and was seated next to Nim observed Nim’s silence. He inquired belligerently, “Don’t you care, buster?”
“Yes,” Nim said. “I care.”
Nim realized that if this were a regular court proceeding the chances were that Birdsong would long since have been cited for contempt. But he wouldn’t be, now or later, because the courtroom setting was a façade. Hearings of this kind were allowed, deliberately, to operate loosely with occasional disorders tolerated. Oscar O’Brien had explained the reasons at one of his advance briefings.
“Public commissions nowadays are scared shitless that if they don’t allow all and sundry to have an unrestricted chance to say their piece, later there could be challenges in the courts on grounds that significant evidence was quashed. If that happened it might mean an overturned decision, undoing years of work because some nut was ordered to shut up or a minor argument disallowed. No one wants that—including us. So, by general consent, the demagogues and kooks et al are given their head along with all the time they want. It makes for dragged out hearings but in the end is probably shorter.”
That, Nim knew, was why the experienced administrative law judge had shaken his head a few moments ago, advising the young commissioner not to disallow Birdsong’s disputed question.
Something else O’Brien had explained was that lawyers like himself, who were involved on behalf of applicants, raised fewer objections at this type of hearing than they would in court. “We save them for something that’s outrageously wrong and ought to be corrected in the record.” Nim suspected that O’Brien’s objections during J. Eric Humphrey’s cross-examination by Birdsong were mostly to mollify Humphrey, O’Brien’s boss, who had been reluctant to make this appearance anyway.
Nim was sure that when his own turn came to testify and be cross-examined, O’Brien would leave him pretty much to fend for himself.
“Let’s get back,” Davey Birdsong was continuing, “to those huge profits we were talking about. Now take the effect on consumers’ monthly bills …”
For another half hour the p & lfp leader continued his interrogation. He employed leading, loaded questions unsubstantiated by facts, interrupted by clowning, but hammering home his contention that profits from Tunipah would be excessive and were the major motivation. Nim conceded mentally: While the charge was false, the Goebbels-type repetition was effective. Undoubtedly it would receive prominence in the media, and probably credence, which clearly was among Birdsong’s objectives.
“Thank you, Mr. Humphrey,” the commissioner said When the GSP & L chairman stepped down from the witness stand. Eric Humphrey nodded an acknowledgment, then departed with evident relief.
Two other GSP & L witnesses followed. Both were specialist engineers. Their testimony and cross-examination were uneventful but occupied two full days, after which the hearing was adjourned until Monday of the following week. Nim, who would have the burden of presenting the main thrust of GSP & L’s case, would be next on the witness stand when proceedings resumed.