Happy Utopia Day, Joe McCarthy

Chapter 23

We are dealing with a far more sinister type of activity.

—Senator Joseph McCarthy

People appear in the back window, looking in and trying to see us, their heads barely above the bottom sill because of the drop in elevation.

"I better give 'em a ride to Preacher before our friends tear down the house," Samuel says.

"Hurry," Barbara says. "You fellas ready?" "Yes, sir," I say.

"Thank you for lunch," Derek says to Barbara. "Yes, thank you. Very kind of you," I say.

"My pleasure. And thank you for everything," Barbara says. She gives Derek and I each a kiss on the cheek.

Samuel opens the front door. The crowd outside cheers. "Let's go." Samuel leads the way through the crowd. "Backup! Out of the way!"

People enclose us. They touch us on the shoulder and shout names. "Do you know—?" They wave pictures of young men in the air. Some are old black-and-white photographs with guys in suits, square-rimmed black glasses, and flattops. Others are bright colored prints with high school boys in wild shirts with long hair.

We make it to the Taurus. Derek and I sit in the backseat. Samuel slowly pulls through the crowd. "Get out of the way!" he shouts through a slightly open window.

People run to their cars and form a line behind us. We pull onto the road and descend toward town. Lights flash on and off, and horns blare behind us. People wave their arms out their windows like an ecstatic parade of fans following a team bus home from a high school state championship.

We descend the mountain and cross the bridge. We drive down Main Street. The buildings are small, neat, and discreet, with names like "Hardware," "Drugstore," and "Grocery." There are no restaurants or specialty stores.

"Pretty basic," Derek says.

"Don't want to encourage the tourists." "But no restaurants?" I ask.

"Good cooks can make money on the side out of their homes." Samuel waves his hand. "Plenty of tasty spots around."

I notice pictures of young men throughout town. They are in store windows and front doors. American flags fly from every lamppost and surround Big Mac signs. Poster boards are painted with slogans: "Better Dead Than Red," "Live Free or Die," and "Go Home, Commie!"

Cars are in front of us now, and we inch along. The cars behind us continue to create a cacophony of jubilation. People on the sidewalks wave and walk with us. At the third stoplight, more than halfway through town, we stop. A white wood clap- board church is one block down on the right. It has a black roof and a simple steeple at the front. People are crowded all around the entrance.

"Maybe this is not such a good idea," Samuel says. He turns the car left.

"Where are you taking us?" Derek says.

224 j.t. lundy

Samuel ignores him. He picks up speed and takes a quick right and pulls in front of a limestone building. Etched into the stone above the door are the words star police.

Samuel gets out of the car. "Come on."

Derek and I get out of the car and look at the police station. We look at each other. Should we run? A crowd is heading toward us down the street.

Samuel is at the entrance to the station. "Let's go."

It's the crowd or Samuel. We follow him into the police station. He shuts and locks the door behind us.