Our house is inside it.
The man at the podium says New Shiloh is growing fast. He reads off a series of numbers about population estimates. Then he recites some more numbers about how many gallons of water all those people will need.
I can’t help myself. “Who’s that?”
Mr. Halleck grimaces. “He’s a representative from a chemical company. They want the reservoir built to provide water for their factory. He has some projections about population growth and water shortages that he’s trying to scare the council with.” Mr. Halleck pulls the silver flask from his jacket and takes a sip. “It’s working.”
I can’t follow the man at the podium, but the council members don’t seem to have any trouble. A few take notes. One man is nodding.
At last Councilman Travers taps his tiny hammer again, and the chemical company men take down their map.
Just then Kemper leans forward, whispers in Travers’s ear.
“You men can leave that up,” Travers says. “It will be a helpful reference for us.”
The map goes back up.
Will snorts.
Next up is a thin, wiry man in a flannel suit and thick glasses. He’s some sort of representative from a group of businessmen, and he also wants the reservoir. After him comes a big, beefy man with a red face and red hands. He owns a construction company. He wants it too.
Slowly, I realize: all of the people who want the reservoir are getting to talk first.
I look at Frankie and see he’s figured it out too.
It goes like that for half an hour: a whole parade of people who are for the reservoir walking up to the podium and telling council how good a thing it will be if they flood us out.
Then Kemper stands up.
“Council will now hear from its legal counsel,” Travers says.
Kemper looks even smaller behind the podium. His tie is a tiny knot under his monstrous Adam’s apple.
“It’s true I am legal counsel for the council,” he begins in a surprisingly strong voice. “But I would like to speak today in a purely personal capacity, as a citizen of the county.”
Mr. Halleck says “Hmm,” and leans ever so slightly forward.
Kemper looks out over his audience.
“We have heard from some excellent witnesses. All reliable, trustworthy men. Pillars of our community. What they say gives us the cold, hard facts of the matter: our town is growing. We need water not only for its families, but also for the industries and businesses that provide them with good jobs and good salaries. We can give them this water, by building a reservoir right where you see it on that map. Now, I understand this will mean a terrible inconvenience to a very small percentage of our neighbors. And some might mistakenly believe they’re being pressured to leave land their families have owned for generations. Let me assure you: nothing could be further from the truth.”
The people below are silent—spellbound, it seems, by Kemper’s words. I ain’t ever heard him talk like this before. His squeaky voice is powerful behind that podium.
A terrible pit forms in my stomach as Kemper draws a breath and continues.
“This is America. We are not about to force people from their homes . . . But this is 1968, and we are about progress. Times change. Needs change. Attachments to old things, when they no longer serve the greatest good for the greatest number, must be severed. To refuse to let go of these attachments might at first seem an overstrong dose of sentimentality or nostalgia. Let me tell you, it is far worse. It is selfishness. Disguised and hidden, but selfishness nevertheless.”
My jaw drops.
Next to me Will starts forward off his bench, catches himself.
“This selfishness is subtle,” Kemper goes on. “It says ‘Let my neighbors fend for themselves; I care only about me and mine.’ But that is not who we are. Such thinking runs contrary to everything we believe in as a society. It is frankly un-American.”
I’m boiling inside. Kemper is leaning forward over his podium, like a deranged pastor filled with the fervor of his own words.
“To those who think this way, I say this: You can still choose to do right by your neighbors. You can even profit from it. You will be generously compensated. So let go. Don’t stand in the way of progress. Don’t stand in the way of kindness. Do the right thing.”
Kemper looks out over the room, stands up straight, and finishes:
“If those people want to ignore the rights and needs of their neighbors, that’s their business. But it is not the business of this council,” he thunders on. “We cannot make them see the right thing. But we can make them do it, whether they wish to or not. Council has that power. Council should use that power. I urge council to support the measure. Thank you.”