The Passion of Sacco and Vanzetti: A New England Legend by Howard Fast Page B

volcano. We will never hear the end of him.” Once again, he fixed his eyes—which someone had described as piercing—upon the portrait of Emerson. “I speak not of one man, but in general terms, when I say the Jew ,” he explained. “Would you repeat what he said—the part about a thirst for blood?”
    â€œI wouldn’t say he used just those words—”
    At that moment the Dean of the Law School entered. He sniffed wrath, and joined himself to it. He assumed a station at one side of the broad, pleasant dining room, with its fine Chippendale furniture, its hand-blocked wall paper, and its lovely and faded eighteenth century hooked rug, placing himself directly under the portrait of Henry Thoreau, his hands folded comfortably across his plump, protruding belly.
    â€œHe is on his way up here, sir,” he said, trying to combine in one smirk both regret and anticipation. The President, however, paid no mind whatsoever to him, driving hard on the young instructor.
    â€œNo—no indeed? But so you reported it.”
    â€œIn effect, sir. I wish to be scrupulous.”
    â€œA commendable desire not shared by too many,” said the President of the University.
    â€œIn my desire to be scrupulous, I must of necessity report his words with some scrupulousness. He inferred that there were certain people in high places who, out of a taste for blood also inferred, desired with absoluteness the death of these two Italians, Sacco and Vanzetti.”
    â€œHa! Precisely! A taste for blood.”
    â€œImplicit, sir, if I may.”
    â€œDid you hear?” he asked the Dean of the Law School. The Dean nodded. “Not stated, but implied.”
    â€œAnd you did not stop him?”
    â€œI hardly could,” the Dean of the Law School protested. “I came into the room after he had been speaking for at least fifteen minutes, and I felt, quite correctly, I think, that any attempt to halt him would have been far more disastrous than anything he might say. This is something for us to consider, for he has placed himself in a powerful position, if I may say so. He is shrewd. He shares that quality.”
    â€œWith his race. They live on shrewdness. But I don’t see his position as so powerful. He has slandered honest men, and he must be made to pay for that. I am an old man, sir.”
    â€œMany younger men have less vigor and youth.”
    â€œThat may be. Nevertheless, I must husband myself. The strength I use cannot be replaced. When a man passes seventy years, death sits at his elbow. Nevertheless, I did not spare myself. When I was called upon for public service, I came forward. I did not say that these were Italians. Am I prejudiced against Latins? Some would say I am prejudiced against Jews. Not so. Not so!” he repeated. “My ancestors planted a sturdy race on this soil, clear-eyed and fair of feature. We dealt with no such names as Sacco and Vanzetti then, but of Lodges and Cabots and Braces and Winthrops and Butlers and Proctors and Emersons, there were plenty indeed. And when I look around me today—where is that race? Yet I did not use this when I was called upon. When the head of this ancient Commonwealth asked me to serve in inquiry, weighing the facts in this case that has made our land like a trollop’s name on the lips of people everywhere, I did not refuse. I served. I examined the facts. I sorted the wheat from the chaff. I—”
    He was interrupted in his words by the entrance of the Professor of Criminal Law; and then at that moment it seemed to the two men in attendance, the Dean of the Law School and the instructor, that the Professor of Criminal Law walked, indeed, where wiser men—and even angels—would fear to tread. Uncomely, squinting behind his glasses, he lumbered into the room and faced the President of the University.
    â€œYou wanted to see me?” he asked bluntly.
    The President found he was trembling a