Mrs. Thalia Ludlow watched the public live feed of a county governmental meeting as things got hot … people in the county had found out the county high school basically had cotton balls and asbestos in the walls, and potentially every high schooler since 1972 had been exposed to the deadly hazard.
Now, all the arguments from the 1600s about race and class stopped in Lofton County, VA. Every race of people recognized that they had people in power over them that would have killed them, their kids, and their grandkids to save a buck, spite a gifted family that would give seven decades of architecture to the county, and spite those who at last forced racial integration on Virginia.
The last surviving son of Edwin Ludlow and brother to Edwin Ludlow Jr. sat quietly with the public – no architect, for he had chosen the soldiers' path, and moved home with his grandchildren and found their futures all in hock in the county his father and brother had given 70 years in – but had been refused at the high school out of sheer spite.
The documents existed to prove all of this. Edwin Sr. and Edwin Jr. had collected them. Robert Edward Ludlow Sr., his father's youngest son, had given copies to the Big Loft Bulletin, the Lofton County Free Voice, Una Voz Libre, and the Veteran Lodge's newsletter, along with the prevailing state authorities. So, everybody of every race who didn't know now knew: it was time to stop fighting each other and make a joint effort to save their children's lives.
Mrs. Ludlow watched her husband, and chuckled … the camera folks thought he was as handsome as she did … his body was a whole silent drama played out in counterpoint to the people's demands … he was so angry and so resolute in his strong silence, all white-haired, blue-eyed, impeccable dress uniform as captain in which he still fit magnificently due to the meticulous fitness routines he still maintained … the quiet, powerful old commander, his fighting days over but galvanizing his people by his sheer presence... like he did for eight little ones at home, the seven grandchildren and little cousin they had adopted out of various horrific situations. They all adored Mrs. Ludlow, but they were Ludlows by blood and he was their heartbeat … ten-year-old Glendella had come looking for her big cousin because she knew he was the strongest of them left, and fallen right into the habits of the seven Ludlow grandchildren.
Fighting days theoretically over, anyhow … Mrs. Ludlow noticed the old officials and their acolytes getting angrier and angrier and focusing their attention not so much on the common people they literally cared nothing about, but on Capt. Ludlow, who had already ruined them by releasing all that documentation to the public. He was too smart to give them a reason to throw him out of there; his silence maddened them even as others shouted them down and the sheriff's deputies refused to clear the chamber because some of them had gone to the high school, and their kids had too. They might have hurt him if they dared, but, too late. The power of Edwin Ludlow to reshape Lofton County's future had indeed passed down all the way to his youngest son, and for all their jealousy, there was nothing they could do about it.
By this time, state and national news spots were getting set up to electrify the 11:00 news hour and get their morning quotes in, too – because this was an election year, this was especially powerful. Uppity Foolery Watch was quietly filming it all live with their commentary on the fools of the day, and that was past local channels – the exposure of the officials in question was being broadcast to the world,
Sheriff E.P. Alexander arrived and had one thing to say.
“I don't have a problem with the people expressing their First Amendment rights. Virginia has been back in the Union for quite some time.”
So the meeting went on as the people spoke out, got everything on the public record that needed to be there, and basically just let all the public officials in Lofton County know who was in charge. Different segments of the population got other documentation about racial and class discrimination into the record too, and at last everyone got to see how the picture fit together.
Finally, somebody popped the big question.
“So, are y'all gonna resign and get up outta here tonight, or do you need us to crash your meetings tomorrow too?”
“Actually,” someone else said, “it is tomorrow, and there's enough of us to do this in shifts until y'all throw in the towel!”
Every person responsible for the high school problems, and half of the people responsible for the washout of Bayard Heights, resigned in the wee hours of that September morning. The majority would leave Virginia by various means before the end of the year, for they would never be able to hold any position of public or private responsibility ever again.
Many in Lofton County celebrated all night; Capt. Ludlow slipped away and drove back to his family, and found that Mrs. Ludlow had stayed awake.
“Edwin Ludlow, Senior and Junior, would be proud of you, Robert,” she said as he slipped into bed beside her.
“My last filial duty, done in that direction, but I gotta be up again in just five hours!” he said. “The living legacy starts looking for us at dawn!”
It would therefore be the next night, the eight little Ludlows safely in bed, that Capt. and Mrs Ludlow would climb into the back of their car and shut and lock the doors and make sure the windows were snugly up so that the sound of his deep bass sobbing over the vindication of his father and brother's legacy, and the clearing of a better future for all the people of Lofton County, would not wake everyone up.
Still later, Mrs. Ludlow would smile at her husband's face in a beam of moonlight through the shade … a serene smile on his face as he slept. Mission accomplished … and, back to getting rested to meet the legacy that would be waking up and looking for them at dawn.