Joan Garrett McClane: They came from across the city. They came black and white to the towering brick house on Read Street.
Bankers, lawyers, judges, government workers, retirees, contractors, small-business owners — a constellation of the middle class.
Greeted with tiny coffee cups and wedges of chocolate cake, they stuck name tags to their shirts and blouses and exchanged polite hellos and handshakes until a bell rang and the crowd settled like dust into chairs and couches. Forty-five people, many meeting for the first time, crammed into the living room and waited for a word from the host.
Franklin McCallie looked across the room and was in awe of the sight. The mix was just right, he thought.
This would be the perfect beginning to his small revolution.
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