Tales that inspire us to think...
This season's theme: Non - violent resistance (Gandhi style)
Peace Panel by Stu Leventhal
“Groovy…” The widely smiling, slightly under average sized, man standing center stage was dressed in a loosely fitting, bright flowery, hippy vest and pants costume, straight from the 1960’s era, complete with all the cliché accessories. His long, straight, dark hair, obviously a wig, was tied tightly to his forehead by the traditional, flower printed, head band. He sported wire rimmed sunglasses with the dark, circle lens of the times and four inch long sideburns. His mustache was bushy and curved like a horseshoe down to his chin. Even people in the back row of the audience could see the big, round, shiny chrome peace symbol necklace ornament dangling in front of his white t-shirted chest. “Peace, love and rock and roll!” He shouted holding both hands up above his head, palms facing forward, his middle and fore fingers spread in the V sign that the Vietnam War protestors had immortalized as their sign for meaning everything from greeting one another to peace, love and brotherhood. “Right on man!” The MC smiled. “Cool!” He stumbled around the stage stomping his leather, hippy style sandals acting stoned, his audience clapped and laughed at his silliness. “Heavy man!” He broke character and laughed along with his fans. As he caught his breath, the MC stood up straight in front of the free standing microphone. “Now let’s get serious again Folks.” He waited patiently for the audience to quiet. “After all, we are discussing a very important subject today. For all of you at home who are just tuning in, today’s topic is world peace. Which, should explain why I’m dressed this way.” A few chuckles came from the audience. “We’ve put together an esteemed panel of experts on the subject of world peace.” He pointed to a banquet table a few yards to his left, behind which sat four men and a woman. “Our smorgasbord of peace experts.” “Starting from right to left,” The MC announced. “We have the aristocratic and always charismatic, Professor of Sociality and Anthropology all the way from Yale University Mr. Keith Simmons Jr.” The audience clapped as the tall, distinguished looking, handsome, industrially tanned, middle aged, confirmed bachelor smiled showing two rows of perfect teeth, while raising his right hand, heavily laden with three large bejeweled rings to wave at the camera. “To the Professor’s left sits the lovely Ms. Glenda Helmsburger of the International Humanitarian Emergency Relief Foundation. They’re the volunteer folks who rush out all over the world to the aid of those unfortunates hit by a natural disaster such as a hurricane, tornado, earthquake or flood.” The woman flicked her flowing blond hair out of her face. “We also help innocent war casualties.” She smiled at the camera. “In the middle seat is the distinguished, State Senator Barry Lassiter from Connecticut.” The MC clapped with the audience. The Senator dropped some papers his eyes had been scanning over, sat up straight, stretched his long, boney neck making his prominent Adams Apple protrude more as his eyes bulged intently into the camera. “Happy to be here.” “To the Senator’s left sits the prominent scientist, prolific poet, a true modern day profit and the author of the new number one best selling book titled Man, Our Future is Explosively Bright. All the way from Japan, please help me welcome, Koji Mokamati.” The young looking, slim bodied but robust faced Japanese man’s long knotted ponytail swung from side to side as he proudly held up his new book displaying it to the camera and audience. The photo on the cover looked like the mushroom cloud of an atomic bomb. “Buy my book.” His thin lips mouthed. “Last but not least is Dr. Herbert B. Bittle, from The New York City Psycho Analytical Institute.” The large man slouching in the end seat resting his pointy bearded, flabby, triple chin in his large left hand raised his big right hand to wave at the camera. “Hello.” “We are now going to open the discussion up for questions from our student panel. To be eligible to participate on our student panel these kids must have at least made it to their state’s finals in the National Debate Championship Tournament for their respective age groups. These kids are truly the future leaders of our next generation. Please help me welcome to our stage, ten year old Gary Tuperman from Minneapolis, Minnesota.” The crowd clapped as a small chubby boy dressed in a powder blue suit over a white shirt with a big collar and a wide navy blue bow tie walked onto the stage. “Step right up to the microphone Gary. Don’t be shy. After all, you are a State Champ in Debate. Smile for the camera Son. Remember, you’re on national TV. Now Gary, what would you like to ask one of our esteem experts on peace today?” “My question is for Doctor Bittle.” The small freckle faced boy grinned nervously pointing his finger at the large, looming heavyset man slouching in the last chair of the banquet table. The bearded scholar sat up straight then quickly combed his pudgy fingers through the thin wisps of hair left on his balding head. “Fire away Sonny.” Dr. Herbert Bittle’s round face grinned confidently. “Dr. Bittle, would you please state for us the last time during your life when you remember the whole world being at total peace lasting for at least, a minimum of one full year and describe how that made you feel knowing there was zero killing and fighting going on anywhere?” The audience clapped politely. “Very good Gary. That wasn’t too painful.” The commentary turned from the child to the robust doctor expectantly. Dr. Bittle stared back at the commentary as if confused or waiting for him to say more. Finally the big man shrugged his shoulders then shook his bear size, head from side to side mumbling. “Kids today.” He leaned towards the tiny microphone bolted to the table in front of him. “Well Son, I’m sixty nine years old and I’m saddened to be the one to inform you that there has never been a single whole year during my life time when war hasn’t been raging somewhere on this earth. Of course, some wars are bigger and are considered more significant than other wars. But, to my knowledge there hasn’t been a month, a week or even a single day during my life that people somewhere haven’t been trying to kill one another.” He took a deep breath. “It’s a shocking shame, I know. And, that’s why we need to have many more discussion groups like today’s Gary. So we can possibly achieve peace on earth, all of earth soon maybe even during your life span kid.” The audience clapped and cheered. Some stood up giving Dr. Bittle a partial standing ovation. “Nice answer Doc.” The commentary acknowledged. The camera followed small Gary walking back to his seat. It appeared as if his shoulders were drooping as if sulking a little. “Uh oh, I detect Gary may be a little unsatisfied with your answer Doc.” “I wish I had a better answer to give him Ryan. But, I have to tell it like it is, right?” |
PROOFREADING! EDITING! KINDLE BOOKS! MANUSCRIPT REVISION! 
Click INSPIRING Poem
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"Peace is the only battle worth waging" - Albert Camus "An eye for an eye, makes everyone blind." - Mahatma Gandhi "Peace begins with a smile." - Mother Theresa "Nobody can bring you peace but yourself." - Ralph Waldo Emerson "Imagine all the people, living life in peace. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope some day you'll join us, and the world will be as one." - John Lennon "I think that people want peace so much that one of these days government had better get out of their way and let them have it." -Dwight D Eisenhower "Peace is when time doesn't matter as it passes by." - Maria Schell Mahatma Gandi 1869 -1948
BAPU - Father Of Nations Known as the preeminent leader of Nationalism in India while India was under British rule. Mahatma Ghandi inspired the world by successfully leading India to win her independance from Britain using only peaceful civil resistants and totally non-violent protest. Ghandi assumed leadership of the Indian National congress in 1921 then went on to lead nationwide campaigns to relieve poverty, expand woman's rights, argue for religious and ethnic freedoms as well as advocating for strengthing India's economic self-reliance. Quotes by Mahatma Gandhi: “Where there is love there is life.” “Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.” “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.” “I object to violence because when it appears to do good, the good is only temporary; the evil it does is permanent.” “In a gentle way, you can shake the world.” “There is a higher court than courts of justice and that is the court of conscience. It supercedes all courts." "The good man is the friend of all living things." "Nobody can hurt me without my permission." 
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“Right on brother!” The MC slipped into his hippy persona for a moment to the amusement of the audience.
A slightly taller, skinny, gangly girl walked across the stage then up to the microphone. She was dressed in bellbottom jeans and a pink and bright violet, tie died blouse. She had a large, white pedal, daisy in her hair “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the national debate champion for the eleven year old age group, Jennifer Anne Lupinski all the way from Newark, New Jersey.” The audience clapped.
“Jenny Anne, my girl, are you ready with your question for our panel of experts?”
“Yes I am Ryan.” She smiled a big wide smile. “My question is for Mrs. Helmsburger of the International Humanitarian Emergency Relief Foundation.”
The camera zoomed in on a slightly over middle aged, blond, pale skinned woman with moderate makeup who smiled then tossed her head back flinging her bangs to the sides to reveal a narrow face with round almond eyes thin penciled in eyebrow lines and a pointy chiseled nose. “Hi Jenny Anne. Your outfit’s very cute.
A slightly taller, skinny, gangly girl walked across the stage then up to the microphone. She was dressed in bellbottom jeans and a pink and bright violet, tie died blouse. She had a large, white pedal, daisy in her hair “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the national debate champion for the eleven year old age group, Jennifer Anne Lupinski all the way from Newark, New Jersey.” The audience clapped.
“Jenny Anne, my girl, are you ready with your question for our panel of experts?”
“Yes I am Ryan.” She smiled a big wide smile. “My question is for Mrs. Helmsburger of the International Humanitarian Emergency Relief Foundation.”
The camera zoomed in on a slightly over middle aged, blond, pale skinned woman with moderate makeup who smiled then tossed her head back flinging her bangs to the sides to reveal a narrow face with round almond eyes thin penciled in eyebrow lines and a pointy chiseled nose. “Hi Jenny Anne. Your outfit’s very cute.
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“Thank you Mamm.”
“You’re a flower child aren’t you?” “Yes.” The girl answered proudly. “Who helped you put together your costume Dear?” Glenda Helmsburger asked. “My Mom and Aunt, Mamm.” “Well congratulations, you all did a fantastic job. I commend you on the authenticity.” “Jennifer.” Ryan Nobel the MC cut in. “Let’s find out if the ever wise Mrs. Helmsburger can answer your question on world peace?” “Mrs. Helmsburger, over the past 500 years of human history, can you tell us from when to when was the longest stretch of total global peace that the earth has experienced without any war and what caused that stretch of peace time to end?” Mrs. Helmsburger looked towards the commentary. “Ryan, I don’t think the kids get it.” “Get what Glenda?” “I don’t think the kids realize there hasn’t been any stretches of total global peace over the last five hundred years or for that matter the last 1000 years. There’s always been a war or more waging somewhere on our planet at all times. As far back as our history as people on earth is recorded, there’s always been fighting.” “Glenda, are you saying,” The commentary asked. “There hasn’t been one single day during the last thousand years of human history that there’s been total peace on our planet even for just twenty four hours with no wars and no killing?” “That’s sadly correct Ryan.” Japanese scholar, Koji Mokamati cut in. “Some group large or small has always been fighting with another group.” “I wasn’t aware of that.” The MC confessed scratching his forehead. “Now I have a question. So, when was the last official time that the whole world was at total peace with zero war, zero fighting and zero killing going on at all anywhere and for how long did the peace last? And, what ended it?” “It was in the garden of Eden, just before Adam bit the apple.” Yale Professor Keith Simmons Jr. answered laughing a hardy laugh. “Ha, ha, ha…” Ryan Nobel the MC laughed along with a few members of the audience. “No, he’s serious.” Glenda Helmsburger clarified. “Wow!” Ryan exclaimed. “Now that is heavy…!” The camera zoomed in on the MC’s face. “Now that gives us plenty to contemplate people while we take a short break to hear from our sponsors. Don’t go away folks we’ll be right back.” Three minutes later, the camera zoomed in on a nervous tall, skinny school boy with a buzz cut hair style standing alone on stage in front of the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” The MC stood up from a seat in the audience and shouted an introduction. “Please join me in welcoming Zachariah Browning our twelve year old national debate champion from Sacramento California.” The MC clapped along with the audience. “Whenever you’re ready Son just turn to our panel of experts, pick out who you would like to answer your question about world peace and fire away.” “My question is for all the panelists.” There was a murmur from the crowd. “Very ambitious.” The MC approved. “Go ahead Son.” “Well, I guess what all of us kids are really wondering is…” Zack paused then gulped. “Are we as human beings even capable of long term global peace with no fighting? I mean, can all people everywhere really get along with one another for any long length of time without someone trying to kill someone? Or, is it just a ridiculous fantasy of poets and songwriters to think the whole world could one day soon just agree to a cease fire and all war would be banned and bannished forever more?” “I think that’s a very important question that gets right to the heart of the matter.” Senator Lassiter jumped right in to attempt a quick rebuttal. “There’s certainly been plenty of years when the super powers of the world have not actively been battling one another with bullets and bombs flying. If the big boys can put their differences aside for a decade or two then…” “But, let’s be truthful Senator.” The dashing, very tan Yale Professor, Keith Simmons cut in. “Have the super powerful nations of this earth ever truly ceased trying to sabotage each other clandestinely? I mean, have they ever put their secret unpublicized war on total hold even during what they claim is a time of peace?” “Not for one damn minute!” Heavyset Dr. Bittle answered for the politician. “Their spies are always looking for ways to undermine each other’s causes, especially during times of so called peace.” “And, during those years of so called peace,” Koji Mokamati thrust into the conversation to remind. “There seems to almost always be some small flare ups of unrest, as the media likes to call brief bullet flying encounters breaking out in some little uninteresting corner of the world. The Middle East being the most notable hot spot this century but battles rage constantly in the jungles of South America as well as through-out the African continent and elsewhere too.” “And,” Glenda Helmsburger accused. “Quicker than you can say, peace pipe, the bigger nations who are supposed to be at peace with each other are picking sides and throwing fuel onto the fire.” “Also, all over the world, throughout history there’s been small skirmishes between small groups of people that never even get documented due to the small amount of deaths or short duration the war lasts.” Koji Mokamati offered. “I don’t know of any culture large or small, who can claim they’ve never been in a war.” “Killing at any scale is never peaceful.” Dr. Bittle mumbled. “Or pretty.” Glenda Helmsburger added. “I’m going to ask a question.” Ryan Nobel, the MC stepped in front of the panel of experts. “Is it possibly there’s something in our make up as a species that causes man not to be able to live in peace with one another? Could something be imbedded deep in our DNA that makes us want to wage war against each other?” “A lot of people believe that Ryan.” Yale Sociologist, Professor Simons answered. “They think it is simply in man’s nature to be violent. And, it’s out of our hands to change. Therefore there will always be wars. Man’s track record seems to support that hypothesis.” “That brings us back to Zack’s question.” The commentator addressed the panel. “Is mankind even capable of living together, long term, peacefully without trying to kill one another? History certainly points to the hopelessness of us trying to attain true global peace for any decent length of time. If it’s futile, why should we bother?” He turned to the panel of youth. “Why should our kids bother!” “We can’t take that attitude!” Glenda Helmsburger scolded. “Why?” “Because,” Senator Barry Lassiter answered. “Then we’re all doomed.” The audience murmured. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Dr. Bittle offered. “The pursuit of world peace is a gallant cause whether it’s achievable or not. Throughout history there have always been courageous people advocating peace, speaking out for peace and risking their lives for peace. Socrates, Martin Luther King, Gandhi. There are many people living today who have dedicated their entire lives to the pursuit of world peace. I, for one believe there has never been a better time than today to push for world peace due to some special circumstances that are happening globally right now.” “I believe…” Senator Lassiter cut in. “Mankind has no choice but to strive for world peace right now! Also, due to the special circumstances of today. Man has backed himself into a corner. We must achieve a permanent world peace agreement soon or…we’re all doomed!” “Woo now! One at a time! Senator Lassiter, your assessment of man’s present situation seems dire and urgent so why don’t we start with you. What circumstances are you referring to when you say mankind must strive for world peace and fast and that we have no choice but to succeed?” “Well, with the weapons man has right now, there are already more than a few nations who can blow the whole world up, a few times over, all by themselves. It’s only a matter of time before more and more nations gain this power. And, weapons will only get more and more powerful, faster acting and more efficient at destruction as time goes on. When you can blow up whole cities with a push of a button, world peace is no longer something for dreamers to just dream about and cub scouts to gather around the campfire singing dirges about. We must make it a reality. We must all everywhere strive for total peace and we must succeed! Because, one little war, any war anywhere becomes very, very risky. The stakes are too high now.” “So, what you’re warning Senator is, if we don’t stop having wars and get a handle on our unrestrained fighting soon, there’s a good chance we may blow the whole world up and end mankind all together.” |
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“We’re not talking about fighting with fists and swords anymore Ryan or bows and arrows or even bullets. We’re talking huge bombs of mass destruction that leave a wake of poisonous radiation behind that pollutes the land, water and air for miles around. The radiation lingers in the environment for a very long time after the bombs have been exploded and goes on killing for years and years.”
“Well if it’s really that urgent, where do we start?”
“I don’t know Ryan. That’s the thing of it.” The Senator shuffled the papers in front of him. “I wish I had the answer Ryan.”
“So the next big war will most likely be the end of everything and there’s nothing we can do but sit and wait for it to happen?”
“We can pray!” A short, chunky woman in the front row stood up to shout. “The good Lord will save us!”
“Yes Mamm!” Ryan looked down at the woman. “Prayer, no matter what religion one practices is always a good thing.”
“Hallelujah!” She sat down as the audience around her clapped.
“Devine intervention.” Ryan turned towards the panel. “Is that our only hope left? Doesn’t anyone have any encouraging advice for our kids?” He motioned towards the group of child debate champs sitting quietly with their hands folded in their laps then turned back to the panel. “Dr. Bittle you seem to be the optimist of our group. Can you help me out here? Can you give our children some hope? Something more to look forward to than a fiery end by a nuclear holocaust?”
“I can’t promise our children that there won’t be a nuclear war in their life time, the war to end all wars, as it’s been dubbed. I, like a lot of people, wish we’d never developed the powerful weapons we’ve developed. But, those weapons are out there. We can’t go back. And, I believe more horrible weapons are still being developed right now.”
“Really?” The MC interrupted with disgust. “When will our world’s leaders wake up and smell the roses? I heard or read somewhere that we already have enough weapons to destroy the world 100 times over!”
“Last I heard it was more like 500 times over.” Professor Keith Simmons offered.
“We need to stop making these bombs! We need to outlaw bomb making altogether!” The audience cheered. Some stood to clap giving Ryan a quick standing ovation.
“Wishful thinking Ryan.” Dr. Bittle continued. “But, I don’t see any indication that the super powerful nations of our world today are going to stop producing weapons anytime soon.”
“But there is hope right?”
“From now on, every one of us must take an interest in promoting world peace if mankind is going to make it. We in the free nations of the world must vote for peace loving politicians. The rest of the globe must start supporting leaders who don’t just talk the talk but walk the walk of peace.”
“But if we haven’t been successful in thousands of years why do you still seem so optimistic that we can do it now?”
“The human race is capable of remarkable stuff Ryan. Like I said earlier, I believe our world is currently going through some very distinct changes that are very conducive for us finally achieving world peace.”
“Well don’t hold back Doc. We need some good news. Cause, everything we’ve heard so far has been so depressing.”
“At first glance, World Peace seems to be a very achievable, worthwhile goal. In theory it should be an easy task to bring about. Get all the world leaders to sit down together and hammer out an agreement to resolve their differences non-violently. Very simple, straight forward and everybody wins. Right?”
“Right on Brother!”
“But, in the real world, we know that’s impossible.”
“Good news Doc!” The MC pleaded. “Didn’t you say you had good news?”
“The good news, Ryan, is that weapons aren’t the only things we’ve made big progress on lately.”
“Okay Doc I’m with you.”
“There will always be skeptics who rally against change and progress. But, if history has proven anything it’s we can’t stop progress. Man will continue to invent and strive for more knowledge as long as we breath. We can only hope that more of our inventions are for the better good than for the dark side.”
“But, what inventions are going to help us end or manage our wars? You’re not hinting about a strong defensive weapon system like the laser beam technology the Reagan administration was working on developing back in the late seventies, early 1980’s? I believe they called it Operation Star Wars. We were going to launch a number of satellites into outer space with high power laser beam capabilities. The satellites would be able to sense when a missile down on earth was being prepared to be launched. The powerful laser beams would be able to knock out any missiles as they were being fired and explode them before they got off the ground or anywhere near their target.”
“I wasn’t thinking of a defensive weapon Ryan. Even the best defensive weapon is only a temporary deterrent after all. For instance, the enemy would eventually find a way to block the laser beams or use some kind of strong mirrors to bounce our laser beams back at our satellites. Or develop laser beams of their own to fire up at our satellites. It’s only a matter of time before someone figures out how to beat even the best defensive system then we’re right back where we started.”
“Hmmm, yes I see.” Ryan shook his head as he glanced at the school kids. “The future looks bleak.”
“I was talking about all the other progress mankind has made in all the other fields besides weapons of mass destruction. Progress in health and medicine, science, education, agriculture and all the advancements in industry. Anything that makes our world a better place is a step towards us achieving world peace.”
“You’re saying the smarter and more educated we all get the least likely we are to start a war that will wipe out the whole human race.”
“That’s part of it Ryan. But what I’m really trying to get across is how progress is already steering us towards accomplishing our goal of world peace.”
“Really? How?”
“It’s happening all around us as we speak. Just look at all the interracial marriages going on now a days. People are no longer hiding their love affairs or friendships with members of other cultures. Rather than being ashamed and secretive, they’re proud and flaunting. Do you realize, as time goes on, the amount of pure blood lines become scarcer and scarcer. Many, many years from now there will be no pure breed humans left, everyone’s heritage will be a mix of the nationalities we know of now. We’ll all be mutts. Then racial discrimination will be a mute point altogether aye.”
“That’s true, if the human race can survive that long.”
“Listen, change creeps up on us slowly but it inevitably always manages to arrive and once here, change especially for the good, rarely retreats. For thousands of years, up to less than just one hundred and fifty years ago, slavery was an accepted practice worldwide. To the victor went the spoils. The conqueror just naturally enslaved the conquered. Now a days, universally, slavery is thought of as barbaric. But, even in our own country, the home of the free, it took a devastating war to abolish slavery once and for all. But, now that it’s gone it’s gone for good. I personally feel this accomplishment is the single greatest advancement towards peace on earth that man has ever made.” The audience showed their agreement by standing and clapping.
Ryan Nobel waved to the audience, motioning them to retake their seats. “Go on Doc. I like where you’re going with this.”
“In more recent times,” Dr. Bittle continued. “I am quite pleasantly pleased and proud to say we as Americans were able to get a black man voted into the White House during my life time. I’m not the only person in my age bracket who never thought we’d see that monumental day during our lives but we jumped that hurdle and there’s no looking back. How about a woman president next round?” The women in the audience stood up cheering.
“Okay Ladies.” Ryan Nobel, the MC waved his hands. “Let’s settle down now.”
“Prejudice based on sex, race religion, nationality, creed, sexual orientation, disabilities, politics or anything else are the main road blocks to world peace. But recently, I see modern day man finally beginning to become not only tolerant of people different from him but we’re actually starting to value, look forwards to and even welcome each other’s differences.” The camera zoomed in on Dr. Biddle’s sweat dripping face. The heavy set guru pulled on the point of his beard. “I have to credit the computer industry and the internet craze with having the most influence with helping us do away with prejudice.”
“The internet, really? How so Doc?”
“Most prejudice is based on ignorance about another culture. The internet is bringing people together from every corner of the globe. Everyday people from all walks of life are joining international chat rooms just to say hi and to hear about what’s going on somewhere else. Our children are conversing with children from other countries on computers at school and swapping photos of each other and informing each other what’s happening. People are proposing marriage to people living in other countries with whom they’ve only conversed with via the internet. Once we’ve conversed with and seen photos of another person’s family, friends, pets and new born babies, we realize they’re a lot like us, just struggling to get by. Then, it becomes much harder to view them as evil devils who we need and want to blow up.” The audience stood and cheered.
“That’s wishful thinking Doctor.” Senator Lassiter cut in. “Heck the internet has been around for thirty years already and during all that time we’ve always had fighting, killing and multiple wars.”
“It’s more than just the internet Senator.” Dr. Herb Bittle countered. “There’s a movement, a subtle revolution of thinking that’s going on today that involves every aspect of our lives. You can see it in the arts, in industry, in politics, in our personal lives and most importantly in the business world.”
“What’s he talking about?”
“You’re losing me too Doc.” Ryan Nobel the MC asked.
“The world is my oyster!” Doc shouted.
“What?”
“Progress Ryan! Progress is what has gotten us all worked up and worried about our newly developed capabilities to destroy the whole world with a push of a few buttons. And, I believe progress is going to be what saves us of that same dismal fate.”
“But how?”
“Because people everywhere are no longer satisfied with being confined to operate, play, conduct business and relax in the stereo typical environments they happened to be born into. People of today want the whole world to be they’re play ground.”
“How does that help us?”
“Because now that people have gotten a taste of what it feels like to know what’s going on in the rest of the world they’re going to demand more and more. They’re going to demand for instance faster transportation and cheaper flight fares to take them from one continent to another quicker and more often. And, as regular everyday people from all walks of life gain more access to the wonders of our entire globe, the borders to countries will become less and less important. People will begin to shift their number one loyalty from being English, Spanish, American, Chinese, French…to all of us first and foremost being comrades as earthlings. Then, one government will slowly but surely emerge to supersede all other countries governments. And, the whole world will have no choice but to live in peace.”
“I truly believe progress is always good and progress will ultimately save us from the self-destructive path we seem to be on. I predict we will bond with each other and begin to work together as one human race way before we allow ourselves to experience a fiery end, callously caused by our own hand.”
“I hope you’re right Sir.”
“All of us are already uniting as one big planet at many different levels. There are global efforts being launched to fight pollution, global warming, land and natural resource conservation, save the rain forests campaigns, save the whales, dolphins and other endangered species, conserve energy groups. Most advancements in the health and medical field are shared internationally, as are most non threatening advancements being made in industry and science published and shared. And, believe it or not in a number of ways many countries are already trying to work together on the issue of world peace with, for example the new international trade agreements.”
“Big companies like Apple Computers, Exxon, Coke and Mac Donalds are selling their goodies in every country they can get a foot in. Manufacturers of everything from sneakers and clothing to car tires to computer parts are setting up their factories all around the world. How do you vote for a politician who wishes to bomb a country in which you just spent months negotiating a big business deal? If you are a CEO of a global corporation with headquarters both in the USA and several places overseas, who’s side do you take during a conflict between the two countries?”
“That would cause a dilemma.”
“You choose the side of peace every time and you insist both nations work towards a nonviolent peaceful compromise.”
“We talked about the internet’s magical influence bringing us all closer and closer on a personal level. The internet is also making it easy for companies big and small, even Mom and Pop shops located in every nook and cranny of the world, to do business with anyone anywhere in the world. No one is going to vote for, support or put up with a politician who wishes to bomb their customers.”
“The process has already begun. You can’t stop progress once the tide has turned. The boundaries between most of the free countries of the world are already beginning to blur and fade. Any country who tries to isolate themself from this modern global unification movement will quickly find they can not exist long alone without allies.”
“One world, one government is what you’re proposing?” Talk show host Ryan Nobel interpreted. “Who would be in charge of everything?”
“King Bittle of course!” Panelist Glenda Helmsburger joked pointing. “I give you Herbert Bittle Ruler of the world!”
“No, Czar Bittle!” The thin Mr. Makimoto to Glenda’s left corrected as everyone laughed even harder.
“Well, I’m guessing and hoping there would be one big election with everyone living in every corner of the globe casting a single vote.” The large doctor countered.
“Winner take all.” Professor Simmons chuckled.
“That’s a beautifully idealistic vision Doctor.” Senator Lassiter offered sarcastically.
“Hitler had the same vision!” Koji Mokamati added.
“In all due respect Doc.” Glenda Helmsburger joined in. “You are being a little naïve. Don’t you think?”
“One government ruling the whole planet. It will never happen peacefully.” The Senator from Connecticut assured. “The only way I see one governing agent rising in power to preside over the entire world is if they develop a weapon so powerful and horrifyingly destructive that every other nations leaders are just too afraid to make a stand against them.”
“No!” Doc interceded vehemently pounding the counter with his fist. “Mankind is far past being bullied. The modern world would never put up with a military dictatorship where one man rules the world by force. Albert Einstein said {“Peace can not be kept by force. It can only be achieved by understanding.”}No one is going to bully their way into being King of the World and wear the global crown for long.”
“All the egos in this world will never allow there to be a single king of the world.” Professor Keith Simmons agreed with the Senator.
“All the egos on this panel won’t allow it.” Glenda Helmsburger added sarcastically. The audience laughed.
“Seriously though,” Glenda wondered. “The entire world is pretty vast, with a lot of things going on. I don’t think it’s even possible for one government to be able to address all the special needs and unique problems that will be popping up everywhere.”
“There will always be a need for smaller, sub local governments too.” Dr. Bittle clarified. “Just like we have layers of government now in the United States. We have our national government, based in Washington DC, residing over all, then each individual state; California, Florida, Maine etc… presides over issues unique to their State. Finally, there’s individual city governments with mayors and councilmen and women handling grass root local politics.”
“But overseeing all, you predict, there will be a single government agency running the entire planet?”
“There’s a need for a single global regulating force already. People are traveling from country to country more than ever in history. We have businesses, big and small, selling and buying internationally and globally that never could before. Everyday people from all walks of life converse daily with people in every corner of the world, sharing photos, news and their dreams.”
“Eventually, businesses will insist on universal laws to govern and protect their global investments and fortunes. Global legislature is going to become necessary to ensure the inter-continental commerce is being conducted fairly and justly. On a more personal note, as advancements in technology make traveling abroad faster, cheaper and more convenient for the common folks, people are going to need to know they’re protected from scams and criminals when visiting other lands. The internet serves the entire globe and it needs to be regulated consistently throughout the world. There are and will continue to be, growing grave global problems such as the depleting ozone layer, pollution and conservation concerns, the melting ice caps all have to be addressed by global counseling to be effective.”
“One world, under one government is our next logical step. Eventually we’ll evolve to using one form of money, speaking one language, using one standard means of measurements and one type of tools. I mean do we really need Fahrenheit and Celsius? Miles and Kilometers? Yen, dollars, franks, pesos and pennies?”
“Okay everyone, we’re veering off subject and we’re running out of time.” Ryan interrupted. “Plus we haven’t solved world peace yet!” He joked. The audience laughed with him.
Ryan walked over to the panel. “I’m shocked and disappointed with you guys. I thought I put together a pretty top notch group here. So what if this problem has been plaguing mankind for thousands of years. I was counting on you guys to knuckle down and put an end to all wars once and for all by the end of our show.” Ryan glanced at his watch. “I gave you almost an hour and a half already.” The audience laughed. “So, in all fairness, I’m now going to give you each one last chance to redeem yourselves. Each of our panelists will now have two minutes to give a final statement on world peace and our discussions today. I’m hoping some of you will have a little advice for our kids.” Ryan glanced over at the national children’s debate team. “A scrawny looking bunch.” He joked. “But, they are our future.”
Ryan turned back to the panel of experts. “Two minutes to round things up folks. Who wants to go first?”
The mild mannered professor raised his hand.
“There’s a brave sole.” The MC announced. “Okay Professor Keith Simmons from Yale, You are an expert in Socialogy and anthropology. You study and teach human behavior and the world’s history. ” The handsome professor nodded yes. “You have just two minutes to talk to the people of the earth to try to convince us to change our ways before it’s too late. What do you say?”
“Kid’s, I’m not sure how we’re going to get past this scary time in our history but I do believe man will survive. Our destiny is not to blow ourselves up. We’re smarter than that. A solution will come. We’ve come a long way so far. It’s been a strange, confusing journey. But, I don’t think we’ve arrived at the end of our journey. We’re simply coming to the end of one road and about to get on another road.”
“Man still has a lot of things to experience, learn and accomplish. History has shown us time and again that man is far from perfect. But no one can deny we are special. It’s easy to see that man was put into this universe for a purpose. I believe we’re still at the beginning of our journey to discover and fulfill that purpose. A journey that will take us to many more challenging crossroads where we’ll have to choose a new direction and traverse down many more paths before we unravel the puzzle of why we were put here and then be able to fulfill our destine.”
“I’m not sure whether we’ll succeed through prayer, love, scientific discovery, just dumb luck or probably some combination. But, I believe man will find the answers he seeks. Man is going to be around for a long, long time. We still have a long way to go on our journey.”
“My advice to the kids is to just keep on living. Do what you know is right. Follow your hearts and keep the faith. Remember, love conquers hate.” He picked up his glass then raised it. “At this time I’d like to propose a toast to man’s future and to all of you out there who like me see this glass as half full rather than half empty.”
“Here, here!” The audience stood up cheering.
“Thank You, Professor Keith Simmons from Yale University, very eloquently put.” The MC clapped then pointed to the large Dr. Herbert B Bittle. “Okay, you’re up Big Fellow. You got two minutes to save the earth from a fate of fire and brimstone what do you say to appeal to the masses?”
“I really feel, one government one world will ultimately bring all the people in the world closer together. Plus, all our different cultures bonding with one another will make the human race stronger, smarter and better equipped to cope with whatever challenges are coming.”
“So you agree with Professor SImmons. Our future as a species looks very bright?”
“Of course our future is going to be bright and exciting. I wish I could be around one hundred, two hundred or 1000 years from now to view some of the remarkable inventions we’re going to create.”
“Okay Senator Lassiter you’re up. What do you got to say to our kids, to help quay their fears during these trying times?”
“Our factories pollute our streams altering the earth’s environment at such an alarming rate, that if not checked some say we will irreversibly set back mother nature millions of years. Our armies have stockpiles of weapons that could blow up the earth many times over yet we still work on developing bombs that are bigger and more powerful. For years, Man has lived recklessly, impatiently and greedy and it’s caught up with us. So, we now find ourselves in a tough predicament facing our toughest enemy, ourselves.”
“If you are like most of us you know what’s been going on is wrong. You want to change it but you feel overwhelmed, frustrated and kind of helpless. Like a drop of water in a fast moving river trying to control the direction the water is flowing. How much difference can one person make? You ask. My answer to the children is, hardly any difference at all……Yet, all the difference in the world.” The audience clapped.
The Senator continued. “You don’t have to take on everything yourself. Just as wars start as tiny little disagreements that fester and fester into bigger and bigger arguments until two countries are shooting at each other and then other countries are picking sides, so must the peace movement grow from a tiny seed into a mighty forest. Mother Theresa said – (“All works of love are works of peace.”) Start locally, look around and you may be surprised at the amount of people in your community already trying to make changes for the better, join in. Conquer small projects first and with those tiny successes you will attract a larger following of believers who will help you take on bigger and bigger obstacles. Live honestly, support justice for all and be a role model your neighbors can look up to.”
“Remember, don’t ever forsake the quest for achieving peace in oneself for what you think is a bigger, more ambitious cause. It’s hard to take on the whole earth without first achieving peace within your own soul. Just keep doing the best you can kids and remember you’re not alone on your mission. Spread the love everyone.” Senator Lassiter smiled into the camera then shook his forefinger. “And, always remember to vote. Voting is your God given right. So many people throughout history gave up their lives so you could have a say in how things are run. So, don’t ever take voting for granted.”
“Spoken like a true politician.”
“Here here!” Someone shouted. The audience clapped and cheered.
“Well that counts as another vote for mankind and our future generations living happily ever after.” Ryan declared. “So far it’s, three points humans, nuclear holocaust zero.” Ryan pointed to the thin Japanese Scholar. “Your turn Mr. Mokimati. Say what’s on your mind.”
“We all know we’re facing some gravely dangerous problems such as the depleting ozone layer, global warming and the possibility of a nuclear holocaust. All of which were brought about by our own hands. A lot of scholars say we as a species won’t last another century and that there’s a good chance man will callously take all life on this planet with us when we go. Oh what a shame for that to be our legacy. Man’s whole existence reduced to a warning for other intelligent life that comes after us. Don’t do what man did! Don’t be greedy like man was! Don’t be cocky like man was! All of our history, our suffering and our triumphs discarded as meaningless due to our final demise.”
I can hear the astonished aliens conversing as their spacecraft hovers outside earth’s now foggy atmosphere watching the smoldering mushroom clouds slowly cover our landscapes with ash and poisonous radioactive dust. “Well it looks like we’re a little too late.” The alien with six eyes says to his companion with the five hairy arms as they look over the gauges and dials on the dash board of their flying saucer. “It will be a few thousand years minimum, before life will be able to exist on that planet again.”
“Man must have been a vile, violent creature.” The five armed Captain of the vessel remarks. “It’s one thing to blow yourself up in a massive suicide but to take all the beautiful, helpless, yet marvelous creatures of earth with you!”
“Totally despicable!” The Six eyed copilot’s tentacles windshield wiper away the tears forming in each of his six big eyes. “There’s so few planets blessed with the environmental conditions to host life and now there’s one less.”
“Our records show the earth had been hosting life for millions of years. Man had only been on the planet for a few thousand.” The five armed Captain informed. “What selfishness and gall, to just destroy everything.”
As their spaceship zooms away, the copilot says “Sir, the humans weren’t worth saving. I’m glad we didn’t get here in time.” The Captain was silent within his own thoughts as his five arms navigated the plane.
The audience erupted in a standing ovation.
“Wow! What imagery! Koji Mokamati everyone!” Ryan clapped. “There’s the reason I’ve heard you referred to as the next great poet laureate of the orient!”
“To any government leaders watching.” Koji Mokamati interrupted the applause to continue. “I’d just like to say, please think about all the good we could do in the world if we took all the money and efforts we waste on making weapons and training and supplying our armies and put it all towards meeting the real needs of our people. We could end world hunger, spend more money on medical research, end illiteracy and beef up our education systems. We’d have the resources for conservation projects and to develop earth friendly plastics and other materials that mother-nature can breakdown quickly, helping us get a grip on pollution. The world could be a much better place for all of us. ” The audience stood up to resume their standing ovation.
“Make love not war!” Koji Mokimati waved, then held up his book mouthing. “Buy my book. It’s all in my book.”
“Thanks Koji.” Ryan pointed to Glenda Helmsburger. “Last but not least, the queen of peace and freedom. Bring us home Glenda.”
“My work with the International Humanitarian Emergency Relief Foundation, has taken me to all corners of the globe. I’ve seen terrible devastation caused by tornadoes, hurricanes, floods, a tsunami, earthquakes and even a volcano or two spouting off un-expectantly. Wherever disaster strikes, men and women from all walks of life always rush to the aid of those in need. It always amazes me the way the human race rises up to the occasion to assist those hurt and suffering. Food, supplies and money arrive from every continent. Every type of religious order sends care packages and their prayers. Many volunteers fly in from across the oceans asking only, how can I help? Nations send teams of experts to assist. Celebrities speak out to raise money and awareness. True heroes are born during those times of strife. The acts of love and compassion are always overwhelming. People from all different cultures, races, political beliefs, religions, creeds and economic statuses all working together and bonding as they help and tend to victims they’ve never met before.”
“I’ve heard the argument that humans are just naturally violent and therefore can never live in lasting peace. I believe that is not only a crock, but just an easy excuse not to have to take responsibility for allowing our emotions to run amuck. On the contrary, I believe, men have the natural urge built in to help their fellow man. I’ve experienced that bond first hand. My job has brought me in contact with many varied religious orders and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting with many different religious leaders and I don’t know of any denomination anywhere that doesn’t preach compassion, kindness and peace for all men among the basic principles of their faith. So if we all want the same thing then why do we have to wait for a disaster to bring us all together. There’s no point in saving up your love and goodwill for a rainy day or a hurricane. It’s time we all start looking for ways to spread and share the love and compassion that is inside all of us with everyone we meet 24/7 everyday of our lives.”
“Remember kids, as long as there’s a devil roaming the earth there will always be someone trying to stir up trouble for trouble’s sake. With God’s help and love we have grown and been allowed to prosper throughout the ages. With God’s help and love we shall continue to grow and eventually we will conquer the devil and his disciples who insist on causing heartache, pain and havoc for mischief’s sake.”
The audience clapped as Ryan the MC retook the center stage.
“The great, late, Rock and Roll legend, Jimmy Hendrix said.[ “When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will have peace.”]
“Will the whole world ever get along well enough to be at true peace during our life time? Or, will people eventually let war get so out of hand that we actually kill off all of mankind callously blowing up everyone and most, if not all, of our planet’s life at the same time.” Ryan Nobel held both hands up, his fingers spread into v’s. “Only time will tell.” He smiled. “Until next week, Peace, love and rock and roll everybody!”
The camera fanned over the applauding audience, the background music of John Lennon and the Beatles was turned up louder and louder: Everybody’s talkin bout Bagism, shagism, dragism, madism, ragism, tagism, this-ism, that-ism, ism, ism, ism…All we are saying is give peace a chance. All we are saying is give peace a chance…
The red, off the air sign started flashing. The ceiling lights above the audience blared on brightening up the whole auditorium. “Alright everybody!” Shouted the shows tall, thin, balding, producer through a hand held megaphone as he walked out from behind the curtain onto the stage. “That’s a wrap! Great show everybody!” The background music stopped but the audience continued to sing. “All we are saying….Is give peace a chance. All we are saying….Is give peace a chance.”
“So Mrs. Helmsburger, Queen of Peace,” Ryan Nobel approached the blond, woman. “What do you say to me and you taking the studio limo across town to a quiet little Jazz club I know of. Do you like Cajun food?”
“I love Cajun food. The spicier the better.” She smiled flicking her hair out of her eyes. “But…”
“But…” Handsome Professor Keith Simmons walked up beside Glenda Helmsburger to put his arm around her shoulders. “Mrs.Helmsburger already has a date.”
“Can I have a rain check?” The blond smirked at Ryan.
“Certainly, My Dear. Just call me the next time you’re in town.”
“Yo guys!” Producer Sam Switzle ran back onto stage. “The phones are ringing off the hook!” He saw Ryan and then headed towards him. “People are saying they loved the show! Our ratings are going through the roof! I got to admit, when you first told me you wanted to do a show on World Peace, I thought, way too nerdy. Nobody’s going to tune in for that. But, I was wrong and you were right.”
“Thanks Sam for being so humble that you could admit when you’re wrong.”
“I guess the only thing left now is for us to figure out what topic we’re going to open the show with next week?”
“I have a few ideas on that." Ryan offered. "Do you want to get a beer across the street and I’ll run my ideas by you?”
“Sorry pal. Any other night but tonight.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I’m booked.” The producer turned then headed back towards the stage exit door. A lone young man walked through the door stepping onto the stage. “Hi.” He addressed the tall Producer. “Are you Ryan Nobel?
"Nope." The producer pointed behind himself to Ryan then headed out the exit door. The lights dimmed.
The man walked over to Ryan. "Ryan Nobel?"
"Yes?" The man handed Ryan an envelope. “Mr. Nobel, you've been served.” The delivery man shrugged his shoulders then turned and headed off the stage.
Ryan read the outside of the envelope. “She finally did it.” Ryan stated. “My wife’s suing me for a divorce!” He said to no one, since, he was the last person in the auditorium. Ryan placed his face in his hands then began to cry.
“Well if it’s really that urgent, where do we start?”
“I don’t know Ryan. That’s the thing of it.” The Senator shuffled the papers in front of him. “I wish I had the answer Ryan.”
“So the next big war will most likely be the end of everything and there’s nothing we can do but sit and wait for it to happen?”
“We can pray!” A short, chunky woman in the front row stood up to shout. “The good Lord will save us!”
“Yes Mamm!” Ryan looked down at the woman. “Prayer, no matter what religion one practices is always a good thing.”
“Hallelujah!” She sat down as the audience around her clapped.
“Devine intervention.” Ryan turned towards the panel. “Is that our only hope left? Doesn’t anyone have any encouraging advice for our kids?” He motioned towards the group of child debate champs sitting quietly with their hands folded in their laps then turned back to the panel. “Dr. Bittle you seem to be the optimist of our group. Can you help me out here? Can you give our children some hope? Something more to look forward to than a fiery end by a nuclear holocaust?”
“I can’t promise our children that there won’t be a nuclear war in their life time, the war to end all wars, as it’s been dubbed. I, like a lot of people, wish we’d never developed the powerful weapons we’ve developed. But, those weapons are out there. We can’t go back. And, I believe more horrible weapons are still being developed right now.”
“Really?” The MC interrupted with disgust. “When will our world’s leaders wake up and smell the roses? I heard or read somewhere that we already have enough weapons to destroy the world 100 times over!”
“Last I heard it was more like 500 times over.” Professor Keith Simmons offered.
“We need to stop making these bombs! We need to outlaw bomb making altogether!” The audience cheered. Some stood to clap giving Ryan a quick standing ovation.
“Wishful thinking Ryan.” Dr. Bittle continued. “But, I don’t see any indication that the super powerful nations of our world today are going to stop producing weapons anytime soon.”
“But there is hope right?”
“From now on, every one of us must take an interest in promoting world peace if mankind is going to make it. We in the free nations of the world must vote for peace loving politicians. The rest of the globe must start supporting leaders who don’t just talk the talk but walk the walk of peace.”
“But if we haven’t been successful in thousands of years why do you still seem so optimistic that we can do it now?”
“The human race is capable of remarkable stuff Ryan. Like I said earlier, I believe our world is currently going through some very distinct changes that are very conducive for us finally achieving world peace.”
“Well don’t hold back Doc. We need some good news. Cause, everything we’ve heard so far has been so depressing.”
“At first glance, World Peace seems to be a very achievable, worthwhile goal. In theory it should be an easy task to bring about. Get all the world leaders to sit down together and hammer out an agreement to resolve their differences non-violently. Very simple, straight forward and everybody wins. Right?”
“Right on Brother!”
“But, in the real world, we know that’s impossible.”
“Good news Doc!” The MC pleaded. “Didn’t you say you had good news?”
“The good news, Ryan, is that weapons aren’t the only things we’ve made big progress on lately.”
“Okay Doc I’m with you.”
“There will always be skeptics who rally against change and progress. But, if history has proven anything it’s we can’t stop progress. Man will continue to invent and strive for more knowledge as long as we breath. We can only hope that more of our inventions are for the better good than for the dark side.”
“But, what inventions are going to help us end or manage our wars? You’re not hinting about a strong defensive weapon system like the laser beam technology the Reagan administration was working on developing back in the late seventies, early 1980’s? I believe they called it Operation Star Wars. We were going to launch a number of satellites into outer space with high power laser beam capabilities. The satellites would be able to sense when a missile down on earth was being prepared to be launched. The powerful laser beams would be able to knock out any missiles as they were being fired and explode them before they got off the ground or anywhere near their target.”
“I wasn’t thinking of a defensive weapon Ryan. Even the best defensive weapon is only a temporary deterrent after all. For instance, the enemy would eventually find a way to block the laser beams or use some kind of strong mirrors to bounce our laser beams back at our satellites. Or develop laser beams of their own to fire up at our satellites. It’s only a matter of time before someone figures out how to beat even the best defensive system then we’re right back where we started.”
“Hmmm, yes I see.” Ryan shook his head as he glanced at the school kids. “The future looks bleak.”
“I was talking about all the other progress mankind has made in all the other fields besides weapons of mass destruction. Progress in health and medicine, science, education, agriculture and all the advancements in industry. Anything that makes our world a better place is a step towards us achieving world peace.”
“You’re saying the smarter and more educated we all get the least likely we are to start a war that will wipe out the whole human race.”
“That’s part of it Ryan. But what I’m really trying to get across is how progress is already steering us towards accomplishing our goal of world peace.”
“Really? How?”
“It’s happening all around us as we speak. Just look at all the interracial marriages going on now a days. People are no longer hiding their love affairs or friendships with members of other cultures. Rather than being ashamed and secretive, they’re proud and flaunting. Do you realize, as time goes on, the amount of pure blood lines become scarcer and scarcer. Many, many years from now there will be no pure breed humans left, everyone’s heritage will be a mix of the nationalities we know of now. We’ll all be mutts. Then racial discrimination will be a mute point altogether aye.”
“That’s true, if the human race can survive that long.”
“Listen, change creeps up on us slowly but it inevitably always manages to arrive and once here, change especially for the good, rarely retreats. For thousands of years, up to less than just one hundred and fifty years ago, slavery was an accepted practice worldwide. To the victor went the spoils. The conqueror just naturally enslaved the conquered. Now a days, universally, slavery is thought of as barbaric. But, even in our own country, the home of the free, it took a devastating war to abolish slavery once and for all. But, now that it’s gone it’s gone for good. I personally feel this accomplishment is the single greatest advancement towards peace on earth that man has ever made.” The audience showed their agreement by standing and clapping.
Ryan Nobel waved to the audience, motioning them to retake their seats. “Go on Doc. I like where you’re going with this.”
“In more recent times,” Dr. Bittle continued. “I am quite pleasantly pleased and proud to say we as Americans were able to get a black man voted into the White House during my life time. I’m not the only person in my age bracket who never thought we’d see that monumental day during our lives but we jumped that hurdle and there’s no looking back. How about a woman president next round?” The women in the audience stood up cheering.
“Okay Ladies.” Ryan Nobel, the MC waved his hands. “Let’s settle down now.”
“Prejudice based on sex, race religion, nationality, creed, sexual orientation, disabilities, politics or anything else are the main road blocks to world peace. But recently, I see modern day man finally beginning to become not only tolerant of people different from him but we’re actually starting to value, look forwards to and even welcome each other’s differences.” The camera zoomed in on Dr. Biddle’s sweat dripping face. The heavy set guru pulled on the point of his beard. “I have to credit the computer industry and the internet craze with having the most influence with helping us do away with prejudice.”
“The internet, really? How so Doc?”
“Most prejudice is based on ignorance about another culture. The internet is bringing people together from every corner of the globe. Everyday people from all walks of life are joining international chat rooms just to say hi and to hear about what’s going on somewhere else. Our children are conversing with children from other countries on computers at school and swapping photos of each other and informing each other what’s happening. People are proposing marriage to people living in other countries with whom they’ve only conversed with via the internet. Once we’ve conversed with and seen photos of another person’s family, friends, pets and new born babies, we realize they’re a lot like us, just struggling to get by. Then, it becomes much harder to view them as evil devils who we need and want to blow up.” The audience stood and cheered.
“That’s wishful thinking Doctor.” Senator Lassiter cut in. “Heck the internet has been around for thirty years already and during all that time we’ve always had fighting, killing and multiple wars.”
“It’s more than just the internet Senator.” Dr. Herb Bittle countered. “There’s a movement, a subtle revolution of thinking that’s going on today that involves every aspect of our lives. You can see it in the arts, in industry, in politics, in our personal lives and most importantly in the business world.”
“What’s he talking about?”
“You’re losing me too Doc.” Ryan Nobel the MC asked.
“The world is my oyster!” Doc shouted.
“What?”
“Progress Ryan! Progress is what has gotten us all worked up and worried about our newly developed capabilities to destroy the whole world with a push of a few buttons. And, I believe progress is going to be what saves us of that same dismal fate.”
“But how?”
“Because people everywhere are no longer satisfied with being confined to operate, play, conduct business and relax in the stereo typical environments they happened to be born into. People of today want the whole world to be they’re play ground.”
“How does that help us?”
“Because now that people have gotten a taste of what it feels like to know what’s going on in the rest of the world they’re going to demand more and more. They’re going to demand for instance faster transportation and cheaper flight fares to take them from one continent to another quicker and more often. And, as regular everyday people from all walks of life gain more access to the wonders of our entire globe, the borders to countries will become less and less important. People will begin to shift their number one loyalty from being English, Spanish, American, Chinese, French…to all of us first and foremost being comrades as earthlings. Then, one government will slowly but surely emerge to supersede all other countries governments. And, the whole world will have no choice but to live in peace.”
“I truly believe progress is always good and progress will ultimately save us from the self-destructive path we seem to be on. I predict we will bond with each other and begin to work together as one human race way before we allow ourselves to experience a fiery end, callously caused by our own hand.”
“I hope you’re right Sir.”
“All of us are already uniting as one big planet at many different levels. There are global efforts being launched to fight pollution, global warming, land and natural resource conservation, save the rain forests campaigns, save the whales, dolphins and other endangered species, conserve energy groups. Most advancements in the health and medical field are shared internationally, as are most non threatening advancements being made in industry and science published and shared. And, believe it or not in a number of ways many countries are already trying to work together on the issue of world peace with, for example the new international trade agreements.”
“Big companies like Apple Computers, Exxon, Coke and Mac Donalds are selling their goodies in every country they can get a foot in. Manufacturers of everything from sneakers and clothing to car tires to computer parts are setting up their factories all around the world. How do you vote for a politician who wishes to bomb a country in which you just spent months negotiating a big business deal? If you are a CEO of a global corporation with headquarters both in the USA and several places overseas, who’s side do you take during a conflict between the two countries?”
“That would cause a dilemma.”
“You choose the side of peace every time and you insist both nations work towards a nonviolent peaceful compromise.”
“We talked about the internet’s magical influence bringing us all closer and closer on a personal level. The internet is also making it easy for companies big and small, even Mom and Pop shops located in every nook and cranny of the world, to do business with anyone anywhere in the world. No one is going to vote for, support or put up with a politician who wishes to bomb their customers.”
“The process has already begun. You can’t stop progress once the tide has turned. The boundaries between most of the free countries of the world are already beginning to blur and fade. Any country who tries to isolate themself from this modern global unification movement will quickly find they can not exist long alone without allies.”
“One world, one government is what you’re proposing?” Talk show host Ryan Nobel interpreted. “Who would be in charge of everything?”
“King Bittle of course!” Panelist Glenda Helmsburger joked pointing. “I give you Herbert Bittle Ruler of the world!”
“No, Czar Bittle!” The thin Mr. Makimoto to Glenda’s left corrected as everyone laughed even harder.
“Well, I’m guessing and hoping there would be one big election with everyone living in every corner of the globe casting a single vote.” The large doctor countered.
“Winner take all.” Professor Simmons chuckled.
“That’s a beautifully idealistic vision Doctor.” Senator Lassiter offered sarcastically.
“Hitler had the same vision!” Koji Mokamati added.
“In all due respect Doc.” Glenda Helmsburger joined in. “You are being a little naïve. Don’t you think?”
“One government ruling the whole planet. It will never happen peacefully.” The Senator from Connecticut assured. “The only way I see one governing agent rising in power to preside over the entire world is if they develop a weapon so powerful and horrifyingly destructive that every other nations leaders are just too afraid to make a stand against them.”
“No!” Doc interceded vehemently pounding the counter with his fist. “Mankind is far past being bullied. The modern world would never put up with a military dictatorship where one man rules the world by force. Albert Einstein said {“Peace can not be kept by force. It can only be achieved by understanding.”}No one is going to bully their way into being King of the World and wear the global crown for long.”
“All the egos in this world will never allow there to be a single king of the world.” Professor Keith Simmons agreed with the Senator.
“All the egos on this panel won’t allow it.” Glenda Helmsburger added sarcastically. The audience laughed.
“Seriously though,” Glenda wondered. “The entire world is pretty vast, with a lot of things going on. I don’t think it’s even possible for one government to be able to address all the special needs and unique problems that will be popping up everywhere.”
“There will always be a need for smaller, sub local governments too.” Dr. Bittle clarified. “Just like we have layers of government now in the United States. We have our national government, based in Washington DC, residing over all, then each individual state; California, Florida, Maine etc… presides over issues unique to their State. Finally, there’s individual city governments with mayors and councilmen and women handling grass root local politics.”
“But overseeing all, you predict, there will be a single government agency running the entire planet?”
“There’s a need for a single global regulating force already. People are traveling from country to country more than ever in history. We have businesses, big and small, selling and buying internationally and globally that never could before. Everyday people from all walks of life converse daily with people in every corner of the world, sharing photos, news and their dreams.”
“Eventually, businesses will insist on universal laws to govern and protect their global investments and fortunes. Global legislature is going to become necessary to ensure the inter-continental commerce is being conducted fairly and justly. On a more personal note, as advancements in technology make traveling abroad faster, cheaper and more convenient for the common folks, people are going to need to know they’re protected from scams and criminals when visiting other lands. The internet serves the entire globe and it needs to be regulated consistently throughout the world. There are and will continue to be, growing grave global problems such as the depleting ozone layer, pollution and conservation concerns, the melting ice caps all have to be addressed by global counseling to be effective.”
“One world, under one government is our next logical step. Eventually we’ll evolve to using one form of money, speaking one language, using one standard means of measurements and one type of tools. I mean do we really need Fahrenheit and Celsius? Miles and Kilometers? Yen, dollars, franks, pesos and pennies?”
“Okay everyone, we’re veering off subject and we’re running out of time.” Ryan interrupted. “Plus we haven’t solved world peace yet!” He joked. The audience laughed with him.
Ryan walked over to the panel. “I’m shocked and disappointed with you guys. I thought I put together a pretty top notch group here. So what if this problem has been plaguing mankind for thousands of years. I was counting on you guys to knuckle down and put an end to all wars once and for all by the end of our show.” Ryan glanced at his watch. “I gave you almost an hour and a half already.” The audience laughed. “So, in all fairness, I’m now going to give you each one last chance to redeem yourselves. Each of our panelists will now have two minutes to give a final statement on world peace and our discussions today. I’m hoping some of you will have a little advice for our kids.” Ryan glanced over at the national children’s debate team. “A scrawny looking bunch.” He joked. “But, they are our future.”
Ryan turned back to the panel of experts. “Two minutes to round things up folks. Who wants to go first?”
The mild mannered professor raised his hand.
“There’s a brave sole.” The MC announced. “Okay Professor Keith Simmons from Yale, You are an expert in Socialogy and anthropology. You study and teach human behavior and the world’s history. ” The handsome professor nodded yes. “You have just two minutes to talk to the people of the earth to try to convince us to change our ways before it’s too late. What do you say?”
“Kid’s, I’m not sure how we’re going to get past this scary time in our history but I do believe man will survive. Our destiny is not to blow ourselves up. We’re smarter than that. A solution will come. We’ve come a long way so far. It’s been a strange, confusing journey. But, I don’t think we’ve arrived at the end of our journey. We’re simply coming to the end of one road and about to get on another road.”
“Man still has a lot of things to experience, learn and accomplish. History has shown us time and again that man is far from perfect. But no one can deny we are special. It’s easy to see that man was put into this universe for a purpose. I believe we’re still at the beginning of our journey to discover and fulfill that purpose. A journey that will take us to many more challenging crossroads where we’ll have to choose a new direction and traverse down many more paths before we unravel the puzzle of why we were put here and then be able to fulfill our destine.”
“I’m not sure whether we’ll succeed through prayer, love, scientific discovery, just dumb luck or probably some combination. But, I believe man will find the answers he seeks. Man is going to be around for a long, long time. We still have a long way to go on our journey.”
“My advice to the kids is to just keep on living. Do what you know is right. Follow your hearts and keep the faith. Remember, love conquers hate.” He picked up his glass then raised it. “At this time I’d like to propose a toast to man’s future and to all of you out there who like me see this glass as half full rather than half empty.”
“Here, here!” The audience stood up cheering.
“Thank You, Professor Keith Simmons from Yale University, very eloquently put.” The MC clapped then pointed to the large Dr. Herbert B Bittle. “Okay, you’re up Big Fellow. You got two minutes to save the earth from a fate of fire and brimstone what do you say to appeal to the masses?”
“I really feel, one government one world will ultimately bring all the people in the world closer together. Plus, all our different cultures bonding with one another will make the human race stronger, smarter and better equipped to cope with whatever challenges are coming.”
“So you agree with Professor SImmons. Our future as a species looks very bright?”
“Of course our future is going to be bright and exciting. I wish I could be around one hundred, two hundred or 1000 years from now to view some of the remarkable inventions we’re going to create.”
“Okay Senator Lassiter you’re up. What do you got to say to our kids, to help quay their fears during these trying times?”
“Our factories pollute our streams altering the earth’s environment at such an alarming rate, that if not checked some say we will irreversibly set back mother nature millions of years. Our armies have stockpiles of weapons that could blow up the earth many times over yet we still work on developing bombs that are bigger and more powerful. For years, Man has lived recklessly, impatiently and greedy and it’s caught up with us. So, we now find ourselves in a tough predicament facing our toughest enemy, ourselves.”
“If you are like most of us you know what’s been going on is wrong. You want to change it but you feel overwhelmed, frustrated and kind of helpless. Like a drop of water in a fast moving river trying to control the direction the water is flowing. How much difference can one person make? You ask. My answer to the children is, hardly any difference at all……Yet, all the difference in the world.” The audience clapped.
The Senator continued. “You don’t have to take on everything yourself. Just as wars start as tiny little disagreements that fester and fester into bigger and bigger arguments until two countries are shooting at each other and then other countries are picking sides, so must the peace movement grow from a tiny seed into a mighty forest. Mother Theresa said – (“All works of love are works of peace.”) Start locally, look around and you may be surprised at the amount of people in your community already trying to make changes for the better, join in. Conquer small projects first and with those tiny successes you will attract a larger following of believers who will help you take on bigger and bigger obstacles. Live honestly, support justice for all and be a role model your neighbors can look up to.”
“Remember, don’t ever forsake the quest for achieving peace in oneself for what you think is a bigger, more ambitious cause. It’s hard to take on the whole earth without first achieving peace within your own soul. Just keep doing the best you can kids and remember you’re not alone on your mission. Spread the love everyone.” Senator Lassiter smiled into the camera then shook his forefinger. “And, always remember to vote. Voting is your God given right. So many people throughout history gave up their lives so you could have a say in how things are run. So, don’t ever take voting for granted.”
“Spoken like a true politician.”
“Here here!” Someone shouted. The audience clapped and cheered.
“Well that counts as another vote for mankind and our future generations living happily ever after.” Ryan declared. “So far it’s, three points humans, nuclear holocaust zero.” Ryan pointed to the thin Japanese Scholar. “Your turn Mr. Mokimati. Say what’s on your mind.”
“We all know we’re facing some gravely dangerous problems such as the depleting ozone layer, global warming and the possibility of a nuclear holocaust. All of which were brought about by our own hands. A lot of scholars say we as a species won’t last another century and that there’s a good chance man will callously take all life on this planet with us when we go. Oh what a shame for that to be our legacy. Man’s whole existence reduced to a warning for other intelligent life that comes after us. Don’t do what man did! Don’t be greedy like man was! Don’t be cocky like man was! All of our history, our suffering and our triumphs discarded as meaningless due to our final demise.”
I can hear the astonished aliens conversing as their spacecraft hovers outside earth’s now foggy atmosphere watching the smoldering mushroom clouds slowly cover our landscapes with ash and poisonous radioactive dust. “Well it looks like we’re a little too late.” The alien with six eyes says to his companion with the five hairy arms as they look over the gauges and dials on the dash board of their flying saucer. “It will be a few thousand years minimum, before life will be able to exist on that planet again.”
“Man must have been a vile, violent creature.” The five armed Captain of the vessel remarks. “It’s one thing to blow yourself up in a massive suicide but to take all the beautiful, helpless, yet marvelous creatures of earth with you!”
“Totally despicable!” The Six eyed copilot’s tentacles windshield wiper away the tears forming in each of his six big eyes. “There’s so few planets blessed with the environmental conditions to host life and now there’s one less.”
“Our records show the earth had been hosting life for millions of years. Man had only been on the planet for a few thousand.” The five armed Captain informed. “What selfishness and gall, to just destroy everything.”
As their spaceship zooms away, the copilot says “Sir, the humans weren’t worth saving. I’m glad we didn’t get here in time.” The Captain was silent within his own thoughts as his five arms navigated the plane.
The audience erupted in a standing ovation.
“Wow! What imagery! Koji Mokamati everyone!” Ryan clapped. “There’s the reason I’ve heard you referred to as the next great poet laureate of the orient!”
“To any government leaders watching.” Koji Mokamati interrupted the applause to continue. “I’d just like to say, please think about all the good we could do in the world if we took all the money and efforts we waste on making weapons and training and supplying our armies and put it all towards meeting the real needs of our people. We could end world hunger, spend more money on medical research, end illiteracy and beef up our education systems. We’d have the resources for conservation projects and to develop earth friendly plastics and other materials that mother-nature can breakdown quickly, helping us get a grip on pollution. The world could be a much better place for all of us. ” The audience stood up to resume their standing ovation.
“Make love not war!” Koji Mokimati waved, then held up his book mouthing. “Buy my book. It’s all in my book.”
“Thanks Koji.” Ryan pointed to Glenda Helmsburger. “Last but not least, the queen of peace and freedom. Bring us home Glenda.”
“My work with the International Humanitarian Emergency Relief Foundation, has taken me to all corners of the globe. I’ve seen terrible devastation caused by tornadoes, hurricanes, floods, a tsunami, earthquakes and even a volcano or two spouting off un-expectantly. Wherever disaster strikes, men and women from all walks of life always rush to the aid of those in need. It always amazes me the way the human race rises up to the occasion to assist those hurt and suffering. Food, supplies and money arrive from every continent. Every type of religious order sends care packages and their prayers. Many volunteers fly in from across the oceans asking only, how can I help? Nations send teams of experts to assist. Celebrities speak out to raise money and awareness. True heroes are born during those times of strife. The acts of love and compassion are always overwhelming. People from all different cultures, races, political beliefs, religions, creeds and economic statuses all working together and bonding as they help and tend to victims they’ve never met before.”
“I’ve heard the argument that humans are just naturally violent and therefore can never live in lasting peace. I believe that is not only a crock, but just an easy excuse not to have to take responsibility for allowing our emotions to run amuck. On the contrary, I believe, men have the natural urge built in to help their fellow man. I’ve experienced that bond first hand. My job has brought me in contact with many varied religious orders and I’ve had the pleasure of meeting with many different religious leaders and I don’t know of any denomination anywhere that doesn’t preach compassion, kindness and peace for all men among the basic principles of their faith. So if we all want the same thing then why do we have to wait for a disaster to bring us all together. There’s no point in saving up your love and goodwill for a rainy day or a hurricane. It’s time we all start looking for ways to spread and share the love and compassion that is inside all of us with everyone we meet 24/7 everyday of our lives.”
“Remember kids, as long as there’s a devil roaming the earth there will always be someone trying to stir up trouble for trouble’s sake. With God’s help and love we have grown and been allowed to prosper throughout the ages. With God’s help and love we shall continue to grow and eventually we will conquer the devil and his disciples who insist on causing heartache, pain and havoc for mischief’s sake.”
The audience clapped as Ryan the MC retook the center stage.
“The great, late, Rock and Roll legend, Jimmy Hendrix said.[ “When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will have peace.”]
“Will the whole world ever get along well enough to be at true peace during our life time? Or, will people eventually let war get so out of hand that we actually kill off all of mankind callously blowing up everyone and most, if not all, of our planet’s life at the same time.” Ryan Nobel held both hands up, his fingers spread into v’s. “Only time will tell.” He smiled. “Until next week, Peace, love and rock and roll everybody!”
The camera fanned over the applauding audience, the background music of John Lennon and the Beatles was turned up louder and louder: Everybody’s talkin bout Bagism, shagism, dragism, madism, ragism, tagism, this-ism, that-ism, ism, ism, ism…All we are saying is give peace a chance. All we are saying is give peace a chance…
The red, off the air sign started flashing. The ceiling lights above the audience blared on brightening up the whole auditorium. “Alright everybody!” Shouted the shows tall, thin, balding, producer through a hand held megaphone as he walked out from behind the curtain onto the stage. “That’s a wrap! Great show everybody!” The background music stopped but the audience continued to sing. “All we are saying….Is give peace a chance. All we are saying….Is give peace a chance.”
“So Mrs. Helmsburger, Queen of Peace,” Ryan Nobel approached the blond, woman. “What do you say to me and you taking the studio limo across town to a quiet little Jazz club I know of. Do you like Cajun food?”
“I love Cajun food. The spicier the better.” She smiled flicking her hair out of her eyes. “But…”
“But…” Handsome Professor Keith Simmons walked up beside Glenda Helmsburger to put his arm around her shoulders. “Mrs.Helmsburger already has a date.”
“Can I have a rain check?” The blond smirked at Ryan.
“Certainly, My Dear. Just call me the next time you’re in town.”
“Yo guys!” Producer Sam Switzle ran back onto stage. “The phones are ringing off the hook!” He saw Ryan and then headed towards him. “People are saying they loved the show! Our ratings are going through the roof! I got to admit, when you first told me you wanted to do a show on World Peace, I thought, way too nerdy. Nobody’s going to tune in for that. But, I was wrong and you were right.”
“Thanks Sam for being so humble that you could admit when you’re wrong.”
“I guess the only thing left now is for us to figure out what topic we’re going to open the show with next week?”
“I have a few ideas on that." Ryan offered. "Do you want to get a beer across the street and I’ll run my ideas by you?”
“Sorry pal. Any other night but tonight.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I’m booked.” The producer turned then headed back towards the stage exit door. A lone young man walked through the door stepping onto the stage. “Hi.” He addressed the tall Producer. “Are you Ryan Nobel?
"Nope." The producer pointed behind himself to Ryan then headed out the exit door. The lights dimmed.
The man walked over to Ryan. "Ryan Nobel?"
"Yes?" The man handed Ryan an envelope. “Mr. Nobel, you've been served.” The delivery man shrugged his shoulders then turned and headed off the stage.
Ryan read the outside of the envelope. “She finally did it.” Ryan stated. “My wife’s suing me for a divorce!” He said to no one, since, he was the last person in the auditorium. Ryan placed his face in his hands then began to cry.
The Human Factor by Stu Leventhal
The young soldier sitting in the closed in windowless area watched the radar screen. Bleep...Bleep....Bleep...The silver needle on the monitor went completely around in a circle...Bleep...Bleep...Bleep...Suddenly the red light began to flash! "Uh, oh?" He mumbled.
"WARNING!..WARNING!..THIS IS NOT A DRILL!..WARNING!.." Blared through the loud speaker mounted high up near the center of the ceiling. Next to the speaker hung a hidden camera, silently filming and transmitting all that was transpiring...
In another office 126 miles north east, three men and a woman, all wearing lab coats, view the soldier on enlarged television monitor screens that take up almost a complete wall. "So, what do you think he's going to do?"
"Well his computer screen is telling him that the Russians have just launched a nuclear missile at the United States. His orders are clearly to fire his missile back at them.”
On the monitor screen they watch the young man stand up then start pacing back and forth in front of his computer controls. "Press the button kid, that's what you're trained to do."
"Five bucks says he doesn't do it." One of the men reaches into the pocket of his lab coat then pulls out a wad of money. He peels a five off the top of the stack then lays it down on the counter.
"You're on." Another man pulls out his wallet and quickly places a bill on top of the first man's wager.
"Any other takers?"
"Oh I don't know JD, it's hard to predict how they'll react in a situation like this."
"Wait, wait.." The tall man points to the screen. They all look...The young man suddenly stopped pacing. "He's staring at the button." The heavy-set man sitting down began to play with the dials and computer keys in front of him. The image on one screen suddenly expands to show the young man's face enlarged. Beads of sweat roll down his cheeks. Another screen focuses on the large button with a red top to it, and the words LAUNCH printed across it. Slowly the young man's hand stretches towards the red button. His finger tips rest on top of the button. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, looking up at the ceiling and perhaps beyond. His lips mouth something, then his fingers curl into a fist which he raises then slams down on the launch button.
"YEAY!!!" The men all cheer.
"He did it!" The tall lanky man scoops up his money. "Who recruited this kid?"
"Dr. Jockordian."
"Score another one for the head shrink."
"Wooo, looks like you doctor, picked another winner."
"Picked another cool, cold bastard you mean."
"Hey, it's not easy finding young ones who have what it takes." The lanky Doctor proclaimed.
"You mean, who are up for the task."
"I mean a guy or gal has to be able to take on the responsibility of knowing he or she played an instrumental part in the ending of the world."
"Well Carmine? What was his time?"
"This one did great Doctor. Three minutes and thirty three seconds. He hardly hesitated at all."
"Yes, but he did say something just before he pressed down on the button. Could any of you make out what it was?"
"Just hold on a second." The Doctor began fidgeting with the dials on his control panel. "I can rewind and replay that part and I'll enhance the sound." All twenty screens zoom in on the young man's fingers resting on the red button. Then they switched to the enlargement of the young man's face. Sweat was beading and rolling down his face. The Doctor froze the frame there. "Okay now I'll raise the sound." He twisted a dial. They all watched...
"God forgive me. And god forgive us all!" The screens jumped to the soldier's fist smashing down on the red launch button. The screen froze with that image.
"Doctor, switch to the present. Let's see how he's doing now that the deed is done. A few more twists of the dials and they saw the young soldier pacing back and forth, throwing his arms up in the air.
"Right now, he really thinks the world is on its way to destruction."
"No he doesn't."
"What do you mean, he doesn't. They shoot a bomb at us, we...correction, he shoots a bomb at them. It's begun. Everyone knows how the scenario goes. They fire another. We fire another. They fire. We fire. They fire. We fire. Thousands of missiles launched, flying back and forth, enough to blow the world up thirty times over."
"We should tell him he's passed the grade, and that we're all proud of him. Tell him that it was only a test after all and that he's passed."
"No! Not yet." Doctor Jockordian starts twisting dials and punching keys. "Let's see what he does for a while, see how he acts. Study him. Aren't you curious to see?"
"But doctor, that's not safe!" Shouts the woman.
"It's science my dear." He stares up at the TV monitors.
"Sir I must insist!..." The tall man grasps the doctor's hand "…that you notify this young man immediately of the real situation!"
"Not yet!" Dr. Jockordian shakes the grasping hand off his wrist, then types in some more instructions. The other doctors look at each other with pained and confused expressions. "I want to know what ticks inside the head of a man who could do what he did?" Doctor Jockordian is still twirling dials, punching keys, and adjusting levers.
Dr. Fields places his hands over top of Dr. Jockordian's stopping him. "What are you doing?"
The doctor shucks his hands free. "I'm turning up the heat, a little." He presses a few more buttons then swivels his chair around to observe the TV screens. The other doctors all turn to watch.
"I'm calling him!" Doctor Luminous grabs the phone. "I'm calling all this off."
Dr., Jockordian grabs the phone's cord and yanks the cord out of the wall socket, then tosses it to the ground.
"What was that about! What's wrong with you! I'm going to bring you up on charges mister!" Dr. Rouman turns to Doctor Doufeist who had headed to the laboratory's door.
"I'll call his station on the civilian phone."
Dr. Luminous turns his head back. "It won't do any good. He won't be able to answer your call."
"The phone rings in the outer office. He's now locked in the inner office. It's a security measure activated once the crisis started, so nobody outside can influence his decision to do his duty and press the button. You see, the enemy could call him and tell him they kidnapped his wife and kids and are torturing them. They could let his wife speak to him and try to convince him not to push the button or offer him riches and power in the new world structure, if he only doesn't do his duty."
"Are you saying that there's no way...That we can't tell him that this is just an exercise!"
"Exactly, the doors are automatically locked, locking the young man inside. Only that phone line…" He points to the severed line lying on the ground, "...can reach the man inside the station.
"It's a cruel psychological mind game is what it is.! You're an animal!"
"It's science! And, I'm a doctor of science and so are you."
"We can call the local cops tell them to send some officers over to tell him."
"He's been trained not to listen to police or to anyone."
"Then we'll have to go in person."
"The door to his chamber is three feet thick solid steel. The walls reinforced cement. He's shut up tight, like in a bank's vault."
"Well then, now we have no way of letting him know it was a drill and a test " Dr. Rouman Slammed his fist down on the counter. "Do you have any idea what kind of stress you're subjecting that poor man to."
"No, I don't. That's why I want to run this thing to its conclusion. Then we can ask him what went on in his mind and we will know."
"That's cruel, and it's sick Doctor. He thinks he just blew up...ended the world! And now, we have no way of telling him any different!"
"Well I'm driving over there anyway. Maybe we can think of something to do once we get there."
"Yes I agree. If, we leave now it will take us two hours at least." Dr. Rouman and Dr., Doufeist head towards the door.
Dr. Joyce Pippen stares at the screen. "Oh that poor man, what must be going through his mind."
At the door Dr. Rouman shouted. "And I'm calling the military police! They'll be coming right up here to put you under arrest."
Dr. Jockordian stuck a loaded computer disk into the receptor of the main frame.
"And what are you doing now?" The woman asked
"I'm turning up the heat. This disc programs all his equipment to function as if it really is a nuclear attack. Watch his computer screens and gauges. He won't be in denial any more. See those red lines, they represent the enemies’ missiles that have been launched, The blue lines represent our missiles launched in retaliation. See the fine arc of the lines. See the blinking yellow stars, mostly located at our most productive cities, seaports, airports etc. And, the green dots, blinking on the enemies map that tells the man where all the bombs are going to hit. The gauges tell him the estimated destruction time of the targets."
"You are quite mad." She turned then headed to the door.
Less than a minute later she returned followed by three uniformed military policemen. "Dr. Jockordian, I'm placing you under arrest on the charges of endangering the well being of another military personnel."
"This is an outrage! Think of all the military personnel I might be saving, due to this research." The guards pull the doctor’s hands behind his back then handcuff him. They lead him away.
The woman stares at the TV monitors. "Oh no! Don't!" On screen the young soldier is holding the barrel of a pistol in his mouth. Desperately the woman starts twisting dials and pushing buttons. BANG! Blood splatter hits then drips down the monitor screen.
"Oh my!" She covered her face with her hands. "He...killed himself!"
"No!" Doctor JD Luminous corrected. "We killed him!"
As everyone sulked. Dr. Carmine Brownley snuck out into the hall. He glanced behind him making sure no one followed him then entered the stairway. He climbed the stairs to the top floor then continued upward to the door leading to the roof. Quickly, the Doctor used his key to open the lock. He opened the heavy, steel door then stepped out onto the roof. He gently and quietly closed the door behind him. Dr. Brownley went straight to a chimney. He knelt then pulled free a brick from the chimney's base. He reached into the hole then pulled out a small box. He turned a crank on the side of the box charging up the battery. Once charged, Carmine Brownley began tapping out his message using a secret morse code. Tap, tap, tap....tap, tap....tap, tap...
The message went, from the roof, to a transmission station set up 17 miles away. From there the message was bounced off a Russian satellite orbiting the globe, then reflected to headquarters in Moscow, where a lithe man with a handle bar mustache deciphered the code and read the message. "Our man on the inside says the Americans are getting weak."
"That's the bad side of having a good economy for so long." Offered the obese man sitting next to the lithe fellow.
The lithe man continued. "They're having trouble finding people to push the button. He says there's a 65% chance that if we fire our missiles right now, first, the United States may not even fire back."
"The sentimentalists in America would rather let our missiles blow them all to smithereens and right out of existence, without lifting a finger to retaliate, because retaliation means, the unthinkable, blowing up the whole world. They don't want that on their consciences. While, 99% of all Russians recently poled would rather the whole world end, if there was going to be no more Russia and Russian people. That's why we are tougher than America."
"Tell Carmine to keep us informed. As soon as the percentage climbs to 75% we'll
fire our missiles and be done with the Americans once and for all." The lithe fellow began tapping a morse code message back. Tap, tap...tap, tap...
EPILOG: (Almost 2 years later) At the Kimlar Nuclear Missile Base in Seattle Washington
“But certainly you screen your applicants for this position, make sure they have the right psychological makeup?”
"You can never be sure how someone will react during the crisis. You have to take away the human factor. So there is no chance of a slip up."
"No one person should ever feel that the fate of the world rests on their shoulders"
"Uh, what Mrs...Dr. Wilson means is that you have to take away the human factor if you're going to be sure that the bloke will perform his sworn duties, at the moment of truth."
"Huh?"
"A person may think they can press the button, but how can any of us be sure how we'd react?"
"If the dude knows all the facts, he may get cold feet at the last minute."
"Yeah, he may not push the button. He could chicken out. So we don't tell them what the button really activates. In fact, we lie to them. They're just trained to react when certain circumstances are met by all their gauges and screens. They push the button, because that's their job. We don't tell them what the button is going to do. For all they know, the button they push turns on the sprinklers on the lawn outside the building."
Five minutes later, outside the Kimlar complex, the general put his arm around his
younger protégé’s shoulders. "I want her taken off this project immediately." He whispered.
"But Sir"
"She's unstable Cartright. We need a dependable person in charge of the
project. Too much is riding on this. They're responsible for too much. The
whole future of this planet is riding on her ability. I'd say she was a little more than just edgy today. And, someone in her position can't afford to be edgy at all, ever! And, let's look into making some changes to the curriculum. Take some notes lad. Now This is how I feel the program should be run..."
"WARNING!..WARNING!..THIS IS NOT A DRILL!..WARNING!.." Blared through the loud speaker mounted high up near the center of the ceiling. Next to the speaker hung a hidden camera, silently filming and transmitting all that was transpiring...
In another office 126 miles north east, three men and a woman, all wearing lab coats, view the soldier on enlarged television monitor screens that take up almost a complete wall. "So, what do you think he's going to do?"
"Well his computer screen is telling him that the Russians have just launched a nuclear missile at the United States. His orders are clearly to fire his missile back at them.”
On the monitor screen they watch the young man stand up then start pacing back and forth in front of his computer controls. "Press the button kid, that's what you're trained to do."
"Five bucks says he doesn't do it." One of the men reaches into the pocket of his lab coat then pulls out a wad of money. He peels a five off the top of the stack then lays it down on the counter.
"You're on." Another man pulls out his wallet and quickly places a bill on top of the first man's wager.
"Any other takers?"
"Oh I don't know JD, it's hard to predict how they'll react in a situation like this."
"Wait, wait.." The tall man points to the screen. They all look...The young man suddenly stopped pacing. "He's staring at the button." The heavy-set man sitting down began to play with the dials and computer keys in front of him. The image on one screen suddenly expands to show the young man's face enlarged. Beads of sweat roll down his cheeks. Another screen focuses on the large button with a red top to it, and the words LAUNCH printed across it. Slowly the young man's hand stretches towards the red button. His finger tips rest on top of the button. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, looking up at the ceiling and perhaps beyond. His lips mouth something, then his fingers curl into a fist which he raises then slams down on the launch button.
"YEAY!!!" The men all cheer.
"He did it!" The tall lanky man scoops up his money. "Who recruited this kid?"
"Dr. Jockordian."
"Score another one for the head shrink."
"Wooo, looks like you doctor, picked another winner."
"Picked another cool, cold bastard you mean."
"Hey, it's not easy finding young ones who have what it takes." The lanky Doctor proclaimed.
"You mean, who are up for the task."
"I mean a guy or gal has to be able to take on the responsibility of knowing he or she played an instrumental part in the ending of the world."
"Well Carmine? What was his time?"
"This one did great Doctor. Three minutes and thirty three seconds. He hardly hesitated at all."
"Yes, but he did say something just before he pressed down on the button. Could any of you make out what it was?"
"Just hold on a second." The Doctor began fidgeting with the dials on his control panel. "I can rewind and replay that part and I'll enhance the sound." All twenty screens zoom in on the young man's fingers resting on the red button. Then they switched to the enlargement of the young man's face. Sweat was beading and rolling down his face. The Doctor froze the frame there. "Okay now I'll raise the sound." He twisted a dial. They all watched...
"God forgive me. And god forgive us all!" The screens jumped to the soldier's fist smashing down on the red launch button. The screen froze with that image.
"Doctor, switch to the present. Let's see how he's doing now that the deed is done. A few more twists of the dials and they saw the young soldier pacing back and forth, throwing his arms up in the air.
"Right now, he really thinks the world is on its way to destruction."
"No he doesn't."
"What do you mean, he doesn't. They shoot a bomb at us, we...correction, he shoots a bomb at them. It's begun. Everyone knows how the scenario goes. They fire another. We fire another. They fire. We fire. They fire. We fire. Thousands of missiles launched, flying back and forth, enough to blow the world up thirty times over."
"We should tell him he's passed the grade, and that we're all proud of him. Tell him that it was only a test after all and that he's passed."
"No! Not yet." Doctor Jockordian starts twisting dials and punching keys. "Let's see what he does for a while, see how he acts. Study him. Aren't you curious to see?"
"But doctor, that's not safe!" Shouts the woman.
"It's science my dear." He stares up at the TV monitors.
"Sir I must insist!..." The tall man grasps the doctor's hand "…that you notify this young man immediately of the real situation!"
"Not yet!" Dr. Jockordian shakes the grasping hand off his wrist, then types in some more instructions. The other doctors look at each other with pained and confused expressions. "I want to know what ticks inside the head of a man who could do what he did?" Doctor Jockordian is still twirling dials, punching keys, and adjusting levers.
Dr. Fields places his hands over top of Dr. Jockordian's stopping him. "What are you doing?"
The doctor shucks his hands free. "I'm turning up the heat, a little." He presses a few more buttons then swivels his chair around to observe the TV screens. The other doctors all turn to watch.
"I'm calling him!" Doctor Luminous grabs the phone. "I'm calling all this off."
Dr., Jockordian grabs the phone's cord and yanks the cord out of the wall socket, then tosses it to the ground.
"What was that about! What's wrong with you! I'm going to bring you up on charges mister!" Dr. Rouman turns to Doctor Doufeist who had headed to the laboratory's door.
"I'll call his station on the civilian phone."
Dr. Luminous turns his head back. "It won't do any good. He won't be able to answer your call."
"The phone rings in the outer office. He's now locked in the inner office. It's a security measure activated once the crisis started, so nobody outside can influence his decision to do his duty and press the button. You see, the enemy could call him and tell him they kidnapped his wife and kids and are torturing them. They could let his wife speak to him and try to convince him not to push the button or offer him riches and power in the new world structure, if he only doesn't do his duty."
"Are you saying that there's no way...That we can't tell him that this is just an exercise!"
"Exactly, the doors are automatically locked, locking the young man inside. Only that phone line…" He points to the severed line lying on the ground, "...can reach the man inside the station.
"It's a cruel psychological mind game is what it is.! You're an animal!"
"It's science! And, I'm a doctor of science and so are you."
"We can call the local cops tell them to send some officers over to tell him."
"He's been trained not to listen to police or to anyone."
"Then we'll have to go in person."
"The door to his chamber is three feet thick solid steel. The walls reinforced cement. He's shut up tight, like in a bank's vault."
"Well then, now we have no way of letting him know it was a drill and a test " Dr. Rouman Slammed his fist down on the counter. "Do you have any idea what kind of stress you're subjecting that poor man to."
"No, I don't. That's why I want to run this thing to its conclusion. Then we can ask him what went on in his mind and we will know."
"That's cruel, and it's sick Doctor. He thinks he just blew up...ended the world! And now, we have no way of telling him any different!"
"Well I'm driving over there anyway. Maybe we can think of something to do once we get there."
"Yes I agree. If, we leave now it will take us two hours at least." Dr. Rouman and Dr., Doufeist head towards the door.
Dr. Joyce Pippen stares at the screen. "Oh that poor man, what must be going through his mind."
At the door Dr. Rouman shouted. "And I'm calling the military police! They'll be coming right up here to put you under arrest."
Dr. Jockordian stuck a loaded computer disk into the receptor of the main frame.
"And what are you doing now?" The woman asked
"I'm turning up the heat. This disc programs all his equipment to function as if it really is a nuclear attack. Watch his computer screens and gauges. He won't be in denial any more. See those red lines, they represent the enemies’ missiles that have been launched, The blue lines represent our missiles launched in retaliation. See the fine arc of the lines. See the blinking yellow stars, mostly located at our most productive cities, seaports, airports etc. And, the green dots, blinking on the enemies map that tells the man where all the bombs are going to hit. The gauges tell him the estimated destruction time of the targets."
"You are quite mad." She turned then headed to the door.
Less than a minute later she returned followed by three uniformed military policemen. "Dr. Jockordian, I'm placing you under arrest on the charges of endangering the well being of another military personnel."
"This is an outrage! Think of all the military personnel I might be saving, due to this research." The guards pull the doctor’s hands behind his back then handcuff him. They lead him away.
The woman stares at the TV monitors. "Oh no! Don't!" On screen the young soldier is holding the barrel of a pistol in his mouth. Desperately the woman starts twisting dials and pushing buttons. BANG! Blood splatter hits then drips down the monitor screen.
"Oh my!" She covered her face with her hands. "He...killed himself!"
"No!" Doctor JD Luminous corrected. "We killed him!"
As everyone sulked. Dr. Carmine Brownley snuck out into the hall. He glanced behind him making sure no one followed him then entered the stairway. He climbed the stairs to the top floor then continued upward to the door leading to the roof. Quickly, the Doctor used his key to open the lock. He opened the heavy, steel door then stepped out onto the roof. He gently and quietly closed the door behind him. Dr. Brownley went straight to a chimney. He knelt then pulled free a brick from the chimney's base. He reached into the hole then pulled out a small box. He turned a crank on the side of the box charging up the battery. Once charged, Carmine Brownley began tapping out his message using a secret morse code. Tap, tap, tap....tap, tap....tap, tap...
The message went, from the roof, to a transmission station set up 17 miles away. From there the message was bounced off a Russian satellite orbiting the globe, then reflected to headquarters in Moscow, where a lithe man with a handle bar mustache deciphered the code and read the message. "Our man on the inside says the Americans are getting weak."
"That's the bad side of having a good economy for so long." Offered the obese man sitting next to the lithe fellow.
The lithe man continued. "They're having trouble finding people to push the button. He says there's a 65% chance that if we fire our missiles right now, first, the United States may not even fire back."
"The sentimentalists in America would rather let our missiles blow them all to smithereens and right out of existence, without lifting a finger to retaliate, because retaliation means, the unthinkable, blowing up the whole world. They don't want that on their consciences. While, 99% of all Russians recently poled would rather the whole world end, if there was going to be no more Russia and Russian people. That's why we are tougher than America."
"Tell Carmine to keep us informed. As soon as the percentage climbs to 75% we'll
fire our missiles and be done with the Americans once and for all." The lithe fellow began tapping a morse code message back. Tap, tap...tap, tap...
EPILOG: (Almost 2 years later) At the Kimlar Nuclear Missile Base in Seattle Washington
“But certainly you screen your applicants for this position, make sure they have the right psychological makeup?”
"You can never be sure how someone will react during the crisis. You have to take away the human factor. So there is no chance of a slip up."
"No one person should ever feel that the fate of the world rests on their shoulders"
"Uh, what Mrs...Dr. Wilson means is that you have to take away the human factor if you're going to be sure that the bloke will perform his sworn duties, at the moment of truth."
"Huh?"
"A person may think they can press the button, but how can any of us be sure how we'd react?"
"If the dude knows all the facts, he may get cold feet at the last minute."
"Yeah, he may not push the button. He could chicken out. So we don't tell them what the button really activates. In fact, we lie to them. They're just trained to react when certain circumstances are met by all their gauges and screens. They push the button, because that's their job. We don't tell them what the button is going to do. For all they know, the button they push turns on the sprinklers on the lawn outside the building."
Five minutes later, outside the Kimlar complex, the general put his arm around his
younger protégé’s shoulders. "I want her taken off this project immediately." He whispered.
"But Sir"
"She's unstable Cartright. We need a dependable person in charge of the
project. Too much is riding on this. They're responsible for too much. The
whole future of this planet is riding on her ability. I'd say she was a little more than just edgy today. And, someone in her position can't afford to be edgy at all, ever! And, let's look into making some changes to the curriculum. Take some notes lad. Now This is how I feel the program should be run..."
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The March by Stuart Leventhal
“So, when are they going to start this protest march?” Denny glanced around at all the people milling around in the field, laying in the grass, sitting on blankets cross-legged in little groups, smoking cigarettes and chatting.
“Soon.” Answered the thin tattooed man standing to his left.
“But the flier says 10 AM.” Denny held up a folded, wrinkled, yellow leaflet then glanced at his watch. “It’s already five after 11.”
“Patience.” The skinny man advised as he twisted the wax end of his handlebar mustache into a point.
“But someone needs to take charge, get these people organized, get this show on the road.”
“Relax Man. Here.” The thin man held out a half smoked marijuana joint. “Have a puff.”
Denny took the joint and held it to his lips. He inhaled half heartedly. “Thanks.” He leaned, reaching to hand the smoke back.
“No more for me.” The thin man motioned. “Pass it down the line Dude.”
“Okay.” Denny turned to his right, tapped the young, hippy chick standing next to him on her shoulder, smiled at her then held out the joint.
“Thanks.” The short, dirty blond smiled taking the joint. Denny watched her chest expand showing more of her cleavage as she inhaled. He continued to stare as she held her breath letting the weed work its magic.
Denny turned back to the thin guy. “So you attend a lot of these demonstrations?”
“Yeah. I like to lend my support to just about any cause that’s anti the establishment Man: Save the whales, save the dolphins, don’t pollute, save the ozone, down with corporate greed, peace, love, no war, more war! All that crap, you know.”
Den chuckled. “How many protest marches you been to?”
“This is my twenty fifth.”
“Wow. So it doesn’t really matter what the march is about, if there’s a march, you’re there.”
“Don’t laugh. These gatherings are intoxicating. They can be addictive. Look at that.” He pointed to a couple of teenage girls sitting on a blanket wearing tube tops, tight shorts and sandals and passing around a bottle of wine. “Something powerful happens Man, when so many people from all walks of life come together for a single purpose. Look around. We got folks from both sexes, many different religions, all age groups, skin colors, political parties, all mingling together, smiling and having a good time. You don’t see a gathering like this very often.” He glanced down at Denny’s shoes. “This is a twenty five mile march. It’s going to take all day. If you make it the whole walk wearin those shoes, you’ll have blisters on top of your blisters, and you’ll be in pain. Then the speeches start, and they could go all night, along with the sing-a-longs. If you’re still with us, and don’t quit…” He said it like a challenge. “I guarantee, you’ll be a changed man. You’ll either vow to never go on another protest march again, or you’ll be hooked like me.” He smiled at a couple of girls walking past then held his fingers up in a V, displaying the classic peace sign.
The girls chuckled.
Bang! Crash!..Bang! Crash! A group of about fifteen young 12-13 year old drummer boys started banging on their drums and slamming their cymbals together as they pushed their way out of the crowd, forming three lines in the center of Sullivan Avenue. “Here we go, Mr. Impatient!” The thin man smirked. Denny watched as people filed in behind the drumming youths who led the way drumming and marching down the wide, four lanes of Sullivan Ave.
Spectators lining the street and loved ones of the marchers snapped photographs of the marchers as they passed cheering the marchers on. “We’re behind you guys 100%!” One man yelled.
“Don’t stop till you get to City Hall!” Shouted another fellow.
“Down with taxes!” People shouted. “Raise the minimum wage! Unify healthcare! Strength to the working man!”
“Good luck!” A woman bellowed.
“We’re proud of all of you!” Added another.
To Denny, everyone seemed so unorganized, even silly. “Shouldn’t everyone try to step together at the same time, right, left, right, left, or something?”
“Ha, ha.” The thin man laughed. “This ain’t the army Dude, and it ain’t no Thanksgiving Day Parade. It’s a protest march baby. You can walk, skip, jump, hop or dance down the street to your own damn beat, if ya want ta. You can walk five blocks then decide to quit, if ya want ta. The only rule is there is no rules.”
Denny watched as a group of about forty young men wearing yellow t-shirts forced their way into the marchers around mid-parade, led by two trim young men carrying a giant yellow banner that stretched almost across the entire street. “They’re from the University of Prafe’.” Informed the thin mustached man. “Members of The Young Liberals’ Political Debate Club.” He muttered condescendingly. Den noticed most of the male students had long hair past their shoulders or a ponytail and almost all held an open beer can in one hand and a long cigar in the other, some wore sandals and most sported beards and beaded necklaces. “Bunch of college beatniks.” The thin man shook his head un-approvingly.
A slightly smaller group of marchers, all wearing red t-shirts, joined the march next. Stepping onto the road they all began singing a hymn in Spanish and clapping along. “They’re the Latin Socialist Group.” The tall man enlightened. “I don’t know what the Spanish words mean but I must admit their song’s got kind of a catchy tune to it.”
Someone tapped Den on his right shoulder. Den turned expecting to see the cute hippie girl but was confronted by a huge 370-400 pound sweaty unshaven Caucasian man who smiled and held out his big left palm showing a handful of cut purple ribbon pieces. “Want to pin one on your collar? Everyone’s wearing them.”
“Thanks.” Denny took two pieces of ribbon.
“You’ll need pins.” The heavy guy held open his other fat palm revealing a bunch of small safety pins.
Denny took two pins. “Thank you.” Den turned back to his left to hand a purple ribbon and pin to his new thin mustached friend but the thin man had disappeared replaced by an old toothless woman who quickly snatched the extra ribbon and pin out of Denny’s hand. Denny’s eyes scanned the immediate crowd but he couldn’t spot the thin mustached man he’d been talking to for the past twenty minutes. He felt sad that he hadn’t even asked the man his name.
“Come on, move along” Someone shoved Denny slightly from behind. Like being trapped inside a herd of cattle Denny was forced to walk with the crowd cramped in all around him. As he stepped, every now and then he would hop up stretching his neck up to glance around trying to spot his missing friend.
As they trudged down the city street, the spectators cheered, shouting encouragements from doorways, metal fire escape balconies, and second, third, and fourth story windows. Sunbeams blazed sporadically through the clouded sky. Drunks poured out of bars to join the parade, mingling and sharing a few laughs and antics with the marchers before dropping out after a few blocks to enter another bar.
At South Derry Street, the parade turned right then half way down the block came to a halt. A loud rowdy party was going on, up on a 2nd story balcony. Inebriated partiers were tossing handfuls of confetti over the balcony onto the heads of the marchers to the cheers of the marchers and the crowd. The drunken partiers shouted their support for the march to the marchers. A few young women dancing to the loud music on the balcony reached under their shirts pulled off their bras, twirled their bras over their heads then tossed the lingerie down to the cheering young men of the march. One woman tossed a pair of panties down to the crowd. Another tossed a stocking.
The young men of the parade started to chant. “Take it off! Take it all off!” The girls began lifting their shirts up, showing a quick glimpse of their breasts then quickly covering them back up. Denny heard a police whistle. Turning Denny saw two police officers rush into the building through the downstairs side door. The girls on the balcony were now completely bare-chested, twirling their blouses over their heads to the delight of the males in the crowd below.
The police officers pushed their way through the partiers onto the balcony. “Booo!...Booo!” The crowd complained as the topless girls were dragged inside the apartment. Excitement over, the parade began to move again.
At the edge of the City, It was quite a sight watching the mass of people squeeze together to pack the two narrow lanes of the General Uzo Bridge which crossed the Packatiny River. It took twenty five full minutes before the last marcher crossed the bridge as the parade headed off winding into the Scottish countryside to tackle the next three miles of trek through farmland and woods.
The fields lining the road were planted with either tall wheat or green corn husks. Every now and then they walked past a lone wooden plank home with a muddy front yard due to the family goat eating up all the grass, or a group of two or three small shacks with a wire fence pen out front filled with muddy hogs or chickens. The locals did their best to go about their chores completely ignoring the over a thousand crazy city folk, students and foreigners parading noisily down their usually quiet, country, two lane, back road. But some gave in and watched shyly, and curiously, or stared amused from the safety of their front wooden porches.
Eventually the marchers organized enough to all hold hands and sing the Scottish national anthem, Flower of Scotland as they walked. A few attempts were made to sing freedom songs including Bob Dylan’s ‘Blowin in the wind’. “How many roads must a man walk down before they call him a man…” But not enough marchers knew the words. Everyone shared their cigarettes, taking a drag then passing them down the line. It was a joyous time.
At about two and a half miles outside the Dunkin City limits they came to a small church. Fold out tables were set up along the side of the road covered with cups of water. Denny thirstily drank two cups, then carried a third cup with him to savor as he rejoined the walkers. Around the next curve in the road a group of women wearing Quaker style bonnets were offering the marchers unpeeled oranges. Denny took two greedily. “Thank you all very much.” The women smiled at him but said nothing. He thought he heard them giggling as he rejoined the parade.
At Four Points Junction, where Route 3 and Rural Route 9 cross, about a half mile from Dunkin City word came to the marchers that the police were planning to blockade the march, stopping them from walking through downtown Dunkin. “They can’t do that!” Denny heard someone arguing. “We got approval from the City council to march down Commerce Street today. We legally registered this walk over two months ago!”
“Our route was well publicized in all the newspapers. We said we were marching down Commerce Street. Everyone’s expecting us to come down Commerce Street! I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow some beaurocrat to stop me from marching straight down Commerce street!”
“We’ll just walk right through them!” Someone else shouted.
“If they try to stop us, there’s going to be trouble!” Another threatened.
Someone over turned a barrel and a woman climbed up to stand on top of it. Denny recognized the petite, spitfire from yesterdays TV news interview advertising the march. She was Faye Dannerin one of the marches organizers. She addressed the marchers. “We need to take a vote. We can change our course now and walk around Dunkin City via Rural Route Nine South, by-passing downtown Dunkin City altogether, then continue on as planned, which will take us about forty five minutes out of our way. Which really isn’t too bad. Or, we can continue to march towards the center of Dunkin City, and risk being stopped by the police?”
“March on!” Everyone shouted in unison. “March on!”
“Then we’ll proceed as planned!” The woman acknowledged then climbed off the barrel.
“How are they going to stop us?”
“I got friends planning to meet up with us in Dunkin to join the march.”
“We’ll march right over them!” People laughed. And the parade proceeded as planned.
“They wouldn’t dare try stopping us!” But when the march rounded the curve at Dead Man’s Cavern, Denny saw, about a quarter of a mile up the road, rows and rows of husky policemen, wearing full gray riot gear, and wielding fat wood batons, blocking the road, like a small army brigade.
The parade came to a halt as the marchers stared silently in awe at the police barricade. “Move the kids and the women to the back of the parade.” Someone suggested. “We can’t afford them getting hurt if this gets violent.”
“We don’t want any trouble!” The women reminded, as they hustled to drag the youngsters out of the way of the men.
“What do we do now?”
“Let’s go see what they have to say.”
“We’ll walk right up to them, but nobody start anything unless they start first!
Remember we’re a peaceful march!”
“If they want trouble, we can give them trouble!” One angry man yelled.
Some men stooped by the side of the road to pick up stones for weapons, while other men jogged all the way to the edge of the woods to break branches off of small trees then they jogged back to join the parade.
As the marchers approached the police wall, the marchers all crowded together joining hands, some locking elbows with the marcher next to them for strength and emotional support, forming an interwoven human mesh chain that continued to move forward slowly. The column stopped ten yards away from the so far, silent, stone faced policemen. The marchers stared the cops in the eyes, as a few newspaper photographers on the sides of the road snapped photographs of both groups of men.
Finally a lone, gray haired police officer stepped forward lifting a bullhorn to his mouth. “I’m Sergeant Dilworthy of the Dunkin City Police Department. This road is closed to pedestrians today. I’m ordering you all to turn around now! And disperse peacefully, before anyone gets hurt.”
“Get out of our way!” Came the immediate reply from the protestors.
“We have a permit to march down Commerce Street!” A stocky bald man wearing a tank top to show off his colorful tattoos covering both arms shouted. “We’ve walked over seven miles to get here and we don’t intend on turning back now!”
“YEAH!”
“Let us through! Let us through!” The marchers began to chant.
“Quiet down! Quiet down!” Dilworthy ordered. “Article 17 Section P of the Dunkin City Penal Code, which has been in effect for seventy three years, expressly prohibits public demonstrations of any kind inside the city limits on Sundays during the month of June.”
“That’s bogus!”
“Booo!!..”
“Well nobody said anything about any seventy year old Penal Code two months ago, when we legally applied for and were legally granted a permit to march through the center of town today! Sunday June 23rd!” The bald tattooed man argued.
“YEAH!”
“Let us through! Let us through!”
“I’m going to count to fifteen, after which anyone who hasn’t started disbanding is risking being arrested!” Dilworthy threatened.
“What are you going to do, arrest all of us?” Someone countered. The marchers laughed defiantly.
“I’m counting!” Dilworthy informed. “One!…Two!…”
“Let us through! Let us through!”
“Three!…Four!…”
“So far it’s been a peaceful march, without one incident of violence. If any of your men raises a hand against any of these marchers Dilworthy, I’m holding you personally responsible!” The stocky bald man challenged.
“Five!…Six!…”
“I have friends in high places Dilworthy. I’m warning you! You better think twice before you tell your men to act!”
“Me and my men have our orders and we’re prepared to do whatever we have to do to carryout those orders!”
“Well we’re not budging!” The marchers stared the policemen down.
“I’m still counting! Seven!…Eight!…”
“Everyone sit down! Right where you are, sit on the street and lock arms!” All the marchers sat in the middle of the road. “If they want to move us, well make it as difficult as possible!” Some marchers laid down prone flat on their backs.
Dilworthy and his policemen stomped their heavy boots as they walked forward but when they got within striking distance of the sitting and lying marchers they were at a loss as to what to do. The police were better equipped and better trained but they were still out numbered twenty-five to one. They couldn’t just start grabbing and dragging the marchers off the road one at a time. It would take the fifty cops all night to clear the road of a thousand stubborn protestors. They may have wanted to start beating the protestors with their billy clubs until they moved off the roadway, but with newspaper reporters and photographers present that was out of the question. Especially since the protestors were lying and sitting on the pavement passively.
“We’ll sit here all night!” Someone shouted. “And all day tomorrow too!”
Holding hands and linking arms, the protestors started to sing the national anthem, the Flower of Scotland. All the police could do is watch frustrated.
The back end of the parade stretched behind the last curve in the road. Some of the annoyed marchers near the back of the parade, decided to split the parade in half and started leading the protestors into the woods.
“You coming then?” Someone tugged the back of Denny’s shirt.
“Where?” Denny watched his fellow marchers traipsing through the vegetation leading into the trees.
“The idea is…” An older man explained. “While the marchers in the front of our parade keep the police occupied, the rest of us marchers are going to cut through the woods and come back out onto the road on the other side of the police barricade behind the police.”
“Oh no, I’m staying right here. My parents will kill me if I get arrested.”
“Alright, suit yourself dude.”
It took five minutes for the marchers to trudge their way through the forest. With a roar they burst through the shrubbery and flooded the road about fifty yards past the police blockade. “YEAH!!!!” They cheered taunting the cops.
The sitting, lying demonstrators quickly stood up and cheered their comrades on, waving their fists in the air as still more demonstrators poured out of the woods. “Let them through! Let them through!” Became the chant.
The cops quickly found themselves trapped in the middle of a mob.
“Let us through! Let us through!” The marchers in front of the police barricade chanted.
“Let them through! Let them through!” Chanted the marchers behind the police line.
“Quiet! Quiet!” Ordered Sergeant Dilworthy with his bullhorn.
“Well, with so many of you already past us, I guess there’s really no point in holding the rest of you marchers back anymore.” Sergeant Dilworthy conceded followed by cheers of triumph from the crowd. “You win this time, but just make sure you don’t cause any trouble in my town! Or I’ll hunt every last one of you Pagans down!”
“Yeah!” The crowd cheered.
“I’ve been trying to tell you Sergeant.” The stocky tattooed man stated smirking.
“We’re a peaceful march!” He laughed.
“Move aside boys. Let them pass!” The cops parted, moving to line the shoulders on both sides of the road. The marchers quickly marched between the cops dancing and skipping to taunt the police while celebrating their victory against the establishment.
“Hurry up!” The marchers encouraged each other to move faster towards the city.
“We’re still about a half a mile outside of town.” Someone warned. “If the cops radio ahead they can form another blockade keeping us out.” Denny started to jog along with the rest of his fellow marchers. “Hustle! Hustle!” They encouraged each other.
As the marchers approached Dunkin City they discovered the police had radioed ahead for back-up enforcements, but this time it wasn’t to blockade the march. The cops lined the street, they claimed, as a precaution to insure that no trouble broke out between the citizens of Dunkin and the marchers. They were there to make sure the marchers were safe. There had been rumors that some political groups, apposed to the march, were planning a protest rally against the march, at some point, designed to bring the march to a halt. The City of Dunkin simply didn’t want any trouble in their town.
The townies greeted the marchers with open arms, tossing cigarettes to them from apartment windows and the sidewalks. Denny followed a group of marchers into the first pub he saw, Lawson’s Tavern, where there was already a long line formed in front of the bathroom door. “The bathroom’s for paying customers only.” Informed the large barrel shaped barkeep smirking as he dried a beer mug on his apron.
Denny approached the bar. “Then pour me a shot of the house brandy please, and another round for my friend here.” Den pointed his thumb at the old rummy sitting sleepily hunched over on a stool to his left.
“That’s the spirit Laddie.” The bartender smiled, reached for two shot glasses, then turned them right side up on the bar.
“Thank you son.” The old rummy chuckled picking up his shot glass. “God bless Scotland!” He tilted his head back then tossed the whole shot full of liquor into the back of his mouth.
“To your health!” Denny shouted, then slugged his brandy down in one swig. “OH!” The cheap liquor burned as it slid down his throat. The bartender and the old dude laughed heartily as Denny coughed and choked as he shuffled over to join the end of the bathroom line, his eyes tearing from the strong liquor.
In the bathroom, Denny shuffled up close to the urinal, unzipped, then started relieving himself. He heard two guys near the front of the bathroom by the sinks talking. “So did you hear the rumors that there’s going to be some trouble up ahead?”
“What kind of trouble can there be?”
“I don’t know, but everywhere we go in this town somebody’s warning us to be careful. Give up this silly march idea! Go home to our own towns and families before it’s too late.”
“They’re just messin with your head Man. Tryin to mess with your karma.”
“I don’t know.”
“People get scared by anything that’s different. We marchers confuse them. They don’t know what to make of a horde of young folks who infest their tiny little town for twenty minutes tops, make a lot of noise, buy up all their potato chips, junk food and cigarettes, use their bathrooms then head off walking to the next town.”
“Yeah I guess.”
“Think about it. We got more than a thousand people marching with us. They’d need to bring a small army if they wanted to mess with this many of us.”
“Yeah, there is strength in numbers huh.”
“The cops tried to stop us, they failed didn’t they.”
“I guess.”
“Come on, we better get back to the march before they leave without us. I hate the thought of being stuck in this two bit town any longer than I have to.” Denny heard the door slam behind them. He zipped up then quickly went to the sink to wash up. He washed his hands, splashed water on his face, sighed, then wet his comb and ran it through his long hair.
Denny re-entered the barroom. “Hey is that one of them thar communist hippies from the march?” Someone with a Southern Irish accent asked.
Denny ignored the man, walked over to the bar, and slapped a dollar down on the counter in front of the bartender. “Thanks for your hospitality Sir.”
“Well, come back anytime kid.” The bartender smiled. Denny turned then headed towards the door.
“Hey Pinko!” The heavyset man with the southern Irish drawl stood up and ordered. “Why don’t cha go on home tu ya Mommy! Ha! Ha! Ha!” He laughed.
“Yeah we don’t need no long haired, Commies in our town!” Another fella added.
Denny headed towards their round table, which was filled with six gruff men. “We’re marching for all of your benefit.”
“Don’t do us no favors Pinko!”
“Who asked you University Pansies to march for us?” One of the more intoxicated men slurred.
“You losers don’t even know what this march is about, do you?”
“I know it’s about a bunch of spoiled rich kid students who been spoon fed all their lives, who know nothing about our working man hardships, coming to our town, trying to act all high and mighty for one day. Then tomorrow, you all go back to your prissy college campuses and your frat parties or your Morellyville mansions by the beach with your sailboats, your butlers and your noon tea parties, while we all got to wake up bright and early tomorrow to be back to work in your Daddys’ factories.”
“My Daddy doesn’t own a factory!” Denny pulled a flyer out of his back pant pocket. He unfolded it and laid it on their table. “Read it! It says if you believe in lowering national and local wage taxes, raising the minimum wage by at least a dollar an hour, implementing a national health and dental care system, we invite you to march with us and lend your support on Sunday, June 23rd. It doesn’t say anything about Communism! I don’t know where you got that we were Communist. This march is about fair wages, fair working conditions, health benefits and lowering the taxes for the working class. Yous should all be ashamed that you’re not out there marching with us.”
“Don’t be naïve kid! That’s how Communism starts! And once it gets a hold, it spreads like wild fire! Me and Randy fought in two wars, to protect our country and our country’s allies from the Commies. Joey over there lost his leg in the last war, while punks just like you fled from your college campuses and flocked to enter the monastery to avoid being drafted or fled the borders!”
“What do you know about nothing!” Someone else shouted. “Get a job! Raise some kids! Then maybe we’ll listen to your politics.”
“Ahh you’re hopeless!” Denny pulled out his wallet, reached inside and pulled out a ten dollar bill. “Here.” Den crumpled up the bill and tossed it on their table. “Buy yourselves another pitcher of ale on me. Drink away your sorrows while the rest of us are at least out there trying to make things better for you and your families!” He stomped off towards the door. “Bunch of drunks.”
“Hey Pinko! Here’s what we think of your money!” Denny turned to see the heavyset man lighting the ten dollar bill with a match. Denny stood in the doorway watching the last of his money burn as the patrons of the bar shouted. “Go home Red! Go home Commie!! Go home troublemaker! Go home to your Momma!” When the flaming currency burned the heavyset man’s fingers, Denny turned then exited the bar.
Out onto the sidewalk, Denny turned and jogged down the empty garbage strewn street. He caught up to the other marchers just as the end of the parade was leaving town.
“Hey! Slow down! Easy…pace yourself Man.” A chunky woman wearing a low cut bright flowery dress warned. “We still got more than seven miles to walk.” She held out a paper cup. “Want some ice chips?”
“Yeah thanks.” Denny held out his palm. The woman dumped a couple ice chips into his palm. Denny tossed the chips into his mouth and sucked on them.
“Now is the hottest time of the day.” She scooped a few ice chips out of the cup and rubbed them on her neck. Denny watched as the melting chips and moisture drops slid out of her hand and glided down her abundant cleavage. “The sun’s doing it’s most damage right now.”
“Uh huh.”
“You’re already getting a little sunburn. I have some lotion.” She smiled reaching into her handbag. “I’ll rub some on you.”
“Oh no. I don’t need…”
She pulled out a white tube. “Here hold this.” She handed him the cup of melting ice. He watched her twist off the cap then squeeze some cream out onto her fingertips. She rubbed the cream around on her fingers then ordered. “Hold still.” Den shut his eyes as she rubbed the lotion onto his forehead, cheeks, and nose. “Now that wasn’t so bad was it?” She squeezed some more cream into her hand then rubbed her palms together. She reached up and smoothed the lotion on his neck, then smoothed lotion down the exposed parts of both his arms and the backs of his hands. “There.” She smiled and took the ice cup back from him.
“Thanks.”
At the top of the hill they stopped for a moment and stared down at the long train of people in awe. “Wow, we still got a lot of people walking with us.”
“Yeah, looks like about seven or eight hundred left. We lost quite a few at that last stop in Dunkin. I saw them headin for the bus depot in droves.”
“You think it had anything to do with the rumors?”
“What rumors?” She stared at him.
“You didn’t hear anything about there being trouble waiting for us up ahead?”
“Waiting for us where?”
“They didn’t say?”
“What kind of trouble?”
“They didn’t really specify.”
“Ha, ha, ha…And you believed them?”
“Well.”
“Who told you this?”
“I was in a tavern bathroom and I over heard some guys talking.”
“Oh you overheard a couple of town drunks in a barroom bathroom and you believe them? They probably knew you were in there and were just putting you on.”
“Doesn’t it make you even a little bit nervous that there’s rumors floating around that there’s going to be trouble up ahead?”
“Listen I don’t care if everyone else drops out of this march, I’m going the whole damn way, all the way to City Hall! A Sherman tank couldn’t stop me from completing this march!”
“Wow!” The teen hippy girl in front of them turned her head around to acknowledge. “You guys really sound like you’re dedicated to the cause!”
“Save your praise Sweat Heart for someone who deserves it. Because, I’m not a super dedicated believer in this or any cause but my own.”
“Huh?”
“Then why are you so gung ho about walking the whole march?”
“Because I’m fat!”
“What?”
“That’s right, I’m fat and I know I’m fat and everyone who knows me knows I’m fat! And when I said I was going to walk this 25 mile march everyone I knew laughed at me, and nobody wanted to go with me.”
“Aww.”
“They said I was crazy. [“You’ll never make it.”] Well, I’m going to show them all that I did make it!”
“Aww, come here.” The young hippy girl held out her arms to the chunky woman.
“Let me give you a hug.” Denny watched them hug. “You’re not so heavy.”
“No one’s going to say ‘This fat girl couldn’t hack it’, or ‘The fat chick quit’. This is one fat chick who’s going all twenty five miles!” They continued to hug.
“You know, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“That’s easy for you to say, when you’re the beholder of this cute, luscious tiny body of yours, that all the guys go crazy over.”
“Hey, can I have a hug too?” Denny joked.
“Sure.” The ladies turned to him, then wrapped their arms around him from different sides. They all squeezed each other laughing.
“As comfortable as I am Ladies, and as much as I’d like to stay right here in the middle of you two, all night, I must point out that the parade’s leaving us behind.” They all turned to see the last of the marchers disappearing around the next bend. Denny took one hand of each of the giggling ladies and they all jogged to catch up to the rest of the marchers.
The hot sun blazed down. “How much longer to our next stop?”
“Brentwood is less than a mile down the road, thank God.” They walked on sweating.
A quarter of a mile down the road, the march came to a halt. “What’s going on?” Someone asked.
“There’s a police blockade around the corner.”
“Not again!”
“Didn’t we just go through this at Dunkin City?”
“Yes, but the police say, there’s a gathering of demonstrators up ahead protesting our march.”
“Oh jeez, everyone’s got to get in on the act, don’t they.”
“You try to do something good for people and this is the thanks you get.”
“See I told you there was going to be trouble.”
“Don’t start Denny. I really don’t want to hear about your friends in the bar bathroom again.” Liz the chunky woman sighed.
“They’re not my friends Liz. And this is what they were talking about, trouble.”
Word quickly came that the police wanted the marchers to turn around. “What! We’re not heading backwards!”
“Just for a few yards, to that corner back there.” An Oriental man pointed. “They’re going to take us into town via a different route, to avoid any commotion.”
“Come on Liz, Ellen.” Denny grasped the elbow of the two girls on each side of him and spun them around. “Well, one good thing is, we’re now in the front of the march instead of the back.” Den smiled.
“I like it in the back row. I feel like I’m on display up here.” Liz complained.
“March ladies!” Denny ordered. They walked to the corner then turned left. About another thirty yards ahead the road bared left again so they led the marchers in that direction. Two city blocks ahead they saw about twenty cops standing behind a few traffic cones. Behind the cops a small group of anti-march demonstrators were gathered, holding up signs which read, ‘Go home Commies!’ and ‘Die Marxist Pigs!’. When the anti-march demonstrators saw the marchers they started shouting obscenities!
“Woo!” Denny stopped marching. “They look angry!”
“Yeah, but we got them out numbered. Let’s keep going.” They continued to walk forward heads held up proudly and confidently. Quickly out of the alleys behind the cops poured more and more anti-march demonstrators.
“Uh oh.” Denny mumbled. “The word must have spread. They now know our new route.”
The marchers behind Denny and the girls urged the front lines to “Keep moving forward.” The twenty cops were having trouble holding back the quickly growing mob of angry anti-march demonstrators. Suddenly from around a corner flooded in about fifty policemen wielding clubs and wearing full riot gear.
“Thank God, the reinforcements are here.”
Soon there were more cops filtered in between the two opposing factions, but Denny could see more and more anti-march demonstrators gathering. A police officer walked over. “I suppose it won’t do any good to ask you all to call off your march and go home?”
“Hell no!” Someone shouted.
“Okay then. What I need you to do is to wait a few moments while my men get set up, then follow myself and a few officers who will lead you down this street to the right.” He pointed. “We’re going to take you into our town square by way of a different street.”
“Booo! Why can’t you just move those losers out of our way?”
“Now now. Let’s stay civil. There’s too many of them to move. Trust me this is the safest thing we can do for everyone involved.”
“Booo!”
“Let us through! Let us through!”
“Move those dirt bags out of our way!”
“Okay everyone.” The policeman interrupted. “I’ve just gotten the word that we’re clear to go. Follow me.”
Denny and the rest of the marchers followed the cop escort down the block. At the corner, they turned left. One block away they saw policemen lining both sides of the street. Behind the policemen, filling both sidewalks, stood angry, shouting, anti-march protestors shaking their fists in the air and cursing at the marchers.
The marchers began to sing the National Anthem, Flower of Scotland as loud as they could to annoy the people protesting their march and to drown out the obscenities that were being yelled at them. Every now and then a rock would be hurled at the marchers followed by an occasional bottle.
One marcher stooped down to pick up one of the stones. He threw it back, over throwing. The rock smashed a second story window raining glass down on the protestors. A whole slew of stones were then heaped at the marchers. “Throw their stones back at them” Some marcher shouted. “And aim for the windows!” Which is what the marchers immediately started doing. The glass rained down on the protestors making them madder and madder. Finally the protestors charged busting through the police lines and all hell broke lose. Fists flew and bottles were smashed over peoples heads. The protestors were better armed with sticks, clubs and bricks. The cops were over whelmed and outnumbered so most of them just stood around watching the beatings and huddling together to protect each other. The marchers found themselves running down the street being chased by angry protestors.
Denny shouted to the two girls beside him to run on ahead. He stopped turned then tackled a protestor who was chasing after the two girls with a club. They rolled around on the pavement wrestling for control of the club. Denny eventually got on top of the man winning the upper hand and was able to punch the man knocking him out only to be swarmed upon by three protestors who beat him with their sticks and kicked him until he curled up into a ball to protect himself. Eventually they figured they’d caused Denny enough pain and moved on to chase someone else.
Denny peeked his head up and saw a few yards away three men standing over a marcher who was lying on the pavement. Every time the marcher tried to pull himself up off the ground, one of the men kicked him back down, then they all stomped and beat him with their sticks. Denny forced himself to stand. He picked a discarded stick up off the ground and limped towards the group of men.
“NOOO!!!” Denny shouted swinging his stick hard at one attacker’s back. THUD! The attacker fell to his knees. Denny swung at the other two attackers shouting. “Get away from him!” They stepped back avoiding Denny’s swings, then swung their sticks back at him. Den blocked their blows with his stick, like a swordsman then swung at them again. Meanwhile the man Denny had first hit struggled to his feet and ran off. The other two assailants took another swing at Denny then suddenly just dropped their sticks turned and ran off too. Proud of himself Denny turned around smiling, to see a fireman aiming his water hose at him. BAM!!...Denny was hit in the chest by a powerful stream of water which knocked him off his feet. He landed with a thud on the ground. The cops had brought a few fire engines up the street and the firemen were using their water cannons to break up the rumble.
The water cannon quickly cleared the street of anti-march protestors, who ran off in all directions leaving soaking wet, beaten, wounded marchers lying on the ground or helping each other limp down the street. Finally the water was turned off and the police moved in to assist the wounded. “Stay on the ground, we have ambulances coming.” The cops advised. Denny heard the ambulances’ sirens a few blocks away, getting closer and louder. He stayed on the ground.
Heavy set, silver haired, General Norton Faberhard closed the folder in front of him. “Your agent’s report is very thorough Sidney.”
“Yes, Denny’s a good man Sir.” The nicely groomed, medium height, built and aged man with shoulder length, chestnut hair agreed.
“But I’m a little worried.” The General loosened his bowtie. “You’re man’s young, virtually a rookie, with hardly any real prior field experience. In his report, he writes with a real passion but there’s subtle overtones towards showing sympathy for the very protest marchers who he’s infiltrated.”
“Yes, it’s his youth, innocence, ideals and passion, which is precisely why I picked him for this assignment. He needs those traits in order to be able to infiltrate to the top echelon of their organization. They’d see right through him if we sent in anyone with less ideals.”
“You have to be careful that they don’t turn him on us and recruit him for real, for their own means?”
“I vouch for Denny one hundred percent Sir. Remember, as his report reflects, he was beaten pretty badly himself during the riot. He feels he has a real legitimate axe to grind with how the local police mishandled the situation. He claims they didn’t do enough to protect the marchers and after the violence broke out, the police just stood around and watched while marchers were seriously beaten. There is many other witnesses who collaborate his claims. Plus, two marchers died as a result of the beatings.”
“But doesn’t he understand that it’s only because he was beaten up that the others adopted him into their inner circle so quickly as one of their family?”
“Of course he realizes that being beaten up helped him establish credibility with the people he’s infiltrating. But that doesn’t excuse the local police from acting ineptly?”
“But he is clear that our job is not to monitor local police departments in foreign countries. There’s a lot more at stake here than blowing the whistle on a corrupt or inept small town police force. We’re charged with keeping a handle on national security for the United States. He’s got to look at the bigger picture.”
“Denny understands the bigger picture Sir. Denny’s going to make one hell of an agent, you’ll see.”
“Good. I’m trusting you’re judgment. I don’t have to stress how important it is, now more than ever, that we have reliable agents on the inside of every political organization out there.”
“Of course. It’s the only way for us to know beforehand that trouble is about to break out.”
As the General stood, Sidney Combs observed the buttons on the General’s pinstripe vest struggling to hold in his bulk. “Come on Sid, walk an old man up to the roof. I’m sure my helicopter must be ready by now.”
“Soon.” Answered the thin tattooed man standing to his left.
“But the flier says 10 AM.” Denny held up a folded, wrinkled, yellow leaflet then glanced at his watch. “It’s already five after 11.”
“Patience.” The skinny man advised as he twisted the wax end of his handlebar mustache into a point.
“But someone needs to take charge, get these people organized, get this show on the road.”
“Relax Man. Here.” The thin man held out a half smoked marijuana joint. “Have a puff.”
Denny took the joint and held it to his lips. He inhaled half heartedly. “Thanks.” He leaned, reaching to hand the smoke back.
“No more for me.” The thin man motioned. “Pass it down the line Dude.”
“Okay.” Denny turned to his right, tapped the young, hippy chick standing next to him on her shoulder, smiled at her then held out the joint.
“Thanks.” The short, dirty blond smiled taking the joint. Denny watched her chest expand showing more of her cleavage as she inhaled. He continued to stare as she held her breath letting the weed work its magic.
Denny turned back to the thin guy. “So you attend a lot of these demonstrations?”
“Yeah. I like to lend my support to just about any cause that’s anti the establishment Man: Save the whales, save the dolphins, don’t pollute, save the ozone, down with corporate greed, peace, love, no war, more war! All that crap, you know.”
Den chuckled. “How many protest marches you been to?”
“This is my twenty fifth.”
“Wow. So it doesn’t really matter what the march is about, if there’s a march, you’re there.”
“Don’t laugh. These gatherings are intoxicating. They can be addictive. Look at that.” He pointed to a couple of teenage girls sitting on a blanket wearing tube tops, tight shorts and sandals and passing around a bottle of wine. “Something powerful happens Man, when so many people from all walks of life come together for a single purpose. Look around. We got folks from both sexes, many different religions, all age groups, skin colors, political parties, all mingling together, smiling and having a good time. You don’t see a gathering like this very often.” He glanced down at Denny’s shoes. “This is a twenty five mile march. It’s going to take all day. If you make it the whole walk wearin those shoes, you’ll have blisters on top of your blisters, and you’ll be in pain. Then the speeches start, and they could go all night, along with the sing-a-longs. If you’re still with us, and don’t quit…” He said it like a challenge. “I guarantee, you’ll be a changed man. You’ll either vow to never go on another protest march again, or you’ll be hooked like me.” He smiled at a couple of girls walking past then held his fingers up in a V, displaying the classic peace sign.
The girls chuckled.
Bang! Crash!..Bang! Crash! A group of about fifteen young 12-13 year old drummer boys started banging on their drums and slamming their cymbals together as they pushed their way out of the crowd, forming three lines in the center of Sullivan Avenue. “Here we go, Mr. Impatient!” The thin man smirked. Denny watched as people filed in behind the drumming youths who led the way drumming and marching down the wide, four lanes of Sullivan Ave.
Spectators lining the street and loved ones of the marchers snapped photographs of the marchers as they passed cheering the marchers on. “We’re behind you guys 100%!” One man yelled.
“Don’t stop till you get to City Hall!” Shouted another fellow.
“Down with taxes!” People shouted. “Raise the minimum wage! Unify healthcare! Strength to the working man!”
“Good luck!” A woman bellowed.
“We’re proud of all of you!” Added another.
To Denny, everyone seemed so unorganized, even silly. “Shouldn’t everyone try to step together at the same time, right, left, right, left, or something?”
“Ha, ha.” The thin man laughed. “This ain’t the army Dude, and it ain’t no Thanksgiving Day Parade. It’s a protest march baby. You can walk, skip, jump, hop or dance down the street to your own damn beat, if ya want ta. You can walk five blocks then decide to quit, if ya want ta. The only rule is there is no rules.”
Denny watched as a group of about forty young men wearing yellow t-shirts forced their way into the marchers around mid-parade, led by two trim young men carrying a giant yellow banner that stretched almost across the entire street. “They’re from the University of Prafe’.” Informed the thin mustached man. “Members of The Young Liberals’ Political Debate Club.” He muttered condescendingly. Den noticed most of the male students had long hair past their shoulders or a ponytail and almost all held an open beer can in one hand and a long cigar in the other, some wore sandals and most sported beards and beaded necklaces. “Bunch of college beatniks.” The thin man shook his head un-approvingly.
A slightly smaller group of marchers, all wearing red t-shirts, joined the march next. Stepping onto the road they all began singing a hymn in Spanish and clapping along. “They’re the Latin Socialist Group.” The tall man enlightened. “I don’t know what the Spanish words mean but I must admit their song’s got kind of a catchy tune to it.”
Someone tapped Den on his right shoulder. Den turned expecting to see the cute hippie girl but was confronted by a huge 370-400 pound sweaty unshaven Caucasian man who smiled and held out his big left palm showing a handful of cut purple ribbon pieces. “Want to pin one on your collar? Everyone’s wearing them.”
“Thanks.” Denny took two pieces of ribbon.
“You’ll need pins.” The heavy guy held open his other fat palm revealing a bunch of small safety pins.
Denny took two pins. “Thank you.” Den turned back to his left to hand a purple ribbon and pin to his new thin mustached friend but the thin man had disappeared replaced by an old toothless woman who quickly snatched the extra ribbon and pin out of Denny’s hand. Denny’s eyes scanned the immediate crowd but he couldn’t spot the thin mustached man he’d been talking to for the past twenty minutes. He felt sad that he hadn’t even asked the man his name.
“Come on, move along” Someone shoved Denny slightly from behind. Like being trapped inside a herd of cattle Denny was forced to walk with the crowd cramped in all around him. As he stepped, every now and then he would hop up stretching his neck up to glance around trying to spot his missing friend.
As they trudged down the city street, the spectators cheered, shouting encouragements from doorways, metal fire escape balconies, and second, third, and fourth story windows. Sunbeams blazed sporadically through the clouded sky. Drunks poured out of bars to join the parade, mingling and sharing a few laughs and antics with the marchers before dropping out after a few blocks to enter another bar.
At South Derry Street, the parade turned right then half way down the block came to a halt. A loud rowdy party was going on, up on a 2nd story balcony. Inebriated partiers were tossing handfuls of confetti over the balcony onto the heads of the marchers to the cheers of the marchers and the crowd. The drunken partiers shouted their support for the march to the marchers. A few young women dancing to the loud music on the balcony reached under their shirts pulled off their bras, twirled their bras over their heads then tossed the lingerie down to the cheering young men of the march. One woman tossed a pair of panties down to the crowd. Another tossed a stocking.
The young men of the parade started to chant. “Take it off! Take it all off!” The girls began lifting their shirts up, showing a quick glimpse of their breasts then quickly covering them back up. Denny heard a police whistle. Turning Denny saw two police officers rush into the building through the downstairs side door. The girls on the balcony were now completely bare-chested, twirling their blouses over their heads to the delight of the males in the crowd below.
The police officers pushed their way through the partiers onto the balcony. “Booo!...Booo!” The crowd complained as the topless girls were dragged inside the apartment. Excitement over, the parade began to move again.
At the edge of the City, It was quite a sight watching the mass of people squeeze together to pack the two narrow lanes of the General Uzo Bridge which crossed the Packatiny River. It took twenty five full minutes before the last marcher crossed the bridge as the parade headed off winding into the Scottish countryside to tackle the next three miles of trek through farmland and woods.
The fields lining the road were planted with either tall wheat or green corn husks. Every now and then they walked past a lone wooden plank home with a muddy front yard due to the family goat eating up all the grass, or a group of two or three small shacks with a wire fence pen out front filled with muddy hogs or chickens. The locals did their best to go about their chores completely ignoring the over a thousand crazy city folk, students and foreigners parading noisily down their usually quiet, country, two lane, back road. But some gave in and watched shyly, and curiously, or stared amused from the safety of their front wooden porches.
Eventually the marchers organized enough to all hold hands and sing the Scottish national anthem, Flower of Scotland as they walked. A few attempts were made to sing freedom songs including Bob Dylan’s ‘Blowin in the wind’. “How many roads must a man walk down before they call him a man…” But not enough marchers knew the words. Everyone shared their cigarettes, taking a drag then passing them down the line. It was a joyous time.
At about two and a half miles outside the Dunkin City limits they came to a small church. Fold out tables were set up along the side of the road covered with cups of water. Denny thirstily drank two cups, then carried a third cup with him to savor as he rejoined the walkers. Around the next curve in the road a group of women wearing Quaker style bonnets were offering the marchers unpeeled oranges. Denny took two greedily. “Thank you all very much.” The women smiled at him but said nothing. He thought he heard them giggling as he rejoined the parade.
At Four Points Junction, where Route 3 and Rural Route 9 cross, about a half mile from Dunkin City word came to the marchers that the police were planning to blockade the march, stopping them from walking through downtown Dunkin. “They can’t do that!” Denny heard someone arguing. “We got approval from the City council to march down Commerce Street today. We legally registered this walk over two months ago!”
“Our route was well publicized in all the newspapers. We said we were marching down Commerce Street. Everyone’s expecting us to come down Commerce Street! I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow some beaurocrat to stop me from marching straight down Commerce street!”
“We’ll just walk right through them!” Someone else shouted.
“If they try to stop us, there’s going to be trouble!” Another threatened.
Someone over turned a barrel and a woman climbed up to stand on top of it. Denny recognized the petite, spitfire from yesterdays TV news interview advertising the march. She was Faye Dannerin one of the marches organizers. She addressed the marchers. “We need to take a vote. We can change our course now and walk around Dunkin City via Rural Route Nine South, by-passing downtown Dunkin City altogether, then continue on as planned, which will take us about forty five minutes out of our way. Which really isn’t too bad. Or, we can continue to march towards the center of Dunkin City, and risk being stopped by the police?”
“March on!” Everyone shouted in unison. “March on!”
“Then we’ll proceed as planned!” The woman acknowledged then climbed off the barrel.
“How are they going to stop us?”
“I got friends planning to meet up with us in Dunkin to join the march.”
“We’ll march right over them!” People laughed. And the parade proceeded as planned.
“They wouldn’t dare try stopping us!” But when the march rounded the curve at Dead Man’s Cavern, Denny saw, about a quarter of a mile up the road, rows and rows of husky policemen, wearing full gray riot gear, and wielding fat wood batons, blocking the road, like a small army brigade.
The parade came to a halt as the marchers stared silently in awe at the police barricade. “Move the kids and the women to the back of the parade.” Someone suggested. “We can’t afford them getting hurt if this gets violent.”
“We don’t want any trouble!” The women reminded, as they hustled to drag the youngsters out of the way of the men.
“What do we do now?”
“Let’s go see what they have to say.”
“We’ll walk right up to them, but nobody start anything unless they start first!
Remember we’re a peaceful march!”
“If they want trouble, we can give them trouble!” One angry man yelled.
Some men stooped by the side of the road to pick up stones for weapons, while other men jogged all the way to the edge of the woods to break branches off of small trees then they jogged back to join the parade.
As the marchers approached the police wall, the marchers all crowded together joining hands, some locking elbows with the marcher next to them for strength and emotional support, forming an interwoven human mesh chain that continued to move forward slowly. The column stopped ten yards away from the so far, silent, stone faced policemen. The marchers stared the cops in the eyes, as a few newspaper photographers on the sides of the road snapped photographs of both groups of men.
Finally a lone, gray haired police officer stepped forward lifting a bullhorn to his mouth. “I’m Sergeant Dilworthy of the Dunkin City Police Department. This road is closed to pedestrians today. I’m ordering you all to turn around now! And disperse peacefully, before anyone gets hurt.”
“Get out of our way!” Came the immediate reply from the protestors.
“We have a permit to march down Commerce Street!” A stocky bald man wearing a tank top to show off his colorful tattoos covering both arms shouted. “We’ve walked over seven miles to get here and we don’t intend on turning back now!”
“YEAH!”
“Let us through! Let us through!” The marchers began to chant.
“Quiet down! Quiet down!” Dilworthy ordered. “Article 17 Section P of the Dunkin City Penal Code, which has been in effect for seventy three years, expressly prohibits public demonstrations of any kind inside the city limits on Sundays during the month of June.”
“That’s bogus!”
“Booo!!..”
“Well nobody said anything about any seventy year old Penal Code two months ago, when we legally applied for and were legally granted a permit to march through the center of town today! Sunday June 23rd!” The bald tattooed man argued.
“YEAH!”
“Let us through! Let us through!”
“I’m going to count to fifteen, after which anyone who hasn’t started disbanding is risking being arrested!” Dilworthy threatened.
“What are you going to do, arrest all of us?” Someone countered. The marchers laughed defiantly.
“I’m counting!” Dilworthy informed. “One!…Two!…”
“Let us through! Let us through!”
“Three!…Four!…”
“So far it’s been a peaceful march, without one incident of violence. If any of your men raises a hand against any of these marchers Dilworthy, I’m holding you personally responsible!” The stocky bald man challenged.
“Five!…Six!…”
“I have friends in high places Dilworthy. I’m warning you! You better think twice before you tell your men to act!”
“Me and my men have our orders and we’re prepared to do whatever we have to do to carryout those orders!”
“Well we’re not budging!” The marchers stared the policemen down.
“I’m still counting! Seven!…Eight!…”
“Everyone sit down! Right where you are, sit on the street and lock arms!” All the marchers sat in the middle of the road. “If they want to move us, well make it as difficult as possible!” Some marchers laid down prone flat on their backs.
Dilworthy and his policemen stomped their heavy boots as they walked forward but when they got within striking distance of the sitting and lying marchers they were at a loss as to what to do. The police were better equipped and better trained but they were still out numbered twenty-five to one. They couldn’t just start grabbing and dragging the marchers off the road one at a time. It would take the fifty cops all night to clear the road of a thousand stubborn protestors. They may have wanted to start beating the protestors with their billy clubs until they moved off the roadway, but with newspaper reporters and photographers present that was out of the question. Especially since the protestors were lying and sitting on the pavement passively.
“We’ll sit here all night!” Someone shouted. “And all day tomorrow too!”
Holding hands and linking arms, the protestors started to sing the national anthem, the Flower of Scotland. All the police could do is watch frustrated.
The back end of the parade stretched behind the last curve in the road. Some of the annoyed marchers near the back of the parade, decided to split the parade in half and started leading the protestors into the woods.
“You coming then?” Someone tugged the back of Denny’s shirt.
“Where?” Denny watched his fellow marchers traipsing through the vegetation leading into the trees.
“The idea is…” An older man explained. “While the marchers in the front of our parade keep the police occupied, the rest of us marchers are going to cut through the woods and come back out onto the road on the other side of the police barricade behind the police.”
“Oh no, I’m staying right here. My parents will kill me if I get arrested.”
“Alright, suit yourself dude.”
It took five minutes for the marchers to trudge their way through the forest. With a roar they burst through the shrubbery and flooded the road about fifty yards past the police blockade. “YEAH!!!!” They cheered taunting the cops.
The sitting, lying demonstrators quickly stood up and cheered their comrades on, waving their fists in the air as still more demonstrators poured out of the woods. “Let them through! Let them through!” Became the chant.
The cops quickly found themselves trapped in the middle of a mob.
“Let us through! Let us through!” The marchers in front of the police barricade chanted.
“Let them through! Let them through!” Chanted the marchers behind the police line.
“Quiet! Quiet!” Ordered Sergeant Dilworthy with his bullhorn.
“Well, with so many of you already past us, I guess there’s really no point in holding the rest of you marchers back anymore.” Sergeant Dilworthy conceded followed by cheers of triumph from the crowd. “You win this time, but just make sure you don’t cause any trouble in my town! Or I’ll hunt every last one of you Pagans down!”
“Yeah!” The crowd cheered.
“I’ve been trying to tell you Sergeant.” The stocky tattooed man stated smirking.
“We’re a peaceful march!” He laughed.
“Move aside boys. Let them pass!” The cops parted, moving to line the shoulders on both sides of the road. The marchers quickly marched between the cops dancing and skipping to taunt the police while celebrating their victory against the establishment.
“Hurry up!” The marchers encouraged each other to move faster towards the city.
“We’re still about a half a mile outside of town.” Someone warned. “If the cops radio ahead they can form another blockade keeping us out.” Denny started to jog along with the rest of his fellow marchers. “Hustle! Hustle!” They encouraged each other.
As the marchers approached Dunkin City they discovered the police had radioed ahead for back-up enforcements, but this time it wasn’t to blockade the march. The cops lined the street, they claimed, as a precaution to insure that no trouble broke out between the citizens of Dunkin and the marchers. They were there to make sure the marchers were safe. There had been rumors that some political groups, apposed to the march, were planning a protest rally against the march, at some point, designed to bring the march to a halt. The City of Dunkin simply didn’t want any trouble in their town.
The townies greeted the marchers with open arms, tossing cigarettes to them from apartment windows and the sidewalks. Denny followed a group of marchers into the first pub he saw, Lawson’s Tavern, where there was already a long line formed in front of the bathroom door. “The bathroom’s for paying customers only.” Informed the large barrel shaped barkeep smirking as he dried a beer mug on his apron.
Denny approached the bar. “Then pour me a shot of the house brandy please, and another round for my friend here.” Den pointed his thumb at the old rummy sitting sleepily hunched over on a stool to his left.
“That’s the spirit Laddie.” The bartender smiled, reached for two shot glasses, then turned them right side up on the bar.
“Thank you son.” The old rummy chuckled picking up his shot glass. “God bless Scotland!” He tilted his head back then tossed the whole shot full of liquor into the back of his mouth.
“To your health!” Denny shouted, then slugged his brandy down in one swig. “OH!” The cheap liquor burned as it slid down his throat. The bartender and the old dude laughed heartily as Denny coughed and choked as he shuffled over to join the end of the bathroom line, his eyes tearing from the strong liquor.
In the bathroom, Denny shuffled up close to the urinal, unzipped, then started relieving himself. He heard two guys near the front of the bathroom by the sinks talking. “So did you hear the rumors that there’s going to be some trouble up ahead?”
“What kind of trouble can there be?”
“I don’t know, but everywhere we go in this town somebody’s warning us to be careful. Give up this silly march idea! Go home to our own towns and families before it’s too late.”
“They’re just messin with your head Man. Tryin to mess with your karma.”
“I don’t know.”
“People get scared by anything that’s different. We marchers confuse them. They don’t know what to make of a horde of young folks who infest their tiny little town for twenty minutes tops, make a lot of noise, buy up all their potato chips, junk food and cigarettes, use their bathrooms then head off walking to the next town.”
“Yeah I guess.”
“Think about it. We got more than a thousand people marching with us. They’d need to bring a small army if they wanted to mess with this many of us.”
“Yeah, there is strength in numbers huh.”
“The cops tried to stop us, they failed didn’t they.”
“I guess.”
“Come on, we better get back to the march before they leave without us. I hate the thought of being stuck in this two bit town any longer than I have to.” Denny heard the door slam behind them. He zipped up then quickly went to the sink to wash up. He washed his hands, splashed water on his face, sighed, then wet his comb and ran it through his long hair.
Denny re-entered the barroom. “Hey is that one of them thar communist hippies from the march?” Someone with a Southern Irish accent asked.
Denny ignored the man, walked over to the bar, and slapped a dollar down on the counter in front of the bartender. “Thanks for your hospitality Sir.”
“Well, come back anytime kid.” The bartender smiled. Denny turned then headed towards the door.
“Hey Pinko!” The heavyset man with the southern Irish drawl stood up and ordered. “Why don’t cha go on home tu ya Mommy! Ha! Ha! Ha!” He laughed.
“Yeah we don’t need no long haired, Commies in our town!” Another fella added.
Denny headed towards their round table, which was filled with six gruff men. “We’re marching for all of your benefit.”
“Don’t do us no favors Pinko!”
“Who asked you University Pansies to march for us?” One of the more intoxicated men slurred.
“You losers don’t even know what this march is about, do you?”
“I know it’s about a bunch of spoiled rich kid students who been spoon fed all their lives, who know nothing about our working man hardships, coming to our town, trying to act all high and mighty for one day. Then tomorrow, you all go back to your prissy college campuses and your frat parties or your Morellyville mansions by the beach with your sailboats, your butlers and your noon tea parties, while we all got to wake up bright and early tomorrow to be back to work in your Daddys’ factories.”
“My Daddy doesn’t own a factory!” Denny pulled a flyer out of his back pant pocket. He unfolded it and laid it on their table. “Read it! It says if you believe in lowering national and local wage taxes, raising the minimum wage by at least a dollar an hour, implementing a national health and dental care system, we invite you to march with us and lend your support on Sunday, June 23rd. It doesn’t say anything about Communism! I don’t know where you got that we were Communist. This march is about fair wages, fair working conditions, health benefits and lowering the taxes for the working class. Yous should all be ashamed that you’re not out there marching with us.”
“Don’t be naïve kid! That’s how Communism starts! And once it gets a hold, it spreads like wild fire! Me and Randy fought in two wars, to protect our country and our country’s allies from the Commies. Joey over there lost his leg in the last war, while punks just like you fled from your college campuses and flocked to enter the monastery to avoid being drafted or fled the borders!”
“What do you know about nothing!” Someone else shouted. “Get a job! Raise some kids! Then maybe we’ll listen to your politics.”
“Ahh you’re hopeless!” Denny pulled out his wallet, reached inside and pulled out a ten dollar bill. “Here.” Den crumpled up the bill and tossed it on their table. “Buy yourselves another pitcher of ale on me. Drink away your sorrows while the rest of us are at least out there trying to make things better for you and your families!” He stomped off towards the door. “Bunch of drunks.”
“Hey Pinko! Here’s what we think of your money!” Denny turned to see the heavyset man lighting the ten dollar bill with a match. Denny stood in the doorway watching the last of his money burn as the patrons of the bar shouted. “Go home Red! Go home Commie!! Go home troublemaker! Go home to your Momma!” When the flaming currency burned the heavyset man’s fingers, Denny turned then exited the bar.
Out onto the sidewalk, Denny turned and jogged down the empty garbage strewn street. He caught up to the other marchers just as the end of the parade was leaving town.
“Hey! Slow down! Easy…pace yourself Man.” A chunky woman wearing a low cut bright flowery dress warned. “We still got more than seven miles to walk.” She held out a paper cup. “Want some ice chips?”
“Yeah thanks.” Denny held out his palm. The woman dumped a couple ice chips into his palm. Denny tossed the chips into his mouth and sucked on them.
“Now is the hottest time of the day.” She scooped a few ice chips out of the cup and rubbed them on her neck. Denny watched as the melting chips and moisture drops slid out of her hand and glided down her abundant cleavage. “The sun’s doing it’s most damage right now.”
“Uh huh.”
“You’re already getting a little sunburn. I have some lotion.” She smiled reaching into her handbag. “I’ll rub some on you.”
“Oh no. I don’t need…”
She pulled out a white tube. “Here hold this.” She handed him the cup of melting ice. He watched her twist off the cap then squeeze some cream out onto her fingertips. She rubbed the cream around on her fingers then ordered. “Hold still.” Den shut his eyes as she rubbed the lotion onto his forehead, cheeks, and nose. “Now that wasn’t so bad was it?” She squeezed some more cream into her hand then rubbed her palms together. She reached up and smoothed the lotion on his neck, then smoothed lotion down the exposed parts of both his arms and the backs of his hands. “There.” She smiled and took the ice cup back from him.
“Thanks.”
At the top of the hill they stopped for a moment and stared down at the long train of people in awe. “Wow, we still got a lot of people walking with us.”
“Yeah, looks like about seven or eight hundred left. We lost quite a few at that last stop in Dunkin. I saw them headin for the bus depot in droves.”
“You think it had anything to do with the rumors?”
“What rumors?” She stared at him.
“You didn’t hear anything about there being trouble waiting for us up ahead?”
“Waiting for us where?”
“They didn’t say?”
“What kind of trouble?”
“They didn’t really specify.”
“Ha, ha, ha…And you believed them?”
“Well.”
“Who told you this?”
“I was in a tavern bathroom and I over heard some guys talking.”
“Oh you overheard a couple of town drunks in a barroom bathroom and you believe them? They probably knew you were in there and were just putting you on.”
“Doesn’t it make you even a little bit nervous that there’s rumors floating around that there’s going to be trouble up ahead?”
“Listen I don’t care if everyone else drops out of this march, I’m going the whole damn way, all the way to City Hall! A Sherman tank couldn’t stop me from completing this march!”
“Wow!” The teen hippy girl in front of them turned her head around to acknowledge. “You guys really sound like you’re dedicated to the cause!”
“Save your praise Sweat Heart for someone who deserves it. Because, I’m not a super dedicated believer in this or any cause but my own.”
“Huh?”
“Then why are you so gung ho about walking the whole march?”
“Because I’m fat!”
“What?”
“That’s right, I’m fat and I know I’m fat and everyone who knows me knows I’m fat! And when I said I was going to walk this 25 mile march everyone I knew laughed at me, and nobody wanted to go with me.”
“Aww.”
“They said I was crazy. [“You’ll never make it.”] Well, I’m going to show them all that I did make it!”
“Aww, come here.” The young hippy girl held out her arms to the chunky woman.
“Let me give you a hug.” Denny watched them hug. “You’re not so heavy.”
“No one’s going to say ‘This fat girl couldn’t hack it’, or ‘The fat chick quit’. This is one fat chick who’s going all twenty five miles!” They continued to hug.
“You know, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
“That’s easy for you to say, when you’re the beholder of this cute, luscious tiny body of yours, that all the guys go crazy over.”
“Hey, can I have a hug too?” Denny joked.
“Sure.” The ladies turned to him, then wrapped their arms around him from different sides. They all squeezed each other laughing.
“As comfortable as I am Ladies, and as much as I’d like to stay right here in the middle of you two, all night, I must point out that the parade’s leaving us behind.” They all turned to see the last of the marchers disappearing around the next bend. Denny took one hand of each of the giggling ladies and they all jogged to catch up to the rest of the marchers.
The hot sun blazed down. “How much longer to our next stop?”
“Brentwood is less than a mile down the road, thank God.” They walked on sweating.
A quarter of a mile down the road, the march came to a halt. “What’s going on?” Someone asked.
“There’s a police blockade around the corner.”
“Not again!”
“Didn’t we just go through this at Dunkin City?”
“Yes, but the police say, there’s a gathering of demonstrators up ahead protesting our march.”
“Oh jeez, everyone’s got to get in on the act, don’t they.”
“You try to do something good for people and this is the thanks you get.”
“See I told you there was going to be trouble.”
“Don’t start Denny. I really don’t want to hear about your friends in the bar bathroom again.” Liz the chunky woman sighed.
“They’re not my friends Liz. And this is what they were talking about, trouble.”
Word quickly came that the police wanted the marchers to turn around. “What! We’re not heading backwards!”
“Just for a few yards, to that corner back there.” An Oriental man pointed. “They’re going to take us into town via a different route, to avoid any commotion.”
“Come on Liz, Ellen.” Denny grasped the elbow of the two girls on each side of him and spun them around. “Well, one good thing is, we’re now in the front of the march instead of the back.” Den smiled.
“I like it in the back row. I feel like I’m on display up here.” Liz complained.
“March ladies!” Denny ordered. They walked to the corner then turned left. About another thirty yards ahead the road bared left again so they led the marchers in that direction. Two city blocks ahead they saw about twenty cops standing behind a few traffic cones. Behind the cops a small group of anti-march demonstrators were gathered, holding up signs which read, ‘Go home Commies!’ and ‘Die Marxist Pigs!’. When the anti-march demonstrators saw the marchers they started shouting obscenities!
“Woo!” Denny stopped marching. “They look angry!”
“Yeah, but we got them out numbered. Let’s keep going.” They continued to walk forward heads held up proudly and confidently. Quickly out of the alleys behind the cops poured more and more anti-march demonstrators.
“Uh oh.” Denny mumbled. “The word must have spread. They now know our new route.”
The marchers behind Denny and the girls urged the front lines to “Keep moving forward.” The twenty cops were having trouble holding back the quickly growing mob of angry anti-march demonstrators. Suddenly from around a corner flooded in about fifty policemen wielding clubs and wearing full riot gear.
“Thank God, the reinforcements are here.”
Soon there were more cops filtered in between the two opposing factions, but Denny could see more and more anti-march demonstrators gathering. A police officer walked over. “I suppose it won’t do any good to ask you all to call off your march and go home?”
“Hell no!” Someone shouted.
“Okay then. What I need you to do is to wait a few moments while my men get set up, then follow myself and a few officers who will lead you down this street to the right.” He pointed. “We’re going to take you into our town square by way of a different street.”
“Booo! Why can’t you just move those losers out of our way?”
“Now now. Let’s stay civil. There’s too many of them to move. Trust me this is the safest thing we can do for everyone involved.”
“Booo!”
“Let us through! Let us through!”
“Move those dirt bags out of our way!”
“Okay everyone.” The policeman interrupted. “I’ve just gotten the word that we’re clear to go. Follow me.”
Denny and the rest of the marchers followed the cop escort down the block. At the corner, they turned left. One block away they saw policemen lining both sides of the street. Behind the policemen, filling both sidewalks, stood angry, shouting, anti-march protestors shaking their fists in the air and cursing at the marchers.
The marchers began to sing the National Anthem, Flower of Scotland as loud as they could to annoy the people protesting their march and to drown out the obscenities that were being yelled at them. Every now and then a rock would be hurled at the marchers followed by an occasional bottle.
One marcher stooped down to pick up one of the stones. He threw it back, over throwing. The rock smashed a second story window raining glass down on the protestors. A whole slew of stones were then heaped at the marchers. “Throw their stones back at them” Some marcher shouted. “And aim for the windows!” Which is what the marchers immediately started doing. The glass rained down on the protestors making them madder and madder. Finally the protestors charged busting through the police lines and all hell broke lose. Fists flew and bottles were smashed over peoples heads. The protestors were better armed with sticks, clubs and bricks. The cops were over whelmed and outnumbered so most of them just stood around watching the beatings and huddling together to protect each other. The marchers found themselves running down the street being chased by angry protestors.
Denny shouted to the two girls beside him to run on ahead. He stopped turned then tackled a protestor who was chasing after the two girls with a club. They rolled around on the pavement wrestling for control of the club. Denny eventually got on top of the man winning the upper hand and was able to punch the man knocking him out only to be swarmed upon by three protestors who beat him with their sticks and kicked him until he curled up into a ball to protect himself. Eventually they figured they’d caused Denny enough pain and moved on to chase someone else.
Denny peeked his head up and saw a few yards away three men standing over a marcher who was lying on the pavement. Every time the marcher tried to pull himself up off the ground, one of the men kicked him back down, then they all stomped and beat him with their sticks. Denny forced himself to stand. He picked a discarded stick up off the ground and limped towards the group of men.
“NOOO!!!” Denny shouted swinging his stick hard at one attacker’s back. THUD! The attacker fell to his knees. Denny swung at the other two attackers shouting. “Get away from him!” They stepped back avoiding Denny’s swings, then swung their sticks back at him. Den blocked their blows with his stick, like a swordsman then swung at them again. Meanwhile the man Denny had first hit struggled to his feet and ran off. The other two assailants took another swing at Denny then suddenly just dropped their sticks turned and ran off too. Proud of himself Denny turned around smiling, to see a fireman aiming his water hose at him. BAM!!...Denny was hit in the chest by a powerful stream of water which knocked him off his feet. He landed with a thud on the ground. The cops had brought a few fire engines up the street and the firemen were using their water cannons to break up the rumble.
The water cannon quickly cleared the street of anti-march protestors, who ran off in all directions leaving soaking wet, beaten, wounded marchers lying on the ground or helping each other limp down the street. Finally the water was turned off and the police moved in to assist the wounded. “Stay on the ground, we have ambulances coming.” The cops advised. Denny heard the ambulances’ sirens a few blocks away, getting closer and louder. He stayed on the ground.
Heavy set, silver haired, General Norton Faberhard closed the folder in front of him. “Your agent’s report is very thorough Sidney.”
“Yes, Denny’s a good man Sir.” The nicely groomed, medium height, built and aged man with shoulder length, chestnut hair agreed.
“But I’m a little worried.” The General loosened his bowtie. “You’re man’s young, virtually a rookie, with hardly any real prior field experience. In his report, he writes with a real passion but there’s subtle overtones towards showing sympathy for the very protest marchers who he’s infiltrated.”
“Yes, it’s his youth, innocence, ideals and passion, which is precisely why I picked him for this assignment. He needs those traits in order to be able to infiltrate to the top echelon of their organization. They’d see right through him if we sent in anyone with less ideals.”
“You have to be careful that they don’t turn him on us and recruit him for real, for their own means?”
“I vouch for Denny one hundred percent Sir. Remember, as his report reflects, he was beaten pretty badly himself during the riot. He feels he has a real legitimate axe to grind with how the local police mishandled the situation. He claims they didn’t do enough to protect the marchers and after the violence broke out, the police just stood around and watched while marchers were seriously beaten. There is many other witnesses who collaborate his claims. Plus, two marchers died as a result of the beatings.”
“But doesn’t he understand that it’s only because he was beaten up that the others adopted him into their inner circle so quickly as one of their family?”
“Of course he realizes that being beaten up helped him establish credibility with the people he’s infiltrating. But that doesn’t excuse the local police from acting ineptly?”
“But he is clear that our job is not to monitor local police departments in foreign countries. There’s a lot more at stake here than blowing the whistle on a corrupt or inept small town police force. We’re charged with keeping a handle on national security for the United States. He’s got to look at the bigger picture.”
“Denny understands the bigger picture Sir. Denny’s going to make one hell of an agent, you’ll see.”
“Good. I’m trusting you’re judgment. I don’t have to stress how important it is, now more than ever, that we have reliable agents on the inside of every political organization out there.”
“Of course. It’s the only way for us to know beforehand that trouble is about to break out.”
As the General stood, Sidney Combs observed the buttons on the General’s pinstripe vest struggling to hold in his bulk. “Come on Sid, walk an old man up to the roof. I’m sure my helicopter must be ready by now.”
I Quit! by Stu Leventhal
"I quit!” Twenty year old, Archibald Radcliff stormed into his boss’s office flexing his upper arms nervously. As he stood waiting for a reply, he ran his fingers through his long, sloppy, unkempt, wheat colored hair that the Hispanic girls in the factory seemed to love.
“Excuse me?” Slightly balding Manny Griffin dropped the handful of papers he’d been reading onto his desktop then lifted his wire rimmed glasses off his eyes to squint suspiciously at his fairly newly appointed shift manager of about six months.
“I quit.” Archibald repeated rubbing his five o’clock shadow.
“Are you sure you want to do this son? Jobs are hard to find right now with this economy being the way it is.”
“First of all, I’m not your son.” Archie tossed a ring of keys onto the desktop.
“You want to sit down and talk about it first, Kid?”
“I’m not your kid either!” Archie turned indignantly then stomped out of his boss’s office. In the hall, he felt the eyes of all his co-workers, standing in line at the time clock, watching him. A few snickered. The others quickly looked away before he could make eye contact. “Awe, to hell with them!” He thought. “I’m doing this for them and they don’t even care.” Not that he had expected or wanted any applause.
Archie strolled, acting casual, towards the open loading dock doors. His fingers unbuttoned the top two buttons of his gray uniform shirt. He pulled the 100% polyester shirt up and over his head. He rolled the garment up in his hands then tossed it unceremoniously into a waste can.
Shirtless the young man stepped out onto the loading dock immediately feeling the warm, soothing sunlight on his bare arms and shoulders. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pants pocket, tapped out a stick then stuck the filter end of the tube in his mouth. “Oh boy, what am I going to do now?” He wondered, as his hands searched his side pants pockets looking for his lighter. “And what is my Pop going to say when I tell him I walked out?”
Archie lit his cigarette, took a drag then headed down the stairs. He smoked as he walked through the parking lot, through the open gate then past the grassy knoll with the big brick sign that read McGondell Brothers Manufacturing Company. Old man, Richie McGondell, The original founder of the rubber plant was long gone. And as for his two brother’s Seth and Wyatt, they had sold their Old man’s legacy, down the river, for a small fortune over twenty years ago to Redberry Rubber. Since then the plant had changed hands three more times. Now, Jetco Tech owned it and they were the largest rubber and plastics Conglomerate in the world. Still Archie couldn’t help wondering what Old Man, McGondell would have thought of him for walking out today. Archie remembered his motto that hung underneath the old capitalist’s, sea captain’s portrait, in the lunchroom. “In the world of business, status quo equals death.”
“Well, status quo certainly describes my life since I came to work here over three years ago. Not much has changed.” Archie thought as he headed down the long driveway, taking a puff off his cigarette. “Ah, the Old Captain would probably be proud of me.” Arch concluded. “He’s got to be as appalled as I am, at what’s become of his life’s work.”
Out on the narrow, country, street, Archie flicked the cigarette into the middle of the pavement. He turned left, walking along the edge of the grass, facing the scarce and sporadic, oncoming traffic, since there was no shoulder or sidewalk. BEEP! BEEP! From behind, a car crossed lanes to pull over next to Archie. BEEP! The car trolled along in the opposing traffic’s lane, matching Archie’s walking speed. A familiar, large head of curly, black hair hung out the driver’s open window. “Hey Arch, you done work for today man?” Crazy Kevin Ianni shouted.
“Yeah, I’m done alright. Done for good.” Archie leaned closer staring in the back window studying the cute but gangly, young girl and equally thin tattooed guy sitting close together. He hadn’t seen the long limbed girl before but he’d seen the guy around a few times but he didn’t know his name.
“They really fired you, Muchacho?” Kev asked sympathetically. Then, indignantly asked. “Why? What did you do?”
“I walked out Man.” He didn’t say it as proudly as he wanted to because he knew Kevin wouldn’t understand. The two of them having had philosophical discussions bordering on heated debates concerning their views about jobs and working in general. Kevin’s opinion being, a job is just a means to an end. Everyone needs money, so we all have to work. The best job being whatever pays the most, while taking up the least amount of your time. Pride, should not be factored into the equation. Kev lived what he preached, selling his blood for a fast buck, sperm to the sperm bank to finance a weekend party and even modeled naked a few times for a sketching class at the University. Mostly though Kevin hustled pool, did odd jobs or sold pot. Kev had been asking Archie to help him get his foot in the door at the factory ever since Arch started working there three summers ago.
“You quit that sweet gig?!” The one year, older, young man shook his thick, curly, black hair in confusion. “Man you’re an enigma to me.”
“The hypocrisy of it all was getting me down Dude. You Dig?”
“Heavy…” The girl said sarcastically, reaching over the backseat to stick her skinny hand with its long boney fingers and pointy, black shiny, manicured, nails out the window offering the shirtless, now jobless Archie a toke on the joint she’d just lit. “You smoke, right?”
“Right on!” Arch carefully grasped the amateurishly, loose and wrinkly rolled but fat stogy. He stuck the wet, squished end that wasn’t glowing in his mouth then sucked in the harsh, homegrown, tasting weed. Archie held the psychedelic fog in his lungs waiting for that warm tingling feeling as he passed the stogy through the window to Kev.
“Well Buddy, we’re going to the lake.” Kev held the joint to his lips then inhaled deeply. They stared at each other awkwardly, their eyes challenging each other to see who would exhale first. Archie heard the girl giggling from the back seat then gave in, because his lungs started to burn. Arch tilted his head back then blew a steady stream of white smoke up at the cloudy sky. Kev exhaled right after him coughing. “That home grown is rough on the throat.” He couched some more then took a quick sip from the open bottle of beer, he’d been holding between his legs. “So, you want to come chill with us, Kimosabi?”
“I got to get some sleep man.”
“Ah…hop in! You can go to sleep a million places up at the Splash.”
“Alright.” Archie shrugged. “You only live once, right?”
“Some of us not even that much.” Kevin replied.
Arch jogged around to the passenger side. He pulled the dented front door open with a squeak then slid onto the torn vinyl seat.
“Thirsty?” A hand with a dripping beer in it attached to a skinny, taunt and heavily tattooed arm thrust over the back seat offering.
“Thanks.” Arch took the can. “It must be karma, you guys driving by at the precise time as I was walking out of the parking lot after quitting my job.” He popped the tab. “I mean, what are the odds of that?” He took a swig wondering if this was going to turn out to be good or bad luck. He turned to Kevin. “Where’d you get these wheels?”
“Don’t ask.” The car pulled back across two lanes then headed swerving down the bumpy, pot-holed road.
“Last time I didn’t ask, I ended up hitch hiking back from Seaside Heights, New Jersey.”
“That was over two years ago. You’re not still holding a grudge over that?”
“Yes!” Arch turned towards the two in the back seat. “About two years ago, on my birthday Kev pulls into the dirt lot in front of my dad’s trailer driving a white Camaro. [“Climb aboard. I’m taking you to the beach for your birthday.” He says.] I change into my suit, grab a long towel and climbed in. Kevin drives to the corner convince store where he purchased us each a foot long sub, a bunch of assorted bags of potato chips and two six packs of beer. We partied the whole two hour drive to the jersey shore listening to a blues special on the radio. We both fell asleep on the beach waking up with sunburns. Then, we spent the rest of the night walking the boards, hitting on chicks and spending all our money on carnival games. About 2 AM they close the boardwalk. We walk back to the car but it isn’t where we parked it? While I’m reading the parking sign for that street, two youngsters walk over to inform us, [“If you’re looking for the white Camaro, the cops just towed it a few minutes before you got here.”]”
“As I kept re-reading the parking sign, confused as to why we were towed, Kevin blurts out. [“Boy Arch, you must be my good luck charm.”]
“You mean bad luck charm.” I corrected him. “Since your car was just towed for apparently no good reason!”
“It was stolen.” He admits flatly
“Yeah, the cops stole it!” I agreed. “How do we get it back?”
“No, I stole it.”
“Huh? What are you saying?”
“Two nights ago I was stranded at my cousin’s house in Little Galveston with no way to get home.”
“So you stole a car?”
“Yes. Does that really shock you? ” I stared at him. “I’ve done it a few times before that too. It’s really not that hard.”
“Are you saying you drove me all the way to the Jersey shore in a stolen car?”
“I wanted to do something special for your birthday.”
“How are we going to get home?” I ask.
[“I can try to steal another one or…”] Kevin holds his hand out with his thumb up in the hitchhiking sign. I wanted to kill him but that’s how we got home, hitching.”
Arch tapped his index finger on the dash board. “This ain’t stolen is it?”
“Borrowed.”
“Borrowed with permission?”
Kevin smiled. “As long as we have it back by midnight, Cinderella.” Archie stared at him. Kevin pressed the automatic door lock button. Clack! All four doors locked. Kevin cackled loudly, like a demon then stomped down on the accelerator pedal. The car sped down the road.
Archie looked at the driver calmly stating. “That’s very funny Duffice.”
"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!..." The driver continued to cackle evilly as he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The car’s speed continued to climb. Archie noticed the speedometer read seventy five miles per hour which was way too fast for a narrow country road.
“I’ve taken that turn coming up. It’s quite sharp.” Archie informed then calmly took a swig from his beer. “What do you plan on doing?”
“You’ll have to beg me to slow down!” Kevin hissed, grasping the steering wheel determined.
“Not a chance.” Archie turned away, bored like, to gaze out the side window.
“Yo!” The boy in the back seat yelled. “Slow the hell down Dude!”
The girl in the back seat leaned forward then reached her long arms around Kevin’s headrest. She clamped her forearms over both of Kevin’s eyes then pulled his head back against the headrest. The car swerved, two tires crunching the gravel along the side of the road. Kevin shouted, steering blindly. Archie dropped his beer can, splashing beer all over the dashboard as he instinctively reached for the steering wheel. Arch steered the car back onto the pavement as Kevin fought to free his head from the girl’s clutch.
“What the hell are you doing!” Kevin knocked one of her arms up with his elbow. Her skinny boyfriend dove across the seat tackling her then wrestled her hands off of Kevin’s head. He drug her back into her seat. She was laughing.
Kevin jammed his foot down on the break as he re-grasped the steering wheel and tried to gain control of the car. Up ahead a tractor trailer was coming around the curve. BEEP! Archie sat back into his seat. His fingernails dug into the vinyl armrest as he braced himself. Kevin swerved the car back into their proper lane then steered the vehicle as it skidded around the curve. “Woo! Hoo!” She shouted as if she was riding a roller coaster. As Kevin slowed the car down to a manageable speed the girl’s laughter continued from the back seat.
“Are you crazy!” Kevin asked. “We could have all been killed!”
“Yeah, Ha! Ha! Ha!” She informed. “I heard about you two playing that same trick on my friends Julie and Sandy when you gave them a ride about a month ago. You made them think you were playing some sort of distorted game of chicken and neither of you were going to give in. You scared the crap out of my friends that day. You two have grown a reputation of being quite the team of practical jokers. Well today the jokes on you aye…”
Kevin laughed. “Yeah we did scare those two girls didn’t we?”
“Ah…” Archie sighed glad to learn they weren’t dealing with a girl having a psychotic breakdown. “So, you’ve known those two chippies a while?”
“Oh yeah, we been buds for years.”
“Okay listen up,” Archie pleaded. “No more joking on each other.” He took a deep breath. “My heart can’t take it!”
“You want another beer buddy?” The lanky dude in the back offered.
“Yes please.” Archie watched the thin, tan girl bend over to reach down into a cooler that was on the floor. She was wearing a backless, flower print blouse tied by narrow ribbons under her jutting shoulder blades and behind her neck. He could see her vertebras protruding knob like all along her spine along with some big freckles. She lifted the foam lid up then he heard the ice cubes and water slosh around as she dug out a cold can. She smiled passing him the dripping can over the back of the seat.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Amanda and this is Troy.” She pointed to the skinny boy next to her with his hand on her knobby knee.
“I’m Archie, nice to meet you guys.”
“Yeah, I heard about you.” The young man stated. “They call you the poet.”
“Yeah.” Archie laughed. “I’ve been known to string a few rhymes together, once I get really plastered.”
“Don’t let him kid you.” Kevin stated from the driver’s seat. “Archie’s poetry is the real deal.”
“Guess we’ll have to get you wasted.” The girl offered smirking, showing off two deep dimples. “So we can judge your rhyming talent for ourselves.”
“Cheers to that!” Archie smiled, showing his willingness, as he raised the beer they’d just handed him above the back of the seat so anyone who wished could clink their can or bottle against his in celebration of a good idea. Clink, clink, the two in the back clinked their cans against his then the car swerved as Crazy Kevin reached back attempting to clink his bottle with any and all three of them.
“Keep your eyes on the road!” Archie playfully slapped their driver on the back of his curly head.
“No, no, no…” Kevin continued reaching with his bottle. “Do you know how much bad Mojo it is not to clink glass when someone proposes a toast!” Archie again slapped Kevin on the back of his head. “Steer!”
Screeeech!!!…Everyone was thrown forward as Kevin slammed on the breaks bringing the car to an abrupt halt. “I’m turning this ship around if you all don’t clink my bottle right now!” Clink, clink, clink. They all quickly obliged. Kevin guzzled the remainder of his beer then tossed the empty bottle out the window, into the tall weeds. “Burp!” He twisted forward to re-grasp the steering wheel. “Now that everything is right with the solar system again.” He stomped his work boot down hard, on the gas pedal. Screeeech!!!…The tires squealed as the car peeled away.
Kevin reached his hand over the back seat. “Another beer please.” The thin girl leaned over to retrieve a beer for their driver.
“So,” Her boyfriend asked. “Why did you quit Man?”
“Oh………We had irreconcilable difficulties.” Archie barrowed a phrase from his parent’s recent divorce papers.
“You got to use simpler words Poet.” Amanda chuckled. “Troy only made it through the third grade.”
“Like what was your beef man?”
“They’re treating their workers bad. I’ve been in management technically for the past six months so the cut backs and changes don’t affect me personally. But, as the lowest rung of management, I roll up my sleeves and work and sweat right alongside the crew. My style of management has always been very hands on after all I rose up through the ranks so I can do all the different jobs. I lead by example. I jump right into the production line wherever needed. You’ll see me loading and unloading trucks. Whenever there’s a bottle neck, I’m there to help move things along smoothly. Naturally, I got to know my crew pretty well. We joke with each other. I rely on them and they rely on me. And, the bottom line is we get the job done. I don’t like to see them being taken advantage of.”
“When you got your promotion, I warned you about still mingling with the crew.” Kevin reminded. “They’ll stab you in the back every time!”
“They have no one, over me, who they can go to with their gripes. And everyone knows, I got no real power to help them with their grievances. It’s frustrating and I’m tired of it. There are a lot of good people working their butts off in that plant and I’m quite frankly embarrassed by how my bosses are treating them.”
“Wow, that’s actually a pretty noble move on your part.” Troy reached over the back of Archie’s car seat to pass him another joint, he had just sparked up.
“It was foolish.” Kevin admonished as Archie inhaled a hit of dirt weed. “You’re sleeping over my house tonight Buddy. And, tomorrow we’ll wake up early and I’ll drive you back to the plant personally so you can apologize and tell your boss it was all a big mistake and ask for your job back.”
“Yes Mommy.” Arch smirked holding the joint out to the driver.
They could all see the wheels turning in Kevin’s head trying to decide on a reply. Finally he took the joint, shook his head then muttered. “I don’t understand you. You’re my best friend but sometimes I feel like I just don’t know you at all.”
“Then I’ve succeeded. My main quest in life, is to confound you Kevin. Everything I do is so I can see that beguiled look on your face.”
“Oh he’s using those big college words again.” Amanda teased. “They give me goose bumps.”
“Lay one on us poet.” Troy pleaded, from the back seat. “Tell us a poem!”
“No. Turn the radio on.” Kevin ordered, holding the stogie over the backseat for someone to take.
“Come on.” Amanda whined, grabbing the joint back from the driver. “We want to hear a poem first.”
“Okay.” Archibald stared at Kevin as he started to recite. “He steered the car with a real sense of urgency. Like he already knew, years from now, exactly where he was going to be. As his three passengers stared out their window just trying to see. Thru the haze of their own hypocrisy.”
“No! No! No!...” Kevin objected, waving his free hand in Archie’s face. “You know I can’t stand it when you use me as your subject for your little rhymes.”
“Ha, ha, ha..” Archie laughed. “Kevin thinks all my poems are about him.”
“A lot of them are!”
“What a narcissist.”
“ I’m driving a car with three passengers aren’t I!” The driver stated his case.
“At this very moment I bet there are thousands of people out there driving a car with three passengers in it.”
“Uh huh.”
“I liked it.” The girl stated.
“Me too.” The skinny tattooed dude agreed. “Give us some more man. That was deep.”
“Yeah, but no more poems about me.”
“Okay you big baby. I was just teasing you. That one was to warm me up. A guitar player doesn’t just step out onto stage and start plucking and strumming out a song. He twangs a few notes first then adjusts the tension on his strings then twangs a few more.”
“So you’re tuning up?” The girl said. “Adjusting the tension?”
“Exactly. I’ve got to relax, open up my mind, slip into the creative mood.”
“I thought the pot and the beer did that?” The thin lad in the back chuckled.
“Sometimes but mostly I find they make me sluggish and dull witted.”
“Huh.”
“Ready or not...”
“You’re tuned now?” Kevin asked sarcastically.
“Tuned.” Archie retorted then took a swig of beer, gargled then swallowed. “Now keep in mind this one is a work in progress.” He began to recite:
Two young lovers in the back seat
Bumming a ride, oh where’s your car?
The bartender confiscated your car keys
Before he’d let you stager out of his bar.
You’re headed to the lake
Still searching for who you are…
“Hardy har har.” Amanda mock laughed.
“Yeah very funny.” Agreed Troy. .
“See it’s not so cool,” Kevin, the driver, pointed out. “When you’re the subject of the poem.”
“The poet in the front seat.” Amanda rhymed. “Is going to end up dead meat. Unless he promises not to use me or my friend, in any of his stupid poems again!”
“Yeah!” Exclaimed Troy, her boyfriend. “Take that poet!”
“Ouch! I know when I’ve been beat.” Archie laughed. “Listen guys I was just fooling around. I didn’t mean any harm." He tried to explain. “It’s just hard for an unknown artist, who is just a nobody, really, to put his work out there for people to criticize and tare apart.”
“Hey, we’re not going to cut your stuff up Man.” Troy assured.
“Unless it stinks!” Kevin, the driver shouted then laughed.
“Well, me and Mandy aren’t about all that.” Troy continued. “We’re nobodies too. We’re just trying to get to know you better. We can tell your poetry means a lot to you and our way of reaching out is to ask to hear some.”
“Yeah plus,” Amanda added. “We both really like poetry and admire art and artists of all kinds.”
“Okay guys, if you’ll let me? I’ve got a poem I’d like to run by you all. But, it really is a work in progress. So try to keep an open mind.”
“Yeah.” Amanda clapped. “Hit us with it Poet!”
Archie turned fully towards the back seat then began to recite:
To everyone who strums their fingers,
trying to keep time.
I dedicate, every little word, every little phrase,
every subtle rhythm and rhyme.
For everyone who taps their feet
I create this tiny melody.
Every note and key, I give to you,
each and every harmony…
“Hey,” Troy interrupted. “That’s pretty good Poet.”
“Yeah.” Amanda agreed. “Keep going!”
“I told you guys,” Kevin shouted from the driver’s seat. “Arch is the real stuff!”
“Shush!” Amanda scolded. “Go on Archie.”
...Of clapping hands and snapping fingers
There can never be enough
All the men and women who dance with two left feet
Come stomp and strut your stuff
To everyone who sings off pitch
Please feel free to hum along
And whistlers whistle loud and clear
For this is also your song
Let our trumpets roar like thunder
Our drums rouse like the crashing of waves.
While our guitars pluck like rain drops
To the chorus of 1000 galley slaves.
We’ll howl out like coyotes
Croak like bull frogs
Growl like tigers
screech like a bat.
Chirp like a parakeet
Bark like a pack of angry dogs
On the heels of an alley cat.
And when we all blend together
We’ll sound like a symphony
That will echo through the canyons,
A concert for you and me.
It will be a gig to remember
the show to end all shows
An example of Art imitating life
From a ballad writ long ago.
“Wow!” Amanda and Troy clapped. “That was great!”
“I told you guys!” Kevin laughed.
“Give us one more Poet!” Amanda begged. “Please!”
Archie smiled then began to recite:
Her beauty has me hypnotized with razzmatazz pizzazz.
I told her I just don’t have the patience to sit and decode all your hocus pocus, jazz.
Through all the smoke and mirrors, I knew I’d never see the truth.
I screamed I had enough of fairytale land, lady
in my wayward youth….
Thirty minutes later: “Are we almost there Daddy?” Amanda asked from the back seat.
“We are here boys and girls!” Kevin announced slowing the car then turning left at a weather worn, no hunting, no poaching, no littering sign. The car bounced off the paved road heading slowly onto a gravel, sand and dirt trail bordered by high brush made mostly of 4 foot tall, reed like, yellow grass. Clunk, clunk, squeak, clunk…their car jumped and jerked along the bumpy terrain. About twenty yards further they entered a small sandy clearing where assorted vehicles were parked helter-skelter. “Look, Demo Man beat us here.” Kevin announced pulling their car alongside a cancer rusted, Ford brick red van.
“Isn’t that Barfly’s Volkswagen?” Troy pointed excitedly.
“No, Barfly’s gas guzzler was white and dented. That one’s tan and in better shape.” Kevin chuckled. “Besides I heard the Barfly’s in New Zealand.”
“New Zealand?”
“Yep, Barfly hired a detective who tracked his birth father down in New Zealand. Barfly phoned his Pops up and his blood Dad invited him to come stay with him for the summer. His Pops owns some kind of crabbing business.”
“Wow! That’s a cool story.” Amanda stated adding. “I truly hope they live happily ever after. Cause, I know if I ever track my blood Daddy down it will be to put a bullet in him.”
“Now, now Mandy girl, everyone’s not as mad at their birth parents as you are.” Troy explained. “Amanda’s birth parents were real sons of bitches. When Mandy was 10 one of their neighbors called child welfare to come investigate screams they heard. The agency took Mandy, her sister and her little brother from their house and split them up sending them all to different foster homes to live.”
“I refuse to talk about my parents on such a beautiful sunny day.” Amanda threw her door open then leaped from the car. “I want to get a tan and I want to go swimming!”
As the rest of them climbed out of the car, a muscular twenty year old man with a buzz cut jogged out of the woods. “Hey guys!” He waved then jogged towards them.
“Moe!” Kevin held up his fist for the approaching man to tap with his fist in greeting. “You aren’t leaving already?”
“No way man. I’m just going to my car to replenish my smokes.”
“Sounds like you guys been here a while?” Troy asked.
“Nah, only about twenty minutes.” He tapped Kev on the shoulder. “I had this bitchin cigar right and I had brought one for you too man, cause I know you dig the stogies. I was waiting for you to light up with Bro. But, Sheri Lyn borrowed my jacket.” He smirked. “Cause, she’s kind a scantily dressed cause this is the closest she’s ever been to a real beach like they got along the coast.” He glanced at Amanda, quickly looked her up then down then continued. “And me being the gentleman that I am, I offered the damsel my threads. Two minutes later, the Mercury Brothers, Cody and Dwayne snuck up on her picked her up then tossed her in the lake. I would have been laughing my butt off along with everyone else if she wasn’t still wearing my jacket.”
“With our smokes in it?” Kev whined.
“Yeah.” He moaned, shaking his head. “I’ve got our stogies and my jacket drying out in the sun on a big boulder and Sheri Lynn drying out on another boulder.” He elbowed Kev in the ribs. “They may be dry enough to try to spark in a few hours. Though, I can’t promise what they’ll taste like.”
“What other babes are here?” Archie asked.
“The twins are here.” Moe informed smiling and elbowing Kevin in the side. “And they’re wearing bikinis.”
“You know I can tell them apart.” Kevin assured everyone adding. “But, they got to be all the way naked.” Kev laughed then jogged off down the trail. “Last one in the drink is a rotten egg!”
“Take the trail to the right!” Moe shouted after Kev. “It will bring you right to our campsite.”
“He’ll get lost.” Archie stated.
“He always does.” Moe chuckled then shouted. “Watch out for the quicksand!” He turned then resumed his way across the parking area to his Dad’s station wagon.
“Yeah right.” Amanda snorted then looked at Troy then Archie. “Is there really quicksand out there?”
“So the legend goes.” Arch informed. “I never encountered any of it personally. But people speaks of it.”
“Oh, you’re just trying to scare me.”
“Nah, give us some credit girl. We got much better material to scare you with than quicksand.” Archie offered. “Didn’t they tell you, this whole area is haunted?”
“Uh huh.” She rolled her eyes. “What do you take me for some tourist?” She leaned over to pick up her handle of the beer cooler. “Ready Boy?” She glanced at Troy. “Lift.”
“Everything on this side of the lake is an Ancient Indian burial ground.” Archie pointed his finger into the woods. “All of it.” He reached for the handle of the beer cooler she was holding. “Let me carry that for you.” Archie took her side of the cooler then the two young men headed their parade into the trees.
“You sure you know where you’re going?”
“Just step in our footsteps and you’ll avoid the quicksand.” Troy joked.
“Hardy, har har…” She mock laughed. “I meant, I don’t want to get lost.”
“Maybe we should lay a trail of bread crumbs behind us so we can find our way back to the car?” Archie volunteered sarcastically.
“How about a trail of empty beer bottles?” She joked back, showing their teasing wasn’t fazing her at all. She was far from being prissy but wasn’t very nature and woodsy experienced which she hoped to conceal from the boys. She was getting anxious to get into the company of some other female, comrades so she wouldn’t feel so on stage, like she had to keep performing as one of the guys.
The forest smelled, like wet dirt and rotting leaves as expected the day after a heavy rain. Small twigs cracked under their steps as they maneuvered around lingering puddles in the narrow trail. Birds chirped, sailing from tree to tree and there was a slight cool breeze. They stepped over rocks and fallen branches as they followed the trail. The trail split into a V. They took the right path following Moe’s directions.
Soon they began to hear the Reggae music, drifting through the forest probably from a portable radio. Laughter and voices grew stronger as they got closer to the party area. The path emptied into a small grass covered clearing set up like a picnic grove. There were five, weather beaten, wooden picnic tables spread out, each, already covered with the stuff of various groups claiming them as their home base. There were a couple of portable grills smoking. The air smelt of burning charcoal. “Let’s see if they mind us sharing a corner of their table over there.” Archie started to lead them towards a table in the far corner of the little grove.
“Oh no, there’s Ms. Depressing!” Amanda whispered, pointing to a tall blond, with her hair pinned up in a bun, who had stepped out from behind some bushes near the table they were heading to.
“Oh, so you know Lucy Buzzkill Bearrellie too?” Archie asked, stopping his leg in mid-stride.
“Unfortunately, all too well.”
“All she ever does is complain so, why do the other girls always bring her?”
“She’s the one with the car.”
“Ah…That explains it.” Archie turned them towards a different table also half filled with stuff, whose occupants had just vacated to play a game of touch, Frisbee football. “They seem like fun people. Quick, let’s commandeer the empty far corner of their table while they’ve left it completely defenseless.”
A large, smirking, blubbery young man noticed the new arrivals setting up then walked over to Archie. “So, Poet what brings a great intellectual mind like yours down here to our humble, little puddle of H20? Getting bored with your afternoon tea parties?” He smirked holding his beer bottle up in the air making a point to stick his pinky finger out. “Archibald is here, Pinkies everybody.” He took a sip.
“Well, Guru you know me. I like to frolic with the little people now and again. Slumming with you commoners allows my brain a chance to revitalize. And there’s everything of course to gain from communing with nature.” Archie opened his arms gesturing to the forest around them. “I find all this, helps keep my feet well grounded to our mother earth so I don’t just grow a big head and start floating away some day.” The obese man laughed. “And yourself Old Wise One? To what can we attribute the pleasure of your esteemed presence this fine Monday afternoon? Are there no international chess tournaments, no political debates? Your expertise isn’t needed to decipher the hieroglyphics chiseled into the side of some newly dug up piece of ancient pottery?”
“It’s like watching a Shakespearean play.” Amanda marveled smiling. “Performed out in the middle of the forest.”
“More like a Shakespearean tug of war!” Troy laughed.
“Even the great thinkers and visionaries; Sir Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein, Tolstoy, all needed a break now and again. I too must regrettably stray for a spell from the rigorous schedule of my scholastic studies to rejuvenate what Agatha Christie’s great fictional Detective referred to as the little grey cells. Oh how I wish I could live for the moment, like you self indulgent Bohemians with your charming disregard for rules and convention and your care free attitudes towards everything especially flaunting your free love life style as you embrace infidelity like it’s a right of passage.”
“Yes, I can dig it.” Archie interrupted his babbling. “But such a small pond?” Archie pointed at the lake. “For such a big fish?” He pointed at the blubbery Guru..
“Ha, ha, ha…You win Poet!” Big Guru bowed to Archie. “Ladies and gentlemen I give you the poet laureate of Lake Mochachujuacha.”
“Don’t forget Guru,” Archie winked at the big man who was now walking away. “Keep in touch with your inner chi.”
“Always Poet always!”
“Hey Arch,” Tall Cody Mercury came strolling up behind them with a shorter stocky man wearing a cowboy hat who Archie didn’t know. “Do you think there’s a Bigfoot?” Cody was chewing the end of a long stem weed and looking as if he was contemplating how to figure out the answer to a tough physics problem.
“Not around here!”
“Of course not around here. I mean, out in the great northwest near Canada?”
“I don’t discount anything until I see proof one way or the other with my own two eyes. But it seems to me that we should have at least found a bone or two or even a whole skeleton from the large creature by now. Someone finds cavemen and dinosaur bones all the time.”
“Big Foot might be hiding the remains of its’ dead.” The cowboy countered. “Making sure we don’t find them.”
“Like I said, anything’s possible. But, I can’t believe any species can live in total secrecy, on this planet, in our day and age, especially something as huge as this Big Foot creature is supposed to be. He has to hunt and eat constantly. Since he doesn’t plant fields of food like people do, that means he must be a meat eater. So, he has to follow the herds. When he kills there should be signs like buzzards flying overhead and blood at the kill sight and carcasses or at least some bones or mess left behind when he’s done eating.”
“I’d love to go hunt Big Foot down!” The cowboy daydreamed outloud.
“Yeah count me in!” Cody nodded.
“Awesome, count me in too!” Troy stated.
“Oh yeah, Big Foot is shaking in his shoes!” Amanda laughed. She walked over to where the over three hundred pound Guru had been standing then bent over to stare at the size 14 wide foot print he’d left in the sand. “Wow look at that! If you guys find a foot print bigger than this one, I’m out of here!” She lifted her tiny foot then placed it inside Guru’s print leaving a tiny foot print inside his large one then laughed. She walked a few steps making sure to only step inside Big guru’s tracks. “Ha, ha, ha…” She giggled like a little school girl at the results. “Double tracks.” She called them.
“Now that girl’s low maintenance.” Cody announced. “You don’t have to take her out to the opera once a month to keep her entertained.”
“Hey there Poet!” Stocky Shawn O’Calahue walked up from behind Archie holding his large hand up for Archie to high five. “This is Brigitte.” He reached behind himself, grasped the small framed, teenage girl’s hand then tugged her to stand next to his side. “She’s an exchange student from France, staying with my neighbors, the Wilkerbees, who live across the street from my place. She’s a little shy so they asked me to show her around.”
“Hey, Brigitte.” Archie reached for her delicate hand to shake. “Did you know your name comes from the French/German Gaelic Brighid, which means, exalted one?” He leaned over then kissed the backs of her fingers. “Nice to meet you, Brigitte.”
“Like wise I’m sure, monsieur.” She grasped the bottom of her short summer dress, curtsied then stepped back behind Shawn giggling nervously.
“So, what have you and crazy man been up to?” Shawn pointed through a gap in the trees, to a cliff about twenty yards away, overlooking the lake, where curly haired Kevin stood grasping a tire, tied to a rope, tied to a tree branch which grew out over the water.
They watched Kevin drop his shorts and underwear to his ankles then step out of them. “Yeee! Hhhaaa!!!” Kev yelled as he ran naked off the cliff, hanging onto the tire. The rope carried Kev’s large frame high into the air. Kev let go, curled himself into a ball, grasping his knees with his hands and yelled “Cannon ball!” His body hit the water with a boom, sending up a geyser of a splash.
“Actually, today is the first I’ve seen of Kev in months. So, I can’t say what he’s been doing. All I’ve been doing this summer is working at the rubber plant. But that’s not going to be a problem now.”
“Why? Are they laying off again? Business slow?”
“I quit today.”
“Good for you Poet.” Cole shouted from the other side of the picnic table where he had sat down to roll a joint. “Welcome to real America the home of the brave and unemployed.”
Brigitte stuck her head out from behind Shawn, her chaperone to ask. “How do you feel about joining the communist party?” To the astonishment of Archie, Shawn and everyone else within ear shot, who all turned to stared at her open mouthed.
“Not too good since my Uncle died fighting against them.”
“That was many, many years ago, no? They’ve come a long way since then, oui?” Her tiny hand held up a pamphlet. “Our latest manifesto, S’il vous plait (if you please)?”
“Non merci (no thanks).” Archie shook his head no. “You’d have to really sell me, to get me to betray an ancestor who was willing to pay the ultimate price.”
“Hey, I’m sorry Archie! I had no idea she was a commie.” Shawn turned to Brigitte. “No, no, no Girl! These are my friends. You can’t be pushing that propaganda to my friends! Now, put that away.”
“Okay, fully understood. De’sole’ (sorry).” She turned to Archie. “No pressure Monsieur, but, if you ever get a conscience Poet,” She said with hardly any accent. “You know where to find me.”
“Yes, I do Red.” Archie headed back over to the picnic table. He lifted the lid off their cooler then reached into the cold ice and water to dig out a new bottle of beer. As he twisted off the top, he noticed Amanda and Troy walking hand in hand towards the lake. They seemed like nice kids. He was glad he’d gotten to meet them today. He gulped a swig of beer.
He turned around, gazing towards the sizzling sound coming from one of the grills. Jezebel Sanchez, a cute, wavy short haired brunette he had once had a crush on back in high school was flipping a bunch of pinecone shaped things, on the grill, with a big pair of tongs. The coals hissed angrily, followed by a puff of smoke every time she turned one of the pinecone things over. Curious he walked towards her.
As Archie came closer he saw she was basting the pinecones with a brush dipped in a small bowl of dark liquid. “What’s on the menu today, Chef Jezz?”
“Barbecued Artichokes.” She smiled a set of very large, bright white teeth. “I’m a vegetarian now.” She turned to face him head on, revealing she was wearing big mirror lens sunglasses and had a bright orange, wide pedaled flower in her hair, the stem was buried in her short, wavy locks and wedged behind her right little ear. It gave her a sophisticated Hawaii Islands look. “I brush them with a special mix of mostly Olive oil and balsamic vinegar and some herbs. It keeps them soft, from drying out inside and adds a twang to the taste. Most of the other girls are vegetarians too. We’re all trying this new diet. Would you like to try a choke?” She held one up with the tongs.
“Not right now, thanks. What else are you girls going to eat?”
“We brought a nice big mixed green salad and have celery and carrot sticks with a spicy hummus dip. I got corn on the cob to grill next and we’re going to grill eggplant slices cut into discs about the same size as hamburgers that we can top with a slice of cheese. So, if you want a mock cheese burger, stop back in about a half hour.”
“That actually sounds pretty interesting.”
“Hey Arch!” Moe shouted from across the picnic grove. “Come down here. We got the real barbeque food; hamburgers, hot dogs, kielbasa!”
“Thanks!” Arch shouted back. “I’ll be right over!” He looked at Jezebel. “No offence I hope?”
“Nah, go eat with the boys.” Archie waved then headed across the clearing.
Dark tanned, Len sat on a picnic table bench with his leather sandaled feet dangling as he strummed and plucked his guitar. Around his neck hung a harmonica. His long ponytail waved like a horse’s tail as he performed his mocked up version of the Bob Dillon classic song, The Times They Are A-Changin. “Come gather round people where ever you roam. And admit that the waters around you have grown…” Dillon being Len’s idle, Len had developed a few jazzed up faster tempo versions of some of the master’s more laid back folky tunes. “…And except it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone. If your time to you is worth savin…” He sang with a deep, edgy, cigarette smoker rasp. "Then you better start swimming, or you’ll sink like a stone. For the times they are a-changin.” Archie clapped as he walked up behind the musician.
“Hey, there Arch.” Len hopped off the table then walked over. “I hear you’re a starving artist too now!”
“Yeah, you know I always wanted to be a starving artist. Only, I was too afraid I would really starve.” He leaned over the table to scoop a handful of potato chips out of a bowl.
“You got any new lyrics you want to try out on this crowd?”
“Hmmm…” Archie thought for a second. “Yeah, actually I do have a little ditty I’ve been working on with just you and your harmonica in mind.”
“Awe don’t tease me Boy! Are you ready to jam?” He played a quick bar on his harmonica for emphasis.
“I’m ready Fiddler man!” Archie stood up next to Len. “Hit me with a beat!”
Archie sang:
I’m a poet with many ideas
That have been stewing and brewing for years
I’ll try to be kind, while I’m blowing your mind
Exposing your nightmares and fears
With prose that will curl your toes
While Pinocchio’s nose grows.
I Make fun of your folks with knock, knock jokes
Then I switch gears.
Some days I’m a therapist, tossing my voice like a ventriloquist, a mystic,
a hypnotist. Often an activist, an antagonist an anarchist,
Rarely an apologist or capitalist nor diplomatist.
Some say I’m a pacifist.
But hey, that must have been the lecture I missed.
I choose to fight with a pen not a fist.
Choose being the operable word!
They say my bark is worse than my bite.
With rhyme not bullets I wage a good fight
I’ve been known to bring down a king.
With lyrics that sting.
Won’t you all join me and sing for what’s right.
Make them laugh, make them cry, make them see.
A renegade on an ego trip.
Thumbing my nose at society.
Don’t patronize, there’s no need to lie.
When you’re giving good lip.
Like money in the bank
be brutally frank, fire point blank
And always shoot from the hip.
I’ve been called an exorcist, a fetishist, a hedonist,
Others say I’m a dramatist, a fictionist, a futurist,
illusionist, intellectualist, even, can you believe, a psychiatrist.
But when they claim that I’m a pacifist.
I tell them that must have been the lecture I missed.
Because, I choose to fight with a pen not a fist.
Choose being the operable word.
“One more verse!” Len cried. “Give us one more!”
“You’re on your own Fiddler. This is a tough crowd. I’m going swimming.” Archie laughed then headed towards one of the travel worn paths.
Something scurried in the weeds to the left. Archie turned, looking down to see a thin black snake slide under a pile of leaves. “A harmless garden snake.” He thought for a second. “Yes, what could be more fun, at a picnic full of squeamish half naked girls.” He moved closer to stare at the tiny piece of tail still hanging out of the leaves. “But can I be sure you’re not poisonous?” He lifted his head up then noticed the woman about fifteen yards away with the long, straight, silky, black, almost oriental hair that hung down to her waist. She was sitting Indian style on the bank, a few feet from the water with a large artist’s sketch pad standing on edge on her lap. She was beautiful.
The whole scene was beautiful, like an ideal scene for a painting itself. If he could paint, he would paint this young woman from this exact angle captioning her sketching the lake. He forgot about the snake.
Archie parted the branches then stepped through the brush, walking towards the artist. He watched her change pencils a few times as she sketched the scene in front of her. He walked up behind her silently admiring her drawing of the lake and forest behind it. Soon his eyes fell to her long, lithe legs noticing the spider web tattoo on her right ankle.
“How do you like it so far?” She asked.
“Beautiful.” He mumbled.
“My drawing? Really?”
“I like that too.” He kicked his shoes off, stepped around her then walked a few steps into the lake. He bent over
then started rolling one of his pants legs up into a cuff.
“Hey! That’s not fair!”
“Can’t you draw the lake around me?”
“I meant, everyone else is skinny dipping. What are you scared to take your pants off in front of a Lady?”
“There’s a Lady here?” He joked looking up then down the banks. “Where?”
“Oh you’re going to pay for that remark!” She stood up then lay her sketch pad on the towel she’d been sitting on. Staring her down, Archie unbuckled his belt then unsnapped his pants then unzipped his fly then dropped his pants into the few inches of water he was standing in. She gasped covering her mouth with her hand then giggled as he stepped out of the floating pants. He reached down, scooped up his pants then walked out of the water directly towards the woman wearing just his tight, white undershorts. He brushed past her then hung his pants up on a branch of the tree behind her.
He turned around then walked back towards the lake. As he past her he slapped her hard on the buttocks then jogged off into the water. “Ouch!” She turned to watch him run until he was thigh deep then dive under the water. When he surfaced he held his wet undershorts in his hand. He rolled his shorts up into a ball then tossed them like a baseball onto the bank. She watched him dive under water then swim around, catching glimpses of his pale buttocks. When he surfaced he looked over at her and asked. “The water’s beautiful. Aren’t you coming?”
He was amazed when she turned her back to him then began taking off her bikini. He watched her hang her suit on the branch next to his pants. She turned then walked proudly, straight into the water. He was wide mouthed as she swam towards him. “Didn’t think I would, did you?” She splashed him. “I’m June, nice to meet you.” She held out her hand to shake.
“I’m Archie.” He dove underwater then came up holding her petite ankle with the spider web tattoo. “Did you get this done in China town?”
“Yes.” She pulled her leg back from him. “How did you know?”
“It looks like Wah Fat’s work.”
“I didn’t notice any tattoos on you?”
“I ordered one on lay away, for my back.” He pointed between his shoulders.
“I never knew they had lay away tattoos.” She chuckled.
“It’s going to cost $1000 dollars and Master Fat says it will take him 14 hours to complete. I paid $500 already. But, I just quit my job this afternoon. So, I don’t know when I’m going to have the other half of his money.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“Oh, it’s a long story.”
“Hey, you want to swim over to that island?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll race you.” Archie watched her dive under the water then start swimming away from him. He dove then came up swimming after her. They swam side by side towards a little island over grown with bushes trees and weeds. Archie quickly tired himself out because he kept going under the water to take peeks at her naked body. Soon she pulled ahead.
“I win!” She claimed smiling. He floated towards her, watching her climb the rocks onto the island’s shore. “Hey hurry up! This is no free peep show!” He chuckled as she turned then parted the weeds then climbed through disappearing.
“Hey! Wait for me!” He carefully climbed the slippery rocks onto the bank. He parted the branches then followed her small foot prints in the sand. He ducked under branches and brushed aside the tall weeds. About fifteen yards inside the brush he found a small sandy clearing. About 6 yards away, she was sitting with her back to him upon a large boulder. “How did you ever find this place?” Archie walked towards her.
Standing next to the boulder, he put his arm around her shoulders. She turned her head to gaze into his eyes. They kissed. “You’ve been here before.” She smiled. Archie slid his free arm under her knees then slid his right arm down to her lower back. He lifted her off the rock. They kissed as he carried her to the middle of the clearing where he lay her down in the soft sand. He stretched out beside her. She reached for his head then kissed him. Still kissing, she slowly climbed on top of him. They began making love.
About an hour later, they were walking hand in hand exploring their little island oasis. A fluffy rabbit hopped across the path in front of them. “This is nice.”
“Like our own little Garden of Eden.” He hugged her tighter then kissed her on the nose.
“I hate to leave here. But, it’s getting late and the others are probably wondering where we are.”
“Yeah.” He released her. “We should at least swim back over, before the sun goes completely down.” He stood up holding her hand. “Come on.” He led her carefully off the rocky bank, stepping into the mossy shallows.
She squeezed his hand. “Let’s not race back.” Still holding hands, they dove underwater together. The cool lake water felt refreshing and cleansing. They hugged as best they could while still trying to keep their bodies afloat. Keeping as much contact with one another’s limbs while frolicking as one unit with an occasional kick or hand paddle for direction they mostly drifted and cuddled their way back across the lake. Their eyes combed the shore line. “It looks like we’re the only ones still swimming.”
In the shallows they stood up, kissed briefly then jogged towards the shore. “Wow! Imagine that.” Archie pointed. “Our clothes are in the same place as where we left them.”
“That’s a first in the history of skinny dipping.” She acknowledged. Grabbing Archie’s work pants then tossing them to him.
As Archie zipped up his fly, he stopped to listen. “Are they really singing Kumbaya My Lord?” They both laughed. “We’d better get over there fast if we’re going to save them from their nerdy selves.”
“Oh, you’re going to have to save the nerds all by yourself Archie.” She kneeled down to pick up her sketch pad then began gathering up her pencils. “I’ve got to get home before my husband does.”
“Husband?”
“I thought you knew.” She stood up and looked him in the eyes. “That doesn’t matter does it?”
“Uh no, of course not.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet.” She stepped close to him. “Look at you, you’re blushing!” She stood on her tip toes, grasped his chin with her finger tips, turned his face towards her then gave him a quick peck on his lips. “Thank you for a wonderful time, Archibald.” She let go of his chin, turned then stepped into her sandals. He watched her hips sashaying as she walked off down a trail disappearing into the woods.
“Wow!” He thought. “I didn’t see that coming.” He turned back to gaze once more at the lake. It was almost dusk and the surface was smooth with wisps of evaporating mist rising eerily. He could just barely see the brush and trees lining the bank of their tiny oasis, love nest of an island. From the camp site, he could hear the partiers’ voices begin to sing.
“Take me out to the ball game…Take me out with the crowd…Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks…I don’t care if I never get back…” Suddenly fatigue started to set in. His muscles felt like stretched out rubber bands. Reluctantly Archie turned then headed towards the singing. “Let me root, root, root for the home team…If they don’t win it’s a shame!...” Archie combed his hair back with his fingers then joined in singing as he walked into camp. “For it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out…At the old ball game!”
“Hey Arch where you been Man?” Tall Kevin asked. “I thought you left hours ago with the twins or someone.” Kevin had an arm wrapped around the shoulders of thin, little, Brigitte the French Communist Recruiter. She smirked at Archie seeming a little embarrassed to be caught cozying up with a strapping American boy next door. Good luck trying to convert Kevin the last true Hedonist to anything. He’ll convert her to Kevinism first.
“I thought the quicksand got you Poet.” Skinny Amanda smiled jogging up to Archie. She hunched over to wrap her arms around Arch’s waist. Arch could tell she was wasted.
“I thought Bigfoot got you.” Large looming Guru shouted from his perch, sitting on a picnic table with his huge sandaled feet resting on the bench. He was hugging a big bag of potato chips with one hand, his other hand buried inside the bag almost to the elbow.
“Hey man, I’m bushed.” Archie told Kevin.
“Yeah Super Kev.” Amanda echoed, still clinging to Archie. “Let’s blow this truck stop.” She pulled herself up to rest her head on Archie’s shoulder. “I’m so glad the quicksand didn’t gobble you up.”
Kevin jumped up onto a picnic table to announce. “Hey ya all! My chariot’s leaving folks! So, if any of you wayward child’s want to cop a ride back into town follow me.” He jumped off the table. “Anyone know where the parties are tonight?” Kev asked as an afterthought.
“There’s a party at Marsha’s place down in the valley.” Moe informed. “And, Booker’s having a bash up at his cabin on the top of Scooby’s Mountain.”
“I’m not welcome anymore at Marsha’s digs.” Kevin chuckled. “So, I’ll see all you adventurers later on, up at Booker’s country club.....on top of the world!”
The next day: “Son.” Someone was shaking Archie’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
“Huh?” Archie yawned opening his eyes to see his father standing over him, looking down.
“Archie, did something happen at the plant yesterday?”
“I’m kind of hung over Pop. Can’t we talk about this later?”
“No.”
“Tonight Dad? I’ll buy pizza and beer and we’ll watch the Nick’s game, just the two of us.” Archie pulled the blanket up over his head then rolled away from his Dad, pushing his face into the couch’s cushions.
“I can see you’re hung over Son.” His father reached down, grasped then shook his shoulder. “We got to talk about this now!”
“Why?” Archie threw the blanket off. “You never asked me much about my job before. Now, cause I quit, you want to talk about my job?”
“You quit?”
“Yeah.” Arch sat up on the couch. “Don’t worry you’ll get my share of the rent. I still got two more checks coming that they owe me. After that I’ll find another job. But if I don’t, I’m thinking of going to stay with Mom for a spell, till I get my head together and figure out what I really want to do with my life. Now can I get some sleep!” He lay back down, pulling a couch pillow over his head.
“Son?” His Pop sat down next to him on the couch. He reached under the pillow for Archie’s head then held it steady in his hands as he looked him in the eye “What else happened at the plant?”
“They offered me a raise and a company car to stay.” Archie knocked his Dad’s arms away from his head then sat up smirking. “Yeah right, that would be the day!” He laughed sarcastically. “And a secretary with big...”
“Archie! There are a whole lot of newspaper reporters and camera men camped out on our front lawn.” His Dad informed. “And, a whole bunch of people gathering in the street waving signs with your name on them.”
“What?” Arch laughed. “Now, you’re pulling my leg.”
“I wish I was.” His Dad sighed covering his face with his hands. “Go look out the window Son.”
Archie stared at his Dad confused then slowly rose. He walked to the window then pulled the corner of the curtain aside. “AHH!” He let go of the curtain as if it was on fire. Arch turned wide eyed to stare at his Father. “What?...Why?...”
“What did you do at work yesterday?”
“Nothing, I just quit.”
“Did you yell and curse and cause a scene?”
“No. I simply walked into Mr. Griffin’s office, told him I quit, dropped my keys on his desk then walked out.”
“You’re sure you didn’t punch anyone or threaten anyone? You know how your temper can be?”
“Dad, I didn’t do anything crazy. I swear!”
RING…Archie looked confused and scared towards his Dad. “I’ll get it.” His Dad stood up reassuring. “You take a minute and try to remember what really happened yesterday.” RING…Archie watched his father jog to the phone on the kitchen counter.
“Hello?.......Really?..... Are you sure?” His Dad pulled the phone away from his ear. He looked worried. "Son, turn the television set onto channel six. You’re on the news.”
“The news?” Archie picked the remote control up off the coffee table. “This just keeps getting better and better!” He pointed the remote at the TV then turned it on then pressed six as his Dad jogged into the room.
“The big news today is the walk out at the McGondell Brothers Rubber Plant in Copperfield where hundreds of factory workers laid their tools down on the cement floor then strode out of the plant late yesterday afternoon. If the workers at the other nine rubber plants in our State decide to support and join the workers of McGondell Brothers by striking too, this could turn into the largest work stoppage protest our State has seen in over 25 years.” Stated the newscaster. “It’s no secret, tensions have been building over the past year between disgruntled rubber plant workers throughout the state and various top managements. One industry insider sighted, long hours and low pay as the main gripe. [“They want us to do quality work but want to pay as little as possible.”] Complained a picketing worker outside the Plant in Copperfield.”
“At five minutes to four pm yesterday, workers handed a petition signed by hundreds of co-workers sighting their complaints including; Long 12-13 hour work days with short or no breaks, unfair requirements for full time status, low wages, diminishing health care benefits, unsafe outdated equipment and unhealthy working conditions, specifically sighting an inadequate air ventilation system that management has been promising to fix or replace for over a year. [“We’re committed to stay out as long as it takes!”] Assured an angry worker. There is a rally set to begin at 1:00 pm today in front of the rubber plant. Labor leaders, community leaders and disgruntled workers are expected to speak about the situation, voice their concerns and possibly discuss quick solutions that will get the workers back working and the production line moving again.”
“Good for them!” Archie turned to his Dad to proclaim. “I’m glad they finally got up the courage to stick up for themselves.”
“Shush!” His father pointed to the TV screen.
“Hey, that’s my high school yearbook photo.” Archie pointed.
“Shush!” His Dad ordered. “Let’s listen.”
“Insiders say, it all started yesterday morning when workers arrived to start their shift and found an announcement posted by the time clock announcing another up-coming pay cut. For some it was the last straw.”
“But, my quitting had nothing to do with their grievances.” Archie whined. “Or this strike!”
“Shush!” His dad scolded, grabbing the remote control to raise the volume..
“Life long, local Copperfield resident and rubber plant shift manager Archibald Radcliff, was the first to walk out…”
“No!” Archie yelled at the screen correcting. “I didn’t walk out. I quit!”
“Workers say they were touched, when they saw their friend and co-worker Archie, recently appointed to management, peel off his company shirt, roll it up into a ball then toss it into the waste can with disgust. [“Archie walked out into the sun, bare chested smoking a cigarette, like James Dean.”] One worker described the scene. Archie looked over at his Dad sheepishly then shrugged helplessly. [“Seeing that manager willing to stick up for us,”] One worker explained. [“Set off a wave of emotions followed by a chain reaction. As soon as someone heard the story, like dominoes, one by one the workers laid down their tools then marched towards the door.”]”
“We now go to 111 North Meadow Lane, in Copperfield where our ace reporter Terry Hauser is waiting outside the home of the man they say started it all, Archibald Radcliff ex-shift manager for McGondell Brother’s Rubber. Terry, has Archibald Radcliff given the media any statement yet this morning?”
The camera zoomed in on a beautiful brunet holding a microphone. “So far Charley, we haven’t seen Archibald yet and no one knows for sure if Archie Radcliff, the man responsible for kicking off, what may turn out to be the largest labor strike in our state’s history, is even inside this house. This being Archibald’s father’s house. But, the reason we, the news media are here is because outside Mr. Radcliff Senior’s home, as you can see, the striking plant workers are already gathering here with their petition signs. Their plan as we’ve been told is, at around 11:30 am they are going to begin the march from this house, down this street, towards the plant, which is about a little over a mile and a half away, where they will join the other protestors already assembling in the front parking lot of the McGondell Rubber Plant for a labor rally, set to begin at 1PM. The strikers are hoping Archibald Radcliff will lead their march.”
“Pop, what am I going to do?”
“I’ll run them off our property if you want me to Son?”
“All of them? Did you see how many people were already out there?”
“I’m going to tell them you’re not home.” He headed towards the front door.
“Wait!” His Dad stopped to look over his shoulder at his son.
“I need to think.” Archie stared at the ground. His two fists were balled up in his hair, pulling it.” He started to pace.
“I’ll handle this, Son.” His Pop, stepped towards the front door.
“Don’t ya see, Dad.” Archie snapped the fingers of his right hand in the air to get his father’s attention then held his palm up signaling halt. As the young man walked towards his father, Arch combed the fingers of both hands through his wavy hair. “I got to do this.”
“Are you saying you want to talk to the press?” His Dad stepped in Archie’s way. “Cause, I don’t think that’s a good idea Son. News reporters can be tricky. They ask misleading questions and set you up to look stupid or worst. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I have to make a statement. The workers need me to say something. They’re expecting me to stick up for them.”
“Strikes very often get violent Archie. It’s best if you don’t get involved.”
“The strikers are calling me their spokesperson. There are over a thousand workers and their families counting on me. I got to step up! I got to see this thing through.” Archie turned then reached for the front doorknob.
“They’re going to twist your words around and try to use them against you!”
RING…Father and son looked at each other then at the phone. Archie froze with his hand on the door knob “I think, the vultures are getting restless.” His Dad stated. RING… “I’ll answer it. You, stay right there.” His Dad headed towards the phone. “And, think hard about what you’re thinking about doing Son.” He rested his hand on the receiver. “So far, no one knows you’re in here.” RING…
“Hello?...Yes, we just watched it too…Yes, he’s here. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.” His dad held the phone up. “It’s your buddy Kevin. He saw the news. He’s worried about you too.”
“Yeah, uuuuhhhh!” Archie groaned in frustration as he ran over to take the phone. “Hey buddy, I’m in a fix.”
“What do you mean fix?” Kevin replied. “This is your dream!”
“Are you high already?” Archie stared at the phone receiver.
“No! I’m hung over as I’m sure you are too but...”
“I don’t got time for nonsense Kev. I’m in a real pickle here. The Paparazzi have got my door staked out and it gets worse…”
“It’s your two minutes Buddy. What are you going to do?”
“What two minutes? I don’t need riddles right now!”
“You know. We’ve talked about this Arch, extensively. How they say everyone gets at least two minutes of fame in their life time. You can either embrace your opportunity when it presents itself or ignore it and watch it slip away. This is your two minutes Pal!”
“But real people’s lives will be affected by what I say. My Dad is worried that the news people are going to manipulate my words.”
“You are the Poet, Laureate of our generation Archie. You are the voice of the people! If not Archibald Radcliff then who? Nobody out talks the Poet! Heck, talk about someone’s destiny. You’ve been preparing for this chance since I met you, Pal, your whole, young adult life.”
“Yeah…I can do this.”
“Of course you can Buddy. Pull from all that frustrated pent up energy you’ve been channeling into your anti-social, sarcastic, angry young man, lyrics, that we laugh about. You ask me, those disgruntled employees couldn’t be in any better hands. Just follow your heart Arch. Follow your heart!”
“Thanks buddy, I got to go now.” Archie hung up the phone. Knock…knock…knock. Archie looked at his Dad.
“Well, did Kevin talk some sense into you Son?”
“He sure did.”
Archie’s father started to walk towards the front door. “I’ll tell them you’re not here.” Archie held his arm up blocking his father’s path.
“I got this Dad.” Archie put his hand on the doorknob then slowly turned the knob.
“It’s your call Son but I don’t think you should open that door. As of right now, nobody knows you’re here.”
“Then it time they found out that I am here.” Archie pulled the door open. Flash! Click, flash, click, flash!...The cameras sparked.
“Archibald Radcliff?” Someone asked as Archie stepped onto his porch.
“That’s me.” He squinted against the camera flashes.
“We heard you were the man who started it all.”
“Started what all, exactly?”
“You don’t know?” The female reporter just stared at him. “The whole McGondell Borthers Rubber Plant walked out yesterday afternoon, after you quit.” The photographers continued taking his picture maneuvering around to get better angles.
“I’ve just been informed Mr. Archibald Radcliff, that the other nine rubber plants in our State have just announced they are all officially joining your strike here in Copperfield. How's that make you feel?”
“Wow!” Archie’s mouth fell open then curled into a smile. “I’d like to be the first to welcome them Good ol’ Boys aboard.”
“Yeah!...” The crowd behind the news reporters shouted. “Strike! Strike! Strike!”
“Yes, then you are the Archibald Radcliff who set all of this into motion?” Archie shrugged his shoulders. “Mr. Radcliff. Can you tell the public why you decided to quit this morning?” She moved her microphone in front of his mouth. "Take your time Son."
“Well it all started when…”
“Excuse me?” Slightly balding Manny Griffin dropped the handful of papers he’d been reading onto his desktop then lifted his wire rimmed glasses off his eyes to squint suspiciously at his fairly newly appointed shift manager of about six months.
“I quit.” Archibald repeated rubbing his five o’clock shadow.
“Are you sure you want to do this son? Jobs are hard to find right now with this economy being the way it is.”
“First of all, I’m not your son.” Archie tossed a ring of keys onto the desktop.
“You want to sit down and talk about it first, Kid?”
“I’m not your kid either!” Archie turned indignantly then stomped out of his boss’s office. In the hall, he felt the eyes of all his co-workers, standing in line at the time clock, watching him. A few snickered. The others quickly looked away before he could make eye contact. “Awe, to hell with them!” He thought. “I’m doing this for them and they don’t even care.” Not that he had expected or wanted any applause.
Archie strolled, acting casual, towards the open loading dock doors. His fingers unbuttoned the top two buttons of his gray uniform shirt. He pulled the 100% polyester shirt up and over his head. He rolled the garment up in his hands then tossed it unceremoniously into a waste can.
Shirtless the young man stepped out onto the loading dock immediately feeling the warm, soothing sunlight on his bare arms and shoulders. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pants pocket, tapped out a stick then stuck the filter end of the tube in his mouth. “Oh boy, what am I going to do now?” He wondered, as his hands searched his side pants pockets looking for his lighter. “And what is my Pop going to say when I tell him I walked out?”
Archie lit his cigarette, took a drag then headed down the stairs. He smoked as he walked through the parking lot, through the open gate then past the grassy knoll with the big brick sign that read McGondell Brothers Manufacturing Company. Old man, Richie McGondell, The original founder of the rubber plant was long gone. And as for his two brother’s Seth and Wyatt, they had sold their Old man’s legacy, down the river, for a small fortune over twenty years ago to Redberry Rubber. Since then the plant had changed hands three more times. Now, Jetco Tech owned it and they were the largest rubber and plastics Conglomerate in the world. Still Archie couldn’t help wondering what Old Man, McGondell would have thought of him for walking out today. Archie remembered his motto that hung underneath the old capitalist’s, sea captain’s portrait, in the lunchroom. “In the world of business, status quo equals death.”
“Well, status quo certainly describes my life since I came to work here over three years ago. Not much has changed.” Archie thought as he headed down the long driveway, taking a puff off his cigarette. “Ah, the Old Captain would probably be proud of me.” Arch concluded. “He’s got to be as appalled as I am, at what’s become of his life’s work.”
Out on the narrow, country, street, Archie flicked the cigarette into the middle of the pavement. He turned left, walking along the edge of the grass, facing the scarce and sporadic, oncoming traffic, since there was no shoulder or sidewalk. BEEP! BEEP! From behind, a car crossed lanes to pull over next to Archie. BEEP! The car trolled along in the opposing traffic’s lane, matching Archie’s walking speed. A familiar, large head of curly, black hair hung out the driver’s open window. “Hey Arch, you done work for today man?” Crazy Kevin Ianni shouted.
“Yeah, I’m done alright. Done for good.” Archie leaned closer staring in the back window studying the cute but gangly, young girl and equally thin tattooed guy sitting close together. He hadn’t seen the long limbed girl before but he’d seen the guy around a few times but he didn’t know his name.
“They really fired you, Muchacho?” Kev asked sympathetically. Then, indignantly asked. “Why? What did you do?”
“I walked out Man.” He didn’t say it as proudly as he wanted to because he knew Kevin wouldn’t understand. The two of them having had philosophical discussions bordering on heated debates concerning their views about jobs and working in general. Kevin’s opinion being, a job is just a means to an end. Everyone needs money, so we all have to work. The best job being whatever pays the most, while taking up the least amount of your time. Pride, should not be factored into the equation. Kev lived what he preached, selling his blood for a fast buck, sperm to the sperm bank to finance a weekend party and even modeled naked a few times for a sketching class at the University. Mostly though Kevin hustled pool, did odd jobs or sold pot. Kev had been asking Archie to help him get his foot in the door at the factory ever since Arch started working there three summers ago.
“You quit that sweet gig?!” The one year, older, young man shook his thick, curly, black hair in confusion. “Man you’re an enigma to me.”
“The hypocrisy of it all was getting me down Dude. You Dig?”
“Heavy…” The girl said sarcastically, reaching over the backseat to stick her skinny hand with its long boney fingers and pointy, black shiny, manicured, nails out the window offering the shirtless, now jobless Archie a toke on the joint she’d just lit. “You smoke, right?”
“Right on!” Arch carefully grasped the amateurishly, loose and wrinkly rolled but fat stogy. He stuck the wet, squished end that wasn’t glowing in his mouth then sucked in the harsh, homegrown, tasting weed. Archie held the psychedelic fog in his lungs waiting for that warm tingling feeling as he passed the stogy through the window to Kev.
“Well Buddy, we’re going to the lake.” Kev held the joint to his lips then inhaled deeply. They stared at each other awkwardly, their eyes challenging each other to see who would exhale first. Archie heard the girl giggling from the back seat then gave in, because his lungs started to burn. Arch tilted his head back then blew a steady stream of white smoke up at the cloudy sky. Kev exhaled right after him coughing. “That home grown is rough on the throat.” He couched some more then took a quick sip from the open bottle of beer, he’d been holding between his legs. “So, you want to come chill with us, Kimosabi?”
“I got to get some sleep man.”
“Ah…hop in! You can go to sleep a million places up at the Splash.”
“Alright.” Archie shrugged. “You only live once, right?”
“Some of us not even that much.” Kevin replied.
Arch jogged around to the passenger side. He pulled the dented front door open with a squeak then slid onto the torn vinyl seat.
“Thirsty?” A hand with a dripping beer in it attached to a skinny, taunt and heavily tattooed arm thrust over the back seat offering.
“Thanks.” Arch took the can. “It must be karma, you guys driving by at the precise time as I was walking out of the parking lot after quitting my job.” He popped the tab. “I mean, what are the odds of that?” He took a swig wondering if this was going to turn out to be good or bad luck. He turned to Kevin. “Where’d you get these wheels?”
“Don’t ask.” The car pulled back across two lanes then headed swerving down the bumpy, pot-holed road.
“Last time I didn’t ask, I ended up hitch hiking back from Seaside Heights, New Jersey.”
“That was over two years ago. You’re not still holding a grudge over that?”
“Yes!” Arch turned towards the two in the back seat. “About two years ago, on my birthday Kev pulls into the dirt lot in front of my dad’s trailer driving a white Camaro. [“Climb aboard. I’m taking you to the beach for your birthday.” He says.] I change into my suit, grab a long towel and climbed in. Kevin drives to the corner convince store where he purchased us each a foot long sub, a bunch of assorted bags of potato chips and two six packs of beer. We partied the whole two hour drive to the jersey shore listening to a blues special on the radio. We both fell asleep on the beach waking up with sunburns. Then, we spent the rest of the night walking the boards, hitting on chicks and spending all our money on carnival games. About 2 AM they close the boardwalk. We walk back to the car but it isn’t where we parked it? While I’m reading the parking sign for that street, two youngsters walk over to inform us, [“If you’re looking for the white Camaro, the cops just towed it a few minutes before you got here.”]”
“As I kept re-reading the parking sign, confused as to why we were towed, Kevin blurts out. [“Boy Arch, you must be my good luck charm.”]
“You mean bad luck charm.” I corrected him. “Since your car was just towed for apparently no good reason!”
“It was stolen.” He admits flatly
“Yeah, the cops stole it!” I agreed. “How do we get it back?”
“No, I stole it.”
“Huh? What are you saying?”
“Two nights ago I was stranded at my cousin’s house in Little Galveston with no way to get home.”
“So you stole a car?”
“Yes. Does that really shock you? ” I stared at him. “I’ve done it a few times before that too. It’s really not that hard.”
“Are you saying you drove me all the way to the Jersey shore in a stolen car?”
“I wanted to do something special for your birthday.”
“How are we going to get home?” I ask.
[“I can try to steal another one or…”] Kevin holds his hand out with his thumb up in the hitchhiking sign. I wanted to kill him but that’s how we got home, hitching.”
Arch tapped his index finger on the dash board. “This ain’t stolen is it?”
“Borrowed.”
“Borrowed with permission?”
Kevin smiled. “As long as we have it back by midnight, Cinderella.” Archie stared at him. Kevin pressed the automatic door lock button. Clack! All four doors locked. Kevin cackled loudly, like a demon then stomped down on the accelerator pedal. The car sped down the road.
Archie looked at the driver calmly stating. “That’s very funny Duffice.”
"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!..." The driver continued to cackle evilly as he pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The car’s speed continued to climb. Archie noticed the speedometer read seventy five miles per hour which was way too fast for a narrow country road.
“I’ve taken that turn coming up. It’s quite sharp.” Archie informed then calmly took a swig from his beer. “What do you plan on doing?”
“You’ll have to beg me to slow down!” Kevin hissed, grasping the steering wheel determined.
“Not a chance.” Archie turned away, bored like, to gaze out the side window.
“Yo!” The boy in the back seat yelled. “Slow the hell down Dude!”
The girl in the back seat leaned forward then reached her long arms around Kevin’s headrest. She clamped her forearms over both of Kevin’s eyes then pulled his head back against the headrest. The car swerved, two tires crunching the gravel along the side of the road. Kevin shouted, steering blindly. Archie dropped his beer can, splashing beer all over the dashboard as he instinctively reached for the steering wheel. Arch steered the car back onto the pavement as Kevin fought to free his head from the girl’s clutch.
“What the hell are you doing!” Kevin knocked one of her arms up with his elbow. Her skinny boyfriend dove across the seat tackling her then wrestled her hands off of Kevin’s head. He drug her back into her seat. She was laughing.
Kevin jammed his foot down on the break as he re-grasped the steering wheel and tried to gain control of the car. Up ahead a tractor trailer was coming around the curve. BEEP! Archie sat back into his seat. His fingernails dug into the vinyl armrest as he braced himself. Kevin swerved the car back into their proper lane then steered the vehicle as it skidded around the curve. “Woo! Hoo!” She shouted as if she was riding a roller coaster. As Kevin slowed the car down to a manageable speed the girl’s laughter continued from the back seat.
“Are you crazy!” Kevin asked. “We could have all been killed!”
“Yeah, Ha! Ha! Ha!” She informed. “I heard about you two playing that same trick on my friends Julie and Sandy when you gave them a ride about a month ago. You made them think you were playing some sort of distorted game of chicken and neither of you were going to give in. You scared the crap out of my friends that day. You two have grown a reputation of being quite the team of practical jokers. Well today the jokes on you aye…”
Kevin laughed. “Yeah we did scare those two girls didn’t we?”
“Ah…” Archie sighed glad to learn they weren’t dealing with a girl having a psychotic breakdown. “So, you’ve known those two chippies a while?”
“Oh yeah, we been buds for years.”
“Okay listen up,” Archie pleaded. “No more joking on each other.” He took a deep breath. “My heart can’t take it!”
“You want another beer buddy?” The lanky dude in the back offered.
“Yes please.” Archie watched the thin, tan girl bend over to reach down into a cooler that was on the floor. She was wearing a backless, flower print blouse tied by narrow ribbons under her jutting shoulder blades and behind her neck. He could see her vertebras protruding knob like all along her spine along with some big freckles. She lifted the foam lid up then he heard the ice cubes and water slosh around as she dug out a cold can. She smiled passing him the dripping can over the back of the seat.
“Thanks.”
“I’m Amanda and this is Troy.” She pointed to the skinny boy next to her with his hand on her knobby knee.
“I’m Archie, nice to meet you guys.”
“Yeah, I heard about you.” The young man stated. “They call you the poet.”
“Yeah.” Archie laughed. “I’ve been known to string a few rhymes together, once I get really plastered.”
“Don’t let him kid you.” Kevin stated from the driver’s seat. “Archie’s poetry is the real deal.”
“Guess we’ll have to get you wasted.” The girl offered smirking, showing off two deep dimples. “So we can judge your rhyming talent for ourselves.”
“Cheers to that!” Archie smiled, showing his willingness, as he raised the beer they’d just handed him above the back of the seat so anyone who wished could clink their can or bottle against his in celebration of a good idea. Clink, clink, the two in the back clinked their cans against his then the car swerved as Crazy Kevin reached back attempting to clink his bottle with any and all three of them.
“Keep your eyes on the road!” Archie playfully slapped their driver on the back of his curly head.
“No, no, no…” Kevin continued reaching with his bottle. “Do you know how much bad Mojo it is not to clink glass when someone proposes a toast!” Archie again slapped Kevin on the back of his head. “Steer!”
Screeeech!!!…Everyone was thrown forward as Kevin slammed on the breaks bringing the car to an abrupt halt. “I’m turning this ship around if you all don’t clink my bottle right now!” Clink, clink, clink. They all quickly obliged. Kevin guzzled the remainder of his beer then tossed the empty bottle out the window, into the tall weeds. “Burp!” He twisted forward to re-grasp the steering wheel. “Now that everything is right with the solar system again.” He stomped his work boot down hard, on the gas pedal. Screeeech!!!…The tires squealed as the car peeled away.
Kevin reached his hand over the back seat. “Another beer please.” The thin girl leaned over to retrieve a beer for their driver.
“So,” Her boyfriend asked. “Why did you quit Man?”
“Oh………We had irreconcilable difficulties.” Archie barrowed a phrase from his parent’s recent divorce papers.
“You got to use simpler words Poet.” Amanda chuckled. “Troy only made it through the third grade.”
“Like what was your beef man?”
“They’re treating their workers bad. I’ve been in management technically for the past six months so the cut backs and changes don’t affect me personally. But, as the lowest rung of management, I roll up my sleeves and work and sweat right alongside the crew. My style of management has always been very hands on after all I rose up through the ranks so I can do all the different jobs. I lead by example. I jump right into the production line wherever needed. You’ll see me loading and unloading trucks. Whenever there’s a bottle neck, I’m there to help move things along smoothly. Naturally, I got to know my crew pretty well. We joke with each other. I rely on them and they rely on me. And, the bottom line is we get the job done. I don’t like to see them being taken advantage of.”
“When you got your promotion, I warned you about still mingling with the crew.” Kevin reminded. “They’ll stab you in the back every time!”
“They have no one, over me, who they can go to with their gripes. And everyone knows, I got no real power to help them with their grievances. It’s frustrating and I’m tired of it. There are a lot of good people working their butts off in that plant and I’m quite frankly embarrassed by how my bosses are treating them.”
“Wow, that’s actually a pretty noble move on your part.” Troy reached over the back of Archie’s car seat to pass him another joint, he had just sparked up.
“It was foolish.” Kevin admonished as Archie inhaled a hit of dirt weed. “You’re sleeping over my house tonight Buddy. And, tomorrow we’ll wake up early and I’ll drive you back to the plant personally so you can apologize and tell your boss it was all a big mistake and ask for your job back.”
“Yes Mommy.” Arch smirked holding the joint out to the driver.
They could all see the wheels turning in Kevin’s head trying to decide on a reply. Finally he took the joint, shook his head then muttered. “I don’t understand you. You’re my best friend but sometimes I feel like I just don’t know you at all.”
“Then I’ve succeeded. My main quest in life, is to confound you Kevin. Everything I do is so I can see that beguiled look on your face.”
“Oh he’s using those big college words again.” Amanda teased. “They give me goose bumps.”
“Lay one on us poet.” Troy pleaded, from the back seat. “Tell us a poem!”
“No. Turn the radio on.” Kevin ordered, holding the stogie over the backseat for someone to take.
“Come on.” Amanda whined, grabbing the joint back from the driver. “We want to hear a poem first.”
“Okay.” Archibald stared at Kevin as he started to recite. “He steered the car with a real sense of urgency. Like he already knew, years from now, exactly where he was going to be. As his three passengers stared out their window just trying to see. Thru the haze of their own hypocrisy.”
“No! No! No!...” Kevin objected, waving his free hand in Archie’s face. “You know I can’t stand it when you use me as your subject for your little rhymes.”
“Ha, ha, ha..” Archie laughed. “Kevin thinks all my poems are about him.”
“A lot of them are!”
“What a narcissist.”
“ I’m driving a car with three passengers aren’t I!” The driver stated his case.
“At this very moment I bet there are thousands of people out there driving a car with three passengers in it.”
“Uh huh.”
“I liked it.” The girl stated.
“Me too.” The skinny tattooed dude agreed. “Give us some more man. That was deep.”
“Yeah, but no more poems about me.”
“Okay you big baby. I was just teasing you. That one was to warm me up. A guitar player doesn’t just step out onto stage and start plucking and strumming out a song. He twangs a few notes first then adjusts the tension on his strings then twangs a few more.”
“So you’re tuning up?” The girl said. “Adjusting the tension?”
“Exactly. I’ve got to relax, open up my mind, slip into the creative mood.”
“I thought the pot and the beer did that?” The thin lad in the back chuckled.
“Sometimes but mostly I find they make me sluggish and dull witted.”
“Huh.”
“Ready or not...”
“You’re tuned now?” Kevin asked sarcastically.
“Tuned.” Archie retorted then took a swig of beer, gargled then swallowed. “Now keep in mind this one is a work in progress.” He began to recite:
Two young lovers in the back seat
Bumming a ride, oh where’s your car?
The bartender confiscated your car keys
Before he’d let you stager out of his bar.
You’re headed to the lake
Still searching for who you are…
“Hardy har har.” Amanda mock laughed.
“Yeah very funny.” Agreed Troy. .
“See it’s not so cool,” Kevin, the driver, pointed out. “When you’re the subject of the poem.”
“The poet in the front seat.” Amanda rhymed. “Is going to end up dead meat. Unless he promises not to use me or my friend, in any of his stupid poems again!”
“Yeah!” Exclaimed Troy, her boyfriend. “Take that poet!”
“Ouch! I know when I’ve been beat.” Archie laughed. “Listen guys I was just fooling around. I didn’t mean any harm." He tried to explain. “It’s just hard for an unknown artist, who is just a nobody, really, to put his work out there for people to criticize and tare apart.”
“Hey, we’re not going to cut your stuff up Man.” Troy assured.
“Unless it stinks!” Kevin, the driver shouted then laughed.
“Well, me and Mandy aren’t about all that.” Troy continued. “We’re nobodies too. We’re just trying to get to know you better. We can tell your poetry means a lot to you and our way of reaching out is to ask to hear some.”
“Yeah plus,” Amanda added. “We both really like poetry and admire art and artists of all kinds.”
“Okay guys, if you’ll let me? I’ve got a poem I’d like to run by you all. But, it really is a work in progress. So try to keep an open mind.”
“Yeah.” Amanda clapped. “Hit us with it Poet!”
Archie turned fully towards the back seat then began to recite:
To everyone who strums their fingers,
trying to keep time.
I dedicate, every little word, every little phrase,
every subtle rhythm and rhyme.
For everyone who taps their feet
I create this tiny melody.
Every note and key, I give to you,
each and every harmony…
“Hey,” Troy interrupted. “That’s pretty good Poet.”
“Yeah.” Amanda agreed. “Keep going!”
“I told you guys,” Kevin shouted from the driver’s seat. “Arch is the real stuff!”
“Shush!” Amanda scolded. “Go on Archie.”
...Of clapping hands and snapping fingers
There can never be enough
All the men and women who dance with two left feet
Come stomp and strut your stuff
To everyone who sings off pitch
Please feel free to hum along
And whistlers whistle loud and clear
For this is also your song
Let our trumpets roar like thunder
Our drums rouse like the crashing of waves.
While our guitars pluck like rain drops
To the chorus of 1000 galley slaves.
We’ll howl out like coyotes
Croak like bull frogs
Growl like tigers
screech like a bat.
Chirp like a parakeet
Bark like a pack of angry dogs
On the heels of an alley cat.
And when we all blend together
We’ll sound like a symphony
That will echo through the canyons,
A concert for you and me.
It will be a gig to remember
the show to end all shows
An example of Art imitating life
From a ballad writ long ago.
“Wow!” Amanda and Troy clapped. “That was great!”
“I told you guys!” Kevin laughed.
“Give us one more Poet!” Amanda begged. “Please!”
Archie smiled then began to recite:
Her beauty has me hypnotized with razzmatazz pizzazz.
I told her I just don’t have the patience to sit and decode all your hocus pocus, jazz.
Through all the smoke and mirrors, I knew I’d never see the truth.
I screamed I had enough of fairytale land, lady
in my wayward youth….
Thirty minutes later: “Are we almost there Daddy?” Amanda asked from the back seat.
“We are here boys and girls!” Kevin announced slowing the car then turning left at a weather worn, no hunting, no poaching, no littering sign. The car bounced off the paved road heading slowly onto a gravel, sand and dirt trail bordered by high brush made mostly of 4 foot tall, reed like, yellow grass. Clunk, clunk, squeak, clunk…their car jumped and jerked along the bumpy terrain. About twenty yards further they entered a small sandy clearing where assorted vehicles were parked helter-skelter. “Look, Demo Man beat us here.” Kevin announced pulling their car alongside a cancer rusted, Ford brick red van.
“Isn’t that Barfly’s Volkswagen?” Troy pointed excitedly.
“No, Barfly’s gas guzzler was white and dented. That one’s tan and in better shape.” Kevin chuckled. “Besides I heard the Barfly’s in New Zealand.”
“New Zealand?”
“Yep, Barfly hired a detective who tracked his birth father down in New Zealand. Barfly phoned his Pops up and his blood Dad invited him to come stay with him for the summer. His Pops owns some kind of crabbing business.”
“Wow! That’s a cool story.” Amanda stated adding. “I truly hope they live happily ever after. Cause, I know if I ever track my blood Daddy down it will be to put a bullet in him.”
“Now, now Mandy girl, everyone’s not as mad at their birth parents as you are.” Troy explained. “Amanda’s birth parents were real sons of bitches. When Mandy was 10 one of their neighbors called child welfare to come investigate screams they heard. The agency took Mandy, her sister and her little brother from their house and split them up sending them all to different foster homes to live.”
“I refuse to talk about my parents on such a beautiful sunny day.” Amanda threw her door open then leaped from the car. “I want to get a tan and I want to go swimming!”
As the rest of them climbed out of the car, a muscular twenty year old man with a buzz cut jogged out of the woods. “Hey guys!” He waved then jogged towards them.
“Moe!” Kevin held up his fist for the approaching man to tap with his fist in greeting. “You aren’t leaving already?”
“No way man. I’m just going to my car to replenish my smokes.”
“Sounds like you guys been here a while?” Troy asked.
“Nah, only about twenty minutes.” He tapped Kev on the shoulder. “I had this bitchin cigar right and I had brought one for you too man, cause I know you dig the stogies. I was waiting for you to light up with Bro. But, Sheri Lyn borrowed my jacket.” He smirked. “Cause, she’s kind a scantily dressed cause this is the closest she’s ever been to a real beach like they got along the coast.” He glanced at Amanda, quickly looked her up then down then continued. “And me being the gentleman that I am, I offered the damsel my threads. Two minutes later, the Mercury Brothers, Cody and Dwayne snuck up on her picked her up then tossed her in the lake. I would have been laughing my butt off along with everyone else if she wasn’t still wearing my jacket.”
“With our smokes in it?” Kev whined.
“Yeah.” He moaned, shaking his head. “I’ve got our stogies and my jacket drying out in the sun on a big boulder and Sheri Lynn drying out on another boulder.” He elbowed Kev in the ribs. “They may be dry enough to try to spark in a few hours. Though, I can’t promise what they’ll taste like.”
“What other babes are here?” Archie asked.
“The twins are here.” Moe informed smiling and elbowing Kevin in the side. “And they’re wearing bikinis.”
“You know I can tell them apart.” Kevin assured everyone adding. “But, they got to be all the way naked.” Kev laughed then jogged off down the trail. “Last one in the drink is a rotten egg!”
“Take the trail to the right!” Moe shouted after Kev. “It will bring you right to our campsite.”
“He’ll get lost.” Archie stated.
“He always does.” Moe chuckled then shouted. “Watch out for the quicksand!” He turned then resumed his way across the parking area to his Dad’s station wagon.
“Yeah right.” Amanda snorted then looked at Troy then Archie. “Is there really quicksand out there?”
“So the legend goes.” Arch informed. “I never encountered any of it personally. But people speaks of it.”
“Oh, you’re just trying to scare me.”
“Nah, give us some credit girl. We got much better material to scare you with than quicksand.” Archie offered. “Didn’t they tell you, this whole area is haunted?”
“Uh huh.” She rolled her eyes. “What do you take me for some tourist?” She leaned over to pick up her handle of the beer cooler. “Ready Boy?” She glanced at Troy. “Lift.”
“Everything on this side of the lake is an Ancient Indian burial ground.” Archie pointed his finger into the woods. “All of it.” He reached for the handle of the beer cooler she was holding. “Let me carry that for you.” Archie took her side of the cooler then the two young men headed their parade into the trees.
“You sure you know where you’re going?”
“Just step in our footsteps and you’ll avoid the quicksand.” Troy joked.
“Hardy, har har…” She mock laughed. “I meant, I don’t want to get lost.”
“Maybe we should lay a trail of bread crumbs behind us so we can find our way back to the car?” Archie volunteered sarcastically.
“How about a trail of empty beer bottles?” She joked back, showing their teasing wasn’t fazing her at all. She was far from being prissy but wasn’t very nature and woodsy experienced which she hoped to conceal from the boys. She was getting anxious to get into the company of some other female, comrades so she wouldn’t feel so on stage, like she had to keep performing as one of the guys.
The forest smelled, like wet dirt and rotting leaves as expected the day after a heavy rain. Small twigs cracked under their steps as they maneuvered around lingering puddles in the narrow trail. Birds chirped, sailing from tree to tree and there was a slight cool breeze. They stepped over rocks and fallen branches as they followed the trail. The trail split into a V. They took the right path following Moe’s directions.
Soon they began to hear the Reggae music, drifting through the forest probably from a portable radio. Laughter and voices grew stronger as they got closer to the party area. The path emptied into a small grass covered clearing set up like a picnic grove. There were five, weather beaten, wooden picnic tables spread out, each, already covered with the stuff of various groups claiming them as their home base. There were a couple of portable grills smoking. The air smelt of burning charcoal. “Let’s see if they mind us sharing a corner of their table over there.” Archie started to lead them towards a table in the far corner of the little grove.
“Oh no, there’s Ms. Depressing!” Amanda whispered, pointing to a tall blond, with her hair pinned up in a bun, who had stepped out from behind some bushes near the table they were heading to.
“Oh, so you know Lucy Buzzkill Bearrellie too?” Archie asked, stopping his leg in mid-stride.
“Unfortunately, all too well.”
“All she ever does is complain so, why do the other girls always bring her?”
“She’s the one with the car.”
“Ah…That explains it.” Archie turned them towards a different table also half filled with stuff, whose occupants had just vacated to play a game of touch, Frisbee football. “They seem like fun people. Quick, let’s commandeer the empty far corner of their table while they’ve left it completely defenseless.”
A large, smirking, blubbery young man noticed the new arrivals setting up then walked over to Archie. “So, Poet what brings a great intellectual mind like yours down here to our humble, little puddle of H20? Getting bored with your afternoon tea parties?” He smirked holding his beer bottle up in the air making a point to stick his pinky finger out. “Archibald is here, Pinkies everybody.” He took a sip.
“Well, Guru you know me. I like to frolic with the little people now and again. Slumming with you commoners allows my brain a chance to revitalize. And there’s everything of course to gain from communing with nature.” Archie opened his arms gesturing to the forest around them. “I find all this, helps keep my feet well grounded to our mother earth so I don’t just grow a big head and start floating away some day.” The obese man laughed. “And yourself Old Wise One? To what can we attribute the pleasure of your esteemed presence this fine Monday afternoon? Are there no international chess tournaments, no political debates? Your expertise isn’t needed to decipher the hieroglyphics chiseled into the side of some newly dug up piece of ancient pottery?”
“It’s like watching a Shakespearean play.” Amanda marveled smiling. “Performed out in the middle of the forest.”
“More like a Shakespearean tug of war!” Troy laughed.
“Even the great thinkers and visionaries; Sir Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein, Tolstoy, all needed a break now and again. I too must regrettably stray for a spell from the rigorous schedule of my scholastic studies to rejuvenate what Agatha Christie’s great fictional Detective referred to as the little grey cells. Oh how I wish I could live for the moment, like you self indulgent Bohemians with your charming disregard for rules and convention and your care free attitudes towards everything especially flaunting your free love life style as you embrace infidelity like it’s a right of passage.”
“Yes, I can dig it.” Archie interrupted his babbling. “But such a small pond?” Archie pointed at the lake. “For such a big fish?” He pointed at the blubbery Guru..
“Ha, ha, ha…You win Poet!” Big Guru bowed to Archie. “Ladies and gentlemen I give you the poet laureate of Lake Mochachujuacha.”
“Don’t forget Guru,” Archie winked at the big man who was now walking away. “Keep in touch with your inner chi.”
“Always Poet always!”
“Hey Arch,” Tall Cody Mercury came strolling up behind them with a shorter stocky man wearing a cowboy hat who Archie didn’t know. “Do you think there’s a Bigfoot?” Cody was chewing the end of a long stem weed and looking as if he was contemplating how to figure out the answer to a tough physics problem.
“Not around here!”
“Of course not around here. I mean, out in the great northwest near Canada?”
“I don’t discount anything until I see proof one way or the other with my own two eyes. But it seems to me that we should have at least found a bone or two or even a whole skeleton from the large creature by now. Someone finds cavemen and dinosaur bones all the time.”
“Big Foot might be hiding the remains of its’ dead.” The cowboy countered. “Making sure we don’t find them.”
“Like I said, anything’s possible. But, I can’t believe any species can live in total secrecy, on this planet, in our day and age, especially something as huge as this Big Foot creature is supposed to be. He has to hunt and eat constantly. Since he doesn’t plant fields of food like people do, that means he must be a meat eater. So, he has to follow the herds. When he kills there should be signs like buzzards flying overhead and blood at the kill sight and carcasses or at least some bones or mess left behind when he’s done eating.”
“I’d love to go hunt Big Foot down!” The cowboy daydreamed outloud.
“Yeah count me in!” Cody nodded.
“Awesome, count me in too!” Troy stated.
“Oh yeah, Big Foot is shaking in his shoes!” Amanda laughed. She walked over to where the over three hundred pound Guru had been standing then bent over to stare at the size 14 wide foot print he’d left in the sand. “Wow look at that! If you guys find a foot print bigger than this one, I’m out of here!” She lifted her tiny foot then placed it inside Guru’s print leaving a tiny foot print inside his large one then laughed. She walked a few steps making sure to only step inside Big guru’s tracks. “Ha, ha, ha…” She giggled like a little school girl at the results. “Double tracks.” She called them.
“Now that girl’s low maintenance.” Cody announced. “You don’t have to take her out to the opera once a month to keep her entertained.”
“Hey there Poet!” Stocky Shawn O’Calahue walked up from behind Archie holding his large hand up for Archie to high five. “This is Brigitte.” He reached behind himself, grasped the small framed, teenage girl’s hand then tugged her to stand next to his side. “She’s an exchange student from France, staying with my neighbors, the Wilkerbees, who live across the street from my place. She’s a little shy so they asked me to show her around.”
“Hey, Brigitte.” Archie reached for her delicate hand to shake. “Did you know your name comes from the French/German Gaelic Brighid, which means, exalted one?” He leaned over then kissed the backs of her fingers. “Nice to meet you, Brigitte.”
“Like wise I’m sure, monsieur.” She grasped the bottom of her short summer dress, curtsied then stepped back behind Shawn giggling nervously.
“So, what have you and crazy man been up to?” Shawn pointed through a gap in the trees, to a cliff about twenty yards away, overlooking the lake, where curly haired Kevin stood grasping a tire, tied to a rope, tied to a tree branch which grew out over the water.
They watched Kevin drop his shorts and underwear to his ankles then step out of them. “Yeee! Hhhaaa!!!” Kev yelled as he ran naked off the cliff, hanging onto the tire. The rope carried Kev’s large frame high into the air. Kev let go, curled himself into a ball, grasping his knees with his hands and yelled “Cannon ball!” His body hit the water with a boom, sending up a geyser of a splash.
“Actually, today is the first I’ve seen of Kev in months. So, I can’t say what he’s been doing. All I’ve been doing this summer is working at the rubber plant. But that’s not going to be a problem now.”
“Why? Are they laying off again? Business slow?”
“I quit today.”
“Good for you Poet.” Cole shouted from the other side of the picnic table where he had sat down to roll a joint. “Welcome to real America the home of the brave and unemployed.”
Brigitte stuck her head out from behind Shawn, her chaperone to ask. “How do you feel about joining the communist party?” To the astonishment of Archie, Shawn and everyone else within ear shot, who all turned to stared at her open mouthed.
“Not too good since my Uncle died fighting against them.”
“That was many, many years ago, no? They’ve come a long way since then, oui?” Her tiny hand held up a pamphlet. “Our latest manifesto, S’il vous plait (if you please)?”
“Non merci (no thanks).” Archie shook his head no. “You’d have to really sell me, to get me to betray an ancestor who was willing to pay the ultimate price.”
“Hey, I’m sorry Archie! I had no idea she was a commie.” Shawn turned to Brigitte. “No, no, no Girl! These are my friends. You can’t be pushing that propaganda to my friends! Now, put that away.”
“Okay, fully understood. De’sole’ (sorry).” She turned to Archie. “No pressure Monsieur, but, if you ever get a conscience Poet,” She said with hardly any accent. “You know where to find me.”
“Yes, I do Red.” Archie headed back over to the picnic table. He lifted the lid off their cooler then reached into the cold ice and water to dig out a new bottle of beer. As he twisted off the top, he noticed Amanda and Troy walking hand in hand towards the lake. They seemed like nice kids. He was glad he’d gotten to meet them today. He gulped a swig of beer.
He turned around, gazing towards the sizzling sound coming from one of the grills. Jezebel Sanchez, a cute, wavy short haired brunette he had once had a crush on back in high school was flipping a bunch of pinecone shaped things, on the grill, with a big pair of tongs. The coals hissed angrily, followed by a puff of smoke every time she turned one of the pinecone things over. Curious he walked towards her.
As Archie came closer he saw she was basting the pinecones with a brush dipped in a small bowl of dark liquid. “What’s on the menu today, Chef Jezz?”
“Barbecued Artichokes.” She smiled a set of very large, bright white teeth. “I’m a vegetarian now.” She turned to face him head on, revealing she was wearing big mirror lens sunglasses and had a bright orange, wide pedaled flower in her hair, the stem was buried in her short, wavy locks and wedged behind her right little ear. It gave her a sophisticated Hawaii Islands look. “I brush them with a special mix of mostly Olive oil and balsamic vinegar and some herbs. It keeps them soft, from drying out inside and adds a twang to the taste. Most of the other girls are vegetarians too. We’re all trying this new diet. Would you like to try a choke?” She held one up with the tongs.
“Not right now, thanks. What else are you girls going to eat?”
“We brought a nice big mixed green salad and have celery and carrot sticks with a spicy hummus dip. I got corn on the cob to grill next and we’re going to grill eggplant slices cut into discs about the same size as hamburgers that we can top with a slice of cheese. So, if you want a mock cheese burger, stop back in about a half hour.”
“That actually sounds pretty interesting.”
“Hey Arch!” Moe shouted from across the picnic grove. “Come down here. We got the real barbeque food; hamburgers, hot dogs, kielbasa!”
“Thanks!” Arch shouted back. “I’ll be right over!” He looked at Jezebel. “No offence I hope?”
“Nah, go eat with the boys.” Archie waved then headed across the clearing.
Dark tanned, Len sat on a picnic table bench with his leather sandaled feet dangling as he strummed and plucked his guitar. Around his neck hung a harmonica. His long ponytail waved like a horse’s tail as he performed his mocked up version of the Bob Dillon classic song, The Times They Are A-Changin. “Come gather round people where ever you roam. And admit that the waters around you have grown…” Dillon being Len’s idle, Len had developed a few jazzed up faster tempo versions of some of the master’s more laid back folky tunes. “…And except it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone. If your time to you is worth savin…” He sang with a deep, edgy, cigarette smoker rasp. "Then you better start swimming, or you’ll sink like a stone. For the times they are a-changin.” Archie clapped as he walked up behind the musician.
“Hey, there Arch.” Len hopped off the table then walked over. “I hear you’re a starving artist too now!”
“Yeah, you know I always wanted to be a starving artist. Only, I was too afraid I would really starve.” He leaned over the table to scoop a handful of potato chips out of a bowl.
“You got any new lyrics you want to try out on this crowd?”
“Hmmm…” Archie thought for a second. “Yeah, actually I do have a little ditty I’ve been working on with just you and your harmonica in mind.”
“Awe don’t tease me Boy! Are you ready to jam?” He played a quick bar on his harmonica for emphasis.
“I’m ready Fiddler man!” Archie stood up next to Len. “Hit me with a beat!”
Archie sang:
I’m a poet with many ideas
That have been stewing and brewing for years
I’ll try to be kind, while I’m blowing your mind
Exposing your nightmares and fears
With prose that will curl your toes
While Pinocchio’s nose grows.
I Make fun of your folks with knock, knock jokes
Then I switch gears.
Some days I’m a therapist, tossing my voice like a ventriloquist, a mystic,
a hypnotist. Often an activist, an antagonist an anarchist,
Rarely an apologist or capitalist nor diplomatist.
Some say I’m a pacifist.
But hey, that must have been the lecture I missed.
I choose to fight with a pen not a fist.
Choose being the operable word!
They say my bark is worse than my bite.
With rhyme not bullets I wage a good fight
I’ve been known to bring down a king.
With lyrics that sting.
Won’t you all join me and sing for what’s right.
Make them laugh, make them cry, make them see.
A renegade on an ego trip.
Thumbing my nose at society.
Don’t patronize, there’s no need to lie.
When you’re giving good lip.
Like money in the bank
be brutally frank, fire point blank
And always shoot from the hip.
I’ve been called an exorcist, a fetishist, a hedonist,
Others say I’m a dramatist, a fictionist, a futurist,
illusionist, intellectualist, even, can you believe, a psychiatrist.
But when they claim that I’m a pacifist.
I tell them that must have been the lecture I missed.
Because, I choose to fight with a pen not a fist.
Choose being the operable word.
“One more verse!” Len cried. “Give us one more!”
“You’re on your own Fiddler. This is a tough crowd. I’m going swimming.” Archie laughed then headed towards one of the travel worn paths.
Something scurried in the weeds to the left. Archie turned, looking down to see a thin black snake slide under a pile of leaves. “A harmless garden snake.” He thought for a second. “Yes, what could be more fun, at a picnic full of squeamish half naked girls.” He moved closer to stare at the tiny piece of tail still hanging out of the leaves. “But can I be sure you’re not poisonous?” He lifted his head up then noticed the woman about fifteen yards away with the long, straight, silky, black, almost oriental hair that hung down to her waist. She was sitting Indian style on the bank, a few feet from the water with a large artist’s sketch pad standing on edge on her lap. She was beautiful.
The whole scene was beautiful, like an ideal scene for a painting itself. If he could paint, he would paint this young woman from this exact angle captioning her sketching the lake. He forgot about the snake.
Archie parted the branches then stepped through the brush, walking towards the artist. He watched her change pencils a few times as she sketched the scene in front of her. He walked up behind her silently admiring her drawing of the lake and forest behind it. Soon his eyes fell to her long, lithe legs noticing the spider web tattoo on her right ankle.
“How do you like it so far?” She asked.
“Beautiful.” He mumbled.
“My drawing? Really?”
“I like that too.” He kicked his shoes off, stepped around her then walked a few steps into the lake. He bent over
then started rolling one of his pants legs up into a cuff.
“Hey! That’s not fair!”
“Can’t you draw the lake around me?”
“I meant, everyone else is skinny dipping. What are you scared to take your pants off in front of a Lady?”
“There’s a Lady here?” He joked looking up then down the banks. “Where?”
“Oh you’re going to pay for that remark!” She stood up then lay her sketch pad on the towel she’d been sitting on. Staring her down, Archie unbuckled his belt then unsnapped his pants then unzipped his fly then dropped his pants into the few inches of water he was standing in. She gasped covering her mouth with her hand then giggled as he stepped out of the floating pants. He reached down, scooped up his pants then walked out of the water directly towards the woman wearing just his tight, white undershorts. He brushed past her then hung his pants up on a branch of the tree behind her.
He turned around then walked back towards the lake. As he past her he slapped her hard on the buttocks then jogged off into the water. “Ouch!” She turned to watch him run until he was thigh deep then dive under the water. When he surfaced he held his wet undershorts in his hand. He rolled his shorts up into a ball then tossed them like a baseball onto the bank. She watched him dive under water then swim around, catching glimpses of his pale buttocks. When he surfaced he looked over at her and asked. “The water’s beautiful. Aren’t you coming?”
He was amazed when she turned her back to him then began taking off her bikini. He watched her hang her suit on the branch next to his pants. She turned then walked proudly, straight into the water. He was wide mouthed as she swam towards him. “Didn’t think I would, did you?” She splashed him. “I’m June, nice to meet you.” She held out her hand to shake.
“I’m Archie.” He dove underwater then came up holding her petite ankle with the spider web tattoo. “Did you get this done in China town?”
“Yes.” She pulled her leg back from him. “How did you know?”
“It looks like Wah Fat’s work.”
“I didn’t notice any tattoos on you?”
“I ordered one on lay away, for my back.” He pointed between his shoulders.
“I never knew they had lay away tattoos.” She chuckled.
“It’s going to cost $1000 dollars and Master Fat says it will take him 14 hours to complete. I paid $500 already. But, I just quit my job this afternoon. So, I don’t know when I’m going to have the other half of his money.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“Oh, it’s a long story.”
“Hey, you want to swim over to that island?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll race you.” Archie watched her dive under the water then start swimming away from him. He dove then came up swimming after her. They swam side by side towards a little island over grown with bushes trees and weeds. Archie quickly tired himself out because he kept going under the water to take peeks at her naked body. Soon she pulled ahead.
“I win!” She claimed smiling. He floated towards her, watching her climb the rocks onto the island’s shore. “Hey hurry up! This is no free peep show!” He chuckled as she turned then parted the weeds then climbed through disappearing.
“Hey! Wait for me!” He carefully climbed the slippery rocks onto the bank. He parted the branches then followed her small foot prints in the sand. He ducked under branches and brushed aside the tall weeds. About fifteen yards inside the brush he found a small sandy clearing. About 6 yards away, she was sitting with her back to him upon a large boulder. “How did you ever find this place?” Archie walked towards her.
Standing next to the boulder, he put his arm around her shoulders. She turned her head to gaze into his eyes. They kissed. “You’ve been here before.” She smiled. Archie slid his free arm under her knees then slid his right arm down to her lower back. He lifted her off the rock. They kissed as he carried her to the middle of the clearing where he lay her down in the soft sand. He stretched out beside her. She reached for his head then kissed him. Still kissing, she slowly climbed on top of him. They began making love.
About an hour later, they were walking hand in hand exploring their little island oasis. A fluffy rabbit hopped across the path in front of them. “This is nice.”
“Like our own little Garden of Eden.” He hugged her tighter then kissed her on the nose.
“I hate to leave here. But, it’s getting late and the others are probably wondering where we are.”
“Yeah.” He released her. “We should at least swim back over, before the sun goes completely down.” He stood up holding her hand. “Come on.” He led her carefully off the rocky bank, stepping into the mossy shallows.
She squeezed his hand. “Let’s not race back.” Still holding hands, they dove underwater together. The cool lake water felt refreshing and cleansing. They hugged as best they could while still trying to keep their bodies afloat. Keeping as much contact with one another’s limbs while frolicking as one unit with an occasional kick or hand paddle for direction they mostly drifted and cuddled their way back across the lake. Their eyes combed the shore line. “It looks like we’re the only ones still swimming.”
In the shallows they stood up, kissed briefly then jogged towards the shore. “Wow! Imagine that.” Archie pointed. “Our clothes are in the same place as where we left them.”
“That’s a first in the history of skinny dipping.” She acknowledged. Grabbing Archie’s work pants then tossing them to him.
As Archie zipped up his fly, he stopped to listen. “Are they really singing Kumbaya My Lord?” They both laughed. “We’d better get over there fast if we’re going to save them from their nerdy selves.”
“Oh, you’re going to have to save the nerds all by yourself Archie.” She kneeled down to pick up her sketch pad then began gathering up her pencils. “I’ve got to get home before my husband does.”
“Husband?”
“I thought you knew.” She stood up and looked him in the eyes. “That doesn’t matter does it?”
“Uh no, of course not.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet.” She stepped close to him. “Look at you, you’re blushing!” She stood on her tip toes, grasped his chin with her finger tips, turned his face towards her then gave him a quick peck on his lips. “Thank you for a wonderful time, Archibald.” She let go of his chin, turned then stepped into her sandals. He watched her hips sashaying as she walked off down a trail disappearing into the woods.
“Wow!” He thought. “I didn’t see that coming.” He turned back to gaze once more at the lake. It was almost dusk and the surface was smooth with wisps of evaporating mist rising eerily. He could just barely see the brush and trees lining the bank of their tiny oasis, love nest of an island. From the camp site, he could hear the partiers’ voices begin to sing.
“Take me out to the ball game…Take me out with the crowd…Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks…I don’t care if I never get back…” Suddenly fatigue started to set in. His muscles felt like stretched out rubber bands. Reluctantly Archie turned then headed towards the singing. “Let me root, root, root for the home team…If they don’t win it’s a shame!...” Archie combed his hair back with his fingers then joined in singing as he walked into camp. “For it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out…At the old ball game!”
“Hey Arch where you been Man?” Tall Kevin asked. “I thought you left hours ago with the twins or someone.” Kevin had an arm wrapped around the shoulders of thin, little, Brigitte the French Communist Recruiter. She smirked at Archie seeming a little embarrassed to be caught cozying up with a strapping American boy next door. Good luck trying to convert Kevin the last true Hedonist to anything. He’ll convert her to Kevinism first.
“I thought the quicksand got you Poet.” Skinny Amanda smiled jogging up to Archie. She hunched over to wrap her arms around Arch’s waist. Arch could tell she was wasted.
“I thought Bigfoot got you.” Large looming Guru shouted from his perch, sitting on a picnic table with his huge sandaled feet resting on the bench. He was hugging a big bag of potato chips with one hand, his other hand buried inside the bag almost to the elbow.
“Hey man, I’m bushed.” Archie told Kevin.
“Yeah Super Kev.” Amanda echoed, still clinging to Archie. “Let’s blow this truck stop.” She pulled herself up to rest her head on Archie’s shoulder. “I’m so glad the quicksand didn’t gobble you up.”
Kevin jumped up onto a picnic table to announce. “Hey ya all! My chariot’s leaving folks! So, if any of you wayward child’s want to cop a ride back into town follow me.” He jumped off the table. “Anyone know where the parties are tonight?” Kev asked as an afterthought.
“There’s a party at Marsha’s place down in the valley.” Moe informed. “And, Booker’s having a bash up at his cabin on the top of Scooby’s Mountain.”
“I’m not welcome anymore at Marsha’s digs.” Kevin chuckled. “So, I’ll see all you adventurers later on, up at Booker’s country club.....on top of the world!”
The next day: “Son.” Someone was shaking Archie’s shoulder. “Wake up.”
“Huh?” Archie yawned opening his eyes to see his father standing over him, looking down.
“Archie, did something happen at the plant yesterday?”
“I’m kind of hung over Pop. Can’t we talk about this later?”
“No.”
“Tonight Dad? I’ll buy pizza and beer and we’ll watch the Nick’s game, just the two of us.” Archie pulled the blanket up over his head then rolled away from his Dad, pushing his face into the couch’s cushions.
“I can see you’re hung over Son.” His father reached down, grasped then shook his shoulder. “We got to talk about this now!”
“Why?” Archie threw the blanket off. “You never asked me much about my job before. Now, cause I quit, you want to talk about my job?”
“You quit?”
“Yeah.” Arch sat up on the couch. “Don’t worry you’ll get my share of the rent. I still got two more checks coming that they owe me. After that I’ll find another job. But if I don’t, I’m thinking of going to stay with Mom for a spell, till I get my head together and figure out what I really want to do with my life. Now can I get some sleep!” He lay back down, pulling a couch pillow over his head.
“Son?” His Pop sat down next to him on the couch. He reached under the pillow for Archie’s head then held it steady in his hands as he looked him in the eye “What else happened at the plant?”
“They offered me a raise and a company car to stay.” Archie knocked his Dad’s arms away from his head then sat up smirking. “Yeah right, that would be the day!” He laughed sarcastically. “And a secretary with big...”
“Archie! There are a whole lot of newspaper reporters and camera men camped out on our front lawn.” His Dad informed. “And, a whole bunch of people gathering in the street waving signs with your name on them.”
“What?” Arch laughed. “Now, you’re pulling my leg.”
“I wish I was.” His Dad sighed covering his face with his hands. “Go look out the window Son.”
Archie stared at his Dad confused then slowly rose. He walked to the window then pulled the corner of the curtain aside. “AHH!” He let go of the curtain as if it was on fire. Arch turned wide eyed to stare at his Father. “What?...Why?...”
“What did you do at work yesterday?”
“Nothing, I just quit.”
“Did you yell and curse and cause a scene?”
“No. I simply walked into Mr. Griffin’s office, told him I quit, dropped my keys on his desk then walked out.”
“You’re sure you didn’t punch anyone or threaten anyone? You know how your temper can be?”
“Dad, I didn’t do anything crazy. I swear!”
RING…Archie looked confused and scared towards his Dad. “I’ll get it.” His Dad stood up reassuring. “You take a minute and try to remember what really happened yesterday.” RING…Archie watched his father jog to the phone on the kitchen counter.
“Hello?.......Really?..... Are you sure?” His Dad pulled the phone away from his ear. He looked worried. "Son, turn the television set onto channel six. You’re on the news.”
“The news?” Archie picked the remote control up off the coffee table. “This just keeps getting better and better!” He pointed the remote at the TV then turned it on then pressed six as his Dad jogged into the room.
“The big news today is the walk out at the McGondell Brothers Rubber Plant in Copperfield where hundreds of factory workers laid their tools down on the cement floor then strode out of the plant late yesterday afternoon. If the workers at the other nine rubber plants in our State decide to support and join the workers of McGondell Brothers by striking too, this could turn into the largest work stoppage protest our State has seen in over 25 years.” Stated the newscaster. “It’s no secret, tensions have been building over the past year between disgruntled rubber plant workers throughout the state and various top managements. One industry insider sighted, long hours and low pay as the main gripe. [“They want us to do quality work but want to pay as little as possible.”] Complained a picketing worker outside the Plant in Copperfield.”
“At five minutes to four pm yesterday, workers handed a petition signed by hundreds of co-workers sighting their complaints including; Long 12-13 hour work days with short or no breaks, unfair requirements for full time status, low wages, diminishing health care benefits, unsafe outdated equipment and unhealthy working conditions, specifically sighting an inadequate air ventilation system that management has been promising to fix or replace for over a year. [“We’re committed to stay out as long as it takes!”] Assured an angry worker. There is a rally set to begin at 1:00 pm today in front of the rubber plant. Labor leaders, community leaders and disgruntled workers are expected to speak about the situation, voice their concerns and possibly discuss quick solutions that will get the workers back working and the production line moving again.”
“Good for them!” Archie turned to his Dad to proclaim. “I’m glad they finally got up the courage to stick up for themselves.”
“Shush!” His father pointed to the TV screen.
“Hey, that’s my high school yearbook photo.” Archie pointed.
“Shush!” His Dad ordered. “Let’s listen.”
“Insiders say, it all started yesterday morning when workers arrived to start their shift and found an announcement posted by the time clock announcing another up-coming pay cut. For some it was the last straw.”
“But, my quitting had nothing to do with their grievances.” Archie whined. “Or this strike!”
“Shush!” His dad scolded, grabbing the remote control to raise the volume..
“Life long, local Copperfield resident and rubber plant shift manager Archibald Radcliff, was the first to walk out…”
“No!” Archie yelled at the screen correcting. “I didn’t walk out. I quit!”
“Workers say they were touched, when they saw their friend and co-worker Archie, recently appointed to management, peel off his company shirt, roll it up into a ball then toss it into the waste can with disgust. [“Archie walked out into the sun, bare chested smoking a cigarette, like James Dean.”] One worker described the scene. Archie looked over at his Dad sheepishly then shrugged helplessly. [“Seeing that manager willing to stick up for us,”] One worker explained. [“Set off a wave of emotions followed by a chain reaction. As soon as someone heard the story, like dominoes, one by one the workers laid down their tools then marched towards the door.”]”
“We now go to 111 North Meadow Lane, in Copperfield where our ace reporter Terry Hauser is waiting outside the home of the man they say started it all, Archibald Radcliff ex-shift manager for McGondell Brother’s Rubber. Terry, has Archibald Radcliff given the media any statement yet this morning?”
The camera zoomed in on a beautiful brunet holding a microphone. “So far Charley, we haven’t seen Archibald yet and no one knows for sure if Archie Radcliff, the man responsible for kicking off, what may turn out to be the largest labor strike in our state’s history, is even inside this house. This being Archibald’s father’s house. But, the reason we, the news media are here is because outside Mr. Radcliff Senior’s home, as you can see, the striking plant workers are already gathering here with their petition signs. Their plan as we’ve been told is, at around 11:30 am they are going to begin the march from this house, down this street, towards the plant, which is about a little over a mile and a half away, where they will join the other protestors already assembling in the front parking lot of the McGondell Rubber Plant for a labor rally, set to begin at 1PM. The strikers are hoping Archibald Radcliff will lead their march.”
“Pop, what am I going to do?”
“I’ll run them off our property if you want me to Son?”
“All of them? Did you see how many people were already out there?”
“I’m going to tell them you’re not home.” He headed towards the front door.
“Wait!” His Dad stopped to look over his shoulder at his son.
“I need to think.” Archie stared at the ground. His two fists were balled up in his hair, pulling it.” He started to pace.
“I’ll handle this, Son.” His Pop, stepped towards the front door.
“Don’t ya see, Dad.” Archie snapped the fingers of his right hand in the air to get his father’s attention then held his palm up signaling halt. As the young man walked towards his father, Arch combed the fingers of both hands through his wavy hair. “I got to do this.”
“Are you saying you want to talk to the press?” His Dad stepped in Archie’s way. “Cause, I don’t think that’s a good idea Son. News reporters can be tricky. They ask misleading questions and set you up to look stupid or worst. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I have to make a statement. The workers need me to say something. They’re expecting me to stick up for them.”
“Strikes very often get violent Archie. It’s best if you don’t get involved.”
“The strikers are calling me their spokesperson. There are over a thousand workers and their families counting on me. I got to step up! I got to see this thing through.” Archie turned then reached for the front doorknob.
“They’re going to twist your words around and try to use them against you!”
RING…Father and son looked at each other then at the phone. Archie froze with his hand on the door knob “I think, the vultures are getting restless.” His Dad stated. RING… “I’ll answer it. You, stay right there.” His Dad headed towards the phone. “And, think hard about what you’re thinking about doing Son.” He rested his hand on the receiver. “So far, no one knows you’re in here.” RING…
“Hello?...Yes, we just watched it too…Yes, he’s here. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.” His dad held the phone up. “It’s your buddy Kevin. He saw the news. He’s worried about you too.”
“Yeah, uuuuhhhh!” Archie groaned in frustration as he ran over to take the phone. “Hey buddy, I’m in a fix.”
“What do you mean fix?” Kevin replied. “This is your dream!”
“Are you high already?” Archie stared at the phone receiver.
“No! I’m hung over as I’m sure you are too but...”
“I don’t got time for nonsense Kev. I’m in a real pickle here. The Paparazzi have got my door staked out and it gets worse…”
“It’s your two minutes Buddy. What are you going to do?”
“What two minutes? I don’t need riddles right now!”
“You know. We’ve talked about this Arch, extensively. How they say everyone gets at least two minutes of fame in their life time. You can either embrace your opportunity when it presents itself or ignore it and watch it slip away. This is your two minutes Pal!”
“But real people’s lives will be affected by what I say. My Dad is worried that the news people are going to manipulate my words.”
“You are the Poet, Laureate of our generation Archie. You are the voice of the people! If not Archibald Radcliff then who? Nobody out talks the Poet! Heck, talk about someone’s destiny. You’ve been preparing for this chance since I met you, Pal, your whole, young adult life.”
“Yeah…I can do this.”
“Of course you can Buddy. Pull from all that frustrated pent up energy you’ve been channeling into your anti-social, sarcastic, angry young man, lyrics, that we laugh about. You ask me, those disgruntled employees couldn’t be in any better hands. Just follow your heart Arch. Follow your heart!”
“Thanks buddy, I got to go now.” Archie hung up the phone. Knock…knock…knock. Archie looked at his Dad.
“Well, did Kevin talk some sense into you Son?”
“He sure did.”
Archie’s father started to walk towards the front door. “I’ll tell them you’re not here.” Archie held his arm up blocking his father’s path.
“I got this Dad.” Archie put his hand on the doorknob then slowly turned the knob.
“It’s your call Son but I don’t think you should open that door. As of right now, nobody knows you’re here.”
“Then it time they found out that I am here.” Archie pulled the door open. Flash! Click, flash, click, flash!...The cameras sparked.
“Archibald Radcliff?” Someone asked as Archie stepped onto his porch.
“That’s me.” He squinted against the camera flashes.
“We heard you were the man who started it all.”
“Started what all, exactly?”
“You don’t know?” The female reporter just stared at him. “The whole McGondell Borthers Rubber Plant walked out yesterday afternoon, after you quit.” The photographers continued taking his picture maneuvering around to get better angles.
“I’ve just been informed Mr. Archibald Radcliff, that the other nine rubber plants in our State have just announced they are all officially joining your strike here in Copperfield. How's that make you feel?”
“Wow!” Archie’s mouth fell open then curled into a smile. “I’d like to be the first to welcome them Good ol’ Boys aboard.”
“Yeah!...” The crowd behind the news reporters shouted. “Strike! Strike! Strike!”
“Yes, then you are the Archibald Radcliff who set all of this into motion?” Archie shrugged his shoulders. “Mr. Radcliff. Can you tell the public why you decided to quit this morning?” She moved her microphone in front of his mouth. "Take your time Son."
“Well it all started when…”