"All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident."
Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860)
Meeting of the Fabituso Society
February 2004
It was strange to be back. Dave had avoided the Fabituso Society Meeting since the last time Bernard had bowed out in late 2001. Life goes on and people change. So the first thing that struck Dave was how very much the same this was. The same waiters, or their doubles, were pouring drinks at the bars located at each corner of the room. The same lavish presentations of hors d’ourves were laid out on the table in the middle. Even the flowers could have been the same, though of course they weren’t. Everything was real here except the perception that this represented a grass roots political movement. Now Dave knew that.
Walking in Dave had seen the same people mostly. Some of them looked a little older, a little fatter or thinner or balder but essentially they were no different. This impression was reinforced when he was greeted by some of his old acquaintances and they took up what seemed to be the same conversations that they had been having over two years ago. Everyone was delighted to see him. He said hello to Babbs, and a half dozen people he had gotten to know back then.
The attention and level of respect accorded him now, as opposed to four years ago, demonstrated just how active the gossip conduits were. Three up and coming policy guys made sure they handed him their cards and offered to send on their resumes. They had heard he was starting American Revival and were interested in jobs. Amazing; information just seeped out the cracks, not that anyone seemed to know what they were actually doing. Dave smiled to himself. They were only now beginning to understand that themselves.
As Dave chatted and listened he realized that the people were not only having the same conversations, they were also reading the same line from exactly the same sources. AR had been tracking the publishing of books by the NeoCons and the same authors were still producing books in the same form to justify the NeoCon policies. This had rather shocked Dave initially. Those were, after all, the books he had read and relied on. Going back through his mind and rethinking every issue and point had proven to be a form of deprogramming he had not anticipated needing. But given the big lie technique common to all of the books produced by NeoCon thinkers it had been necessary. Now all facts were checked against the three course protocol. Everyone at AR used it, cross checking ‘known’ facts routinely.
Dolly had found that especially useful while transitioning to the policy world. She was now familiar with the work of all of the major think tanks and able to critically analyze it for economic foundation and content and projected outcome. Dave had put a reliable Austrian economist who was presently teaching in California on retainer to act as her mentor. So much of what each of them had thought had actually been ungrounded mythology.
The Elks also had their mythology, too, though ironically enough it had proven to be more accurate that Dave’s. And of course with Elks the profit motive was absent because all Elks were volunteers.
Now Dolly routinely read the voluminous outpourings of such think tanks as Cicero and Rationality, and used their ideas in her own ongoing work for guaranteeing Americans better choices for social insurance that kept control in hands they could trust not to steal the store. She hoped to get the Elks interested in helping her interest Congress in these proposals as the desperately needed means of changing what would otherwise be a continuing series of disasters for lower income Americans. Soon they would need to find her some help with public relations. American Revival was gaining substance. Local Liberty, their outreach to those unhappy with traditional politics was increasing in readership daily. In the past week they had gotten 13,000 hits, not bad for only a month on line.
The hot topic under discussion at Fabituso this month was naturally the presidential primary season. The point of most of the excitement was the identity of the candidate for the Democrat Party nomination. The present choices were characterized only by the lack of enthusiasm they elicited from Democrats and Independents alike.
Wistfully Dave wondered what it would be like to have someone he could vote for instead of against. How would it feel to believe in a candidate as they had believed in Goldwater or William Wallace? Now it seemed like you voted just so a worse choice could be avoided, as if you were dodging a bullet aimed square for the heart of the country you loved.
Otherwise, discussion centered on the war in Iraq and the growing necessity of a draft to begin as soon as the election was over in November. As he listened Dave realized that there was a change he had at first missed. Now, when they talked about the Branch Administration some of them were nervous. They glanced around before speaking; they dropped their voices when they were critical of the continuous barrage of propaganda justifying the war that no one wanted. No one discussed the issue of the voting machines. No one discussed the curiously absent weapons of mass destruction. The bizarre story of Branch crawling under the desk in the Oval Office calling, “Here, weapon, weapon, weapon,” had made the rounds. Dave did not want believe it.
This time no one doubted Branch would be going back into office. How that really made them feel made Dave pause and wonder. Some faces had disappeared from the crowd and among those were the people who had, like him, been moderates or had supported the Wallace administration and been lukewarm on the subsequent Branch term.
Towards the end of the evening Dave overheard two men talking about the rumor that General Brad Schlephosher was considering accepting a draft for President. Hearing that there was discussion of a candidacy for the man gave Dave a momentary surge of hope. When Dave inserted himself into their circle the man who had brought up the subject said it was just a rumor. No one had been able to get the General to say if he had plans for this year. The speaker, who Dave had thought of as a NeoCon come along, sounded disappointed, too, although he looked around to see who else might be listening. Dave felt a slow draining out of the excitement that had initially started to build. The General was universally respected inside and outside of the military as well as by Americans generally. It was clear that no one was going to run against Branch from inside the Republican Party or as an Independent.
From there the same small group, who Dave learned were libertarian leaning, went on to discuss the Libertarian candidates. Dave tuned this out, heading for the refreshment table. A survey of these three individuals had already been accomplished and none of them had anything particularly interesting to say, though along with other Libertarians they spent a lot of time saying it.
When the speaker was announced Dave started easing himself towards the door. Lindsey had not shown up and when her name was mentioned no one would admit to knowing where she was. Now, Dave admitted to himself that it had been the possibility of seeing Lindsey that had drawn him here. As he walked out he wondered why this social gathering had depressed him more than most funerals.
American Revival Headquarters.
Gladys and Sam had eventually returned to Massachusetts but not before they had become part of the Revival. Between them they had vast experience with the United Nations and had provided an enormous amount of input. They had also begun thinking about how the present trend could be changed. This brought into the discussion the World Trade Association, something that Larry and Christopher had just begun to look into. It had troubled Gladys and Sam since its founding in 1995.
As they had seen with the privatization of power in California again there was a decoupling of accountability and profits. But this time the ‘members’ of the WTO were raising themselves to that level of ‘more equal that just people’ accorded to them by having incorporated – and they were asserting the right to the protection of laws while holding themselves above the laws of any particular government.
It was as if the grocer could decide not to deliver but could force you to pay not only for the undelivered groceries but for the court that demanded your money be paid and the policeman who arrested you for nonpayment. Someone likened it to the book, Animal Farm. No one laughed. It was all too true that in this world some animals were more equal than others even in a court of law.
Gladys and Sam recounted how the United Nations was intended to provide justice services between nations so that some of the ugliest evasions and predatory human behavior would be stopped.
The potential of the United Nations to do good in the world had been sadly underutilized.
It was Gladys also who told them about the girl-child she had gotten to know who had been sexually sold when she was eight years old to the American founder of HTP, the original courier service. She gave birth to a baby by the middle aged man when she was just turned nine. Because she as not an American citizen she had no recourse in American courts, but no other court could hear her. The ugliness and wrongness of it appalled everyone in the room. Dave remembered hearing the girl characterized as a prostitute who was trying to take advantage of the wealthy and successful entrepreneur. The blatant unfairness of that nauseated him. How could people use each other this way? Freedom the way he as an American viewed it was about, well, doing right things, not about the license to harm others. Yet allowing American men to abuse children was a regular form of tourist trade. How did this square with the sovereignty the Founders had imagined for the country they had dreamed of as a shining city on a hill?
Without a fair access to law, effectively some people would necessarily be less than human. The pets of most Americans had more standing in court and more rights than foreigners in many cases. As it was, the courts provided by the United Nations were closed to plaintiffs like this young girl, now a frightened young woman not yet 20 trying to care for a child of ten.
Only cases where both parties consented to binding arbitration would be heard in the one International court located in Hague. Men like the founder of HTP would never consent to that.
There were so many outrages that needed answers. By destroying the ability of the United Nations to provide justice as a service, the individuals and corporations involved were creating a world where the powerful could prey on the weak with impunity. Straussianism even went so far as to create a justification for this. Gladys and Sam, unfamiliar with the esoteric philosophy of the NeoCons were stunned, as were many others in the room when Dave told them about the seminar he had attended on the subject where these assertions were made as a matter of course.
Gladys went on to share her work through the American Coalition for Families. Again, it was inequities in the access and application of law that marginalized those without the means to find a hearing in court. America was creating its own second class citizens.
Dave made a note to look into the issues that centered on the justice system. Thus far they had barely touched on that except as it impinged on politics, as in the Orville Johns confirmation and the involvement of the Hamiltonian Society in politicizing the filling of federal judgeships.
They all wanted a world of unfolding possibility that said YES when people did good things and NO when people did things that were wrong. They all agreed that a world where that was true would come about only through persuasion and never through force. It had been hard for the most political types, including Dave, to see that the action of politics was force, but with consideration and understanding the words of now dead thinkers, they admitted the truth of it.
Any one of them was free to try an approach to a problem if they could persuade others to help out. The AR provided the raw material, analysis and thrice checked facts. This agreement had come out of one last long evening of discussion, a going away party. Dave had spent a lot of time listening to the hopes and fears of this amazing collection of people that agreed on so much about the future they were determined to create for their children.
Larry Waterhouse was the kind of guy who did not normally say much; He just listened. But when the talk turned to right versus wrong he injected a comment that shocked everyone.
“Why do you expect people to do the right thing when the right thing always costs more and never pays off?” He had asked with an almost annoyed tone in his voice, as if this was obvious. Then everyone was talking and arguing about it and a new line of inquiry was opened up.
Dave had a horrible feeling this was true. If it was it was amazing that anyone ever did the right thing.
The number of people now involved in AR had grown so that when they sat down to dinner together the table in Dave’s dining room had to be opened up to its full size. That evening they sat down 25 to a dinner of lamb prepared by Bernard and Sam. At least Bernard and Sam had formulated the menu, this being a nod to the sheep ranch that had become Sam’s refuge in New Zealand. Seven of those attending were vegetarians but the menu was varied and there were more than enough different kinds of food to satisfy everyone.
It had become a tradition for everyone to cook and everyone to help clean up afterwards. Fuzz Ball and Margarine, at first nervous about the increased human population, began to get used to having more people around. Fuzz Ball adopted a post on top of the liquor cabinet for watching the proceedings while Margarine preferred the shelf under the kitchen work center. Margarine, being female, was always more practical. She was far more likely to enjoy quick snacks from there.
Dave had learned to like raw food, which surprised him. Their first raw food enthusiast was a former libertarian whom Christopher had recruited.
The best dessert had actually been assembled by a raw food friend of Bernard’s. That confection was simply amazing. Made with the unlikely combination of mango, coconut and curry the pureed delight surprised the palate with a gentle zing, while seducing with a sweetness that left you wanting more. He was not the only one who was surprised and intrigued; he could see that glancing around the table. Suddenly he realized that doing this with the food was a metaphor for what they were doing with ideas. But really listening and understanding the visions of their former political enemies they were testing those visions by comparing them to the visions that had moved them into politics originally. Dave took another taste of the dessert again enjoying the unusual blend of flavors and texture. He smiled. The young woman who had created this dessert was just now tasting the very unraw dessert that Christopher had made. That was composed of chocolate and cherries with lots of refined sugar. She was nearly as young as Christopher and it was obvious from their body language that the interest went beyond dessert.
During the long, slow courses of dinner the group talked about the means that they had seen used to manipulate outcomes in organizations to which they had belonged. Nearly everyone had a personal story and most of them would have been depressing if not for the fact they were becoming the raw material for change.
Eventually one of the new members, a friend of Gladys’ from the United Nations, began making notes to be transcribed and reduced to behavioral strategies. Those would be used in the book AR was producing. The book, tentatively titled, “From Personal to Political: A User’s Guide to Living Rightly.”
Bernard had assumed editorship of the book and Dolly was working with him on the project. Working together gave them opportunities to talk during the day. Dave actually thought it made them more effective, working as a team. They both glowed. Dave was glad for them and sometimes just a little jealous.
Later they were all to agree this had been one of the most valuable insights they had. And the desserts were fantastic.
Lindsey in New York
Lindsey was living in a tiny apartment they had subleased from an old friend who was living in France for a year. The ratty little hole was located deep in the Village just off Bleecker Street. Lindsey spent most of her time either working on the computer or caring for her old friend Lance, who was becoming increasingly feeble over time. Although he made light of it, Lance was not well, and Lindsey knew that. His injuries, sustained during the Second World War, were slowly catching up with him.
It comforted Lindsey to make sure the man who had become a grandfather to her had his coffee and croissant in the morning. Walking over after buying it at the patisserie actually signaled the end of her day. Lindsey had begun working through the night and sleeping during the daylight hours. When Lance had his surgery she would always be there to pick him up and help him home even if for her it was the middle of the night.
Over time Lindsey had begun an online business in selling books and collectibles she picked up cheaply in thrift stores. It was a bright spot for her and there were few of those. Since her location still needed to be hidden this was the only kind of job she could have but she took to it with the zest of a treasure hunt.
During the nights Lindsey sat on a flat cushion she had bought at the Salvation Army. The exotically woven cloth of the thin rectangular pad had reminded her of a childhood book about a sultan’s palace, and there was a magic to the worlds she could touch on the internet in the long lonely hours of the nights. Lindsey was hearing stories far more astonishing than the thousand and one tales told by Scheherazade. These tales included the ancient city of Baghdad, but they took her to places the ancient bartered bride of the king could never have imagined. Scheherazade imagined thievery and death and treasures to save her own life. In the end of the story, she may have even imagined falling in love with the man who held her captive, but she could never have imagined the siren song that had taken center place in Lindsey’s heart.
Scheherazade survived through guile. Lindsey was determined to conquer with truth.
Lindsey had become a revolutionary. Born to a family who had fought in the first American Revolution on every single line of the family, signed the Declaration of Independence, and worked for the Committees of Correspondence, Lindsey had taken a lot for granted. No more. Over the course of months she had reread every word of the founding documents. She had heard them before with only her mind and not her heart. Now she understood.
Her childhood had included 4th of July celebrations when the youngest child in her family read the Declaration of Independence in its entirety to the attentive listeners. She had often wondered why the words moved her mother to tears. Now she knew. She was also moved by the proximity of the courthouse where the courageous acts of a German printer named John Peter Zenger took place.
On August 5, 1735, twelve New York jurors, inspired by the passionate words of Andrew Hamilton, had ignored the instructions of the Royal Governor's hand-picked judges and returned a verdict of "Not Guilty" on the charge of publishing "seditious libels." The Zenger trial is a remarkable story that marked the beginnings of a free press, and the stubborn independence of American jurors. The case had laid the foundation for what would a generation later become the First Amendment of the newly born nation. Astonished, she discovered her roots and the acts of the Founders moved her to a deep sense of reverence and gratitude for the sacrifices they had made.
The Internet held amazing resources that opened up new worlds to the mind and the imagination. It was during just such a journey that Lindsey first encountered the work of Coop Steigler.
Reading over a legal pleading he had written late one night, it suddenly occurred to her how empowering it would be to go into court herself. She again wondered at the courage of John Peter Zenger. Perhaps it wasn’t really possible, but she could read and imagine.
These wanderings into the world of law helped her deal with the frustrations she was finding in the real world. The law suit in New York was going no where. Dicks was handily evading deposition and Cod was still not returning her calls. What had seemed like a hope for justice was sputtering out like a candle drowning in the rain.
Was justice still possible in America?
Charlotte, North Carolina
Although Coop had stopped organizing through his nonprofit, he continued to train people who needed to defend themselves either from rapacious spouses or from the intrusions of the government. He figured that every person he trained was another person who understood what was wrong. And some of them stayed after their own problems were solved and helped him help others.
Coop now had active groups of individuals working and training in 40 states. Their efforts did not make news, but they were beginning to open some eyes to what had been going on.
At first he had thought that the problem was all about greedy, grasping women who just wanted a free ride. He had become active in father’s rights groups and helped them without thinking much about it. Then, he was contacted by a woman in Florida who had been royally screwed, and it was a father’s rights group that had helped her former husband do it to her and her three small children.
The abuse of power and the need for justice was not gender specific and it was not just the courts. It happened everywhere. Where before he had not thought much about the matter, now he started to look into the roots of the problem and saw the need to firmly tie having done the right thing to outcome. Only then the courts were reliable could that happen.
What he really needed was a case that would get visibility. He was keeping his eyes open and he was sure that one of these days he would find it. He just hoped that it would be one worth the effort it would take to ensure that the litigant took the truth home to the people of America.
That is what he had told Karen and all of the others.
“When you walk into that court, remember it does not belong to the Judge, or to the city or the county of the state or even to the federal government. The courts belong to the people so when you walk in it is your court. Remember that, live it, and make sure that everyone knows it.”
The White House
Nine months out from the election and Humstead knew that they would have to use at least three of four of the contingencies he had stockpiled. Sitting at his desk in the White House, Humstead considered which would best serve the purpose while creating the least possible negative exposure.
The next full briefing would be taking place in twelve hours. Humstead glanced down at his watch although the Waterford clock, its parts encased in gleaming gold and ticking chastely, was sitting in plain sight. The clock was a gift from a man who hoped he would manage his campaign for Congress. Humstead had declined the job but kept the clock. Shifting back in his chair he thought carefully about the meeting and which items should be emphasized as possibilities at this juncture.
The war had not been too bad overall. But Humstead was very dissatisfied with the attempts to inject role models that would provide Americans with the appropriate attitude into the public eye. And the movie had been a bomb, although he was not going to say that to the President who still liked watching it over and over again. Somehow, even with all of this power, some threads were slipping through his fingers.
Well, one of the first possibilities was distraction and the best way to do that was to get someone else in the loop to share the blame. Tapping the tips of his fingers together he gazed upwards, toward the ceiling. It was looking like the possibility of turning over formal control to the newly created government in Iraq was going to be problematical. They had put a lot of dependence on Chepolti. If that worked out as planned it would all be fine. If it didn’t, well - he could always dump it on the United Nations.
American Revival Headquarters – a personal moment
The letters and poetry that Gramps had left to Dave that had not been translated from the German had returned from the service Dave had hired, and were sitting on his desk when he had arrived home from Massachusetts. Dave had thought about asking Bernard to translate them, since Bernard had read them in the original German, and then decided he wanted an objective eye to do the work. Now here they were, just waiting for him.
He sat down and picked up the earliest letter and began to read.
Excerpts from the Letters (translated from the original German)
1931
Dearest,
You can always make me laugh, and never more than when your exasperation with some other member of my sad and rough made sex incites your entirely justified outrage. I am very glad it was not me who was your partner in that dissection. I mean in doing the dissection. I know that if you had been dissecting my poor body you would have been kind, kinder than you perhaps were to your partner. Of course he should know all of the parts first. Absolutely he should put them back in the right configuration. Shocking that he did not, but he is just a male so what can you expect? I will hope that your next partner is better prepared and does not expect you to write his part, too.
I would be delighted and honored to act as your escort to the symphony on the occasion of your birthday. Are you going to bring along your instruments – the ones you use for the purpose of dissection? This humble admirer hopes not.
Your savant of economic principles,
Jacob Forman Elderhous
Dear Mr. Turnip,
He made my blood boil. I know I should have been more polite. Mama would have been most annoyed with me for the outburst. The professor of anatomy also expressed his disapproval in the most specific of terms. He was in fact more annoyed and exercised over my behavior than he was with the inability of this nincompoop to learn to differentiate a liver from a kidney. I feel as if the man’s future patients should be warned – although it is unlikely he will ever practice medicine. He told me he is only seeking the degree to ensure that his father will not stuff him into the other family profession of soldier. His actual goal is to write poetry! While I can sympathize with the impulse to write poetry, I find it unlikely he will be able to support himself from such an economically marginalizing endeavor without far more talent than I have observed in him so far. Unfortunately, or fortunately, perhaps, he will be my dissection partner for the rest of the term. And you see I am reading the small volume that you recommended to my attention and am finding it at least entertaining enough to keep me awake for a short while each night.
The occasion of my birthday will be very wonderful and please remember to wear your most formal attire! Mama will insist and you do not want to be forced to wear my brother’s again. Have you found a job for the long vacation? I will be working in the clinic here and in that way efficiently satisfy the needs of monetary augmentation and also add to my student hours.
I look forward to the previously mentioned appointment with anticipation!
Fondly,
D.
Dearest,
Turnip? But it is so pedestrian a vegetable! I would prefer, I think to be your radish or, God forbid, even your onion. Both have more bite and character. Although one can leave a bitter taste in your mouth and the other can make you cry. Perhaps asparagus?
The acquisition of an item worthy to be presented on the occasion of natal celebration is complete. Please give the enclosed short note to your Mama. You are free to read it though I know you would be even more likely to do so if I told you to restrain yourself. Two notes under one cover of envelope and postage, you see what a good manager of money I am?
I will be missing my Friday night with the Professor to spend it with you; not that I mind. The music to be enjoyed with the Professor is far less melodious than that we will be enjoying at the Symphony. But his, of course, is oriented only to the understanding of economics.
Will your Aunt and Uncle be of the party on Saturday?
Your potato,
Jacob Forman Elderhous
Dave looked over the words in English and then at each letter, studying the hand writing. The paper was over 70 years old and very fragile.
As Dave slowly put them back in the carved wooden box he had bought to hold them along with the translation, he thought about the happy tones of trust that seemed to naturally blend their lives together. How did two people build that kind of trust between them? Dave’s thoughts glanced off of his relationship with Lindsey. That hurt.
It had been his relationship with Dearest Darling that had provided the direction and motivation for so much of what Gramps became in his later life. He had anchored himself in her. Having read Gramps’ diaries from later life Dave knew this had never changed. Love, real love, endures and gives us place in ourselves even when the person we love is no longer there.
Eventually he would read every word of what felt like a last message from Gramps.
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