“How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant of the weak and the strong. Because someday in life you will have been all of these.”
- George Washington
A Father's Love for his Children
Saturday, June 5, 2004
Dave heard the news from Dolly. He had gotten up late on Saturday having worked until the first golden thrusts of dawn had lit the windows of his office. There was much to do and little time remained for getting it done. Waking at noon, he had been slow in rising, Fuzz Ball was sitting in the middle of his chest and he was loathed to disturb the paunchy feline, deciding to take the day off, an unusual practice. Scratching the cat’s neck as the feline dissolved even further into a puddle of happiness and contentment, he wished he had some of that himself. He was busy doing important work, but despite meeting dozens of eligible women he could not seen to find someone who touched his heart and mind, and he was not really happy.
It was nearly five in the afternoon when the phone had rang and Dolly’s voice, awash with emotion, had told him the news.
She had gotten up early that morning and gotten online to finish up some work to go out via FedEx so it could arrive on Monday morning. Then she and Bernard had gone for a walk; coming back after a late lunch she had gotten back to work, booting up her computer. The note had come through from one of their contacts in California before it was announced on the news.
Dave turned on the television and the announcer was just breaking the news. President William Wallace had died at home at the age of 93, the courageous victim of Alzheimer’s. Dave began to cry. This time had to come, he knew. But as he sat there with the lump in his throat, as he watched the televised announcement, he could not help remembering the letter Wallace had read to a shocked nation. He had taken his tragedy, the years he knew he would miss, and offered it up to serve others. Alzheimer’s was an ugly way to die, taking the mind while leaving the body. It had seemed incredible to Dave that Wallace had faced this final challenge with such good cheer and dignity, and with jokes. He had said that he would be able to hide his own Easter eggs.
Alzheimer’s was a disease that destroyed the savings and serenity of thousands of families all over the world. In hopes of increasing the money available for research, the former President had used his personal tragedy to cast light on the problem. His own suffering served people.
Listening to Dolly’s voice speaking the words of loss had brought back to Dave the sense of connection he and all Americans had found in this singular man.
The man he now realized he would always think of as The President had placed his stamp on history, ending the Cold War by forcing the Soviet Union into an arms escalation they could not afford. It had been a controversial strategy at the time and was still so today. The left had never forgiven him. The arms race had increased the national debt and compromised the prosperity Americans hungered to enjoy. But it had worked.
By increasing America’s readiness Wallace had forced the Soviets to spend themselves into a box that had allowed their people to free themselves. As Dave listened to Dolly he remembered watching Wallace on television as he spoke those words, “Tear down this wall.” The words had come at the tail end of his presidency when the pressure of the Soviets was at its peak. The stark reminder of oppression had been so present and overwhelming to his generation. Suddenly Dave realized that his was the last generation that would hold the image of that ugly wall in their minds. For the generations now still in childhood and unborn it would be different.
The Wall had come down in November of 1989. That event had been Wallace’s gift to the people of Germany and the example had been his legacy to the world. Hearing Wallace say those words, words Dave had later learned were spoken against the advice of all of his administration and the Congress, still made the tears well up in his eyes. Even at the time they had sent shivers down his spine and moved him beyond words.
The vision had been heard all over the world on both sides of the Wall.
And so the Wall had come down. It had not been torn down by governments but by the hands of cheering tens of thousands of people from all over the world, gathered in a party that had lasted for days. Bare hands and chisels, hammers and power equipment had wrenched the Wall from the Earth, reuniting the two Germanys and allowing families who had been divided for more than a generation to see, touch, and embrace each other once again. The guards whose duty it had been to watch the Wall and monitor papers and persons had exchanged caps and joined in with cheering and weeping. The mayors of East and West Berlin had shaken hands. It was a party for freedom no one attending would ever forget. Dave had watched it on television, enraptured. He had wished he could be there, too.
Only now was Dave beginning to see the real gift it represented.
Americans had looked into an endless future of fear. Wallace had changed that.
Dave closed his eyes. The tears in his eyes spilled over on to his cheeks, tracing lines down his face until they slowly fell onto the papers scattered over his desk. Absently, he brushed them away, sighing deeply. Soon, later today, he would take some time to go on the web and remember the man whose life and words had shaped his generation.
The Lesson of the Wall was not about governments. It was about the vision one man held in his mind and heart despite the compiled wisdom of all of the governments on earth. Individuals, choosing the vision spoken out by Wallace, had brought down the Wall despite the might and force of governments. William Wallace was the man who had had the courage to dream, to see and to speak. Dave was everlastingly grateful that this, at least, Wallace had seen before the great forgetfulness of his fate had taken his mind.
Gramps letters
Dave opened the carved wooden box, taking out another letter. He felt as if he was walking back in time and reading over the shoulders of two people now gone.
1934
Dearest,
On returning to my boarding house on Monday I received word that the Friday night events that have so enlivened my mind are to end. Herr Professor is leaving for Geneva. Politics again exacts it toll on each of us. This sad cessation will be long regretted by those who gathered to talk and listen and then to share drink, music and poetry. Please do not laugh too loudly over my characterizing what you have rightly characterized as merely passable verse as poetry. Lyrical beauty it might have lacked, but the joyous tenor and the tones of the thought economic were always present.
Many wives and sweethearts resident hereabouts will doubtless breathe a sigh of relief. Or perhaps not, those hours might have seemed the sweeter to them for the absence of the men who will now be released for other activities. But as we discussed, the reasons for Herr Professor’s departure hold no joy for those who share his heritage.
For me this event means only the loss of those enlargements of thought and instruction that necessarily came from such insightful congress. For you and your family the considerations are far different. I know you think me an alarmist, but please, we must talk as soon as you return. I do hope that you and your lovely mother and sister are enjoying the delights of Paris.
Yours in all ways,
Jacob
My One and Only Jacob,
Reflecting on our conversations I understand your concerns. But while I have promised to marry you after I have completed my internship, I fear that neglecting to do that now may make it impossible in the future.
We left Paris last night. Mama was determined that we spend part of the last week in the South, and it is lovely as I watch the scenes flow by through the window of the train.
Your letter would have missed me if it had been delayed by a day. Walking the boulevard brought back memories. Was it only last year that we spent those evenings together in that funny little coffee house? It seems longer ago somehow.
I must finish my internship. It is no easy thing to be admitted to another medical school. Let’s think about it later.
We, or Mama, decided that we should go to Avignon. You might remember that she and Papa spent the first part of their honeymoon there, and I am sure she will let him know while we shop and wander through the museums how much she wishes he could have come with us.
I will be thinking of you when I watch the bridge from our window – assuming Mama manages to get us in her favorite pensione, which is likely since she always seems to get what she wants.
We will be back on Friday. So if your Herr Professor is not yet decamped perhaps we can talk then.
D.
As Dave carefully put the letters back into the box he ached for the kind of closeness and love that had been palpable and present between these two people. They had trusted each other; they had blended their lives completely. That had been a marriage to admire and to envy.
American Revival Headquarters, New York
It was not until Monday night that Dave and the AR headquarters folks sat down and talked over the news of Wallace’s passing. It had not hit Bernard as it had Dave, Christopher and Dolly, but it raised questions that eventually lead them in unexpected directions.
Objecting to crediting Wallace with ending the Cold War through his arms race and also with bringing down the Wall, Bernard introduced the Iran-Contra Deal.
“Wallace’s record on Iran – Contra was shameful. First, he used the 52 hostages being held by terrorists in Iran as pawns to ensure his election, and then, he not only sold arms to terrorists, he turned around and supplied arms to insurgents in Nicaragua. How do you square that his being a decent human being, much less a hero?” Bernard was upset. Dave and all of them could tell that.
It had become the Rule One that when ever an issue that was emotionally ‘hot’ for any of them was raised, they tried to approach it gently. The protocols they developed worked with varying results. When the protocols were used it was pretty smooth. But depending on the heat the subject generated, everyone could forget.
The protocols called for examining the thrice checked facts and agreeing on those before they began discussing the subject. The problems came from everyone. First, no matter how diligently they checked facts and cross checked them with different sources, it was clear that absent documentation, what passed as facts was often pretty unreliable. The media, they had discovered, was abominable as a source. Each of them, when they talked about it, realized that they knew examples where the media had been wrong. They knew that personally because they had been there during the reported event.
Dolly actually had the least experience with the media, but even in her small town this had been true. Dave had started to disagree with this, then remembered, with chagrin, his own experiences.
Bernard had always voted Democrat and had noticed the policies associated with the Wallace Administration that had been questionable. Some of these still made him very angry, and they spent most of Monday night arguing over those past events. Larry had just listened. That was what usually happened. Larry was unusual for a nerd in that he was just quiet if he knew he didn’t know. After a few minutes he went into the office and printed out a list of facts they did know.
1. Bobby Lee Emory was elected President in 1976.
2. He was the Democratic candidate.
3. The Embassy in Iran has been raided and hostages taken on November 4, 1979.
4. William Wallace was nominated by the Republican Party in the summer of 1980. His vice presidential candidate was the senior Branch who was head of the CIA.
5. The hostages were released January 20, 1981.
It was not much else except that the price of petroleum had spiked in 1977 and continued to climb practically straight up until 1981 when it had declined just as sharply. Those were the facts.
Bernard and Dave looked at each other and laughed.
“OK.” Bernard nodded. “So, we don’t really know about this. But Larry, what do we know about Iran - Contra?”
That was a different matter. There, documents and tapes formerly confidential and now in the public view revealed that President Wallace had sold weapons to Iran. This had taken place as part of attempts to free seven hostages then being held. Money from arms sales had been used to purchase arms for insurgents in Nicaragua.
There were indictments; numerous members of the Administration had served time in jail and suffered other consequences. President Wallace had assumed responsibility for the operation at the time, so the tapes, while telling a fuller story, held no real surprises.
That had happened. There was evidence and the admission by the man in the Oval Office of those events had long been on the record. Wallace had not tried to find a scapegoat. He had acted with forthrightness and honor.
However, there was no hard evidence of wrong doing in the events surrounding the 444 day hostage standoff in Iran; just claims and counter claims. The attempted rescue had been badly botched, costing the lives of American military, and only Emory could be held accountable for that.
Dave pointed out that the Wallace administration included the senior Branch as Vice President. He could have been the source of the questionable activity in the earlier campaign period. Branch had the connections to do it. Wallace did not. Pausing, Bernard considered this. Campaigns were far harder to track back then, but something might be possible. It was worth doing because it leads to some possibilities of substantial insight into the characters of both Wallace and Branch.
Dave admired Wallace, but he still wanted to know for sure. Dave knew that if Wallace were alive and able to speak he would tell the truth. He did not know why or how he knew that, but he would bank his life on it.
Larry suggested they take the principals and chart their known behavior before and after the election. This should include Emory, Wallace and Branch and those prominent in each administration, and see if their later behavior might show some correlations. This had proven useful before. Behavior, their studies had revealed, goes to the unspoken premises that are internal to the individual. People who are honorable may make mistakes, but they correct those mistakes and change their behavior. Character, the word we use to describe those unseen internal values, is more constant than any other variable.
Later in the evening, as the others were leaving, it occurred to Dave that he had not taken time to look over the Web himself. He had been looking for Lindsey, too. Tired, but still unable to sleep, he headed to the computer and idly put in Wallace’s name followed by Lindsey’s. Frowning, he started to erase the two names then just hit the search button. Only one entry came up. He had hit feel lucky in his gathering stupor.
There on the screen was the story of Lindsey and the Raspberry Gumballs. It was so like her he wanted to cry.
A Personal Remembering for the President’s 92nd Birthday
February 6, 2003
Raspberry Gumballs and the President
As told by Little Lindsey to her Mom.
She hungered for raspberry gumballs. These ecstatically wonderful delights could only be had from the gumball machine at the local Safeway Market. She knew it was after curfew. This limitation was an annoyance that had been mandated by frisky high school students wandering through the night looking for very different excitements. This could not apply to her. She was law-abiding and careful of the proper rights of others.
Little Lindsey was always a law unto herself.
She got dressed. Her aunt would never know. She could almost taste the gumballs now.
The Safeway was just a few blocks away, a matter of a five-minute walk. She had often ventured into the night on some such small adventure, but this time it would be very different.
The place was pretty quiet except for a clutch of people around the checkout stand at the other end of the store. Little Lindsey, standing around 4’ 8,” ignored them, eyes firmly on the source of coming delight.
The coins clinked into the slot and she turned the handle. The machine groaned, coughed, and fell silent. No raspberry gumballs appeared in the spillway. She tried again. Still no gumballs. She knew that appealing to the store manager would result in a smirk and dismissal. That had happened all too often. The gumball machine seemed to be sneering at her.
“Hey! You can’t shake that machine!” Little Lindsey looked back to see a friend of her grandfather’s glaring at her. She had to look way up as he was well over six feet.
“It stole my money and I’m not going to let it get away with it – this time.” She returned to her activity. Smack.
Little Lindsey felt herself seized bodily and hauled off.
“Apologize to the Manager, Lindsey. Your grandpa is going to be very upset when he finds out.”
“No. This machine steals my money and the manager won’t give it back or fix the machine. He promised he would the last time. Grandpa would say I was right to insist on having the gumballs. He might not have wanted me to hit the machine but….”
“But we do not smack machines. They aren’t our property.”
“So I guess it is alright to steal from kids?” She looked up into the face of the 40th president of the United States, William Wallace, who had paused while bagging his own groceries in Goleta, California in 1981 to intercede, recognizing the grandchild of an old friend.
Little Lindsey would be hauled off by a grim faced President and his accompanying Secret Service cortege and deposited home into the horrified custody of her aunt. She remained unrepentant.
Authority misapplied that ignores the proper rights of individuals was the issue. It is too bad that with the best intentions in the free world President Wallace failed to see this small revolution as what it really was. Standing up for your rights includes the gumballs – even when authority wants you to shut up and just take it.
Maybe if it had been jelly beans he would have understood.
Dave copied the page off for himself. Lindsey never ceased to amaze him. And, he realized, she had never changed. She was still the little girl seeking justice. Lindsey always challenged authority when it was wrong.
In the White House
Humstead was elated. While it would have been better if William Wallace had died just a touch closer to Election Day, still this was event was like manna from heaven. They would staple the present administration to the popularity that had always been associated with the person and legacy of William Wallace. That would give them a decent bump through the summer and with some well staged and choreographed work help them roll into the First of November to an assured victory.
Looking over the plans for the funeral Humstead saw that much of it would take place here in Washington D.C. Perfect. The dignity and authority of the present administration would be automatically enhanced and reinforced. He must make sure that all of those prominent in the administration were well placed at the funeral service and that the media, especially those media who were on their preferred list were very visible. These would be reminded and prompted to go along with the program. Picking up his pen he made a note on the embossed note pad sitting chastely on his desk. Interviews with and through several prominent pundits and administration supporters would also be a good thing. The fire of angry reaction from the public and the media over the devolving events related to the War in Iraq had been heavy and this could do a lot to off set that. Most especially, and Humstead underlined this three times, there must be a very sympathetic and well filmed meeting between Wallace’s widow, Margaret, and the President.
Humstead smiled dreamily, imagining the scene with the tiny, slender frame of the former First Lady sandwiched between the tall figure of the President and his wife as they offered their sympathy from the backdrop of the…..Humstead frowned for a moment. Where should the meeting take place? He looked at the plans for the funeral. Margaret’s party would be staying at the residence of the Vice President. Frowning, Humstead looked over at the floor plan of the White House. Ah. The First Family should receive her in the Library. Perfect. Just the right touch of the personal and the political. He smiled broadly. On to other matters.
The President had an unfortunate tendency to muff words and forget what he was supposed to be saying. Added to this he often made jokes about his thumb fingered gaffs. Such a performance either with the former First Lady or, worse, during the speech he would deliver during the funeral service itself would be a nightmare and must be avoided at all costs. This called for real preparation. Humstead looked over the list of speechwriters on the staff and those who worked for the administration when something special was needed. For the next week the speech writers would be locked in the building and the President would do nothing, positively nothing, but practice and hone that performance. If there was even one word out of place the impact on the reelection campaign could be devastating.
Lindsey in Sag Harbor, New York
Lindsey could not believe that now, after three days of repetitive depositions spaced over two months where Dicks’ counsel was permitted to hammer her on questions ranging back to her grammar school grades and how she spent her summer vacations, the court would still allow him to evade sitting for depositions himself. Over and over again she had demanded that Cod, her attorney, refuse to let him reschedule depositions and over and over again Cod had just let him do it.
Creating the chronology of events and documents had taken her months and those records had been transmitted, at no small cost to her, to Cod over a year ago. Then, during her own depositions, a copy of the article that had set off the initial fire storm in an online magazine was handed to her. It had been written by a prominent political writer. She had identified it and it had been passed on to Cod. He had glanced at it, started reading and began laughing. It was obvious he had never read it before. That had been a revelation. How could Cod be prepared to depose Dicks when he was not familiar with the events of that formed the backdrop of the later events? That article had been in his possession for over a year.
Lindsey glanced at the strange old clock hanging on the wall in the house in Sag Harbor. For the last three months she had been renting the tumble down ‘compound’ that was the Hampton residence of her adopted grandfather, Lance. While doing some redecorating for him, painting the bathroom and giving the place some of the deep cleaning it had needed for probably twenty years, she had completely rearranged his library.
At one time Lindsey had not been a neat freak, but her experience with Dicks had made it essential for her to become one. Lindsey had never imagined anything like it. Not even the cabin the family owned in the mountains looked like a disaster to her after she had cleaned up the apartment where Dicks had lived in Jersey City for so many years. She had moved in with Dicks in July of 2001. Dicks had asked her to do that so they could work on their relationship. She had hardly believed what she found there. He had told her it was going to be bad but this she could not have imagined.
At the cabin a flood of water from a burst pipe had caused huge damage. The wall board had buckled, the food had molded, and the furniture had been ruined. It had taken Linden two weeks to make it even habitable. An opossum had drowned itself in the toilet. The saga of the opossum had been installed in family legend. But that had been nothing to this. Maggots and other insects infested the broken freezer in Dicks’ apartment. Lindsey wondered how he had stood the smell. The toilet was so encrusted that the white of the porcelain was no longer visible. The floor was covered with papers and trash to a depth of several feet.
It had seemed so good and beautiful to be doing that for someone she loved so much. While she was cleaning and organizing his life, first at the apartment and then in his offices at the Canal Street Journal she had happily imagined how delighted and grateful he would be when he came home. When she had finished it had seemed like their home, the place where they would heal all of the problems and make the family that would include another baby. Thinking about the family she had thought they would have sent a stab of pain through her. She knew now she would never replace the baby she had aborted.
When Lindsey had gone into the Dicks’ bedroom she had found the bed, its mattress obviously nude of sheets and covers for a long time, covered with mouse droppings. Dicks had been sleeping on it just as it was for a good long time, obviously. Looking at it had nauseated her. When she pulled out the bed to clean behind it an avalanche of candy wrappers had been disclosed. These included Baby Ruth’s, Heath Bars, Crunch Bars, and these were enmeshed in Snapple bottles. He had looked so shamefaced.
Dicks commented later that he had forgotten there was a rug or what color the rug even was. Tom confessed that he was ashamed to have a cleaning service, and could not have had one even if he wanted because in the morass of papers on the floor were all of his personal financial records. They needed to be sorted. He had looked pleadingly at Lindsey and she had not failed him. You can’t fail people when you love them. At least, Lindsey couldn’t.
That job had taken her two solid months of more than 40 hour days. She had deferred getting a job. All women know that you will do for love what you would never do for money.
At the end it had gleamed. Lindsey had bought new furniture from Ikea, assembling it herself. She had been so glad and proud when he had walked in from a long trip, stunned at the difference she had made. She had not known then he had spent those nights not just with one other woman, but with several across the country. Of course then she had not known that when she was aborting his child he was with another woman, either.
Now, she just felt cut off and dead inside. Looking out the window she realized that there was time for a walk before she got down to painting the rest of the bathroom. She needed a breath of fresh air, maybe when she got back she would feel better.
As she was closing the door the phone rang. Shrugging, she decided to pick up the message when she returned.
North Carolina – Military Housing
Saturdays were different now. Karen missed the kids. She had not thought that missing anyone could leave such a hole in her life, but it had. The DSS hadn’t exactly taken the kids. They had, however, let her and Paul know that was their plan. So Paul had let them go live with their mother for what they thought would just be a few months. It was now almost a year and instead of spending Saturdays on bike rides and working on the house and homework, now Karen spent her spare time working on pleadings and on the phone with Coop Steigler.
Spending time in court, watching as parents were steamrollered through the process, she had started to see a pattern. That the authorities used exactly the same motions and tactics to stifle the outcries and protests of moms and dads being separated from their kids she knew from experience. Sitting there in the back the last time she had started to make notes, determined to give parents a way to fight back. Coming home, she hit the books, writing up an outline to hand out in court to parents still in shock.
“TO PARENTS – PLEASE KNOW THAT YOU ARE NOT ALONE
Right now you are probably shocked and maybe ashamed. You are being told you are a bad parent and a bad person. Everything you have believed about government, that it was only trying to do good for people, is now shattering.
The DSS will be using the court against you and the following are the techniques they use most often here. Read this carefully.
A) First and most usual technique. This technique is used because oftentimes there is no real evidence that the parents are doing a bad job. This method creates evidence to retroactively prove bad parenting. - Pitting parents against each other. Social worker/Guardian ad litem will state to one parent that as long as that parent is with the other the parent can't get the child back. SW/ Guardian ad litem tries to get parents to speak against other parent.
B) The Guardian ad Litem is appointed by the court to represent the child but they are paid only if they make billable hours for themselves. Be warned.
PARENTS MUST OBJECT/DENY always refute any attempt to damage the other parent.
C) Court will order parents to be psychologically tested.
1. If parents have a lawyer, make a request to the lawyer in writing asking if agreeing to this testing means parent is waiving their constitutionally protected right to be considered implicitly fit. If lawyer doesn't respond then parents do not have advice from their lawyer saying they should do this testing.
2. If parents don't have a lawyer, they have to decide if they are willing to give in or if they know enough to have the proper argument if the Court attempts to do a contempt hearing.
C) Social Services or GAL will make a motion to limit/restrain parents contact with children. This move is taken to allow Social Services/GAL for several reasons: 1) To intimidate/threaten parent into going into services. Parents are so intimidated/fearful at thought of children taken away, parent will then agree to go under services to keep contact with child. 2) The child is used to force compliance - SS claims parent is being 'uncooperative', says to parent if you 'cooperate' we'll let you see your kids 3) SS/GAL can continue to build campaign of lies - parent is reported not to meet 'conditions' required to see children; SS reports child acts/speaks in a manner damaging to parents; child is told lies about parent; child's trauma at being separated from parent is reported as being caused by parent's way of raising child; etc.
WAY TO FIGHT IT: Don't give in. Court records must reflect Parents’ objection. If lawyer won’t do it parents must. Parents must file affidavit for record of truth.
God bless you and your family. You can get in touch with us at the following phone number or online at:
Starting the flyer had felt good. It had helped fill up the empty hours and the empty place in Karen’s heart.
Today dinner had been quiet. Karen was focusing on finishing the flyer and her brief and Paul had been sad and quiet. Karen had thrown dinner in the oven, slowly simmering until it was finished.
Neither of them had talked much. Then after dinner Karen turned on the television in the living room, flipping the channel to Vixen News. The flags and uniforms gave notice that something important had happened even before they caught the announcement. Former President William Wallace had died, passed away at home with his wife and kids at his bedside.
There had been a time when Karen was entirely apolitical. Then, she would hardly have noticed or cared. But that time had passed. The last year had changed a lot of things and her perceptions of the world were among those things.
The Wall in Berlin had come to symbolize to her the barriers to justice that existed here at home, too. As she watched the photos of people gathering at the Wallace Library in California Karen began to cry, slowly shaking her head. Wallace was the last man to fill the Oval Office who she knew was decent. It had not been until after he was gone, sunk in the effects of his Alzheimer’s that Karen had realized any of what had really happened. There were so few decent people in government now. Wallace had been far more that that. He had been a real hero.
Abruptly, Karen got up and started walking back and forth, filled with energy that had no place to go, no place to spend itself.
“Are all of the good people dead?” Karen’s started to cry, sobbing out the collected stress and pain of the past year. It seemed like she had lost a father. Paul got up and hugged her, rocking her back and forth like a child. It was too much. She had thought the world was understandable, safe, and now it had turned upside down and inside out. Doing the right thing was punished and wrong things paid off. Looking at the television set she watched as a man placed flowers at the base of the wall below the Presidential Library.
Briefly, Karen wondered if it would have been different if Wallace had still been there, influencing public events. It had been Wallace who had stood up and apologized for the actions of his administration. He had spoken to Americans in tones of his shame. He had not known but he accepted the blame. With him the buck stopped firmly in his own hands. Karen knew without even questioning that if Wallace had known how military families were being treated now he would have taken instant action.
Would America ever again have a leader with a conscience? Desperately, she hoped so but the trends could not give her hope.
Lindsey in Sag Harbor, New York
The walk had helped. Lindsey tossed her purse on the chair and sat down at the computer, grabbing the phone. There would certainly be at least one message.
As she listened her eyes shut in pain as she heard the saddened voice of Debs Satto, the secretary for Matthew Maguire, the former chief of staff for the Wallace administration. She had left the message that President Wallace had passed away that afternoon. Hanging up the phone Lindsey began sobbing as she had not cried since her grandfather had died. The two, her grandfather and Wallace, were of the same generation. It had been through her grandfather that she had gotten to know President Wallace even before he ran for President. Wallace had let her sass him when he called her Grandpa on the phone and laughing, sent her small checks to pay for candy bars. Her grandfather had run a Republican Club on the campus at UCLA for thirty years and it was then he had met the man who later became the governor of California.
All of the people she had loved and respected were slipping through her fingers into death.
June 8, 2004
They wanted her to attend the funeral in Washington, D.C. Debs had called, telling her that she was invited.
Lindsey had thought long and hard about going. Earlier that week, the Sunday after the President had died, she had had another heart attack. Lance had been there for the weekend and he had hauled her out of the bathroom when she collapsed. Her left arm had turned blue again, just like the time in Los Angeles when Vlad had called the ambulance for her.
Reassuring Lance that she would go to the hospital the next day, she just took some of the medication left over from the last time. There was no money for a doctor and no insurance any more. Nor could there be until this law suit was settled and she could work again. Her mother was also without medical insurance and nearly out of money and bankrupt.
She would go to the funeral. If grieving eased the pain, even a little, the cost of the ticket would be well worth while.
Charlotte, North Carolina
Helen walked out on the back porch. The sun was shining and the air was filled with the sounds of a late summer afternoon. The bees dipping into the heart of flowers and a chorus of birds trilled and sent their songs of challenge and ardor through the wind rippled leaves of an ocean of air.
Helen could barely stand to hear any of it. Each sound carried with it the echo of a child’s voice raised in the excitement of discovery. Reaching out, she ran her finger across the surface of a lemon, hanging heavy and ready for picking. Memories of fresh lemonade heightened her pain until she felt as if her hear would surely break. Even her breath was hard and heavy within her. The days and months and now years had piled up like clods of dirt filling the deep grave of her hope. Her husband had now suffered two major heart attacks, the last while in court fighting for the return of their children. His strength and determination had sustained her. She had been at once so afraid for him and so proud. She knew, beyond doubt, that there was nothing that he would not do for her and their children as long as there was breath in his body.
It had been him who had managed to get their oldest son returned to them finally, though the now nineteen year old boy still lived in fear that DSS would come and take him back, even as he wandered through the house asking and looking for his brothers and sisters.
Glancing upward into the gleaming gold tinted light, Helen prayed for a sign that all hope was not dead. It had been a bad week, with the death of former President Wallace piled on the word that the court was preparing to sever their parental rights forever.
Squeezing her eyes shut Helen prayed. When she opened them, a butterfly had landed on the leaf next to her hand. Slowly she moved her fingers and the butterfly moved, not away from her hand but lightly fluttering to rest on the uplifted palm. Slowly raising her hand she looked closely at the lovely wings and the tiny face.
Then, in the house, she heard the phone ring. The butterfly rose like a spark of life into the air, rising into the branches of the lemon tree. Helen turned and went into the house.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the phone was young and a little breathless when it finally spoke.
“Mrs. Mitchell? My name is Mark and I live in the same foster home as your son, Zeb. He wants to know if…..if you want to talk to him.”
Helen’s throat constricted. “There is nothing in this great world that I want more.”
Then suddenly there was another voice on the phone, one that was now a little deeper than she remembered.
“Mama? I was afraid you wouldn’t want to talk to me. They said you didn’t and that was why I have not seen you for so long.”
The next ten minutes filled Helen’s heart with hope. She devoured every word, hearing his fears and hopes and telling him over again how very much she loved him and all the small things she remembered and held in her heart. Then, all too soon someone was coming and the line went dead.
The butterfly had told her Zeb would call, she realized. It had always been Zeb who brought butterflies in for the family to see; Zeb who collected them, carefully cataloguing his finds in the notebook on zoology he had started when he was just five years old. Helen knew in that instant that in the blackest moment of her despair God had given her this small miracle to sustain her, and in so doing He was telling her that she was not working and hoping in vein.
Small miracles are enough if you have the faith to believe and the courage to endure the trials life sends.
Back at the White House
The writers had been very busy. The eulogy produced for the President to memorize was compiled from a survey of material on the former president. There must be no heavy handed use of the occasion to obviously stump for the presidency. Each paragraph, each sentence, each word was discussed, considered, and groomed so that those two phrases that did lay the groundwork for placing a continuity between that administration and this one would be nearly invisible, and so the more effective.
Humstead read the final speech over five times before sending it on the President. This time the President has to remember what is at stake. Humstead added a note reminding the President to make sure he made physical contact with the former First Lady while the photographer was taking photos. Those would be useful. To his credit, the President understood.
Lindsey in Washington, D.C.
Her seat was just two rows behind Prince Charles. She could nearly touch him from where she was sitting. Briefly, Lindsey remembered watching the Royal Wedding in what seemed like another life. She had been so young then. Her mom had made tea sandwiches and they had had a real little tea in the middle of the night, watching the wedding live on television. Mom had let her pour for the first time.
Everyone had been happy to see her. Justices Ramirez and McGee, both Wallace Conservatives and old acquaintances, had chatted with her while they were filing in. It had been Lindsey who had insisted that each of them watch the Mel Gibson movie, Braveheart, and they had both enjoyed it enormously, moved by the purpose and heroism they witnessed in the doomed Scot.
Sitting here in the National Cathedral with so many other people who had loved and admired William Wallace, Lindsey realized just how much the former President reminded her of the hero in the movie. Both had spent their lives working for freedom. Both had died horrible deaths. Both had gone to those deaths hoping that how they died would help them secure a better future for their people.
Looking around her Lindsey saw dozens of people she knew. Some of them had obviously been surprised to see her. Many had been warmly welcoming. The story of how Dicks had maligned herself and her mother was well known throughout the Republican Party and the movement. If only someone of them would help. But Lindsey knew now how very afraid they were of the NeoCons. She knew from her own experience just how ruthless and unprincipled the NeoCons truly were, so in some ways she could not blame her friends for their fears; they were justified.
But just being here made Lindsey feel as if a balm of healing had been placed on the wounded places on her soul. Mrs. Pratchet, the former Prime Minister of England was here and listening to the words she had chosen to commemorate the life of the man with whom she had shared so much made Lindsey remember when she had met Mrs. Pratchet. Lindsey and Linden had attended the Pratchet Dinner sponsored by Rationality in Los Angeles several years before. Mrs. Pratchet was a hero to both of them.
The only jarring note was the eulogy given by the President Branch. The words were perfect, his delivery the best he had ever managed, but underneath it Lindsey felt not the sincere respect inspired from personal knowing, but only the drive of a well formulated political agenda.
The closing tones of Amazing Grace reminded Lindsey of the service for Nann. It seemed so very long ago now.
After the service Justice McGee’s son offered her a lift back to the Hamptons in his small plane and she accepted gratefully. Everyone had been more than kind.
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