“That they do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate; Laying up in store for themselves a good foundation against the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life.”
Bible: I Timothy (Chapters. VI, v. 18-19)
The Fabituso Society Meeting
March, 2000
It was now obvious that the Lawrence campaign was going south. Dave had no doubt his candidate deserved the nomination. Lawrence was honorable, courageous, intelligent and kind. But neither Lawrence nor his staff had been able to effectively respond to the ugly rumors that had come out of no where or the imbalance of money. It was not fair but it was the bottom line.
The New Hampshire election had confronted Dave with the necessity of picking up and moving if he wanted to stay with the campaign for even another month. This less than appetizing proposition was rendered moot by the death of his grandfather. Lawrence had been everything that was decent, calling him to express his sympathy even as Dave was packing his bag to leave.
The train of events that unfolded from that sad change broadened his choices, leaving him saddened and in a state of semi shock.
Sitting in the church where he had memorized Bible verses and colored in pictures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary, sipped bright pink bug juice and munched on home-made cookies, it began to impact him. His grandfather was dead. He had hardly seen him since high school. Greeting the several hundred of Gramp’s friends had awakened him to just how beloved and respected the old man had been.
Memories of Gramps flooded back as if a dam had broken in his brain. Dave remembered sitting with him as he puzzled out the unfamiliar words in his first Science Fiction book. It had been by Robert Heinlein and Gramps had loved it, too. Gramps loved to think about the future and they had speculated together on how the world would be in that misty, unseen tomorrow generated through the imagination of dozens of authors.
Together, they had read their way through all of Heinlein and into the other authors who were still Dave’s favorites. At the same time Gramps had solemnly agreed with Heinlein on the world and the credulity and vices of humanity. Gramps had thought long and hard over Stranger in a Strange Land, deciding eventually that the book held interesting lessons.
People old and young took Dave aside, sharing their stories about how Gramps helped them through the years. Several clasped his hand fervently, telling him how Gramps had made a difference for them. Dave discovered his grandfather’s many unsuspected aspects. He also found to his shock the old man never gave up on him and had kept his acquaintances apprised of his honors and progress through college.
Gramps did not approve of politics as a career so this was no small commendation.
Right after the funeral Clarence Bingley, an old friend of Gramps and a semi retired local attorney, asked him to come by and see him the next day. Gramps had jousted over a chess board for fifty years with the man Dave thought of as Uncle Carl. Dave agreed, slightly bewildered.
In the old office located just around the corner from the beer joint where the two codgers played chess for drinks and blood and amidst shelf after shelf of law books Dave read the letter that Gramps left there for him just three months before. It was written after an all too brief visit home.
The letter read, “Dearest Grandson, You are also my only grandchild so perhaps calling you my dearest grandson is too obvious, but you are dear to me so I wanted to say it this once. I wish your parents had had more children. I wish your aunt had lived long enough to marry and have children herself. Life comes with no guarantees and although we may regret ultimately we all must accept the will of God.
I have spent the later years of my life studying the forces of human action that have created the world in which we live. You know what I mean; not the oceans of water or the grass that cover the hills but the human world that is a part of that larger reality. We talked about this once or twice. But you were still very much in the ‘box’ of assumptions so I never pushed you very hard to look on things differently; Hard enough to grow up sane without growing up so very different from those around you. But now I hope you are ready to hear me – and I can’t wait any longer to tell you. Ha. My little joke.
My years studying economics, first as a student of von Mises and later as a professor, impressed on me the ways of the world of finance. I tried diligently to pass those insights on to you and in some small degree believe that I succeeded. You know from listening to us argue that I never approved of your father’s refusal to make use of the good brain that God gave him. I love him too, but capital is not to be spent but invested. You know that he has received the trust fund I set up for him. The income from that will keep him comfortable even if he never works again. The residue will come to you when both of your parents are dead.
So I am investing the rest in you. You will soon learn that politics is a game that traps us into a sense of owning power that no man or woman should hold over another. You will see through the platitudes and grow uncomfortable in the box that has been so cozy and familiar. I saw the signs of unrest in you this last weekend during your visit. I know from experience just how you felt.
Governance is necessary, yes, but government destroys by removing the connections between liability and profits of all kinds, not just monetary. You do not remember your Grandma but she taught me many things about the difficulties of being a woman in a world controlled by men. She wanted to be a doctor, to do great things. She had the mind and will to accomplish much but was denied every opportunity although she had graduated from the best medical school in Germany. That had itself been a struggle. She could heal but research was closed to her. I saw her anger and pain; when she died, still so frustrated, something in me died, too.
Government has not been a friend to women any more than it has been to good men.
Together we had dreamed large but we were left with such small realities. We thought it would be better in America for our children. We thought we were leaving the ugliness behind, and for a long time that seemed to be true. But even when you were small I saw this changing.
Governance comes from the individual working with others to do right. Government, no matter how kindly and benevolent the intention, destroys the will and ability of individuals to do right things. I know you are learning this and that seeing people you trusted and admired as they really are is painful for you.
How can this work? You will ask yourself that, you must. I know not how but I know it can. The spirit in humanity is larger than all of the evil ever imagined. I have seen the simple choices of people using trade between themselves bring peace - although abused business becomes an extension of war. If you have not yet discovered him read the work of John Maynard Smith. He applied game theory to behavioral strategies in humans. You have focused on politics, history and economics. Now study the unspoken truths of the people who inhabit the world; study sociology and anthropology. Consider the lessons we are now learning from neurobiology.
It was actually you who took my mind in this direction with your reading of Heinlein. Before then I had not considered science as an opening window to the mind of Man. I had not considered subjects such as anthropology to be science at all, frankly. Reading with you opened my mind to new worlds.
All human institutions that we create can be abused. This is true of churches and governments as well as country clubs. Only allowing people to say no; walk away; enables a true freedom. You have seen this in history in institutions of religion especially when these are attachments of the State. The Revolution this country fought was a war against the asserted power of government, limiting the freedom and responsibility of individuals.
Remember when I made you read those books about the Civil War when you were studying Lincoln in school? You wanted to believe that Lincoln was a hero; that was what your teachers said so that must be true. Except that it is not true. Lincoln, as you came to see, is the father of the Federal Monarchy. You saw the discrepancy between image and reality. That is the difference between the acceptance of the popular mythology and truth.
That was a powerful lesson. Wisdom only begins when we question what we think we know. Question every thing, remembering that our knowledge is always incomplete. We are human.
That after the Revolution our country continued those abuses by failing to end slavery and admit women and all people to the rights of property ownership was both dishonest and tragic. That failure made the Civil War inevitable and is in large part responsible for the problems we face today.
Markets are freedom if the rights of each of us are protected. Mixed markets, those which try to blend dictating to the people with granting them the use of their rights as privileges owned and controlled by government always end in the most unscrupulous controlling the forms and power of that government.
I know you, David. I watched how you accepted what was true through the judgment of your own mind. I watched you question the flaws you found in books, turning to original sources so to better understand. Your mind is not lazy and your heart is willing. I know you will not give up and persistence is essential.
With this letter you receive two things. First, you get the notes and books I have assembled over the last fifty years as I studied how the world we live in today came to be. The books and other materials are here, waiting for you. Second, you get the money to do something about it. Not enough to do the whole job but I think enough to do much if you are the man I have come to believe you are.
I listened when you talked. I read what you wrote. You are not only my grandson; you are my hope that the world can be different. Each of us needs to leave hope behind us after we die. You are mine.
God bless you. All of the answers are not written because they are still to be discovered by those with new eyes. You have such eyes. You also have my confidence and love. Take the world and change it with love. Jacob Forman Elderhous “
The room had been quiet while Dave read. Tears had glazed his eyes when he finally looked up. Uncle Carl was looking at him, his expression a curious blend of compassion and curiosity.
Uncle Carl slowly opened the cupboard in back of him and removed an envelope. Dave reached out and took it, tearing the paper gently. Two small things fell out. One was a key folded into a paper with a number. The other was a second key with a wire and tag. On it there was a note in Gramp’s handwriting.
Not very much later that afternoon Dave was opening the steel door into the third small room of the three room apartment that Gramps had paid to have built on to their house. It was swept and clean. There was a light over a desk, bookshelves, filing cabinets, and a computer. This surprised him. It was not of the most recent generation but it had been just three months before. There was no dust on the surface of the table. He ran his finger along the surface, feeling a clean, recently used surface. Over the flat monitor dangled a picture of himself when he was still in grade school. Dave remembered the day it had been taken. It had been raining. Gramps has offered to take him to the movies and the two of them had gone off to the large theatre in Mossdale to see Braveheart. That movie, too, had brought them together. Dave had loved the naked heroism of Wallace. Gramps had said as they left the theatre that William Wallace had spent his life "wisely." Now, Dave understood exactly what he meant.
Slowly and gently Dave took the little picture down. Time had curled it a little and it bore the signs of having been bent back straight to occasionally. Dave eased himself into the seat and as he sat down he suddenly realized that his grandfather was someone he still had to get to know.
He noticed the post-it on the edge of the keyboard. It said, Hi Dave. Turn on the computer. He pressed the button.
Five hours later Dave had a better idea of just who his grandfather was. He had encountered the grandmother who had died so soon after the small family arrived in the United States in images and through words captured in a file marked, “Dearest.” Gramps had scanned in a picture of her when she was a young woman. Her eyes looked straight into the camera with laughter and intelligence. He had read the poetry they wrote to each other both in German and in English. It was filled with love and a passion which had shocked him.
These revelations raised questions Dave had not known existed.
Dave had always sensed that there was friction between his father and Gramps. The old man had moved in with them soon after Dave's aunt died and Dave had learned almost through the skin that Gramps had paid many of their household expenses. He had always assumed Gramps had a small retirement income. Certainly he spent very little.
The spread sheets of donations to charities he had never heard of told one part of the story. The stocks were held by a company based in Switzerland although as part of his the ‘eggs in the basket’ strategy Gramps had also placed caches of money in Panama and the Cayman Islands as well. His grandfather was canny about avoiding taxes. Gramps had started liquidating some of his holdings the year before and moved all of his capital off shore. It was a complex financial picture but not nearly as complex as the astonishing body of documentation that amazingly paralleled and supplemented his own work.
The picture was taking form. Dave had not a clue what to do about it.
This month canapés were making the rounds, carried by discreetly smiling waiters. Dave plucked one. The sizzled shrimp wrapped in salmon savored of just a touch of garlic. It was delicious; so was the tangy cheese mixture that filled the tiny creampuffs. Each one hit Dave’s mouth like a tiny kiss of ambrosia. Dave sighed as the lingering flavor suffused his tongue. He had just moved into a new apartment on the Upper East Side. He had managed to get admitted to Columbia Law School, through the influence of some of his professors from Moundville and some friends of his grandfather, including Uncle Carl. He would attend part time leaving plenty of time for what he now thought of as the Gramps Work.
The letter Gramps left for him typed into the computer had advised him to move cautiously. Gramps emphasized that he had been unable to get all of the information, G2; Gramps had called it, that he wanted. Gramps also had not known what to do. That is why he had begun studying previous reform movements. That had taken him into the area of sociology as well. On the computer he had left references to now forgotten movements that had been flattened, telling Dave to study what had not worked before. There was a list of present movements, obviously a work in progress. The world is sprinkled with flattened and shredded reformers as Gramps had put it.
First information, then action. Dave's life had become fieldwork.
The conversation this evening was unusual. Hushed murmurs were followed by outbreaks of laughter. Attendees looked around covertly to see if anyone was overhearing their remarks. Their glances focused on the group next to the potted palm tree near the bar where Tom Dicks was again holding forth.
Dave knew about what had happened. He had gotten an eye-witness account from the PR guy who had been bird-dogging Lawrence that day. Lawrence had read the article by Tom Dicks while on his way to a meeting in Manhattan and had told the driver to divert to the prestigious paper, located in the third building of the Twin Towers complex.
Tom Dicks, one of the premier pundits in the Conservative Movement, had needed to be hunted down like, “the mangy dog he is,” according to the PR guy, grinning. Dicks was standing in the foyer chatting with the editor, Ralph Babbitt, when Lawrence erupted into the space. Leaving no doubt as to his intentions Laurence announced in his famously loud tones that he was going to kick Dicks’ ass. Dicks bolted, leaving the editor to grapple with the Senator. Dicks ended up cowering under his huge mahogany desk, his prominent rear sticking out in plain sight.
Eventually Lawrence had been persuaded to leave the building. Dicks had become invisible for weeks although he was here tonight again. Normally he was all over Vixen and on BNN as a regular commentator. His online opinion page had said he was tracking the campaign on the West Coast and visiting family in the small town of Lost Gulch where he came from in Central Valley, just to the south of Sacramento. Given the rapidity with which he lunged for his desk that probably felt like that was just barely enough distance between him and the Senator.
Lawrence was a former POW from the Vietnam Conflict. He was feisty. He took shit from no one, even highly regarded pundits at the Canal Street Journal.
He and Lindsey had bumped into each other while she was out sneaking a cigarette and he was visiting the men’s room late in the evening at the January meeting. It had been late enough so that a few attendees were yawning and trickling out to taxis but not so late that picking up a bite to eat was out of the question. Dave had considered the state of his bank account and suggested they adjourn to the upscale café around the corner.
No dice. But Lindsey was not averse to conversation so as the gabble of voices remained a counterpoint in the background they talked, letting the conversation simply flow. He had learned some things. He learned to his surprise that Lindsey had been on site for many events of significance including events that took place at closed meetings of the Hamiltonian Society during the months and weeks leading up to the Mildred Stassenbaum Hearings that had so nearly succeeded in removing the president of the United States, Fillmore Quince, for perjury.
Lindsey’s former boy friend taught law at UCLA. He had previously clerked for Vanessa Page Ramirez, the first woman to be named to the Supreme Court. From there Vladimir VorMortag had moved on to his teaching assignment – and to Lindsey. Vlad’s first company had gone public when he was just 11 for two billion dollars. This shocked Dave right down to the bottoms of his shiny new shoes. He was polite but doubted the truth of this assertion until his research the next week proved it to be absolutely correct. His further research revealed that this same guy had single handedly solved the problem of computer conversion through the next millennium. That had also brought in huge amounts of money to the corporation his family still owned.
More disturbing, this same computer savant figured in discussions by Humstead on the inner workings of voting machines. VorMortag was a no bones Neocon. The word NeoCon was now gaining more significance to Dave.
When Dave had first encountered the writings of Leo Strauss he had not been able to take them seriously. Then, right after graduation from Moundville and before his hiatus in Texas, he had been invited to attend a conference for up and coming political professionals and realized just how pervasive this ugly little philosophy had become. The lecturer, who looked like he had just changed out of his brown uniform, had opined on the esoteric, stating with a straight face that there were classes of humanity meant to rule and those meant to follow. This assertion, standing in stark refutation of everything America was about, had gone unchallenged in that crowd. In fact, many of those present nodded in agreement to Dave’s shock and chagrin.
Tonight, listening to Lindsey, again standing here in the carefully appointed foyer of the Yale Club, Dave realized just how much she knew without even realizing it. Forgetting momentarily that Lindsey was even female he abruptly asked her to meet him for further talk.
Lindsey just smiled, opened her mouth and said.
“Hello, Babbs.” Dave felt a hand stroke his back and briefly fondle his neck. He jumped slightly as he turned to identify the source. Babbs Bronson, who he had met in January, was wearing red tonight but it was as revealing as usual. This time it was shorter, showing off her smooth and well formed legs.
“Hey, Lindsey,” Babbs glanced at Lindsey but kept the focus on Dave.
Annoyed, Dave tried to suppress the feeling, greeting Babbs with a wry smile.
“I’m not inconvenient, am I? “ Said Babbs archly.
“Babbs is working on a fascinating documentary right now, aren’t you, Babbs?” Lindsey stood up from her seat on the creamy velvet couch. Her hand stroked it with obvious pleasure. From the talk earlier Dave knew that Babbs was always working on a documentary that would be receiving an Oscar someday.
“How about going out for some real food now that this is dying?” Said Babbs.
Dave looked at Lindsey. If they went out with Babbs perhaps he could continue their discussion.
“I would really like that but I can’t tonight.” Lindsey looked disappointed, moving slowly towards the steps down to the lobby. “I need to go home and wash the cat.” The laughter that had been lingering behind her eyes erupted onto her face. “No, really, I would like to go – but tonight is just not good for me.”
Out of the corner of his eye Dave noticed Tom Dicks looking over at them. Dicks slowed his pace and then walked down the stairs.
“Gotta run. Give me a call if you want to talk.” Lindsey waved as she descended the steps. Dave could see her in the mirror catching up with Dicks. He took her arm, pressing it to his side as they retrieved their coats and walked out together.
Turning back to Babbs Dave asked the woman about her documentary. That was all she needed. Babbs might like to gossip about others but her favorite subject was doubtlessly herself.
It was two full hours later before Dave managed to extract himself from the mighty maw of Babbs. In the interim he had learned more about her personal disappointments, failed romances, unfinished projects and cunning than he had ever wanted to know about anyone. He was tired. He was also shocked although he had done everything possible not to let this show on his face while listening to Babbs roll on through her conversational monologue.
Lindsey was having an affair with Tom Dicks. He was old enough to be her father. It was disgusting. Also, he had hoped that perhaps something would develop between them because there was an instant connection he had only experienced before with Nann. And Nann was now completely unavailable; married to a man completely worthy of her love; a man Dave liked very much.
During the week Dave had spent at home in Connecticut he had delved into the unusual legacy left to him by his grandfather, carefully packing up the computer, boxing the books and going over the assets. He had also gotten back in touch with Nann. She had been in town from New York, visiting family from her apartment in Manhattan on the weekend after the funeral. He had nearly run her over with the shopping cart in the local market.
She had laughed. That was just like her. The last time he had seen her she was screaming and now she was laughing up at him again. His stomach rose weakly and then subsided. The week had brought with it some changes.
She had hugged him immediately, laughing over the prom and teasing him on his sudden departure for Moundville. Dave found himself laughing too. Nann’s laugh was infectious. There were so many things he had tried to forget about her. Now they came flooding back. He remembered his fascination with the tiny curls that escaped to dangle near her ears and the way she tugged on the same gold chain that encircled her neck, reaching up to touch her earring, as if to check and see if it was still there. Her eyes twinkled when she laughed. He had forgotten.
They stood talking for a longtime. The Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, Dave’s favorite excessive chocolate, had sat in the cart slowly turning to a milk shake while they caught up on old times and agreed to get together in the city during the week. That this get together would include her husband, Jim Garrity, was understood. Nann was anxious to introduce the two of them. Jim had a degree in anthropology and taught at New York University according to Nann. Actually, Dave had heard this first from his mother when the marriage announcement had appeared in the paper.
But it was fine. Dave knew he still loved her and this did not bother him unduly. Perhaps he loved her even more because she had grown into such a deliciously warm and understanding human being.
Afterwards he could barely remember what they had talked about. It was enough to have been close enough to smell her fresh, sweet scent again. He envied Jim more than anyone he had ever known.
The time spent with his Mom and Dad had been sad. Dave’s father had spent a life time revolting against Gramps; choosing a profession that displeased him; a life style that made him perpetually dependent; but he was still hurting. Now there was no one there to resent and no one to forgive him. Dave spent most of the time with his Mom. Her mother had gotten along with Gramps, enjoyed his company even.
Dave threw himself into compiling the mass of new material that his grandfather had left on the computer and in the systematically detailed and impeccably organized files. Gramps was like that.
The amount of raw data initially frustrated his attempts to even find a way to enter the new ranges of possibilities, much less to see the patterns. Now he was using cluster theory to identify sets and proximities. The patterns started to emerge but it was still not enough.
There were simply too many unknowns. Gramps had provided the background for two generations of wealth accumulation and had added the shifting patterns in the cultural memes internal to many organizations and for government. He had cautioned Dave in his notes to keep in mind that what he needed most was probably those very things the existence of which he was entirely ignorant. Dave was still amazed and wondered where some of Gramps raw data had been acquired.
This body of information brought some pretty subtle trends and probabilities into sharp relief suggesting others that had never even occurred to Dave.
Dave leaned back in his chair, feeling the creaking of the old wood. The new cache of information had stretched his storage to the breaking point and soon after he had returned to the City from the funeral Dave had moved into a larger apartment with a separate office. He wanted everything duplicated on the computer and then on his private website eventually, but for now he needed to store paper. He knew that Gramps wanted him to treat this as a job and he was going to do just that.
The new apartment was on 43rd, between 3rdand Lexington. It was in a nice building with elevators and a doorman. He even had his own washer and dryer; luxury. He had acquired the furniture along with the building and it was old but well cared for. The building had been part of an estate sale and this, the owner’s apartment, was the penthouse and included a terrace. He had bought the building since he knew perfectly well that Gramps hated the very idea of paying rent and would have appreciated that it was a great deal. He had calculated that the property would begin paying for itself in just three years. He wondered if by then Gramps would have the evidence that he, David, was a good investment. Information is all well and good but he still had not a clue what steps he could take to change the situation – or even how to slow the deterioration of conditions.
On Tough Talk the coronation of Governor Branch had begun. Issues were dead until after the conventions. And that’s the way it was.
Around a Dining Room Table in a mansion in New York
This week there were only two attorneys to answer the haunted and desperate questions of eighteen women and two men who had come up to Berryville seeking help. One of the women was living on the street with her two children; her estranged husband, a wealthy attorney who lives and works in New York, had refused to speak to her for years. She only tried calling when she most desperate. He had battered her into the hospital twice, the last time just before their youngest daughter was born. He had not paid the originally ordered support for four years. The judge was one of his golfing buddies.
Having exhausted all of her savings trying to get him to comply and now homeless this tiny woman with the deep circles under her eyes had come here. There was no place else to turn; her friends and family no longer answered her pleas for help. Three months ago she and her children were evicted from the brownstone where they had been living since their father and husband left. The utilities had been turned off for the previous four months but they had been burning furniture to get them through the coldest winter in many years.
Sonja Lavter, the founder of American Coalition for Family Justice, decided they could live here for the time being. The mother, Debra Taylor, broke down in tears of relief. Her two little girls, now twelve and nine, huddled close to her under the table. Debra used to manage a wholesale organic food business before her marriage.
Sonja understands how it is. She started the Coalition ten years before because while her own case did not leave her homeless, it destroyed her family. She was also battered, sending her children to the country club for tennis lessons so they would not see her brutalized.
The first member of Sonja’s Board of Directors killed herself and her child. This happened because the mother could not stop her sexually abusive ex-husband from taking her eight year old daughter. The corrupt judge just shrugged, continuing his professional relationship with her influential ex-husband.
Now, instead of forgetting and moving on, Sonja spends most of her time advocating for others who have suffered from the injustice of the family justice system.
Over the last ten years the Coalition has helped over 3,000 families. Sonja tries to remember that when she can’t sleep. Tonight, she goes to sleep hearing the soft voices of two little girls, delighted to be warm and clean.
