Bat had to laugh. He said, “Well, I don’t see why you bother to exist as an organization.”
Stryn thought about it. “Man seeks,” he said finally. “We continue to strive for more understanding. Perhaps some day we will reach out into the stars; perhaps we will achieve the godhead ourselves. One of the fields in which we strive is that of ethics. If there is evolution in man’s society, certainly there is in his ethics. Consider, once again, how far we have come from the teachings of Moses#longdash#and his teachings were notable for his time.”
“Whether or not he wrote them, or even whether or not he ever existed,” Bat said wryly.
“Yes, of course. Quite likely the books of Genesis were ghosted by teachers who came much later. However, whoever wrote them were advanced for their times.”
Bat said suddenly, “Dag, what do you get out of it? You’re what they call a guru. Why?”
The viking-like Norwegian chuckled once more. “Nothing beyond satisfaction. That is one of the few rigid canons of the New Temple, Bat. No New Temple officer, guru or simple follower, can profit in any manner from his position. In past religions, priests, ministers, preachers, rabbis, imams and fakirs found means to enrich themselves. A new religion might start off with deliberately poverty-stricken men of the caliber of Joshua of Nazareth and his apostles, but within a few generations their supposed followers might be among the richest men in the community. Not the New Temple. If I took payment for anything pertaining to the organization, I would not only immediately lose my title of guru, which is largely honorary at any rate, but would even be dismissed from the New Temple itself.”
Bat thought that over. He said, “Well, there are some jobs that have to be paid. Say, for example, that a group of you got together and built a place in which to congregate. If I understand it, you all pitch in and pony up the required funds. But, all right, then you need a janitor to maintain it. Doesn’t he get paid?”
Dag Stryn nodded. “Yes, sometimes, if volunteers aren’t adequate. But in this case the janitor’s first requirement is that he not be a follower of the New Temple. He can be a Catholic, or a Buddhist, or an atheist for that matter, but he can’t be a follower of the New Temple and profit in any manner from his membership.”
Bat said, “Well, I can see that would eliminate opportunists and hypocrites.” They had reached the vicinity of his two vehicles and he waved a goodbye at the New Temple guru who continued on to his own mobile home.
Bat went over to Sam Prager’s home repair shop and knocked at the door. Edith Prager opened it. She was an intense woman who impressed Bat Hardin as having a culture complex beyond that usually associated with even inhabitants of an art colony. He liked Sam Prager but invariably felt uncomfortable in the presence of his wife.
She wrote poetry, Doc Barnes had said. Bat had never seen any of it and he suspected that he didn’t want to.
“Hello, Mr. Hardin,” she said, standing in the door without inviting him in.
“Good morning,” he said. “Is Sam back from the meeting as yet?”
“No, he isn’t. What’s this about an assembly?”
“It’s being organized now. When Sam comes, will you let him know that the screen on my car phone is broken? I think it’s just the screen but I don’t know.”
She said sharply, “It’ll take the whole unit possibly. Who’s to pay?”
Bat said, “It’s my own car, Mrs. Prager, but was damaged while on duty for the town. I assume the cost of parts will come out of town finances but I’ll take the bill immediately and charge it to the town later on. Tell Sam I’d appreciate having him put high priority on this. A police car simply can’t operate without a TV phone.”
“I’ll tell him,” she said, and closed the door.
She seemed a bit abrupt. Bat remembered Jeff Smith and wondered if there were others in New Woodstock who, inwardly at least, objected to him because of his racial heritage.
It had been quite a time since he had even thought about the subject. In a town such as New Woodstock, you didn’t expect to run into characters who bothered with such nonsense as race, color or religious beliefs. He wondered vaguely if there were any Jews in New Woodsock; he had never thought of that before, either. Was Prager a Jewish name, or Zogbaum? Damned if he knew.
Back in his parents’ day being black or even mulatto had its definite disadvantages but that had been a couple of generations ago. Today, under the Meritocracy, you found your level through your own abilities and the man that sat at the desk next to you might just as soon be a Black or an Oriental as not. The fact that the old-time stastistics indicated that the Black race was less educable and less intelligent than the White were proving less and less valid.
He reentered his mobile house and took up a folding chair and, carrying it, went back to the center of the site.
Others were already setting up their own chairs in a large horseshoe-like semicircle.
It came to him that this was a present-day equivalent of the old Town Meeting of New England, or, possibly, something like the governing of the Swiss Confederation of cantons. It was a working democracy in which every adult had his say because the governing unit was small enough so that power and responsibility didn’t have to be delegated.
By and large, it worked. It wasn’t the only method utilized to govern mobile cities and towns, of course. New Woodstock was small enough to put it over but the really large cities had city payrolls and full-time officials. However, some of the towns, usually ones that were even smaller than New Woodstock, sometimes had governments ranging from pseudo-communism to out-and-out anarchy#longdash#in short, no government at all. Bat had to smile inwardly when he realized that the other mobile town he had lived with, the one composed largely of archeology buffs, had in actuality been one of the anarchy types. It had been a madhouse when some decision had to be made.
The executive committee and Nadine Paskov, who had a portable TV phone before her, sat behind a table facing the assembly of town adults. Bat took his chair and sat it to one end of the table in view of the fact that undoubtedly he’d be called on frequently.
When all except a few straggling latecomers had found places, Dean Armanruder opened the meeting by pounding with the gavel of the executive committee’s senior member.
He came immediately to the point. “Mr. Hardin has requested a convening of the assembly on the grounds that the community has been threatened with physical danger and must decide whether or not to continue this move to South America. Mr. Hardin.”
Bat was moderately surprised. He had expected the retired corporation manager to sum up the situation. In actuality, Bat Hardin had had little experience in public speaking and was a victim of both stage fright and inarticulateness. However, he did as well as he could and sat down as quickly as he could, feeling a little ashamed of himself. In his time he had charged full into automatic weapon fire with less quailing than this.
When he had finished, stunned silence met his words for a moment.
Dean Armanruder cleared his throat. “The question before us, citizens of New Woodstock, is whether to proceed, or whether to return to the United States. The floor is open to discussion.”
For a long moment, no one requested permission to speak.
Finally, “The chair recognizes Mr. Jeff Smith.”
Smith stood next to his folding seat and looked about him deliberately. “I think the first thing to consider is whether this whole story is a lot of crap.”
XI
There was another moment of shocked silence and then a muttering, then a jabbering, only part of it in indignation.
Dean Armanruder rapped them to silence.
He looked at Jeff Smith, still standing, a defiant smirk on his face. The senior executive committee member said evenly, “Mr. Smith, you have either said too much or too little. Please elucidate.”
Jeff Smith rapped, “For the first part of this story we have only the word of Hardin and Zogbaum, from whom we haven’t as yet heard, but I assume
he’ll back his fellow barroom brawler. They say they went into town and the Mexicans started a fight. That’s what they say. Evidently, the Linares chief of police sees it otherwise.”
“You’re damn right I back Bat Hardin,” Ferd Zogbaum called.
Dean Armanruder rapped with his gavel. “That will be all at this time, Mr. Zogbaum. We follow Robert’s Rules of Order here. Continue, Mr. Smith.”
Jeff Smith went on. “The second part of the story has nothing to back it whatsoever and on its face is a pretty fanciful tale. Mexico is a civilized country. Armed vigilantes don’t attack peaceful tourists. What Hardin’s purpose is, I wouldn’t know. For some reason he evidently doesn’t want to see New Woodstock continue to our destination, South America. He wants to turn back. Possibly he’s afraid of the long trip ahead and would rather remain in the States where life is admittedly easier, especially for the town’s peace officer.”
The assembly buzzed again and Armanruder rapped for silence.
He looked at Bat Hardin and said, “Do you have anything to say to this, Mr. Hardin?”
“No,” Bat said.
Armanruder looked back at Jeff Smith. “And what is your proposal, Mr. Smith?”
“I propose, first, that we go on, as planned. And secondly that we depose this alarmist and elect a new police officer.”
Armanruder said, “It is not the most desirable among the town’s volunteer positions, Mr. Smith. Whom would you suggest as an alternative to Mr. Hardin?”
“Anyone. His now deputy, Al Castro, could certainly do better.”
Al Castro called, “No thanks. Bat’s the man, so far as I’m concerned. I’m happy to stay on as his deputy but I wouldn’t take his job as long as he wants it.”
Armanruder rapped with his gavel. “Please ask for recognition by the chair before stating your opinions, Mr. Castro.”
But Al added, his voice loud and clear, “I’ve never heard Bat Hardin tell a lie as long as I’ve known him.”
Armanruder gave another double rap. “Go on, Mr. Smith.”
Smith said, “If no one else will volunteer for the job, I make the following motion. That Hardin be dismissed and that I be made town police officer.”
There was silence for a moment.
Finally, Jim Blake said, “For the sake of bringing it to the vote, I’ll second that motion. And I’ll also vote for Bat Hardin being retained.”
Armanruder said, “Motion has been moved and seconded. Bat Hardin to be replaced by Jeff Smith as police officer of New Woodstock. Miss Paskov, you are tied into the computer for voting?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dean Armanruder looked at the assembly. “To simplify, if there is no objection, cast your vote for either Mr. Smith or Mr. Hardin.”
There was little hesitation. Each member of the assembly put his or her pocket phone to mouth and cast the vote.
“Have all voted?” Armanruder said.
No one spoke up.
He said, “Miss Paskov?”
Nadine Paskov said dryly, “There were two votes for Mr. Smith.”
A laugh tittered through the assembly.
Jeff Smith flushed angrily and sat down.
Bat Hardin, obviously, was gratified. However, he knew that there were various persons in the town who weren’t particularly friendly toward him. He wondered if his victory was a matter of the lesser of two evils. Though they might not think him the best of all possible cops, they were pretty sure that Jeff Smith would be a damned sight worse. He also wondered vaguely who had cast the second vote for Smith, who had obviously voted for himself.
Armanruder was saying, “We have all, except two, evidently accepted the truthfulness of Mr. Hardin’s story, that he was kidnapped and the town threatened. How large an element has threatened us, we cannot say, but a threat has been made. Further comments before we put to a vote whether or not we should retreat?”
Ferd Zogbaum raised his hand and was recognized.
He stood and said, an indignation in his tone, “When we decided to make this trek, all the way to South America, did any of us labor under the illusion that it was all going to be peaches and cream? Didn’t we realize that we proposed to go through some of the wildest country remaining in North, Central and South America? Didn’t we realize that there was going to be all sorts of hardship and accident before we got through? Didn’t we all accept that some of our vehicles would break down, that some of us, before we were through, would possibly die from one cause or the other? Didn’t we all know that there would be bad weather, landslides earthquakes, and possibly bandits? Very well. This is our first stop. Is it going to be our last south of the border? Are we going to chicken out at the first threat#longdash#not actuality, thus far, just a threat#longdash#of danger?”
He sat down abruptly.
Armanruder said, “Thank you Mr. Zogbaum. Anyone else?”
Phil Terwilliger requested permission to speak.
He said, “It is all very well for a young man such as Mr. Zogbaum to be so gung ho, to wish to press on into adventure. However, when my wife, who is already quite ill, and I voted to take this trip with the rest of the town, we did not expect to be bitten by snakes in Nicaragua, or buried by a landslide in Costa Rica, nor…” his elderly voice went sarcastic “… attacked by headhunting Indians in Ecuador. We had been of the opinion that with the advent of the Pan American Highway it was quite possible these days to travel all the way to our destination in reasonable comfort and safety. However, if on our first day we are threatened by a body of armed men, one of whom told Mr. Hardin that he wouldn’t particularly mind shooting him, then I think we have stuck our necks into something more than we had originally planned. I strongly urge that we turn back as a town. But if you others vote to go on then I, at least, will disassociate myself from New Woodstock and return to the States to take up residence in some other mobile town or city.”
There were others. They spoke in varying degrees of heat, indignation or fearfulness, some taking one side, some the other.
When it was finally put to the vote, four-fifths of the assembly were for going on. The remainder refused to accept the decision of the majority and decided to return in a body to Texas. The returnees numbered approximately one hundred of the mobile homes, largely those owned by the more elderly.
The question then became what to do with the community property such as the auxiliary vehicles and the town treasury, which was not overly large. The treasury was accumulated by a slight tax on all citizens of the town, or a community assessment if an emergency of more than usual magnitude developed.
Since the vote had gone so strongly for the element that wished to go on, it was decided that all auxiliaries remain with New Woodstock and that those that were returning be recompensed out of town funds for their share of what they left behind.
And the question then became, where were these funds to come from, since the treasury held no such amount?
This was solved by several of the more affluent town members such as Armanruder, Doctor Barnes and Jim Blake making a loan to the town which would be repaid as rapidly as tax money came in. A small levy was also to be made, small enough as not to be a strain even on citizens who existed solely on their NIT, to help in the transaction.
Still another problem arose. Among those who were to return was the middle-aged Barbara Stevens, the competent nurse of Doctor Barnes. He had two or three other practical nurses in the town, or whom he could call in emergency, but Miss Stevens was the only professional.
It was decided immediately to issue a call through the United Mobile Cities Association and its TV newspaper for a nurse, preferably a volunteer, but, if necessary, one who could be put on the town payroll.
Someone suggested that very possibly they could pick up a nurse in Mexico City who would work for considerably less pay than an American, if no American on NIT volunteered to take the position without recompense.
Someone else suggested that the Mexican nurse, if one was found, be offered free
living quarters in the hospital. This would lessen the amount of pay necessary and New Woodstock was too small a town to support much in the way of a town payroll. It was also pointed out that a Mexican nurse would be a double advantage. She would be able to communicate in Spanish all the way down to South America, in Spanish medical terms. Doctor Barnes did not have Spanish, and there were very few in the whole town who did.
XII
In all, the meeting of the assembly took several hours and Bat Hardin could see that they wouldn’t be getting away that day. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like giving the vigilantes under Don Caesar the extra time to consolidate their forces and to prepare for whatever trouble they had in mind against New Woodstock.
But there was nothing for it. Even after the assembly had adjourned, there was considerable to be done in the breakaway of the hundred mobile homes that had decided to return to the States. And when all business had been handled, there was still the personal relationships that had in some instances been abuilding for years. Artists, of whatever sort, have a tendency toward emotionalism, and many a tear was shed, many a kiss exchanged. In fact, many a drink was knocked back after an appropriate toast. Bat had a sneaking suspicion that the hundred defectors wouldn’t return in a body to McAllen, Texas, but would straggle back.
In the old days, folk who lived in what were then trailers, moved about as individuals. It wasn’t until after the Second World War that the first beginnings of the mobile towns and cities began to manifest themselves. They started, possibly, as the trailer clubs, groups of compatible persons who would get together during vacations and take a tour, in company, to here, there, or the other place, usually to some National Park or other attraction. At that same time, the large trailer sites were developing where people lived in supposedly mobile homes but who, in actuality, never moved or, at least, seldom did. Indeed, many of the so-called mobile homes of that day were incapable of being moved, their wheels long since gone, or, at least, their tires flat and their axles rusting away.
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