Streams Of Yesterday

by W.H. Harrod

Stepping out on to the porch of my second floor apartment freshly washed and sporting my favorite khaki trousers, blue Oxford cloth short sleeve shirt, and my always dependable Rockport lace ups, I was surprised to find Junior Junior waiting for me at the bottom of the steps. He exhibited no evidence to suspect he’d suffered, of late, a severe emotional setback.

  “Howdy, Will. Mind if I come along with you to the debate?” he asked before I could voice both my surprise and pleasure at seeing him up and about.

  “Not at all! Glad to have some friendly company. That is if you are friendly?” I said to him jokingly as I descended the stairs.

  “Depends on if you consider a fellow Democrat friendly, I expect,” he countered.

  I halted dead in my tracks only halfway down the steps. “You…you’re the other Democrat?” I stammered, shocked to the very bottom of my shoe soles at having heard this unexpected confession from the single person in town I least expected to reveal a political bent, much less admit to being the unknown Democrat.

  “I am. I was born on the same day Robert Kennedy got shot dead in 1968. I kind of took that as an omen when I got old enough to start thinking about politics. After I learned about how he was a rich feller just like his brother who got killed trying to speak up for the little man, I decided to give the Democrats the benefit of the doubt when it came to electing our so-called public servants.”

  I slowed my descent while trying to come to grips with this strange event. This could be a good omen. If a simple man like Junior Junior got it, then maybe there was cause for hope.

  “This is great. Are you going to let others know? I won’t say a word if you don’t want me to,” I asked him as we stood together at the foot of the stairs.

  “I haven’t gotten that far yet so why don’t we keep this to ourselves for the time being, okay?” he replied.

  “Absolutely,” I responded still feeling strange hearing a verbal response from a man famous for never saying anything. “So are you feeling as good as you look?” I asked.

  “Much better, thanks. And straight off, I want to thank you for taking care of things while I’ve been ailing. You’ve been a real good friend. I want you to know I won’t ever forget it. That’s one reason I want to go along tonight and offer my support.”

  “Great,” I replied enthusiastically, “and I’m happy to say you will have some company. Mary June will be there, along with the Sheriff and Preacher Roy. The last two may not be Democrats, but they are both fair-minded men who shun ignorant political partisanship. Unfortunately, Flo has a prior commitment; you can guess what that means.”

  Before I could ask Junior Junior if he wanted to walk or drive his truck, he moved past me to the passenger side and asked if we shouldn’t get going. I agreed we should indeed and headed towards the driver’s side. We soon found ourselves crawling along in the steady stream of traffic heading for the high school gym. My unexpected companion said nothing while we drove along until we approached the soon-to-be filled-to-capacity school parking lot. That worked for me since I had plenty of other things on my mind. “You know what surprises me most?” asked Junior Junior breaking the silence. “I haven’t heard a single person mention anything about today being the seventh anniversary of the attack on the World Trade Center.” I had no reply. I instantly realized I, too, stood guilty of getting wrapped up in my own selfish little world of late. How quickly we forget, I said to myself admitting my personal shame.

  We made our way on foot from the rear of the parking lot towards the gymnasium doors. Glancing at my watch, I noticed we still had some time before the debate started. All along the walk to the gym, group after group called out wishing me well. I found this to be reassuring. I didn’t know what the local folks expected, but I figured they weren’t looking for a fight. I did not detect any outright partisan behavior at all. If you asked me, they acted more like folks going to a high school play or a ball game. With Junior Junior joining my team, along with all these greetings and salutations from members of, I’m sure, the opposite camp, I started feeling more at ease.

  Soon we approached the main entrance to the gym. Mary June was waiting there accompanied by a nattily attired elderly gentleman who I immediately recognized as the town boogieman, UB2 or Mr. Dom Brazzi. I chuckled at the thought of all these unknowing people calmly passing by the most feared individual in this part of the county. But why should they suspect anything? Dom resembled UB2 in no way. As I came abreast of these valued supporters, I stopped to say hello and to thank both for coming. Only one of the two heard what I said, for Mary June immediately locked on to the presence of Junior Junior and looked to be in danger of becoming speechless.

  “Oh, my, goodness,” she finally said. “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise? Junior Junior, I must say, you look snappy.”

  “Thank you,” responded Junior Junior to the amazed Mary June. “I feel much better now, especially, since I’ve stopped drinking. And I want to take this opportunity to thank you for helping out at the diner. I’ve heard good things about your pies.”

  I had to smile as I watched Mary June absorb Junior Junior’s comments. She probably heard more words from him at that moment than during the previous thirty years.

  “Hello, I’m Junior Johnson,” my companion said to Mary June’s friend, Dom, while simultaneously offering an outstretched hand.

  Mary June’s eyes opened wide in amazement at this second barrage of coherent syllables. By this time, others began to take notice of Junior Junior’s presence as well as the sound of words coming out of his mouth. I felt I needed to get the group moving along before we created a bottleneck of gawkers at the main entrance. I also wanted to get inside and get the night over with.

  I gently put my arm around Mary June’s shoulder and suggested to her we make our way inside. She didn’t resist, but neither did the dumbfounded look disappear from her face. Dom and Junior Junior walked along behind chatting amiably as I led the way into the gymnasium hoping to find someone professing to be in charge of the evening’s activities.

  I looked around for a place to deposit Mary June and her new friend, and I caught sight of a number of familiar faces. Down front, standing before front row seats, I saw a waving Preacher Roy along with the Sheriff. Nearby and clumped together, sat the entire geezer crowd, who also smiled and waved. Searching for more friendly faces, I caught sight of my fellow Viet Nam vet, and near him sat several familiar faces from the Justice City plant group. I wasn’t sure they were supporters, but I felt confident they would be inclined to not prejudge me.

  All in all, things didn’t look too bad. Most of the attendees busied themselves chatting with friends and neighbors, while the few kids who had been forced to accompany their parents to this affair played tag out in front of the gym and loudly entertained themselves. I caught sight of my opponent, Cecil Wonkers, who waved to me from the far side of the room. Of the several individuals congregating near him, all of whom seemed to be busy conspiring if furtive glances in all directions gave a true indication, the only individual actually looking in my direction was Big Bob Buford. Unlike the others, he looked interested in only one thing— me. If the man had possessed laser vision, I would have been cut to shreds in mere seconds. Go ahead and smile, I thought while returning his stare. Come Monday you might very well find life a little more difficult. If there’s any justice in this world some serious people will come to town real soon and give you an opportunity to learn how to frog hop while wearing leg irons.

  “Mr. Clayton, I’m Bob Conners, the school principal,” came the sound of a voice from over my left shoulder. I turned to find the school principal extending his hand in my direction. “I believe we are about ready to begin, so if you would accompany Cecil and me to the stage, we can get started.”

  I grasped his strong calloused hand in reply recalling that he, too, belonged to an established local farming family.

  “Of course,” I replied. “I’ll see you folks afterwards, I hope,” I said to my companions. “Wish me lu
ck.”

  As I started to turn away, Mary June squeezed my hand giving my flagging spirits a needed boost. “This is exactly where you’re supposed to be, Will. These people need to hear the truth, and more than any other person I know, you know what that is. Plus,” she added with a wink, “remember we’re gonna have pie at my house afterwards, okay?”

  “Can I come, too?” asked the principle jokingly as he led me away by the arm.

  We joined up with my opponent, Cecil, and the three of us made our way to the stage located at the end of the gymnasium. As this occurred, the rest of the crowd automatically began to head to their respective seats. The principal motioned for Cecil and I to be seated on two folding metal chairs situated a short distance behind the portable speaker stand located in the middle of the stage. Mounted on the speaker stand, I noticed a single microphone which considering the size of the room as well as the large number of attendees, I expected to be helpful.

  The two of us sat awaiting our fate following the principal’s introduction. While doing so, I became aware of Cecil’s hand being offered to me. I should not have been surprised as Cecil always before came off as every bit the nice guy. “Thanks for coming, Will,” he said. “Looks like from the turn out, there are lots of folks here who want to hear what you’ve got to say. I hope to do my best. I don’t plan for this to get personal because so far as I can tell, you’re a pretty good feller.”

  I have to admit to being taken by surprise by my opponent’s remarks. Yet, I appreciated hearing them. I wasn’t looking for a fight either. I didn’t even want to be there in the first place, but now that I was, I also knew I had no intention of allowing the debate to degenerate into one of those all too familiar character assassination events having nothing to do with the real issues.

  “I appreciate you saying that, Cecil, and I assure you I intend to do the same,” I said to him while accepting his hand.

  My opponent and I returned our collective attention back towards the speaker stand upon hearing the principal’s final words of introduction. “So without further delay I will now ask our first speaker, determined earlier by a coin toss, representing the Republican Party, Mr. Cecil Wonkers, to come forward and make his opening statement.”

  Notes in hand, my opponent turned on his friendliest smile and rose to address the seated audience. Naturally, being the hometown’s representative, Cecil received a very warm reception accompanied by several admonishments to “Give’em hell, Cecil.”

  Obviously intent upon milking the smattering of applause forthcoming from the loyal base, Cecil made no attempt to get down to business. Not until the very last diehard supporter of all things Godly and Republican satisfied themselves they had gotten their point across and stopped clapping and whistling, did Cecil begin to speak.

  “Well folks, here we are again, on the verge of electing a new President of the United States. I want to go on record right now to take this opportunity to thank all of my fellow citizens of Jonesboro, and the surrounding area, for coming out tonight to listen to two citizens tell you why their political party’s candidate is the better man for the job. I especially want to thank the lone known representative of the local Democratic Party for choosing civil discourse this year as opposed to physical mayhem.”

  Even from where I sat listening to the crowd chuckle at the memory of last year’s theatrics, I could easily make out the scowl on Mary June’s face as she glared at my opponent. “I, of course,” continued Cecil, “intend to tell you why the Republican candidate is by far the better man. My opponent, who we all most likely know by now is a nice feller, will try to persuade you that some young socialist scallywag from back east can do a better job than the Republican nominee who is a long serving United States Senator as well as a genuine war hero.”

  Cecil then paused while he arranged his note cards before him on the speaker stand. Eventually satisfied all was in order, he continued, “It’s no secret that things aren’t going well in the country right now. Mistakes have been made, for sure. But I believe we can fix those mistakes if we put the right man in the job. This is no time to get scared and turn to the purveyors of godless socialism for the answers. We need a strong leader. We need a man who is a true American hero. A man who understands that it is the basic values set forth by our Christian heritage that will ultimately lead us out of these troubled times. I expect most every adult in this room is aware of the real reasons for our country’s problems. I believe, along with most of you, that we have lost our way. We need to return to the right path to find our way back to the promise land. We need to quit sinning against God’s will. We must put a stop to abortion. We must oppose those who support giving government sanction to homosexuality. We must oppose same sex marriages. We must fight to reintroduce God’s word into our school curriculums. We should resist all attempts by those who propose to introduce Right to Die legislation at the state or federal level. This is a Christian country, and we need to fight to preserve our Christian heritage at all costs. We must insist on the right to protect our children, as well as all citizens, from all forms of pornography presently disseminated through television, film, radio, books, magazines, the Internet, or wherever. I believe that when we begin to conduct our lives as true Christians once more, the answers to all our problems will come to us.” The sound of applause emanated from many of the more staunch supporters of Cecil’s personal belief that social issues took priority over all else.

  Cecil halted and coyly turned to look directly towards where I sat. “Having introduced the gist of my proposed arguments,” he continued, “that I intend to follow up on in more detail later, I, at this time, concede the microphone to my opponent so he has the opportunity to do likewise.”

  Surprised at both the brevity of Cecil’s opening remarks, as well as the complete lack of political substance in them, I haltingly responded to the invitation to take center stage. Rising to my feet as Cecil prepared to sit down, I approached the microphone not at all certain of what I intended to say. The crowd offered up a smattering of applause, highlighted by Mary June, Junior Junior, and Dom’s obvious partisan greeting. Possibly more of the attendees watched my supporters’ display of support than they did me. This may very well have been the first time the locals ever witnessed support offered to a Democratic candidate.

  Standing at the podium with nothing before me to organize or shuffle in order to delay having to speak without a clear objective outlined in my mind, I experienced a pang of indecision. Should I take the bait and try to argue my points through the usual smokescreen of value issues laid down by Cecil only moments before, as I felt he expected me to do? Or should I simply go directly to the issues that I personally believed to be the real problem? I decided I must avoid Cecil’s trap and go directly for the jugular.

  “Well,” I said with a hint of intimidation in my voice, “where to begin? First off, just let me say that I understand where Cecil is coming from when he alluded to the only known local Democrat’s predisposition towards physical mayhem. My choice was either risking my hide debating in front of hundreds of irascible Republicans or risk angering Jonesboro’s most belligerent and active Democrat. Obviously, I decided I had a better chance of surviving by coming here and arguing with Cecil in front of you guys.”

  The modest level of laughter that followed helped to settle me down. All I could do, I realized, while waiting for the room to quiet down again, was try to give these people some insight into my way of thinking when it came to the subject of politics and economics in the United States today. I firmly believed that in this country you cannot talk about one apart from the other. No matter how loudly people scream about socialism, our country is a capitalistic enterprise, so trying to discuss politics apart from economics is like talking about feeding hogs without mentioning a bucket of slop.

  “Okay then, so let’s get to it. This is what I believe. First, I totally disagree with my opponent’s assertion that the ‘real reasons for our country’s problems is that we have lost our
way’ and ‘we need to return to the right path to find our way back to the promised land.’ I personally find it somewhat ironic to hear people comment that we need to get back to devoting more time to the single subject that became the primary motivation for most of our ancestors to give up all they owned and risk their lives to travel half a world away to find a place in the wilderness that allowed them to live free from religious persecution. They were trying desperately to keep religious fanatics from running their lives. They were running away from religious intolerance.”

  “I’m convinced our main problem is that we are not smart enough to keep our eyes on the ball. The ball is politics and economics. Politics and economics are all about the survival of the fittest. Period. I’m not talking about evolution. I’m talking about money. As long as the greater part of the voting population of this nation, both Democrats and Republicans, are distracted by rich people telling them that it’s the value issues that are of primary importance, nothing is going to change for the better economically. If you really want to know what’s going on with the economics of our country, then watch where the money goes. That should be your acid test. Who is getting most of the money year after year? I’ll tell you right now who it is. It’s the wealthiest one percent of the population in this country, that’s who. At this time, the wealthiest one percent own forty percent of the total wealth of this country. The next forty percent of all the wealth is owned by the next nine percent. That leaves twenty percent of all the wealth to be divided among the remaining ninety percent of the total population. Forty-five percent, or roughly half of the remaining population owns just a single one percent of all the wealth, meaning they are essentially living in perpetual poverty. That leaves the remaining forty-five percent of the population which includes the so-called middle class controlling a mere nineteen percent of all of this country’s wealth. Think about that. If those figures make the hair rise up on the back of your necks consider that every year more and more of that puny nineteen percent we’re all trying to live on after paying taxes on it, unlike the top ten percent, is being directed to the top. Essentially, all that talk about the ‘Trickle Down Economic Theory’ working for us is a bunch of bull.”

  I hadn’t expected to get on a roll so quickly, but I decided what the hell, go for it. “I expect there are many individuals in this room right now who would reply, ‘Yeah but those fine, mostly God-fearing rich folks are reinvesting most of that wealth back into our country’s manufacturing and production base.’ Well that’s bull, too. Unless you live in a cave, I expect you are familiar with the term off shoring, right? That’s where the wealth and the jobs are going now and have been for the last twenty years or since NAFTA was created by a Republican Congress and a Democratic president. Our country is becoming a hollowed out shell where the last of the few production facilities that traditionally provided American workers with jobs paying a living wage are in line to be taken off shore with all the other good jobs already shipped out. Once safely offshore, the owners will no longer carry the burden of taxation or have to pay a livable wage to employees or worry about employee rights and safety. Once off-shore, they have all the workers they need for a few dollars a day and do not have to worry about providing safe working environments or adhering to stricter environmental laws. Maybe worst of all, they then ship all those slave labor produced goods straight back to this country where they are merchandised in gigantic box stores that move into our communities and destroy the smaller retailers that have supported local activities for many years, leaving communities with empty store fronts and without the former community leaders who once came from the ranks of those now disappearing local businesses.”

  Stopping for a moment to catch my breath and seeing that no one seemed prepared to come forward and toss me out of the building for uttering such blaspheme, I decided to press on. “My opponent earlier remarked that ‘mistakes have been made.’ That’s true, and the worst part is we keep making them over and over. By the way, that is one of the definitions of insanity: committing the same destructive act over and over while expecting a different outcome. And yet that’s what we are doing. I’m talking about both parties. Because in my opinion, there is only a single political party of any consequence in the United States, and that party is corporate America where membership is by invitation only. The two traditional political parties getting all the attention are, in my opinion, only acting as shills for corporate America. While the voters and their elected representatives concern themselves mostly with arguing the so-called value issues, corporate America is carrying away the store. Much of our tax money might start out going downward as welfare payments to groups or individuals that I know is a sore point with many here tonight or even to farmers as crop subsidies or to provide for our military adventures abroad, but make no mistake, it always ends up in the bank accounts of the top ten percent. And who do you think owns the banks and the media outlets that continually bring up the value issues among the two parties’ members as a way of distracting us away from the real problems? The top ten percent, that’s who. While they count the money, the working people debate value issues and wonder what in the heck happened to all the jobs. Meanwhile, the rich are laughing all the way to their banks.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we do have serious problems in this country, and we are going to have to start paying more attention to those problems soon, or this grand experiment, known as the United States of America, is going to come to a screaming halt. We are currently the longest surviving sovereign entity on the planet. That’s because all the rest have failed and have had to form new governments, or they have dissolved altogether to be consigned to the back pages of history.”

  “The critical issues we must attend to immediately are extensive. They include: The viability of our entire financial system that has in actuality failed and exists now only because of the life support provided by foreigners loaning money to our federal government. This means that you, the taxpayers, will be held responsible for paying the bill for the mismanagement of the top ten percent, who are still raking in the money while the working families suffer. Also, our military is spread out dangerously thin around the world fighting wars that history and common sense tell us cannot be won and are unnecessary. The children of the common workingman and woman are now, I believe, being employed as mere tools of the same Military/Industrial Complex we were warned years ago about by President Eisenhower. These interminable wars in the Middle East are being lobbied for constantly by weapons manufacturers who are making billions of dollars that are billed to the average tax payer while our young servicemen and servicewomen suffer and die.”

  “There is also the not so small matter of our escalating national debt. Presently, it is growing exponentially. Our government is literally creating money out of thin air. This burden will become the responsibility of our children and even their children if we survive as a nation. We are, in effect, indenturing future generations with our financial irresponsibility. It’s only through the Federal Reserves lowering the interest rate to one percent that we are still functioning. But you know what? Even with the Federal Reserve rate at near zero, the economy is not responding, leaving the Fed out of bullets. Soon they will have to start printing money to cover the costs of doing business and that’s when the wheels are going to come off, and life all over this country is going to get hard, real fast.”

  “Moving on, and mostly for the sake of the younger folks, I should probably mention to you that soon all the baby boomers are going to start lining up for Social Security payments, and the really interesting thing is that our government spent the money in lieu of having to raise taxes to cover government expenditures over the previous years. So for all the younger folks who are lucky enough to still have jobs and are paying into the system, tough luck, because there is not going to be anything there as you reach those golden years. That is, unless your children are willing to step up and do the same for you as you are now doing for today’s seniors. If any other organization
did this, except our government, it would be called a Ponzi Scheme.”

  As I finished saying this, I knew immediately I had brought up a subject many of the elderly in the room would have preferred I stay silent about. I wondered if maybe I was on the verge of inciting class warfare. Yet, I was determined to go all out.

  “As a matter of fact, if you add up the yearly cost for Social Security, Medicare, Republican-sponsored Prescription Drug Benefit Plan for seniors, defense spending, and finally, the interest on the existing national debt, there is not a penny left for anything else, unless we borrow it. Very soon, the number of individuals, institutions, and nations who will be willing to lend to a broke country that has allowed its manufacturing base to move offshore will become few and far between.” I could definitely see some mumbling and, possibly, even some grumbling among the audience by this time.

  “So, as I stand here, prepared to close my case, I realize I could go on like this for another hour listing numerous other serious issues, like our dependency on foreign oil, environmental pollution, over population, loss of valuable farmland as well as wildlife natural habitats from ongoing urbanization, illegal immigration, and inadequate health care. All are problems that our country should have dealt with yesterday. But after a while, it’s human nature to start blocking bad things out of the conscious mind. Only so much troubling information can be assimilated and dealt within a short period.”

  “So, I will call a halt to my ranting after mentioning what I personally consider to be our nation’s greatest problem, by far. I believe our biggest problem is partisan politics. Because of partisan politics, it is very unlikely this country will resolve any of the critical issues I’ve just told you about. With partisan politics, there is no room for compromise. It’s win at all costs. Ideas or policies proposed by the opposition are confronted and defeated, often including legislation or ideas one party has previously championed. It’s often similar to the psychology adopted by sports fanatics where the only objective is to win. Sports fans don’t get to play in the game. They don’t get the trophies or the accolades, the parades, the fame, or the money. In the end, all they can say is their team won. The real players get all the good stuff, just like the wealthy ten percent in this country who are the real players also get all of the good stuff. The rest of us non-players in this game of partisan politics get to momentarily rejoice that our candidate won and then scurry around to pick up the leftover scraps dropped from the big table where the real players, the corporations who finance and direct the two main political parties, regularly feast. That’s about all I’ve got to say for now. Thank you.”

  I looked around expecting to see Cecil coming to replace me at the speaker’s stand to begin his rebuttal, but all I saw was an obviously puzzled old man sitting there giving me what might be referred to as the thousand-yard stare. I’d seen it a few times before in my life, like when guys came out of a muddy hole in Nam and found the world had been blown to hell and realized that somehow, amazingly, they were still alive— definitely in shock, not functioning, and without all their faculties, but alive.

  Chapter Thirty