“Oh my!” Natalie exclaimed.
All the visitors in the plaza had turned their heads in the same direction. The sun had just begun to gently set down and dissolve into the sea.
“What a most glorious sunset. I feel like I’m on top of the world,” Natalie said.
“Sanmarinese think they are.” Enzo smiled and then gestured them in the direction of the restaurant.
Standing outside was a pleasant-looking man dressed in a business suit, seemingly expecting them, as he appeared suddenly to walk in their direction.
“Ciao, Enzo. And these must be your lovely American friends.”
The man patted Mario on the head and offered a handshake to Natalie. “My name is Giovanni. Welcome to my restaurant.” Effortlessly, Giovanni and Enzo immediately moved into the Italian embrace as they each greeted an old friend.
“Please follow me,” Giovanni gestured.
Natalie and Mario followed behind and entered the small but charming restaurant. Then, quite by surprise, they continued to follow up a narrow staircase to the right of the bar and, suddenly, they entered an elegant dining room with gorgeous views out over the plaza and to the valley below.
“How lovely,” Natalie remarked, as both Enzo and Giovanni swooped in to offer her a chair at one of the large round tables.
From the moment they sat down, waiters appeared from various directions, pouring Prosecco and laying out platters of Italian delights. Then, interchanged with Giovanni’s description of the different meats and cheeses, Enzo suggested an itinerary for their first day’s adventure, until Giovanni stepped in.
“I agree, Giovanni, they must visit the towers, but first they must stop to see the Basilica of Saint Marinus. It’s an exquisite church with altars embellished in precious stones. There are also many valuable paintings to view.”
“They can see the church after, but first they must see the towers. Early in the morning, when the air is still crisp and the streets are quiet.” Giovanni took a moment to kid Enzo, reminding him that he was the real Sanmarinese, and then continued with his preferred plan. “After they walk up Salita alla Rocca to Guaita, they should walk along the Passo delle Steghe to Cesta, and then continue on to Montale. Naturally, that will bring them right past the Kursaal Congress Centre and Interpol’s office.” They continued to jabber, agreeing and disagreeing, on the other churches or museums they should visit, and in which order they should be seen. Finally, it was settled.
“Brilliant suggestion, Giovanni.”
It must have been the perplexed looks on both Natalie’s and Mario’s faces that prompted both Italian gentlemen to laugh, realizing that their rather animated conversation might have seemed odd.
“Excuse me, my dear,” Giovanni said, while motioning one of the waiters to bring him a map. “Maybe this will help.” He proceeded to explain what had transpired and then proudly began to describe the history surrounding the three towers perched high above the city and how they were an integral part of the city walls that protected the citizens of San Marino. From time to time, he would point to the map for clarification. “Here’s the road that will take you to Gauita, the first tower you’ll encounter and the first one built in San Marino.” He explained that it dated back to the eleventh century and, in modern times, functioned as a prison until 1975. “I suggest you walk up Passo delle Steghe to Cesta, the second tower, for a magnificent view of the valley and the Adriatic Coast. Mario, do you know what Passo delle Steghe means?”
“Path of the witches,” he replied hesitantly.
“Bravo. But I promise you won’t run into any along the way.” Giovanni winked. Then, pointing to the map, he followed along the path with his finger to the second tower. “This is Cesta and it was built over the remains of an ancient Roman fortress. It dates back to about the thirteenth century.” Again using his finger to trace along the path to the third tower, he said, “This is Montale. It dates back to the fourteenth century and was erected for defensive uses, but also functioned as a prison. Look here; if you walk down this path you’ll end up here at the Kursaal Congress Centre.”
“That’s where the National Central Bureau of Interpol is located,” Enzo interjected. “If you’d like a tour, I can arrange it for the day after tomorrow.”
“Cool,” Mario replied.
“Be careful Enzo, Uncle Noble is deathly afraid that Mario will want to become a spy,” Natalie warned in good humor.
“Perhaps he’d rather visit the Torture Museum, or maybe even the Reptile Museum,” Giovanni quipped.
Mario let out a big grin at the same time Natalie winced before being saved by the waiter. Large platters of pasta suddenly appeared on the table.
Giovanni explained that one platter contained ravioli, filled with almonds surrounded by a saffron sauce. The other was called strozzapreti. “It’s a penne pasta with cream and bacon sauce. Both are local dishes.”
“They both smell divine,” Natalie complimented as she inhaled the aroma.
Enzo took to serving Natalie and Giovanni served generous portions of each to Mario. Then, after the platters had been emptied, and Natalie feeling sated, more platters appeared.
“This is coniglio, or rabbit. It is stuffed with pork. And this baccala, a roasted cod with a chickpea cream and glazed onions. I hope you will enjoy both. Again, they are local recipes.”
Over the course of the meal, interspersed with delightful conversation, the first day had been scoped out, ending with a funicular ride down the side of the mountain to Borgo Maggiore, the second largest town of San Marino, which lies as the foot of Mount Titano. Feeling slightly queasy at the prospect, Natalie was not sure that she was ready for what would come next.
“Mama, look.”
Suddenly paraded in front of them were a variety of desserts, each looking somehow more decadent than the others.
17
BROTHER, CAN YOU SPARE A DIME?
Precisely at ten o’clock, a band of freshly showered and refreshed men strolled into the reception hall. Straightaway they noticed the hard-to-miss eight-inch stack of papers that had been placed in front of each of their workstations. They presumed it to be the highly disputed Universal Healthcare Act, a subject that had monopolized the attention of the U.S. population.
“Good morning gentlemen,” Noble greeted them with gusto. “Jax already loaded up the kitchen with a breakfast buffet. I’m sure you’ll find something to satisfy your craving. Sorry Paolo, no caffé corretto.” Noble winked.
“What the hell is that?” Hank asked.
“It’s espresso with a shot of grappa,” Paolo replied, adding, “If I even sniffed it, my day would end.”
“Go help yourselves and then let’s get started,” Noble urged, recognizing that he had created the delay.
Without a word, they scurried in the direction of the food.
Noble carried on with his croissant and coffee in hand while he waited for the others to return. Not surprisingly, it required very little time before they returned with their favorite goodies. The unusually large portions of yogurt, fruits, and pastries stacked on their plates did not go unnoticed. It was obvious that they had worked up an appetite during their overnight session.
Earlier that morning, Noble had placed a smaller tablet, compared to their fully loaded desktop version, on the round table in front of each of their chairs.
Hank was the first to notice. “What’s this for?” he asked curiously, holding up the device.
“Any data you enter on either your workstation tablet or this device will be synced with one another.”
Setting their plates aside for the moment, they immediately started to power on the tablets.
“Since you’re all anxious to get started, you’ll notice an app in the upper right hand corner. Please tap it.”
Instantly, a document displayed.
“Whoa, what’s this about?” Chase asked, noting its formality.
“Let me start off by letting you know that I’ve spoken with the president
and he extends his gratitude to all of you for accepting this assignment. But he requests that you first sign a confidentiality agreement. Please read the document carefully and then sign at the bottom.” Noble offered no further instructions for the moment. He sat back and watched as they read the wording.
“Is this really necessary?” Hank questioned. “You already have immunity agreements you can use against us.”
“I’m sure all of you understand what’s at stake,” Noble explained. “The president requests that all of what is discussed, any information retrieved, and final outcomes be classified.”
“Are you going to sign the document as well?” Hank challenged.
“I already have.”
Hank looked at others for confirmation. They all seemed satisfied. “Okay, where do we sign?”
“Have you all read the document thoroughly?”
With affirmative nods, Noble passed along the instructions. “Place the pad of your right thumb in the box at the bottom of the document. When the green light flashes, hit the Submit button. Your documents will then be sent to the president’s private email address. He will have the only copies.”
Noble watched as each complied.
“Cool,” Seymour announced. “The document just crumpled into a ball and then poof! It disappeared.
“A little graphic touch I added,” Noble admitted, with a modest smile. Then he used the remote-control device once again to move the painting up toward the ceiling and reveal the large monitor. “Now, if you swipe the left side of the screen on your tablet, your screen’s image will project on the monitor as well. One at a time,” he cautioned, “or you’ll override the other tablets.”
“I’ll go first,” Seymour volunteered. Unable to resist, he quickly tapped the OneNote App and drew in large lettering the initials LF and then swiped the left side of his screen. “Hey, pretty wild.”
The others in the group chuckled, except for Noble. As usual, he ignored Seymour’s wit and continued. “While you guys munch away, listen up while I reiterate our mission.” He set down his own plate and laid out the strategy for the group.
“When I spoke with the president he requested that we be prepared to provide him with periodic status updates. He’ll conference in at a prearranged time. I’ll try to give you as much warning as possible, but it will be, of course, according to his schedule.” Noble perused their faces. It was hard to measure whether they were pleased at the opportunity to convey their ideas straight to the president or it just added another stress point. He chose not to give them time to contemplate either and moved on.
“Now as I explained before, the president needs—for lack of a better description—an economic triage. Troubled times demand drastic measures, and these times exceed the mark when it comes to being troubled. Yesterday, you identified certain policies that could have a potentially negative impact on the job market, in terms of employment, capital investment, and job creation: what we know to be the primary engines of economic growth.”
“So, the president is asking us to identify resolutions and assign priorities where the country can achieve measurable success in the shortest possible time,” Paolo clarified.
“Exactly, or we’ll just be floundering,” Noble replied.
“Then let’s cut to the chase—no pun intended,” Hank interrupted, hoping to move along the conversation.
“Thanks for the intro, Hank,” Chase said, “but it’s reasonable to assume that as we drill down into the topics, we’ll also arrive at other plausible approaches that will take a longer time to execute.”
“I agree,” Noble allowed. “We’ll likely have long-term goals and short-term milestones. And you have my assurance that all credible solutions will be submitted to the president for timely consideration.” After noting their expressions, he opted for an obsequious interval, and lauded them with “Only a group of your stature has the vision to create and execute these solutions.”
Noble understood these intellectuals well enough to know how to appeal to their egos. Apparently it worked. They seemed pleased that any cogent ideas would make their way to the president’s desk.
“But you must focus on deliberate changes he can invoke to launch the overall strategy without delay!” he emphasized.
Their serious demeanor remained in check. It was apparent that they had grasped the enormity of the task at hand. A sense of commitment pervaded the room.
“Finish up your breakfast and then let’s get to work.”
18
TRUTH IN JOB NUMBERS
The group had devoted the past two days pulling together all the necessary information to debate the elusive job numbers. Their first official session was about to begin. Everyone seemed enthusiastic to get the ball rolling.
“Take it away,” Noble suggested, nodding in the direction of Chase, who seemed overly eager.
Already prepared with an opening statement, Chase didn’t hesitate. “Our brief analysis of the situation suggests that we must first identify the causes behind the lack of jobs being created, sufficient to sustain the workforce. Slow job growth can only produce a moribund economy in our consumer-driven country. I believe that, in large measure, employers are being hampered by policies and regulations imposed on them by the prior administration. There’s a clear cause-and-effect relationship that’s evident.” Then, after downing a quick sip of coffee, he threw a personal jab. “After all, they were policies all of you orchestrated.” With a nod of exception to Noble, he added, “Your fingerprints are all over them.”
Not wanting to give them an opportunity to lose focus, Noble said, “Despite the numbers that are pumped out monthly by the government, they are defective and confusing. Let’s begin by ferreting out the real numbers relative to the workforce versus those murky numbers conveyed in the monthly job reports that we’ve dissected. Reports we know that have been contested for good reason.”
Hank, noting the earlier inference, consumed the last of his muffin and then challenged, “As you so rightly pointed out, Chase, we were at the scene when it happened. That’s why I would suggest that before we wander too far afield, we zero in on why people are dropping out of the workforce. This is a key element not reported for political motives and largely unreported by biased news sources. How can one ignore the fact that less than half the population is participating in the workforce. It’s an abysmal statistic; even I would have to admit.”
Great start! I was counting on you Chase, to stay in the neutral zone, Noble mused, but was glad he had done his homework as usual. He tapped away at his tablet and retrieved the most recent copy of the U.S. Census Bureau’s report. He then flipped to the page he had previously bookmarked and chimed in. “Valid point Hank, but I’d like to go back and address Chase’s point. As reported, the current unemployment rate is stagnant, holding at ten percent. The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, or BLS, had projected that as of today the rate would be somewhere around five-point-eight percent, which is completely out of whack. And according to the latest census poll projections, the population is tipping over 331 million people.” Noble paused and refocused his attention to the group. “Another national census will not be conducted until 2020, which doesn’t include the twelve million illegal immigrants who recently became ‘amnestitized’ citizens, thanks to the former president…”
“Amnestitized?” Seymour interrupted.
“It seemed like an appropriate term for a person being pardoned for an illegal act, without ever losing consciousness of their ill-gotten gains.” Noble noticed Seymour wince, but continued. “Also, consider that for the past three years, we still haven’t processed all of the illegal immigrants. There’s a real possibility that millions more could be added, as a result of the lack of enforcement of our immigration laws on the books. Sorry to digress, but it’s one of my few hot buttons.” He apologized and then directed a question back to Chase. “Given these numbers, how is it possible to determine how many people are actually out of work, and how can we calculate a r
eal unemployment rate?”
“It’s impossible to do a reliable calculation for a number of reasons, one of which you just stated. First of all, the labor force does not include the entire population, only eligible workers.” Chase further elaborated, “According to a strict interpretation of the data, there are approximately a hundred million people who’ve already abandoned the workforce and are not seeking employment. In fact, the Labor Force Participation Rate is at its lowest level in forty years. Retiring baby boomers alone account for half of the drop in the labor force! Statistically, there are around one hundred and fifty million people still in the workforce, and roughly fifteen million unemployed. Using simple long division, dividing the unemployed by the number in the workforce gives us the ten percent unemployment rate. It’s that simple.”
As chief financial officer of a major bank, Chase was at home with the data. Picking up the pace, he stated, “As I mentioned, a large number of the baby boomers left the workforce, which was considered a natural progression toward retirement. But it doesn’t speak to the remainder of the labor force. For the purposes of this discussion, let’s focus on the fifteen million people who are unemployed, ten million of whom are collecting unemployment benefits.”
“Pardon me, Chase, your number of fifteen million can be misleading,” Hank challenged. “The unemployment rate only counts the jobless who are still in the workforce. As I addressed earlier, dropouts are not counted because marginally attached workers are not treated as unemployed.” This was something Hank could relate to because many of the volunteers at the Chestnut Foundation fit neatly into that category.
“Excuse my ignorance, but can anyone tell me what is marginally attached?” Seymour asked.
Hank was pleased once again to be handed the opportunity to boast. Adequately armed with the data on his tablet, he swiped the screen from left to right and displayed a section of the BLS statistics on the monitor. The others read along as he paraphrased. “Marginally attached persons are not actively looking for a job even though they are available for work. They are the dropouts. BLS also has a subcategory for this group called discouraged workers because they are not seeking employment for a variety of reasons, but have not officially dropped out of the workforce. What’s alarming is the total number of the marginally attached is over three million, no piddling number.”
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