Election Day: A Harry Cassidy Novel

by Henry Hack

  After the break, the third speaker identified himself as Nicholas Santucci, a Professor of American Studies and Constitutional Law, and his credentials included a law degree and a doctorate in American History. He immediately got their attention when he intoned, in a deep baritone voice, “The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country. I’m sure you recognize that quote from one of the true original patriots – Thomas Paine. Now, my question to you is this. Are you summer soldiers, and will you shrink from serving your country in the time of its greatest need? I hope not, for if you do, we are all doomed to a future of government suppression and slavery.”

  If the business guy had somewhat depressed the audience, the professor just outdid him, but he smiled and continued, “No, you are not summer soldiers at all, or you wouldn’t be here, would you? I will speak for a few minutes on what is happening to our government functions – dysfunctions might be a more appropriate word – the degradation of the separation of powers of the three branches, the assumption of dictatorial powers by executive orders, and the violation of established laws passed by Congress. I will then conclude with what is in store for us by our elected and unelected leaders and legislatures.”

  The professor was winding down. He said the two greatest threats on the immediate horizon were the bills working their way through congress called the National Gun Registry Act and the proposed Constitutional Convention to “update the U.S. Constitution to reflect the changes that have occurred since its adoption over 200 years ago.” Thirty-eight states were needed to do this, and thirty-two were already on board.

  “I would like to leave you two quotes from, in my opinion, our greatest Founding Father – Thomas Jefferson. Both are apropos to my talk. The strongest reason for the people to retain the right to keep and bear arms is, as a last resort, to protect themselves against tyranny in government. The second is, the tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. Ladies and gentlemen, that time is now. When you leave this afternoon there will be a substantial package of reading material to take with you to peruse at your leisure. The package contains a copy of the U.S. Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, excerpts from the thinking of our Founding Fathers, excerpts from the Federalists papers, and numerous relevant legislative acts and Supreme Court decisions. I obviously could not include a copy of the Obamacare Health Act, and its accompanying regulations, as a sufficient number of extra-large wheelbarrows were not available at my local Home Depot.”

  That comment broke the tension and gloom in the room and everyone took the opportunity to laugh out loud and move about a bit in their seats. The fourth speaker, again attired as the three others, gave his name as Charles Knorland and stated he was the Committee’s social scientist. A few years younger than the others – he looked to be about forty-five – he was the first speaker who was non-white.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I will be the last speaker before we break for lunch, which I have been informed will be served in the Madison Room immediately adjacent to this conference room. Please take a moment to look around the room and focus on your fellow attendees.”

  They did as requested, some standing to get a better view. Harry took only a casual glance, having already noticed and sized up the diversity of the group.

  “We have about sixty people here pretty evenly split between men and women. There are several of us with varying shades of brown skin, and several of us with Latino surnames. A representation of Irish, German, Greek, French, Slavic, Arabic, Indian, Jewish and Italian last names round out our group. What we all have in common, however, is that we are all Americans.”

  He paused a moment and looked over the room. Raising his head high he shouted. “Don’t you dare call me an African-American! I am an American who happens to be of African heritage.”

  Phil smiled and bent toward Harry, “Same philosophy as you, I see.”

  “Smart man,” Harry said.

  The speaker continued, “Every one of us is an American. None of us can claim to be an original American, or a Native American, not even an American Indian. He was here first, but even he came from someplace else. We are a nation of immigrants, and that’s what made us – and continues to make us – a great nation. But ironically, it is unchecked, uncontrolled, illegal immigration that is threatening to ruin us. It is a significant factor that, when coupled with the situations described by our fellow Committee members, will most assuredly cause the destruction of America.

  “In California alone 35% of the inmates in state prison are Mexican nationals here illegally. Nearly 60% of the occupants of HUD Section 8 housing are illegals. The FBI reports that half of all gang members in Los Angeles are illegal, and 95% of the murder warrants in that city are for illegal aliens. Over 70% of all babies born in Los Angeles County are born to illegal alien women on Medi-Cal. These births, therefore, are completely paid for by taxpayers. As one comedian on late night TV recently said, “We are a country who welcomes immigrants, but please people – sign the fucking guest register on the way in!”

  Again bursts of laughter relieved the gloom and doom that the social scientist’s facts and figures had placed on the audience. He went on with more documentation, and then specified the real reason why illegal entries had not been stopped, or the borders tightly secured. “The Liberals give the illegals free stuff – welfare, housing, food stamps and driver licenses – and, in gratitude, they vote for them – probably several times. And speaking of voter fraud, ask our government Committee member about that during one of our informal sessions.”

  They broke for lunch and the room was abuzz with chatter over what they had just heard from the four Committee members. “I guess Christopher Steadman is our final Committee member,” Harry said. “I wonder what his area of expertise is.”

  “He is their leader, and I am anticipating seeing him and hearing what he has to say.”

  “What do you make of what we heard so far?”

  “I think it sums up our situation pretty accurately, depressing as it is.”

  “And just what does the Committee plan to do about it?” Harry asked.

  “That they will surely tell us, and also what part they will want us to play,”

  They chose a table for two and ordered iced tea and headed for the well-stocked buffet. They stayed at their table and did not get up to mingle, nor did they notice anyone else doing so. Harry noticed that the Committee members were not present in the dining room. Smart move, he thought, as they would probably have been besieged with questions and unable to properly eat. He wondered about Chris Steadman, and Phil’s comment still ran around his brain – what part will Chris ask them to play? And if the answer was none, then just what the hell was he doing here?

  * * *

  They all returned to the conference room promptly at two p.m. and settled in to their seats in anticipation of what the Committee leader – Christopher Steadman – would say. Whatever they expected, they were not disappointed.

  Dressed exactly as the other Committee members, Christopher Steadman stood erect at five feet ten or eleven, bearing a tight 170 – 180 pounds on his frame, in a definite military posture. He sported a neatly-trimmed brown beard and close-cropped brown hair. But it was his brown eyes that held Harry’s attention – eyes similar in color and brightness to those of the Savior, the fanatic leader of The Romen Society, who Harry had confronted a few years ago. When Steadman spoke, those eyes sparkled with fervor, and determination, and conviction, but not, in Harry’s estimation, with fanaticism. Thank God for that. No more wacko Saviors, please.

  “Thank you all for attending,” he said. “My name is Christopher Steadman, but I prefer you all call me Chris. Let me tell you some things about me…”

  Chris related the story of his upbringing in California, his college degree in history, his first stint in the Marine Corps and the rise and fall of the family business. When he concluded with the
deaths of his father and the union organizer Jimmy Moran, there was not a dry eye in the silent room. “The collapse of our business essentially forced me back into the Corps, thanks to my friend and mentor, Colonel O’Grady. I retired not long ago with the rank of lieutenant colonel and began to put this organization together based upon all the contacts I had made during my years of service, many of whom were right here in Washington. I consider the Committee members to be my teachers and my closest friends.” Chris glanced at his watch and said, “I’ve spoken too long already. Let’s take a coffee break and then it will be time for questions.”

  “He is quite the mesmerizer,” Harry said.

  “I can’t believe he spoke for ninety minutes,” Phil said. “It seemed more like fifteen.”

  “A very interesting guy. I wonder what he’s up to.”

  After the coffee break they noticed five chairs had been placed in the front of the room and were now occupied by the Committee members. Chris arose and returned to the podium and said, “I’ll try to answer your questions now, but if I can’t the appropriate Committee member will answer.”

  “Are you running for President?” a woman asked when Chris pointed to her.

  “NFW,” he replied. “That’s Marine Corps talk for, “No ma’am, no way, no how.”

  When the audience’s laughter died down Chris said, “I noticed just about everyone had a hand raised, so let me just go around the room starting right here in front of me at the first table.”

  “Does your organization have a name?”

  “It’s our organization. We have a tentative name which we will divulge shortly. It is subject to change based upon your input. In fact, your input will determine a lot of things.”

  The next person asked, “What exactly are we going to do, Chris? You mentioned taking back our country. Kind of vague, isn’t it?”

  “Excellent question. In nineteen months we are going to participate in the most important election in our nation’s history. Now I know we have all heard that cliché before, but this time we are convinced of its monumental importance. All 435 congressional representatives, 34 senators and 27 state governors are up for election. If the liberals – and by liberals I mean the left-wing Democrats – win the critical races they will have a super majority in both houses of congress. With a Democrat President in power, they will be able to force whatever legislation they want down our throats with impunity. If you thought Obamacare was an abomination, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  “How can your…uh, our organization stop this, or reverse this? I mean, are we planning a second American Revolution, because I think that’s what it will take?”

  “A revolution cannot succeed because there are not enough of us, and all the police power is in the hands of the government. Most revolutions, like the French and Russian ones, were a mass uprising of the poor working classes who were being plundered by the rich ruling class. They had no food, no work and no hopes. In contrast, the poor people in America are getting a lot of free stuff and they want more. The liberals will give them more, but when the money finally runs out the people’s situation will deteriorate and spiral toward poverty and desperation. But then it will be too late. They will not be able to rebel because the government will have taken away all their guns.”

  “Then how will we change things between now and that election?”

  “That’s where you all come in. We have begun compiling a database of all the important races and all the organizations that support the liberal politicians. If we can concentrate on a few dozen key races, and win most of them, we can prevent a super majority from being elected.”

  “How do you plan to do that? Seems it will take a ton of money.”

  “I detect a hidden question there,” Chris said with a grin. “Like, when is this guy going to put the arm on us for a huge donation? In your seminar package you will soon receive there is a form to use and an envelope to mail in any donation you desire – if you desire. The envelope is addressed to Colonel O’Grady at a P.O. Box which will be closed in two weeks time. The good colonel has promised me his riotous military days of wine, women and song are way in his past, and he will dutifully put every penny you wish to donate to our cause, and only our cause.”

  Chris turned back to where O’Grady was sitting and said, “Correct, Colonel?”

  O’Grady pretended to take a swig from a bottle wrapped in a paper bag which he quickly placed under his chair. He said, “Of course, of course. Semper Fi, Chris.”

  Again the audience burst into laughter. Harry knew what they were doing and he approved. This whole discussion was very serious and somehow he knew it was going to get a hell of a lot more serious. Occasional tension relievers such as this were welcome and necessary. When the laughter died down, the next person asked, “Chris, you mentioned the organization has a name?”

  “Yes, tentatively. We call ourselves the Minutemen for reasons you can probably discern. But we are open to any and all suggestions you may have, and you can let us know when you fill out your seminar critiques.”

  “If you don’t need a lot of money, exactly how can we swing those races in our favor?”

  “We have some ideas, but this is only our first meeting. By our next meeting we hope to have our database complete and then definitive plans can be made to address each election race.”

  “When will that next meeting be?”

  “Three to four months from now.”

  * * *

  The questions continued and almost everyone had a chance to ask one. After Chris answered what would be the last question he said, “We have fifteen minutes until cocktails and I know better than to run into that time. I want to leave you with two things. The first is a definition of a liberal paradise given by one of the nation’s top law enforcement officers. He said, ‘A liberal paradise would be a place where everybody has guaranteed employment, free comprehensive healthcare, free education, free food, free housing, free clothing, free utilities, and only law enforcement has guns. And believe it or not, such a place DOES, indeed, exist. It’s called prison!’ The second item which I wish we would all discuss among ourselves during the cocktail hour is, why should we bother at all? Why not let current events and history run their natural course? Our nation is approaching 250 years of formal existence, so maybe it is time for it to decline and disappear like so many others before it. The majority of our people seem to be content with the way things are going. Should we interfere at all?”

  The cocktail time was lively indeed as the Committee members moved among the tables and interacted with the attendees as much as possible. As the liquor worked its magic and inhibitions melted away, and locked lips became loose lips, a genuine camaraderie developed. After a visit from each Committee member, Chris approached and sat down at the six-person table where Harry and Phil were and shook hands all around, addressing them individually by their first name. He then said, “What do you all think about our plan and our organization? Should we proceed or just let things go as they are going?”

  They all agreed that something should be done to reverse the present course of decline. Phil MacDonald said, “I’ve had the best this country had to offer and I contributed to our success. I want the same for my children and grandchildren. I do not want them enslaved by the government. I do not want my country to be eventually taken over by a foreign power or a foreign religion.”

  “Well put,” Chris said wondering if Phil MacDonald would feel the same way when he found out the exact methods the Minutemen would employ to advance their goal.

  As he got up to leave, Harry put his hand on Chris’s arm and said, “I don’t mean to be rude, but can you tell me just what the hell I’m doing here?”

  Chris captured Harry’s eyes with his and said, “Because, Harold T. Cassidy, you are the most important person in the room. That’s why.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Chris smiled and said, “I’ll tell you why tomorrow.”

  After Chris moved on to another tabl
e Harry said, “If anything, the mystery is getting more mysterious.”

  “The devil is in the details,” Phil said, “and if Chris wants you on board I think the details may be of a violent nature. Let’s face it, how could the Minutemen turn things around peacefully? The liberals and their moneyed supporters and the sheep-like electorate are not going to roll over unless they are forced to roll over.”

  * * *

  The next morning the group assembled once more in the conference room. Chris introduced a speaker who had not been in attendance the day before but who Harry immediately recognized – the Reverend Alton Phineas, the Ichabod Crane look-alike leader of the Church of the Christian Brotherhood. The Reverend had been suspected of giving aid, shelter, and support to The Romen Society, but Harry’s Task Force had never proved it. Phineas had covered up any evidence of that support if, to give him the benefit of the doubt, it ever existed.

  Harry immediately noticed that Chris’s introduction used the term Church of the Universal Brotherhood and the austere Reverend, dressed in ministerial garb, took pains in his talk to emphasize the metamorphosis of his thinking from a white, Christian only perspective, to an all encompassing American perspective, thanks to his interaction with Chris and the Committee.

  “Our state of Wyoming is an example,” the Reverend said. “I believe it is the only example of what America is capable of becoming. Our religious institution accepts peoples of all faiths that are committed to God and country. Our two Republican-Conservative senators and our single Republican-Conservative congressman are church members. So are our Republican-Conservative governor and the majority of our state’s Republican-Conservative legislature.”

  “We need you in California,” shouted a man at the first table.

  “And in New York,” said a woman at the second table.

  The Reverend Phineas smiled and said, “Thank you. Maybe in the not too distant future you will all enjoy what we have accomplished in Wyoming. We try to be as self-sufficient and independent as possible from the grasp of the federal government. We are energy independent using primarily natural gas, wind power and hydro-electric power. Our vast coal reserves are mined and sent by train to the coast where huge ships take it to the Far East. It seems the Chinese have no problem polluting the atmosphere or its wonderful, ancient country. Our state budget runs a surplus and we control our own educational systems accepting no money from Washington. As a result, we have the highest percentage of high school graduates going on to college in the nation.”