by Conti, Gene;
Dorothy had stopped pacing and stood with her arms on her hips, favoring her right side. “Yeah, and I guess the leftists will concede the exceptions being Dr. Ben Carson, Thomas Sowell, Deneen Borelli, Dr. Walter Williams, Star Parker, and a number of other current conservative black leaders,” she snidely stated. “Now for the Queen B,” she fired back at me, pointing to my tablet.
“Give me a second,” I implored trying to retrieve Sanger’s quotes. “Ah, here are a slew of them, and boy, do they make Sanger look culpable. She said: We ‘are seeking to assist the white race toward the elimination of the unfit [blacks]’; ‘Birth control to create a [white] race of thoroughbreds.’”
“Listen to what Sanger says regarding her Negro Project,” I cried out, forgetting momentarily that Dorothy was well aware of the quote. “‘We don’t want the word to go out that we want to exterminate the Negro population and the [black] minister is the man who can straighten out that idea if it ever occurs to any of their more rebellious members.’”
“And the final icing on the proverbial cake: ‘I accepted an invitation to talk to the women’s branch of the Ku Klux Klan.’”
“There are some additional statements in this article that her racism was not limited to blacks only. She despised Catholics, Jews, and many immigrants from Europe; ‘human weeds,’ she called them. The Nazis had become sympathetic to her writings. I see now why you call her the ‘Queen B’,” I expressed with implicit incredulity, as I faced her and raised my eyebrows.
Dorothy resumed her pacing and confessed with distain, “And many of my very own black colleagues are dumb and blind to the facts. The liberal media and Common Core are keeping the average schlub in the streets, or in the government universities, ignorant of all this.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT
“Sanger established her first full service ‘clinic’ in Harlem in 1929,” Dorothy somberly stated. “The first of many to come into the Planned Parenthood organization. What a deliberate euphemism: ‘Planned Parenthood’. It’s meant to keep people blind to the truth.” She continued through gritted teeth, “Just like when the Nazis cajoled with ‘We’re taking you to the showers now.’”
Our minds went to the horrors of the holocaust for a moment as we stood there in silence. Dorothy’s anger seemed to mollify a bit, but her eyes revealed her inner feelings. I tried not to notice them slightly reddened and welling up. “There’s some info in this article of Sanger’s impact during her lifetime. In the United States, the eugenics movement was responsible for over sixty thousand compulsory sterilizations, mostly in the 1930s and 40s. And … Oh my God, ‘The Rockefeller Foundation helped fund the eugenics movement in Germany and was a benefactor of a program for … Dr. Josef Mengele!’ Whoa, and here’s the title of an article from our own Dr. Peter Singer at Princeton: ‘Killing babies isn’t always wrong.’ He wrote it in 1995. Mengele would be proud of him.”
“Lucci,” Dorothy blurted out trying to contain herself best she could. “Look up Buck vs. Bell.”
I started to read it to myself, when Dorothy exploded: “Read it out loud! My blood pressure hasn’t risen sufficiently enough.”
“Okay, Supreme Court Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. in the Buck vs. Bell case in 1927 stated that, ‘three generations of imbeciles are enough.’”
“Read his Supreme Court decision,” she emphatically roared at me.
“I’ve got it right here,” I spit out, getting a bit edgy myself, “‘a state statute permitting compulsory sterilization of the unfit … for the protection and health of the state did not violate the due process clause of the Fourteenth Amendment.’ It also says in this article that the Supreme Court has never expressly overturned Buck vs. Bell.”
Dorothy summarized my last words. “For the protection and health of the state … and the Court has never expressly overturned Buck vs. Bell,” she said slowly, shaking her head in disgust. Even his eminence Bishop DiLorenzo, of the Richmond Diocese, declared in 2005 that, ‘the Church does not need to fear the teaching of evolution as long as it is understood as a scientific account of the physical origins and development of the universe.’ Of course, if he was privy to our discussion, I’m sure he would say, well, not social Darwinism.”
I piped up. “One can’t separate social Darwinism from evolutionary Darwinism. Ignorance is one thing. But when the supposed intelligencia refuse to evaluate this philosophy properly, they are just plain stupid—which is the permanent deal!”
We started to walk again toward the parking lot. I turned to Dorothy and asked, “And what about the evolution-Mother Gaia link?”
“Do I have to spell everything out for you, Lucci? If evolution is true, then we are all related. The biology textbooks claim we are related to worms, and ultimately to the protozoa. Mother Gaia birthed us, and we must defer to her. All of creation, therefore, was not God ordained—there is no God. Religion by default, then, is irrelevant and passé. All religions must bow before her. We are slime, not souls.”
“Got it, Dorothy! Man is the usurper. Man is the parasite. We must adhere to the U.N., and the government Matrix’s sustainable development and Agenda 21, now called Agenda 2030, and bring our population down below one billion. Due to our own apathy, ignorance, and stupidity the entire human race has become enamored with Ernst Haeckel’s ‘ecology’ and Darwin’s ‘evolution,’ synthesized together under the banner of Mother Gaia. We must protect the … the … mosquito, our ancestor. We must save Mother Earth at any and all costs. We’ve signed our own death warrants! Maybe that’s why Glenn Beck’s Agenda 21 books were so popular.”
“Finally! You’ve finally put it together, Lucci!” I sensed a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. “And Pope Francis had also signed on to all of this!” Dorothy exclaimed, as she picked up speed with those sneakers of hers.
Trying to catch up with her I called out, “That’s right, his encyclical Laudato si’.”
“Lucci, do you know who advised him on that?” she asked, really shifting into overdrive with the sneakers.
“No!” I said, huffing and puffing trying to keep up with her.
“Hans Schellnhuber, professor of theoretical physics at the University of Potsdam, was most likely the Pope’s primary advisor on the encyclical.”
“Your point?” We slowed our pace to sub-light speed as we reach the parking lot.
“The professor is an atheist and advocate of population control. He favors a reduction of the earth’s human population to below one billion from its current seven billion. Perhaps Hans will be first? And, he’s a member of the esteemed PAS.”
“You’ve got to be putting me on, Dorothy.” We stopped by the vehicle and I had to catch my breath. “The Pontifical Academy of Sciences, the PAS, which advises the Pope and the College of Cardinals?”
“Yes, the very same one that Steven Hawking is also a member of.” Dorothy affirmed. “Hawking, the wheelchair astrophysicist who is also an acknowledged atheist—and a patron of the London strip clubs,” her lips curled with revulsion.
In a daze by all this revelation, it took me a moment to come around. “Dorothy we are at your car, not mine.”
“Well, Lucci, whose fault is that?”
***
I parked my tank in the garage and entered through the kitchen door, as usual, and attempted to give Emily a kiss.
She pushed me away before I had my chance. “You smell like a stale tobacco factory. Were you in a bar? Go to the mudroom and remove all your clothes. I’ll need to wash them, or bring them to the dry cleaners. You stink!”
“I was in Dorothy Mecurio’s office,” I said, and then suddenly it hit me. “She removed her implants.”
“What? Dorothy had implants removed?” Emily gave me a strange look.
“No, No. Maggie removed them,” I replied.
“What? Maggie removed Dorothy’s implants?” Emily asked, shaking her head in confusion.
“No, Maggie removed her own implants!”
> “What? Right in Dorothy’s office? Did Dorothy call you to stop the bleeding? I knew that girl had mental problems but … did you call 9-1-1?”
“No, no! Stop, stop! You’re all mixed up.”
“I’m all mixed up?” Emily was becoming belligerent.
“Emily, I’ll explain it all to you slowly and calmly over dinner, okay?”
“Okay!” She hotly responded.
“Okay. Good! I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”
“Fresh plump chicken breasts.”
“Oh brother,” I moaned, rolling my eyes.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
T-CHIP
I entered the class with Tom on my heels. The students were already abuzz and animated about something. I got them quieted down, somewhat. We proceeded with the pledge, with Ali seated quietly, although his arms were on his desk and not folded across his chest. Hmm, I thought, perhaps he is opening up a little.
As I set the cussin’ jar in its usual place of honor on the lab table, I asked them, “What’s all the hubbub about?”
Juan excitedly burst out, “Doc, everyone on campus is getting one of these cool T-chips, and for free! For free, man!”
“I’m sorry Juan, as you guys know, I’m not a tech head. I got as far as the abacus and stopped there.”
“Abacus?” queried Juan, looking at me cross-eyed.
Nate jumped in. “You know the ancient rectangular wood framed thing with rods of beads on it that are moved to do math calculations.”
“No,” Juan thoughtfully answered, still looking confused.
“Never mind,” I said. “What’s with this T-chip deal?”
Nate picked up the ball. “The government, in conjunction with all the wireless phone companies and credit card companies, is offering students this one-time deal for the next month or so. If you sign on right now, you get the T-chip for free and 50 percent off your monthly cell phone bill for the next twelve months. And 10 percent back on whatever purchases you make over that twelve months. Cool, huh?”
“Okay,” I drawled. Looking at Nate and the class’s obvious excitement about this new development, I asked, “But what is a T-chip?”
Matt jumped into the fray. “Doc, you need to get with it, man. This is the coolest thing since sliced bread. You can make hands-free calls and charge stuff without having to carry your credit card around, worrying you’ll lose the dumb thing. Too much of a hassle. We can voice text. No more wearing our fingers to the bone texting. This is the bomb.”
“Could someone show me what this T-chip device looks like?” I asked.
Several students looked at each other perplexed; then answered almost in unison, “We can’t.”
“Why not?”
Philip explained, “The RFID transmitter is implanted under the skin of our hand; you know, that fleshy part between the thumb and index. The receiver is inserted in the soft tissue behind our ear.”
“T-chip—Talk chip. Now I get it. I was wondering why some of you were acting like Dick Tracy or James Bond when I came into the room.”
Santi scratched his head, then turned around to his cousin Juan and asked, “Quien es Dick Tracy?”
“Cállate, hombre. He’s a comic strip dude.”
Addressing the class, I ascertained, “And the transmitter in your hand can be waved over a scanning unit, like at the grocery store, to make your purchase?”
“Yeah, that’s it, Doc. Way cool, huh?” Matt continued, “We can even pass our hand over the QR barcode readers on our cell phones to make purchases.”
“So you still need access to your smart phones, correct?”
Philip answered, “As long as our cell phones are within ten feet or so of us, we can at least voice text or make or receive calls.”
Standing behind my lab table, I stroked my chin and recalled Revelation 13:17: ‘And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name.’ Then I asked the class, “And for those people that don’t opt to get this microchip implanted sometime during the twelvemonth period?”
“Oh, after that it becomes a requirement. But then you don’t get any bennies or freebies, and you will pay retail for it.” Matt added with that used car salesman mug of a smile.
“Are any of you familiar with the number 666?”
Jim raised his hand and answered, “That’s some kind of old timey superstitious devil number in the Bible or something.”
“Yes, Jim … or something,” I responded with a very slight shake of my head. “And I bet this thing has GPS capability as part of the deal, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” Matt enthusiastically replied. “Don’t have to worry about getting lost.”
“Yeah, the government will be sure to find you. You can run, but you can’t hide.” I was still shaking my head.
Claudia raised her hand, and I recognized her. “My mom had one of the first archetypal chips put into my grandmother, over ten years ago. She had Alzheimer’s, and at times had been found wondering around on the streets. Also, all of our Afghan hounds are micro chipped. They are pedigreed, of course.”
“Of course.” I offhandedly replied. I then remembered about Claudia’s aversion to anything coarse or brutish. “Claudia, did you get chipped?”
“Ah … no … not yet. But I am considering it. My parents want me to get it. Security and all. Ransom. That sort of thing.”
“I totally understand.” I nodded my head in affirmation.
“By the way, what happens if someone refuses to be chipped after the twelve months?” Leaning on my lab table on both outstretched arms, I scanned the class.
Most of the students looked at each other somewhat confused. They hadn’t thought that someone might not want to get chipped. Tom, our pre-law ‘counselor’, raised his hand. “Some of my law professors have said that no one will have, in effect, the choice to opt out. If they don’t get chipped, they will forfeit their government paychecks, social security checks, welfare checks, and any entitlement checks they have been receiving. They will eventually be unable to purchase anything—gas, food, clothes … nothing. Also, they will not be able to receive any medical care, nor perform in-person banking transactions, and they won’t be able to vote.”
“And let me guess, Tom. In the event you are arrested or detained for any reason, the chip will be forced upon you?”
“Yeah, I just found that out late yesterday. How did you know?” Tom looked baffled.
“Tom, you need to study more about the Nazis and Communism!”
Pete, who had been taking all this in, raised his hand. “Doc, are you going to get chipped?”
Without thinking, I exploded. “The hell I am! Oops. Sorry, guys.” I took a dollar from my wallet and placed it into the cussin’ jar.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPERONES
“Jude.” I acknowledged his raised hand.
“About the cussin’ jar. At the end of the year, what will you do with all the money?” He said it in a snarky way, implying I would keep the funds for myself.
“Well, Jude, the class, as a whole, will decide which charity or charities to donate the money to.”
Nate turned around and said to Jude, “And I’m sure that will meet with your standards and approval.” He then turned back around with a smirk on his face. Others in the class smiled and nodded. Jude sat silently with his famous “weaned on a pickle” look.
I broke the momentary silence. “So, I gather all of you don’t have one single challenge with this T-chip device?”
Thad, our journalist/astronomer spoke up. “Doc, Claudia is correct. The basic RFID prototypes on this came out well over ten years ago. Initially, they were implanted in pets, grandma, or even young children. The government supported the sale and distribution of these things for personal security reasons.”
“And yourself, Thad?”
“I’ve declined for the present to have one implanted in me. Not for any religious reasons … just some apprehension.
”
“Would you mind explaining that to the class, if it’s not too personal,” I requested politely.
“Sure, Doc. It’s really simple. I just don’t trust the government. And with every passing day in this class, and accompanied by my research for the Matrix Exposed columns I’ve been writing, let’s just say I’ve come to trust the government less and less. And besides—”
“The government,” Jude boorishly interrupted, “has been kind enough to work out the arrangements with cell phone companies and credit card bankers to provide a deal for the people that’s too good to be true. And all you can do is criticize and bad mouth their Herculean efforts?”
Nate pivoted in his seat again. “God, you sound just like Chris Matthews. Listen to your liberal self, for once.”
Jude, not to be besmirched, leaned over in Nate’s direction. “Ooh, Nate you took God’s name in vain. Didn’t you?”
Nate abruptly stood up and stomped toward the front, mumbling under his breath, “Guy’s a pain in the …” he caught himself as he stuffed a buck into the jar and stomped back to his seat.
“Okay, then,” I commented, “switching over from the T-chip and onto our trip. We will be leaving next Monday morning at 7 AM sharp from the student parking lot. I’ve arranged with Brother Francis to do the driving for us on one of our ICC buses.”
Moans came from around the room. “Seven! My eyes don’t even open until 8,” spouted Matt.
“Well, you can get your beauty sleep on the bus then,” I replied. “Oh, and by the way, Fred and his wife, Cindy, will be accompanying us.”
“Chaperones?” Tom injected with a caustic tone. “We’re adults, not little kids.”
“And that’s exactly why you need chaperones. If you were little kids, I’d bring along babysitters.” Several around the room laughed, including Maria and Maggie. From Tom’s expression, I gathered he did not find it funny.