Greed

by D Thomas Jewett

  Please note that the notion of a ‘Freedom Dollar’ is that of a currency different than a ‘U.S. Dollar’. Note further that a free market conversion between the two will be based on the value of the precious metal content of the coin, rather than their relative denominations.

  With Best Regards, Bill Ford, Partner

  Approximately one week later, Bill received a mailed reply from the mint.

  Dear Mr. Ford,

  Please find the enclosed drawings of the obverse and reverse for each of your proposed coins.

  As drawn, these designs will work well with the size and metal content you’ve specified. The rim of each coin will provide good protection for the interior of the design; and yet the relief of these coins will be sufficiently high to make them attractive.

  The next step in creating these designs is to sculpt each design using clay and plaster. And from the creation of the sculpture, I can create a plaster engraving for your perusal and further enhancement.

  With your permission and down payment, I will begin work on the plaster engraving of each of these designs.

  Please let me know how you want to proceed.

  With Best Regards, Murray Hofstadler, Chief Engraver

  Bill and Brandy peered over the drawings; dissecting and analyzing them as best as they could.

  “I like these,” said Brandy.

  “Yeah – so do I,” Bill replied. “Also, I think he has covered most of the issues.”

  “Then,” Brandy interjected, “let’s get him on the phone and get going on these.”

  “Okay,” said Bill. “We'll also need to plan a trip out there. Soon.”

  * * *

  Soon . . .

  The Golden Mint was set back from the road; situated in a park-like setting with pine and fir trees. The main entrance to the building was constructed and appointed with rustic native timber, exuding a warm invitation.

  Bill and Brandy walked through the entrance into a plush, nicely appointed main lobby.

  The receptionist looked up from her desk and asked, “may I help you?”

  “Yes,” Bill replied. We’re here to see Murray about a new coin design.”

  “And who shall I say is calling?”

  “Ah – Bill Ford and Brandy West.”

  The receptionist punched some buttons on her telephone, waited, and then said. “Mr. Ford and Ms. West are here to see you.” She paused. “I will let them know.”

  The receptionist looked at them. “He will be out directly. Will you please have a seat?”

  * * *

  His hands steady, Murray Hofstadler nonetheless felt a rush of excitement as he added some pencil strokes to the drawing he was creating – a drawing of a custom coin. His focus was clear and his short, stubby fingers certain as he made still more and subtle changes to his draft image; all the while his subconscious considered the flow of the blank’s metal when struck by a die with this design.

  Murray enjoyed working in his peaceful artist’s studio off in a corner of the mint. He enjoyed it because he seldom met anyone – and so he was comfortable wearing his graying beard and ponytail. Unfortunately, he was to meet with customers today. Over the telephone, they seemed open-minded enough to accept him as he was. But many people seemed nice, until they met him ... and then their judgment began.

  Murray sighed at the thought of dealing with people. Pausing in his work, Murray took a cloth, wiped his hands, and then proceeded out to meet with his guests.

  Murray put on his welcoming facade as he walked into the lobby. “Hi, I’m Murray. And you must be Ms. West and Mr. Ford?”

  Bill and Brandy each shook his hand.

  “Please call me Bill; and this is Brandy,” he said gesturing to her.

  “Well, folks,” Murray said, “please come on back and I’ll show you the plaster engravings I have so far.”

  Murray led them back to his studio and unveiled the engravings.

  Bill and Brandy gasped. As they stepped up to get a close-up view, they began excitedly talking over each other.

  Their chatter soon subsided; and then Brandy burst out, “oh my, but these are beautiful!”

  Bill was examining the engraving of the gold coin, and how Murray had created the picture of Liberty wearing a tunic. The details of the engraving – such as the flow of the tunic and the fineness of her sword – left Bill with palpable excitement. He turned and looked at Murray. “I like it! I like both of ‘em!”

  Brandy wore a broad smile and sparkling eyes. She asked, “What’s the next step?”

  Murray hesitated, and then replied. “Well, you’ll need to look at each of these in detail to make sure they’re exactly – and I mean, exactly – what you want. Then, I will go through them and clean up any bad sections. And then, we can create a master die for each design and run some test strikes.”

  “Cool!” Bill and Brandy spoke in unison.

  * * *

  A few months later . . .

  Brandy was sitting up to her desk, the wash from a bright light illuminating her desktop. She smiled, intently so, as she examined some of the newly minted silver and gold rounds under her ten-power glass. She hefted one in her hand and felt the essence of the coin. Its weight. Its texture. Its intrinsic value – value not determined by the fiat of any government, but instead by rarity. Who would of thought I'd be in the precious metals and money business, she mused. And then she felt shivers running up and down her spine.

  She looked up and smiled as Bill walked into the office. “I’ve been contacting some of the local coin shops,” she said. “They’ve a strong interest in buying these, in quantity.”

  “Great,” Bill smiled.

  Brandy leaned back in her chair. “So, I’d like to christen our business with the name Freedom Money. What do you think?”

  Bill put his hand to his chin, and then said, “I like it ... yeah – let’s go with it.”

  And then Bill hesitated. “Ah – I have still another line of business that I’d like to talk over.”

  “Yes?” Brandy said as she raised her eyebrows.

  “Well, I’d like to sell printed receipts for gold and silver that we would keep and store on deposit. That way, people would be able to transact business in paper receipts without having to carry gold or silver coin.”

  Brandy shifted in her chair as she became immediately interested. “That sounds really cool ...”

  * * * * *

  Coin dealer extraordinaire, Dwayne worked diligently and invested wisely to establish their website. In pursuing his plan, he found a young software developer who specialized in web development – the young man eagerly took on the challenge of developing and administering the site.

  Dwayne wanted to know if the site would attract enough business to make it worthwhile. So, the first site was small and inexpensive – just a few pages describing his products and providing contact information.

  With the site now in operation, the volume of internet business started slowly but soon came up to a steady, profitable pace. Although his profit margins remained persistently low, the increased sales volume resulted in a welcome increase in actual profit dollars – and it relieved some of the pressure from the family finances.

  They were nearing the turn of the millennium, and business was brisk – especially in sales of one-ounce gold bullion coins. In fact, he could barely keep up with both the customer walk-ins and telephone orders.

  And with all of the trade in gold and silver bullion – both coins and bars – prices remained amazingly low. Strange, he reflected, how prices remain so low when the year 2000 is just around the corner. I know that tension is high and people are wary – so why are prices not going up? Especially when people keep telling me how afraid they are!

  The telephone rang again, and again Trish picked it up. Lucky for Dwayne that Trish volunteered to come in and help out. The telephone orders were consuming more and more of his time.

  “Revolution Rare Coins” she answered. “May I help you?”
/>   * * *

  Dwayne walked into the house after a tough day at work. Prices on gold and silver were down again, although his rare coin business was still holding its own. Inflation is eating us up, he thought. We need to generate more income!

  He walked into the den and sat down in front of the television. He selected the latest edition of the leading business newspaper and began looking through it – oblivious to the incessant drone of the news announcer’s monotone voice ... and then he heard:

  “... And for the latest on China’s permanent most favored nation status (the words screamed into Dwayne’s consciousness), we go to Jim Rhenquist, our correspondent in Washington.”

  Dwayne looked at the TV to see the slick, smiling face of Jim Rhenquist.

  “Yes, David. Today the House of Representatives voted in favor of giving permanent most favored nation status to China. But it was not without a battle. Majority Whip Rep. Tom Delay (R: Tex.) praised the bill on many fronts.”

  The apparently live broadcast then cut away to film, showing Representative Delay speaking to the correspondent, Jim Rhenquist.

  “While PNTR[17] will help our American economy, this is only one step toward our larger goal: ending Communist rule in China by exposing the Chinese people to American values. Freedom is a contagious virtue. Defeating a foe is a poor substitute for liberating a country from the weight of a repressive ideology. We should today ensure the triumph of liberty by planting the seeds of freedom in China. We should not accept a retrenchment driven by fear and insecurity.”

  Coming back live, the correspondent continued,

  “and Texas Republican Congressman Ron Paul, who has supported the annual NTR[18] bills in past years, had some scathing remarks.”

  Again, the live broadcast cut away to film; and Ron Paul was seen speaking on the House floor.

  “This new 66-page 'free trade' bill is not about free trade at all. It is about empowering and enriching international trade regulators and quasi-governmental entities on the backs of the U.S. taxpayers. Like NAFTA before us, this bill contains provisions which will continue our country down the ugly path of internationally engineered ‘managed trade', rather than that of free trade.”

  Click! Dwayne turned off the TV and walked out to the kitchen where Trish was preparing dinner. “Shit!”

  Trish turned and looked at Dwayne. “What happened?”

  “This corrupt government is again screwing the American people. Listen to this!” He paused. “Congress is on the verge of giving permanent most favored nation status to China. This is a country that uses slave labor to make goods that compete with products we manufacture.”

  Dwayne’s face was beet-red. “Mark my words,” he spat, “this is the beginning of the end for prosperity in this country!”

  “Oh come on dear,” Trish responded. “You said that when they passed the World Trade Bill too. Don't you think you're overreacting just a bit?”

  “I need a drink!”

  * * * * *

  With a raucous crowd behind her, the tall, gangly young woman moved in front of the camera. Raising her microphone to her lips, she shook back her blonde mop of hair and took her cue from the cameraman. “This is Sheryl Barclay reporting from downtown Seattle, where you can see behind me a mob. But not just any mob. This is part of a larger movement seeking social justice.” She paused to look down. Then referring to some notes, she continued speaking. “These demonstrators are protesting the ministerial meetings of nations' representatives from around the world. These meetings are allegedly to resolve issues of the treaties of the World Trade Organization and the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade; treaties that many countries – including the United States government – are signatories.”

  At just that moment, a protester stepped back and bumped violently into Sheryl, pushing her out of the camera's view. She quickly regained her composure and turned to the young man who bumped her. The camera followed her as she called to the protester. “Sir. Sir?” She put her hand on the young man's shoulder. The man turned to face Sheryl, his masked face captured on the camera as he turned. Holding her mic up to the young man, she said, “Sir. Sir! Can you answer some questions?”

  The young man paused his shouting and began speaking into the mic, his voice muffled by his ski mask. “We’re here today to speak out against what we see as the commodification of all life. Groups like the WTO, governments, corporations, and so on, have basically decided that everything on this planet is here for their use – whether it be animal life, plant life, the soil, and so on, and so on –”

  Sheryl interrupted him. “You’re dressed in a ski mask. You’re expecting trouble, aren’t you?”

  The man replied, “I’m hoping for trouble.”

  “Yeah?” Sheryl prompted him further

  “Quite frankly. I mean, these businesses – they’re not going to bow to people dancing in the streets. They’re not going to bow to people dressed as – you know – giant sea turtles or so on. They care about one thing – they care about capital. And unless we put a dent in their pocket, what good, ah – what good –”

  Sheryl interjected. “How’re you – how’re you gonna put a dent in their pocket?”

  “Hopefully, by causing property damage,” he responded.

  As he was talking, the camera captured some demonstrators behind them, smashing glass storefronts and breaking down doors. Shit, she thought, I hope this interview comes through all the noise and destruction!

  The man continued. “By causing economic sabotage. I don’t see property damage as being violent. I don’t see, um – I don’t believe that property and inanimate objects show pain. What I do see, um – the violence I do see is violence happening against the Earth – against the animal nations and the third world. There’s no way that any violence perpetrated by us could ever equate to the amount of damage done by the WTO and the federal governments, and groups like the –”

  Suddenly, the man jerked away from the camera and sprinted toward a pack of demonstrators. Her mouth agape, Sheryl watched as the pack moved toward a storefront and began throwing rocks at the windows. The camera was already trained on the violence, and so Sheryl jumped between the camera and the mob violence.

  Facing the camera, she continued speaking. “As you can see behind me, the demonstrators are becoming increasingly violent and destructive...” She gestured down the street and the camera followed. “... and down the street, we see a line of policemen approaching the protesters. As you can see, the police are ready for battle. I've heard reports that the standard equipment for police in this zone consists of black kevlar helmets with tinted face-shield protection, bulletproof vests, clubs, and M-16 rifles.” Sheryl looked earnestly into the camera as she continued speaking. “The demonstrators will be no match for the oppressive police regime, specially equipped as the police are.”

  As Sheryl stepped out of the view of the camera, the camera continued to record the scene. A scene of imminent violence with the police. For the police moved slowly, inexorably, toward the protesters.

  Sheryl continued speaking into her mic. “Brace yourself, as the clash is imminent. Now! Now! Here it is!” She was yelling into her mic as the police, their line still intact, used their clubs and their rifles to knock down protester after protester. And as protesters were put down, still more police came up behind the front wall of police, cuffed the downed protesters, and hauled them to one of several police trucks where they were unceremoniously dumped.

  “As you can see,” Sheryl was yelling into her mic as the camera continued running, “the police are using their violence – their violent tactics on the demonstrators. First silencing, and then capturing them – Wa! Wa! What is this! I think the demonstrators are retreating – yes they are! Yes, the demonstrators are now in full retreat!”

  “And as we move further up the street, we can see the demonstrators continue to evacuate the area in the face of mounting police violence. As you can see, the shop windows are broken out and la
rge quantities of merchandise have been stolen – all of this to protest the World Trade Organization treaty and their meeting here today.”

  “Wait. Look! Look!” She gestured to the cameraman to train his camera to a storefront up the street. “As we speak, we are watching firsthand three men in ski masks walk out of an electronics store – their arms full of boxes with the latest in electronics equipment.”

  Abruptly, the cameraman trained the camera toward explosions coming from down the street. Sheryl again jumped in front of the camera and began speaking. “And in this direction, we are hearing explosions. It sounds like gunfire.” Sheryl paused as she spied a man quickly walking away from the noise, his head down. She grabbed the man by the shoulder and began shouting into her mic. “Sir! Sir! Can you tell us what you saw?”

  The man looked furtively behind him; and then he spoke into the mic. “I was on the other side of the street, over there, on a sit-down demonstration, and the police just walked up. They didn’t ask us to leave or nothin'. They just walked up and they sprayed me twice with pepper spray and they were shooting tear gas at us.”

  “Wow! Can you tell us anything else?”

  “Shit. You need to ask them.” The man gestured in another direction, near the curb, and the camera followed his gesture; now training his camera lens on a girl pouring water onto a young man's eyes. Sheryl moved quickly over to the girl and began talking. “Excuse me. Excuse me! Are you treating this man for pepper spray?”

  The girl looked up at the camera. “The police. Shit! They did it! The police are assaulting us! The police are on the side of the globalists – they are oppressing against the people. I tell everyone to disobey the police. To kill them if they can!”