by Calvin Wolf
The Socialist
1.0
My wife texted me that night, wanting to know how I was doing. She had been doing lots of thinking, she said. She had been following everything in the news, and had learned that I had been hired by the Midland office of the Progressive Party. As a liberal, she was interested in what was going on.
I tell her everything and ask if she will be home for Thanksgiving, which is tomorrow night. Maybe, she responds. I am crestfallen, but a minute later she follows up with a single word: Probably :). Suddenly, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Eagerly, I drop the phone and begin cleaning the house like a madman. After weeks of languishing in a closet, the vacuum cleaner and furniture polish are finally put to good use.
As I run the vacuum over the living room carpet, I eye my computer monitor and watch updates rolling in from Progressive Party offices across the country. My idea has caught fire, and what began as a conversation in the small Midland office has been picked up by the national board. Experts have been summoned, and everyone is abuzz. Lawyers, businessmen, accountants, and contacts within the SEC, Department of Commerce, and NYSE have been called into Progressive Party conference rooms.
Everything is very hush-hush, and I feel a crackle of crowd-generated energy emanating into my home from my computer screen.
I finish vacuuming the carpet and put the beast back in its closet. I look over at the couch and see that someone is trying to call me. I hope it’s my wife, but it turns out to be Jim Turner instead. Since I start working next Monday, right after the Thanksgiving holiday, I assume he’s calling about something job-related. For a second, my stomach lurches and I wonder if he’s calling to rescind the job offer. Maybe he thinks I’m a fraud, a showboat.
“Hello?” I say, answering the call despite my wariness.
“Your idea has touched off a firestorm! We just got everything signed off on by the SEC, NYSE, you name it. It’s perfectly legal and good to go, thanks to president Trump’s deregulations.”
“Hey, great!” I reply, my brain trying to catch up. I feel that Turner is on the verge of telling me something big. Really big.
“Starting tomorrow morning, on Thanksgiving, we are going to buy back all the private-sector education providers and health insurance companies,” Turner declares. “Once we have a controlling share in each company, we will turn over ownership to a nonprofit shell company, with each shell company governed by a board of former public educators and health care professionals.”
Whoa. This is heavy. As in hundreds of billions of dollars heavy. Or more. The scale of this grand plan is staggering!
“For a period of time they will be run as nonprofits until they can be re-appropriated by the government. That will take a bit of time, but we already have contacts working on laying the groundwork.”
Stunned, I ask what I can do to help.
“I know you’re not officially on the payroll yet, but would you mind coming down to the office tomorrow to help work the phones? We’re calling in all volunteers who can be trusted not to spread the word early.” I tell him that I will be there.
2.0
“We may not have won in court. We may not have won in the voting booths. We have been stymied by powerful forces ranging from the expenses of seeking legal recourse to the entrenched bias of the mainstream media. As real wages have fallen and costs have soared, eroding America’s once-dominant middle class, those who have sought to help their fellow man have been overpowered by the mindless pursuit of profit. The playing field has been made less level, and the rich continue to get richer while the poor continue to get poorer.
Years ago, we progressives lost an election, but started a movement. Even as Washington became more predatory toward the middle class, almost ending the public schools and handing ever more power to the health insurance companies, the new Progressive Party of America began working behind the scenes to bring about real reform. We lost a battle in 2016, but we knew we would win the war. We knew we had to, for America’s continued existence depends on it!
Laws and executive orders from Congress and the White House have overturned decades of labor laws that were the last safety nets of the American worker. We have seen the repeal of the federal minimum wage, the end of publicly-funded Social Security, and the rapid rise of labor deregulation. Wages have fallen and unemployment has soared. But with every bad law passed and every shameful executive order signed, the Progressive Party has attracted the sympathy and loyalty of more and more citizens.
Though the two-party duopoly has fought hard to keep people away from us, calling us socialists and linking modern Democratic Socialism with the autocratic government of the old Soviet Union, today is our day in the sun. Today is the day that we are standing up for what is right, standing up for every American. Today begins a movement that will be ongoing and intense, taking no pause, until all Americans can go to school and get medical care...regardless of ability to pay.
Yes, starting today, the Progressive Party of America will be re-implementing public K-12 education all across the United States, create tuition-free public higher education for all qualified applicants, and finally establish universal health care.
This will not be achieved by legislative action. This will not be achieved by charity. This will be achieved through the mechanisms of laissez-faire capitalism itself, through unbridled private property rights. The Progressive Party will buy out all private-sector education and health insurance companies by purchasing majority stakes in those corporations. We have met with the SEC, the Department of Commerce, and the New York Stock Exchange and have prepared legal teams to prevent these corporations from circumventing the law to prevent our purchase of common stock.
Starting immediately, the Progressive Party will encourage every American to purchase shares of listed corporations and bequeath the shares to us. We also encourage every American to donate money to our new Public Good Fund, all of which will be used to purchase those exact same shares. Information on how to do both of these things can be found on our website, progressiveparty.org. I will personally be putting the last of my 2016 campaign funds into this endeavor, as well as everything left in my personal IRA.
If you want your children to grow up in a better America, where they can develop their mind and keep their body healthy without having to worry about debt or poverty, then please help us. This will be the biggest political battle of our lifetime, and we need everyone involved in the revolution. Everyone can make a difference. Even if it’s just one dollar, we need your help. America needs your help. The children need your help.”
The retired U.S. Senator looks into the camera, his eyes full of emotion and his body trembling slightly. Below his image, a digital banner begins scrolling, showing the dollar amount collected by the Public Good Fund and the amount of stock purchased from the private-sector education and health insurance corporations. At first it is zero, and the Senator holds up his personal smartphone. He uses his fingers on the touchscreen and, within a second, the Public Good Fund has received its first donation of $3,147,683.52.
Automatically, this purchases ten thousand shares of various corporations for Public Good, Inc.
I grab the phone and begin making calls, using a computer spreadsheet to find everyone in Midland County who has donated to the Progressive Party of America since its inception in 2016. Being the heart of Republican country, the list is small...but not nearly as small as one might think. There are more donors in Ector County, and our office covers that area as well. Then I will move on to Martin County.
The spreadsheet is synchronized, meaning that rows will be color-coded as soon as volunteers have completed their calls. A friendly competition is going among us volunteers in the Midland office, with the winner receiving a free lunch from a restaurant from his or her choice. There are a dozen of us in the small office. Hank Hummel, the economics lecturer from MU, who testified at my trial, is to my le
ft on an old land-line phone.
His buddy Hector, an MU police officer, has brought in a portable phone bank from the campus police headquarters. Next to Hector is James Panamus, dialing fervently. Jim Turner is working a separate list, preparing to schmooze the mega-donors. The front door to the office opens and my lawyer walks in, trailed by two college-age interns.
“I figured you’d need some volunteers, so these interns and I thought we might see if you needed a hand,” my lawyer booms happily. “Oh, and I would like to get rid of some shares of HealthGuard.” Jim Turner hugs him and the interns and showers them with praise. He directs them to his personal office and sets them up at his desk, running a phone line across the linoleum.
I dial and talk, hoping that the passion in my voice is contagious. Eventually, I snag a lady who promises to donate a hundred dollars. The very next call connects me to a former oil company assistant division manager, and the gentleman says that he will bequeath four hundred shares of Neuron to Public Good, Inc. “And let me give you some phone numbers of a few buddies of mine. They ain’t too liberal, but they liked the good old days of public schools a whole hell of a lot better than what’s going on right now. Call them in about two hours, after I get a chance to talk to ‘em. I think they’ll be willing to hand over their shares. Or, at the very least, let ‘em go for something like half price.”
After thanking the old oil baron, I wave over Jim Turner and ask if this grand plan includes a policy to buy the desired shares of stock from hesitant owners at below-market price. “It makes sense,” he says. “I mean, those shares might be a big chunk of someone’s nest egg. They may be willing to sell at a loss, but not a big loss.” He immediately gets on his cell phone and calls the national office.
Thirty minutes later, the Progressive Party of America announces that it will buy the shares, in increments of one hundred shares or more, for up to two-thirds market price from willing sellers. By this point, we have raised fifty-eight million dollars from forty-nine out of the fifty states.
2.1
I take my first break from the phones at ten-thirty, having secured pledges totaling ten thousand dollars. I have, however, also managed to get pledges for over nine thousand shares of desired stock, the market value of which exceeds three hundred thousand dollars. As we volunteers are working the phones and social media, the national office is trying to dominate television and radio. News comes in that celebrities are lining up to assist, and that buzz is being generated in Washington.
As I grow worried looking at the slow increase in our donated funds, Hank Hummel tells me to relax.
“Hey, it’s Thanksgiving. A day to be happy. And, I have it on good authority that the share price of Educorp is about to get a lot cheaper…”
On the wall-mounted TV screen, which was installed just this morning by Turner and Panamus, a breaking news report arrives from CNN.
“In a stunning turn of events, several major media outlets have just been given documents and emails that were reportedly taken from the cell phone of Educorp CEO William Carson. Carson, who was attending the Educorp trial in Midland, Texas, was caught in a scuffle with witness John Bush, who physically attacked Educorp’s defense team in an incident that witnesses have called ‘bizarre.’ Though Carson never reported a missing phone to the courthouse, someone claims to have gotten their hands on it.
In a surprise move that will undoubtedly hurt Educorp, especially in light of the unexpected hostile takeover bid by the Progressive Party of America, experts have declared that the information reported to be from the CEO’s phone is, in fact, legitimate. Our own analysts here at CNN, and anonymous sources at the FBI, have confirmed that the phone, and all of its contents, belong to William Carson.
The contents of the phone’s hard drive include numerous text messages, emails, and office documents that are, to say the least, damaging to Educorp’s legal defense in the recently-declared mistrial. Currently, these texts, emails, and documents have been spread all over the Internet by persons unknown. We have just tried to contact Mr. Carson for comment, but have received no response from his office.”
As I watch the screen, bits of the phone’s alleged contents are highlighted and enlarged for viewers’ convenience. It appears that Carson was demanding that certain files and documents be deleted from Educorp servers. “I knew it,” I hiss. “I fucking knew it.”
I turn to Hummel and ask how he knew this would happen. Smiling, he explains that many people have the new iPhone, and that he was standing close to William Carson when John Bush went rogue. “A lot of arms were swinging around, and people’s phones got knocked out of their hands, including mine and Carson’s.”
He tells me that he had simply grabbed the first iPhone 8 that he saw and put it in his pocket, assuming it was his own. “Later, I found that I still had mine in my coat pocket...and now I had this other one as well! I swiped the screen and there was no passcode required. While playing around to try to figure out whose phone it was...well…” He holds his hands out wide in a what can you do? gesture.
“I’m a reserve sheriff’s deputy, so I went down to the station and waited until one of the lieutenants was out of his office. Then I snuck in there and used his computer’s phone download program to get a look at everything on the iPhone’s hard drive. After that, I wiped the phone clean of prints and took a field trip to Educorp’s offices downtown.” I am marveling at this story, which sounds like a John Grisham novel.
“During the trial I heard plenty of tales of arrogant assholes who work for Educorp, so I found the office of one of these winners and looked to see if he was in. He wasn’t, so I slipped William Carson’s phone into his desk. There were no security cameras, and no prints because I wore gloves. Thank goodness it was cold outside!”
I am impressed and ask how he could get the contents of Carson’s phone to the media without exposing himself.
“When I knew whose phone I was dealing with, I got some brand new flash drives and created some throwaway email accounts. After I got the contents of the phone’s hard drive onto the lieutenant’s computer, I transferred everything onto one of my flash drives. Even if anything can still be found on the lieutenant’s hard drive, I didn’t have to use a login or anything. There are so many deputies around, and no internal surveillance cameras in that wing, so they wouldn’t know who got on that machine in the first place. I took the flash drives down to the public library and used my new email accounts to send those documents far and wide.”
He surmises that William Carson and his team are so busy worrying about federal indictments that they will not waste time trying to figure out who got the phone.
“You’re a regular revolutionary,” I say with a grin. “The Founding Fathers would be proud.”
2.2
James Panamus wins lunch and we take him to the Chinese place in the mall, piling into a rented economy car while eager volunteers take our places on the phones. As we press through the crush of Thanksgiving Day traffic, we see unbridled capitalism in full swing. Instead of being at home with their families, people are engaged in rampant consumerism. Last Thanksgiving, I was among their number, seeking the early Black Friday deals. I was desperate to buy stuff I didn’t need, hoping more to beat other consumers than to seek anything of real value.
At the mall, we park far away from the building and walk through a lot crowded with vehicles, shivering against the cloudy chill. “I can’t believe you chose to eat so far away,” my lawyer grouses. “This is the other side of town!” Panamus smiles and announces that he has a plan.
We hit the crowds as soon as we enter the mall and are almost overwhelmed by herds of plaid, down, felt, and leather. Panamus uses his phone to snap pictures of the throngs of shoppers and tells us that he will post them on social media. “The mall and Black Friday deals make a great political statement!” he explains over the roar of the crowd. We make for the food court, for the Chinese place our contes
t winner requested, but instead he asks us to follow him.
Agreeably, we trail Panamus through the mall, winding among the holiday shoppers, and eventually make our way to a sporting goods store. Panamus heads straight to a section for coaches and grabs an electronic bullhorn. He grabs a pack of batteries by the register and pays for both things with cash. As we ask him what he’s buying the things for, he opens the batteries and powers up the bullhorn.
“Just follow me, and get ready to take video.” Confused, but still game, we ready our phones and follow Panamus to the crowded food court.
Panamus immediately finds an empty table and clambers atop it, brand new bullhorn clutched in his hand.
Silently, we begin to record.
“May I have everyone’s attention please?!” he calls through the bullhorn, his already-powerful voice nicely amplified. For a second I fear that he might be considered a terrorist by the many law enforcement officers at the mall, but then I see Hank Hummel whispering into a lapel mic. As a reserve deputy, he is undoubtedly using the radio to tell everyone on mall duty that the nerdy guy climbing on top of the table is a friendly.
Mall-goers eagerly turn and look, hoping that the guy on the table works for a store and is announcing some sort of wonderful deal.
“My name is James Panamus, and last week I was homeless. I was a victim of Educorp, Bids, WorkFlow, JobFill, and all those other corporations that have whittled down our pay and cut our hours. I lost my job and I became homeless, and nobody tried to help. Over the last few years, all the help has been stripped out of our society. Republicans wanted to make our economic engine lean and mean, unburdened by bureaucracy. Well, it turns out that lean and mean can grind up anyone and spit them out.”
Everyone stops moving, gripping their shopping bags in confusion, surprise, and, just maybe, a bit of shame.
“I don’t know how many of you have been following the news this morning, but the Progressive Party of America is buying back what was taken from all of us. They are buying back our public education. They are buying back our social services. They are going to buy up all the profiteering health insurance companies and finally provide universal health care. And there is not a single one of you here today who would not benefit from that!” His yell cuts through the open air, and I hear a few shopping bags hit the linoleum. Eyes are wide and mouths are agape.
“If you care about your children and your grandchildren, if you care about your mothers and fathers, if you care about anyone who has ever stumbled or needed help, then listen up! I want you to take half of the money you planned to spend here today and donate it. I would love it if you would donate it to Public Good, Inc. to help us buy back our nation, to give us back our public schools and give us public health care, but I want you to give to soup kitchens, to homeless shelters, to charities and to churches.” By now about a thousand phones are focused on Panamus, recording his speech to a hundred different sites.
“I want this to be the last holiday season where you have to worry about how you will pay tuition, how you will pay your health insurance premiums, and whether or not you can afford your prescriptions. I want this to be the last holiday season where you have to worry about whether or not you will still get your Social Security check or whether your boss will still pay you a living wage. I want next holiday season to be one of hope, love, and happiness rather than desperation and stress! The Progressive Party of America wants to make that happen!”
Panamus hops off the table and tucks the bullhorn under one arm. “Okay, now let’s grab some lunch,” he says after clearing his throat. Jim Turner is too shocked to speak. Nobody moves as Panamus weaves through the frozen mass of shoppers and takes a spot in line at the Chinese restaurant. Hank Hummel falls in behind him, eyes still wide. “They’ve got the best noodles in town here, if memory serves,” Panamus says happily.
3.0
I don’t know how many people at Midland Park Mall ended up being inspired by Panamus’ eloquent tabletop speech, but I do know that many of them felt inspired enough to post it all over the Internet with gobs of praise. By the time we finish lunch and are on our way back to the Progressive Party office, James Panamus has gone viral. By the time we are back on the phones, relieving our volunteer replacements, pundits are beginning to weigh in. It turns out that #foodcourtsocialism has spread worldwide, with liberals, progressives, moderates, and even conservatives standing atop tables in food courts, restaurants, and public places to support #buyitback.
I am on the phone with a retired doctor in Lamesa, Texas when CNN covers a passionate tabletop speech in the Mall of America. A middle-aged man, a father of three who had been bankrupted when his youngest needed treatment for leukemia, stood atop a table in front of a Burger King and gave what observers called the most powerful speech they had ever heard. Armed with his own bullhorn, the man spoke of being driven broke by health insurance companies and private schools. He spoke of his employer cutting wages for full-time workers because of the influx of college kids and part-timers working through temp apps.
On the spot, a man in a suit climbed atop an adjacent table and, with tears in his eyes, pledged that he was donating his entire portfolio of health insurance companies and education providers to Public Good, Inc. It turns out that the man in the suit was a member of the Ford family. Forty-six minutes later, a member of the Walton family stood on the ledge of a fountain in a mall courtyard and pledged her entire holding of such stocks to the Progressive Party of America.
I am talking with a former Army colonel in Big Spring, Texas when NBC announces that #millionairemutiny is now trending, with a growing number of America’s wealthiest citizens openly supporting Public Good, Inc. As the retired officer pledges two hundred fifty dollars to the cause, a breaking report reveals that Public Good, Inc. has just become the majority shareholder of Medisurance, a health insurance company covering thirteen million people in the northern Midwest.
“Only six hours ago, retired U.S. Senator Bernie Sanders, the 2016 Democratic presidential candidate who narrowly lost the primary election to former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, announced the Progressive Party of America’s bid to purchase all health insurance and private-sector education corporations in the United States. Now, a first victory has just been achieved: Public Good, Inc., the shell company created by the political party, now owns fifty-one percent of Medisurance, the smallest of America’s multi-state health insurance corporations.
Despite the massive buying going on on Wall Street, share prices of several health insurance companies and education providers are actually falling as released documents raise the specter of federal indictments. Educorp, which just survived a large civil suit in Texas, has seen its share price drop precipitously after CEO William Carson’s phone was found to contain texts, emails, and documents that critics allege to be crystal-clear evidence of fraud and labor law violations. Similarly, health insurance giant GreenShield has seen its own share price plummet after an email chain was released online showing that both GreenShield and Educorp allegedly conspired to hide evidence in the recent civil suit against Educorp.
Corporate executives for many of the companies targeted by the Progressive Party of America have reportedly complained to the SEC about the unorthodox events of today, but our sources in both Washington and New York have confirmed that the activities of the Progressive Party and its subsidiary, Public Good, Inc., are perfectly legal under the new economic reforms approved by the Trump White House. Ironically, it appears that the Democratic Socialists who failed to achieve their dream of winning the White House in 2016 are now able to accomplish their desired reforms through the rules of capitalism itself.”
Jim Turner bustles into the common room and shouts words of encouragement before turning off the television. “It’s great news, but there’s no time to get distracted!” he exclaims. He tells us that a new wave of volunteers is ready to rush in and relieve us, and that those of us who need to go h
ome to our families are more than welcome. Eager to see if my wife and children are indeed coming home, I raise my hand and ask to be replaced. Jim nods and talks into his cell phone, summoning some replacements.
3.1
The skies have darkened and day is turning to dusk. “It might snow tonight,” Hank Hummel says, climbing into his Jeep. “You take care of yourself, you hear? I’ll email you the stuff about being an adjunct at the university. After today, there will be even greater demand to have you on staff.” He closes the driver-side door and the Jeep starts with a rumble, its headlights bathing me in an artificial glow.
I climb into my pickup and hold my breath as it chugs and coughs. Finally, fortunately, the engine sputters to life and I can breathe a sigh of relief. It is after four-fifteen and downtown is now almost entirely empty, all the office workers at home and spending the day with family. My stomach twists and my heart flutters, wondering if my marriage will be saved. I try to empty my mind as I drive home, not listening to anything on the radio.
When I pull into my suburban community, where I will probably not be able to live for much longer, I find it hard to breathe. I am nervous, so nervous. My hands are blocks of ice, barely able to grip the steering wheel. When I turn onto my street, I hold my breath as my headlights sweep my driveway.
My wife’s car is in the driveway. and I can breathe again.
4.0
It is the first Thanksgiving since I was a child where I do not worry about what my neighbors, coworkers, or supervisors are doing, whether their houses are nicer, their celebrations more extravagant, or their children more accomplished. Max and Madison disappear into their rooms and I hug my wife for a long time, neither of us speaking for ages. She whispers that she is home, and that is all I need to hear.
“I heard you got a job,” she tells me. “Will you be happy there?”
“Yes,” I tell her, and for the first time in a long time I feel completely honest. “I will be happy.” Then I warn her that there will be a pay cut, but that I can make some of it back by working as an adjunct at Midland U during the evenings. “That doesn’t matter,” she says, and we hug again. “I think I’ll keep working as a public defender. It may not be glamorous, but I like it. It feels important to me.”
We make dinner as a team, cobbling together a feast as best we can with what I’ve got in the house. For the first time in years, I do not check my HumCap share price while doing a household chore. I dive into the depths of the pantry and am amazed to find most of the makings of a traditional Thanksgiving. There are cans of cranberries and boxes of stuffing, and my wife expertly sweeps the kitchen cabinets for more.
By the time we finish making dinner, we are exhausted. But, aside from perhaps our wedding day, I doubt we have ever been happier. We call for our children and they come to us. Surprisingly, they have dressed nicely for dinner of their own accord. Without anything having to be said, I know that Max thought of this. Despite all my trial had put him through, the teenager still came through for me. He actually smiles and walks over to give me a hug.
“Pretty awesome stuff you’ve done, Dad. Real brave. Real brave.” He does not ask me questions, and I do not press him on his reactions. He helps put the finishing touches on the table and we sit down to enjoy a feast. We talk about what we want for Christmas. Madison wants snow, and so does Max.
After dinner, we stream some family movies in the living room, enjoying idealized depictions of the holidays until Madison declares that she is sleepy. Max agreeably takes her off to bed and my wife and I head into our own bedroom. It seems that absence really does make the heart grow fonder, and we discover that maybe we weren’t too exhausted from making Thanksgiving dinner after all.
5.0
It snows that night, the first time ever for a Thanksgiving snow in Midland, and I enjoy the hell out of the entire inch of it when I see it through my bedroom window. It looks beautiful and new, mysterious and inviting. In the glow of the streetlamp by my front curb, it seems like another world, one with infinite possibilities.
I am up early, before dawn, and I told my wife last night that I would be volunteering down at the office this morning. “You sleep in and treat the kids to a nice day,” I whisper to her before pulling on my jeans and my felt-lined flannel shirt. In the kitchen, I pour myself a giant Thermos full of coffee and sweeten it liberally.
Today is Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year. I know that the inch of snow, and the picturesque purity it presents, will soon be ground and melted under the tires of thousands of cars, trucks, and SUVs. Though the deals began yesterday, on Thanksgiving Day itself, today is an even bigger bash. And when the market opens, the Progressive Party will continue its crusade. And I will be a part of it.
As if respecting my passion, the Ridgeline roars to life without hesitation and its wipers sweep off the thin blanket of snow. Some flurries still spiral from the clouds, and I roll down my window to breathe them in. I feel like a kid again! Remembering snow driving from my days back East, I keep the Honda in a low gear as I head downtown. The streets are deserted, with the shoppers still in bed.
Reluctantly, I turn on the news, bracing myself for reports that Public Good, Inc. has been woefully underfunded. I brace myself for failure. A local radio station begins broadcasting CBS news, and I turn up the volume.
“In the biggest day of trading since the horrific stock market crash of 1929, a brand new shell company named Public Good, Inc. has become the third largest U.S. corporation behind Walmart and Apple. That’s right: In less than twenty-four hours, a corporation has gone from having zero net worth to owning more wealth than Microsoft, General Electric, or even General Motors! To the tune of forty-eight million individual donations, some reaching into the millions of dollars, American citizens have supported the drive to make education and health care public goods. From coast to coast, supporters of the initiative could be seen climbing on top of tables, fountains, and sculptures in public places, often armed with bullhorns or megaphones, to-”
Happy, I turn off the news and seek music instead. The parking lot in front of the Progressive Party office is packed when I arrive, and I notice many vehicles from yesterday, including Hank Hummel’s Jeep and James Panamus’ rented Nissan. As expected, Jim Turner’s old pickup truck is there, with a full inch of snow on top. Guy probably slept here, I think to myself. Watching after-hours trading.
Through the windows, it appears that the small office is already bustling with activity. I enter and am thankful for the warmth, probably generated as much by human energy as by the building’s heating system. Coffee and donuts flow liberally, donated by a generous patron.
Panamus quickly tells me that Jim Turner met with several local oil barons last night and, using some mix of political magic and voodoo, convinced the stalwart Republicans to donate a cool million each to Public Good, Inc. “They may not be social liberals, but they’ve had bad experiences with privatized education and the health insurance conglomerates,” Panamus explains. “No love lost.”
I find Jim and ask what can be done. There is more phone canvassing to do, I know, but I also know that time is of the essence. When the weekend hits, the corporations will be able to regroup and stave off our hostile takeover. I overheard someone saying that the corporations in question are actively calling in all of their own investments and spending their own accumulated cash. Share prices are rising again after yesterday’s scandals.
“We’ve shown the world how big of scumbags they are, but profit is profit to most people. They will not divest, even if they know the CEOs and their lackeys are schmucks and fraudsters,” Jim complains to me. “We might soon hit the ceiling of our voter base’s giving capacity. We need a way to get more money into this fight.”
Looking at a screen, I see that we own roughly twenty-nine percent of all the desired mega-conglomerates, still quite far from the necessary fifty-one percent needed to guarantee
long-term ownership. “If we can’t accomplish this…” Jim’s voice trails off.
Minutes later, I am included on a nationwide conference call of financial and investing experts who work, or volunteer, for the Progressive Party of America.
5.1
“We need to find an untapped source of money to complete our drive to fifty-one percent,” explains a finance professor from UC Berkeley. A lawyer from Delaware, an expert on corporate law, is monitoring the call while analyzing any applicable laws and regulations, searching for any no-go zones. Several liberal-leaning business moguls are listening in and thinking. Someone suggests foreign donors, such as the many progressives and populists in Europe, but that idea is quickly shot down.
“It’s gotta be all-American,” insists the former governor of Maryland, who is serving as the Party’s first chairman.
Sitting in Jim Turner’s office with a webcam broadcasting me to some server, I strive to be of use. I think and think, wondering how more financial capital can be accessed. This hostile takeover must be accomplished quickly, before the health insurance and education conglomerates can make it impossible. Even now, I know they are negotiating with mega-banks and wealthy creditors to get more money to fight for every last share.
Though caught off guard, the corporations are now buying back their own stock, hoping to deny us fifty-one percent. I glance at a scrolling news banner and see that #runtofiftyone is one of many new hashtags trending on social media. As lawyers and businessmen argue and debate, I take a long sip of coffee and nosh on a glazed donut. I try to clear my mind and let something from business school swim out.
On reflex, I pull my phone out of my pocket and check my Human Capital Market share price. Amazingly, I am up fourteen percent over the last forty-eight hours! Instinctively, I clench my fist and hiss a “hell yeah!” Years ago, such enthusiasm among men was usually relegated to sports, but today is a different world. HumCap shares are the new battleground for men. A digital gridiron.
HumCap shares. HumCap shares.
I grab the mouse and click to get into the conversation. “Is it possible to let people leverage their HumCap shares to get more capital?” I ask. “The law allows up to thirty percent income cap, but I know that most Americans are below that. If we could get our supporters to increase all the way to their cap and then give that additional value to Public Good, we might have enough to get to fifty-one.”
For a long while, nobody speaks. I can see sixteen faces in a four-by-four grid looking at me, each beamed from a different city.
“That’s a hell of an idea,” says a corporate lawyer from Denver. He asks the guy from Delaware if such a thing is legal. The lawyer from Delaware asks the Party’s SEC contact, and the contact says he will check. One of the sixteen faces belongs to a U.S. Representative from Oregon, and he says that he knows someone high up in the SEC and will give him a call. Immediately, the Congressman whips out a cell phone and calls someone who answers to “Ronald.”
After long, breathless minutes, Ronald confirms that such a maneuver is indeed legal.
“Then let’s create a plan around that,” declares the former governor of Maryland. “We gotta move fast.”
6.0
We go live at eleven-fifteen Eastern Time and urge all of our supporters to increase their Human Capital Market volume to thirty percent of their income, with all proceeds set to go straight to Public Good, Inc. Many of our supporters have never even signed up on the Market, and they sign up in such record numbers that the servers crash thrice before lunchtime. Done working the phones, we all crowd around the wall-mounted television and watch anxiously, silently.
Immediately, we receive an enormous bump in financial capital that quickly turns into a thirty-four percent ownership of the desired corporations. Twenty-eight million young people have signed up for HumCap and given their profits to us. The gesture is so noble that Jim Turner begins tearing up.
Someone orders pizzas and we huddle and wait, watching scrolling news banners and stock tickers and HumCap alerts and SEC and NYSE reports. The media report that Black Friday shopping is actually declining due to our nationwide initiative, with consumers preferring to donate their funds to the cause rather than buy toys and trinkets.
At one o’clock, we are at thirty-six percent. Reports indicate that several corporations, including Educorp and GreenShield, are negotiating with other power players to borrow billions and buy up outstanding stock. The tension mounts. At two o’clock, we hit thirty-nine percent.
At two-thirty, we hit forty-one percent.
People are now working the phones to get news faster than the mainstream media can deliver it. Hank Hummel knows someone in the White House and my lawyer, who has come back to volunteer for a second day, knows someone high up on Wall Street. At three o’clock, negotiations between Educorp and OmniBank break down and we pass forty-two percent.
Three-thirty sees a bump to forty-four percent, and we start to fear that we will not accomplish our goal before the market closes. If that happens, Educorp and GreenShield and everyone else will be able to ink a plan to get the necessary funds and buy back the stock they need.
“We need to get some corporate officers to defect,” I blurt out. “They’ve got big chunks of stock. If we make a deal to bring them on during the switchover, we could get the last four or five percent we’ll still need when the market closes.”
Jim runs to his office to make the call, and through the open doorway I hear him connect straight to the Party chairman. “I’ll do it,” the man says.
For the last hour we sit in silence, with nobody even glancing at their phones. The tickers move slowly, so slowly, and we advance to forty-seven percent before stopping. With only a fraction of an hour remaining, phone calls start coming in to Turner’s office.
“Eighteen vice presidents and division heads have agreed to turn over their stock!” the Party chairman cheers through the line. Silently, we continue to watch the news, hoping against hope. With four minutes left until the market closes, we watch as Public Good, Inc. gains percentage point by agonizing percentage point. At two minutes until close, we come to rest at fifty-one percent.
For a hundred seconds, we scarcely breathe, clenching and unclenching our fists. Was this a fluke? A blip? An error? Will the number drop?
The news banner says that the market has closed, but we refuse to relax. A moment later, a breaking news report comes from the floor of the stock exchange.
“Today may be recorded as the most famous day in the history of the stock exchange. In an occurrence that will be studied by historians for generations, the Progressive Party of America has convinced millions of Americans to buy out all major private-sector health insurance companies and for-profit education providers. It has just been confirmed that Public Good, Inc. now owns fifty-one percent of the voting shares in all twenty-six of the corporations it sought to control. Though appeals will be filed by the corporations, our legal and judicial analysts report that this is, in fact, legal. Public Good, Inc., a subsidiary of the Progressive Party of America, now owns health insurance and education in the United States and plans to turn them into, well, public goods.”
We are cheering, crying, hugging. The news feed changes to Washington, in front of the White House.
“The board of Public Good, Inc. has agreed to meet with the president and his cabinet tonight in order to create a transitional plan for the assets it now owns. As of right now, the website for the new corporation is up and running and we are rapidly learning what it is all about. The president of the board, retired U.S. Senator Bernie Sanders of Vermont, has just issued a press release encouraging calm and insisting that there will be a smooth, efficient transition of ownership of assets. His office has said that, beginning immediately, customers and clients will be able to continue their existing services free of charge. Also, no involuntary layoffs of employees of the twenty-six corporations will occur within the next si
xty days, with the goal being that no layoffs occur thereafter. After meeting at the White House, the board will create a team to determine which officers of the twenty-six corporations should remain at their posts, and which should be removed.”
Someone changes to channel to get a fresh news feed.
“Though some corporate officers have indicated that they will step down or take early retirement, others have insisted that they are in favor of the change and hope to remain on board, even at reduced salary.”
A series of corporate officers are seen climbing into limousines and luxury SUVs, yelling that they have no comment. I recognize William Carson, former CEO of Educorp, climbing into a black stretch Lincoln.
On Monday, my son and daughter can go to school, their usual school, for free. My vision blurs through tears and I do not mind.
The Victor
1.0
On Monday, full of coffee and sugar, I help begin the transition process in Midland. I meet with all Educorp, Intellicorp, and Neuron administrators at the school district’s run-down central office and invite them on board. Fresh from the Xerox machine are copies of the Midland ISD administrator handbook. “Keep doing what you’re doing,” I tell them. “We’ll get more of an idea of what to do over the Christmas break.” Some are displeased, but most seem happy enough. Privately, after our session, a few shake my hand and tell me that they’re glad I’m back.
The regional Educorp superintendent has taken early retirement, effective immediately, but his assistant is ready and willing to work for the public schools. She was a classroom teacher and department chair before privatization, and is eager to get back to her roots. I talk to her on the phone and the conversation goes well.
Madison is back at her usual school, with her friends and her teachers. Max will never be an artificially-augmented star athlete again, but now he no longer has to be in order to go to college. He tells my wife and me that he won’t miss the daily injections. When I drop him off in front of his school, he bounds in with a smile.
Life is good.
I stand in a small broom closet at the Midland office of the Progressive Party of America and begin moving things around, creating an office. The closet is small, but not too small, and I feel cozy rather than cramped. I have stacks of papers to go over, records to analyze, and people to meet. Though I have devoured donuts, I feel like positive energy is melting away the calories. My desk phone rings and I answer it.
It’s the old guy from Vermont, and we chat a while.
The End
Discover other titles by Calvin Wolf
The College
The University
The City
The State
Daylight Stealing Time
Coming soon: The Singularity
About the Author
Calvin Wolf is a high school social studies teacher and freelance writer living in Texas. He is an alum of the University of Wyoming and Texas Tech University. Wolf currently writes for Hubpages and The News Hub and has previously written for Digital Journal, the Yahoo! Contributor Network, Helium, and Examiner.