A State of the Union Carole Chapter 3

For Chapter 1 go here
For Chapter 2 go here

Chapter 3


The trio materialized in a room filled with men and debate around what action to take in regards to Parliament. Many were speaking on the side of continued diplomacy, but the exact reference was unclear to the president. “Where are we this time? Getting ready to sign the Declaration of Independence?”

This question was greeting with a slap to the back of his head that felt far too strong and solid to have been delivered by a ghost. However, its origin became clear as Adams spoke.

“Do you see either one of us in this room?” As the president shook his head, both in a negative response and in an attempt to relieve the ringing in his ears Adams continued. “Since both Ben and I signed the Declaration, if this meeting was preparing for that don’t you think you’d see us in the room?”

“I suppose.”

“How can you possibly be the leader of our nation? What on earth were the people thinking?”

“They weren’t thinking,” Ben added. “They weren’t listening when he was talking about fundamentally transforming America. They’re suffering some pretty harsh buyer’s remorse right now though.”

“I was elected by the majority of the people and I will do their will. The people have spoken, my party won the election so the rest of the people need to come to terms with that.”

The two men exchanged a glance, and what appeared to be a moment of unspoken communication. “We’ll get to that attitude later. Right now you are at the Second Virginia Conference and you’re about to hear one of the speeches that most accurately and succinctly describes the feelings of the people at this point. Negotiations have almost completely broken down and as Parliament tries harder to bring us to heel, the people more vehemently resist.”

At this moment a man stood to speak. He was a moderately attractive man; tall and thin with brown hair and a narrow face nearly dominated by a roman nose. He addressed the assemblage and began what would be a powerful speech with a tone of polite respect.

“No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The questing before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free-- if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending--if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained--we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!

They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable--and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace-- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!”

At the end of the speech both Adams and Franklin broke into applause, but the president simply stood in silence. Before he could wrap his mind around what he wanted to say, and there was a lot he wanted to say, he was being whisked through time once again. This time before the president could ask where they were, it was volunteered by Adams. “We are in Lexington Mass, April 19, 1775.”

“Oh wait,” cried the president in evident self-admiration. “I know this one. This is the shot heard round the world, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” replied Franklin. “I’ve heard it referred to as such, but it was so much more than that.”

As the travelers stood, the forces began to gather, their fear only outmatched by their resolve. A resolve that would be tested and in many, found lacking. The travelers watched as the first shot was fired and the volley met by the British forces. They watched as the colonists, family men and farmers fled for their lives under the barrage of gunfire that greeted them. They watched as the British soldiers continued to fire even after the order had been given to cease. They watched and listened as the British soldiers crowed in their victory sure that the rebellion was over. They could not have been more wrong.

“The fact that those men, untrained in military operations, would choose to stand and even prepare to fight against the greatest army in the world said more about their views on Britain and her Parliament than the troops or the politicians could ever understand.” Franklin cast one last sad glance at the bodies on the green before he and Adams took the president on yet another trip through time.

They appeared this time inside a Tavern the location of which the president did not know and his companions did not see fit to inform him. The two ghosts immediately left the president and began wandering around the room hovering at various tables inhabited by men in serious debate over their ales. At one of these tables Ben evidently found a conversation which interested him and beckoned to the others.

As the president approached the table the first words he heard were spoken by a man who appeared to be wealthy. His clothes were impeccable and his wig tidy and white. “Independence from Parliament of course, but from the crown? Are we not British subjects? Should we even be discussing such a thing?”

A younger man in garments far less fine took up the opposite side of the debate. “Are we British subjects or are we British slaves. Do they treat us as British subjects when they attempt to end any learned and honest debate with the force of their military? How can we be British subjects when we are afforded no say in our own governance?”

“And with that I agree, but that is resolved in the independence from Parliament. We should be free to rule ourselves with our elected representatives and formulate the laws which impact us, but to break from the crown? To form ourselves as an independent nation?”

“As Ben Franklin has said,” here Ben took a moment to preen at being quoted, “the colonies must band together and create a confederation. We must stand as one and steps have been taken to bind us politically. If we have our own legislatures, designed by us, and we break from the political influence of Parliament what bond do we have to England except a King who in every conflict has sided against us? What loyalty do we have to a monarch who has no love or loyalty for us? If we are going to break free, why not break free and be truly independent?”

“With what government? What forms or systems do we have in place that could replace not only parliament but the King as well? We would be in a state of anarchy and how could we possibly even begin to win a war for Independence, and make no mistake, a war it would be, while in a state of anarchy?”

“There are already discussions,” the young man replied. “I recently read a document by John Adams,” here Adams took the opportunity to preen back at Ben and even go so far as to stick out his tongue. “His thoughts on government give us a great place to start. He identifies some of the Republics in history which we can learn from, both in what to emulate and what to avoid. Hold just a moment.”

The young man then rummaged around inside his jacket and pulled from it a tattered and worn document. He carefully opened the pages and found what he was looking for. “He worries about a single assembly and even points out a few of the problems . He says a representation of the people in one assembly being obtained, a question arises whether all the powers of government, legislative, executive and judicial shall be left in this body. He then says that a people cannot be long free, nor ever happy, whose government is in one Assembly. My favorite points that he makes are that a single assembly is liable to all the vices, follies and frailties of an individual. In essence, to summarize what he says, a single assembly is apt to act hastily, stupidly and with prejudice. The next is quite insightful saying that the single assembly is apt to be avaricious and in time will not scruple to exempt itself from burthens which it will lay, without compunction, on its constituents.” The young man flipped the paper closed as this point and then said with a grin, “But even with powers in different assemblies, it is still a possibility that they will exempt themselves from what they impose upon us. Yet should that ever happen I would hope that the people would rise up in protest and be better met by their elected officials than they are by a parliament on the other side of an ocean.”

The older man nodded emphatically at this. “It would be a sad day for the people if their elected officials treated them with the same disregard as Parliament currently treats us. I pray that such a day never comes in this great land whether we are an independent nation or simply independent of Parliament.”

“I trust in our leaders,” the young man claimed. “I trust in them to provide for us a form of government that, while adhered to, would prevent such injustice as we’ve experienced. The current tyrannical rule will be fresh on their minds and they must know what we must be protected from. How then could they institute a government which would allow the very oppressions from which we now seek our freedom?”

These words of the people, their hopes and assertions, would have had an effect on a man with a lesser ego, but the president refused to feel shame at what our government had become. He continued to see his plans to transform the nation as a salvation and not a destruction. He was also absolutely convinced that the people would never rise up in protest against him. He would make sure of it in a way that King George III had been unable to.

The ghosts said not a word to interrupt his thoughts, but simply grabbed him by the arms and transported him once more.



The president was taken through the drafting of the Declaration of Independence including the exclusion of the abolition of slavery that was in Jefferson’s original document. Both Adams and Franklin lamented over its loss but acknowledged that it had to be done in order to achieve the union of all states, but they took great pleasure in pointing out to the president how the Declaration used specific examples of their objections and that the examples were actually true. Something the president’s own examples to promote his agenda were often lacking.

They took him through the drafting of the Articles of Confederation and showed him via several stops the problems with the document and with a weak federal government. They stressed to him the problems that arise when you create legislation out of a sense of urgency and without fully analyzing the impact, the most important issue the failure of the states to fund the fighting men as they had been designated. They showed that the defense of the nation and the ability to make treaties binding all 13 states was the main reason that the articles were ineffective.

They showed him the debate over public funding of religion and the reasons behind their stance against it. They had him standing over Thomas Jefferson’s shoulder as he wrote the Virginia Statute for Religious Freedom where he stated that all men shall be free to profess, and by argument to maintain, their opinion in matters of religion, and that the same shall in no way diminish, enlarge or affect their civil capacities.

They took him through the months of debates and discussions over the new Constitution, showing him how the open debate and the opinions of many helped them piece together the government which had held us in good stead for over 200 years. They showed him the objections to the Constituion; the statements that there were two sorts of bad government. That which does too little, and that which does too much. That which fails through weakness and that which destroys through oppression. The discussion over how the states should be represented to insure that neither the small ruled the large or the large ruled the small. The compromise that resulted in the House of Representatives being based on population while in the Senate each state had an equal voice. They showed him the fear of some that the government would result in a monarchy or an aristocracy at which point Franklin stated, “I really hate that those damned men were right about the aristocracy.”

The president was exhausted, his brain nearly saturated, and sure that this must come to an end soon. He gazed at his watch repeatedly, sure that he was missing his next appointments and quite possibly his own State of the Union speech, but the hands of time never moved; not a single second had ticked by.

“Enough,” the president said. “I’ve seen enough. I’m a busy man and I need to return. I believe you’ve made your point.”

“Have we,” Adams asked. “Have we really?” The two ghosts stood side by side and faced the current president. “So you understand how the country was built and will stop trying to circumvent the people to force your agenda upon them?”

“I told you,” the president said, “they elected me and this is what they want.”

“So we haven’t showed you enough then. We didn’t really believe we had. There is a very important series of occurrences that you need to see.”

If you enjoy the story please share it.  The next installment will be Wednesday, Jan 13th

References:
Documents:  Book  Founding America Documents From the Revolution to the Bill of Rights
Patrick Henry's speech:  http://libertyonline.hypermall.com/henry-liberty.html

A State of the Union Carole - Chapter 1

"A State of the Union Carole"

Chapter 1
As the room dimmed from the waning light of the setting sun, the man pushed aside the pile of papers awaiting his attention to run his hand lovingly over the surface of his desk. A desk where many great men had performed their business, and he was sure that he would be considered a great man one day as well. In fact he was sure he was considered a great man already. There was no question in his mind that his place in history would be assured. The wood of the historic desk he stroked seemed to glow as the golden light was filtered through the panes of glass at his back. If he believed in God he would see this as a sign of his ordination, but he did not believe. Not really. He pretended to believe because he knew it would cast him in a better light, but the only god he served was his own ego, and it was a jealous god.


His hand bumped the paper on his desk again and he was reminded of the task before him. He retrieved the stack of papers and a red pen and set his self-admiration aside for a moment in order to turn his mind to the task at hand. His lips pursed as he found a particular phrase objectionable and scratched a line through it. In the margins he scribbled in the message he wanted it replaced with. Nearly an hour later the paper bore more red ink than black and the man’s temper was on a fine edge. Setting the pen aside he reached for the phone and called in the unfortunate author of the harshly edited document.

He waited impatiently for the young and idealistic man to appear before him. When the door opened and the once smartly dressed but now decidedly rumpled man appeared at last, taking his stance in the center of the crest imprinted on the carpet in the oval office, The President raised an angry stare in his direction, pushed the pages towards the young man and said, “Is this the best you can do? With all of the changes I made I may as well have written the speech myself. What do I pay you for?”

“I’m sorry sir,” the young man stammered. Having always had a flair for words and a true belief in the progressive ideals, John Alexander had been thrilled to be offered a job as the Presidential speech writer. It was an honor beyond anything he’d ever thought possible, but now, just six months into the job he believed he’d prefer digging ditches. No matter what he wrote, no matter how eloquent or uplifting, it was never good enough. Every speech was written and re-written and then written again. Many times the final comments by the President strongly resembling John’s original text. He no longer felt young and idealistic but beaten down, demoralized and old beyond his years. He had an ulcer, insomnia, a nervous tick and an ever growing desire to stab the president with his fountain pen.

“I have to give this speech tomorrow evening so I expect to have a new version of this on my desk before sunrise tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?”

John swallowed and nodded, but seeing the raised brows of the president remembered his instructions on address. “Yes, Mr President.”

The President stared at the door as it closed behind the hapless young man who had proved to be such a disappointment. A good speech writer was invaluable to a man of his elevated stature, and he needed some time to review the speech before he had to stand in the full House of Representatives and read the speech before the joint houses of Congress. He could read off the teleprompter with a skill and ease that few people possessed, but it helped to feel at least a little comfortable with the text. He already received a bit of flack from those nasty right wing zealots regarding the way he looked down his nose when he spoke, but it was the only way he could read the teleprompter and keep his head up. And everybody knew those crazies on the right were just looking for something bad to say about him, but he had his revenge. He worked in a way to blame them in nearly every speech and, though he had done interviews with Oprah and The View, he still refused to appear on that “other” network. The one he refused to acknowledge as a news program.

He returned to the papers on his desk and worked his way to the bottom of the pile where the communication from his general in Afghanistan resided. He took a deep breath and did what he’d been avoiding for nearly two weeks. He flipped the folder open.

“It’s about time you got to that.”

The President jerked in surprise at the sound of the voice. He jerked so hard that he flipped his chair back, lost his balance, over-recovered and smacked his head on the beautiful desk he’d been stroking just hours before.

At the sound of the ruckus the secret service burst through the door with guns drawn and searched for the source of the threat. “What happened Mr. President? Are you secure?”

Shaking his head slightly, refusing to reveal any weakness, he frowned at the men before him. “Secure? Did you not hear that voice? Where did it come from and how did the speaker get in here?”

The two men glanced at each other for support, but neither indicated that any voice had been heard. “I’m sorry sir, but we didn’t hear a voice, we only heard what sounded like a struggle. Was there a struggle sir?”

The men still stood with their guns drawn, and guns made the president nervous. So nervous that he had promised himself that guns would be outlawed before the end of his second term. That he would have a second term he had no doubt. With the machinations he had going on, he knew that even a third or a fourth term would be possible. He would serve longer than the man he believed to be the greatest President of all time; Franklin Roosevelt. He had ensured, while he was in the senate, that the necessary laws to prevent an economic disaster were not passed so that he could set up a platform which would put him on the level of Roosevelt. He was running the FDR playbook and he was absolutely convinced that he was running it better than old Frank had himself.

“Sir?”

In his ruminations, the president had all but forgotten the men in the room. “No, there was no struggle. But there was a voice. Somebody is here.”

“They can’t hear me,” came the voice again.

“There!” The president cried. “There it was again. Did you hear it?”

“No sir,” the agent replied. A well trained secret service agent, his face betrayed none of his feelings. He valued his job way too much to show with even a twitch that the President was sounding crazy. Maybe the president was just having an acid flashback. He had done drugs in his past after all. Wasn’t that in one of those books he wrote before he had ever accomplished anything?

“They think you’re losing your mind you know.”

The President looked closely at the agents, but neither gave the slightest hint that they’d heard the new voice. If he answered it this time there was a good chance that the voice would be right and the agents would fear for his sanity.

“I’m fine,” the President said. “You men can go now.”

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure.” The President waved his hand dismissively. “I’m sure it was just the wind that startled me. I didn’t sleep well last night so I’m sure that didn’t help.” He really hated indicating any weakness, but far better lack of sleep than insanity.

The agents holstered their weapons, cast one last glance around the office and strode back through the door to resume their guard.

“It’s the bump on the head,” the president said to himself. “I’m sure it’s just the bump on the head causing hallucinations and they’ll go away in a minute or two.”

“That would work as an explanation,” continued the voice, “except hearing the voice is why you bumped your head. The bump is an effect not a cause. I know you have some trouble with that kind of logic and science but give it a try.”

“Who the hell are you,” he whispered angrily. “I demand you show yourself.”

“OK, you asked for it.”

Before the President’s eyes a thin mist appeared, and then thickened, and then began to take shape. In the space of a single minute, empty air solidified into the form of a man. It was not a man, but only the opaque image of a man. Cast in shades of gray and moderately transparent. The President wondered how this was done and whether it was a new trick from the crazies on the right -- And they wondered why he had them listed as potential terrorists with the Department of Homeland Security.

The milky image of the man stood about two inches shorter than his own six feet and one inch. His hair was slicked back in a style of previous generations. His hooded eyes were crowned with thick brows and ringed with deep lines. His thin lipped mouth was quirked to one side in a crooked smile as he held his arms out in a “ta-da” type of gesture.

“Who are you?” The president asked.

“The man you want to be. Or perhaps the man you want to be better than. Though I’ve learned that’s not hard to accomplish.”

“I don’t understand,” the president replied. “Who are you really? And what are you doing in my office?”

“It was my office too once, though this desk wasn’t in here at the time. It was still up in the study.” The image crouched down before the desk to examine it, his smile one of nostalgia over a pleasant memory. “I see they finally put in the panel over the kneehole with the presidential seal. That was my idea you know.”

“Who gives a shit! Who are you? I demand that you reveal your identity to me immediately.”

“Or what,” the image asked. “You’ll call the secret service in to haul me off. I dare you to try that.”

Frustrated beyond belief at being the most powerful man in the world and yet having no authority over the image before him, the President’s political façade had slipped and the real man underneath the mask was beginning to show. His fists and jaw were clenched as he asked yet again, “who are you?”

Instead of revealing his identity, the man only asked, “How much do you know about this desk?”

Fearing what it said about his sanity to not only engage in a verbal battle, but to lose one, with an imaginary man in his office, he decided to just answer the question. “The desk was commissioned by Queen Victoria from the wreckage of the HMS Resolute. She has a matching one in her office.”

The image waved his hand dismissively. “Anybody who saw the second National Treasure movie could tell me that. Do you have any information that is not held by the average movie goer?”

The President just stared mutely at the image before him.

“This leads nicely into the reason I’m here. How can you presume to be the leader of a nation you know nothing about?”

“I know what I need to about this nation. Which is why I’m working to remake it.”

The image shook its head in sadness. “Bad move my boy, bad move. I attempted the same thing and faced a terrible fate for it. I wish to save you from facing the same shame and embarrassment.”

“What shame,” the president asked. “What shame can there be in remaking this nation into what it should be?”

“It’s the shame of making this nation into what it was never supposed to be. I found that out the hard way. “ The image moved gracefully across the room until it settled behind the resolute desk, its hands hovering over the wood in much the same way the president’s had just hours before.

“When I got to heaven—“, at the gasp, the image looked at the president and grinned. “Yes, heaven exists, as does God. When I got to heaven I was excited to meet the founding fathers of this great nation, and I found they were anxious to meet me as well, but instead of being greeted warmly, I was faced with their censure and dismay. In addition to a verbal tongue lashing the likes of which I had never faced on earth.”

“I can’t imagine what you could have done to deserve that, but what difference does it make? They’re just a bunch of dead white guys who have become totally irrelevant. Their opinions no longer matter.”

The image lurched up and attempted to slap his hands on the desk, but instead of meeting the wood with a resounding bang, they slid right through it. “Those men may be dead but their ideals will never be irrelevant. It was just that kind of thought that got me exiled in heaven and the type of thought you must change if you are ever to be welcomed into their group.”

The president locked his spine to prevent the shudder that racked him as the image floated to him once more from showing. “Why would I want to be welcomed into their group? Why should I care what they think?”

“You really are a misguided young man, aren’t you?” Failing to receive an answer the image continued. “In heaven the leaders of this nation are divided into two categories, those would made free men of slaves, and those who made slaves of free men. What I was shocked to find upon my death was that I was considered a man who had made slaves of free men.”

The president threw his head back and looked down his nose at the image before him. “I will definitely be regarded as a man who made free men of slaves. I’m going to dispense economic justice in this land and free those in poverty.”

The image’s jaw dropped in shock at this statement. “Do you honestly believe that I would be here to warn you if you were viewed in that manner? Right now they’re reserving the head of the free men to slaves table. They already have a plaque on the chair for you. You’re the first president they’ve ever placed before his death.”

“That’s not possible.” He shook his head vehemently, but the image just kept nodding.

“Where is George Bush sitting?”

The image’s brows pulled down in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Is George Bush sitting at the good table or the bad table? He has to be at the bad table.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m absolutely serious. Which table is Bush sitting at?”

The image rolled its eyes, an eerie occurrence with his level of transparency. “If I had to guess, I would have to say he’s sitting at a table at his ranch in Crawford, TX.”

The president looked dissatisfied and slightly confused by this answer.

“The man’s not dead yet. Not much for deductive reasoning are you?” the image asked.

“Don’t speak to me in that insolent manner. I’m the leader of this nation and I deserve your respect.”

“I respect the office, but not the man currently holding it. And your current behavior does not dispose me to change that opinion.”

Now truly angry, a vein bulging in his temple, his fists clenched so tightly they were cramping, the president growled, “I demand to know who you are.”

The image raised his brows at the insolent tone. “If you knew anything at all about the desk behind which you sit then you would already know who I am. I’ve given a hint so obvious that previous presidents would have no doubt as to my identity.” The image leveled an assessing stare upon him and, after a moment’s silence continued. “I suppose I can give you another hint. I hate to do this one though as it is so obvious. Too obvious really.”

The president unclenched one fist and slashed the hand through the image causing it to dissipate and then reform. This couldn’t be real. It was too little sleep. The excuse he gave the secret service had to be the real reason behind this. He couldn’t actually have a ghost in the oval office. It was completely beyond the realm of possibility.

“Forget about it, I don’t care who you are anymore. You’re probably nothing but a figment of my imagination anyway.”

“OK, if you’re going to be a baby about it, here’s my hint. A date which will live in infamy. If you don’t know who I am now then you really have no business being behind that desk.”

“No,” the president shook his head vehemently. “It’s not possible. You can’t be….”

“Can’t be who?” the image asked.

“You’re not Franklin Roosevelt. You’re not. You can’t be. I know for a fact you’re not.”

“Do you really? What’s your proof that I’m not?”

“Roosevelt was in a wheelchair!” This statement was delivered with such pride, such self-satisfied victory that the image had to shake his head once more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I appear to you out of thin air, admitting that I’m the ghost of a dead man, and you actually believe I can’t be that ghost because my astral body isn’t confined to a wheelchair as my physical body was? That’s really your argument?”

“Well…..”

“Not much for abstract reasoning either.”

“OK,” he shrugged, “But I still don’t understand.”

The image placed his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “That’s becoming glaringly obvious. But which particular thing that you don’t understand would you like an explanation for?”

The president started pacing around the oval office, still aware of the secret service outside the door, he kept his voice low. The ghost of Roosevelt didn’t appear to have any trouble hearing him no matter how low he spoke.

“The one thing I don’t understand,” he heard a snort from Roosevelt but opted to ignore it and continue, “you were the greatest president in our history so why would you be ostrasized by the founding fathers? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t it? In retrospect it makes perfect sense to me.” Roosevelt’s voice had dropped and sadness radiated from his expression. Sadness and regret.

“But you lifted this country up out of the worst financial crisis it had ever seen. How can that be a bad thing?”

“Did I really do that?” Roosevelt asked.

“Of course you did. Everybody knows that. Everybody acknowledges that you and your New Deal saved the country from total collapse.” The president couldn’t believe that he was actually in the oval office attempting to convince the ghost of FDR that he had saved the nation.

“The founding fathers have a different view of things, and I have to admit that I now agree with them.” His voice was now filled with the regret only hinted at before. He grasped his hands behind his back, dropped his head, floated over to the window and stared. “I put food on the table for many people by creating government jobs for them to do, but what did I really do to stimulate the economy?” He turned, his gaze boring into the current president. “Nothing. I did nothing. I believed that the government was the answer, but the jobs I created could only last as long as the money the government had to spend. When that money ran out, so would the jobs. Looking back now I have to wonder if I did anything but prolong the pain.”

“Of course you did,” the president replied. “Your government spending plan saved the country and brought the unemployment rate from 25% down to 4%. Nobody but you could have done that.”

“No my boy,” the ghost whispered in reply. “I stabilized the unemployment rate at 14% and that with government jobs only. The war did the rest. Yes, it was government spending but all for the war.” He turned and glared through his opaque eyes at the man before him. “Do you really believe that sending millions of young American men to their death was a great way to lower the unemployment rate, because that’s what I did? I didn’t really create more jobs, I simply sent the excess workers to their deaths on foreign soil. That is not a plan that should be emulated by anyone!”

“You did the right thing,” the president argued. “The government was the only answer for the horrible situation the economy was in and you delivered it. The government is always the answer, it has to be.”

“Does it really? You have so much to learn.” The ghost of Roosevelt sighed and straightened his shoulders. “I suppose this brings me to the reason for my visit.” As the president opened his mouth to argue, he was forstalled by the ghost. “I am but a messenger. I precursor to the real events which you will experience this night. My role is to advise you that you will be visited by six ghosts this night.”

“This sounds familiar,” the president sneered, “but doesn’t the story use three ghosts? Not a very original bunch of founding fathers are they?”

“You will not blaspheme the founding fathers!” roared the ghost.

The president looked over his shoulder in fear, sure that the secret service had to hear the bellow which was so loud that it had rattled the window panes and still rang in his ears, but nobody was bursting through the doors to save him.

The ghost took a deep calming breath, though of course air was not required for this astral body, and spoke in a softer, more moderate manner. “I apologize for my outburst, but the disrespect you show for the men who risked everything to create a form of government you now seek to destroy upsets me greatly. I think it best that I deliver my message before all control is lost and I do something I regret more than my actions as president.”

Kept mute by fear at what this ghost could do, the president clamped his lips closed and nodded his head. He would say not a thing.

“Yes what will happen bears a resemblance to Charles Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carole’,” Roosevelt stopped at glared at the president, daring him to make a comment. When the president remained silent, Roosevelt clasped his hands behind his back and paced the oval office as he spoke. “Several of the founding fathers hold Dickens in high esteem, and they have learned something you have not. That much can be learned from the actions and ideas of others. Personally I find Dickens a bit maudlin but this story does suit us nicely.” He looked once more to the president and nodded in approval at his continued silence. “The first pair of founding fathers will appear to you at the stroke of midnight and will show you the state of the union past. The next pair will appear as the clock strikes one and will show you the present. The final pair will appear at the stroke of two and will show you the future that awaits both you and the union you currently lead.”

The ghost flew across the floor until it hovered nose to nose with the current president. “If you are wise, which I question greatly, you will listen to what these men tell you and pay close attention to what they show you. Set your ego aside if you can and learn from an encounter that many in this nation would give their lives experience.”

In the blink of an eye, the image was gone. The silence of the room now pervasive, the president returned to his desk and sat, taking deep, calming breaths. This couldn’t have happened. It didn’t happen. He was sure it hadn’t really happened. And yet, he glanced at the clock counting down the minutes until the first pair of ghosts would appear.

To be continued........
The next installment will be Thursday, Jan 7.  If you enjoy the story, please share it.

A State of the Union Carole - Synopsis

A State of the Union Carole - to be delivered in sections each week.

As the state of the union address approaches, the president of the United States of America prepares for his speech.  A speech that will indicate how far we have strayed from our founding principles.  In order to save The President and the nation as a whole, he is visited by the ghost of a former president who warns him of the fate that awaits him.  The president is also advised that he will be visited by six of the founding fathers in three sets of two who will show him the states of the union past, present and future in an attempt to change his mind and his path.

The first installment of this story will appear tomorrow and a new installment every Thursday until the story is completed.  If you like it, I ask that you please share it.  All comments are also welcome and appreciated.  The story is not yet fully written, so if there is something in particular you would like to see included, please let me know.

Thank you,
Spinsterpov

How About A Few New Political Parties

I've had it up to my eyeballs with both the Democrats and Republicans and how they present the "issues" of the day. How about we create some new parties whose very name states where they stand? Instead of having the two party system with the Republicans and Democrats we could have the Constitutionalists and the Revisionists. Or how about the Individualists and the Collectivists? This is a better representation of the people even if not of the parties.

The Constitutionalist / Individualist party would represent the principles and beliefs of the founding fathers. That government should be small and that the rights of the individual prevail. It would be a party that stands up for personal accountability and ownership of your own life, your own success, and most importantly, your own failures. It would be the party that believes that the Constitution does not evolve except through the amendment process. The party that embraces our early history and the wisdom it provided.

The Revisionists / Collectivist party would represent more the principles of Europe. That we need big government and that the government knows best. It would be the party that believes that the individual rights don't matter as much as the collective whole. That all individuals should be doing what's best for the whole instead of what's best for them. This would be the party that believes that the Constitution evolves with the times and that it's principles are suggestions and not directives. The party that looks to Europe for inspiration instead of to our past.

Most Americans would fall somewhere on the spectrum of these two parties. This would give us clear communication on where the party stands and who we as individuals should stand with based on our own individual beliefs. This would be far superior to the amalgam of the two parties we have seen as they compete for the same voters. And oddly enough, the more they complete for certain demographics the more they abandon the others.

If you have other suggestions or ideas for new party names, please let me know. I welcome comments, but please be polite.