I originally posted this story one year ago, when our current President was first making a big splash. I think it holds up rather well.
First, for those unfamiliar with the Great Depression, I will explain some of the references in the story:
- The "New Deal" refers to a collection of Federal Programs enacted during the Administration of Franklin D. Roosevelt (FDR) in response to the Great Depression of the 1930's. Before the New Deal the Federal Government was in charge of National Security and coining the money. After the New Deal the Feds are basically in charge of whatever they want to be in charge of.
- Harold Ickes was one of the chief architects of the New Deal. His son worked for the Clintons and George Soros financed 547 political groups.
- The New Deal created a "Alphabet Soup" of new agencies. The WPA (Works Progress Administration), the NRA (National Recovery Administration), and the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) -- to name but a few.
- The TVA (Tennessee Valley Authority) built dams and power generators over a multi state region. In 1964 Barry Goldwater, the Republican candidate, called for its privatization and lost 44 states.
- Shangri-la is the magical Himalayan Utopia in the novel "Lost Horizons." It is not a real place so do not mount an anthropological expedition to go study the residents. FDR cited it as the secret base from which the Doolittle bombing raid on Tokyo was launched. He lied.
- Rod Axle is based on a real person but not the one you're thinking of. No, not him (her?) either.
A BEDTIME STORY FOR THE AMERICAN ECONOMY
Boys and girls, once upon a time there was a celebrated political hack and manipulative genius by the name of Rod Axle. Despite what you may have heard, a professional political hack is not necessarily a bad person. Narrow minded people use to believe this, but we now recognize the many great and varied contributions Political Hacks have made to our society: the current state of our politics comes readily to mind.
One day Rod Axle meets a handsome, well spoken fellow that he thinks will make a wonderful "canned" Candidate for President. He is a newly elected Senator by the name of Audacious Hope: known nationally as "Otto" Hope, the man for whom hope is both "Otto-
matic" and "Otto-magic." He is the son of disgruntled immigrants. His parents moved here from
Shangri-la and were always a bit disappointed in their new home -- it rains at inconvenient times, for instance, and people grow old and die. But they concealed their
dissatisfaction from their son, who grew up well adjusted, considering.
Rod Axle loves his new candidate because when Otto fronts the crowd he doesn't get his lines tangled. When he calls for a "yes we can, A-Merry-Can, Revolution!" the crowds go wild. Grown men faint, often onto the grown women who fainted just before them (this is not a new form of sex, by the way, just an old position).
Senator Hope is not confused by the many levers Axle must employ on the voters. That is because Otto is no dummy. And he certainly has no desire to be a puppet on a string.
Otto Hope wonders where Rod Axle is getting all this premium canned cant that Otto daily feeds the crowds. At the same time, he does not want to be too dependent on any one manipulative political hack, no matter how genius that hack is or how much the nation owes him -- another form of national debt.
So one night he follows Rod Axle in an attempt to find the source of his cant. Rod Axle drives a heavy duty truck to a secret complex of subterranean tunnels that date from the mystic days of FDR -- The New Deal Bunkers where The New Deal Bunk is stored. At the loading dock, crates of well aged Bunkum are loaded onto Rod Axle's truck.
While they are so occupied, Audacious Hope sneaks into the complex. Fortunately for him, it is guarded by the Department of Homeland Security. Inside, he finds a huge warehouse with many large crates stacked to the ceiling. He follows footprints through the dust. The path leads to The Harold
Ickes Memorial Bureaucratic Maze. Above the entrance is written this admonition "Abandon All Hope, You Who Enter Here!" Otto assumes this does not apply to him, since he brings hope with him wherever he goes. In fact, this would be the perfect place to spread hope around. So he enters without reading the rhyming couplet on the bronze plaque: "Oh what a tangled web we create!" the gold plated letters read, "When e'er we seek to regulate!"
The halls of the maze are clean but devoid of life -- 5:00 PM has come and gone. The mauve walls have the same landscape painting hung at each five meter interval: horse country shrouded in mist. The floor is carpeted and padded. Still, you must tread the halls carefully, for if you make a wrong turn in this labyrinth you might be lost permanent. You'll need a posse of lobbyist and hordes of special interest pleaders to come find you. Step into one of the many traps or slip into a cubicle of horrors and you might be forced to take a position, in fact the very position you most fear. Or you could step through a tax loophole and have it close behind you. But all Audacious Hope need do is follow a trail of crumbs that charts a course down the many corridors.
Occasionally he would pass a waiting room where periodicals from previous centuries were spread on the benches. In one such room a skeleton slumps in the corner. In its left hand it grasps a "Saturday Evening Post" in its bony fingers. In the right it holds a "wait your turn" card with a twelve digit number. Otto sees there are now only 345,682 to go for "dried bones." The skeleton is covered in cobwebs but the other surfaces have recently been dusted. Obviously, the cleaning crew is considerate and does not disturb "he who waits his turn," even to dust him.
The crumb trail leads down the corridor of power, where the steam pipes and electric cables run. Behind him Otto hears the sound of a dozen vacuum cleaners switch on. He checks his watch. It is 9 PM and the cleaners have arrived. Since they are undocumented workers, they have easy access to every part of the complex. Senator Hope realizes with a shock the workers will "suck it up" as they always do -- the crumb trail that leads out. Now there's no turning back.
At the end of the corridor he sees a large, mechanical monstrosity. The sight of it fills him with dread. He approaches it slowly. It hisses hot steam and gives an occasional chug, like a worn out "massive engine that could." Yes, it is at rest; asleep. But it is not to be wakened and played with. It is the Democratic Machine, with its many levers and fly wheels and clashing special interest and balancing gyroscopes which can point the machine in every direction at once while it pins down every position. And it also has fingers -- a finger to put in every pie. And it has a pry for every prize. Yes, he could easily turn the machine on. But then he'd have to feed the slot with money and favors and keep on feeding forever. Otherwise the machine will turn on him. And the fingers for the pies will poke him in the eyes. So Senator Hope tip-toes by.
As he tip-toes, movement in the shadows startles him. With relief he realizes it is the harmless, undocumented workers. They move about with so much stealth they are all but invisible. He hopes to cure that -- to bring them into the sunlight. But he realizes a Senator does not belong in the bureaucratic maze and he must reach his destination before he can help them. Until then, they can help themselves.
He looks for a way out. He sees a door with a hand print on it -- Rod Axle's hand print. That, he feels, is the way to go. It leads into "The Fair Trade Hall of Mirrors."
He steps through the door and enters a room that instantly fills with Audacious Hope, the way he imagines rooms do when he enters. Here thousands of the Audacious stare back at him. They reflect on him. They move as he moves. They act as one with him. As he reaches out to them, they reach out to him -- and to each other. And he knows they think as he thinks and feel as he feels. Otto realizes he is on top of himself. He sees he is beside himself. But suddenly he feels he is by himself, even as he crowds about himself.
He's anxious, desperate -- until he notices a slight imperfection -- a smudge on one of the mirrors; a faint finger print. He faces himself and pushes the mirror. It opens and he steps into another room that instantly overflows with Hope. He sees another smudge. He pushes the mirror and steps through it. Again it is the same -- he repeats -- again it is the same -- he repeats -- again it is the same -- he repeats -- again it is the same. On through the rooms of mirrors he moves, dragging a crowd of Hope with him. And then he stops. He notices something new: The slight whiff of glass cleaner.
In a panic he realizes the cleaning crew removes the smudges on the mirrors, the smudges that guide him! He could be trapped forever, surrounded by nothing but Audacious Hope, wandering amidst confusion and illusion. Quickly he pushes on, following the smudges, ignoring hope and seeking exit.
Oh, the relief when he pushes through the final mirror and steps into the bleak, subbasement lobby with the artificial palm trees and flickering neon light. There he finds the "Taxes and Trade Barriers Up" elevator -- a direct way out but with a catch, of course. He spots it immediately. To get taxes and trade barriers up, you must press the big red "economy down" button -- press it deep into the depression that goes below even the subbasement. He is relieved. If his situation turns desperate, he now knows a way out -- but only if he is forced to take it, of course.
He looks about and sees the entrance to The Chamber of New Deal Left Overs -- the very place he seeks. Surely it is an Aladdin's cave of hope and wonder. And a new way out. He enters.
The room is unimpressive -- plain and disappointing, in truth. Otto sees a shelf where the stock is drawn down. It is labeled "Civilian Conservation Corps/Youth Work Camps." He says to himself, "Rod Axle has reached for these cans of cant often." He picks up one of the remainders, which resembles a container of shaving foam. He shakes it. He pushes the button. He is impressed by what squirts out. "Still dispenses good, sweet smelling, meaningless lather -- and at not too great a cost!"
He sees the shelf of "Price Freeze" has recently emptied -- apparently all campaigns have drawn that one down. He notices a container the size of a dusty old can of institutional shredded salt pork. He picks it up. He likes the heft. "The contents seem substantial," he says. He brushes the dust off. "Why, it's Socialized Medicine!"
He reads the side of the can. "To open, complain incessantly about the high price of
Alka-Seltzer. Demand that everyone with a Sexually Transmitted Disease have access to treatment with Mercury." He pauses. "Mercury?" He reads on, "Lower the price of Sulfur drugs, and ration!" Otto shakes his head. He puts the can back on the shelf. "Good thing we didn't socialize medicine in 1930's."
He spots an item on another shelf. "Ah, here we are! Rhetoric!" He picks up a can. It's incredibly light. He shakes it. All that issues forth is the sound of a few dried peas knocking about. "I hope no one trades his pig for this can. I think the Rhetoric is empty. Devoid of content. There is even less here than meets the ear."
What he next sees fills him with excitement. "Ah, there it is!" He approaches a large door that says "New Deal Cheese." He brushes away some cobwebs. He opens it. He barely looks in when he shouts "Oh my God!" and slams it shut. What he saw nearly gave him a heart attack. He quickly bars the door, muttering "the horror, the horror" as he does.
He steps away, hoping whatever happens in there stays in there, and bumps into a barrel. It looks like a huge wine cast with a cork stopper sticking out of it. The cast is labeled: Vintage Alphabet Stew. Below it a caution reads: "Significant Cant! Do not Decant until Prepared."
"
Hmm," says Otto. "Alphabet stew. To feed the homeless? Must be piping hot stew, perfect for our children on a cold winter's day. Nutritious, I'll bet. I wonder what it tastes like? Delicious, I'm sure! But the sign says not to open until prepared. Well, it's been here so long it most be prepared by now. " He picks up a mallet that's by the barrel. "Should I," he says to himself, as he feels the weight of the mallet, "Should I decant the Alphabet stew?" He prepares to swing. But he stops. He thinks. He says, "But what if it refers to the candidate 'being prepared.' What if it means: Do not Decant if the Candidate can't!"
He considers this for a moment. "But I am prepared. I tell the crowds every day. And they believe. They believe that Senator Audacious Hope can. They believe I can Decant. Yes I can. I can Decant the canned cant! I can! I can! I can!" He works himself into a frenzy as he chants the magic words "I can!" And he swings the mallet and whacks off the cork stopper. And the stopper pops off the top.
And nothing happens. Except for a few bubbles that come out. And a little liquid. But the liquid seems to thicken and stiffen in the air. Audacious Hope examines it. He sticks three fingers into it. He twirls his fingers about a bit. And as he does he hears a low deep rumble from within, which grows louder and begins to vibrate the barrel. He pulls his finger away but Lo! The liquid clings to his hand like rubber cement. He pulls and it stretches. He pulls some more and it pulls back. The harder he pulls, the harder it pulls. And the barrel spits out the liquid, and the liquid stiffens. The barrel rumbles. And the barrel vibrates. And the barrel rocks back and forth.
And Otto Hope pulls himself toward the door. With all his might and all his energy and all his being he pulls himself away. Suddenly, the rubber-like strand snaps, and Otto tumbles into the doorway. He jumps to his feet just as the barrel explodes! He turns to flee into the Hall of Mirrors and into the Harold
Ickes Amazing Maze that lies beyond but behold! Strands of red tape explode from the barrel and grab his legs and pull them out from under him. But still, yes he can! He can crawl toward the big red "Economy Down" button to turn on the "Taxes and Trade Barriers Up" Elevator. He can escape. He reaches for it. He smacks the floor just short of it. He rolls a potted plant over it. He struggles with all his strengthen to depress the economy down button -- to shove it into the depression. If only the red tape allows and surely it will! One more determined push it takes! One more he struggles to make!
The tape pulls him back. He uses his pocket knife to cut it, to free himself. But faster than he can cut, the tape
ensnarls! He tries to deal with the Alphabet Stew. Hope screams, "Slash the
DoD! Increase the H.U.D! Cut the N.S.A. Raise the F.I.C.A! Broaden the F.I.S.A. Sell the TVA!" He thought he was bargaining with fate. But when he mentioned selling the TVA, a thick strand of tape lashed around his neck like a bull whip and squeezed his throat.
"No, no," Otto croaks, "invest in the TVA! Invest in the TVA! Fully fund W.I.C! Fully fund, you fools! Fully Fund!" The tape pulls his body in, back toward the coagulating lard he loosed from the barrel. In his desperation Audacious Hope called out, "Subsidize mohair! Build bridges to nowhere!" He whimpers and struggles. "Nurse every child. Preserve every wild. Close every prison. Save every pigeon." But still the tentacles of tape drew him in. And his legs were sucked into the lard. "Milk every cow!" he crowed. But still it drew him in. Up to his waist! "Milk the rich!" he screamed. But still it sucked him in -- up to his shoulders. Then he shouted, "Milk every taxpayer!" But up to his
chinny-chin-chin, he's in! And his last words are, "Every person. Milk every person!" But by then he was -- and is and ever shall be -- one with the lard.
He had come to that point too late. For the alphabet stew knew there are other candidates to be had. Even more willing, they would be, when they saw Audacious Hope consumed and canned in amber. They will come and look. Call it art and label it "Hope Sprung Eternal." They will see him frozen, looking as if he were about to laugh or maybe cry. But do not put it on public display! Once a month clean and polish the amber, to provide a clear view: for the elect and for the appointed and for the anointed -- but by appointment only.
Let us spare a moment to wonder: did Audacious Hope get to depress the big red Economy Down Button? Depress it into the subbasement floor's deep depression? Is the "Taxes and Trade Barriers Up" elevator headed for the highest floors? We must yet wonder: What did audacity come to in the end? What was its purpose and purchase?
The moral of this story, boys and girls: The government can indeed preserve Hope -- in amber. And there Hope will never grow old. And Hope will never die, though it will certainly never live. And Hope will never experience the rain. This, boys and girls, can be arranged.
THE END
