Reinke Faces Life

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It was a week long business trip coming to an end. Neither successful nor failure; it was just “necessary”. He had a week’s laundry in his checked baggage. Wifey would be thrilled to see that. In the overhead, he had his briefcase and laptop. All loaded with the supposedly precious results. He’d “written” his trip report; actually tapped it out waiting for the plane. And, did his expenses; actually spreadsheeted them out on the company’s mandated sheet. All that was left was to email them at the next appearance of a wifi. Now, putting his seat back and tray table into the upright and locked position, he was readying for the final sprint. Baggage claim, limo, and home at last. His ears popped as the place made its “final” descent.

It was just as it began to touch down, that he saw a flash simultaneous in all the windows. That was a close bolt of lightening. Did the plane blunder into it? The lights went out and the emergency lights didn’t illuminate. Strange? The plane was “dark”. It was just dusk so there was still light coming in from the outside. The plane dropped the final feet to the tarmac. The jolt scared him along with everyone else. As a frequent flyer, he KNEW something was wrong. The engines were silent. A body in motion tends to stay in motion until acted upon by an outside source. It was “his” home airport. He knew that they would soon turn on to the taxi way and slowly roll to a gentle stop at the gate. Except in this case, there was no turn. Just rolling and rolling. Behind them, they all heard a long loud crash. Or was it multiples. They just rolled along. Rumble strips. A bump onto the grass. More rolling. Then a fence stopped them and the plane tilted nose first. Junk flowed down the cabin. There were no announcements. The crew was up and “climbing” to the emergency doors. Popped, chutes deployed, and people began exiting. He was in the window seat. He sat quietly organizing his thoughts. Survival is awareness.

He looked out the window. Interesting, no lights. He didn’t know which way they landed. But either way, he should see the city lights or the terminal lights. There were none. He had to figure out what he should do. Getting out right now wouldn’t be quick. The people were crowded around the door. Those, that just released the seat belt, fell “forward” until the hit something. He thought about the best strategy to do this. His “seat mates” had demonstrated the folly of just unbuckling. Hope they survived the fall. It was dark enough that he could not see where they landed or who they landed on. He began formulating a plan. He’d hold on his neighbor’s belt so he could release his and kneel on the seat back in front of him. He then get his stuff from the overhead and exit out. His attache case had his “hotel room” kit. He wanted the flash light. It was getting darker. He could see that the movement at the bottom was essentially stopped. Time to get going.

He was a fat old guy. Not an acrobat by any means. But, it wasn’t too difficult to link the two vacant seatbelts to create two handholds. He wedged his legs on the back of the seat in front of him. Looped one arm around the spare belts. Then release his belt. He didn’t plunge forward. He was wedged. Using his handhold, he was able to mount the backs of the row in front of him. Still using the spare belt, in case he slipped, he opened the overhead. His stuff was easily reachable. The computer case yielded a cell phone. It was dead. Maybe the charge ran down during the flight. The attache case gave up a flash light. Dead! That was strange. Pocket radio. Dead! Keys with light fob. Dead. He put the keys in his pocket. Someone’s knapsack fell past him to the front. On a hunch, he opened the computer case. Flipped open the computer. Dead! He was sensing a pattern here. Everything electronic was dead. This was not looking good.

He returned the computer to its case. And, using the strap looped the attache case and computer case, he put it on his neck. Holding the looped seat belt, he slid to the next aisle. Swapping his free hand to a belt, he released his “death grip” on the row now above him. He was in row 36. It took a while to “descend” to the “lower reaches”. He didn’t have to go all the way to the bottom. Along around row 6, he felt “fresh air”. He crawled out through the galley on to the deployed chute. And, slid down. He was mildly surprised there was no one around. Some dead bodies. But no live people. No lights. No sounds.

He was afraid. Was he in a Ron Sterling Twilight Zone? He figured he was going to have to walk home. He scrambled back up the slide. It was hard but he was motivated. He was in the galley. He carefully unclipped one of those carts and it came crashing down. Garbage. He did another one. It was drinks. He grabbed a knapsack. Was it the same one? Dumped it out and filled it up with water and juice. He unsnapped another cart. Crash. It had extra meals. He collected all the candy and few bags of stuff. Back to the slide. And, out on the tarmac.

Now he had to make choices. The expressway might have people. He really didn’t want to be around people. The city streets went through some very bad neighborhoods. Maybe there was a combination. He went down the runway. A burning plane was smoldering at the other end. Why? Beyond him. He just wanted to be home with his wife and kids. At the end of the runway, there was a grass infield. And, tall security fence. Beyond his physical abilities. Scanning the ground line of the fence, he spotted a drainpipe.

Investigating, he saw a lighter shade of dark at the other end. In he went. Sloppy. Muddy. He was now outside the fence. Seem stupid to him but he just wanted home! The expressway was there so he followed the edge for awhile. Dead cars abounded. Some dead people. No live one. Maybe he’d revise his strategy.

It was a thirty minute drive home. He was in no shape. And, it was getting darker. Would the moon come out? In the distance he could see fires at various locations. He was concerned about making a profile. He walked carefully trying to blend in. A mile. Then two. till no live people. It didn’t make sense.

He approached the vicinity of a fire. It was off the expressway. But close enough. There was a fence between him and one of the “bad neighborhoods”. He could hear screaming. A woman. And, men laughing. Shots! He tried to dig a hole. All he accomplished was to get dirtier. They obviously couldn’t see him. And, he was quiet. Passing the light. As quickly as he could.

At each fire, he’d crawl. No other noises. No live people. Just dead ones. No noise. No light. No nothing.

Thirty minutes translated to what felt like twelve dark hours. Dawn was beginning to break. He was walking as fast as an exhausted man could. He was on his block. He turned the corner. His house was a burned shell. His wife was tied over the hood of her car. His children were dead on the doorstep. It wasn’t pretty. He heard screams a block over.

He felt so tired. His heart was broken. His heart was aching. The pain was the worst he’d ever felt. Then it was over.

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Revision C!

Now we have to see how it comes out.

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It happened in Church – October 19, 1962
Epilogue – Was it?

It Started In Church – October 19, 1962
http://www.itstartedinchurch.com

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It happened in Church – October 19, 1962
Chapter One Hundred – Reading the will

It Started In Church – October 19, 1962
http://www.itstartedinchurch.com

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It Happened In Church – October 19, 1962
Chapter Ninety Nine – John is the last

It Started In Church – October 19, 1962
http://www.itstartedinchurch.com

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It Happened In Church – October 19, 1962
Chapter Ninety Eight – Marie passes

It Started In Church – October 19, 1962
http://www.itstartedinchurch.com

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It Happened In Church – October 19, 1962
Chapter Ninety Seven – Write the history

It Started In Church – October 19, 1962
http://www.itstartedinchurch.com

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It happened in Church – October 19, 1962

Chapter Ninety Six – Fifty Years / American Stonehenge

It Started In Church – October 19, 1962
http://www.itstartedinchurch.com

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It happened in Church – October 19, 1962
Chapter Ninety Five – Deaths, Decades, and the Tontine

It Started In Church – October 19, 1962
http://www.itstartedinchurch.com

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It happened in Church – October 19, 1962
Chapter Ninety Four – Brother Kevin passes

October 19, 1990

It was another Fall day. The anniversary day. John thought back to just three years ago. The Silver Anniversary celebration. He wore the silver medal that everyone was given. The Good Shepherd on one side and the atlatl on the other. Each year, since then, the Alban family went to the new Good Shepherd Church in Bennington as a family. It was a great day. Sunny then, as it was today. There was an old Irish joke that it was always a sunny day on the Jewish holidays; after all they were His Chosen People. It was meant to counteract the anti-Semitics of the day. The prior generations of Irish Catholics knew what discrimination was personally; they felt a special bond to other minorities. That feeling wasn’t lost for two or three generations. John remembered his Grandmother urging him to never forget the feeling she felt as a young girl and to be denigrated. He carried that lesson close to his heart.

It was also the “birthday day”. June Junior and Brian Junior always quibbling who was older, who was most like Mom, who was most like Dad. Two identical boys — Vin and Tim, two identical girls — Phi and Rho, two fraternal boys — Ken and Kip , and two identical boys — Liam and Leo. And the adopted ones, Clare and Clara. And Marie’s “first” ones Olivia and Luke. Everyone celebrated Church Day as their birthday. If they had planned it, they couldn’t have done it. Perhaps this was His way of not making Church Day a day of tears, but a day of happy sadness. They were wonderful children. Not rotten like he was as a child. They were all like their mother Marie in his eyes. And, he loved each and everyone of them for it. None had Maire’s amazing mind that could do tricks. Maybe it was his genes that screwed that up. He had to be happy with ‘normal’ children. Well sort of normal. They had a State Atlatl champion, a champion miler, a juried artist, a magician, a farmer, a blacksmith, a marksman, a nurse, a doctor, a teacher, two accountants, and sad to say a lawyer. In short, he had a family of well-adjusted self-assured survivors.

The phone rang. John picked up the phone. These days, it was usually bad news. This was no different. Marie may have lost a step as a math head, but she came to him as if summoned by ESP. “BigJohnA speaking. May I help?”

Marie looked at his face for a hint; the frown spoke volumes. “I see. It was quick? Yes, of course, we can accommodate that. No, I didn’t know he had a will. I thought there was a vow of poverty. Oh, I see, you say that ended when the Orders ceased to exist. No, I have no immediate instructions. Can things run without direction for a day or two. Each local principal can operate as is nothing has changed. Please notify all that we’ll have a general meeting on Saturday. Phone in will be OK.” Marie knew it was about Brother Kevin and it wasn’t good. John was in tears. Calm tears, but tears. “Marie, Brother Kevin has died of a heart attack.” Marie started to cry; John continued: “Funeral here, day after tomorrow. And, there’s more. He left the schools to us. You and me. What do we know about schools?” Marie came back to the challenge. “We’ll figure something out. We have to let folks know.” John knew that would be the easiest thing he could do.

The Vermont Telephone, Telegraph, and Telenet company was the successor to the old New England Bell Telephone Company. When Wall Street was vaporized, Vermont Telephone and Telegraph emerged by Gubernatorial fiat. It was very complicated, but they emerged, settling with anyone who had a claim. In a complex formula, if some one had a paper certificate for AT&T, NET, or an BellCo stock or any BellCo Bond got something. If the person could afford to wait and take equity, they were well rewarded. But some needed the proceeds to survive, the Refugee funds were buying. So the Refugees held either directly, or thru partnerships, a large percentage of VTT stock. John every conscious of their reputation and, in consultation, with the Refugee’s “Brain Trust”, led a recaptialization of VTT and began a computer network service. Out of that recapitalization, there was an entire class of warrants that were to compensate “Telephone” owners on Church Day for their intellectual property that the new VTTT (called V T cubed) was going to use. It wasn’t needed but John felt it was the right thing to do. Every phone subscriber or past holder got something. The press thought it was down right charity. John never worried about the press’ opinion. He did worry about what people thought. After all they were “guests”. When John decided it was the right thing to do, he did it. Didn’t matter if it was not required, his conscience was his guide. In a conference, announcing the recapitalization, where he had no ‘official’ role, the press demanded he ‘explain’. With the permission of the officials running the meeting, he went to the podium. “Unaccustomed as I to public speaking, I’m a little scared at all this attention.” Everyone laughed since he was packing a hogleg and an atlatl. “I don’t have to explain what we do. But since you asked so ‘politely’, just this once, I’ll make an exception. It’s the right thing to do and, since I have so much to atone for, I have to be extra careful about doing the right thing. Thanks.” And walked off the dais. The recapitalization led to innovative services. Like a white pages service that allowed John to address a message to all the Refugees at a modest price. The message would be sent in any way he was willing to pay for and delivered however the receiver wanted it. The message could be put in as voice, fax, or text and delivered like a phone call, fax, telegram, letter, or electronic message. If the US Post Office wasn’t defunct after Church Day, they would have been after V T Cubed launched.

John dialed 4 1 1. “Information Services. User Name?” said the mechanical but female voice. “BigJohnA”, replied John. “Identified. … Authenticated … Service?” “Human” John hated the robots. A male voice came on the line, “Yes, may I be of service?” “Yes, please, List1, priority message, at all costs, to me.” “Yes, sir. What type of message?” “Voice” “Are you ready to dictate?” “Yes. To all my fellow refugees, authentication …” John looked at his wrist “… Alpha Lima Baker Omega. It is with deep sadness that I must report the death of Brother Kevin. My teacher, my comrade at arms, and my friend. Funeral at the Farm day after tomorrow. Heart attack. No suffering. No further details. No Reply Required. May God Have mercy on his soul. May perpetual life shine on him. All our love to you and yours, Marie and John. Message ends.” … “Thank you sir. I have positive confirmation of delivery of 16% of the list now. Do you require further updates?” “Yes, next day, any non-delivery.” “Yes sir. We will report tomorrow at this time any non-deliveries.” “Thank you that will be fine.” “The preliminary cost of this interaction has been zero point zero three two nine ounces. The final cost will be available in 72 hours if you need to know.” “Thanks, that’s fine!” John thought that was great service and very very cheap.

John turned to Marie and said: “Done. We need to talk.”

The phone rang with a funny ring. Marie answered that one. It was her ring. “Marie here.” It was the Governor, Kayla Benedict. When she couldn’t have children she went into ‘politics’. She was, like most of the Refugees, a principled but ruthless competitor. Two terms as mayor and one as county commissioner vaulted her to prominence as the system changed from direct election to representative selection. She campaigned and added initiative, referendum, and recall. The voters had lots of ways to communicate. “Miss Marie, I am sorry for our loss. As Guv though, I’m more concerned about the schools. I understand that you and John now own them. There’s a public policy issue here. People will need to be reassured. What are you guys going to do?” “Miss Kayla, John and I just got the call. We didn’t know about the will. We’re going to talk about it in a few minutes. Would you like to help?” “Yes, please. I can be there in a few hours.” “OK, we’ll put a pot on and won’t finalize anything until you get here.” “Thanks, you guys are great.”

John was bemused. He had just been tossed a ‘turd’.

He’s first act was to delegate. “Kids, gather around.” All the children huddled around. “We have company coming. Brother Kevin has passed. Mom and I need to think. Can you take the calls?” Generally nodding.

John picked up the phone and dialed 4 1 1. Same dialogue. “Brain Trust. I need you. Red One. Come a running.” And hung up. John went out and sat in the Ford. A bird had pooped on the windshield and he busied himself cleaning Grandpa’s pride and his joy. How was he going to dodge this bullet?

He thought of Principles, Principals, Principal Brother Prefect, Principal Brother Kevin. And, the Refugees did have a financial stake in the Brother Kevin School System both equity and debt. So principle one was financial fairness for everyone involved. Principle two was that he didn’t want the responsibility for education going forward. Brother Kevin had about 75% of the education marketplace. He was one of the reasons that Vermont was the New Switzerland. Those were big shoes to fill.

Marie came out. She was still the apple of his eye. She looked like she just stepped off her horse at the country club fox hunt. The atlatl she carried could be a whip and the sidearm was capable of dispatching a big bear or any two legged varmint. She got in ‘her’ side: “So, what are we going to do?” He was stunned. She was expecting him to solve it. “Hey, don’t stick me. You own half the problem, and you teach!” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Yes, I teach. But I don’t teach ‘teaching’ and I don’t do the business side of it. It’s not my vocation!” “So how is it mine?” “Just do like you did with Alyssa Trucking. That was inspired problem solving.”

John laughed! With them holding about half the stock either directly or in one of the holding accounts, Marie and John inherited Alyssa’s half. The Refugees also had most of the debt instruments; that which they didn’t hold they bought. At a premium if need. So they held all the debt. Some genius. He was just lazy! He had recognized the company into two halves — depots and delivery. Each needed the other half to succeed, but each had different motivations. Then, came the stroke of genius. All of the depots and truck were the assets. The depots were incorporated with one hundred shares. He kept 51 shares for the Refugees, assigned 25 shares to an ‘ABLE’ mutual fund for everyone, and 24 shares to a ‘BAKER’ mutual fund for individual depot employees. Similarly, the delivery side was incorporated. The truck fleet was the asset and incorporated with one hundred shares. Again, he retained 51 shares for the Refugees, 25 shares to that ‘ABLE’ mutual fund for everyone, and 24 shares to a ‘CHARLIE’ mutual fund for individual delivery employees. Sounds complicated, but it assured that everyone was incentivized to work hard and cooperate. Each employee was given a share in the ABLE fund, and allowed / required to buy a share in the BAKER or CHARLIE mutual fund. Everyone had to buy in to keep their job. A BAKER or CHARLIE mutual fund share was priced at hundred ounces. This was not a trivial amount; about a year’s pay. It made sure every one in a depot or a truck was fully committed. Financing was available at a discounted rate, from the Bank of Bennington, secured by the mutual fund certificate which was a gilt edge security. It was like minting gold. It also capped the head count. Both for costs and for dilution. Headcount was an expense and spread the profit peanut butter thinner. Technically the Refugees should have gotten the gold ounces paid for the mutual fund. But, John was looking to motivate; not profit. The subscription fees were allowed to remain in the ABLE mutual fund corporation. In exchange, John took 2% convertible preferred stock for the subscription fees. This left depot and delivery with a substantial capital base. They’d only fail if they couldn’t serve their customers. Hostile takeovers were impossible. It didn’t take long for ordinary folks to start thinking like owners. It was their path to true wealth. Nobody recognized that the workers were on the path to own the tools of production. Communist? Nah, just good old American capitalism harnessed by a fat lazy kid who had too much time on his hands. No one even thought of the Communist Manifesto. But it sure was motivating.

John sat, hands on the steering wheel, pretending he was driving a school into the future. He said, without looking at her, (she was too distracting), “but a school, no a system of schools, ain’t a bunch of rough neck trucking people.” She said: “OK! They may be smart. So that just means you’ll have to explain more and make it brain dead simple. But you can do it.” John thought some more. This was more complex. There was teaching; that was equivalent to depots and driving. There was the teaching about teaching; that was like an apprentice program. There was adapting teaching to future needs; that was like architecture. He ran the idea by her: “Soooo, my dear, there’s teaching like you do. There’s learning Brother Kevin’s system; that teaching teaching. There’s the business end. There’s anticipating change. There’s methods and procedures work. Much more complicated than trucking.” She could see he was adapting the trucking idea to the teaching problem. She said: “You’re on your way to reinventing government schools.” That made him shudder. “We control 75%. We can’t buy the other 25% but we need to include them and control the direction.” She was onto his idea: “Can’t you allow everyone to subscribe to the top tier that does the R&D and sets the direction?” He was visualizing the Good Shepherd School System as licensed and certified by a board. There would be a training / certification program for teachers, principals, and business managers. There would be a Center of Educational Excellence that would accept any one to share in figuring out the future. Now how to make it happen. And, then how to incentivize everyone?

They were interrupted by the simultaneous arrival of a bunch of people. Five accountants, four bankers, three brokers, two lawyers, and one Governor. Now he’d have to plan on the fly. Marie and Kayla hugged; all the men were embarrassed. Arm in arm, ignoring all the men, and important issues, they chit chatted about the important things. Children and gossip. Marie shooed all the ‘children’ into a line for Kayla’s inspection, a hug, and a kiss. John led the men into the dining room for a kitchen conference. Children, after hugging and kissing, brought water and mints; they then disappeared. It was serious time. Kayla and Marie joined them. John took the floor smiling at Marie. He winked at her in code: ‘trucks ok’; she nodded. Kayla read it: “OK, now that you two have decided the issue, care to let us in on it?” Marie laughed: “Not decided but we have a straw man. Not decided really. But it is ‘ours’. Unless someone is going to take it away?” Hidden in her laugh was a big stake in the ground. “John, why don’t you explain. Maybe everyone will be happy with it or have a better idea.” Everyone nodded.

John said: “Speed, velocity, and acceleration! We have one problem. Marie and I don’t want to be Brother Kevin. And, we don’t know enough to do it. Everyone liked the truck solution. Why not reprise it to fit the problem?” Everyone involved in the trucking effort was well pleased with their investment. And no one was more pleased than their Customers. Alyssa Trucking was cheaper, faster, and better than any competitor. John resumed: “We have a pool of schools. We have a teaching methodology. We have an uncertain future. Sounds like three asset pools to me. For variety, instead of alpha, beta, charlie. I thought we’d used something different how about: Uniform, Victor, Washington, Xray, Yankee, and Zulu.” Everyone laughed. Kayla took the lead: “I’m just a dumb politician; so I need a little more detail.” Everyone laughed at that absurd notion. The joke was obvious.

John complied: “Schools have, in addition to the capital assets, a cadre of teachers, staff, and principals which make the place run. The Refugee Funds hold the notes on the school buildings. Now Marie and I own the schools. But, what’s a school without the human resource to make it run and the community to support it. So, we’re going to incent everyone to continue success. Each school will incorporate. 51% to Marie and I. 49% to a school specific mutual fund. One fourth of the mutual fund goes to teachers. One forth to the staff. One fourth to the principal. AND, one fourth to the community. Everyone buys in with say an ounce of gold. That goes into the School Corporation. Since it should have come to Marie and I, we’ll take the usual 2% convertible preferred.” Everyone looked around. That idea was a winner.

John continued: “OK, that dealt with the past. Let’s move to the present. Brother Kevin left Marie and I the intellectual property. We need to ensure that his ‘brand’ is kept up to snuff. So again, we’ll incorporate an entity called ‘The Good Shepherd School Association”. It will certify schools, staff, teachers, and principal. Grandfather everyone in the role. Develop training and testing. Annual testing to keep the brand safe. 51% to Marie and I; 49% to a mutual fund. Mutual fund is divided half to every school and half to all the participants. Buy in for an ounce. That funds all the needed activities. Yada, yada, same model.” Every one didn’t exactly see the reasoning for it. But, again, it was empowering the workers and was a winner.

John took a sip of water and continued: “OK, that’s past and present. Now the future. Fasten your seatbelts. This is messier. Brother Kevin adapted. He took Brother Prefect’s pedagogy. Pretty fancy word for how to ‘do’ schooling. And, adapted. Language was one. Split shifts was another. Holistic was another. And, those are just the ones I can cite. Who knows was others there were. Where does Vermont get the innovation in education? That’s the future. We can’t be teaching boomerang making if the future is atlatls. Yea, I know bad example. OK, we can’t teach ‘the theory of buggy whip construction’ when cars are the hot thing.” Everyone was with him. No one had answers, but John did. He continued: “OK, Guv, time for you to earn your pay. The Refugee Funds will create and grubstake ‘The Vermont Education Trust’. 51% to us; 49% to a mutual fund. Any Vermont citizen can buy in for an ounce. The Trust will sponsor the Guv’s prize for ‘Innovation in Education’. Let’s make it a thousand ounces for the idea that knocks every one’s socks off. It will codify the eternal objectives of eduction. As well as the strategy and tactics to get there. Any school can license their work for a modest fee. Speaking for the Good Shepherd School Association, we’ll sign on today. In ten years, we will turn our first 51% of VET into a mutual fund to be voted by all the schools registered in VET at the time. And, that takes care of the future.” Everyone was sitting in confused silence.

Kayla said: “I’m glad you waited for me before making any big decisions. What’s the government’s role in this? Can we distribute the ‘any Vermont citizen’ stuff?” “No! This is a private corporate matter. The Bank of Bennington, I am sure, will be happy to handle that as an accommodation.” The banker’s vision of a big pile of little fees evaporated. “Certainly”, the lead banker replied. “See the government has only one job. Protect the citizen from aggression — from foreign attack, from domestic criminals, or from fraud. I don’t want people to get back into thinking that gooferment has a role in anything else.”

John was aggressive now: “Together these make up education; past, present, and future. We just need to set up the pools to incent everyone and stand back. The reason that the trucking network is so successful is that every worker has an equity stake in the outcome. We want the people’s support so we have spread the butter thin.” Kayla still wasn’t convinced: “But, I’ll just be figurehead. I don’t know any more about education than you do.” Marie chimed in: “Careful, Miss Kayla, Master John isn’t a dumb as he looks. And, he can charm. Well, you know what he can charm. I think you know more than you give yourself credit for. You can have an advisory panel of educators and citizens. Have them winnow the chaff down to the needle in this haystack. If you can’t see it in the same category of language, split shift, or holistic. Don’t sign off and make it more valuable next year. I think you should have a whole load of Guv prizes. Fastest runner. Smartest high schooler. Spelling bee. Math Olympics. I’m sure if some one can think of a category, the Refugee Trust will fund a prize in that area. Let’s not ignore the practical skills. Fastest milker. Best stall mucker; John could compete in that event. It’s about getting people to think like a team. We survived because initially we were all Classmates and had a tradition of mutual respect. Then came trust. We can do this and make it work.”

John summarized: “Any disagreements? … hearing none, can I have every one’s plans by COB tomorrow. I’d like to announce something at Brother Kevin’s eulogy day after.”

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John was sitting on the porch. He was lost in thought about his eulogy. June Junior came up and flumped in his lap. He could feel a sales pitch coming. “Daddy?” Hold on to your wallet. “Will you do something for me?” she whined. “Subject to all the usual caveats”, he replied.

Long ago, he had posted ‘house rules’. There were several panels, but there was one that was really ‘on point’. It said: “Your Mom and I love you very much. We want the best for you. We will do whatever we think is in your long term best interest as we see it. We may be wrong, but don’t ever doubt that we want you to be happy, healthy, and wise. That being said, be careful what you ask for, it may be more than you wanted. We will not deprive you of the chance to be happy by paving the road in front of you; someday we won’t be here to do it for you and happiness is in the struggling journey. We will not deprive you of the chance to be healthy by doing for you or not allowing you to grow; that, which doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger. We will not deprive you of the chance to be wise by giving you the ‘test’ answers; while we might even be occasionally right, we recognize any answer, that is the ‘right’ answer for us from our point of view in our circumstances, maybe totally the ‘wrong’ answer for you from your pov and in your circumstances. Having said that, we will love you, regardless of anything. We will provide a shoulder to cry on, a modicum of advice, and a swift kick if needed. You call us heroes? We’re just travelers on the same road as you, just a little further down that road. Remember we are all in the Holy Presence, and His Grace is Abundant, if you ask for it.”

“What do you want JunieJunior?” “Daddy, I want to be a reporter on the Bennington Banner. But the mean editor won’t give me a job. Can you buy the paper, fire him, and get someone who will hire me?” “Can I? Sure. Will I? Absolutely not. Why would I want to cripple you? Would l just as easily break your legs? You’re a beautiful, smart, and powerful woman. Much like your Mother in so many ways. What have YOU done so far to get what you want?” She didn’t like the way this was going: “I made an appointment with him and showed him my school work.” “Was he polite to you?” “Oh, yes, Daddy. I’m an armed citizen. I wouldn’t tolerate rudeness.” “So what did he say to you?” “He said that he could see I could write, but where was the story telling? The emotion? The passion?” “And what did you say?” “Nothing, I gathered my stuff. Thanked him for his time and left.” “And came running home to Daddy to make it all better?” “Yes, but you won’t help.” “Oh, it’s help you want. I can give you help.” He thought for a moment. “You say your a newspaper writer and he should have hired you on the spot?” “Yes, Daddy” “So, be a newspaper writer. I’d suggest that every day you ‘file’ a story with him that knocks his socks off. GO dig up a story a day, every day, and put it in front of him.” “But where will I get the ideas. The facts. Reporter take assignments from the assignment editor.” “Be your own assignment editor! Now get going. You have less than a day to to file something. You better start working on the next seven days at the same time. You don’t have minute to waste. Go. Hurry. Quick.” She slumped away carrying the weight of the world.

Later that night, in the wee hours, he saw her on her computer pounding away. She’d given him the theme of the Eulogy.

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It was a cold sunny day at the cemetery. The casket was bridged over the open grave. John wondered if gravesides were always this cold on a psychological level.

He was the last speaker.

“Today, I come to bury my teacher. He was that and more. My comrade at arms; wise in the ways of war. My mentor; in the ways of leadership. My exemplar; in dealing with the trauma that war leaves behind. My confessor; to the many I have killed or led into death. But more than that, he was my friend. My child came to me recently seeking as all children do to make something right in the world for her. I could not. Not because I couldn’t do it. No, because I wouldn’t do it. I’d have to hurt another human being who was doing right as he saw it. I’d hurt that child by making them a cripple and teaching them that might makes right. And, not showing, that with great wealth comes great responsibility. My friend left me his work to complete. While he was alive, he was powerless to create his legacy. He left that for me to do. Yesterday, I did just that with the help of my beautiful spouse Marie, without whom I’d be nothing. And, the help of many good people. Brother Kevin gave me his life’s jewel, his schools. With an unspoken unwritten undiscussed wish, ‘preserve my legacy’. To that end, later today and over the next few days, HIS schools will be transformed into his legacy to Vermont. Whenever some one in the future studies, succeeds, and adapts, they will be standing on HIS shoulders. For his wisdom, I am eternally grateful. Farewell brave friend. You go before me, but I will carry you with me forever. Requiescat In Pacem. Bon courage a vous tous!”

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After the funeral, as the event wound down, TomT came to John as he leaned on a tree wondering about the meaning of life. “Master John, may I have a moment?” “Certainly! Business, pleasure, or both.” TomT never grew, but he had a physique from the anvil. “I don’t know. I have an idea. I need you to listen and not laugh. I probably need Miss Marie to sanity check it.” “Well, lets meet up at the main house; all the socializing will be over at the bunkhouse anyway. Say in half hour?” “Good!”

John strolled away and sought out Marie, who was hold court, near the exit, being the hostess, and thanking people for coming and such niceties. She could see he was in a mood. She excused herself and met him at the Ford. She coded ‘allok’; he eyebrowed ‘tomtneedsus’. It was only a minute ride up from the lower pasture turned cemetery. Marie stopped in the bunk house and verified all was in order for ‘guests’ who invited themselves back. She then quick marched to the main house. John opened it up and put on coffee. It was done by the time she arrived.

TomT was right behind. “Sorry to intrude, but I am bursting with anticipation.” “Go ahead, burst!” said John happy for the distraction. “I read Marie’s chemistry paper on molecular recognition and self-assembly. Now, I’m not much for book learning. I’m a doer. I’ve read a lot of chemistry, physics, and some math on my own.” Marie was astonished; TomT was a blacksmith, having apprenticed to the metal workers trade. John said: “I tried to read that and got a headache. How far did you get?” “I just skimmed the highlights of what I was interested in. The formula bore on some stuff I was trying in the lab.” ‘Lab?’, Marie thought. John spoke for her: “I didn’t know you were a lab type.” TomT sparked: “Ever since we blew up the slave camp, I’ve been fascinated with explosions. Such power. You know the gas engine is little explosions of gasoline harnessed. I’ve been thinking about the Sun. It’s one big controlled explosion. It’s like the Maker trained Hydrogen to explode on time in sequence minus the engine block.” Marie and John both laughed at very visual, but accurate summation. “Yes, laugh. I laugh at it to. But, Marie can you look at this for me?” He pulled out a single page with about forty hand written lines on it. And a loose leaf binder with with a lot of tabs. TomT handed them to Marie. She gasped and blanched. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I have to go to the blue room.” John said: “TomT, what was on that paper?” “I think it might be the secret of the Sun.” “Really?!” “Yes, really. I’m sick to my stomach I might be wrong. And, I’m even more sick to my stomach that I might be right. Think A-bomb and atomic energy. Without the engine block.” Now John was ill. TomT continued: “Maybe we should just burn it?” John shook his head no: “Remember the telephone, Bell was the first of three people to hit the patent office that day. We know him because he was first. If it’s an idea’s time, we can’t stop it. We can only control it. What does this mean, TomT?” “Well, I suspect that with the use of a catalyst like royal metals, we can split water into hydrogen and oxygen in an exothemic reaction. Depending upon the catalyst proportion, we can make an engine or a bomb. The hydrogen will give us unlimited power. The oxygen gives a knife. The heat gives us whatever we want. Think a pocket sized sun.” “Impressive!” “For a blacksmith weren’t you going to say?” “No, each of us find solace and refuge from New York where we can. Like Roy, I get a genuine joy from the cleaned stable. Don’t know why, but I’d do it for free.” The two comrades sat stoically while they waited for the lone female juror to return.

The clock ticked. From time to time, noise from the bunk house wafted over.

Marie made her entrance. She was no longer blanched; she was flushed! John made a note to ask her a very personal question at more suitable time. She addressed herself to TomT: “Master TomT, do you know what this means? Do you know what you’ve done?” TomT was a little scared now. Like the time he felt up Jody as a hormone ravaged youth. Quivering, he replied, “Yes, I think so. It’s solar fusion brought to earth. I’ve stolen solar fusion like Prometheus stole fire from the chariot of the Sun. And we know what happened to him. I can’t unsteal it. If I don’t take it, someone else will. Help me?” TomT looked like the TomT of their youth. He’d brought them a mammoth problem. Marie, acting very logically, asked: “Who else knows?” “No one!” replied a scared TomT. For fleeting second, he thought they could kill him and steal the secret. Like Frodo and the ring. John walked to the phone, dialed 411, and, after the protocol, said: “I want my Security Chief with an armed detail at the main house now.” John went to the closet and brought out a lock box. He reset the combination. The LEDs blazed: ‘19621019’. “Everyone see it?”, he asked. Nods all around. He took the binder and the page, placed in the box, and locked it. “Let’s get this secured and we’ll discuss it after that.”

Minutes later, the detail arrived. “Chief: Take this to the Bank of Bennington. Have them vault it for me, Marie, and TomT. Bring me the receipt. Thanks. Thank you men. Don’t worry. It won’t explode and it is just important papers. I’m just a nut about security.” “Yes, sir” replied the Chief and left.

Quiet returned to the room. They all just sat. Wondering ‘what had God wroth’.

In the space of a few hours, they decided to build a secure lab here on the Farm. TomT would make ‘solar fusion’ do miracles. John would figure out how to make a buck on it. And, Marie would see what else could be made from it. For now, they keep it a secret. In a few months, the cat would be out of the bag. But hopefully, not the mechanism to make cats.

+++++

A few weeks later, John was called to the phone. It was the editor of the Bennington Banner. “BigJohnA here. How may I help?” “Sir, your daughter wrote a story about Marie and you. Have you seen it?” “No, I haven’t. I bet it’s a dooozey. She’s trying to impress you.” “She’s done that. Everyday, I come into a new story on my desk. Not bad for someone just breaking in. This one though is a home run. I’d say it the one that will earn her a job if you approve?” “Why do I have to approve?” “You might be upset by it. I’d hate to have Marie or you demand personal satisfaction.” John laughed: “We’re pretty peaceable folks, sir. Is it that bad?” “No, sir, not really. She uses the typical cub reporter’s trick. An outrageous title, with a good prose story, and a loving ending. But you might not see it the way I do.” “Well, sir, thanks for calling. I’d love an advance copy, but I can wait and read it when my subscription is delivered. By the way, you know she wanted me to buy the paper and fire you.” Now it was his turn to laugh: “Not surprised, she’s pretty headstrong. She’ll do fine in this business. We’re all pig headed. I thought she might try that. I was going to ask if I could buy a ticket to see that. You’ve got a reputation as a fair man. So I was interested how you handle your women.” “First, by not even thinking that they are mine. That could get my arm broke.” The two men laughed knowingly. “I’ve had a few years with her Mom and they are very much alike.” “Well, sir, I’ll sign off now and tell you, I think she’s a great kid and I’ll try and help her become a newsie.” “Thanks, if you need any help, I’ll bring the two by four. Mules, you know!” They laughed and hung up.

John buzzed Marie on the intercom. “Yes?” “Your daughter wrote a story about us and it’s going to press.” “I’m sure you’re the villain and I’m the heroine. Now leave me alone. I’m solving the problems of the world.”

The fax machine hummed.

“My father is a Communist; my mother cheats at cards by JJ Alban. My father wants to have workers exploit themselves. How does he pull it off? He makes them the owner. Think Karl Marx on steroids. {Extraneous Deleted} My Mom never told us about her memory. She’d watch us shuffle a deck and then pay blackjack for our allowance. Strange how she always cleaned us. Recently, at the twenty fifth reunion, the now deceased Brother Kevin shared her secret. He gave me a laminated crumbled sheet of paper with the results of a memory demonstration she did in the shelter to entertain her classmates. He carried it with him for decades to remind himself never again to underestimate the capability of a child. Armed with that paper, I confronted her. I was amazed when without a hesitation she rattled off these words. I could barely keep up reading them. I gave her the laminate paper and she cried. Holding it like a baby, she said she missed her family and the shelter womb. By now, I figured out that when we shuffled, she memorized every card. No wonder we couldn’t beat her. {Extraneous Deleted} When I confronted our Dad with the tale, he struggled and winced, but he too remembered every word. I felt sorry for him until he shared the ultimate family secret. “Always make it look harder than it really is. The rubes eat it up. And the good folks appreciate your effort.” I thought that was callous. But, from a man who seeks to make everyone rich and woman who is trying to save the world, you have to allow for some character flaws. But cheating little kids, there ought to be a law.”

John laughed. He’d have to tan her hide.

+++++

Later that year, a blacksmith flanked by the First Couple, demonstrated a power plant that generated steam, hydrogen, and oxygen via a sealed block process. No details were give about the construction. Rough estimates by physicists and chemists pronounced the plant as ‘magic’, ‘impossible’, and ‘scientifically impossible’. The Bank of Bennington was the incorporation agent. The Refugee Trust Fund was 51% owner in the corporation and every Vermont citizen was allowed to buy one share for one ounce at their local bank branch. The new corporation, Prometheus Power, was accepting bids for output from it’s production line. Employees at the Farm were subject to strict scrutiny. It’s reported that no one was allowed into the compound where the sealed units were made.

+++++

Late one night, in bed, after a vigorous session, Marie looked John square in the eye: “You are a Communist at heart. I know you. You’re going to will the 51 per cents to the corporations when we all pass. You don’t have to admit it or fib. I know your heart.” And turned over and went to sleep. The woman was in his head!

+++++

The following year there was a horrendous explosion when skeptics attempted to learn the secret of the sealed core. Big John A succinctly said: “Evidently they violated their agreement and voided the warranty.”

The Refugee Trust had yet another money making winner on its hands. It took several years to find uses for all the hydrogen and oxygen being generated.

Skeptics were measuring for radioactivity near the blast site convinced that there was a nuclear reactor in there somewhere.

In a related story, TomT demonstrated a prototype ‘Saint Gertrude of Nivelles’ radiation collector device that could possibly be used to decontaminate areas were radiation was unsafe. It had three tractor trailer size components and could decontaminate a a bread box sized area overnight. When asked for a comment, he refereed them to Marie’s seminal work: “Molecular recognition and self-assembly” with the comment that the paper should have been titled “The Hand of God”. When asked for comment, Marie Alban said: “I was standing on the shoulders of great mathematicians before me. It’s now my turn to boost others. I can’t tell you what all is possible. But, I hope I live to see the miracles.” John Alban, when also asked for a comment, said: “The people of Vermont have always wanted clean green cheap power; TomT gave it to them. And, we appreciate them for taking us in in our hour of need. Everybody wins. That’s our motto.”

In the financial news, Prometheus Power shares were up 10% today on a Vermont Standards Board finding that no radiation was released form the recent explosion. Despite complete, and very unusual, non-cooperation from the Refugee Trust Company, the majority stock holder in Prometheus Power, the VSB studied the site. The reported concluded: “We found no more radiation than one would find on a sunny day.”

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June Junior Alban was promoted to assignment editor of the Bennington Banner. Her father never did tan her hide.

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Chapter Ninety Three – Twenty Five Years

October 19, 1987

It Started In Church – October 19, 1962
http://www.itstartedinchurch.com

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It happened in Church – October 19, 1962

Chapter Ninety Two – Life without the USA

It Started In Church – October 19, 1962
http://www.itstartedinchurch.com

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It happened in Church – October 19, 1962
Chapter Ninety One – Second Vermont Republic Life

It Started In Church – October 19, 1962
http://www.itstartedinchurch.com

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