The North Coast times-eagle., July 01, 1997, Page 7, Image 7

PAGE 7
"I've been especially caught by the breadth of sentiment
in the material. Really," I said, trying to impress him of my
sincerity and my capacity for deeper appreciation — and to
butter him up so he'd print another of my speculative rants that
no one else would. "Your pieces, the articles by local writers,
the reprints from small papers like yours are alleys engaging,
the writing evocative and free. But the poetry and short stories,
drawings and photographs, the letters and essays from children,
really temper the politics. I mean, there's sentiment there, and a
sense of history, not just for Astoria or the North Coast, but in
you for yourself, your writing, and the publication. You rarely
see this kind of literary sense anymore. I feel fortunate to have
my work be a part of the newspaper. Seriously. But I wonder,
now that I'm seeing you face to face, do you consider yourself
more artist or activist?"
McCusker smiled. He took a sip from his glass and
sobered. "A friend once called me a poet with a press card. I
kind of feel like a soldier vtfio's come home from war only to find
more war in the streets. I think I'm mostly a journalist though.
Literally. I keep a journal. Maybe that journal, more than the
paper, is the thread of my life. The paper is merely the public
version of my more personal witing."
"But you are a politico."
"Everything is politics," McCusker said gravely. 'The
way you walk, talk, comb your hair, wear your hat. Who you
sleep with. Where you spend your money. Everything has a
spin, a counterspin, and a politics!"
Bozo Bob suddenly leapt up on the bar wearing only
his makeup, frizzy hair and the red latex nose where a condom
might better serve. He began dancing in front of Rita in a rude
and obscene manner. Cobain abruptly stood from his table.
Without a moment's hesitation he leveled his shotgun, pumped
both barrels into the naked clown, opened the breach, emptied
the shells and sat down. Bozo Bob virtually disintegrated. Bozo
Bill shouted at McCusker, "You can't kill me! We share the same
birthday!" and ran out the door.
"I had to, Chesty," Cobain said. He reloaded the shotgun
and put it back in his mouth.
McCusker shrugged and sipped from his wine glass,
then continued speaking. "I was a naive kid who got educated in
the Marines ! spent a year in Vietnam jumping into the jungle out
of helicopters as a Marine combat correspondent. I saw the
harsh collision of two radically different cultures up close and
personal. All the bombing and killing boiled down to economics
and politics. Harsh and cold."
"But doesn't something transcend politics? Even Jesus,
you say, is political?"
"Everything is political!" bellowed McCusker. I stubbornly
returned his glare. SlovJy and deliberately I turned my eyes to
vtfiere TJ's still remained.
"Everything?" I parried, looking back again to the formi­
dable editor.
McCusker looked at the exotic dancers, then back to
me. His face lengthened wth a somber, jovdy seriousness. He
peered over the top of his glasses and glowered down at me.
"Yes, Mr. Armstrong, especially...." The rest of what he said was
drowned out by a mortar shell exploding in the rear of the room.
'Thomas, get in the jeep!" McCusker yelled. 'We've got to get
out of this hellhole," he screamed just as another mortar rocked
the lounge.
"Shouldn't we grab Jesus too?" I asked as Jefferson
climbed into the passenger's side of the front seat.
"He's got to carry his owi cross," said Jefferson. 'We
confused freedom of religion by inadvertently laying a Christian
prejudice on the entire nation."
"Hang on jarheads!" called McCusker.He handed me his
legal pad and pen and threw the jeep into reverse. The wheels
spun furiously, then caught wth a cracking of wood and flying
splinters. The jeep pulled out of the bar and jolted to a stop.
McCusker swallowed the last of his wne, hurled the glass
against the wall, jammed the gearshift into first and slammed
down on the accelerator.
"Where the hell we going?" I yelled hysterically from the
back seat as McCusker pointed the beast straight at the hole in
the lounge's east wall.
"Maybe we need a designated driver?" shrieked Jeffer­
son as the jeep bounced out the hole in the wall and began a
terrifying headlong, 8-story drop to the streets of downtowi
Astoria.
"Never fear, gents. This thing's got wings," cried
McCusker over the vtfiistling wind.
And sure enough two huge feathered wings extended
from the sides of the jeep and pumped heavily at the air. The rig
swept out of its dive and lifted us out over the serpentine curves
of the Columbia, headed East.
"And exactly where are we off to, General?" I asked.
'Washington, D.C.— July, 1886 — and the Supreme
Court decision on Santa Clara County vs. Southern Pacific Rail­
road. I've got a little history lesson for President Jefferson."
"I886? Wouldn't that be a future lesson for Mr. Jeffer­
son?"
"Future, past, present. They're all the same in this
dream." And off we soared into the temporal spaces — to be
suddenly and abruptly, illegally parked in the balcony of the
Supreme Court in Washington, D C., July 25, 1886.
"Check it out, Thomas," said McCusker as the Supreme
Court Justice below stood to read the Court's decision.
Jefferson leaned forward trying to catch every word I
did the same.
'The Supreme Court of the United States hereby rules
that the rights given to its citizens by the 14th Amendment must
also extend to corporations, granting corporations the full Consti­
tutional protection provided for individuals. No state shall deprive
a corporation of life, liberty, or property wthout due process of
law...."
Jefferson sat back in dismay. "He just granted business
corporations the rights of an individual United States citizen. I
don't get it. That doesn't make any sense. There is no history,
logic or reason to support such a view.That gives a living being's
inalienable rights to an abstract entity. That goes against the
very principles Madison and I were trying to address, enabling
the very forces we were trying to protect the citizenry from."
"Not to mention, TJ, there's no way to send a corpora­
tion to jail," I piped in. 'The corporation has the rights of an
individual without having to pay the criminal costs when that
corporation breaks the law — which they do regularly trying to
pinch another dollar here and another dollar there."
"And that's only the half of it," added McCusker "Hold
on to your knickers, Thomas. Next stop is just across town, but
27 years and 5 months into the future. The Halls of Congress.
December 23, 1913."
The jeep lifted off with a beat of its feather wings blasted
out a skylight and took a sweeping left bank over early 20th
century Washington, D.C. on a snowy winter evening We drop­
ped low over streets dotted here and there with both Model-Ts
and horse drawn carriages. In the distance I picked out a brand
new Griffith Stadium (now demolished) where the immortal
Walter Johnson steamed fastballs past one American League
hitter after another. Then we swerved radically right and headed
PANCHO (LE MONDE)
the awkward looking bird straight for the dome of the Capitol
building. Without hesitation, headstrong McCusker dropped
us right through the dome and into the balcony of the House
of Representatives. The House was almost entirely empty
Just a few purposed congressmen were hurriedly hammering
out a new piece of legislation before Congress closed for the
Christmas break.
"What are they doing?" asked the third President
'They're pushing through the Federal Reserve Banking
Act."
"What?"
"Another of those infamous corruptions of the balance
of power, TJ. They're making a separate, non-govemment corp­
oration to supervise U.S. banks. It wll have the power to change
interest rates, regulate money flows, and create money simply
by writing checks from an empty account to the government
treasury to be repaid at 6% interest. Many among the populace
today believe this is one the strongest and most influential non-
govemment agencies in our country — possibly the world. And
wriose interests do you think they best serve?"
Jefferson could only shake his head. "What's happening
to our dream? It's being bullied about by Wall Street and big
business interests. Hamilton has won."
"Exactly — and it gets worse. Let's pop ahead to the
White House, July 12, 1953. Seems to me someone from the
Federal Trade Commission is trying to introduce some legisla­
tion to limit the power of the U.S. oil companies and an increas­
ingly powerful international oil cartel."
"Oil?"
"Yeah, TJ — heating oil and gasoline for automobiles
Petroleum is the biggest of the big businesses after World War
2."
"Automobiles? World Wars? Petroleum? Take me back
to the 18th century!"
"After the trip, Thomas, we'll drop you off in Monticello,
but not without a few details to think about."
'You're telling me. Might be necessary to write some
stiff essays for future generations of lawmakers and politicians."
"Doubt it will do much good," moaned McCusker, land­
ing our jeep in a flower bed just outside a window to President
Truman’s oval office. Inside Truman is seated at his desk wth
pen in hand, signing a piece of legislation. Secretary of State
Charles Bohlen stands beside him. On the other side of the desk
is General Omar Bradley.
"What's going on in there, Michael?" I asked.
'The Federal Trade Commission has just demanded
that the American oil companies open their records to the U.S.
Senate's Antitrust & Monopoly subcommittee — initiating what
might be the most important action ever brought before the anti­
trust division. Subpoenas were served to 21 American oil com­
panies and seven international corporations It's a criminal suit
charging collusion, regulation of the market, and silent agree­
ments to disadvantage small independent oil companies from
the market.The companies have objected by saying their papers
are sensitive and must remain secret for reasons of national
security. General Bradley there has just advised Truman that
because of the worldwide threat of communism and the impor­
tance of oil to the war machine, the national security is indeed
in jeopardy. What Truman is signing will reduce the suit from
a criminal action to a civil case. Because of that, this action
against the cartel will be pushed off center stage, gradually
delayed and put off and watered-down until it is finally dismissed
in 1968 wthout hardly a fine or firm word "
"All in the name of National Security?"
"Anticommunism, Dan. Which leads us to the next stop
on our little trip. Back across town to the halls of Congress and
another hearing in 1988."
"Does the name Ollie North fit in here?"
No sooner had I asked than there we were, parked in the
Columbian Cafe
1114 Marino Driva
Asteria, OR 97103
503-325-CAFE (2233)
URIAH HULSEY
back rows of the Senate. Television cameras were everywriere.
Hawaii Senator Daniel Inouye held court, and Colonel North
stood at center stage, brazenly decked out in USMC uniform
and medals
"What's going on?" whispered Jefferson to McCusker
"Another daytime soap opera," I quipped
'This is that crazy renegade intelligence community I
was telling you about earlier, Mr ex-President. Congress had
declared four years earlier that the American public did not want
and will not pay for another war in Latin America. These super
patriots, as they call themselves — retired military men, CIA
types and corporate power brokers, all intermingled with the
administration of Ronald Reagan and George Walker Bush —
have gotten together to sell weapons to Iran in order to finance
a secret war in Nicaragua It's really crazier than that — there's
gun running and drug running and money laundering. Offshore
bank accounts. And huge profits for the patriots. It's the privati­
zation of foreign policy."
Jefferson lowered his head Tears formed in the comers
of his eyes McCusker patted him on the shoulder. Jefferson
lifted his head and spoke, trembling with emotion. 'We need not
go on. I see where this is headed Money has won. The system
could work, but instead corruption has infected it. The whole art
of government consists of the art of being honest. But our dream
has fallen prey to the economic system and the greatest weak­
ness of the human character — greed Business interest has
supplanted public welfare. A military-industrial complex pulls the
strings of government Democracy will shade into fascism. A
strongarm gangster state will rule It will be little more than a
global feudal system in another fifty years."
McCusker nodded.'The great experiment has run its
course. Humanity must shed its skin once again."
'You mean, Marx was right?" I wondered aloud
"Sort of, I guess," McCusker said "It's just periodic class
dynamics. Revolution must follow counter-revolution must follow
revolution.”
'You know, Michael," said the third President ”1 think
we even understood that back in Philadelphia. We had just won
our revolution And it was an historic one But I think somevtfiere
deep down we knew one day our system would be dismantled in
counter-revolution. It's just disappointing they haven't learned to
make it better as they go "
Jefferson's emotion spumed me I was infuriated by
the entire scene It was too blatant Too criminal Not just the
weapons scandal But the way it was being swept under the rug.
And it all came to a head for me in North Particularly pompous,
righteous North I stood up in the back of the jeep and screamed
at Inouye, "Ask about the cocaine!" All eyes turned to the nut in
the jeep — me!
"Ask about the cocaine"" I shouted again. Then gritting
McCusker's pen between my teeth and waving the yellow pad
over my head, I jumped from the back of the jeep and made a
mad rush at the Marine colonel determined to issue justice to
this super patriot on nationwide TV But before I could get within
ten feet security guards were on top of me and a billy club pres­
sed indelicately across my throat.
I spat out the pen "I think it's time we head back to the
Top of the Astor" I said wth devilish aplomb "I need a drink."
No sooner had the wards been spoken than we were there Or I
was anyway Waking to a puddle of beer in my face and a throb­
bing ache in my head "What is this?" I asked lifting my head
from the bar, a black Rolling Writer pen stuck to my cheek.
"It seems you needed a little nap, Mr Armstrong," Rita
said from behind the bar
I removed the steel-tipped pen from my cheek. "What
about the jeep? And the hole in the wall?” I squinted through
blurry vision and looked around the lounge All was neat and
clean No debris. No bodies No hole in the wall "What about
the dancing girls?"
"How about some coffee?" Rita offered.
"I'll bet Thomas Jefferson wasn't here either?"
Rita laughed "No. Closest thing we've got is McCusker"
I looked to my right Yes, although all else was gone,
McCusker was here, a weath of thorns settling down low over
one eye He smiled and raised his glass of Red Death to me.
"By the way," he said, "that's my pen ."
I handed him the pen, stood from my stool and fell flat
on the floor From the prone position I saluted the literary vet,
pushed myself up on my elbows and echoed his ever-present
Thursday morning KMUN radio show qualifier 'The views
expressed here in this lounge are my owi, and only my own
in all the world So help me, God Amen!"
Dan Armstrong's most recent article for the Times Eagle
was The Next Level in the Marpril 97 issue He is indebted to R.
Louis Richards for on-line research for this story,