I began to wonder if all those sessions with Dr. Hagen were paying dividends. And yet it was more than that. Ever since that weekend in Idyllwild, I had felt different. I was more relaxed, and plagued by less anxiety about work, life in general, and about Sarah. It reminded me of some offbeat science fiction movie where paradoxical worlds collided, and nobody knew who they were. It was a strange sensation that I could not shake.
The dinner was delightful. I actually discovered a few things that I never knew about Sarah. Imagine, married for almost 10 years. I never knew she liked to watch baseball when she was a child. Who would have guessed?
Maybe we did have something in common after all.
Chapter 4
I have rarely sat through a meeting that accomplished anything of importance. They were usually a sheer waste of time and energy. In a sense, such meetings resembled musical chairs. Everyone had one sole purpose, to keep from losing a chair. If they lost their chair, it meant late-night work assignments without extra pay. So, when Mayor Jessie Quinn announced a meeting with most of his city workers, I knew I was about to become a chairless volunteer. I was going to be assigned longer hours, get less sleep, and become burdened with more responsibility.
Standing behind an impressive solid wood podium, the mayor cleared his throat and spoke in a loud, commanding voice. He thanked everyone for coming, pointed out the important people in his staff. Then he began a long-winded rant about an imminent crisis threatening Hemet. To solve this catastrophe, he urged city officials and staff to immediately introduce a new program to address this impending calamity.
All of this talk about doom and gloom sounded serious, except that the mayor had failed to explain the exact nature of this impending storm. He was resorting to political hype designed to scare the public––to panic people into doing things they did not want to do. I had seen such political schemes go awry in the past, where public officials offered bowls of hogwash for empty sugarcoated promises. The public got nothing. To my way of thinking, nothing was not an awful lot.
My first reaction to anything new was to question its validity. In fact, I questioned everything. Someone once accused me of being skeptical of skepticism. I took that as a badge of honor. Devoted to old habits, I felt compelled to doubt every possible thing in the world. Of course, I often paid a dear price for my saucy insolence. So, without much hesitation, I foolishly rushed in where angels feared to tread. I stood, raised my hand, and let it rip.
“Mr. Mayor, so––what is this crisis?”
“Well, Spencer,” Mayor Quinn’s beady eyes trained their burning glare directly on me. “We all know how serious this crisis has become. It is our duty to prepare ourselves to defend our city and our way of life. We must see this as our responsibility to future generations. This will someday be seen as our finest hour.”
I stood there, arms folded, and waited for a real reply. He had not answered my question. I had expected that.
The mayor swallowed and struggled for a deep breath. He tried to maintain a pretense of calm, waiting for someone to come to his rescue. Nobody did. Apparently, few city officials had read Quinn’s lengthy proposal. “Okay.” The mayor finally resumed eye contact with me. “So… you want some particulars? Right?”
I simply nodded.
The mayor turned to his left and then to his right, expecting someone in his staff to help him with the question. Again, he was disappointed.
“Fine,” the mayor exploded. He tightly clenched the podium with his big hands and leaned forward. “Well, if you had been listening, Spencer, you would know that answer.”
“Well, I’m just in a low-level staff position, but I would appreciate it if you could restate the crisis and our plans to solve it?”
Now I had done it. The mayor seemed speechless, approaching the moment where he was ready to push the panic button. I was really enjoying this opportunity to embarrass a public official. It did not last long.
One of the first things you learn about politics is that if you cannot answer a question from the public, you give it to a subordinate. Almost on cue, Mayor Quinn turned to his side and eyed Colonel Jack Bellamy, the city manager, who seemed delighted to take over.
Jack’s speech was brief and almost cryptic. “It’s all about the lack of directions for people in motorized vehicles. This is because there is little social cohesion in America. This injustice must change.”
I sat back down and turned silent. To Jack’s way of thinking, you were either with him or against him. His eyes would pop out at the least hint of disapproval or criticism, causing low-level staff to nickname him “Old Fish-Eyed Jack.” One moment he could be having a scary temper tantrum, while minutes later he could display a delightful sense of humor, depending on how the day was going. He was an elected councilmember until the city manager position suddenly became available.
Next, with a flick of the wrist, the mayor motioned for Joe Maffini to take center stage. Tall and slender, Joe was one of the more memorable city council members. When he became angry, his veins would swell across his temples. He was a harsh taskmaster who complained about everyone and worried about nothing unless it personally affected him. With his five-o’clock shadow, he looked like an old-style political boss from Chicago who could miraculously raise the dead so they could vote in an election.
Next came Leonid Sergeevich Mikhailovsky. With a slight push, Big Al nudged Lenny into the center light. He slowly stepped towards the podium, appearing to fear the limelight. Lenny was a Russian immigrant who arrived in America not long after the Berlin Wall fell. His only passion seemed to be chocolate and admiration for strongman dictators. But chocolate was his true vice. No matter where he roamed, he carried a half-eaten chocolate bar in his hand.
Lenny was in his mid-fifties, plumpish, gray-haired, and wove in and out of the meeting like a friendly squirrel begging for food. He was constantly rearranging his eyeglasses. Few people wanted to talk or share information with a foreigner who was involved in union activities and rumored to be a former KGB agent.
Lenny stuffed his candy bar in his pocket and wiped the sweat from his head with his palm. He looked over the podium, paused and cleared his throat. “Great to see all here today. I think Mayor has good idea. Very durable. We need much public dedication to make Hemet better city.” He bowed his head and rushed out of the room.
Gene Holiday came next, our Vice Mayor. He did not even bother to approach the podium. With a sudden spurt of awareness that almost caused him to stumble over his words, Gene proclaimed everything peachy-keen. He gushed with a short litany of well-worn platitudes that had very little to do with the mayor’s new initiative. Gene had the habit of trying to be the shadow hiding behind some else’s shadow. Invisibility was his strength; he was a wanderer without any sense of direction. The rumor was that he was saddled with loads of credit card debt and lived with his mother. He was Hemet’s most notorious “povertarian.”
After Gene’s meandering statements, all eyes turned back to Mayor Quinn at the podium. With a weak grin, the mayor finally picked up an official document, leafed through it, and began to read. “The time has come to make our city’s motorists more efficient. Our fine citizens are not using the public streets properly. Therefore, the City Council has decided to establish a new program and department to inform citizens about the best possible routes in their daily travels.”
The mayor paused, cleared his throat, and glared directly at me, as if I had committed some unforgivable hate crime. I began to feel like dead meat until I realized that our tight city budget had no additional funds available for such an ambiguous program. In fact, most departments were growing much more slowly than in previous years. One city accountant secretly acknowledged that our city was essentially bankrupt.
I stood up again and raised my hand. “What about our budgetary problems? I thought we were trying to save money?” Of course, Mayor Quinn had already anticipated my next move. It is hard to outguess career politicians.
“Tha
t’s not a problem,” Mayor Quinn declared with a wave of his hand. “I know we have some budgetary problems. But which city doesn’t? Every mayor deals with tight budgets. Nothing unusual. We’ll simply submit a plan to increase our tax revenues in the coming months. In the meantime, we can save money by borrowing a few people from each department and create a new agency, which we have named the Driving Efficiency Department. Big Al has graciously agreed to be the first director of DED. He will notify each employee who is being transferred to his department. That’s all.”
Mayor Quinn turned to the city manager and invited Jack to say a few parting words. Jack stood there in a fixed position while smiling with his big teeth showing.
“Alas, we all have to make sacrifices,” Jack assured in an insincere tone. “I want everyone to understand our priorities. I want you to know that we consider DED a breakthrough program. It will make Hemet dazzle like a progressive city with a yearning desire to provide every service possible for our dear citizens; a city that is not afraid to challenge conventional governance; a city that will usher in a new dawn of government relations. This will be a landmark program. We will be the vanguard of a new day. Thank you for coming.”
I shook my head. I could see this was going to be a first-class disaster. I prided myself on having a few superpowers. I had the X-ray power to detect pure bunk, along with projecting rays of skepticism. I was proud of my talents, except that nobody took a particular note. I guess I needed a red cape and an eye mask.
That was my good side. But I also suffered recurrent bouts of weakness. Like Superman, I was vulnerable to a type of kryptonite that compelled me to care little about my fellow man. And why should I? They were always a disappointment. Let humanity stew in its own juices. I was no hero. I would often cower when I heard strange or loud noises. Who was I to inform the public about the pitfalls of DED? I was only endangering my career and wasting my time. Let the public be damned. Besides, I was far too busy in the Planning Department to devote any time to uncover corruption at City Hall. I was sure that DED would simply die a natural death. It was nothing but a money sink that would fade away in a few months.
As my pessimism battled my opportunism, I noticed something moving towards me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a big shadow lumbering directly at me. I assumed it was Big Al; he was also good at turning light into darkness.
“Spencer. Come over here.” Big Al waved an enticing finger at me.
I wandered over and stood in his big shadow, expecting to have a long, unpleasant chitchat that would blur the line between fantasy and reality. I felt trapped. My boss had the superpower of intimating people while boring them to death. All with the flick of his forked tongue.
“You know,” Big Al inched closer. “I have a need for an expert like you. Any interest in signing up for my new department? You can be my right arm, my second-in-command. And get a good paycheck to boot.”
I guess my mouth must have unhinged wider than the Grand Canyon. Big Al seemed to have taken a keen interest in my silver fillings in my back molars.
“Well, come on? What do you say?”
I mumbled for a moment. Finally, I stared directly at Big Al. “Sorry, but I’m kind of booked up with City Planning projects. We have that new condo development on State Street and…”
“I know you have a heavy workload, but I can partition it out to the other planners. And I can promise you a big sweet pile of money for your assistance.”
“Who will take my position in Planning?”
“No problem. I can promote Tommy to an official, but temporary, city planner.”
“Tommy? Tommy Kramer who still gets lost between the mailroom and the cafeteria?”
“Sure, but as a temp. We can get him on the cheap.”
I have told many people that you get what you pay for. Perhaps Tommy would do a splendid job in planning—screwing up zoning codes, wreaking havoc during on-site inspections, and misinforming future developers. I was feeling better already.
“What do you say?” Big Al chomped on his soggy cigar.
“I suppose I could try something new,” I responded while viciously scratching my forearms. They would get itchy every time stress reared its strained head.
“Good. We need a man with your ability to plan and control. Why... with your skill we could organize the future all the way up to Armageddon! And, oh yes, did I mention that you›ll be my main man?” He did, but I was not going to correct him. I did not want to interrupt Big Al’s pageant of self-congratulatory joy.
Without saying goodbye, Big Al turned and rushed off to shake everyone’s hand. I wished I could be that delighted. Only one word could describe my feelings—“drudgery.”
Eventually, Big Al ran fresh out of hands to shake. He made his way back to me. He smiled at me and shrugged his shoulder. I felt compelled to say something nice.
I smiled back and nervously rubbed my neck, “Ah… I guess I should thank you for thinking of me.” I reluctantly replied.
“Hey, I came up with this project. Somebody had to.”
“And I am sure that your department will provide a vital service for the public,” I said, stretching the truth to its breaking point.
“You bet your sweet ass. And I made it all possible,” Big Al cajoled.
Of course, I had an endless fountain of doubts and fears. There was a theory that Tommy loved to banter about late at night after a few beers. It was dubbed the “boomerang effect.” It stated that any time a government agency attempted to do some great service for the community, the exact opposite resulted. It sounded nuts enough to be true. I guessed I would soon find out if the theory held water or not.
“What you think, Spencer?” Lenny sidled next to us. Lenny was the recently elected shop steward, and wandered City Hall to keep an eye on management. He was usually cheery, but in an artificial, disingenuous way. He said he was looking out for the workers’ best interests, but I suspected he was interested more in his own well-being. And still, there was something disturbing about this Russian immigrant who spoke English like Japanese-written stereo instructions. With his dark, stubbly beard framed by wire-rim glasses, he embodied the ragtag look of a revolutionary Bolshevik. I could see that image in winter, when Lenny dressed in his long black trench coat and a fur cap embroidered with a red star. He bore a frightening likeness to a fat Vladimir Lenin.
“Well, I’m sure it will help someone,” I said.
“We’ll need plenty workers. That’s what I do see.” Lenny grinned.
“Of course, you realize we don’t have any budget for this program.” I was just going back to my practical side. I had taken some economic courses in college. Money was one of those items that economists call limited resources. There was only so much of it hanging around in Hemet at any particular moment in time. But like magic, if the city council voted for a project, money would seemingly appear out of nowhere. If only I could find some of that invisible money.
“They will find good funds. Raise taxes, no?”
“We just did that.”
Lenny cocked his head to the left. “No problem. They’ve got ways to pluck geese again without geese knowing.”
It was a revealing metaphor. Historically, I suppose Russians were experts at fleecing unsuspecting fowl. I just hoped that Americans were smarter birds.
“Wow.” Tommy finally came over to me and joined our merry band of bureaucrats. “Sounds like a big project, man. I hope they did not bite off more than they can chew. Gluttony is a big health problem.”
“Who cares about healthy food?” Big Al said as he muscled his way into our conversation.
“Really big shoo,” Big Al boasted, trying to imitate Ed Sullivan›s voice. “And, of course it was my idea. You know, it’s so damn good that I’m sure the city will someday commission a bronze statue in my honor. I can see it now. Hey, maybe they’ll turn it into a holiday. ‘Big Al’s Day.’ You know, close the banks, schools, and post office. Why, I bet they’ll close down everything.”
“Yeah,” I said with a straight face. “It might turn into a regular going-out–of-business shut-down holiday.”
“Will be magnificent. Good goose for everyone,” Lenny grinned. “Make big union.”
Tommy turned to me with a puzzled look. “What about the side effects?” Tommy had a habit of publicly disagreeing with people who embraced rosy pictures of the future. “What if the new department develops a life of its own?”
“What in the blue blazes are you talking about?” Big Al›s wide smile trickled back to a puny snicker.
“You see,” Tommy started to explain, “we can only assist drivers up to a certain point. They need to figure out how to get around the planet on their own. Otherwise, they will become dependent on us. You know, calling us all the time. They will become disoriented and helpless.”
“We want them dependent on us,” Big Al roared. “Hey, we’re supposed to take care of our citizens. What are you—a subversive?”
“It’s all about not feeding the bears.” Tommy boldly stated without further explanation.
We looked at Tommy with blank stares. There did not seem to be any logical connection between feeding bears and a government program to help drivers find their way.
“Like man, don’t you see? The forest rangers always warn tourists not to feed the bears, so they don’t get too dependent on handouts. They will lose their natural ability to forage on their own, and destroy their self-reliance. If the handouts stop, the bears will starve.”
“What gobbledygook!” Big Al huffed. “Feeding bears? Someone should feed Tommy to a grizzly bear.”
“You make good Russian bear, no?” Lenny beamed and patted Tommy on the shoulder. “Try get some certified health care. People need much help and we can do it.” Lenny turned and watched a group of workers near the water cooler. “Must go. Union work.”
Appearing bored with Tommy’s nonsense, Big Al followed Lenny to the crowded water cooler, eager to toot his horn to a larger audience.
We Are Them Page 4
