NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
Shoveling last night’s light snow from the cement path outside the front door I notice Hank Dumpty towering over the garden gate, with the middle fingers of his bare hands resting on top of the gateposts. He is wide enough to fill the opening, but hasn’t opened the gate and seems to be waiting for an invitation to come in – don’t know how long he has been watching me, but his ursine presence is not disturbing. He has parked outside the neighbor’s, unsure which house is mine. I go over to him and look up at his steep forehead shining in the sun. Wiry gray curls spiral around his pate and dangle around his ears. He has round eyes under a heavy brow, with a broad mouth, which seems on the verge of a grin. He holds out a large scarred fat-fingered hand asking gently if I remember him from the Guild meeting. His voice is surprisingly high. One might expect a resonant baritone from such a large man, and he sounds hoarse too. Even when he went off in anger at Albrecht Intaglio at the meeting, his voice didn’t embody his animus the way furious schoolteachers used to roar at their pupils.
I remember him clearly. He was restrained given the circumstances of the meeting. He goes on to invite me to a barbeque at his house on Bails Lane on Saturday afternoon.
“Bit early in the year isn’t it?” I asked, half joking.
“It’ll be fine on Saterday.”
“Yes anything is possible in March.”
“I’ve still got plenty of meat from last year,” he said.
“From last year?”
“Hunting season – you like game?”
I said I hadn’t eaten it much.
“If you like meat, you will enjoy this. You already know some of the others.” I thanked him and agreed to go. “Glad you can make it. It’s important.”
“Important?” I open the gate to invite him in but he declines, by raising a hand palm out. He goes on “Meet some interesting folks, and talk.”
“Yes I’d enjoy that.”
“You’ll get a different picture.”
“What’s that?”
“Our meeting the other night was unusual. That’s not Fauxmont.”
“Disagreement and dispute can be stimulating Hank. Don’t want you to think I was too offended by Albrecht.”
“I was offended. That’s no way to do business.”
“He’ll learn.”
“He can do a lot of damage.”
“Do you think he might use that revolver?”
“It’s not the weapon.”
“What then?”
“He has a right to carry it, but he’s a damn fool bringing it to the meeting.”
“I found it provocative.”
“Once he’s broken it we shan’t get this thing back together again.”
“Broken what Hank?”
“The Guild”
“The discussion you mean?”
“There’s no place for weapons – strictly verbal.”
“Oh, Roberts rules of order and so one.”
“I mean serious disagreement.”
“Albrecht’s disagreement?”
“Any disagreement. He doesn’t know how to handle it.”
“He’s young and hot headed.”
“I’ve known him a while.”
“Albrecht grew up here didn’t he?”
“He did, and he’s a fanatic.”
“How does one deal with fanatics?”
“That’s it.”
“You think he might take over the Guild?”
“Not a chance.”
“No one would vote for him or Boyd I guess.”
“We need the Guild to contain our disagreements.”
“Contain our disagreements?”
“Yeah, the Guild – it’s a handling mechanism for containing disagreement.”
“Yes, and find agreement too.”
“It’s based on respect.”
“Fanatics seldom have respect for institutions.“
“Respect prevents disagreement from growing destructive.”
“Yeah, there a chance to learn something too.”
“If you’re capable.”
“Capable of learning?”
“Capable of listening”
“Its important to make the effort.”
“People tend to hear what they want to hear.”
“Oh and fail to understand others people’s views.”
“Sometimes they don’t make sense.”
“But we should try, don’t you think?”
“Understanding is different from agreeing.”
“Yes it is.” Hank shifted his weight and paused before saying “Extremists’ win where there’s no respect.”
“… and the Guild works quietly and slowly.”
“It isn’t necessarily quiet or slow.”
“No but it takes time to work through every one’s views.”
“The result can be fast acting.”
“You’re concerned about the deliberative process right?”
“The lack of respect.”
“Oh you mean CUPA.”
“I mean that individual. I don’t know about CUPA.”
“The Campaign to Clean up America.”
“Yeah, ‘clean up’? What’s that?”
“A slogan to get people’s attention.”
“Excited huh?”
“To get viewer’s attention on TV. That’s where the profit is.”
“It’s a lot of noise.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning what ever you want it to mean.”
“That’s the thing about slogans.”
“TV shows – they’re killing us.”
“Slogans repeated like commercials on TV.”
“Don’t watch it.”
“Why not Hank?”
“Nothing to it.”
“Not even the news?”
“The Wall Street Journal – Helga watches – she keeps me up to date.”
“How do you like the Journal’s editorials?”
“I like the reporting.”
“TV’s both entertainment and distraction Hank.”
“There’s no respect in it – been like that since the sixties.”
“Hasn’t it been commercial from the beginning?”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“I thought we were talking about commercial slogans.”
“That’s nothing to do with the Guild.”
“Albrecht is bringing CUPA’s slogans to the Guild.”
“I didn’t hear him use one.”
“Okay so what is it about the sixties?”
“We lost our way.”
“How Hank?’
“Drugs, war, civil rights, demonstrations, it all became a show.”
“A TV show.”
“Trivialities on a screen.”
“You mean TV reduced it all to trivia.”
“I served, lost friends, we pulled out – it wasn’t trivial.”
“Far from it. So what about the sixties?”
“We are paying a heavy price.”
“Paying, Hank?”
“Disrespect has taken hold.”
“Were you opposed to the war?”
“We should have beaten the commies.”
“They have lost now anyway.”
“Have they?”
“Who’s left Hank? China? Cuba?”
“I am not talking about countries.”
“What are you saying Hank?”
“Respect that’s all”
“When was there ever any respect?”
“Up until the sixties.”
“I don’t follow you Hank.”
His solemn expression hasn’t changed throughout our conversation until now. He grins, looking me in the eye.
“Later Fred, I have things to do now.”
“Okay Hank.”
He turns and walks towards his truck with a slight limp. Something about his intonation makes me wonder if English was his first language as I watch him drive off with a rattle in the tailgate and some smoke in the exhaust.
