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"Its common wisdom today that Dean may well win the Democratic nomination. But also that he will lose to Bush in November." - Fox News.
"This is pre-eminently the time to speak the truth, the whole truth, frankly and boldly. Nor need we shrink from honestly facing conditions in our country today. This great nation will endure as it has endured, will revive and will prosper. So first of all let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear. . .is fear itself. . . nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance." - FDR 1933
A Day in the Future of the Dean Campaign.
Saturday, October 9th, 2004. Dawn.The crack of dawn, and very good timing, as Gorge E. Keppler finally pulled onto the apparent main street of this particular nondescript town
"See, I told you that you should have turned right at the water. Exactly as the directions say," Marie Keppler said.
Gorge's only response was a submissive yet meaningless, "Yes dear," as he refused to concede his navigational error so easily, even as he drove up to their destination under his wife's navigation. Marie only rolled her eyes at him, knowing her husband well enough to expect no less from him. But in a way that only a soul mate could manage, she failed to see this as a weakness in him.
The pick up truck turned a corner, and the head lights then fell upon the goal that they had driven to reach for the past three hours. The town's park.
But most of the park was still cast in shadow, even as the sky itself was becoming ablaze with clouds of fire, turning into a crisp sky blue. But already there was enough light to see that this described "park" was more accurately an empty field. Navigating his way, he came around to the back end to an alley way that split the park from a row of back yards and utility polls, so that the two of them could unload with little travel.
Gorge then stopped the engine, and the two of them stepped out into the cold morning, closing their jackets against the chill. But as Gorge stepped onto the grass, he found that the City manager was good to his word, and that the "park" had been freshly mowed, and the grass clippings and garbage taken away. But in the shadows, close to the center of the park, was something he saw that captured Gorge's imagination, and was drawn to it.
As the city's manger had said, there was an old public gazebo here. In fact, he was planing on removing it before the event as it was little more than ruins. But Gorge had asked him not to, telling him that he wanted it there, to be an honest cymbal of the town, as embarrassing at it was. And the city manager relented, but more because removing it would take time. It would tare up the grass, and leave a pit behind. Besides, the town was in such shape that removing the gazebo would do little to help the towns appearance.
But as he surveyed the old gazebo, Gorge was glad for the opportunity. It was little more than a pile of half digested lumber, held in a firm grip of vicious thorns that tangled the lumber like a nightmare. In the braking dawn light, Gorge could see flecks of white paint, along with a sign warning stating "Beware, lead contamination." He was hoping that it would at least have a font step still exposed, but the gazeboes fall to ruin was so advanced that the front step could not be seen under the thorns.
"What do you see, Gorge," Marie said coming up behind him.
"I see the towns past," he said with a crushing tone of sadness carried in his voice. Sensing his need, Marie took up his hand into her, intertwining their fingers together. But her hand found that his fingers still had the strength of hope in them, a measure if his determination. He looked down to her with courage in his eyes that was the vary thing she had fallen in love with. "I see this towns past, its present, and its future." Gorge said.
Marie then slipped into his arms for an affectionate hug. "No," she corrected, "You see a dream of a better world. Now what do you say we get to work into making that dream a reality."
Gorge nodded, and the two of them slipped from each other arms, and returned to the pick up. But they had no more than lowered the tail gate, when some one else drove up behind them. And then a car full of volunteers showed up after that. The city manager arrived with several rolls of yellow "DO NOT CROSS" safety tape to cordon off the ruined building on the far side of the street. And the assembly area began to take shape. Within the hour, several dozen volunteers began to arrive to set up chairs and equipment.
By six thirty, young Susan Marry, no more than 23 years old, arrived with a small towed generator and a van full of other equipment. With a short consultation, she began to step up the sound equipment by the ruined gazebo. But she then staked down a tall antenna that was at least 20 feet tall. And informed Gorge that she would rebroadcast the assembly on 104.7 Megahertz and that the signs needed to be changed to reflect this. At best, her transmitter would cover four miles, but that was more than enough distance to cover the town. She then set up a satellite dish to receive an internet audio stream.
But seven, more volunteers had arrived to set up chairs. By seven thirty, an improvised marching band had gathered, and began to warm up their instruments in the cold. And minute by minute, more volunteers arrived. In fact, there were now more volunteers than there was work to be done. So they all stood around debating the latest news. Buy 7:45, a small buss with a wheal chair lift had arrived.
Some of the volunteers then reorganized, and dispatched themselves to some of the surrounding comminutes miles away to see if any work needed to be done there.
And then 7:50, it was show time was arriving. The improve marching band began to take up a formation at the center of main street. But with only eight players, the band seemed absurdly small. But the formation that they took made it seem larger than it was. Gorge and his wife took up a position behind them, on foot. The volunteers began to take up banners and red, white, and blue bunting, and made a formation behind them. The city manager hurried up his duties, and joined Gorge.
And they waited.
8:00 O'clock.
At the signal of a whittle. A snare drum began to beat out a pace. And with practiced precision, the improvised marching band volunteers, and oddly assembled instruments, suddenly stepped off as one. They marched in silence for a time, rounding a corner, and then a second corner, to approach the first residential area. The bus also pulled out, and came up behind the precession.
Then, as they approached the first residential area, there was three blast of the whistle. And the band launched into the Battle Hymn Of The Republic. And suddenly, this sleepy little town was woken up. Folks peeked out their curtains.
Volunteers dash up every side walk, to every house, to knock on every door, to inveighed any one who wanted to come, to join in the precession. The function of the buss was then made apparent as it was there to asset the elderly and infirm to join in the precession. Distracted from their Saturday morning cartoons, the children were the first into the street to join in the parade. Newspaper hats, red, white, and blue balloons, and tiny American flags were handed to help them fully partake of the joy of the parade. The parents then soon followed.
They then turned east and made their way, across the rail road tracks. And they marched into the poor side of town that looked more like occupied ruined than a community. Through the part of town where few would dare to tread. But today, they marched without fear down this street. And more people came out of the trailer parks.
Soon, the whole town turned out. Bu 9:30, they turned around, and began to make there way back to the park. And as they returned, the venders had finally arrived and began to set up shop to sell tea-shits ice-cream cones, hot dogs, soda, and other trinkets. Other tables had also been set up that displayed litterateur of all sorts. Every thing from the war, to the environment. The band took a brake, then reassembled in a corner, and began to play patriotic music that wasn't very well suited for marching.
For a while, Gorge and his wife "pressed the flesh" with the towns folk, introducing himself. But the real event could not yet take place. At 11:15, the first caravan from the nearby community began to arrive. Parking was beginning to become an issue, but the people managed. Organizers learned that they would park else where, such as in a school or other field, then march the spectators to the event. With the bus always ready to take up the elderly or handy capped.
And then the next town arrive, and then the next. In all, six near by comminutes would have been rallied to this very spot.
By noon, it was time to begin the main event, and Gorge stepped up to the top of a portable platform/podium. With a whine of the speakers, Gorge began to clear his throat to gain every one's attention.
But before he spoke, he looked down and saw his wife up front. And drew one final measure of strength from her, and then spook up to the microphone.
"Good evening. I am glad every one here could come today, as I am glad that we have such a nice day today, and that things are starting to warm up. My name is Gorge E. Keppler. An I am a Democrat who happens to be running for your district for the Kansas State level Legislature. And I want to tell you know that I am a liberal. Something that I suspect few of you has ever seen. And probably some of you might want to tar and feather, and run out of town.
"But before you do that, there are some things I want to say. Look behind me, and you will see what is left of a town gazebo that was built in the center of your town park. It’s a humble place, I will grant you that. A fixer-upper to be sure. But your humility for your town is not warranted! The town around you is NOT its true nature. This gazebo behind me used to be a place where a brass band, one better than ours here, used to play in the spring time on the cities pay role. To fill this park with music and life. And these bitter thorns that hold captive the scraps of rotting lumber, these thrones are those of rose bushes, still alive, still growing, still blooming in the sprint time. Imagine them as they surly were a long time ago, well tended, and neatly trimmed around this very same white gazebo, with the red roses in full bloom. This is not some far off place, not some distant city. But right behind me, and with in your sight. Separated only by two things, time, and care. And know this story as well. In this very gazebo, a pare of young lovers once stood in there, right in the center. Enjoying a warm spring day, in each others company, listening to the birds sing in the surrounding trees. And then with out warning, he dropped himself to one knee in front of her, and asks her to become Mrs. Julia Stinesold. Two months later, in June of 1931, Mr. and Mrs. Stinesold were wed, right here. Right in this very spot, and in the sight of the Lord himself. It says so in the town's record. They even had a news paper clipping of the event, printed from a newspaper press that was located just across the street." Gorge said. "Mr. & Mrs. Stinesold remained married had a heart attack in 1985. Mrs. Stinesold died only four years ago. A citizen of this very community.
"And look behind me, across that street. As I have already said, this town used to have a printing press. But it also once had a twenty room hotel, a five lane bowling alley, a movie theater, and a restaurant that became a malt shop in the 60's. There was a movie theater here, where every one would have learned how World War Two was progressing. And over there, that closed up brick shop. That used to sell gas and fix cars and tractors, until its owner was forced to retire at sixty two only twelve years ago, and he died five years ago. His will leaves the shop to any one who wants to work on cars, with the shop itself to be sold at half the market value. There have been no takers for his offer.
"And ask yourself now, why are these things gone now. Why is even the gazebo gone? Many of you here live in this community because you want to have a piece of the American Dream. A home for your kids to grow up in, with a white picket fence. But what is the worth of that dream without the brass band playing in the park, and without weddings taking place in the sight of God? Your children live here, but do they play here? Ask yourself. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR TOWN!!!
"Well I am here to do more than answer those questions for you. As I am running for the state house, I plan to execute the solutions to those very answers. And I am not here before you now alone. Within an hour, Howard Dean, the Democratic candidate for President of the United States of America, shall speak to you live. And he will tell you that America, that your country, is not strong, that it is not wealthy, that all is not well here. And look around you, and at your town. For your town is America and as your town rests in ruins, so to dose America rest in ruin. But it need not stay that way. We do not have to surrender to this. You can rebuild your town to the painted glory it once knew. I am here to help you do just that, and Howard Dean is here, to help me, help you. To help you retake your town from the grip of the thieving politicians. To retake your main street from the grip of the greedy corporations. We are ALL here to take back America!"
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