A Tradition of Values

“Every time I hear a political speech or read those of
our leaders I am horrified at having, for years, heard
nothing which sounded human. It is always the same
words telling the same lies. And the fact that people
accept this, that the people’s anger has not destroyed
these hollow clowns, strikes me as proof that people
attribute no importance to the way they are governed.”

-- the journals of Albert Camus,
August 1937

Nancy Rinehart, the respected A.B.C. news anchor and moderator, sat poised and proper at the table on the far right of the stage awaiting her cue from the three TV camera crews who were busy running through their last-minute preparations.

The audience was seated and still, its collective silent, attention focused intently at the two figures on the stage. Ms.Rinehart noticed that the two camera crews nearest her had accelerated their movements in a last-minute flurry of activity.

Sarah Winright was occupying herself by giving the appearance of making penciled corrections on her notes while Morton Neargood took a more direct assault on image, choosing to stare directly at the entire audience, arms firmly forward, masculinely fondling the podium, trying to radiate a quality of subdued magnificence.

The 10-second light began blinking; they were live. “Good evening and welcome to tonight’s broadcast, Candidates’ Encounter, a live unrehearsed debate coming to you from downtown Des Moines, Iowa. Before we begin I’d like to thank the local chapter of Citizens for an American Universe for sponsoring this event and now I will toss the coin. Heads will give the opening statement to the incumbent Morton Neargood and tails to Sarah Winright.” The coin is tossed and allowed to drop on the table. “It’s heads. Mr. Neargood, you may begin.”

Morton looked serenely and confidently out into the audience, straightened to his full six feet four inches, paused at the end of a slow deep breath and then said crisply and clearly, “What a nice day.”

A number of heads nodded approvingly.

After a short silence Sarah Winright took a step forward, embraced the podium and said with a soft calm assurance, “Etiquette, proper etiquette.” This was greeted with a light scattering of modest applause which subsided quickly.

After a brief moment of introspection Morton Neargood responded earnestly, “The American people,” he said, “The American people!” This seemed to strike a responsive chord with the audience as the applause began to quicken and was slightly sharper, though it fell off quickly also.

Deciding to take advantage of what she sensed to be a warming audience participation, Sarah Winright followed quickly with, “Community involvement,” which received a tepid, rather lukewarm response. She regretted her choice as soon as she’d said it, realizing it would be perceived as having been patterned too closely to his previous statement.

Sensing that he had edged onto higher tactical ground, Morton tried to cement his momentum. “Honest hard work,” he said, his voice rising and resonant. This was greeted uniformly and somewhat enthusiastically with a short burst of applause. Feeling a cautious optimism, he felt himself ease up and relax a little.

Sarah Winright felt an early sense of panic begin to develop in her stomach, “Daily hygiene,” she blurted out, sensing herself starting to lose control. But to her relief this was received with a somewhat sharp respectable response and even a few positive scattered murmurs.

Sensing opportunity, Morton followed without hesitation, “Clean air and water,” which brought forth a moderate chorus of approving applause and even a noticeable amount of nodding agreement. His posture remained erect and his countenance deliberately manly as he continued to milk his eye contact with the audience. He was caught slightly off guard as he heard in a clear, strident voice from across the stage, “Education.” This was followed, disturbingly, by a burst of spontaneous vigorous clapping and even a few foot stampings. He felt his anger rise at the theft of the word he had planned on using. Quickly he shot back, “Universal health care,” which garnered him only an obligatory polite response.

The audience anxiously began to shift, sensing a growing intensity. Their excitement was rewarded as Sarah Winright projected loudly, “Reproductive rights,” and Morton echoed, “Equal pay.” Sarah continued without hesitation, “Gross national product.” “Competition,” he countered.

Sarah Winright considered pausing here but felt the audience’s insistent rhythm, like an ardent lover, urging her on. “Family unity,” she said louder than she’d intended.

“Respect for property and authority,” Morton said matching her volume. But before he finished the last syllable of “Authority,” his voice was drowned out by the audience which, unable to restrain itself, burst forth excitedly in unanimous and sustained applause-- the ardent lover was aroused. The candidates themselves now became caught up in the frenzy of adulation. While the applause was still subsiding, Sarah Winright yelled out, “War on drugs, gambling, and sex,” and then, realizing her excess, moderated, “Illicit sex and pornography.” This reignited the still-warm embers of the audience and the sound of applause rose again.

Morton Neargood added, “Law and order,” which further fanned the heated audience,and then, caught up in his own fervor, forgetting that it was his opponent’s turn, he continued with loud reverence, “Liberty and freedom.” The audience screamed.

“America,” shouted Sarah Winright, nearly breathless. This brought forth a loud chorus of

“Ah’s” and yells, mixed in with foot stamping and still raucous applause.

It was then that Morton received an inspiration that seemed to shift the center of his gravity. “God!” he screamed, clutching the microphone in both hands. The audience, unable to restrain themselves, exploded. They rose to their feet screaming, yelling, and clapping with a thunderous, deafening tidal roar. All semblance of decorum was lost. The camera crews began hurrying their equipment through the exit doors as people scrambled like terrorized elephants across a burning field, down the aisles, across the orchestra pit and toward the stage. Several people fell to their death from the second floor balcony seats, and one woman went into early labor and delivered a brand new American baby boy in aisle 5, whom she would later name “Morton.”

The last televised glimpse America had of Morton Neargood was of his back hastily disappearing through an exit door amid a flurry of insecure security guards.