c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-24)
S. Gordon Finkel had the look of a military sergeant after retirement from the service. His crew-cut and sharp sense of style projected an air of authority, everywhere in the New York Times offices. He was courteous to members of the staff, yet blunt when assessing their output. While sitting behind his desk, or roaming the complex, he was always a formidable figure.
As editor-in-chief of the newspaper, his word was never questioned.
Yet for Nacelle Breech, a measure of conflict had entered this equation. She sat before her superior in a side chair, hunched over slightly, and totally consumed with a satchel of notepads accumulated during her stay in Ohio. After conducting interviews at Evergreen Estates, a trailer enclave situated east of Cleveland, she had gained new insight into the thought processes of Midwestern people. But now, a great challenge was at hand, one which perplexed her with its difficulty in being justified and executed. How to communicate the value of understanding that cultural divergence in the prevailing context of work done for the ‘Old Gray Lady.’
She read aloud from her notes, quoting Townshend Carr Lincoln, while flipping through the long, ruled pages.
“I didn’t vote for the man, myself. (Donald Trump.) I’m a Libertarian, to be honest. That rattles some of the other residents here, it gets me tagged as a weirdo. But to your point, yes, DJT is very popular in this state. You can walk around our streets and see his banners flying, with Gadsden flags and Confederate standards, and such. Maybe even the green arbor that hangs in my front window. That’s a historical reference, from 1772. Have you read about the ‘Pine Tree Riot’ from Weare, New Hampshire? Their spirit is still alive today, in communities such as ours. You see, nobody here has much love for the government, in any form. It’s a different mindset. A different lifestyle from living in an urban setting... We handle our own maintenance, watch over our own families and friends, and settle our own disputes... If there’s a beef between citizens, it gets thrashed out in person. With no cops or lawyers, or media bullshit!”
Finkel frowned and growled like a cranky bear.
“YOU ACTUALLY WASTED TIME TALKING WITH A DRUNKEN IDIOT IN A CLUSTER OF MANUFACTURED BOXES? C’MON NOW, WE PAY OUR REPORTERS FOR QUALITY WORK! NOT THE KIND OF DIDDLING MUSH THAT COLLEGE KIDS WRITE FOR A GRADE!”
His underling wrinkled her nose and kept running through the mass of notes.
“This material is golden! Trust me, Stan! I could pen an essay about the culture of middle America from this, and maybe do a series on how our views differ according to geography...”
Her leader-in-print shook his head angrily.
“GOLDEN? I’D SAY IT IS MORE LIKE SOLID WASTE, DANK AND DIRTY!”
Nacelle ignored his opposition and read more from her scribbled records.
“I know the talking heads on network newscasts think we’re all stupid out here. Naïve, uncivilized, easy to fool, that kind of thing... If you want to get the vibe of Ohio and other states in ‘flyover country,’ then consider where we are as a nation. Many folks don’t trust institutions anymore. They have figured out that the games are rigged, just like fun activities at a county fair. Or a claw machine in a supermarket lobby. Bankers and insurers and investment barons run the show. They channel corporate money to elected officials that do their bidding. Loyal subjects stand in line at the ballot box, and vote for the two parties, over and over again. Even though they feel as if the system has screwed them for participating... You get shamed and canceled for thinking along divergent lines. For asking questions like the kid in the story of ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes.’ Do you understand how that feels? It’s a sense of hopelessness that can’t be erased. Only one act makes it all seem worthwhile – defiance! That’s the tradition set by colonists who had gotten tired of British rule. Their faith flows through the inhabitants of this trailer village, and beyond.”
The media chief shuddered and cursed under his breath.
“YOU WANT ME TO PUT THAT KIND OF MORONIC NONSENSE IN OUR TIMELINE? PLEASE! COME TO YOUR SENSES, WOMAN! YOU MIGHT AS WELL HAVE HAD A CHAT WITH AN APE AT THE ZOO!”
His keyboard servant snorted and tapped her pen on the desktop.
“Stan, listen to yourself! Don’t you get it? This is why we can’t reason with each other. We’ve all become so factionalized. Each side retreats into its own bunker. I don’t agree with that shaggy misanthrope, personally. But it felt refreshing to hear him speak openly and honestly. Isn’t that the principle that made a foundation for what we do? A free flow of words? We can’t reach one another unless someone takes the time to listen, and learn!”
Editor Finkel wanted to vomit. His teeth and fists were clenched.
“NO! NO! NO! NO! THAT BUM NEEDS TO EARN A DEGREE IN LIFE! THEN MAYBE WE CAN CONVERSE WITH EACH OTHER, INTELLIGENTLY! I WON’T GIVE HIM ONE COLUMN-INCH IN THIS PUBLICATION! NOT ONE!”
The hired scribe turned pale with remorse.
“See, there it is, Stan! That’s the arrogance we carry like a shield, into battle. Our self-importance. Our veneer of enlightenment. We presume that anyone who does not share our perceptions must be oafish and clueless. That condescension keeps us isolated. We feel pity for those on the outside. But would never consider breaking through the bubble. What does that say about us? What has it done to our mission, to share all the news that’s fit to print?”
Her designated steward pounded his desk until tools of their trade began to scatter.
“I’M NOT GOING TO LISTEN ANY LONGER! GET OUT OF HERE WITH YOUR NOTEBOOKS AND CRAZY THEORIES, PLUS YOUR HIGH-AND-MIGHTY ATTITUDE! I’M CANCELING THIS ASSIGNMENT! THERE’LL BE NOTHING IN YOUR PAY PACKET FOR THE TIME SPENT IN OHIO! I CALL IT A WASH-OUT! A HANDLE-PULL, AND A COMPLETE FLUSH OF RESOURCES! EVERYTHING STRAIGHT DOWN THE DRAIN!”
Nacelle attempted to sidestep this harsh decision by raising a white flag of surrender.
“I’ll rewrite my feature, it’s okay. I can make it work for you, believe me! A second chance is all I need! I’m a pro at this game, remember?”
The head of their staff was unmoved by her capitulation.
“I AM DONE DEBATING THIS ISSUE, MS. BREECH! CLEAN OUT YOUR CUBICLE. YOUR BYLINE WILL NO LONGER APPEAR IN THE TIMES. PLEASE LEAVE THIS BUILDING, PRONTO! GOOD DAY TO YOU, WOMAN! GOOD DAY!”
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