c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-25)
After conducting interviews at Evergreen Estates, Libby Raal was glad to put the rural, trailer community in her rearview mirror. Yet returning to Cleveland, and the LGBT enclave of radical journalists, artists, and student activists, posed a problem. She was unlikely to earn a great amount of money from publishing her work in the alternative, Queer Conundrum publication. So, as a detour from her original plan, she returned with humility to the Plain Dealer offices. There, she sought another interview with Editor-in-Chief Magda Poleski.
The media maven was regally attired, as if she had come directly from some function with other dignitaries in the city. Her frosted mane was an artificial coif of yesteryear. It sparkled with reflections from gold jewelry, and brooches, that dotted her outfit. But despite looking dated, the print princess still exuded an irresistible appeal.
Her knowledge of the craft remained impeccable.
“So, you’ve come here to seek forgiveness? Is that it, Ms. Raal?”
The unemployed reporter clenched her hands, reflexively. But stifled an urge to speak in rebellious tones.
“Ms. Maggie, I know we had a confrontational encounter, last week. Your wisdom sank in after we parted though, I get what you were saying. Readers want realism in the press, So, I got a contrasting view from some of the protest kids here by Lake Erie. That inspired me to visit the heart of MAGA country. I spent a day talking to voters in Geauga County...”
Poleski went wide-eyed and red.
“YOU DID WHAT? THAT’S AMAZING! TELL ME MORE!”
Her professional underling took out a notebook full of scribbled entries.
“There’s an old development of mobile homes at the northeast corner, in Thompson Township. I learned that it has been a center for political organizing and religious groups. You know, the type of people that generally ride with the GOP. I guessed that would be the perfect spot to gather quotes on what happened in November.”
The media queen brightened with approval. She reached across the desk in a gesture of comity.
“This paper needs to offer hard facts about what transpired. We also want to titillate our subscribers, to keep them attentive. There are so many sources for news, that a print journal has to stay competitive, or disappear from the marketplace. Did you find evidence of the Ku Klux Klan, for example? That would justify us running with an expose on the park...”
Raal was shocked by the query.
“The Klan? Well no, nothing like that was evident. Sorry!”
Poleski smoothed her silk blouse, and reclined in the roller chair.
“Okay then, how about the American Nazi Party? Any swastikas flying while you were there? Any German helmets or Iron Crosses, maybe?”
Her contributing scribe had to reply with a curt word of negation.
“No, not a single one, Ms. P! Nothing so extreme.”
The newspaper steward shook her head with disappointment.
“QAnon, maybe? The Oath Keepers? Or Patriot Front?”
Libby sighed and closed her notebook.
“Just some clown who was trying to rally the troops, so to speak. He’s been a thorn in the side of local police, and the sheriff’s department, for several years. A homegrown instigator. Literally, a buffoon.”
The wordsmithing chief chewed her lip and nodded.
“So, you’ve got interviews with relevant citizens? Did they provide evidence of how residents think in that part of our state? We need to underpin anything we offer with a solid foundation of facts. Or give equal time to other viewpoints...”
Raal shrugged and reopened her notes.
“I umm... spoke with two participants, and the property manager. No one else would open their door. The people on-site are very suspicious of outsiders. It isn’t surprising with all of the negative attention they’ve received over the years. Many trustees and commissioners aren’t thrilled with having them there, at all. The park is considered to be a ghetto. A dumping ground for the dregs of society. A wasteland in the midst of prosperity.”
Editor Poleski frowned while tapping her mauve nails on the desktop.
“I need headlines, woman! Something that’ll sell copies of our publication! We’re drowning in profit loss, currently. The youth segment is going for TikTok and YouTube, or Bluesky and WhatsApp. All kinds of platforms I can’t even name yet. They come and go so quickly, the pace of revolution has increased with every year. Technology has exploded the world we know. Artificial Intelligence is about to drown us in prefab content. Give me something I can hang on the wall, like an award plaque! I don’t care which side comes out clean, and who gets dirtied. I just need a hit on the target! Make it happen! And make it last! I need to score ratings points for this company. Or we’ll all be out of work, very soon! The days of feeding bits of half-truth to willing supplicants is over! We’ve got to earn our keep!”
Libby left the meeting with a dejected sense of loss. Her purpose as a writer was now in question. Only revisiting the QC offices could provide hope. So, she sought another audience with Quantra Bolden, the hippie mother and alternative icon.
After arriving for their chat, a similar line of questioning sprang from her lips.
“You actually went to that disgusting village of boxcar homes? What happened next? Did you see Klansmen or Nazis or any other hate groups, marching down the street?”
Raal slouched on her perch. A sudden realization that she was no better off than before made her stomach quiver.
“No, nothing so obvious. The first people I encountered were quite churchy. Religious zealots of the kind normally found in rural areas. They even had a copy of the Trump Bible on their coffee table.”
Bolden brushed the long, gray locks away from her piercing eyes.
“Look, our volunteers need a reason to get motivated by the work we do, in this little commune. Telling them that their adversaries are fond of Sunday School and Jesus won’t exactly light a fire. We need more reasons to get them marching. You didn’t see anything at that park? No bazookas or machine guns, or fascist followers doing the goosestep around their trailers?”
Libby laughed softly.
“No, not at all. You sound surprisingly like my erstwhile boss at the Pee Dee. Can’t we just run with the tagline of progressivism and free thinking? That used to be enough. Minority rights, coexistence, tolerance, inclusion, equity...”
Mother Quantra smiled and tilted her head forward.
“If only! That’s the world in which I grew up, friend. It’s long gone now, however. We’ve arrived in an age of incessant, streaming bullshit! Nobody believes anyone else. We’re all safe in our tribes. But not outside of the bubble. I don’t know how to fix things. I only know that they need someone to put right what has become such a mess...”
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