CHAPTER FIVE

“General LaMonde is, in my mind, the greatest military mind in our country
today. He is a worthy successor to the legends of so many earlier
great men, men like George Patton and Douglas MacArthur.”
Samuel Parsons, A Rogue At Zero Hour

“I have seen the future, and it is filled with people making the
mistakes of the past.”
Hal Simpson, Editorial in The Carlsbad Current Argus

Lyceum lectures were usually held at the middle school auditorium, a structure more than large enough to house the audiences that would attend the high falootin’ speakers the group would generally bring to town. The large demand for tickets to the LaMonde talk required it be moved to the Desert Fiesta, a large pre-fab structure built on the outskirts of town on the highway to El Paso. The building had been intended to do for Carlsbad what Palo Duro Canyon had done for Canyon, Texas—provide a venue for a song and dance production (in Canyon’s case, a play appropriately entitled Texas) that would keep tourists and their dollars in town for an extra night. It proved to be a popular idea with everyone but the tourists, and the venture closed its doors its first summer in production, leaving a building which had eventually housed city storage, an occasional “Up With People” production, and most recently, a bedrock Christian church. It was the largest meeting place in Carlsbad, and tonight it was standing room only.
Hal had seen no reason to arrive too early, knowing he held reserved seats in the front row. But he did not anticipate the draw that General LaMonde would have, and after circling the parking lot twice in a futile effort to find a parking place, drove his Camaro back down the road a half mile before pulling in between two white pick-ups. He locked the car doors and held Ruth’s hand as they began walking toward the lecture hall.
Hal’s thoughts wandered as they ambled toward the building’s front entrance. Were gun racks de rigueur for pick-up trucks with Texas license plates? Who owned the single Prius he saw on the road dominated by trucks and SUV’s? As he neared the front entrance, he wondered where the long black Hummer limousine had been driven in from. When Ruth misstepped and almost fell in the gravel near the entrance, he wondered who had invented high heeled shoes and why. And more importantly, how had they been so successfully marketed? They certainly didn’t look too comfortable. Then he thought about his tie and loosened it a bit more.
He shook a few hands and nodded acknowledgement a number of times as he and Ruth navigated the crowded aisle toward the front of the auditorium. All seats were filled. There was a sea of t-shirts and cowboy hats. There was a long haired character in sunglasses, his motorcycle mama standing closely next to him, each missing a front tooth, each holding a beer in a plastic cup, each with the stars and bars brightly emblazoned on the backs of their vests. He had written “LUV IT OR LEVE IT” in chalk under his flag; were the misspellings intentional? A little kid dressed up in an army camouflage suit, perched on his father’s shoulders, waving an American flag. Three “Fuck Obama” t-shirts, another with “What Should Obama And Lincoln Have In Common?” Hal was certain that Presidential libraries in Illinois were not the shirt’s intent.
Toward the front, the crowd seemed more subdued. The first ties, a number of suits. A magistrate judge, the chief of police, a half-dozen lawyers, three doctors and most of the Lyceum members. Hal saw Pete Price, a distant cousin of the country and western singer Ray Price, slouching in the second row, resplendent in his white shirt and red, white and blue bow tie. Hal called him “Goober,” his nickname for everyone that reminded him of Andy Griffith and Mayberry RFD.
Five minutes after the scheduled beginning of the speech, Gayle Jerrells, the Lyceum’s president since its inception, approached the podium. A tall, thin, somewhat stately woman with dark grey hair, Gayle rarely agreed with Hal’s politics but each shared a mutual respect for the other’s ideas and ideals. Hal had once wanted to ask her if she had ever owned a pair of pants; neither he nor anyone else in Carlsbad had ever seen Gayle in a pair of slacks. Actually, he remembered, he did ask her once. He wondered whether she just hadn’t heard the question or thought it too silly to bother answering. Either way, Hal mused, she did have great legs for a woman her age. Course, shouldn’t a woman her age wear skirts that extend over her knees rather than to them? As if on cue, his answer came when he heard whistles and cat calls from the back of the auditorium.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to a very special program brought to you by the Carlsbad Lyceum.” Then the predictable acknowledgements and thank-yous, the recognition of the area dignitaries, the voices of the disinterested in the audience. It dawned on Hal only now that he had seen only a couple of Hispanic faces in the crowd. There were no blacks. Like a Jimmy Buffett concert, he thought, only way scarier.
“Our very special speaker tonight is known to all of you. General Kurt LaMonde is a true American hero who has seen fighting on the ground in Iraq and Afghanistan and behind the desks in Washington, D.C.” Applause and snickers from the audience. “I need not give you a long resumé of his accomplishments for they’ve long been reported in national media and our own Current Argus. So without further ado, our man of the hour, Marine General Kurt LaMonde!” Loud applause. Cheers. Syncopated foot stomping. I’m getting a headache, Hal thought. He looked left at Ruth, who was smiling broadly and, he thought, clapping too vigorously. He felt his necktie tightening.
LaMonde walked onto the stage from behind the worn purple velour curtain to Gayle’s left. He strode toward the podium forcefully, back erect, in long steps, seemingly oblivious to the applause that greeted him. He did not smile until he took Gayle’s hand and shook it; she seemed to grimace slightly, Hal thought. Maybe the General was using a real Marine’s let’s-show-you-early-who’s-boss handshake. LaMonde weighed more than Hal thought he would. Maybe that D.C. infighting allows long lunch hours. Still the man looked—what would the word be? Dangerous.
It wasn’t until Gayle moved away from the podium that LaMonde turned to face the audience. He didn’t seem to focus on anyone, but he seemed to see everyone all at once. A bit unnerving. He made no attempt to quiet the crowd. Shit-eating grin. He had no notes. He simply stood at the podium, taking it all in. Reconnoitering.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for that welcome. And thank you, members and of the Carlsbad Lyceum, for this opportunity to speak to all of you today about the dangerous set of affairs now facing our country.
“Those of you who know of me know that I place the honor of my country above all other things. Of course, to serve that country and help preserve its honor, I must admit that I have bent the rules a time or two.” Chuckling from the back rows.
“I had a horrible family life growing up in southern Missouri. My father was abusive and would often take his shortcomings out on my mother and me. When I was fifteen, I knew I could take it no more. I could have moved out, gone to Hollywood and a few years later written some tell-all book in which I blamed my parents for all my problems. Or I could take my life and my future into my own hands. I did that. I obtained a fake driver’s license showing me to be three years older than I actually was and enlisted in the United States Marine Corps.” Hoots and hollers from across the hall.
“In the Corps, I discovered the importance of camaraderie of those with a common goal. Our goal was to protect America.” Loud applause. LaMonde looked like he was irritated by the interruption. “To protect America against all costs. Even if that cost was laying down our lives. We found no sacrifice to be too great to be offered up to this noble land of ours.
“Without belaboring my history in the Corps too much, I can tell you that I was an apt student of its procedures, values, and judgments, and over the years, as you all know, rose to the rank of general.” The syncopated foot stomping again. Loud applause and cheers.
“This country now faces threats as serious as any ever confronted before in our two-hundred and forty year history. We are at war in Iraq and in Afghanistan. But, my friends, make no mistake about it: we are involved in a World War.” Silence.
“We have the resolve, we have the resources to win this war. We can beat those who want to see this country brought to its knees just as we defeated the Axis powers in the last World War and the Central powers in the World War before that one.” Loud applause. Chants of “Kurt, Kurt, Kurt” from the back rows.
LaMonde held up his arms to silence the crowd. He slowly surveyed his audience, passing his gaze from left to right. Reconnoitering. “No one recognizes this ability better than Samuel Parsons, the great senator from your neighboring state of Texas. Senator Parsons, as you all know, is currently seeking the Republican nomination to run as that party’s candidate in November, and he has amply demonstrated in his many speeches, his support of various bills in Congress, and in his private conversations with me, his total commitment to the future of American interests, both at home and abroad.” Loud applause again. LaMonde sipped from a glass of water and cleared his throat.
“It has been well reported in the media that I advocated the limited use of nuclear weapons in the mountains of Afghanistan and Pakistan. We can win our war against the Taliban and Muslim extremists. We can bring to an end the number of brave young Americans giving their lives to achieve this victory. Harry Truman was not afraid to use the full power of our military strength against the Japanese.” A formulaic pause. “Neither will Samuel Parsons hesitate to use that power against our enemies around the globe.”
People jumped to their feet. Even the lawyer to Hal’s right, usually so dour and devoid of emotion, shot up and applauded vigorously. The cry, “Parsons, Parsons, Parsons” was almost deafening. Hal loosened his necktie again. Was he sweating? The second coming couldn’t elicit this type of enthusiasm. What the hell are they thinking?
The rest of LaMonde’s speech was predictable enough. Obama was timid, Parsons would be brave; Obama was weak, Parsons will be strong. Yada, yada, yada. Vote for a great American. Vote for Samuel Parsons in November.
Gayle returned to the podium, grinning broadly. Now she took LaMonde’s hand and shook it forcefully. The predictable questions: Will Samuel Parsons stand up to China? Will Parsons reinstate the draft and make out military great once again? Will Parsons tap Sarah Palin as his running mate? The predictable answers: Yes, Yes, and No.
A few words from the president of the Carlsbad Young Republicans, Reggie Campbell, decked out in a shiny black leather jacket. Good God, he looks like the Reggie in the Archie comics, Hal told himself. Then Campbell, LaMonde, and a couple of other teenagers also in black leather jackets left the stage together.
Huh, Hal thought. Weren’t black leather jackets mentioned in news feeds over the last few months? Small bands of young people in black leather jackets had been seen running away after a synagogue was firebombed in Atlanta, mosques were destroyed in fires in Detroit and Los Angeles, and a Chinese man was attacked and killed in the Chicago subway. Odd.