ReUNION: What if the Civil War had never happened? (23 page)

He shook his head sadly, put down the marker and returned to his desk. “What
conclusion can we draw from this, ladies and gentlemen? We can conclude that
our country is three times as prosperous as our southern neighbor, three times
as productive, three times as ambitious, three times as successful.”

Hobart looked into the camera, much like a prosecutor about to deliver the
final blow. “The figures don’t lie, ladies and gentlemen. They tell a simple
tale: We are
better
than they are. In fact, three times better. I know
you’re thinking old Gary Hobart has finally popped his cork. You’re thinking,
‘My God, he’s bigoted after all.’ ‘He’s been lying to us all along.’

“Well, no, I’m not, and no, I haven’t. I’m the same jolly fellow you all know
and love. I can prove what I say. And it’s not just a matter of money. The
Confederacy’s inferiority has nothing to do with individuals. They’re people
just like we are, no better and no worse. It is their
entire society
that
is inferior.”

Hobart turned back to the white boards, and slid one of them aside, revealing
another board behind it, this one already filled with his childlike handwriting
in felt-tip marker: a numbered list of items.

“These are the facts about the Confederate States of America, facts I dearly
wish weren’t true, and that I’m sure the citizens of the CSA dearly wish were
not true. But they are.”

He pointed to the newly revealed whiteboard and read the items aloud, one by
one: “They have a higher divorce rate than we do. They have a higher rate of
teenage pregnancy. They have a shorter lifespan. They have a higher rate of
infant mortality. They have a higher crime rate.”

Hobart looked toward the camera for a moment and shook his head sadly. Then he
turned back to the white board and continued. “They have a lower rate of high
school graduation. They have a higher rate of obesity. They have a higher
murder rate.” He was getting into a sort of rhythm now. “They have fewer
hospitals, per capita, and less road mileage. And even though the CSA is much
smaller in area than the NAU they cause much more air and water pollution.”

He turned back to the camera, grinning. “I’m not making any of this up, folks.
This is provable fact. You don’t need to take my word for it. You can look it
up in your Funk and Wagnall if you want. But I know what you’re saying,
You’re saying, ‘Their society can’t be
all
bad, Gary. You must be
overlooking some ways in which it’s better than ours is. You’re leaving things
out.’

“Well, you got me folks, I am leaving something out. This I have to admit: They
do go to church more often than we do, on average. Actually, a lot more.
Whether or not that makes them more Godly, I can’t say. Maybe they’re more
sinful. Maybe they have more reason to ask God’s forgiveness. We all know that
the way they treat people of color just begs for acts of contrition. Many of
them.”

Hobart took a moment to catch his breath. “What does all of this mean? It means
that we are crazy to even think about making a deal with the CSA—any kind of a
deal. It means that our young President, bless his heart, is showing us the
consequences of inexperience. It should warn us that meeting with President
Buddy Bourque is a clear and present danger to the future of our country. I’m
talking about national security, folks.”

For a moment, Hobart bowed his head, apparently overcome by the responsibility
he’d taken on. But he recovered, looked up, and then walked back to the white
boards, to a clean panel. “Maybe you think that I’m prejudiced toward the
Confederacy, but that isn’t it at all. I’m prejudiced
toward
the North
American Union,
our
country. I’m desperately worried about our future.
And here’s why:

He drew a red circle on the whiteboard, with heat lines emanating from it.
Then, using a blue marker, drew another circle, at some distance from the
first. “Now I’m going to teach you a little science. I’m going to teach you
about entropy. The principle is simple. You take one body—the sun—which is hot,
and another body—the Earth—which is cold. Over time, heat radiates out of the
warm body and is absorbed into the cooler one. Eventually, when one has cooled
off enough and the other has heated up enough, you reach equilibrium. They’re
both the same temperature. That’s entropy.”

Hobart erased the sun and the Earth and redrew the NAU and the CSA, the two
misshapen potatoes, one large, one small. Then he drew a circle around them
both. “Now, let us apply the law of entropy to these two countries.

“When you put them together—when we link them, as we all know Callaway and
Bourque are just dying to do—what happens? Well, the great wealth and treasure
this one possesses—“ he indicated the bigger potato—“flows to this one.” He
drew a series of arrows running from the big potato to the smaller one. And we
get poorer and poorer and poorer, while they get richer and richer and richer,
and their society gets better as ours gets worse until, by the scientific rules
of entropy, we are equal.”

“And that, ladies and gentlemen is the threat we face. That is the threat of
this so-called innocent and harmless meeting between the two Presidents, and
the agreement that is certain to come out of it. That is what we risk if we let
this meeting take place. And it will all be done with the best
intentions—helping the poor, unfortunate CSA, saving those people with whom we
share a common heritage.

“Now don’t get me wrong. I’m very sympathetic to the poor, backward CSA. I
think we should treat it charitably. In fact, I myself contribute generously to
a charity promoting the education of young Confederate Negro boys. And I
encourage all of you to do the same.

“But our government has no right to give away our national wealth without our
consent, taking away from us what we have worked hard for and earned, obeying
all the rules. We did not kick the Confederacy out of the union—it demanded to
be released. So its plight is entirely its own fault.

“I’ll be back in a moment…”

At the White House, Callaway and his wife exchanged bemused glances. “You have to
admit, he’s entertaining—in a nutty way.”.

“Maybe so,” Julie agreed, “but a large part of the country hangs on his every
word. He’s sort of like the Pied Piper and the lemmings.”

“No, no,” Callaway said. “The lemmings are a different story. The Pied Piper
led the
children
astray. And that’s a good analogy. Too good.”

At the Eagles Aerie, Robert D. Wade looked over at Metzger. “Why do you think
people respond to this guy?”

Metzger laughed. “I think that’s obvious, Robert. He relieves them of the need
to think. And considering how unpleasant it can be to actually think, people
are very grateful for the favor.”

On the screen, Hobart’s face was replaced by that of a beloved TV actor—shockingly
aged and barely able to talk—who began to mumble the praises of reverse
mortgages.

After a minute, the commercial faded away and Hobart reappeared, sitting at his
desk now. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, smiling expansively “we have a
special guest tonight. I want you to welcome the President of the American
Family Alliance, Phyllis Iserbyt. She’s here to tell us about her newest
grass-roots organization, Our Country First. Phyllis, what’s the goal of your
new group?”

The camera pulled back to reveal a woman sitting on Hobart’s couch. This was
Phyllis Iserbyt, a tall, stern-faced lady in her early 60s, grey hair gone
blonde, wearing a dark blazer and a skirt that fell well below her knees. “Nice
to see you, Gary. I’m glad you asked that question. The sole purpose of Our
Country First is to protect the NAU by halting the meeting between President
Callaway and Buddy Bourque, or, if it should occur despite our best efforts, to
make sure nothing comes of it.”

“I see,” Hobart said, nodding, “and how do you plan to do that?”

“We will show the President how America really feels about this appalling and
totally improper get-together,” she said, her manner theatrical. “And we’ll do
that with public demonstrations all over the country, starting this afternoon
and continuing until the meeting is cancelled.”

“All over the country?”

“Absolutely, and all leading to a huge rally in Washington, D.C. three weeks
from Sunday. There’s an enormous reservoir of anger out there about what the
President is trying to do to us, Gary, and we’re organizing that anger to make
a statement that can’t be ignored.”

“And what do you feel the President—to use your words—is ‘trying to do to us’?”

“Isn’t that obvious, Gary? He’s trying to win over Bourque and the Confederacy,
to establish some sort of friendship,” she said with a smug smile. “A one-way
friendship, I might add—and one that will seriously harm our country.”

“Why would he do that, Phyllis?”

“Because he wants to be everyone’s friend,” she explained patiently. “He wants
to be seen as the savior of the western world, a kind of modern Moses. The
wealth of our country is burning a hole in his pocket.” She couldn’t help
smiling at the idea.

“Hmmm. Okay. But what about Bourque? What are his motives?”

“Bourque is the captain of a sinking ship. He wants us to bail him out of his
difficulties. He wants us to prop up his failing country. And that’s all
wrong.”

“And why is that?” Hobart prompted.

Iserbyt’s face clouded over with anger and indignation. “Because,” she said,
“Because the Confederacy made its choice 150 years ago. They told us they could
do without us, they didn’t want any part of us. Well, fine. But that’s not
something you can take back. They went a different way—the wrong way, it turns
out—and we let them go, Gary. And we don’t want them back.”

“I understand.”

“You know, Gary, it’s not like the NAU doesn’t have any problems,” Iserbyt went
on. “We have our own poverty to deal with. We have health care problems. We
have Social Security problems. We can’t afford to share our limited resources
with other nations, no matter how needy they may be. And that’s why I founded
Our Country First. I think it is profoundly unpatriotic to donate our
hard-earned capital to those n’er-do-wells down south, and if it comes to that,
I will call for the impeachment of Charles Callaway. We didn’t elect him to
give away the country. We elected him to honor the Constitution.”

“I think a lot of people agree with you, Phyllis. What can they do, as
individuals, to help you?”

“Gary, there are many ways they can help. They can call or write to the White
House or to their Senators and Representatives. They can come out to the
demonstrations in their own cities today. We’re holding rallies in 50 cities.
Most of all, they can come to Washington, D.C. three weeks from Sunday for the
massive Our Country First assembly at the Mall. We hope to have 500,000 people
there.”

“Well, Phyllis, a lot of concerned people might have trouble coming to
Washington, you know, for financial reasons.”

“Gary, at Our Country First, we know that. So we’ve raised funds from donors,
large and small. As a result we expect to have free buses leaving from all of
the state capitals and from every major metropolis. So watch your email,
folks. Check your local newspaper and
myface
for the exact locations.”

“Well, I’m sure many members of my audience will be doing just that, Phyllis.
But I have one more question. As you know, the Teamster’s Union and several
other unions have voiced their objections to the meeting of the Presidents. Is
Our Country First coordinating its activities with them?”

“Not in any formal way, Gary. We don’t usually see eye to eye on things. But
we’re on the same side in this fight and we’ll do anything we can to help each
other.”

“Well, I understand your concerns, Phyllis and I wish you and your organization
the best of luck. Thanks for coming today.”

“Thank you, Gary. And I want to personally invite you to the Mall three weeks
from next Sunday. There’ll be a spot at the speaker’s table for you.”

The camera came in on Hobart. “I’ll be there, Phyllis, I promise,” he
said, gushing with humble sincerity. Then he looked into the camera and patted
a paper on his desk. “We’ll be back in a moment, ladies and gentlemen, with
some important breaking news.”

The screen momentarily faded to black, then lit up with a jangly red and blue
graphic touting the virtues of an obviously predatory outfit by the name of the
Tax Masters.

At the White House, President Callaway just shook his head in disgust. “You
know,” he said, “two men actually
married
that woman.”