Pottsville, 2023: a short story

                               this is my Atlas Shrugged I guess, written in a few days

Pottsville, 2023: a short story

             b.b. trout

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair…”

-        Charles Dickens

I should have been more careful in this Me Too era of Zero Tolerance that swept across the United States several years ago.  Now I am sitting in the grey prison cell in downtown Pottsville in what used to be the six story Thompson Building.  It had been emptied for many years until its recent conversion to a prison. At one time it was a bustling office building for professionals.  At least now this forgotten structure has tenants and activity.  With the Thompson Building transformed into a prison and its neighbor, the former American Bank Building, now the MTC – Misogynist Treatment Center (an in-patient facility), Pottsville’s population is no longer hemorrhaging.  I once joked that Pottsville’s sinking population would get a boost in the census reporting if our bi-polar residents were able to be counted twice.  I was severely reprimanded for my insensitivity and lost my job over it.  While the prison at the Thompson Building is all male, many of the patients at the MTC are women believe it or not.  Women who refuse to tow the Resistance line.  From my northern exposure window, I can watch the patients being brought in.  That building is almost filled to capacity, just like my prison.

  I await my fate despite not having received any written complaint of what I may have done to cause my incarceration.  I now must review not only my recent past but over sixty years of behavior.  All statutes of limitations were recently abolished by fiat.  All this came about after the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee’s hearing on Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh and an allegation of groping and over-experimenting with booze as a minor.  You probably don’t remember that Supreme Court Justice Hugo Black had been a card-carrying member of the KKK prior to his nomination to the court by Franklin Roosevelt.  He was one of the Court’s great civil libertarians.  However, no one cares about history anymore.  Now every venial sin ever committed from the age of seven is justification for eternal damnation.  

I did think that the Kavanaugh nomination was a wrong decision.  Not because he was unqualified for the position but because the United States is a big country; maybe someone from outside the Boston-Washington corridor should also be on the bench.  I don’t believe Harvard and Yale have a monopoly on intelligence.  But besides intelligence the court needs a dose of common sense peppered with a perspective from another part of the country occasionally.

I stare out my window and see the electronic billboard flashing “All Men Are Liars.  All Women are Victims.”  I mutter that this can’t be really happening to me, but it was.  The billboards are everywhere.   The Resistance has won.  Due process no longer exists.  President Kristen Gillibrand has suspended many civil liberties for at least half of the population.  She proclaimed the nation needed a good cleansing after Trump left the office.  The nation needed a purge. 

The changes imposed by the presidential orders are vast.  Beginning in 2025 all professional and college sports teams cannot have more than 50% of “traditional male” players.  It sounds confusing, but any confusion is to be worked out by newly created bureaucratic agencies.  I am sure that this will give lots of employment to lawyers out there hungry for fees.  Auto racing is not included in executive order as that sport was out right banned; not because the spectators and fans are considered abominable, but because of the fuel used in the sport which adds to global warming.  Despite the fact that Matt Damon and Leo DiCaprio, both financial supporters of the Resistance, fly around the world in private jets using up lots of fuel, the executive order is now the law of the land.  I recall George Orwell’s words, “All animals are created equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”

The other presidential order that surprised me was a requirement that at every televised sporting event, a microphone is to be passed among the players to air grievances in equal time that the national anthem was sung.  The President stated this this is only fair to both sides.  Players could protest police wrongdoings, global warming, pot holes, the neglect of feral cats in this country, the lack of funding for male pattern baldness or any other cause the player is wrapped up in, only if the player projected the appearance of being a victim.  Freedom of speech is more important for victims than for any other people.  Sporting events now take on the appearance of the Festivus Holiday that was created on the old Seinfeld TV show; a show now deemed politically incorrect and banished to the darkest corners of the web.  The airing of grievances starts every game.  Both presidential orders were recently upheld by the Supreme Court in a landmark opinion handed down by Chief Justice Ginsburg (still alive and doing very well thanks to a series of organ transplants from a licensed Chinese organ harvesting facility).  She was joined by Justices Kagan, Sotomayor, Breyer and the newest justice, Gloria Allred.

I have no right to know the charges levelled against me.  I was told that I would be taken into court and examined and then removed from the court room so that my accuser could testify outside of my presence.  I had no right to confront my accuser as courtrooms must be made safe spaces for accusers.  My presence could be a microaggression and trigger unwanted anxiety in the accuser.  I was told that the burden of proof beyond a reasonable doubt was now on me.  I am presumed guilty before opening my mouth.   “All men are liars” flashes the billboard high above Route 61.  I wasn’t sure if I had fifth amendment rights anymore.  Would I be forced to incriminate myself? I had no answer.  I was told if I hire a lawyer, it was considered proof that I am hiding something.  If I say something, then my words are presumed to be lies.  Maybe I should confuse the tribunal and confess?  My refusal to take a lie detector test would be used against me.  My confession would be presumed a lie.  My confusion could maybe get me a suspended sentence.

I am hungry.  I wish I had a burger.  The prison only serves quiche and soy milk.  No burger for me.

But what if I did something offensive? How long ago? Where did it happen?  I will never be told until the sentencing.  Should not my past several decades of righteous living count for something and redeem youthful recklessness?  I was informed that atonement or redemption have been replaced by vengeance and retribution.  I sat motionless on my cot in the old office of George Lindsay, former city solicitor, Room 603 of the old Thompson Building, once considered Pottsville’s skyscraper when Pottsville was still a city.

Damn, I was hungry for a Coney burger. Lindsay’s faded photograph is still on the wall.  He was once a bright political star around here.

Anything I did inappropriate or harmful in high school or middle school, whether real or imagined, is now considered an offense that needs to be examined and “consequences” placed upon me.  Years ago, this was unimaginable as juvenile records were confidential.  Youngsters were considered not mature.  Behavior while young was not to haunt adult for the rest of his life.  Society wanted to ensure that a child or teen’s past did not harm their future.  After the Resistance won, everything changed.

The billboard now flashed, “The end justifies the means.”

My only hope is that the Resistance infighting continues.  One faction of the Resistance believes that all offenders, past and present, need to be weeded out and punished, regardless of political party.  The breakaway faction went after all “offenders” – Bill Clinton, of course.  I even heard reports that former Governor Ed Rendall was taken into custody; now incarcerated for alleged past misadventures.  Proof is no longer required, only a simple allegation.  At one-point Pottsville’s JFK swimming pool was to be renamed as he bedded an underage intern in the White House after giving her alcohol.  Many argued that the pool name not change, as Kennedy never laid a finger on any of the waitresses working at the Pottsville Garfield Diner when he spoke to the crowds in the city back in 1960, although he had opportunity to do so. It was suggested that it be renamed the Eleanor Roosevelt pool due to the aging population in the city.  No one could remember who Eleanor Roosevelt was, so that idea was dropped.  The pool was finally renamed after Stormy Daniels for helping the Resistance win the hearts and minds of the population.  No one cared or remembered that her past was sordid.  Years ago, Ms. Daniels might have labelled a prostitute or blackmailer, but all of that has changed.  We are amid the golden age of trash culture without even realizing it.  Anyway, no one cares about history anymore. 

The electronic billboard on Route 61 flashed “The end justifies the means.”

The other faction of the Resistance still overlooked transgressions of those who were useful to the cause.  Old Larry Flynt of Hustler Magazine fame is a big donor to the Resistance and he is still protected; likewise, the rap music industry and, of course, Comcast which sends pornography to subscribers.  Lots of money pours in from those folks who profit on misogyny, using women as a commodity to be degraded for customers.  The fashion industry also is a heavy contributor to the Resistance.  Yet that business creates body image problems for many young girls. 

The electronic billboard on Route 61 flashed once again, “The end justifies the means.”

Maybe I can be useful to the Resistance and my transgression, whatever it was, skipped over.  Money talks you know.  It always has.  It always will.

All that is happening to me is the result of my application for a position on the city’s zoning board.  Government is being cleansed from the top down to even lowly picayune local offices.  If I had only avoided attempting to get involved in city affairs, then my past behavior would have been disregarded.  I would have been left alone.  Now my application has become an invitation for the Resistance to probe deep into my past, to dissect my mind, to analyze my every action to determine if I will be loyal to the cause or be disloyal and labelled an enemy of their state.  Once my application was submitted I opened myself up for phone tapping, email hacking, bugging of my house, my letters and correspondence opened and copied.  I am astounded on the amount of surveillance material that the state had on me.  

A burly prison guard walks to my cell and tells me that my trial would begin tomorrow morning at 9:30 A.M.  I thank her for the tip and I begin to review my entire life.

My God! Do these guards realize how silly they look wearing those pink hats that became fashionable after Hillary lost the election?  I was not to think that Mrs. Clinton lost the election.  The head of the Department of Education, Rachel Maddow, has stated that Hillary did win but that the election was stolen by foreign forces.  Hillary Clinton will be listed as the duly elected president on all official records with an asterisk after her name indicating she was never permitted to hold the office because of foreign intervention.  What about her funding of the Steele dossier?  Didn’t both parties have dirty hands?  Didn’t Hillary have the primary system rigged in her favor giving the shaft to old Bernie Sanders?  I am glad I voted for Gary Johnson the Libertarian candidate.  I only wish he knew the word Aleppo when he was asked on the Morning Joe Show on MSNBC, in an ambush – a set-up interview when he was deemed a threat to Hillary.  Johnson should have been more concerned about world affairs than pot smoking; he mixed up Aleppo with falsetto and his poll numbers sank.  That’s what I read on Facebook.

Yes, there were bush parties in my youth that I now have trouble remembering.  As older teens we went through a rite of passage, drinking beer with friends in the woods, far away from adult supervision.  The bush party itself was an illegal activity.  John Mellencamp’s Cherry Bomb song rattled about in my head.

And the weekends went by so quick
Went ridin' around this little country town
We were goin' nuts, girl, out in the sticks

I understand that lack of intent, or mens rea, was no longer a defense anymore.  If I was inebriated, it was no excuse.  If it was one single incident, it was no excuse.  I was told the penalty for one inebriated incident could be a branding on my forehead.  Branding is no longer considered cruel and unusual.  I think branding is edgy, a step up from tattooing.  There are numerous branding parlors in downtown Pottsville now.  However, the word “pig” would be branded on my forehead.  Maybe I’d add letters and make it look like pigeon or pigmy.  Just don’t know.  I will wait until my sentence is imposed.

I remember a dance in a gymnasium.  A record player was spinning a 45 hit of Sam Cooke, “Bring It on Home to Me.”  It was time for this lonely gawky teenager to make his move, regardless of how awkward, as it was the last dance of the evening.  It was now or never.  I forget her name now, but I remember holding her close.  I remember the scent of her Aqua Net hair spray.  I remember my nervous right hand moving ever so slowly down from her waist to her butt before breathing a sigh of relief.  It was short-lived bliss as she pushed my hand back up to its starting position.  Could she be now pressing charges against me years later?  Sam Cooke died a violent death over a woman, how ironic that my fate could rest over where my roving hand landing while his song was playing in that dank gymnasium on an autumn Saturday night on Market Street in downtown Pottsville.

“Bring your sweet loving
Bring it on home to me…”

Was it wrong to watch the Benny Hill Show and laugh at the leering and groping by that British comic?  As a child I watched Harpo Marx chase a woman while honking his horn?  No, it had to be something more.    What about my Rolling Stones collection?  Honky Tonk Women? Taboo now.  The Resistance came down hard on the Stones after the takeover since Trump’s theme song was a Stones song.  I should have destroyed them all.  Now it’s too late.  My thoughts drifted off as I watched a rat cross my cell room.  Tom Brokaw, my favorite news reporter?  Insufficient to convict although allegations were made against him.  Books borrowed from the Pottsville Library by Ernest Hemingway or Norman Mailer?  Might those chauvinistic books have been revealed to authorities?  “To Kill A Mockingbird,” was another one I read. My God!  That despicable book had as its premise that a woman can lie under oath.  Atticus Finch, the stoic country lawyer is now deemed a chauvinistic demon due to his aggressive cross-examination of the woman victim, the poor Mayella Ewell.  I’m sure they will find out it was on my borrowed list. The Resistance checks everywhere.  Privacy no longer matters.  I am now convinced that Tom Robinson, the defendant, was guilty as hell of raping the woman.

Believe the woman! The billboard flashed once again.  I will make a button that reads “I believe Mayella Ewell” and wear it at my trial.

In 1972 at the Capitol Theatre I watched Marlon Brando’s movie “Last Tango in Paris” which had a sordid rape scene.  Did someone report that to the authorities?  I hated the film (but loved the soundtrack).  The film received great reviews at the time, mainly written by older members of the present Resistance.  I was thrown out of the theatre after demanding a refund.  How could I prove it?  The Theatre is gone – it’s a parking garage now.  The manager’s deceased. I’m sunk.  Maybe an investigation could still turn up some evidence to help me.  The old popcorn bag I kept will probably be used against me.

Did the police obtain a search warrant to search my house?  I sprang up from my cot and break into cold sweat.  My VHS tape of “Animal House” was in my den!  They would find it!  My heart sank. That’s enough to convict me.  “Animal House” is now considered equivalent to the original “Birth of a Nation” and condemned by the newly created Federal Department of Cultural Sanitation.  Bluto Blutarsky is the film equivalent of a slave master. I was told that the punishment for possessing a copy of the film was a minimum 40 hours in a reeducation camp, forced to watch “The View” on the tv, followed by two hours of Wolf Blitzer news reporting.  Cruel and unusual punishment.

Before collapsing back onto the cot in my cell, I remember why I did not destroy the tape! 

I will tell the tribunal that years ago I thought it was a funny movie, but I have since changed my mind.  My mind better be changed as the Resistance has now criminalized all private thoughts and private behavior.  The only humor permitted now is the monologue on Saturday Night Live.  Everyone is supposed to laugh out loud at the political propaganda dished out weekly on the show as comedic entertainment in similar fashion to the loud clapping and applause that North Korean Kim Jong-Un receives from his people.  Children are requested to inform the police if their parents did not mention how funny the political skits were at the Sunday morning breakfast table.  “I never laughed so much since the last episode.”  Co-workers are also to report anyone expressing a Monday morning negative review.  Yes, they are to turn in anyone who dare call a spade a spade by stating that the show is dull and repetitive.

Political correctness has killed comedy.  Propaganda rules.

The Resistance not only wants to control your public behavior, it wants to control your soul.  I will just keep quiet and say nothing.  I will turn off my mind and stop thinking.  In the words of George Orwell, “If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.”

     I can do that. I have to do that.  My life depends on it.  I will not say a word at my trial.

Damn I wish I had a Coney burger right now.

                                     

If large sodas are outlawed, only outlaws will have large sodas

I understand that there is a movement to ban the sale and possession of large containers of sodas and other soft drinks just over the state border in New York.   You say that it should not concern us as New York is so far away.  Well I remember as a child when fireworks were first banned in New York.  It did not take long for that ban to come to us.  So much for the Second Amendment. Now instead of roman candles we must entertain ourselves with sparklers and those snakes that stain your sidewalks.

For some reason or another, these misguided activists are concerned over the increase in obesity.  I oppose such a ban. If ever I am asked my opinion on the so-called obesity epidemic, I say “bring it on.” 

 For years we have seen many of our youngsters graduate and leave Schuylkill County, never to return, except for perhaps an occasional visit to attend the Pigeon Shoot, a grandparent’s funeral, or the American Way Fair (not necessarily in that order).  The effect of this migration has been an obvious dwindling in the population.  Right now there are more Whooping Cranes in Mount Carbon than there are people. Just think about that for a minute or two.  Even with such attempts to increase the population with such gimmicks as the newspaper’s annual New Year Baby Contest or the City’s Midnight Baby Parade, the population keeps decreasing.  

Therefore, if our population cannot increase, we need to enlarge our remaining citizenry to fill up the empty space that surrounds us.  I will give you an example. Growing up I used to ride the East Penn buses and all the seats would be filled. Now, in 2012, with the population decrease, the buses have many empty seats.  If we cannot get extra passengers, then it makes sense to enlarge the behind size of the average rider.  Voila. The buses will be filled again. Problem solved.  The same goes with taking the elevator up to the top of the Thompson Building. At one time ten would cram into the elevator before the elevator operator would take off as ten was the maximum capacity. Now one has to wait for an hour or so before twelve people appear. If we can fatten up the population, then we can get the elevator to be filled to capacity after only two or three people get on board. Again, another problem solved.

Schuylkill County has always had a love affair with overeating.  Maybe it is due to our collective depression and low self-esteem.  Over-eating is the perfect solution to our stress, our depression, our loneliness, our fear, and our anxiety. And I thank God for that. Manna from heaven. 

Remember that over-eating is part of our culture, our history. Isn’t Schuylkill County the birthplace of the “all you can eat Scrapple Breakfast Buffet?”  Didn’t that restaurant near Garfield Square, Phase II, get a place in the Guinness Book of World Records for largest amount of French fries ever served on one plate?  If you say no, then I was lied to all of my life which will only make me more depressed, stressed out, and anxious. 

Folks, we need to fatten the population up at the earliest age possible.  I want our toddlers to resemble hams. All of them. Not just a few. I want baby fat to remain for life. I want Jellyroll.
 If I ever get to be County Commissioner I would have every Thursday be a trick or treat night for starters. I would rename JFK Pool after Ted Kennedy.

Then I would use Amsterdam as a model to transform the County into a tourist magnet.  Just as Amsterdam’s lenient drug laws attract tourists, Schuylkill County could increase the portions of every meal and every beverage. New Yorkers would flock to Schuylkill County seeking out 32 oz birch beer sodas, baconburgers, two footlong hoagies, and unlimited amounts of pure transfat and lard.  Yuengling Dairy could reopen once again and increase its fat content to levels never dreamed of.   Our downtowns would be filled with restaurants.

 Our streets would be filled again, even if only a few people are waddling along. 

The other Thompson Building Plans

The Pottsville Republican broke the story recently of a plan to renovate the downtown landmark Thompson building into college apartments. While many resent the fact that the city is attempting to attract middle-class young people into our city, all plans deserve to be studied carefully. My secret source (actually a blabbermouth from the Eagles bar) revealed to me the "other plans" under consideration for this architectural wonder named after the late gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson . I will share them with you right now:

1. Thompson Parking Lot. With the successful transformation of the YMCA into a barren parking lot, many think a new lot at the southwest corner of Centre and Market Streets is the ideal next step to alleviate the critical lack of parking for Roma pizza devotees. The city health department recently cited alarming statistics involving the direct correlation between walking and pizza consumption. “It appears that pizza lovers do not like to walk. It is plain and simple, as well as pepperoni and simple, and extra cheese and simple,” the Pottsville Surgeon General announced. He continued his warning that “The city has a moral obligation to alleviate the suffering caused by the lack of parking near every pizzeria within the city limits. This lack of adequate parking forces people to walk several steps in order to pick up their pies. This is intolerable to a people who have lost the NFL championship in 1925 and have suffered ever since.”

Proponents of this plan believe that if the Thompson building was razed for additional parking, the implosion would attract dozens to the downtown to watch. Furthermore it is believed that Roma would seriously consider painting another sidewalk on the perimeter of the new asphalt parking lot, mimicking the appearance of a real sidewalk and placating those whining citizens who think that the downtown should have sidewalks for pedestrians.

2. The Thompson Prison. With the rise of more activities becoming illegal, there is a pressing need for additional prison cells. The transformation of the Thompson building to the Thompson Prison makes good economic sense. The downtown would have a “captured audience” (no pun intended) to build upon. One main hurdle to overcome is the lack of exercise facilities for the prisoners, but it was determined that the inmates could easily use the nearby Green YMCA parking lot as a prison yard for workouts and exercise. Merchants were betting on the prisoners being allowed “good time” passes every Friday to coincide with their new marketing campaign aimed at criminals. However the merchants were warned by the police that illegal betting has never been tolerated within the city limits. Ironically they could end up being the first residents at the new state of the art Thompson High Rise Prison. Opponents argue that prisoners should not be coddled. Those in favor, however, state that while every cell would contain its own mini-bar and plasma tv, and even though a rooftop tennis court and swimming pool will added, these are necessary to attract a higher caliber of prisoner; absolutely no coddling will be permitted on the premises. If this plan takes off, then Pottsville could eventually rival Allenwood as the choice location for the discriminating, sophisticated convict.

Incidentally, the top floor of the Thompson Prison is an ideal location for conjugal visits. I should know as Mammy and I are members of the legendary Thompson Building Mile High Club :).

3. Thompson Homeless Shelter. The cold-hearted city zoning board recently nixed the idea of transforming Mahantongo Street into a Homeless District, an idea that most Pottsvillians enthusiastically supported. Proponents such as me argued that a Homeless District would have given Pottsville a more 1970s New Yorkish, Bowery-type appearance which hopefully would have attracted the down and out from across the country, increasing the city's declining population and increasing employment for social and mental health workers.

“Right now Pottsville is losing many of its toothless drifters to warmer climates! We have to stop this steady out-migration,” one leading proponent fervently argued, “Although Pottsville leads the county in low income housing and shelters, we should not rest until every house in the city can be classified as low income subsidized housing. We don't want to become another Orwigsburg.”

4. The Thompson American Way Fair Museum. Since the first American Way (a/k/a “May Fair”) was held in 1976 to commemorate the anniversary of something or other, Pottsville City Hall has been flooded with discarded fair memorabilia. Proponents of this plan argue that the American Way Fair is “our generation’s history” and it is being ignored. For instance, the average child today is totally unaware that the idea of fiberglass insulation first came about when some American Way cotton candy fell against the wall of Kep’s corner store.

The next time you go to city hall, ask to look around the basement, but be prepared to cry. It will break your heart to see the voluminous buckets of funnel cake mix, fading photographs of mullet-haired, bare-chested revelers, and crumpled amusement ride ticket stubs all piled up, just waiting for a real home. The Thompson Building may be just the right size to exhibit the artifacts that are now just gathering dust within the bowels of city hall. Such a museum could rival the riveting Mummers' Museum in Philadelphia.