Did you think
Asa would turn up so soon in Washington, DC?
I know I didn't - although, in retrospect, I'm not surprised. I doubt if you are either, considering what an able administrator he's proven himself to be. And, of course, his patriotism is almost god-like. In fact, he was nominated for the National Fundamentalist Coalition's "Who We'd Most Like God to Be Like" Award. The President was also nominated but, when he heard who his competition was, graciously declined the nomination, declaring in a nationally televised address: "I, too, my fellow Americans, would like God to be just like Asa, so I cannot in good conscience compete with this fine American. I therefore withdraw my name from consideration. And, please, don't forget: this is National Patriot Month, so take a patriot to dinner. And have a pleasant evening." At the time he had no idea Asa was contemplating moving to the nation's capital; otherwise, he would have made reference to that delightful fact also.
At this point you're probably wondering what on earth could possibly induce Asa to leave his beloved Highland Park, Michigan to come to Washington, DC. Only one thing (as I'm sure
you've already guessed): duty, honor and country, pure and simple. Asa and his lovely wife Ava were watching the evening news when something convinced him it was time for a change. (Incidentally, as I hardly need mention, Ava will most definitely be packing up her knitting needles and her red, white and blue skeins of yarn and moving with her husband to Washington). In the meantime, while they finish packing, let's take a look at that oh so fateful broadcast.
Action-Reaction. The Late Breaking News. The all-important local news had been given: 14 rapes, 8 murders, 1 old farmer with his eyes gouged out, a cow struck by a locomotive, a rabid dog on the loose in Detroit, a proposal to make the stinkweed Highland Park's city flower (through a process of elimination: every other plant in the country was seen as having un-American connotations). The sports had been given: Big Nick discussed the pros and cons of allowing eunuchs on the high school varsity squad. Reenie the big-eyed weathergirl heaved a sigh over an impending thunderstorm. Then a a few minutes were devoted to the Daily Inspirational: this evening Reverend Worship led the studio audience in a prayer asking God to inflict boils on America's enemies. Finally, just before the playing of the National Anthem, thirty seconds of national news flashed across the screen. One item stood out. It made an indelible impression on one man's mind. And this, more than anything else, was what led to the total destruction of Paris, France.
"Why were those horrible people marching?" Ava asked.
"They're protesting," Asa replied gravely. An idea was taking shape in his mind, and Ava knew it.
"And in Washington too!" she declared in annoyance. "Why would anyone desecrate our nation's capital with signs and pickets!"
"I'm afraid," came Asa's studied response, "we've been too heavily influenced by the French. They seem to encourage this sort of filth. Their people - particularly their students - march
every time things go wrong without realizing that everything would be alright if no one pointed it out. They do it for media attention."
"And what on earth does anybody have to protest in Washington?" asked Ava.
A look of profound disgust stole across Asa's face. "Apartheid," he replied. "They're protesting South Africa's policy of Apartheid, when they should be falling on their knees and thanking God for it. It's just about the only sane policy left in the world today. I'm very perturbed, Ava. When my fellow Americans start picketing, disrupting good people on their way to work, and endangering our national security for the sake of nothing more significant than some other country's underclass, then I think it's time for someone to speak out."
"But who?" Ava wondered. She looked deep into the flag she was crocheting on the back of her husband's sweater, and in that sacred design she had her answer. She smiled a fine, dutiful wife's smile as she returned to her crocheting.
At this solemn point I'd like to take a moment to make something perfectly clear. Asa would never for a second consider leaving Highland Park, even for so crucial an undertaking as saving the government of South Africa, were he not satisfied that his home town could function in an acceptable manner during his absence. Asa understands, as no other man alive, that one's first duty is to his local community, which is why he led so vigorous a campaign when it appeared that the local news would be turned into a virtual repository of national and world events. His efforts led to the execution of the station's general manager on charges of attempted murder. "This traitor," Asa argued
impassionedly as Special Patriotic Guest of the Court, "has attempted to destroy - yes, let me say it right out: to murder - our beloved community! He would bring to us a slow, painful death, an atrophy of our very identity, till finally we no longer knew who or where we were. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we must make an example of this fiend. And may God have mercy on his soul." The station manager was sentenced to die in the new cathode ray tube; his body was dismembered, at Asa's
suggestion, and the parts shipped to various leftist capitals throughout the world. The TV station invited Asa to manage it until a suitable replacement could be found.
No, Asa would not be going to Washington, DC if he were needed at home, you can be sure of that. But things are calm now on the home front; no new uprising has been spotted in several months. Un-Americanism has been at least temporarily rooted out of Lower Michigan - though, God knows, it could rear its ugly head again at any moment. So rest assured, Asa will keep in close touch with his friends and neighbors back home, and at the slightest indication of unpatriotic behavior he will be on the next plane to Detroit: as important as it is to make the world safe for American interests, Asa well knows it is infinitely more important to keep Highland Park free of subversion.
Ava, incidentally, being quite the little woman, managed to finish Asa's sweater before the plane landed at Dulles Airport. And Asa, ever vigilant, noticed someone on board who might very well have been a terrorist. He reported this to the pilot. "He looks more like Colonel Kadaffi than a decent man ought to," Asa reported. "I suggest we maneuver him to the storage compartment, lock him in, and open the hatch long enough to suck him out. You may lose some luggage, but at least you'll save the plane." The pilot hesitated, but only till he learned who was addressing him; then he agreed on the spot - as any patriotic American would. The terrorist, as it turned out, was not Colonel Kadaffi but an undersecretary of state; no one had ever suspected him of subversion. Asa was commended for his insight. "I just did what any good American would have done," a modest Asa was heard to say on the cable news. Ava beamed with pride. The terrorist was posthumously fired from his position within the government, his property was confiscated, his family deported to Libya.
I mention this incident not so much to emphasize Asa's profound loyalty to the principles of American democracy as to account for his being given a motorcade into the nation's capital. The president happened to watch him on cable, immediately contacted the Secretary of the Interior to arrange for the motorcade, and summoned an honor guard to greet his arrival, which proved most fortuitous since Asa recognized the rear
guard as one of the protesters he had seen on TV. The guard was arrested and taken to Arlington, where he was buried alive in the national
cemetery.
"What tipped you off?" Asa was asked.
"The black skin," came the thoughtful reply. "Some of the protesters had black skin. It was just a matter of putting two and two together. Any good American could have done as much."
"We want to thank you, Asa," the Secretary of Defense said. "You've saved us a very great embarrassment. If the public had found out we had a foreign agent in our honor guard, we would have been a laughing stock. It's people like you who make this a better world."
Ava was beaming the whole way along the motorcade. And she had a veritable glow about her the evening of the state reception honoring her husband. "My dear," a Washington socialite asked her in confidence, "what's your secret?" "Ivory soap," she proudly replied. "And the dear Lord Jesus," she added. "How very nice," observed the socialite flippantly. Ava, of course, reported the woman's
irreverence to her husband, who in turn informed the Secret Service, who had the woman removed from the dinner table and placed in a dungeon beneath the Capitol rotunda until her skin turned so sallow and wrinkled that she was run out of town as a leper.
"Let's get right to the point, Asa, shall we?" the President asked after toasting his guest. "Where do you see the problem here? And speak as freely as you like. Let the chips fall where they may."
"Mr. President," Asa replied, "I can tell you in one word: France. That's the source of your problems. Thanks to France and its insane encouragement of protesting, picketing, marching and the like, the Republic of South Africa stands surrounded by the forces of insurrection. Death and destruction are at its very gates. The question is, Mr. President, do we stand idly by while one of the bastions of western civilization falls?"
"What do you recommend, Asa?"
"As I see it, Mr. President, the choice is simple: Paris or Pretoria. Take your pick. This world's not big enough for both."
"Burn Paris?"
"Or bomb it. There's no other way, Mr. President - not if we're to preserve freedom as we know it in the western world."
Everyone at the banquet knew that Asa's solution was the only sane and logical one. It remained only to work out the details, so a task force was set up to study the problem and make recommendations. Asa was selected to chair the task force; Ava was asked to preside over the women's
auxiliary. She agreed, and immediately set up a sewing circle to give the Washington wives a chance to crochet commemorative sweaters for their husbands, a task they thoroughly enjoyed. A few wives had so much trouble with their needles and skeins, however, that they had to be sent to reform school to be taught properly. One wife never did learn and was forced to divorce her husband and give up her children. (I mention this because, in a subsequent story, I plan to relate how Ava helped establish the National Checklist of Ten Wifely Duties, the first of which, as you might suspect, has to do with needlepoint.)
Asa took time out from his busy schedule to take Ava sightseeing. First they went to the Washington monument, which so offended them with its suggestive shape that the President paid a magician to make it disappear. Next they went to the National Gallery. They found the nudes indecent, so clothes were painted over them; they objected to modern paintings on the grounds that what was indistinct could easily have a subversive message, so everything later than 1860 was removed; and they simply loathed the East Wing with its skylights and walkways. "Plaster, wood, concrete and steel serve no other purpose than the making of walls and ceilings," Asa pointed out. "If we're going to stop using these fine elements for walls and ceilings, then let's stop making them." Asa's logic was too succinct to ignore, so the East Wing was plastered over; Ava recommended cherubs for the wallpaper. Various other buildings and parks had to be redone too, when their deviation from fundamental American ideals was pointed out. The critics hailed Washington's new look as "Art AsaAva." "I'm no great artist," a modest Asa pointed out, "I just know what I like."
"And I know too," he went on to point out, "that there are far too many black people in this town. The nation's capital should accurately reflect the demographics of the nation's population."
"It does," one surly young reporter insisted, "we're all Americans."
"I'm speaking more succinctly than that," Asa retorted. "I can't imagine a decent newspaper having someone with so simplistic and left-leaning an attitude," he went on to say. "I've heard a lot about the 'liberal press' lately but I didn't realize it could possibly be allowed to flourish in our nation's capital." The reporter was arrested and made to eat his press pass, which, ironically, turned out to be fake, so he had to be fed a real one to choke on. "I suggest moving three-fourths of Washington to Maryland so that a fair demographic balance can be achieved," Asa suggested. "Then the government could renovate the houses so they'd be fit for patriots to live in."
The mayor of DC resisted. "I take it he's black," Asa reported to the Civil Rights Commission, "and doesn't want to lose his electorate. This all smacks of reverse racism to me. The next thing you know, he'll be calling for black power. I'd look into it if I were you." The mayor was cited for violating Asa's civil rights in refusing him a fair balance of Americans in the nation's capital. Asa's idea was put before every department of government, every national council, every patriotic forum. A mass exodus was ordered.
Asa and Ava were just finishing their sightseeing when they encountered something so unnerving that only a public newscast could do it justice. So I'll let the pros tell you all about it. Newsnotes: the 6 o'clock broadcast. Brought to you by your car dealers, where you pay only for the accessories, and get the car FOR FREE! "You pay the interest - the principle's on us!"
Anchorpersons Sonja Beale and Bertram Mertz in a pleasant tête-à-tête. "The news was really big today, Sone." "How big was it, Bert?" "It was so big no one could get a handle on it!" "Do tell!" "That I will, Sone. That I will. But first, this important message." A man all in white is telling you, the all-important viewer, to please dip into your heart and your pocket and help support the Society for Lame Dogs, Homeless Cats and Abused Guinea Pigs. He reminds you not to neglect your
hamsters either. Back again to the news. On the screen behind Bert the Mert they are showing the Capitol building. Their camera pans to include a group of people moving along Pennsylvania Avenue. They are marchers. "The corridor leading from the Capitol to the White House was once again the scene of protest," Bert is telling you. "The policies of South Africa have once again come under fire." Signs were shown saying "Down with Pretoria!" Someone is interviewing one of the organizers of the march. "We understand," he is saying, "that there are no easy answers. We also understand that the vast majority of South Africans are men and women without a country. The land of their ancestors belongs to a
handful of people, and they must have these people's permission even to move from one point to another. If the colors were reversed - if a black minority governed a white majority in so autocratic a fashion - does anyone seriously doubt that the entire weight of the United States would be brought to bear upon the situation? Fairness: that's all we're asking."
"What do you think, Sone?" Bert the Mert asked after the footage. "Is Apartheid here today, or here to stay?"
"Well, Bert, our most recent poll shows 59% of the American people opposed to it. The smart money's on it being chucked."
"What do you make of that?" asked Ava, watching the broadcast with her husband as she busily crocheted a red, white and blue doily for her new armoire.
"Those protestors are the worst kind of subversives," Asa responded. "It's their idea of nationality that's so frightening. It confuses the American people, who normally can spot a con a mile off. That so many Americans could be fooled convinces me the influence of the French is more pervasive than even I imagined. We're going to have to act fast if we're to save Pretoria, and, with it, the entire western world. Ava: get the president on the phone. I think I have the answer. And Ava: don't even take time to chat with the first lady about crochet patterns - that's how crucial this is!"
Asa took his case to the National Security Council which, at the direction of the president, agreed to his plan. It was felt that the CIA was the proper agency to carry out the plan, so a team of agents was dispatched to the Mall, where a big anti-Apartheid rally was scheduled. The protesters were rounded up and taken to Andrews Air Force Base. Miniaturized nuclear devices were strapped to their foreheads. They were put on planes and cargoed to Europe. When Paris was sighted, the protesters were laid, one by one, in the bomb shafts and, at the given signal, were dropped, one by one, on strategic targets. A few proved to be duds (which the defense contractor attributed to industrial sabotage); but, by and large, the tiny bombs exploded on impact. The mission was an unqualified success. Paris was reduced to a mere memory. Pretoria was given a reprieve. South Africa was once again safe for Apartheid. The wellspring of protest finally gone, no more protesters came to the capital. The fashion had changed; signs gave way to tiny American flags, which people carried everywhere.
"What now, Asa?" a grateful president asked.
"You'll see how fast your problems disappear without all those subversives going around carrying signs and pointing them out," Asa replied.
"I hope so. In the meantime, what can America do for you, Asa? You name it, it's yours."
"Mr. President, there's only one thing I want."
"Name it."
"You've declared this 'National Patriot Month,' Mr. President. I'd be honored if you'd make this 'The Year of the Patriot.' That's all I need to make my life complete."
"You've got it, Asa. One 'Year of the Patriot' coming right up!"
"'The year of the Patriot,' Mr. President. Don't forget the modifier."
"Can't improve on perfection, can we, Asa?" the president said with a good natured laugh.
"No sir, Mr. President, we sure can't. There's no substitute for rules."
(Indeed there isn't. But now, on a sad note, while Asa fought subversion in the nation's capital virtually day and night - no one had any idea until he arrived on the scene just how much subversion there actually was nor in how many unsuspected places it had taken root: as his time was being taken up fighting the good patriotic battle, the French, behind his back, managed to rebuild Paris. The bells that once again chimed from the resurrected Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris rang the death knell for Apartheid. The new Paris sent the old Pretoria reeling. South Africa ceased being the bastion of what Asa so reverently referred to as "the only sane policy left in the world today." Perhaps some day he'll find something else in the world to restore his faith in his fellow man. God willing.)