Good Morning Ted and Jody:
I had an email exchange with a good friend from IU (we played a lot of bridge back then). He wished me luck and said he was going to look up my opponent to see what I had to contend with. I replied “It is a piece of cake as she only won by 62% of the vote last time. Since turnout was less than 100% there is a lot of play in the solidness of her numbers.” I tried to add a smiley face, but my email wouldn’t hear of it—bummer.
I have a good draft of the Constitutional Amendment. David, a former student, worked over my first draft and I only added a few words to his version. I think this or something very close to it will end up in the hopper in 21 months if I manage to pull off a miracle: No person, corporation domestic or foreign shall give money or anything of value to a candidate for office in the United States, or office holder in the United states or committee or person advocating a candidacy or ballot issue. No candidate for public office be allowed to spend more than $250 of his or her own money or allocate other things of value for a political campaign. All campaigns for office and ballot issues will be funded only by monies appropriated by Congress for election campaigns. Congress shall allocate funds by class of office with all candidates receiving equal amounts for a given office based on the number of registered voters in the jurisdiction of the office. Both sides of a ballot issue will be allocated equal amounts based on the number of voters in that jurisdiction. All monies not authorized from the Treasury by the Congress for election campaign and allied activities shall constitute a felony and be punishable by such imprisonment and fines as Congress shall establish by law.
Another former student is going over my statement to democratize money ($1667 monthly stipend to every citizen of voting age). I got it down to 325 words. I hope Chris can put some clarity into it. He has my democratize money blog for more reference. Then I have an 850-word biography and statement that needs both cleaning up and a short version. That I am still working on myself. There are petitions to impeach the pestilence around, I will find one I like and use that one for meetings. I go to the Democratic Central Committee of Cowlitz Country this evening. I still have to start a web site and twitter account, open a campaign account in the Credit Union, talk to the State Election “umpires,” and file organizational papers.
On Friday, in a beginning salvo to clean up my act for public appearances, I got a haircut (OK a trim. I still have a pony tail. Can a left wing Congressional Candidate in a solidly Republican Congressional District in the Pacific Northwest keep a pony tail?). I need to remember to get a haircut every two weeks and shave every day. While at the barber shop, a young boy was going through the ordeal. I snapped a photo of his ordeal and then ran the photo through a couple of filters (“posterize” and paint dabs) to try to make him unrecognizable. It is attached.
Nancy has a brief bout with vertigo again this morning. These onslaughts seem to be unpredictable. This coming Thursday’s visit with the ENT can’t come any too soon for her (or me).
Nancy and I made a mincemeat pie this afternoon. I keep doing things wrong, so we will just have to eat this one and try again. (Another attachment)
Warmest regards, Ed
028 Special Agent Fleishman at Haphazard House
Fiction in 1087 words by T. Edward Westen, 2017
Standing outside 1475 Broadway on Monday, January 6, 2025, Special Agent Fleishman figured it was long enough after the Holiday week that someone might be back to work at Haphazard House Publishing, Inc. Entering the building he found a building directory tat located the business office on the 15th floor. Looking around, the main lobby seemed to be busy for a normal business day, but then ‘I don’t know what normal is for this year and a publishing firm,’ he though. None-the-less he walked to the bank of elevators in the center of the lobby and pushed the up button.
The elevator doors opened to a reception area on the 15th floor. At the reception/information desk he handed the young woman seated there a card and said “I am Anderson Fleishman with Fleishman and Fleishman. We are executors of a will in which one of your authors is bequeathed a small sum of money in appreciation of our late client’s hours of joy in reading Melissa Hickson’s stories to her great grandchildren and great-great grandchildren. The problem is we don’t know her address. Indeed, attempting to locate her we have found 63 Melissa Hickson’s in the greater metropolitan area, none of whom are writers of children’s stories. Before going to the expense of doing a national search, one of our interns suggested checking with you, her publisher. So, can you help us with an address for her?”
“I’ll have to have you talk to our Vice President for Business Affairs,” replied the young woman. She picked up the telephone handset on her desk, punched a button and waited. “Sally, this is Frita, a gentleman here needs information about one of our authors. Is Vice President Foster available?” Frita listened for a moment, cupped her hand over the mouthpiece and said, “He is in a meeting until 3:30. Can you come back then?”
“Yes, I will be back at 3:30,” replied Special Agent Fleishman, “Thank you very much.” He went to the bank of elevators, got into an empty one. After the doors closed he disappeared.
At 3:28, Special Agent Fleishman exited the elevator on the 15th floor and walked to the reception desk. He smiled and said, “Anderson Fleishman to see Mr. Foster.”
Frita said, “Yes, I remember.” She picked up the phone on her desk, pushed a button and said, “Vice Presient Foster’s Three O’clock is here.” She listened for a moment and then hung up. His secretary will be out for you directly. Please have a seat” she said as she gestured to the chairs and sofas arranged in the reception area.
Special Agent Fleishman nodded and sat in an overstuffed chair covered in what he presumed was either cowhide or fake leather. It had the smell of leather. As he was mentally processing the smell of leather, a young woman marched up to him and said, “Mr. Fleishman, Vice President Foster will see you now. Please walk this way.”
“Thank you,” replied Agent Fleishman followed and watched the woman walk ahead of him. He thought, ‘I hope she didn’t mean it literally, or I would probably throw a hip out of joint. And to think she can do that on high heels.’
The young woman stopped before a door, opened it and used her right hand to indicate Special Agent Fleishman should enter. As he stepped through the door a tall, well-tanned, fit man got up from behind a desk and met Special Agent Fleishman, hand outstretched saying, “Simmons Foster, Mr. Fleishman. Sally,’ he said. Pointing to the door he had just entered, “gave me your card. How can I help you?”
Shaking Simmons Foster’s hand, Special Agent Fleishman, said, “As I explained to your receptionist this morning, Fleishman and Fleishman are executors of a will in which one of your authors is bequeathed a small sum of money in appreciation of our late client’s hours of joy in reading Melissa Hickson’s stories to her great grandchildren and great-great grandchildren. The problem is we don’t know her address. Indeed, attempting to locate her we have found 63 Melissa Hickson’s in the greater metropolitan area, none of whom are writers of children’s stories. Before going to the expense of doing a national search, one of our interns suggested checking with you, her publisher. So, can you help us with an address for her?”
“Fleishman and Fleishman, How is it I have never heard of your firm?” asked Vice President Foster.
“We only have the one client,” replied Special Agent Fleishman.
“Since you are executing her estate, don’t you mean had?” replied Vice President Foster.
“We represent the family,” clarified Special Agent Fleishman.
“Sort of like Tom Hagen represented only one client,” suggested Vice President Foster with a smile on his face and laughter in his eyes.
“Exactly,” replied Special Agent Fleishman who was thinking ‘I never thought watching those ancient movies would help me bluff someone.’ He mentally chuckled. ‘They do serve to teach me about mannerisms, speech patterns and how to be a sexist when it comes to opening doors for women. Watch the movies and eat the food for two weeks; and, one becomes a consigliere to a non-existent dead godmother. Where else but in the ATI?’ He inwardly chuckled again. ‘I do love my job.’
Vice President Foster was making a joke about the Godfather movie. The word ‘Exactly,’ was the last thing he expected in return to his joke. The smile left his face and the laughter his eyes. Special Agent Fleishman took note of the beads of sweat forming on the man’s forehead and the stunned look on his face that replaced the smile and laughter and added with his own smile, “But, my older brother has the title.”
Vice President Foster, pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his forehead. Cramming the handkerchief back into his breast pocket and straightening the knot of his tie he said, “Give me a moment.” He went back to his desk and flicked a switch on the box on his desk and said, “Sally, bring me everything we have relating to Melissa Higgins.” Then he turned to Special Agent Fleishman and said, “Can get you a coffee, soda, scotch and water?”
Special Agent Fleishman replied, “No thank you, I am just fine. But, don’t let me stop you if you do.” “That movie has to be 50 years old at this point and it still seems to represent something current that people sill fear. We really ought to look into that,’ he thought.