American Family Divided

By Robert Fussell

American Family Divided is a thought provoking, prescient, poignant, and, at times, witty story about a family that is torn asunder over issues that are beginning to rend the entire fabric of modern American society apart.
It’s 1996 - a glorious, innocent, optimistic time - five years before 9-11, nine before Katrina, twelve before economic catastrophe, and sixteen before Sandy.

Joe Idelman lives the American Dream. He wins our nation’s best ad man award. But his wife Marie hounds him, claiming the products he pitches pollute and destroy our world. She attacks his embrace of American behaviors like consumerism, and American policies on issues like immigration, the Middle East, the environment, and education. The couple’s adult daughter Candi sides with Dad, angry that Mom doesn’t respect or appreciate her husband, or his opinions, and the fabulous life style he provides her.

Marie’s continued disrespect leads Joe to become entangled with Carnelle, an understanding model. Jesse, their son and his mother’s sole mate, bolts when pressured to work for Dad’s client, fleeing the corporate trap to seek adventure in the rain forest.

After Jesse is stricken by tragedy, Joe rejects suspicions that his son suffered at the hands of one of his own clients. Marie then drags Joe off to Peru to search for the facts. When the brutal truth assaults him, Joe is forced to decide whether to continue on the path that has brought him huge success, or to pursue instead, a totally new life course.

The novel explores the human consequences of current changes in core American life and the values, beliefs, and behaviors it promotes. The book will appeal to anyone willing to consider that pursuit of the American Dream might instead create an American nightmare and force us all to reassess our core beliefs, values and lifestyles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Fussell
• Release date: Nov 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301053889

Robert Fussell

The author is familiar with many of the locations in American Family Divided as he grew up, first in Peru, then in the small Village of Le Roy in Western New York State. He graduated from Washington and Lee University in 1964, obtained a secondary school teaching certificate from the University of Southern California in January 1966. He then taught secondary school in South Central Los Angeles in the mid 1960’s and graduated from Loyola University Law School of Los Angeles in 1970. After practicing law in Santa Monica California he moved back to Le Roy in 1972 where he has practiced law to the present day. His practice has concentrated on civil and criminal litigation. Since the mid 1980s he has spoken and written on environmental issues. In 2009 he obtained the prestigious Will Rogers Medallion award for editing the western biography Unbridled Cowboy.

Book preview

American Family Divided

E.R Fussell

Published by E.R Fussell at Smashwords

Copyright E R Fussell 2012

Cover art by Jack Slutzky

The author received the 2009 Will Rogers Medallion Award for editing the book Unbridled Cowboy, published by Truman State University Press in 2008.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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***

FOREWORD

American Family Divided is a thought provoking, prescient, poignant, and, at times, witty story about a family that is torn asunder over issues that are beginning to rend the entire fabric of modern American society apart.

It’s 1996 - a glorious, innocent, optimistic time - five years before 9-11, nine before Katrina, twelve before economic catastrophe, and sixteen before Sandy.

Joe Idelman lives the American Dream. He wins our nation’s best ad man award.

But his wife Marie hounds him, claiming the products he pitches pollute and destroy our world. She attacks his embrace of American behaviors like consumerism, and American policies on issues like immigration, the Middle East, the environment, and education. The couple’s adult daughter Candi sides with Dad, angry that Mom doesn’t respect or appreciate her husband, or his opinions, and the fabulous life style he provides her.

Marie’s continued disrespect leads Joe to become entangled with Carnelle, an understanding model. Jesse, their son and his mother’s sole mate, bolts when pressured to work for Dad’s client, fleeing the corporate trap to seek adventure in the rain forest.

After Jesse is stricken by tragedy, Joe rejects suspicions that his son suffered at the hands of one of his own clients. Marie then drags Joe off to Peru to search for the facts. When the brutal truth assaults him, Joe is forced to decide whether to continue on the path that has brought him huge success, or to pursue instead, a totally new life course.

The novel explores the human consequences of current changes in core American life and the values, beliefs, and behaviors it promotes. The book will appeal to anyone willing to consider that pursuit of the American Dream might instead create an American nightmare and force us all to reassess our core beliefs, values and lifestyles.

***

CHAPTER 1

SUMMER

The U.S. has the most powerful and technologically advanced economy on our planet.

ABC Country Book

Yesterday we flew from Los Angeles to New York. As we left our mansion in Brentwood to go to LAX we met the mailman at the end of our driveway. He handed our delivery to my wife Marie who sat in the leather seat on the passenger side of our midnight blue Lexus. Ten minutes later as we sat in typical morning commute traffic jam on the 405 she handed me a letter from our son Jesse. It looked like all his others, printed, in pencil, but legible, on lined paper torn from a spiraled, grade school notebook. The jam eased up before I got a chance to read it. So I gave it back and stepped lightly on the gas for a few seconds, before having to brake again. But this time, instead of returning it, Marie read it out loud to me.

I’m ditching our pad in Lima. Deme’s pissed. She’s fantastic and I love her to death, but I can’t take that screwed up city anymore. It’s like an anthill overflowing with millions of poverty- ridden souls streaming in from the rural hinterlands. But she’ll survive. I don’t pay much towards her rent anyway. It costs her more to keep me than I put up. Pedro and I are chucking it all and moving to a mining town next week that’s going up in the Amazon. Don’t worry. We’ll find work when we get there. Pedro and Jesse became friends when they worked together as crewmen on a Peruvian ocean liner a few years ago.

I squeeze the steering wheel, shake my head and tell Marie, That god damned jungle is packed with snakes, head hunters, guerrillas, coke dealers and God knows what else. Why in hell doesn’t he come home? He’s smart and with his connections he could have a fabulous life. But if he stays out there much longer he’ll get killed–for sure.

I don’t like it any better than you do Joe, she says, sounding resigned to his condition, But he’s what he is. He’s not going to change. He’s made it this far living his life his own way. Quit worrying and relax. Get real for God sakes. He’s not going to die.

That was yesterday. This is tonight, June 21, 1996.

As I worry about Jesse I’m interrupted by Marie and our daughter.

Candi flew up from her home in Atlanta this afternoon to be with us. Her husband Tim couldn’t make it. He’s on a business trip to China where he’s putting the two Chinese dialects he’s mastered to use trying to set up a factory that will make televisions for a tenth what is now costs his client.

But Jesse, of course, couldn’t, or wouldn’t, join us.

Mother and daughter bicker. Cut it out. I whisper as I sit between them in the center of row five. We’re at the Royal Palladium in Manhattan where the American Advertising Association’s 1995 Awards Ceremony is being held.

But Dad she won’t let up. Candi whispers. Then, her voice getting louder, she adds, What’s wrong Mom? You should be happy for Dad. You sound like Jesse. And you know he’s totally lost it.

I am proud of your father Marie says, her hand cupped over her mouth to keep the people in front from hearing her. But he’s not perfect, even if you think so. And my darling, your brother has not ‘lost it’ just because he’s abandoned our lavish life style for a simple one.

I’ve got too much riding on tonight to put up with this nonsense. I put an arm around each of their necks, gently pull their heads to my face and whisper, Stop. This isn’t the time or place to get into it. Please. Let’s just get through the ceremony. Tomorrow you can argue about me all day if you want.

Joe, I love you. You’re great, Marie whispers. I just think you go too far sometimes.

Two curious heads from row four turn around, a tall one covered with slick, short, gray hair and a shorter blond one topped with a diamond tiara. Their eyes gaze quizzically at us.

Slowly, with a feigned air of nonchalance, I take my arms off the back of Candi’s and Marie’s necks and return a–Don’t blame me–look at the eyes in row four.

But they keep looking, so, to avoid them, I lean back and stare up at a ton of crystal and gold chandelier hanging more than a hundred feet directly above my head.

Marie and Candi get the message and switch the subject to the gowns adorning some of the better known members of the audience.

In about an hour the Reagan Award will be given for last year’s finest American ad. It’s named for our nation’s 40th president, but not because he was a popular leader of our great nation. Instead it’s because in the fifties and sixties Reagan was a fantastic T.V. salesman of soap and electronics, a terrific model for all in our business.

I’m the dark horse—the only one of five finalists who’s not a partner in a Madison Avenue giant. My nomination shook the industries’ foundations.

If I win there’ll be a sea change. The Big Apple’s position in the ad business will go down the toilet. I suddenly realize the gray head in row four belongs to one of my New York ad house rivals for the Reagan.

Marie and Candi stand out from the crowd. Despite the embarrassing nature of their spat, it makes me proud to know that if the Reagan goes to the candidate with the most alluring entourage, I’ll be sure to win. Marie’s Sicilian olive skin, thick shoulder-length dark hair, and still great figure glow in her red dress. Candi is taller, has a lighter complexion, and wears her thick auburn hair down, without accoutrements. She’s in a blue gown with a plunging neckline no father would choose. But it’s fashionable by today’s standards, so I say nothing.

The rotund Master of Ceremonies takes the stage - the Michelin man in a tux. There’s a rumor that the Association tried to get Michael Jordan to emcee this year’s ceremony. The Directors say he owes us that much, at least, for the mega millions we’ve stuck in his bank accounts over the years. But, they say, Michael begged off, pleading another commitment. His corpulent replacement is an old time Academy insider. I’m sure he didn’t vote for me for I’m not a member of the New York connection.

Over the next hour I nervously watch the winners of minor awards climb to the podium, grab their statues and give endless speeches. I break out with a nervous laugh when the recipient of the funniest children’s ad catches a three-inch heel on the top step and smashes her forehead into the floor. Her red face proves that her humiliation hurts her tons more than the bloody cut over her eye.

***

Finally, it’s my turn. Luckily my jacket hides the stains that are growing in the underarms of my shirt.

Sweat drips from the emcee’s fleshy lips. His huge body quivers as his resigned voice whispers –Now for the one we’ve all been waiting for. He slowly lists the five contestants’ names, their firms and the subjects of their ads. Mine is last. His voice softens and he frowns as he reads it. He asks for the envelope (as if he didn’t already know the name it contains) then takes forever (undoubtedly hoping that a last minute change was made) before opening it and after reading it to himself (another eternity) his red face blanches, and in a slow, somber voice he announces:

This year’s winner of the American Advertising Association’s prestigious Reagan Award for excellence is …

***

Joe Idelman from Zarcastis and Idelman of Los Angeles, for his fantastic creation--‘Lovely Locks.’ Not since ‘Only Her Hair Dresser Knows For Sure’ hit the market a generation ago has that industry received such a resounding jolt. Small town boy makes good. That’s Joe’s story. This sophisticated entrepreneur has scaled fabulous heights since leaving Eton, his tiny village in upstate New York for the City of Angels thirty years ago.

I’m numb. A second later elbow pokes jolt both sides of my rib cage. Then Marie and Candi scream and hug me. I jump up reflexively and come down on Marie’s left foot. She screams.

As I strain to look down at her foot I hear the announcer (trying his best to put on a smiley voice) say, Don’t be shy Joe. Come on up and get your Reagan.

After Marie takes off her shoe and tells me she’s fine, she orders me to march up to the podium. I look up from her foot to glare directly into four angry eyes staring back at me from row four. They glower in disgust. I grin sheepishly at them and start to move down the row of seats towards the aisle. When I reach the aisle, the thought hits me that the prestige of winning that platinum bust of my hero means more to me than all my previous successes including the fortunes I’ve made writing ads and making videos.

I take the mic from the flustered announcer, look away from his forced smile and down at Marie. She’s grinning, hopping up and down on her good foot and crying – in joy, not pain, I hope.

It took us many years, my love. I say looking directly at her. We won it together. This statue belongs to you as much as me. I love you more than ever. Candi’s face glows. Her arms are waving high above her head, and tears fill her eyes.

I forget to pull my prepared speech from the pocket of my tux jacket and don’t thank anyone else who’d helped me win, not even my old college roommate and now business partner Dan Zarcastis, who stands grinning with fists pumping next to his joyful wife Elsie in row six, just behind Marie and Candi.

I step down and listen to the wild cheers from those who live west of the Hudson. The beautiful silence from the others is even louder.

***

The Gipper’s wife Nancy phones before I leave the palladium and congratulates me for, upholding the finest traditions of our profession. She adds, And this award will bring dozens of new blue chip clients for Z & I. Ronnie asked me to tell you how happy we are for you and Marie. We’re so sorry we couldn’t be there to share it with you.

It’s morning, June 24, three days later and I’m still high over my victory.

I packed a duffle bag and am carrying it to our front door. I’m humming Oh What A Beautiful Morning- I starred as Curly in Oklahoma in High School. I’m leaving home for a week. Jerome, Carnelle and I are first driving up to Yosemite to make a magazine ad for Dude cigarettes and then to Death Valley to make one for a new SUV. I lean over Marie’s chair to kiss her good-bye, but her raised eyebrow stops me.

I drop the bag. What’s the problem now? I ask taking a deep breath.

Her lifelong support for me and my projects started to crack a few months ago. And over the last few weeks that crack’s widened into a chasm. Her look tells me I’m about to hear a lecture.

She stands up, puts her hands on her hips, glares straight into my eyes and tells me, Go ahead. Do your best, my love. Forget that your darling mother died from emphysema after smoking for fifty years. Make that glorious glossy as sexy as possible. she tells me, eyes rolled towards heaven, And maybe, if your work’s good enough to earn you another Reagan, a few million of today’s darling kids will drop dead from cancer or heart disease over the next thirty years leaving, God only knows, how many miserable little orphans. You sell lots of crap, Joe, but Dudes are the worst.

I hate it when she’s sarcastic.

Listen, I say trying to keep cool, Mom made her choices. She never complained about my work. And don’t forget, my successes give you a fantastic life. How, do you think, people make it big in the real world? Your new attitude sucks.

She reaches up, puts her hand gently on mine and slowly shakes her head.

In a soft, patronizing tone she says, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I’m telling the truth whether you like it or not. I’ve begun to see the light. You should too. She rises up on her toes and gives me a motherly kiss on the cheek.

What the hell does that mean? I blurt, ignoring her feigned sweetness. Without waiting for an answer I pick the bag up off the floor and fling it on the couch. It hits with a thud. I’ve worked my ass off for thirty years to earn and keep