The Rub

By Bill Schroeder

Jack Richards is a Rush Limbaugh-type, ultra-negative TV personality who refuses to accept his own death. He explores numerous possibilities regarding what comes after crossing over. BONUS short story section: Includes a variety of short stories and author’s memoires from the 1940s to the present, paying special attention to the concept of synchronicity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Schroeder
• Release date: Aug 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781604148152

Bill Schroeder

Bill Schroeder:... Was the kind of geek kid in your sixth grade class who wrote the science page in the school newspaper.... Could see the Empire State Building from his bedroom window on the Jersey side of the Hudson River, and went to New York City every chance he could. Usually, it was to the many museums on weekends.... Never missed a football or a basketball game ... never went to one and never missed it.... Loved black and white television in its infancy. He was both envied and ridiculed in high school when he appeared with a friend on the John Reed King Show with their pet ducks in 1950. But no one else did anything similar at the time.... Became an office boy in New York just because it put him a half a block from the New York Public Library. He spent all his lunch hours there reading and doing his homework from Rutgers University Evening Classes.... Built a genuine log cabin without power tools on weekends in the woods of central New Jersey with two friends, using a book he borrowed from in the NY Public Library.... Lost his student exemption from the Korean Draft after dropping a college course. The Army taught him to type and take shorthand for a job in the CID. They shipped his ass to a remote base in North Korea to write reports for men who could not write declarative sentences.... Returned to Rutgers full time on the GI Bill to major in English and Creative Writing. He appeared on the Rutgers educational TV channel, representing the student body.... Became an advertising copywriter, public relations hack, and executive speech writer for a major Defense Contractor.... He married Pat Christopher, a woman of genius intelligence, who won college scholarships in music, art, and English. Their union resulted in six gifted and talented children.... Assumed the role of what The Wall Street Journal calls a “Corporate Gypsy.” He worked as Public Relations Director for several Blue Chip Companies until contracting a near-fatal illness, forcing his ultimate return to the company where he started out.... Had a change of life goals and sought new areas of expression. He was offered the position of Producer-Director of The Maryland Renaissance Festival’s Shakespeare Program. However, he also needed to have a second talent: he chose Tarot Card Reading. First he was billed The Mad Monk, later he became Prince Ali-Ba-Boon (Knows nothing tells much!)... Pursued “life upon the wicked stage” as a hobby for the next few years in local theater groups. He played a variety of roles: Lt. Brannigan (Guys and Dolls), Mayor Shinn (The Music Man); Merlin (Camelot); The Prime Minister (The King and I); the Arab Sheik (Don’t Drink the Water); and The Chinese Detective (The Butler Did It!).... Took early retirement from the Defense contractor to go into the retail business. Harking back to his childhood love, in Washington DC’s Restored Union Station he recreated a small museum named Schrader Scientific” where he sold the things The Smithsonian displayed (Dinosaur bones, Fossils, Gems, Taxidermy, Anthropological Artifacts). At the same time he opened playing card stores both in DC and Baltimore.... Found that as much fun as it was, retail stores were not profitable. So, he moved on to running a “Welfare to Work” program in Maryland for three years. He was asked to leave after his unsuccessful unionizing attempt.... Took this opportunity to pursue his most deep-seated desire to write books. The first was “John Frum, he come” which was about an American missionary and a young Solomons Islands shaman during World War II. It centered on Cargo Cult beliefs and the huge Navy ships full of unimaginable wealth.... Wrote his second book about a secret propaganda program put together by President Roosevelt and Nelson Rockefeller. Just when the plan was ready to go into action, FDR died of a stroke, Mussolini was strung up on a lamppost, and Hitler offed himself in a Berlin bunker. The war was over in Europe and there was no reason to complete the plan to flood Central and South America with decks of propaganda playing cards. He wrote “In Der Fuehrer’s Face” to accompany a limited private printing of the lost deck with the cooperation of the Library of Congress. He made a public presentation of the book at one of the LOC’s Meet-the-Author book signings.... Had been collecting everything he could find abut the assassination of President Garfield in 1881, when Kennedy took the spotlight in Dallas. He continued gathering details for decades on Charles Guiteau, the man who shot Garfield, and recently published “The Innocent Assassin,” explaining why he was not guilty of murder.... Followed up with “Seven Decks You Will Never Play Poker With.” As a Cartomancy (Playing Card) Historian he wrote a number of magazine articles about decks of cards that qualified as rare historic anomalies. He re-edited them into a book of interest to card players (and non-card players) alike for the Random House Book Fair in 2009.... Most recently turned his attention toward developing the Genuine American Flag Movement after discovering that China has sold us $69 Million dollars worth of inaccurate copies of Old Glory. Their influence is so pernicious as to make it more likely than not you will see flags on TV and in public that no longer follow the design of the Eisenhower Flag that became legal on August 21, 1959. He has established a detailed, informative website www.genuineamericanflag.com explaining how to get a flag made in the USA by American workers.

Book preview

PART 1

Chapter 1

Everyone knew Willy Rick Stroger was a slick liar and they loved it. He was the smoothest, most successful con artist on the planet. His favorite ploy was to make infomercials. His sponsors paid him exorbitant fees to make his scams real; then they were obliged to share the net profits. Willy Rick made his sponsors into millionaires; not to mention himself. Nobody complained.

Jack Richards hated him because Willy Rick Stroger was what he really wanted to be. In his idolatry he had accumulated a large collection of VCR tapes and DVDs of everything Willy Rick ever did on TV. One of his most cherished tapes was of their first appearance together.

On occasion, Jack was allowed to host interviews on major network shows — usually with people who had chosen him. Willy Rick Stroger was one of them. He had burst upon the scene as a modern artist.

Years later, for his own ego satisfaction Jack would play the VHS tape of the event. One evening to relieve his boredom, he indulged his fantasy. He turned on the Video Cassette Recorder and the screen of a huge, bulbous 1970s TV set lit up. The program began.

In Other Words…

The English Taxicab

(Jack’s picture appears the center the TV screen. Camera closes in for a talking head shot).

JACK RICHARDS

A year ago The New York Museum of Modern Art was the scene of a news story that introduced the world to Willy Rick Stroger. He was believed to be one of the new breed of sculptors who worked with everyday items and plain old junk.

But before I get to tonight’s interview, let me replay the so-called news event as it was broadcast.

(Video: The show host/narrator is shown in a display room of MOMA seated with Willy Rick)

NARRATOR

Good evening. Tonight’s program is coming to you from the floor of the New York Museum of Modern Art. Featured as part of the current display is what appears to be a junked car titled Past Glory.

WILLY RICK

It may have been a car once upon a time but now it is a work of art.

(Video: The camera pans an old London Taxicab)

NARRATOR

Well it’s obviously in deteriorated condition. The leather seats are dried out and split. There are poorly mended rips in the fenders. The windows are cracked, dirty and discolored. The chrome hardware is pitted.

WILLY RICK

(Video: He has a phony Southern accent, greasy hands, dirty coveralls, a scraggly blond beard which he often scratches leaving black smears. He plays with an oversized pair of shears).

That’s what I caused it to be. I told you, it’s not a car but a piece of art.

NARRATOR

Mr. Stroger, what kind of car is it?

WILLY RICK

How many times do I have to tell you it’s not a car, it’s an historic sculpture. And my name is Willy Rick; I don’t use my last name for professional reasons. Rembrandt never used his last name. Van Gough always called himself Vincent. Only the critics called him by his last name many years later. I, too, am an artist, and my name is Willy Rick.

NARRATOR (cautiously)

What can you tell me about it?

WILLY RICK

It was a 1965 Austin taxicab. It was used in London for twenty years, until some crazy American bought it and spent $27,000 restoring it.

NARRATOR

It doesn’t look much restored to me.

WILLY RICK

Of course not, you damned fool. That’s where my artistry comes in. When I got it, it was in mint, showroom condition. Down in Georgia, where I was raised, we have a tradition of putting out old cars in the front yard to age them until they are weathered works of art.

NARRATOR

Well, this one certainly looks like it’s been aged a bit.

WILLY RICK

Thank you, friend. I’ve done my best to give it the lived in look. But I didn’t have time to let it set outside for twenty years, so I used my artistic talent in speeding up the process. Art imitates Life.

NARRATOR

What do you mean?

WILLY RICK

This is what a car this age is supposed to look like — used and abused. Screw restoration. Taxicabs live a hard life anywhere in the world. Putting them back in mint condition is an insult to the inner soul of the vehicle. Using concentrated road salt and street sweepings from the London Department of Sanitation, I have pitted the chrome and rusted the body of the vehicle to make it look like it should.

(He gets up and walks to the car. He motions to the cameraman to zoom-in)

Hey, you with the camera, get a close-up of this door handle. That’s what it’s supposed to look like after twenty years of hard use.

(Cameraman zooms-in).

NARRATOR

What did you use on the leather seats?

WILLY RICK

Well, generally, down home we let the hound dog give birth to a litter of pups on the back seat once or twice. But here in New York, hound dogs are scarcer than hen’s teeth. So I went to the dog pound and got a pregnant poodle and locked her in the car ‘till she done her thing.

NARRATOR

What became of the dog?

WILLY RICK

Dammed if I know. Went back to the pound I guess …

NARRATOR

(He looks shocked)

How about the paint? Nothing seems to match.

WILLY RICK

Well, London cabbies are mostly interested in keeping their cabs on the road, so when they have a fender-bender they can’t afford to have the cab out of service while it’s being fixed. So they patch it ... throw a little paint on it and get back on the streets.

NARRATOR

Does the engine work?

WILLY RICK

It’s not meant to be driven. It’s an objet d'art. I de-tuned it and loosened up the manifold so it growls a little more when you run it. I loosened the oil pan so it can drip a little underneath.

NARRATOR

Why did you do that?

WILLY RICK

To be authentic it has to leak. Remember art imitates life. I put a roll of canvas under it to catch the drips.

(He pulls the canvas from under the car and cuts off about a yard with the big pair of scissors).

NARRATOR

What will you do with that piece of canvas you are cutting off there?

WILLY RICK

I’ll frame it and sell it for $1,000 a yard. This one looks like it’s about ready.

NARRATOR

Is that really art?

WILLY RICK

Who’s to say? Jackson Pollock virtually founded the abstract expressionistic school of art using a similar technique. He used to fill his bathtub full of water, soak a piece of canvas thoroughly, put paint on the surface and strained the paint through the canvas when he pulled it out of the tub. He sold those pieces of canvas for $1,000 yard. That man is my hero.

I call my school of art Circumstantial Existential Abstractionism. It’s there, therefore it’s art.

***

The news clip faded into the format of the In Other Words… in which Jack Richards spoke to the camera.

JACK

You are probably familiar with the scenario you just saw in connection with the current lawsuit by the New York Museum of Modern Art charging Willy Rick Stroger, or just Willy Rick as he prefers to call himself, with fraud.

(The scene widens to reveal Willy Rick seated in an armchair to Jack’s right. He is wearing a blue Brooks Brothers blue pinstripe suit, a white shirt and an impossibly tight-knotted, silver toned silk tie. His goatee is professionally shaped and he has a Madison Avenue haircut. When he speaks it is without the phony Southern accent.)

JACK

Willy Rick is with us tonight to share his interpretation of the situation. Welcome to In Other Words… Willy Rick.

WILLY RICK

It’s a pleasure to be here, Jack.

JACK

The New York Museum of Modem Art is suing you for fraud, based on the exhibit you displayed in their galleries titled Past Glories. It was an English taxicab. They claim they bought it from you for a quarter million dollars. Is that right?

WILLY RICK

That’s a fact. I was asking $300,000 but they Jewed me down. They got the better of the deal.

JACK

As I understand it, they are filing criminal fraud charges since they found out that you did not take a fully restored 1965 Austin and accelerate its aging through artistic means. But you did, in fact, buy it from a used car dealer in Hanover, Pennsylvania.

WILLY RICK

Frederick Street Auto Sales, to be exact. Paid $300 for it. Then I had it towed to New York where I did a few things to it before we moved it to the museum.

JACK

They claim there was nothing artistic about the condition of the London Taxicab. It had just been sitting, exposed to the elements for the past seven years in a used car lot. In addition, they are urging those who bought the oil drip canvases to join them in a class action suit.

WILLY RICK

If the so-called experts at the Museum couldn’t tell the difference between a naturally junked car and one that was artistically created, what’s the difference?

Is it art? As Pope Francis said, Who am I to judge? As long as the artsy-fartsy aficionados who paid to see the car enjoyed the experience, the contract was complete. Did you ever go to an antique auction with all the attributions to the stuff they sell? The Lincoln bed in the Gettysburg Hotel was never slept in by Old Abe. The father of a friend of mine, an antiques dealer, originally bought it from the Betsy Patterson estate in Baltimore fifty years after Lincoln was shot.

JACK

But what about the folks who bought your oil dripping canvases?

WILLY RICK

What about them?

JACK

Didn’t you defraud them?

WILLY RICK

Of course not. I never said they were anything but canvases with oil dripped on them. I never forced anyone to buy one. None of those who bought my drop cloths did so at the expense of a meal for the kids. Besides, look how much the Jackson Pollock drop cloths are going for today.

Jack slammed the off -button on the machine and said to himself out loud, You son-of a bitch, I wish I had said that!

Chapter 2

Jack Richards was no longer a young man; a fact he found hard to accept. He started out as a reporter and a columnist when newspapers were important. But he foresaw how powerful TV would become and embedded himself deeply in that medium. However, in later years he nearly strangled trying to keep up with the tsunami of electronic gizmos that only eight-year-old kids and college dropouts with garage workshops understood.

He found himself equally unwelcome at Fox News or MSNBC because no one knew what he would harp on next. Even he wasn’t sure. Both major parties regarded him as an unpredictable third rail.

Jack perceived his role in the American media spectrum to be The Spoiler. Anything anyone in the world did was subject to his disapproval. And since he considered his opinion as the only valid one, he felt obliged to inflict it on a world of sheeple that hung on his every word. His committed position was to be perpetually pissed-off.

He was cursed with a hyperactive mind that had no off-switch.

At the onset of puberty, Jack discovered he had an Eidetic memory, commonly referred to as photographic memory. In his case, it manifested itself as read and remember. If he read something like Bartlett’s Quotations once, it went into his long-term memory. And while it gave him a distinctive academic advantage, it was years before he learned how to edit what he knew. As a child he was unaware that he had a unique gift and assumed everyone learned as easily as he did. Unabashed pride in straight A report cards and willingness to answer any question correctly in class taught him that Nobody likes a smart-ass. He had few friends.

His columns were opinionated diatribes that generally quoted everyone out of context, and then proceeded to splatter the quotes against the wall with a verbal sawed-if shotgun. His column In Other Words… was first thought by some to be a vocabulary builder. It didn’t take long to disabuse readers of that notion. His official slogan was Television for people who can’t read ... Jack Richards for people who can’t think. His typical interpretation of what you thought you heard began with the sarcastic introduction: In other words…

His criticisms were prejudiced, unfair, biased, shallow, nasty, offensive, radical, racist, rabble-rousing, pot-boiling, pretentious, and shot from the hip. Without equivocation he was certain he was right. In some cases even Fox News refused to quote him. In short, the American Public loved to hate him. (One commentator said, He makes Rush blush!). His column was carried by the top 100 surviving newspapers, right next to the Anne Landers–type column and the TV listings.

Some people couldn’t start their day without his innuendoes and accusations. Washington wannabees read and quoted him at least once in the course of the day, and even vied for the opportunity to be slandered by Jack Richards. He and most of his victims believed that every knock’s a boost (as long as they spelled your name right).

But few people now remembered how he got where he was.

When he first broke into TV news his sarcasm got him into trouble. To many viewers he was known as that guy who sounds like he doesn’t believe what he is reading on the teleprompter. It cost him three jobs in one year. Then he acquired his sometimes agent, now his business partner, Ted Franks.

Franks saw that Jack’s tendency to insult newsmakers could be a money-maker rather than a liability. He got Jack’s first columns printed in some out-of-the-way newspapers that provoked responses and lawsuits from volatile celebrities. That led ultimately to free publicity for both the celebs and for Jack. His public exposure took off from there and culminated in his current notoriety.

Jack had what could only be politely called a bleeping attitude problem. And although Ted Franks would never even hint publicly at the thought, he considered that some of Jack’s behaviors might be schizophrenic. But Ted recognized that this bleeping attitude was the Goose That Farted Golden Eggs. It earned Jack a seven-figure annual paycheck and a lifetime contract with a worldwide news company headquartered in Australia. And of course, twenty percent of that — right off the top — went to Ted.

Franks incorporated Jack Richards into an offshore company for international syndication and massive tax avoidance. It was simply named WORDS UNLIMITED, LIMITED. Ted became not just the 20-percent agent, but a full-fledged business partner of the nation’s best known and most profitable naysayer.

The first product to be produced by WORDS UNLIMITED was a potentially libelous interview hosted by Jack. It was recorded in his home studio in Washington, and transmitted by satellite from the same little Caribbean island where WORDS was incorporated.

One of the island’s chief business lures was that it did not have any legal treaties with the U.S. or any other governmental power. The island would not recognize any lawsuit or banking inquiry from anybody. They hardly opened their mail. It was truly the ultimate free market for free speech.

In truth, Jack really didn’t care what was going on in the real world. It prompted a comment by another TV personality, Psychiatrist Dr. John Christopher that, Jack’s fantasy life seems to be more real, relevant and interesting to him than the CBS World News.

In the early days he hosted piggyback segments on news broadcasts several times a week. Just which programs would be graced by his presence was covered by the terms of his contract. It was simple; he picked the ones he wanted to be on. For the most part, he did not appear on bad news days. A bad news day being one during nothing major or controversial was going down. But jut let somebody say something significant, and you could be sure he would have his five venomous minutes on both the Six and Eleven O’clock News.

Most recently In Other Words… morphed into his daily blog.

Chapter 3

It was hard to imagine that Jack Richards had a private life, but it was true. But he had a life so private that it consisted essentially only of himself. There was a large number of people who worked in his house and businesses, but they were not really people as far as he was concerned. Whenever he needed anything, all he had to do was to call Ted Franks on what he called his Dick Tracy Wrist Radio, a beyond-the-state-of-the-art smart phone designed by one-time Boy Genius (now borderline mad scientist) DARPA Supergeek Carl Stoepel. Ted arranged for it to happen. His house was actually twice its apparent size. The second half of the house was occupied by servants and employees, who cooked his meals, did his laundry, made his bed, and maintained the premises.

They did not hide from him, but avoided contact. He only acknowledged their presence when it was physically unavoidable. They cleaned up any messes or disorders he caused, and then retreated to their part of the house. As far as Jack was concerned they belonged to a different dimension. He was aware of the weirdness of the situation, but because of his immense wealth he chose to accept it as normal.

On a personal level, Jack Richards did have some feelings. He hated Larry Klutzman, Willy Rick Stroger and the Right Reverend Richie Ritz. Actually, there was a very long list of people on his hate list, but these three were at the top. Sometimes he could not decide which one he hated most.

They were totally different from each other, and he hated them for that very reason. Larry Klutzman (Larry the Klutz) was the host of the most popular morning TV show in the US, Yo, America! He exuded good will, forgiveness, optimism and empathic understanding in virtually every aspect of American Life. And from Jack’s point of view, the multiplier effect was that the son-of-a-bitch was sincere about the whole mess.

While Jack’s fantasy world may have been his alone, he had to share the real world with Larry Klutzman. Larry appealed to the public’s flip side. Ted Franks once summed it up for Jack when he said, If the public sees you as Dracula, they see Larry Klutzman as Dr. Van Helsing.

In short, Larry Klutzman was the chief nemesis of Jack Richards’ life. He was the voice of positive thinking. His book, We’re Out To Help Ya, Not To Get’cha, had been on the top of the New York Times Best Seller List for four months when CBS gave him the anchor spot on the most-watched morning news show — Yo America! He always had something good to say about everything. He was Jack’s opposite number in the world of commentaries.

In a kindlier moment, when Klutzman’s star had just appeared on the horizon, Jack was quoted as saying, He’s an example to us all ... and is a genuine pain in the ass.

His most recent Sunday’s blog and newspaper column was truly memorable (even for Jack) for its coarseness, lack of taste and absence of supporting information. In it, Jack announced his refusal to appear on 60 Minutes for a debate with Klutzman on any subject, whatsoever. He wrote, "This walking anal sphincter, Harvey the Klutz, hasn’t anything to say that I am interested in discussing. I don’t do Children’s shows like Pollyanna and the Bobsey Twins Go to Sunnybrook Farm." The Sunday piece was one of the most vituperous and vitriolic he had ever written. Jack said that to express his views on Harvey the Klutz, 60 Minutes would have to go to an X-rated format.

After a lengthy outpouring of unsubstantiated comments about Larry’s various political affiliations, Jack finished with, I understand that he used to climb into bed at night with his unmarried Mommy when he was a little kid. When he reached puberty, he forgot to climb out. The next tine he’s having a pillow talk with his mother, he should try to find out who his father was.

A number of papers refused to carry the piece. For those that did, circulation soared. You Tube came near to blocking further submissions on the subject.

In response, the next morning on Yo America! Larry hosted several guests who yelled for portions of Jack’s anatomy be severed and displayed for public desecration. Larry calmed them down and told a story in the form of a parable.

"Buddha once was confronted by a man who barraged and harassed him with all the insults the Pali language had to offer. Buddha sat quietly and listened to the man demean him for the better part of an hour. Finally, the verbal assailant ran out of ugly things to say.

"Buddha remained silent for about five minutes, then spoke. ‘If a man comes to me and offers me a gift,’ Buddha said, ‘and I choose not to accept it ... to whom does that gift belong?’

The ranting name-caller replied immediately, The gift still belongs to the giver.

’Then,’ said Buddha, ’I choose not to accept your gift of words.’

The studio audience went wild. They literally carried Larry around the stage on their shoulders until they walked him into a low-hanging boom mike and knocked him out cold.

Jack was watching the show on his TV. His face went livid, then purple. I hope they knocked the motherfucker’s brains out, he shouted at the TV.

Jack’s VCR was set automatically to record Yo America!, so Jack had a permanent record of the show.

Chapter 4

Jack was bored to tears. Channel surfing did not present him with any temptations to stop and linger over any of the programs. He passed judgment on less-than-one-second samples that streamed across his screen. Then he spotted the greatest evangelist of them all — The Right Reverend Richie Ritz. Immediately, Jack stopped trolling the TV river and looked thoughtfully at Ritz without waiting to hear what he was saying.

You phony son of a bitch, he thought. You have the brass balls to come back on TV after being arrested for trying to pick up an undercover DC cop? ... After half the whores in DuPont circle said they have screwed you more than once. ... What believable story can you possibly tell all those sheeple who buy your golden lies?

Jack tuned his ears to the performance of America’s Most Profitable Prophet.

(Video: He is standing in front of an audience for his televised The Prayer Meeting of the World in his elaborate glass church)

RITZ

Many years ago a missionary who lived among the lepers on an island colony, Father Damien, now Saint Damien of Molokai, was himself smitten with the dreaded disease — leprosy. The test God gave him to prove his faith was the acceptance of His will. This Missionary, like Job of the Old Testament, accepted God’s decision and continued to work among the lepers, but now with deeper understanding of his congregation’s fear, pain and despair. He was a true servant of God and so he lived and died among the lepers he loved.

Today I come before you with another message of a test God has sent to me. Like Job and Saint Damien in the leper colony, I accept that God in His infinite wisdom has seen fit to afflict me with a disease to increase my compassion and understanding of his unfortunate children whom I have chosen to serve.

(There was a murmur of surprise among the members of his studio audience)

Do not be alarmed. I am under treatment and the disease is being controlled. But let me tell you how this came to pass. While I was working with the sinners of the Inner City — the downtrodden, unhappy women victimized by the lustful men of Washington — I found it necessary to use a public restroom. Yes, a public restroom. For as it is truly said, when you gotta go you gotta go.

(There was a slight ripple of laughter)

If you have ever been subjected