Constant Vigilance

By Will Stevenson

“The condition upon which God hath given liberty to man is eternal vigilance; which condition if he breaks, servitude is at once the consequence of his crime and the punishment of his guilt.”

Exactly who first uttered this phrase is somewhat in dispute. It has been attributed to a number of the founding fathers of the United States. This phrase has more relevance today than at any time in the history of the United States or in the history of Mankind. Not only do we need to guard our liberty from the abuse of the power and authority that we have granted to our government, we also need to guard against the abuse of power garnered by multinational corporations.
This story chronicles the development of Constant Vigilance in an ordinary guy who by happenstance finds himself in the cross hairs of powerful forces determined to control and prevent the spread of information that may harm their interest. The circumstances he stumbles into threaten his safety and his way of life. His path to understanding tests his beliefs and relationships. In the final analysis, the road less traveled may be the only option left.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Stevenson
• Release date: Feb 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781502793034

Book preview

CONSTANT VIGILANCE

A novel by

Will Stevenson

Copyright 2014

"The condition upon which God hath given liberty to man is eternal vigilance; which condition if he breaks, servitude is at once the consequence of his crime and the punishment of his guilt."

Exactly who first uttered this phrase is somewhat in dispute. It has been attributed to a number of the founding fathers of the United States. This phrase has more relevance today than at any time in the history of the United States or in the history of Mankind. Not only do we need to guard our liberty from the abuse of the power and authority that we have granted to our government, we also need to guard against the abuse of power garnered by multinational corporations.

This story chronicles the development of Constant Vigilance in an ordinary guy who by happenstance finds himself in the cross hairs of powerful forces determined to control and prevent the spread of information that may harm their interest. The circumstances he stumbles into threaten his safety and his way of life. His path to understanding tests his beliefs and relationships. In the final analysis, the road less traveled may be the only option left.

The price of freedom is eternal vigilance. I’m not sure who said it but you can quote me if you want. Eternal vigilance comes in a number of forms. Sometimes it is nurtured and developed through study and practice and sometimes it is thrust upon you by circumstance and fate. My eternal vigilance is a little of both.

Chapter One

Early Life

This story starts in the mid 1960's. The community that I grew up in was small by most standards but it was the largest city in the state. It was an old town. It was born in colonial times when cotton and tobacco were the cash crops. There were ample streams and rivers carrying the rains that fell on average every other day. This allowed the surrounding area to develop a strong textile industry with mills all around the town. By the time I was born there were altogether about one hundred thousand souls in residence. You couldn’t really call it sleepy but it was far from bustling.

Streets were lined with stately oaks and elms that the town was constantly arguing about cutting down. Back in the horse and buggy days the oak lined streets were prime residential and you didn’t need a lot of space for two buggies to pass. The town grew past these areas and they became surrounded by commercial buildings. The trees were amazing. They were huge and spread their limbs across the street reaching to the other side until they formed a tunnel of foliage. The light filtered through the leaves and branches and barely made it to the street. The streets embraced you enveloping you in living green. There are not enough streets like those anymore.

The area was lush with vegetation. Ivy was everywhere and it grew wild. The town was carved out of a southern pine forest and was laced with streams and creeks. It was relatively flat land and living in this town you were always surrounded by tall pine trees that framed buildings, roads and places of the city. Thunderstorms were the norm. I can remember sitting on my back porch. It was sunny in my back yard. At the house behind ours, it was pouring down rain. In the summertime, if I was out playing and it would start to rain, I would not go inside. I would just keep playing. It would be 100 degrees and the rain water felt good.

The ground was a deep red from the clay that was found almost everywhere. This made the production of brick a natural endeavor and most of the houses were made at least partially, if not entirely, out of red brick.

The neighborhood I grew up in was at the end of civilization. It was a subdivision built on the outskirts of town. The homes were modest middle-class. The backyards were 150 feet deep. This meant that it was 300 feet from back porch to back porch. For the most part there were no fences. The neighborhood consisted of three long streets connected at both ends. The front yards ran right down to the street. No sidewalks. My house had two bedrooms with a den. Most all the houses in the neighborhood had screened in porches. These were rather like sleeping porches. Air conditioning did not exist in those days. When it was hot, it was miserable. The humidity often exceeded the temperature. Green was definitely a naturally occurring color. The trees in the neighborhood were all young, but the grass grew like mad. My first employment was mowing lawns. $2.00 a lawn, and I thought I was making bank.

My house was eight houses from the end of the block. This was where the southern pine forest began. The forest went on for miles and miles. I spent countless hours wandering in these woods. On many a hot summer day when I got up in the morning, I slapped on a pair of cut off jeans and headed out. I would not be seen until lunchtime and then I was gone again. Finally I would return at sunset for dinner.

This was the South, and as was true in most of the South this was a religious town. Churches were everywhere, and they were an important part of the fabric of the town. Church held socials and bake sales. If you were a boy scout, the troop met at the local church. Everyone belonged to a church. And you couldn’t just join. You had to be admitted to membership. Most businesses closed on Sunday in deference to the churches. Citizens certainly could not buy any beer or wine. In fact, if a store sold beer or wine, on Sundays, the store had to draw a curtain over the shelves so that the spirits could not be seen by the customers.

The sidewalks rolled up at or about sunset. A night life didn’t really exist as it does today. But all of this was really a disguise. The town had an underworld or hidden side. The face that was shown in the daylight masked the true nature of the place. Alcohol was regulated by the state and was not sold by the drink. If a person wanted to go out to dinner and he wanted to drink he brought his own. The town had places that resembled bars, but they only sold the mix for whatever the customer was drinking. In those days, drinking was sort of a sport. A drink before dinner, during dinner and after dinner was the common.

On the surface of things there was a strict moral code espousing family values and righteous living. But people will be people. Sneaking around became an art form in and of itself. Cheating on spouses, gambling and drug use was occurring just like there is now. People were just better then at leading double lives.

A strict social order was in place. Everyone had his or her place and he or she was expected to stay in their place. If you strayed from your role or fell from grace you would suffer the consequences. This was a time when the Klu Klux Klan still published notice of its meeting in the local newspapers. The British music invasion had not yet reached this little corner of the universe. All the kids sported crew cuts, wore white tee shirts and blue jeans. The footwear of choice was low top sneakers. A dress or appearance code existed for almost everyone. It wasn’t really written down. These unwritten rules created a tremendous pressure to conform. If you varied from the norm you could indeed suffer consequences for your transgressions. You didn’t swear in front of women and if you did you were liable to get punched. For the most part I was totally unaware of all of these rules. I was just a kid. The most important thing on my mind was whether there would be enough people around tomorrow for a pick up baseball game.

I was the second of four with an older sister and two younger brothers. My father was an engineer and my mother was a registered nurse. Because church was important, my family was active in church. Dad was a Boy Scout leader and Mom was a Den Mother. In the summers we had cookouts in the backyard, and for vacation, we went camping in the mountains or on the beach at the ocean. On Sunday afternoons we would all go for a ride in the car. Funny to think of it now, but it was a real treat. We would just ride around looking at places. We would stop at a gas station, and I would get an RC Cola and a Moon Pie.

I was really raised by Frances. Nowadays I guess you would describe her as a nanny. In those days she was a maid. Frances was African American. Of course to me she was just the person who loved and cared for me more than any other person. My parents loved me, but they both worked and were tired when they got home. Frances was always there. She was the person who bandaged my scraps and cuts. She was the person who picked me up when I fell. She was the person who told me I could when I doubted myself.

Life is full of stereotypes for people places and things. The cowboy rode a tall horse, had a six shooter strapped to his side, and wore pointed boots; the Indian wore moccasins, buckskins and a feathered headdress. The Wall Street banker had shinny shoes and a three piece suit carrying a brief case. These are just a few. All are stereotypes that conjure up an image in one’s mind. There is also an African American maid stereotype. A syrup brand sold during that time was called Aunt Jemima. The bottle was shaped in a form of the stereotype of an African American maid. Frances could have been the model for the Aunt Jemima bottle. She was overweight and wore her hair under a bandana wrapped around her head. She always wore long cotton dresses with small flower prints and shoes with the heal bent over so that she could just step in them. She was quiet and steady and was forever doing something in the kitchen. She was there went I woke up in the morning and left in the late afternoon. She would talk to the characters on TV as she watched whatever soap opera was on.

Throughout the first few years in the neighborhood, life was almost idyllic. Being a moderately priced subdivision there were a lot of new and young families. This meant that there was literally a hoard of other kids to play with. Back in those days kids played outdoors. There was no cable TV. There were no video games. There were no computers. If you were a kid you were outside. We were basically left to our own devices with little adult supervision. Age meant a lot more to me when I was seven. This translated into my befriending other kids seven years old. There was a whole gang of us. We all went to the same school. We all rode the same bus back and forth. We all got together after school. Because I knew the other kids, I knew my neighbors all up and down the block.

Everything was wonderful until sometime in 1966. That’s when it happened, the first day that changed the rest of my life. Days like this happen on a regular basis. Sometimes a person makes note of them and sometimes not. The day you got married, or the day your child was born are clear markers for a change that lasts forever. Sometimes something happens and it is only later that you realize that it changes everything. This was such a day.

On this day I came home and discovered my father lying on the living room floor. He was sort of half in the living room and half in the kitchen. He was lying more or less face down with his head resting on an arm. I went over and shook him but he did not get up. I found my mother who was in the den on the phone. I told her about dad and she said not to worry he's just sleeping. Of course he was not just sleeping. Shortly thereafter an ambulance arrived and took my father away. A little later I learned that my father had taken too many sleeping pills. I had no idea what the implications were when someone took too many sleeping pills. My father had attempted suicide. He was gone from the house for a couple of months. Mom said that he was temporarily working in another city. I later learned that he was getting treatment while he was getting his life back in order.

The changes started slowly. I still had not realized the significance of what was happening with my father. I just thought that he was off working. People were friendly to my face. They smiled and would greet me warmly. They would ask about my father and seemed interested in where he was and what he was doing.

It took a little time for the gossip to get around the neighborhood. At first I did not notice anything unusual. It’s hard to say when I understood that my father had tried to commit suicide. It sort of came to me slowly. Someone would make a remark about where my father was. I eventually got it from my older sister what had happened. I couldn’t understand why he would want to do such a thing. I did not see any apparent conflict between my parents, but I suppose that they were just good at hiding it. Naturally, I wondered if it was somehow my fault. Back in those days no one really thought much about the impact of things like this on kids. I was just left to deal with it as best I could.

The effects slowly started to manifest in my friends around the neighborhood. I would go to a friend’s house and ask if he could come out to play. The parent would smile and say he was busy with something. I didn't think much of this at first but, it continued and got worse. I would see someone in his backyard and walk