Dawn of the Unthinkable

By James Concannon

This is a story about hope. Hope for families, hope for the United States, hope for everyone. It tells how an ordinary guy from Philadelphia develops an idea to revolutionize the economy and social order of the United States. It is so crazy, he's afraid to tell anybody about it, but he writes it down and ships it off some of the most influential people in the country. He waits for a reaction. He gets silence. Frustrated, he seeks validation for his idea in the halls of academia. He picks up a valuable ally, an erudite scholar looking to make his mark outside the ivory towers. The two have a roadmap to a new world, but no driver. They are casting about, mulling their options, when providence provides just the man they didn't know existed. A man looking for a mission, leading a people forgotten by time. The three join forces, a white Irish Catholic, an arrogant but brilliant black professor and a smoldering, fiery Latino union leader. An unlikely trio, but each bring something unique to the table.

So they have a team, but there is no game scheduled. No one asked them to come up with a revolution, and no one knows any of them. This is pre-Internet, there is no "going viral." The men needed a powerful sponsor, someone willing to stick their neck out and validate the idea. A famous family member steps up and provides a necessary introduction, to one of the United State's leading spokesman, who's decision will kill or push the idea forward.

While this is going on, they are dogged by a psychotic neo-Nazi looking to use the group for his own delusional ideas. The Nazi in turn is tracked by a Jewish freedom fighter who hunts for still-living members of the old Reich. The women in the men's lives add love, support and complications. This stew simmers as the characters play off on another, trying to bring about a new dawn for the United States. And when they do, it will be unthinkable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Concannon
• Release date: Mar 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310733383

James Concannon

I am a new writer, and I hope you like my book. Its one of a series, the second is written, and the third is started. If folks like the first one, I'll go on an finish the series. Let me know what you think! I live in suburban Philadelphia with my beautiful wife, with whom I have three awesome children. We also have a crazy little dog who believes she's the boss of everyone, and she just might be right.

Book preview

The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one – Mr. Spock, Starship Enterprise

PROLOGUE

This is the story of one of the greatest events in the history of mankind.

When an enlightened group of colonists landed in what would become the United States of America, they thought of a different type of government from what they had been living under. They created a method that would guarantee liberty, justice, and the pursuit of happiness for all. Over two hundred years later, many had no liberty, justice depended on how much you could afford to spend, and the pursuit of survival was all that most people could manage. Forget happiness. So society limped along, the rich got richer, the poor got poorer, and it did not seem that anything would ever change.

Was there one way of doing things that could not only meet the needs of those people, but also surpass them? Amazingly enough, there was, and it started where it had started before. In Philadelphia.

Chapter 1

Spring 1976

Nicholas Ryan walked into the Wawa near his house in Northeast Philadelphia for his morning Diet Dr. Pepper and Philadelphia Inquirer. The ubiquitous gas-and-go convenience store could usually get him in and out within a few minutes, and he liked that it required minimal effort to get what he needed. Just grab your stuff, hand over a card, and be on your way.

He did what he had done a million times before but was surprised when the clerk said, Uh, sorry sir, this card has been declined. Do you have another, or cash?

Ryan, who had been reading the headlines of the paper while waiting for the transaction to complete, looked up. What?

The clerk said, in a louder voice, Your card, it’s been declined. Do you have another form of money?

The tone in the clerk’s voice and the people shuffling impatiently in line behind him snapped him immediately to attention. Not having enough money to pay for his transaction was the ultimate humiliation! He only carried one credit card with him and sometimes forgot to change his cash from one pants pocket to another. Please, don’t let it be one of those days, he thought. He dug around in his pockets and sure enough, he had forgotten.

Damn, he said as a little sweat broke out under his arms. He shook his head and said, Nope, sorry, don’t have it. I wonder why the card was declined. Did it say?

The line behind him was starting to grow and the clerk did not have time to get into Ryan’s credit history. He said with his fingers tapping the counter, No, man, it just won’t take it. You want to go home and get some money or something? He was giving him an out to help him save face but obviously wanting to move the line along.

Ryan grabbed his stuff to put it back. Yeah, I’ll do that. Sorry.

The people in line cast their eyes downward or to the side as he passed. They shied away as if he had brought in one of those nasty modern infections like homeless, broke, or street person. He didn’t look that way, but without money to pay for a $1.99 purchase, what else were they to assume? He himself had cast that look, but this was the first time he had felt the sting of those degrading looks himself.

He put the paper and the soda back while nodding at some of the people in the line as if to say, "Hey, I actually have the money to pay for this. I’m not one of them…." But the people would not meet his gaze, looked through him or away, not wanting to risk catching his disease.

He slunk out of the store, still ashamed. What the fuck happened with the card? he wondered, trying to remember if he had paid the bill. He was usually pretty good about that, but maybe he had missed a few months and they had shut it down. That was hard to imagine; usually the credit card companies started screeching in a loud voice if you were like a minute late on a payment. Money, he said ruefully, shaking his head.

He got into his Hyundai Elantra for the short drive to his house. He got home and ambled up the walkway to his new-construction twin, a house he was extremely proud of. He had lived in older houses most of his life and had put together all the small pots of money he had in order to afford this home. It had many airy windows and was a bright and cheery place on a cul-de-sac street: the modern equivalent of an urban Valhalla. He opened the door and heard a strange noise. Was that his wife…whimpering? He walked a few steps into the kitchen and saw a scene that almost made his sphincter open up.

He saw his wife, Donna, first. Her normally pretty hair was mussed, and she had blood leaking from a cut over her eye. His jaw slacked open as he took in the rest of the damage—scrapes on her face, bruises on her arms, her chest heaving up and down in controlled terror. His gaze shifted quickly from her back to the other occupants of the tiny kitchen. If he was scared before, he quickly joined her in her horror as he saw what she had been looking at.

Standing by the kitchen counter was a large Hispanic male who was bald with a goatee. He had many homemade tats up and down his arms, chest, and neck. He smelled of weed and alcohol, but he was beyond that. His eyes were glazed and full of rage and hatred. He was dressed in biker’s colors and would have been frightening even if you had met him in church. But in this context, having apparently beaten his wife, it was practically beyond comprehension. The worst thing, the absolute worst thing, was he had their baby, William, in his arms. And he had William’s arm pushed down in the blender that was full of some goop Donna was probably making for him. William was screaming and squirming, knowing that this man was not his people, was scaring him, and had hurt his mom. And the man’s finger was poised over the Frappe button, ready to turn his son’s arm to paste.

Wait! What do you want? Ryan yelled at the man, simultaneously holding Donna back, as she lunged at him, trying to reclaim her baby, her life, from the horrific man.

The sound of Ryan’s voice made the man pause, and he seemed to search his cooked brain for an answer. This gave Ryan a second to grab the coffee pot unnoticed behind him. He would have just one shot. But he would need a distraction.

The money! Gimme all your goddamned money! the crook screamed, apparently remembering what he had come for.

Ryan thought quickly. Do you mean the money in the living room or upstairs? he asked, pointing to the left while tightening his grip on the pot handle.

The man’s bloodshot eyes instinctively followed the pointing finger. He looked eagerly, as if expecting to see piles of cash that he had missed before.

Ryan was already starting his swing as he released Donna and took a step toward the man. He was aiming for the top of the man’s head, but in his adrenalized state, he forgot to figure in his own height. As he came from behind his back swinging straight overhand, the pot hit the ceiling and shattered into a million Pyrex pieces. They were all showered in jagged glass.

This brought the Horror Man back to attention and with Donna lunging at him, he hit the blender button. The machine lurched instantly to life with a full load of baby arm and creamed bananas and strawberries and started spewing pink slop over the top. Donna, fearing the mess was William’s arm, jumped across the room, and grabbed the only William-skin close to her, his other arm. She jerked it with all her might, fearing that she would tear it off, but surprisingly, the man was letting go.

Ryan was regaining his composure after missing his chance to hit the guy with the pot. He still had the pot handle in his hand, and it had two screws sticking out where it had attached to the glass. He had never stabbed anyone with a pot handle, had never actually stabbed anyone at all, but this was not an ordinary day. He jabbed his hand straight out and drove the screws straight into the man’s eyes, fitting perfectly around his nose. This caused him to release the baby to Donna’s grasp and fall screaming to the floor. Ryan kicked him a few times for good measure, but the guy was out of commission. He was in severe pain. Ryan grabbed Donna, who was trying to comfort the still-howling baby, and held her tightly.

Neither of them noticed the Horror Man move.

The intruder moaned and Ryan whipped his gaze away from his wife and son. One of the man’s hands went to his face, grasping at the handle still lodged in his eyes. The other hand held a silver semi-automatic handgun, and it was aimed roughly in the direction of the little family.

He couldn’t see, but he could pull a trigger. His first shot went wide and shattered the china dish that was a wedding gift from Ryan’s grandmother. The next four went into the walls leaving holes and little puffs of sheetrock dust. The sound was deafening in the small kitchen, and the acrid smell of gunpowder filled Ryan’s nose. Fear almost paralyzed him, but he realized he had to do something now or this monster was going to kill them all.

He pushed Donna, who was crushing Billy to her chest, toward the door. He shoved her so hard she lost her balance and almost fell, but she got her feet moving toward the safety of outside. Nick dove on top of the Horror Man, reaching for the gun, trying to get it away from him.

But it was too late. The last shot found its mark.

Chapter 2

The funeral was a blur. Ryan remembered bits and pieces of it—people expressing their sorrow and grief, half-sincere offers of help, and rage and indignation at a beautiful young life cut short. He was on autopilot, numbly shaking hands, exchanging hugs, and expressing thanks for people’s genuine efforts to comfort him. But through it all, a gnawing sense of guilt and shame chewed him up, making his stomach churn with nausea.

He was a widower now. A single father. He had not been able to protect his wife from the monster. He could only hope that in her last seconds of life, before the light went out of her pretty blue eyes, she realized that Billy survived.

He had survived with just a flesh wound, mostly because she had pulled him away before his arm was pulverized. Ryan took care of the man after he had emptied his gun, pounding him until the police arrived and pulled him off. Now, he faced a life alone raising his son.

The little boy cried for his mother at night before he went to sleep. Mom-mom? he would ask.

She’s not here, honey. Go to sleep. Ryan would try to comfort his son while stifling a sob of his own.

Mom-mom, he would murmur sadly, as he would drift off in his father’s arms.

The doctors had assured him that, being so young, Billy would have no memory of the traumatic events, but neither would he remember his mother. That thought left Ryan devastated because she was the better person of the two of them, and his son was being horribly short-changed. Ryan tortured himself with the thought, If only I had killed the SOB while I had the chance!

But, he realized, he just wasn’t that person. At least at that moment. He had done his best, disabled him, but it was later found out that the man had smoked weed laced with angel dust and had more juice in him than Ryan had given him credit for. He thought he had put the man down, that there would be time to call the police, to get him out of there and go back to being a regular family. Now, nothing would ever be regular or normal again. He stared into the horizon, looking for answers.

Dude, snap out of it. It’s time to go, said Stephen Douglass, his close friend from their high school days.

Huh? Oh, yeah, I know. It’s just that leaving means…. Ryan was still sitting in his chair near Donna’s casket in the cemetery. A cold wind blew a flower off the shiny bronze lid. It fell into the hole underneath, making him shudder. The burial crew shuffled off on the side of the road, eager to get his beloved underground so they could get home to their families. He was alone with Dawes, and it was time for them to go.

Yeah, I know man. But she’ll always be with you, with us, through Billy. No asshole can take that away from you, Dawes said softly.

It was what Ryan needed to hear. You’re right. I have a kid to raise, and she would want me to focus on that. But I will always miss her. She was the love of my life…. Ryan trailed off, looking at the casket again.

Man, I know. You two had a marriage we all envied, and I can’t even imagine the pain you’re going through. But right now you have a reception to host, so we have to get you there. You can come back here when all the fuss dies down and spend some quiet time here. Talk to her, maybe, he offered, trying to be helpful.

Okay, Ryan said as he heaved himself to his feet and followed his friend, turning his back on his old, comfortable life.

Chapter 3

Fall 1983

It turned out that the problem with the credit card in the store was not an isolated incident. Somehow his bank had swapped his accounts with a guy whose name was one letter different than his. This guy was going for Deadbeat of the Year, and Ryan suddenly found himself talking to bill collectors, auditors from the IRS, and a scary guy named Vic who actually came out to the house.

He tried to explain that he wasn’t the guy that had caused all this trouble, and some were sympathetic, but more than one suggested that he pay the other guy’s bills, advising that it might be easier than trying to fix it. Ryan thought he was finally getting to the bottom of it when an eviction notice arrived at his house. Apparently his going to the bank and trying to work things out had not taken, and here he was staring at being homeless. Although he knew that it would take a while for even an aggressive mortgage company to force the eviction, it was still pretty unnerving and more than a little upsetting. Despite feeling that he was losing even more of himself, he decided that his best option was to move to get away from all of this money madness. As he stared at the For Sale sign in the yard of his cherished home, he marvelled at how much money effected everyone’s lives.

Life settled into a routine for them. Ryan eventually returned to work and used a patchwork of family, friends, and babysitters for day care. He woke up in the morning, got ready for work, and took Billy to whoever was watching him that day. He went off to his job, and at night, he returned and played with and read to his son until it was time for bed. He mostly ate alone, not having much interest in mixing with friends or family. His mind constantly circled the horrible events, and something kept poking at him. What caused this? he wondered for the five hundredth time. He stretched out on his sofa in the den with a grunt and opened his paper. His day had been routine, too routine, and his mind hungered for intellectual stimulation. This would come from the TV show Star Trek: The Next Generation, which was in reruns for about the nine millionth time. It was hard to get excited about something where you had practically memorized the dialogue, but when your workday was boring, something that was off in the cosmos could still grab you.

At thirty-eight years old, Ryan stood about six feet two inches, and weighed about two hundred twenty pounds, so he was moving toward being a middle-aged, slightly overweight, suburban, white guy. He was acceptable looking in a bland sort of way. That is, most women did not look twice at him, unless it was in a bar with dim lighting. He was a federal government worker, with seventeen years in. He was a building manager, responsible for making sure that the building under his control was safe, operational, and efficient in its operations. There were many tenants in his seventeen story downtown high rise, and it had elevators, HVAC, roofs, and other building systems that had to have constant maintenance and upkeep. Not to mention security for sensitive areas, and janitorial services throughout, so it was a full-time, challenging job.

When he had free time at work, he started to think about life in general. He read a lot, consuming novels in his youth and the newspaper, cover-to-cover, daily. He watched the news every day and was an ardent web surfer. He found himself gravitating toward Utopian sites, where people and experts discussed how to create the perfect world. He felt reasonably well-informed on most issues, and had his own opinions on the affairs of the world, which he generally kept to himself. He appreciated Abraham Lincoln’s saying, A person never learned anything by talking, and someone less prestigious, but no less accurate, Opinions are like assholes, everyone’s got one, and they all stink. He had used these sayings to remind himself to be a good listener. He found that what he had heard and learned throughout his life had left him dissatisfied.

Personally, they were doing okay. His program was running well now. He and Billy had moved to a nice single house in the suburbs of Philadelphia, leaving behind the scene of their violent confrontation. The house was in an older development compared to the dozens of new ones that were constantly erected nearby. It was starting to have some wear and tear problems after forty years, but it was still a nice home. It had plenty of big windows that made it a bright, cheery place. It was large enough for them, but felt empty without a woman’s touch.

Donna was a bright, funny lady who drew people to her with her bubbly personality. They had dated through high school, gradually taking a further shine to each other as the years passed. They had an off-and-on relationship for many years, always coming back to each other after test runs with others ended. They married at a young age and had Billy, named William after Nick’s father, shortly thereafter. They moved from the suburban homes of their youth to their first home, a row home in Philadelphia, purchasing what they could afford on meagre salaries and savings. Like many young couples, they had to make decisions as to whether she was going to work full-time or spend more time at home to raise their children, and they opted for more time at home for her. Billy thrived with her daily attention, and she worked while her mother or sister watched their child.

After the funeral, while people were still sympathetic, they tended to avoid him out of their fear of saying the wrong thing. This only increased his loneliness as, like most men, he was not good at sharing his pain. So, he went about his life, and it passed in a desultory manner, his grief gradually lifting with the passage of time.

Ryan’s discontent had more to do with the world’s situation, specifically, the United States. He would say to his toddler as he bounced him on his knee, You know, kid, every day, it’s the same thing: murders, rapes, shootings, and white-collar guys stealing millions. What a world you’re going to grow up in. I bet you can’t wait.

The more he contemplated the world’s condition, the guiltier he felt at his relative good fortune, and the more he wished there was something he could do. To pacify his feelings of guilt, he volunteered at various activities. He was a coach and a referee at the local police athletic league and a youth aid panel member who counseled first-time juvenile offenders. However, they were only small contributions, and he wished he could do more. Even if he did, he was not sure it would make much of a difference. In the end, despite the efforts of millions of dedicated volunteers, it seemed that life kept some people down no matter how hard they tried or others tried to help them. Why was that? he wondered.

He said to Billy, who was now chasing a fly trapped in the house with a swatter, It seems that every type of solution to the United States’ problems has been proposed or tried, all with little to no success.

The boy shrieked with laughter and terror as the fly gave him a run for his money, darting every which way with him in hot pursuit. Ryan thought that there were isolated individuals who rose up from bad circumstances, but they were certainly not the norm. Many seemed to spend generations trapped in a welfare or shelter situation, never quite able to make it into the mainstream.

Ryan thought, It would be great if someone could think of one plan that would fix all of these problems, even if it caused some pain initially.

Was it crazy to think that such an idea existed? After all, man had been around for thousands of years, and while some tremendous advances had occurred, there were still parts of the world where people killed each other for food, water, and money. He kept coming back to that screamed demand, Gimme me all your goddamned MONEY!

It didn’t seem like there was a solution. If all the people that had existed throughout the history of man had not been able to come up with an answer by now, he guessed that one just was not possible. He sighed and went back to reading his paper.

The episode of Star Trek played unwatched in the background. This particular show had the oft-repeated time traveler theme, where a person from the past had transported to the future by an anomaly. The transportee was amazed at the size of the ship, and asked the captain where they found the money to build it. He said that, the economics of the future is somewhat different… and …we don’t work for personal gain, but to better all of humanity…. Ryan suddenly came alert with a thought that had not occurred to him the previous times he had seen this show: HOW? How could that be done?

How could society do that? How could you get rid of all money? Was there a way? After all, if it was the cause of the world’s problems, wouldn’t you want to do away with it? In addition, what about homelessness and crime? Was there some idea to solve them? The show did not explain how they did it, just that it happened.

How, Jean Luc, how did you do it? he asked the TV and the plucky star ship captain. Sadly, Jean Luc did not answer, but kept right on speaking his scripted lines. Well, the show was primarily a space exploration show, so to delve into the intricacies of a political and economic transformation would be a little beyond their scope. Nevertheless, he wondered if the thought had occurred to anyone else. Surely, there must have been some people who had questioned it. But then again, maybe not. Could he try to do something?

He had the beginning of an idea that seemed bold, and yet so obvious, he wondered why he had never heard of anything like it before. He wanted to tell someone, but there was no one there to tell. His son could not understand it. He decided to sleep on it that night, assuming that it would be forgotten come morning.

The next morning, he awoke and continued to mull it over, but set it aside as nonsense a little while later. Several times throughout the day, he kept coming back to the idea.

He was finally going to take some action on his idea when a new, welcomed distraction came into his life. He had been going to a single parents support group at work and had struck up a friendship with a pretty divorcée. She was a little younger than he, and had a son, Scott, who was two years younger than his boy. She had custody of him and seemed like a nice person. Ryan was hesitant to ask her out, as he was not sure he was ready for another relationship. Finally, after much hemming and hawing, he worked up his courage and approached her after one of their meetings.

Uh, hi. How are you? What did you think of the speaker? he asked, as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

Oh, hi, Nick. He was good. I’m always glad to get a little advice on how to run my program. Sometimes I feel it’s like a boat without a rudder, she said as she reached for a creamer.

Here, let me get that for you, he said, trying to be gallant.

Kathy Ross seemed amused by his little display of chivalry, because she smiled and looked closer at him, as if she were sizing him up.

He took that as an encouraging sign and blurted out, I don’t suppose you would want to go somewhere else for coffee? This is not that good. He winced at the institutional Joe that they were drinking.

She appeared startled to be asked out, but answered, Oh, uh yeah, sure. Do you mean now? She started doing the mental gymnastics all single parents do when they go anywhere to see if they have coverage.

Ryan was not expecting a yes so now it was his turn to scramble. Now is good, or some other time. Whatever works for you.

Okay, well, I’m already out, so let me just see if I can extend the sitter by a bit, she said, as she looked around for a pay phone.

Okay, great, Ryan said, a little shaken, as he had now taken the first step towards moving on from Donna, and he was thinking he had made a huge mistake.

Before he could undo anything, she was off her call. Yeah, I’m good for an hour, where do you want to go? she asked brightly, leaving the decision to him. He liked that. It let him regain some measure of composure. She was hard to resist and wanted to end her loneliness, too, he guessed. They arranged to go to the local Dunkin’ Donuts and chatted easily about their kids and the surprising amount of things they had in common. She worked part-time and babysat some other kids to help make ends meet. As they stirred their coffee, his black with cream and two sugars, hers an iced vanilla, he learned that she had a great sense of humor and an easy laugh that he liked. He struggled to find the words to convey his interest in her and finally just confessed.

Kathy, I’m not a very romantic guy. I wasn’t good at it with Donna, and I’m afraid I’m going to make a mess of it with you. I just hope you’ll hang in there with me for a while and give me a chance. I’d like to see more of you. I mean, not more of you in that way. I mean, oh Jesus.... he stammered, blushing furiously. She was charmed and grabbed his hand.

Hey, relax. I’m not looking for Prince Charming. Joe the Lumberjack would do at this point. We’ll take it easy and see where it goes.

Reassured, he said, Whew, that’s good. I’ll try to do my best, but don’t be surprised by my less than stellar behavior. I was raised in an Irish Catholic family with all boys, so women were a bit of a foreign concept. But I’m a good learner, so if I’m doing anything wrong, please tell me.

She gave him a warm smile. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You’re lucky I actually have a thing for Irishmen. They are some of the world’s greatest writers and poets. They ended their first encounter with an awkward handshake that progressed to an even more awkward half hug, which made them both laugh. It appeared to both of them that they had some chemistry.

They started to date, and after a while, their relationship flourished. A