The Victory Walk

By Richard Segal

Think yourself alive.

The Victory Walk tells the story of one man's long struggle for the rights of the silent majority, told through the eyes of an idealistic yet practical part-time right hand man, who in the era of digital democracy, performs this role remotely. However, the Movement is but his evening and weekend devotion. Nine to five, he thrives in the dry world of municipal finance advisory, with podmates Gregory and Cameron, increasingly for county finance departments in Northern California, where he meets his match.

The Victory Walk criss-crosses the United States in search of tactics and strategies to dislodge the entrenched special interests that have cornered the market for opportunity, and fill the vacuum instead with true fairness. This is the true story of the American dream, in all senses of the word.

Can one person change the world? Yes, if we are all that one person.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481789899

Richard Segal

Richard Segal, an American citizen, resides in London, England, and works as an economic and financial consultant. He has written widely about matters relating to global public policy over the years. His most recent novel was The Man Who Knew the Answer.

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2013 by Richard Segal. All rights reserved.

The Victory Walk, by Richard Segal, is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, and actual events, organizations or locations, are intended purely to provide a sense of context or reference point. All remaining characters, places, names, incidents, dialogue and opinions are wholly fictional and their resemblance, if any, to real life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/09/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8988-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-8989-9 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

A New Day Dawning

The Literary Café

PART TWO

Asia

Controversial Views About ‘Religion’

The Party’s Over,

Their Party

Liquid Daydream,

Do you Remember me?

PART THREE

Still Only Twenty Six

Edgy in the Center

Women: Can’t Live With Them… well, not all of them

The Candidate

Marvin, Oh, Marvin

The Ides of April

Mirabelle

Epilogue

Previously by Richard Segal

The Russian Economy

Crash, Burn, Hurricane

Trilogy Year

Hitting the Tenspot

Nectar of the Lavender

Cookbook for a New Europe

The Great Art Deco Chase

Three Days in July

Return of the Drama Prince

To You

"They can kill the beast."—anon

A New Day Dawning

I surveyed my closet with a mixture of regret and chagrin. In my lone nod to habit, my wardrobe was an ode to alternating pattern, white suit shirts and colorful casual jerseys. If one wears out or rips, another must follow it to the graveyard, or I buy a replica. But on this day, my mixed feelings did not reflect an internal order to banish a perfectly good Izod, but rather an uncomfortable truth: men’s shirts button on the right, women’s on the left.

It had been some months since I last saw Patty, but here she was, a reminder of her, in my closet, probably with a trace of her scent, still. Let’s let sleeping dogs lie, in this instance, I have more important things to do.

An appointment with Paul Graham was scheduled for later that morning and it was imperative that I dress right and place myself in the appropriate state of mind. Tony would some day be retiring as head of the Movement and Graham could be in the ring as heir apparent—the longer his gestation period the better. This logical conclusion was awkward, in my view, because he hadn’t been hired yet and our policy had been to promote from within. Tony’s counter was that we lacked suitable internal candidates and it would be helpful to have a ‘name’ fulfilling the role of speechwriter—and heir apparent.

I upheld a couple additional forethoughts for raising a half hand in objection. First, Graham was not a team player, though I say this in neither a good nor a bad way. Second, and more relevant in my opinion, the higher priority was to nominate a figurehead, now that Hardin Cramer had been expelled. If we were going to allocate scarce contribution dollars toward the recruitment of a ‘name,’ I felt this should first be for a role with a profile, rather than a speechwriter. Moreover, though the elections were the following year, I felt we should begin campaigning soon and the lack of a nameplate was therefore more pressing.

This was a lesson of last time. Oh, woulda coulda shoulda. And another thing. It takes a lot to fully sway an electorate, never minding their self-interests. Call it brainwashing, call it manipulation, but a voter won’t know what’s truly good for him without half a generation of effort on the part of individuals such as me. Sure, we can convince a few swing voters with a TV ad slogan along the lines of ‘You’re not gonna vote for the guy with the smirk, are ya?" but mostly newer third parties preach to the converted and there’s no guarantee negative ads will be effective as a get out the vote tool.

Did Tony suspect I second guessed some of his tactics or did I believe I was qualified for the powerful position of heir apparent myself? I considered these topics, but gave them short shrift. The internal opiate is not the moment I step onto the stage and begin to deliver, it is the split second when I become aware that I possess an entire sliding scale model of policy initiatives in my head. I would rather subvert from the sidelines than from under a spotlight, and I’m not ready to relinquish my day job. I felt for a good while, in fact several years, that it would increasingly be impossible to disguise that I operate a second career, but here I am, the director of the Movement’s policy unit, and no one knows outside our circle. Finally, would there be competition between Graham and me? Let him write speeches, be Tony’s number two and enter this cosy treadmill on a track to number one. I’ve got a job to do and I’m going to do it.

Meanwhile, I have to admit to my own naivety. I knew I was clever, I knew I was wise, I knew not to trust or to have faith in all people, I knew the difference between political correctness and normal sensitivity, and I knew not to suffer fools, but I didn’t know what the common touch was. Oh, how much I have learned in the past several years, why Tony spent a dozen years in quiet groundwork for this project, why it might not be possible for him to complete what he started to its practical conclusion, and why he persisted anyway. I therefore resolved to understand common public opinion from the ground up, I’d spend hours in supermarkets and coffee houses around the country and innocently eavesdrop on conversations, to develop a feel for what type of voter was open to our way of operating and managing the country. It was possible for me to do this, because I was under cover and I had a cover. As a bespeckled consultant in the field of municipal finance, a man who looked like an innocent bookworm, it was natural that I’d ask townsmen and suburban residents their views about the quality of public services. If I was providing advice about the minimum cost of delivering them, it was natural that I solicited the ancillary soft spoken questions also. I joked to myself that I would listen in on conversations everywhere but in gay bars. With my Eastern Establishment good looks… in fact, that was a cover also. In practice, my beliefs were anything but Eastern Establishment.

Before I could reflect upon how to approach the appointment, actually interview, with Graham, I had to focus on two engagements related to my day job, one a client from the Mid-West and another an internal meeting to discuss the division of labor. Accordingly, I’d have to choose clothes which would be suitable for all three. Ironically, my professional schedule was empty from mid-afternoon onward, which would leave me plenty of time to ruminate about these gatherings. I say ironically, because Gregory, our head of marketing at MAC Advisors, was a die-hard Democrat and Marvin, our mid-western client, was a dyed in the wool Republican. If Gregory was capable of selling our services to this head of municipal fund-raising for Applebee County, he truly could sell Haagen-Dazs to the Danes. We in the Movement, we who would not be infiltrated, didn’t like either side. We were, and me in particular, we were incorruptibly opposed to both polar ways of doing things. We were like the small-d disciples in days of old, we could see beyond the truism that there really was a better way, but if our target market had grown up brainwashed, we’d have to convince people one by one. This we could do, this we were doing, but we didn’t have a thousand years.

I’m sure it was destined that one day I’d converge with Graham, just as it was that in the immortal Breakfast of Champions, the… I can’t remember the names of the characters… two men were on a collision course of destiny to bump into each other. I was shaped by this book, a book I read in paperback, a book I picked up at a library somewhere yet can’t remember the main characters. Selective memory may be rivers deep, but its images etched are mountains high.

Graham had a reputation for, let’s call it candor, which could only be gauged in person. Nonetheless, on the way to the interview at Tony’s office, I held imaginary conversations. He was going to utilize certain language and I was going to object. He was going to employ the word ‘radical’ and I was going to explain that we couldn’t use words like that anymore, because they had become too polarizing. The right wing would say I told you so and the left wing would start squinnying. It’s not worth it, don’t give them any ammo. Practice risk management ahead of time. I was judging Graham before we’d even met, before the first few instances of feeling each other out.

I know what I want to see in him, but what do I want him to see in me, what kind of impression do I want to make? Graham? Nice to meet you. Welcome to the real Catch 22—all you have to do is like us. No, this is not my place, it’s for Tony to play the part of the lieutenant colonel. We can discuss favorite movie quotes at a more opportune moment.

Let’s move forward a bit, given my reputation for not liking long hellos, to the section of the conversation in which I explain my view of the shadow cabinet. By now, Graham has loosened his tie and I’ve removed mine, the formalities long since dispensed with. My white shirt is ironed, but not so well down the middle, and actually this is the main reason I wear a tie, to cover up the sloppy work of the dry cleaner. I’m capable of ironing my own clothes, but the neighborhood guy is cost effective. Well, he doesn’t charge much, and doesn’t do a great job on shirts, but I don’t seek tuxedo quality. Moreover, a little rough and ready rounds out my image. If a model is airtight perfectionism, it’s likely inflexible. My dry cleaner and I have a perfect symbiotic relationship, however. Tradeoffs work. He may hypothesize why I bring him four shirts a week, but rarely a suit, the simple answer being that I have those pressed or dry cleaned on the road. They look better that way going into a meeting. If I’m going to play the role of my bespeckled clean cut bookworm, might as well wear a crisp and clean suit with the one or two sartorial flaws. Neat, very neat, especially if the freshly dry-cleaned tie as well mostly covers the sloppy marksmanship of Hour Power Cleaners.

Graham had seemingly had an illustrious career, starting with a stretch as a local newsman, reporting on breaking news in his hometown of Northeastern and helping to pioneer the slow weekend news day practice of interviewing riverside ducks and puppies, before he stumbled on the brilliant idea of reality TV before it was called that. Accident Week, followed by Prime Time Crime and Accident Week Junior.

Graham’s Accident Week franchise was mostly about action, parody and common understanding through empathy, but occasionally there was a sermon, sometimes too preachy but mostly not. Here’s one I recall, though it’s from memory so may not be word perfect.

Governments beggar individuals and households to donate cash for emergency relief projects, when these responsibilities belong to the institutions of government. We are already paying for them and if bodies of government wish to commit expenditures to relief efforts, they should instead divert funds from non-essential endeavors. When a natural disaster occurs in a remote part of the country, politicians should not initiate taxation by predatory advertizing.

His tirade was against taxation by stealth, but delivered in a format that fit his genre. If I recall the message after all these years, it must have been striking and indeed, there remain small pockets of activists who strike out for his and our intellectual honesty, but the great challenge was to render it universal.

He rolled with the Accident Week franchise for two years but spread himself too thin and burned out as quickly as he arose in the sky. Before long, though, he discovered the amateur drama troupe famous for The High School Review, and deployed the proceeds toward a failed electoral campaign against the dreaded Senator Swithin. He’d been low key the ensuing few years and from what I understood from his resume, was currently managing a portfolio career under a single roof, variously consulting, writing, fronting documentaries and the like. It did seem immensely impressive and without prompting from Tony, I knew I should pull out all stops and give the Movement the hard sell. This was a man we wanted on our side, on our team, even with little risk of him switching to another side. He gravitated to politics both because he caught the bug and hated Swithin, not because of any particular ideological leaning. He was not in it for any particular last hurrah. In other words, he was perfect for us.

Graham, this is how I see the Movement, I commenced. "We have a policy guru for each unit, and I’m the overall policy director. What this means, in effect, is that I’m a practical theoretician and the others design and implement shadow policy for each of their departments. I fundamentally decompose the workings of each department, continuously, and reassemble them in a manner that is most efficient. How do I do this? I do it in my head. There’s no limit to the amount of information the human brain can store and process. No, just kidding. I maintain at home a series of interlinked models and spreadsheets.

What is more important, though, is that I desiloize the process. It is both a zero sum and a non-zero sum game. I can rob from Peter and give to Paul, but should I? But I won’t take from Paul and give to Rob. Sorry, a policy joke. Moreover, I ask whether a job is best done by Peter’s department, or Paul’s. Indeed, I make this determination on the basis of common sense and the facts, rather than the political influence of a department head. The money they wish to spend belongs to you and I, not