Captain Jack for President

By John Jones

On a beautiful Spring morning in Jonesport Maine, Captain Jack Harper of Harper Industries walks into Mobys restaurant for his morning cup of Mobys jo, unsuspecting that it would be the beginning of a life change, not only for him, but for his community and quite possibly the country.

Captain Jack had been a man of integrity and honor his entire life; a man of service to his community. Little did he know that his community would be asking him to be a man of service for the entire nation.

In the quiet of the morning, as the locals debated politics and listened to the typical rhetoric of the incumbent and presidential contenders, a stranger to the town was sitting in the corner taking it all in. As the locals began talking about what life would be like under a presidency of Captain Jack, the stranger became more intrigued about who this Captain Jack character might be.

When the townsmen finally approached Jack, encouraging him to make a run for the presidency, the stranger, Dexter Wyman, chair of the Constitution Party, introduced himself and joined the fray. Jack reluctantly accepted the challenge to run under the Constitution part banner, with the assistance of the entire township.

Will Jack finish the race? Will he be shutdown before getting off the starting block? Will he be eliminated permanently by organized, empowered politicians who dont appreciate a newcomer to the field?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479736072

John Jones

As a native of the world in one city, Liverpool, England, I write twisted tales of horror, crime and mystery, and sometimes I'll dabble in other genres. I have written over ninety short stories, two novels,  and appeared in various publications, including:  'Radio City ghosts, an anthology,'  'Cemetery moon'. Winner of the scare-a-horror-author contest at writerscafe.org Several for Atlantean publishing. Most of my work can be read free online on various websites including Booksie, ABC Tales, obooko. When I am not writing about strange creatures, time distortions or sheer bloody murder, I enjoy drawing and painting.   

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Copyright © 2012 by John Jones.

Library of Congress Control Number:                    2012919564

ISBN:                    Hardcover                    978-1-4797-3606-5

                    Softcover                    978-1-4797-3605-8

                    Ebook                    978-1-4797-3607-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

Jack’s Calling

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness?

TGIF

The Overture

An Uncommon Education

Loud and Clear

The Committal

Meanwhile, Back at Moby’s

On the Ballot

Check in the Box for Maine

Early to Rise

California, Here We Come

My Turf

The Great State of TEXAS

Scandalous Times

Pick a Partner, Doe-See-Doe

Debate

A New Chapter for the Democrats

A Rough Night

It’s Showtime!

A New Beginning

Meet the New

Ms. Agatha Cupchow

Captain Jack Dedication

This book is dedicated to my family as well as all the servicemen who make it possible for all American citizens to enjoy the freedoms our country has come to know and love. Without their dedication, service and sacrifice, allowing us to maintain our freedoms, it is highly likely that this book would never have been published. You deserve better from our government.

To my wife who endured times when I was tapping away at the keyboard instead of attending to other worthy matters, I appreciate the abundance of your love and patience.

To my three boys, thank you for the encouragement to publish this book instead of writing it and scrapping it as I’ve done with so many others. You’re gentle nudging and encouragement was a long process that eventually swayed my decision. Thank you for not giving up.

To my son Pete, thank you for providing the artwork that encompassed the essence of the book in a simple Captain Jack portrait. Your artistic talent continues to amaze me.

Lastly, and most importantly, Thank you to our God and Father, from whom all blessings flow.An Unsuspecting Beginning

It was a cool spring morning in the small Maine coastline fishing village. There’s a heavy fog lifting off the boardwalk leading to the docks. The locals from the small tight-knit community are beginning to awaken, wiping the sleepy grit from their eyes and rolling off their cots onto the cool, rough wooden floors. Many are finding their canvass like overalls a comfort as they slip them on and head out the door to Moby’s Place. Dave Moby always has something good cooking up in the morning.

Dave Moby left the comfort of his bed two hours before the rest of the town even began to stir. He enjoyed the quiet walk to his establishment and early spring was his favorite time of the year. The brine of the ocean was beginning to sweeten the air again. The daffodils, the scillas, and the pussy willows were making their debut to the landscape while the early crocus, the camellia, the snowdrop, and the winter aconite were already in full bloom in the garden strip that Dave planted around Moby’s.

Moby, as he’s known to the locals, has been cooking up meals at Moby’s Place for thirty plus years. He took over the business from Marissa Moby, his mother who had passed on several years ago. She originally started the business simply as a morning breakfast shop, whipping up eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns, along with the best-tasting coffee on the East Coast. Marissa passed on the secret of the coffee to Moby. The secret for this special blend of coffee he guards closely, though he teases his patrons that the amazingly smooth taste comes from using the briny water, hand pumped in from the harbor with a two-hundred-year-old pump.

Little by little, Moby expanded his building to include a rustic hall where folks can sit and eat inside, away from the elements that often creep in, and sometimes unexpectedly. He added on an outside patio for folks to enjoy the ocean breeze later in the day. This became an instant hit which soon led him to adding a bar, opening out to the patio as well as into his restaurant. In the evening, he began hiring folk singers from the local area. At times, it felt like a Gordon Lightfoot revival. The nostalgia at this harbor venue kept the locals, as well as visitors, coming back for more, day after day, night after night. Dave eventually added two halls for holding weddings and other special occasions, one hall being nearly twice the size of the other.

Over the years, Moby enlisted the help of the only family he believes remains, a niece, Anna Moby. Dave’s brother William and sister-in-law Laura became victims of the unpredictable sea when Anna was only three years old. Dave took Anna in as his own and has done his best to raise her ever since. Over the years, she had learned every aspect of running Moby’s Place and keeping it in good shape. She became equally as good a cook as a carpenter and plumber, as good as anyone else in the area. She also added a woman’s touch to some of the decor although it still retained a maritime theme.

Moby, in all his wisdom, recognized the need for a female role model early on in Anna’s life. His longtime friend Becky was a natural at filling that need. Though Dave had never proposed to Becky, she would not hesitate to say yes if he would simply ask. Watching him care for Anna over the years while expanding his business at the same time, she’d come to realize what a catch he would be. She wasn’t in any hurry though as she believed Dave felt the same toward her, and there’s never been another woman in his life. He was simply married to Moby’s Place.

That morning, on top of eggs prepared any way that can possibly be requested, Moby and Anna whipped up their own jumbo waffles. This was one of Anna’s ideas as well as her own recipe. These jumbos came complete with free access to the dressing bar, enticing patrons with juicy strawberries in their own syrup, extra large blueberries, or hot maple syrup.

Anna always ensured that the news rack positioned just inside the front door had an ample supply of copies of the Jonesport News and the Washington County Review, the two local papers that cover local, national, and world news. Anna chose these papers, not so much because they’re locally produced, but also because the usual group of local patrons seems to connect quite well with the personal commentary provided by several of the reporters. They have a knack for cutting through all the political jargon in order to explain what the real impact of certain situations is to the local industries. They tend to use a format of, This person said this during a press release at . . . What they are really saying is . . . This will have an effect on our locals by . . . By the way, the guy is a liar and we need to kick him out of office. They tend not to pull punches when dispelling the myths that are floated out of Congress.

Anna and Moby realized that some of the patrons simply stop in for a cup of Moby’s famous coffee and to get caught up on the local gossip and the national dilemmas by reading the paper. Even though providing the newspapers for free was counted as a loss, both Anna and Moby felt they were performing a civic duty by keeping folks informed and involved. Anna was also able to prove to Moby years ago that by doing this, they had a much higher patron retention rate. It became one of the social mores in the area.

For the folks that prefer to sit at the bar, which in the morning is the breakfast nook, a flat-screen TV is positioned on the back wall, tuned in to one of the news networks like HGN or WIGL. This area is for the serious debaters. The locals that take up the stools at the counter know their politics, and they know how it affects their state. On any given day, a number of the regulars will sit, drink their coffee, eat their eggs and hash, and discuss passionately the pros and cons of the local, state, and federal government. There are often times when a traveling visitor will overhear the conversation and decide to pull up a stool and join the debate. This debate could go on for hours until each recalled that they were supposed to be at work or on the road.

Over the years, as word spread about the morning debates, the ritual became an open public forum where all are welcome to join. All that is needed is an opinion, though having thick skin is a definite bonus. Anna established a set of ground rules which she posted on a plaque under the TV. The ground rules were simple:

1. All are welcome to join. You can only disqualify yourself from the conversation.

2. Personal attacks are limited to the subject matter and not aimed at any debater.

3. No physical fighting.

4. No breaking the dishes.

On this particular morning, HGN was reporting on all the hot buttons—the economy, the terrorists, health care, retirement, taxes, human rights, abortion, and yes, even religion. Anna called it right, They must be getting ready to start digging into the 2016 presidential candidates.

Brian Murphy took a long sip off his morning coffee. Oh really, and just how do you come to this conclusion?

What? Are you blind? Look at what they’re doing. The media isn’t reporting current news. Instead, they’re recapping everything that’s happened over the last couple of years, stuff that we already know about. They’re reminding us of all the crap that came our way, but they are not saying anything about how the current administration has been handling it all, or what the policy climate has been. You watch Brian. If the media really likes President Jeffers, they’ll start bringing up all the things his cabinet has done to make our lives better. If the media has a new boy in mind, they’ll start speculating on how so-and-so would likely handle a situation if he were president. Since so-and-so, whoever that may turn out to be, isn’t the current president, then it really doesn’t matter what so-and-so would do because at the moment, he can’t do jack.

And you think this is how they’re gonna kick off the next round of contenders for the top job?

Absolutely.

OK then, since I think you’re wrong, if you’re right I’ll pay for breakfast for everyone at the bar.

It’s a breakfast nook, and you’re on. If I’m wrong, then breakfast at the nook is free for everyone served this mornin’.

After all, Anna had to put up her collateral as well for the bet to be sealed, although this particular bet affected Moby as well, and he wasn’t thrilled about it.

Anna, can I see you in the kitchen for a minute?

Sure, Dave, I’ll be right there.

Brian has heard that tone in Moby’s voice before. Anna is in trouble, Anna’s gonna get spanked, he sang teasingly.

Other patrons that had overheard the deal understood this to be a free breakfast for them, no matter how it turned out. When Anna went into the kitchen, the whole place started pulling extra chairs up to the nook until there was no more room to squeeze in anywhere. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder as tight as a can of sardines. Some were sitting in each other’s laps.

Anna, are you crazy? I know business is doing pretty good, but I still can’t afford to lose an entire morning’s breakfast receipts. How can you go and make a bet like that without asking me first if it’s OK ?

Dave, I’m sorry. I don’t mean for this to involve you. If I lose, which I won’t, I’ll pay the tab out of my own pocket, OK?

Oh, honey, Come on. You know I can’t let you pay a tab like that!

Dave, I took the bet, and I know I’m right. I’m old enough to know what I’m doing. It’s my bet, and so it’ll be my debt, alright?

Becky was working eggs into Moby’s secret scrambled batter. She saw the concern in Moby’s eyes. She loved Anna just as much as Moby, but she knew that Anna had to be allowed enough slack to start making her own decisions, Dave, don’t sweat it. It’ll be OK. I can help Anna out if she needs a small loan, but when have you ever known Anna to be wrong? She’s got an incredible knack for seeing through the political agenda, enough to know what she’s talking about. Besides, I’ve taught her well not to make bets unless you know for sure you’re going to win.

Becky gave Moby a hug to help settle his concerns. Anna knew that Becky didn’t have to say a word. All she needed to do was give Moby one of her hugs, and he would’ve completely forgotten about his concerns. Anna tossed a wink at Becky and headed back out to the nook with an armful of plates, heaped with eggs, bacon, and hash.

Back at the nook, Brian smiled at Anna as he spread his arms wide as if displaying to her the myriad people who joined in on the deal. Anna knew that these folks weren’t all on his side. They simply realized they are in for a free meal no matter how it turned out. Brian was too simpleminded and self-centered to realize this. He was under the impression that these were his followers, at least on this matter.

After a round of politically charged commercials is shown on TV, WIGL’s Cindy Walker introduced Senator Spelling from Illinois who was considering putting his name into the hat for the GOP presidential nomination. An explosion of celebration, shock, and dismay at the nook erupted as everyone there realized Anna was right.

Anna handed Brian a long slip that she had already made out at the register with the tab totaled at the bottom. Brian opened his wallet among the cheers of the day’s patrons and started to count out the bills aloud against the tab. Brian may be self-centered, but he was shrewd with his cash; and being a hardworking longshoreman himself, he earned a fairly hefty wage. He donned a disbelieving smirk on his face as he counted out the bills, each patron patting him on the back and saying, Thanks for breakfast, as they walked past him on the way to the exit, on their way to work.

A bald man sitting in the back corner of the restaurant watched the entire show. Nice job in calling that one, he said to Anna as she topped off his coffee.

Ya, well, that was easy. Anyone with half a brain could see it’s time for the political crap to start up again. The election is two years away. It’s time for our government and the media to start spending a fortune to tell us who they want us to vote for in 2016.

You sound pretty negative about the whole thing.

It’s all a big joke to me. There is so much that goes into making us believe what they want us to believe, and then we go ahead and vote based on all the slanted propaganda we’ve been fed. They know exactly who they want in office and how to get him there. From the sounds of the newscast, President Jeffers is not their favorite pick, and Senator Spelling there sure seems to have won someone’s heart.

And that’s what you think? Spelling is in? All because of how the media is portraying him?

"Not entirely. Keep an eye on Jeffers, he’s a shrewd one. A little more cash tossed here or there can change the entire dynamic. Jeffers ain’t out of the race yet. It’s all because of the almighty buck, the greenback, the dollar. At the moment Spelling has enough money backing him up where he can afford to run. He can buy his way into the office. He must have made some promises to some heavy lobbyists and secured their support.

Jeffers just hasn’t written a big enough check yet, but he will. Do you think that some poor schmuck is going to be able to make a meaningful run at the highest office if he doesn’t sell out like that? It doesn’t matter how smart he is. If he’s not attractive to the public audience, then that guy is toast, and it’s the media that makes him attractive. It’s all a big popularity contest and has nothing to do with a person’s leadership capability or what his ideals and beliefs are. Somehow, that always seems to escape the public."

What? Where have you heard that from?

Oh, come on, mister. Do you honestly think that someone around here, an average Joe, would be able to become president?

No, you’re right about that. An average Joe would not make it, but the average Joe is not a leader. This nation is not looking for the average Joe. This nation wants a leader. But if that leader came from a place like this, then yes, I do think he has a chance.

And I think you’re putting more than sugar in that coffee, Anna smiled at him, topped off his coffee cup, and moved on to serve the next table. As she walked away, the bald stranger watched her, cocked his head, and smiled in a manner that said, Very interesting. He sniffed his coffee and took a sip. Hot and black, that’s how he liked his coffee. As he sipped, he thought to himself, This really is an awesome cup of coffee. I wonder how they make it.

Jack’s Calling

The next morning was brisk. Cool enough for Jack to see his breath as he walked in the damp, salty air. But Jack was used to this. Wearing only a flannel shirt and blue jeans, he walked to Moby’s for a morning meal. The cool air felt good on his forearms, his shirt sleeves rolled up. He looked more like a lumberjack than a fisherman. To see the size of his forearms, one would think he’s the real live version of Popeye.

Inside Moby’s, the skirmish at the nook had already started. Jack always liked to sit in the corner opposite the nook. It was far enough away where he could sit and think and not be drawn into the morning debate, yet close enough for him to hear all the rhetoric passing between the locals. Brian was at the head of the nook, chatting it up about how he thought Senator Spelling would make a fine president. Jack just sat and listened, thoughts running through his mind, What a buffoon.

Anna was in the middle of the debate with Brian, the debate that Jack had listened in on, as well as the other forty or so patrons. Some things never seemed to change.

Brian, are you kidding me? You really think this guy is the right guy for the job? Do you even know what his platform is? Do you even know where he stands on all the important issues?

What are you talking about? He’s perfect. Just look at him. The media loves this guy.

"The media loves him? And what does the media have to do with it? The media . . . is simply supposed to report on him and provide some time for him to speak to all of us, so that we can figure out if this guy has half a brain and is able to tie his shoes on his own."

Oh, Anna, you’re so funny and so misinformed. You see, the president can’t do anything on his own anyhow. Congress does all the work. The president is merely a figurehead. He’s the guy who gets to go to the other countries to put on a show for the US of A. We don’t need some genius in the oval office. Heck, that would probably get in the way of progress. What we need is a terrific actor. I think that’s why Ronnie Regan was such a great president.

First off, I’m not so sure that Ronnie was a great president. He was a decent president, but not because he was an actor. It’s because he actually had half a brain and was able to think for himself. I just think he happened to be president during a prosperous time for our nation, and that’s why he looked as good as he did. I don’t think he actually did anything earth-shattering. The Berlin Wall was coming down whether he wanted it to or not. That was the Europeans’ decision, not his. Although, I do believe he had a stabilizing economic policy.

Anna, do you hear yourself? Good ole Ronnie couldn’t even remember what his address was. And you’re right, he did have half a brain, but the other half was a vegetable patch.

I can’t believe you said that. President Regan had full control of his affects while he was in office. He didn’t start suffering from Alzheimer’s until much later. And this isn’t about President Regan, it’s about what a president represents, it’s about what the job of that office is. True, the president has to represent the US on the foreign scene, but even more so, he sets policy and direction for the Congress to follow. It’s not as empty an office as you might think. Heck, if that were the case, you could probably take the job and do just as good a job.

Well then, I might just consider it. I’m as cute as a button. I’m photogenetic.

Photogenetic? You mean photogenic, Mr. Bush.

That was a real slap to Brian. He couldn’t stand President Bush. Either of them actually, though ironically, he voted for both of the Bushes. He would deny doing so if and when anyone asked him about his choice since he wouldn’t want to look like a hypocritical fool.

Jack finished his coffee, picked up his paper, and dropped a five on the table. Looking candidly over at the nook, he smiled, shook his head, and headed off to his lady, The Pride. Brady caught Captain Jack’s departure out of the corner of his eye. A look of curiosity spread across Brady’s face.

Other locals were watching the news at the nook that morning, seeing the field of hopefuls running for president while they listened to Brian and Anna. They were not at all excited with whom they saw being presented as their possible choices. Somewhat kidding around and yet somewhat serious, Brady mumbled that Captain Jack would make a great president. Anna’s ears perked up. She smiled with a sarcastic smirk, disbelieving what she had heard, Wait! Are you kidding me? Captain Jack? No way.

Why not? He’s smart, he’s honest, he’s dependable. He won’t sell out for anything. He knows how to lead, how to run a business, and we know what he stands for.

You’re right, Jack would make an awesome president, but come on. Jack would never go for something like that. You would never be able to convince him to take on something like that. He would never want to have his personal life scrutinized like they do to the other candidates. You know he can’t stand all the bashing and dirty politics that goes on during these things.

Anna, think about it. Jack would be perfect. There’s nothing that he does without putting one hundred percent into. If he can’t do something perfectly, he’ll work on it until he can.

Sure, if it’s something that he wants to do. But if he’s not interested . . .

"Ya, if he’s not interested, he wouldn’t even give it a second thought. But if he is interested . . . just think at what that could mean."

You’re nuts. No way. I wouldn’t even suggest it to him if I were you.

Why not? You think he would be ticked off about it? I don’t think so.

Brian leaned in closer, right in between Brady and Anna. He liked the idea. Come on, Anna, can you think of a better person than Captain Jack for being president? You know he’d be perfect. You just don’t want him to take a shot at it because it would interfere with your crush on him.

The irony of that statement made Brady look up with a wrinkled brow. He knew of Brian’s crush on Anna for a long time. Anna is the reason Brian spent every waken moment at Moby’s, at least the ones when he’s not out making a haul or a delivery to his customers.

You guys are whacked.

As this bantering continued, more and more of the local folks began liking the idea. As for Captain Jack, he was out at sea at the moment, not knowing what his local kinsmen were up to. In the back of the room sat the same bald man from the day before, smiling while he listened, his face hidden behind his paper.

*     *     *

Late in the afternoon, Jack pulled The Pride up to the dock. There was a flurry of activity as his crew immediately began to off-load the catch of the day. It was not one their best days of fishing, but it wasn’t their worst either. Brady, Jack’s first mate who took the day off, ran down to the docks when he saw Jack pulling in. He hustled from bow to stern securing the mooring lines to the dock and set the ship to shore gangplank in place.

When Jack was done logging the fuel and oil readings, he locked down his LORAN receiver and stored his private charting maps, complete with the course tracking to his favorite fishing grids in the ship’s bridge safe. On his way off the ship, he yelled over to Brady to make sure he got an accurate weight of the catch and to compare it with the weight they read onboard. And if we had your luck with us today, mate, we might have done better! And Brady . . . when you’re done, you can meet me topside at Moby’s for a coffee. I’d like to brief you on today’s operations to see if we can figure something better for tomorrow. You are back on board tomorrow, right?

Yes, sir, got it, Cappy! I’ll see you in a few!

Jack walked into the marina’s ship shop to get cleaned up. Jimmy Winston was there to greet him and hand him some fresh soap, a facecloth, and a hand towel. The facecloth and hand towel were clean, but very well used. It’s amazing how these towels had not fallen apart from so much use over the years. Jack remembered them originally being white, though now they are as gray as weathered cedar. Jack figured that as long as they were clean and didn’t smell like old gym socks, they suited the purpose.

So, Jimmy . . . what’s up at Moby’s? He doin’ anything special today?

Special? Not that I know. Why do you ask?

Jimmy Winston was up at Moby’s earlier in the day for lunch. Jack knew this because Jimmy always had his lunch at Moby’s, and today, Jimmy seemed a bit more fidgety, somewhat giddy like a little schoolgirl.

On my walk over here, I noticed a lot more people than usual mulling around Moby’s. I just figured that perhaps he had some sort of wedding party or something going on tonight. I just don’t recall seeing anything on his calendar at the nook this morning.

Nope, nothing that I know of. Sorry, Jack.

Jack knew that Jimmy wouldn’t lie to him. Jimmy wasn’t like that. It didn’t matter if the news was good or bad, Jimmy would always give you the straight scoop. But something was different today. Something was up. Perhaps he simply asked the wrong question. It might not have been Moby who had something going on, and if that was the case, Jimmy wouldn’t offer up any more information than you had asked for. But Jack sensed something different in the air. Jimmy was just not giving up the intel on it. You don’t fish the ocean for several decades without learning how to smell when a storm is brewing, and Jack’s senses were tingling.

When Jack was done washing up, he strolled on up the short grassy knoll to Moby’s, figuring he would get a cup of Dave’s famous joe and catch up with Brady before heading home for a nice hot bowl of clam chowder. As he approached the door to the bar, he could tell there was quite a debate going on inside. By the looks of the parking lot, some of the folk on the outskirts of town even came to join in on this one. That’s something that didn’t happen all too often, but when it did, it often offered up some very interesting entertainment for Jack. At times like that, he would get his coffee and find an empty table off in a corner, keeping to himself; he would just listen in to what all the locals were stirred up about.

When Jack walked through the door, he was surprised by how many people were sitting around the bar watching the TV. Whatever was going on, it had to be pretty big. Moby went out of his way to rearrange the tables and chairs in order to squeeze in more people, and yet even more were standing around the overcrowded bar watching a new television. At some point during the day, Moby had gone out and picked up a sixty-inch flat-screen TV, possibly just for this particular event, or perhaps he had it delivered. Jack couldn’t decide which idea he favored to believe at the moment. He thought he would simply ask Dave later on if and when he got the chance to talk with him. Jack didn’t want to conjure up some thought, have it leak out, and then find it to be a bad rumor. Nope, that wasn’t how Jack operated. He would keep his mouth shut until he learned the truth right from the source.

The television was airing an interview with Senator Spelling and President Jeffers. It apparently wasn’t a formal debate though there was certainly a cadre of debating going on. As typical of political news, WIGL’s Cindy Walker was facilitating a discussion about what qualifications are necessary within the makeup of a good US president. Naturally, each had their own self-preserving interests in mind.

Anna looked back from the pack and saw Jack standing in the entryway. Jack gave her a quick wink and a sidewise nod of his head, trying to direct her to his favorite corner for his late afternoon coffee. However, Anna didn’t respond as she typically did. Instead, she gave Brian a sharp shoulder bump to get his attention and redirect it to the back, toward the back where Jack was standing. All of a sudden, there seemed to be an instant hush of the crowd as folks peered back toward Jack. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Something was up, and he was apparently the guest of honor. The last time Jack had witnessed such a reaction was when one of the Scottsdale twins visited Moby’s after putting his brother in the hospital during a fit of rage over some tramp from out of town. Just as William Scottsdale did back then, Jack felt as if he should turn around and leave, but something made him stay. The air of the crowd was not the same as it was back then. Back then, it was very apparent that the crowd disapproved of how William dealt with his own brother. There was a heavy bitterness in the crowd back then. The feeling here was more like that of honey, trying to draw in the worker bees. For a moment, Jack stood still and stared back trying to think back if he had done something inappropriate, but he came up blank.

"Don’t even tell me y’all drank all the coffee! That would simply ruin my night altogether." Jack’s dry sense of humor drew a cast of smiles which seemed to break the ice.

This night, even Becky was in on it. She walked over to Jack, wrapped her arm around his in a tender way, and led him over to where the crowd was standing, watching the scene on the larger flat panel that now hung on the wall. She apparently didn’t want him hiding in his corner.

All right, folks, what’s going on here? Did I forget to pay my tab this morning or something? I know it’s not my birthday, and y’all know I don’t celebrate it anyhow. I know my ship didn’t sink ‘cause I just left it back at the dock with Brady.

Suddenly, his heart felt like it sank into the pit of his stomach.

Did my brother pass away? And Jack started to shake a little, his knees felt wobbly and he drew in a deep breath.

Noooo . . . , Anna said, giving him a smile and a jab in the shoulder that almost pushed him over in his knee-weakened state.

Now he turned to being a little irritated since it certainly didn’t seem like there was any big deal. Then what in God’s good name is going on here?

Brian put his arm around Jack’s shoulder, Absolutely nothing, my old friend. Jack started to feel better at this point since this was not out of the ordinary for Brian. At least he was acting normal. We were just wondering if you had heard any of the crap these buffoons were spitting up. They’ve been at it nearly all day, and quite frankly, it has a bunch of us here a bit concerned for the future of this nation.

I can’t say that I have heard all that much today. As you know, I was a little busy trying to navigate my ship and crew. That type of work typically doesn’t allow me all that much time to listen to the rhetoric that these yokels cough up. Jack was being a bit sarcastic. How could Brian ask him such a stupid question? He knew what Jack did for a living.

We know that, Cappy. But you were here this mornin’ for your breakfast when you saw the debate we were having, right?

You mean the bet you lost and had to buy everyone breakfast? That debate?

Um, ya, that debate.

Nope. Don’t know what you’re talking about. Can’t say that I know anything about it.

Oh, c’mon, Jack! Stop yankin’ me. We’ve been chit-chatting this thing all day. We know you have a very, shall we say, distinct opinion on all of this political stuff. We know what we’ve heard from the professional politicians. We just want to know what your thoughts are on all the basic issues.

The crowd seemed to be intently eager to listen to Jack’s opinion, though he couldn’t understand why they wanted to hear from an old sea captain. Why would his opinion make any difference? After all, it was just an opinion, which was really nothing more than what everyone else had bantered about from each of their own perspectives. But the crowd was eager. Jack thought it was a bit odd, though he actually had a sense of calm wash over him.

Basic issues, hah? Like which ones? The economy? Foreign affairs? Energy reform? Political reform? Gay marriage? Abortion? Social Security? Or just the big one—the downfall of the US.

Brian thought he had a pretty good understanding of Jack’s viewpoint on politics in general, and he thought the crowd would find the discussion quite interesting and said, Why don’t you start by telling us what you think of today’s politics in general?

"Politics in general? Well, OK. The problem with politics in general is that it is politics in general."

Brian looked at Jack like he was feeding him a line of bull. The mood of the crowd turned into puzzlement. Some of the faces suddenly cocked to one side with the eyebrows scrunched up, as if they were in deep thought trying to figure out what to make of Jack’s remark. They looked like a pack of dogs trying to understand their master’s command. You would have thought they were trying to decipher the meaning of an intricate, abstract piece of artwork.

Anna broke the silence, What exactly do you mean by that, Jack?

"Well, you see, running the country should not be about politics. It should be about doing the right thing, period. Politics has a lot to do with give-and-take and negotiating with one side to get something in return. That often has nothing to do with what the right thing actually is."

Jack saw more puzzled looks. A bald man sitting off to the side dropped his magazine to listen in. This conversation seemed to hit a nerve with him.

OK, look. Take this whole thing about gay marriage. The whole issue was about trying to please one side of the fence or the other and had nothing to do with what’s right. If they angered the gays, they would lose votes or financial support or backing on other issues and so forth. If they angered the religious sectors, I’ll call them that for now, the same would happen from that side. So they, Congress, tried the best they could to come up with some sort of compromise to keep everyone happy. Naturally, not everyone was going to get one hundred percent of what they actually wanted, so the game here is to give each side sufficiently enough in order to try and keep the majority of the votes, the majority of the financial support, the lobbyist’s backing, etcetera, in order to satisfy their own desires, their own greed—and when I say ‘their own,’ I’m talking about the politicians. Their desire is to stay employed by the nation. There’s a lot of power in that and a lot of financial reward. There’s more financial reward in it than what everyone sees on the surface. We can look up the salaries for the various positions, but what really happens, how a representative can become an overnight millionaire, that’s the stuff that is hidden from the general public.

Carol Burton took the first shot across Jack’s bow, asking a question that she believed was more of a factual statement than a question, Yes, but, Captain Jack, isn’t that the heart of politics? The give-and-take? Being able to negotiate the various paths to find a common ground for the common good?

Common ground? Common good? It depends on your definitions of ‘common’ and ‘good.’ What is the basis by which you are defining ‘good’? There has to be a standard, otherwise we don’t know what to measure ourselves up against. And that standard needs to be just that, a de facto standard. It can’t be something that changes from time to time; otherwise, it’s not a real standard. And compromise may be the heart of politics, Carol, but is it the right thing to do? What are we compromising? If we understand what we are calling the basic definition of our ‘standard,’ and our ‘standard’ is something that sets a basis for what we believe is right and wrong, then what we are really talking about is our moral foundation, are we not?

Well, sure, I guess, so what’s your point?

"My point is this, by compromising on an issue such as this, what we are doing is compromising on our moral foundation, and if we are willing to compromise on our moral foundation, then what that says is we no longer have a moral foundation. We’ve stepped off the platform right into the abyss. We have strayed away from our moral foundation, of which defines the standard for what is considered right and wrong. Now, if you take this to the extreme, you can argue that there is no right and wrong, only a difference of opinion. This is where our country is on—a very dangerously slippery slope. If everything is a compromise, then everything is based on some notion of equilibrium. So there is no right and wrong, there is only a difference of opinion. One person can say that murder is wrong, another person says that murder is right, so we compromise and say that a person can only murder someone if there is . . . sufficient reason for it. Perhaps that reason is because I want that person’s car or wife. You might say that’s wrong, but by whose standard? There is no more standard when compromise is taken to the extreme, there is only a difference in opinion. So you say it’s wrong. I say it’s right for me because I have a reason for it. Even more so, I think my reason for it is sufficient enough for me to justify what it is that I did. Do you follow me? It’s called moral relativism. This is where our country has been heading, and that trip is speeding up quickly. There’s a huge problem with traveling the road of moral relativism; there’s a massive stone wall at the end of it and this nation is about to crash into it in a big way. When that happens, all hell breaks loose."

Brian jumped back into the fray. He thought he understood where Jack stood on most of the major topics, now he’s not sure at all.

I don’t understand. Our whole country is built on compromise.

"Is it? Is that what George Washington did? He compromised as he led an army across the Potomac? He didn’t compromise. He did what was right! He understood the moral foundation by which right and wrong are judged, and he chose on the side of being morally right. Not only that, but his convictions were so strong that he was willing to go to war over them, war within our own country.

As an example in history, our nation’s highest court once ruled that it was illegal for states to abolish slavery, and what happened? People knew it was wrong, so they went to war over it, the civil war. Good thing the good side won or we’d still have slavery in this nation. So tell me, was that a compromise of our moral standard? Or did someone take a stand between what was right and what was wrong?"

So what are you saying, Jack? I’m confused. Are you asking us to revolt against our own government?

"Brian, are you listening to what I’m saying? You’re physically hearing the words coming out of my mouth, but you are not hearing what I’m saying. No, I’m not saying to go off and revolt against our government. What I am saying is that politicians are just that . . . politicians. They are willing to compromise to come to something they call a resolution or solution to a problem, when in reality, all they are doing is selling out for their own personal gain. What they need to do is take a stand by the moral foundation in which this country was founded on and refuse to compromise on these morals. That is when you will see real leadership. Leadership is not about doing the popular thing; it’s about doing the right thing, even if it’s unpopular. Just follow what Nelson Mandela did for South Africa and you can come to a closer understanding of what I’m talking about."

Carol stepped a little closer. She had a mean look to her, her eyes slightly squinted like she just figured out the mystery of life and death and was about to expose Jack for being on the side of death. "So, Jack, where is your opinion, your stance, on this whole gay marriage topic, since that’s the topic you brought up."

Well, that’s just it, Carol. Whatever my opinion may or may not be, it doesn’t matter ‘cause it’s only an opinion. Truth be told, I don’t have an opinion on this. I simply go by the de facto standard of what a marriage is, and anything that is not according to that standard is not a marriage, period. Marriage does have a definition, and that definition can’t be changed. Otherwise, it was never truly a definition. And so if we, as a nation, stick to the definition set by the de facto standard, then it really doesn’t matter what I think, now does it?

Can you explain that in simpler terms?

Simpler terms, huh? Sure.

Jack picked up a decorative rock from the bar. It’s was rock that Anna found while walking on the beach as a child, and for some odd reason, it held a special meaning to her. The rock was polished by the sea to a shine that rivaled rocks from Jimmy’s rock tumbler, the one he makes costume jewelry from.

What is this?

It’s a polished rock, Anna exclaimed in a matter-of-fact tone.

"And you know that because of the definition of rock, don’t you?"

Well sure, doesn’t everyone?

"Yup. And no matter what language you are speaking, the translation to ‘rock’ still means the same thing. So no matter what language you are speaking, a rock . . . is a rock . . . is a rock. That is the definition of this thing. Just as I can’t call this a blade of grass, I can’t call it my wife either. I can’t get married to this rock."

There were some chuckles in the crowd on that explanation. One guy in the back yelled out, I’d probably get more respect from that rock than I do my wife. At least when I got tired of it, I could throw it out the window.

With that, the crowd had a good laugh.

And if you married this rock, would that create a new definition for ‘getting stoned’?

Another uproar of laughter.

"But seriously, folks, if the gays want to get together, well, no one is stopping them. They have been getting together for a long time, since the time before Moses, in fact. Only then, it wasn’t called a marriage, and that’s not because I say so, it’s because of the de facto standard of the definition of the term marriage. It doesn’t matter what I call it. It doesn’t matter what piece of paper couples may be given from a JOP, it’s still not a marriage. Anything other than what is defined as a marriage simply is not a marriage. My opinion of it has nothing to do with it. Do you understand?"

"And why can’t we simply redefine what the term marriage is?" came a hidden voice from the back.

Very simple. We were not the ones to create the definition, and we have no right or authority to change the definition, period. By doing so, we are saying that we reject the standard, which is a moral standard by which the definition was made. And if we are rejecting that moral standard, then we in fact have no moral standard. We are simply saying that we want to create our own moral standard, but by whose relative authority? Who gets a say in it? You? No matter how you spell it out, if we reject the original moral standard which was given to us by the one who created it, and oh by the way, who had and has full authority to create it, then we are falling into the miry pit of relativism, and that’s a trip you do not want to take.

Captain Jack, with all due respect, I think you’re full of crap. I think we can call it whatever we want to call it.

So what you’re saying is that we can define what our own moral standard is, right? We can come up with our own definitions, right?

Exactly!

Jack walked over to a table and picked up what was left of an empty lobster carcass. The patron at the table looked at him with an inquisitive expression. That was a real queer thing to do. He then went over to the lobster tank, reached in, and picked out a lobster. His shirtsleeve soaked as he didn’t even bother to roll up his sleeve first.

Jack looked at the crowd in front of him. They were all wondering if he’d lost his mind.

Which of these lobsters is dead? he said to the crowd in a voice that seemed a slight bit irritated.

The crowd was full of blank stares. The mumbling heard from within the collective asked, What?

I asked which of these lobsters is dead.

Brian looked around and then spoke as if he spoke for the crowd, The carcass is obviously the dead one. Just look at it. It’s been cooked. It’s been eaten. There’s nothing left of it. Naturally that’s the dead one.

You’re only half right, Jack replied, looking over each of the faces in the crowd. As he looked around, he stopped to glance into the eyes of each and every person there in the crowd. He saw an openness in their eyes, an eagerness to learn. He saw questioning hearts.

This lobster here, he began, holding up what was left of the empty carcass, "is obviously dead. None of you would dispute this, right?’

The collective responded with a mumbled affirmation.

Well, what about this poor little guy? he said, holding up the lobster he took out of the tank.

Again, the blank, inquisitive eyes returned his gaze.

This poor little guy is essentially dead as well. Sure, he may still be moving . . . slightly. Sure his color indicates that he hasn’t been cooked yet. But this is all an illusion of life. The reality of the situation is this, if this poor little guy isn’t cooked in about a day, he’s going to become lifeless anyhow, at which time his flesh will start to rot and he’ll need to be thrown out to the gulls. He’s been removed from the sea. He’s been . . . cut off . . . from the source of his life. The reality is this. He cannot live a full life in the tank where he’s been placed. That tank—Jack pointed over at the large lobster tank, and for a brief moment, it appeared he also had the complete attention of all the lobsters in the tank as well as the people of this collective—is a cheap imitation of the real source of their life, with the end result essentially being the same as this other poor fellow. Jack held up the empty carcass again, shaking at the crowd.

The end result is this—dead is dead. They both got this way because they have been cut off from their source of life. Their source of life was the truth. That tank is not their source of life, so it is a lie to them. It is death. Oh sure, the other little fellows in that tank seem to be doing OK for the time being, but that’s only because they temporarily bought into the lie of that tank. But in the end, they are all going to end up just . . . like . . . this . . . carcass. Dead . . . is dead no matter how you try to slice it. And dead is what happens when you become cut off from the true source of life. Anything other than that vast ocean out there is an imitation of their source of life, and eventually, all those little fellows in that tank are going to end up like this poor sucker. Again Jack held up and slightly shook the empty carcass.

He scanned the crowd, looking for a glimmer of light, hoping that at least someone understood what he was trying to get across to them.

Now, consider this little twist in my example here. Jack held up the carcass again, shaking it at the crowd. For this poor bugger, it’s over with. There is no chance of redemption. There is no shot of turning back for this guy. However—he switched hands and started shaking the other lobster at the crowd—"for this guy, there is but a glimmer of hope. In fact, hope is all he has. But to cash in on this hope, he needs someone to come alongside him and help him out. Whoever this someone may be, it would have to be someone who understands that his only chance of survival is to help him find his way back to his source of life, the sea in the case for this guy. He needs a savior. But if he doesn’t manage to find his way back to the source, and if a savior doesn’t show up to toss him back into the sea, he’s toast."

So what does this mean to us, this hope for returning to the source.

"It means there is still some time. Exactly how much time? Who knows? Certainly not me. What I am saying is that we, as a country, have drifted away from the truth. We’ve drifted away from the basic foundation of what this country was built on. We’ve drifted away from the truth and started to conjure up our own definitions of what we think the truth should be, and the politicians allowed this and even encouraged it in order to fulfill their own greedy desires. The further we drift away, the harder it is to see even a glimmer of the truth we once had. The more we compromise on what the real truth is, the further we drift as a nation from the source. We think we are living, but we’ve fallen for our own illusion, like that tank. It’s become more and more convenient to conjure up what we think are fixes to the problems we’ve created, when in reality, all we need to do is refocus on the truth, go back to our source, our foundation, the basis for the morals and mores that our country was founded on. The more we accept compromise, the thicker the glass gets on our own tank. We still have a chance, I believe, to find our way back before we become like this carcass, before we’ve gone too far and it’s too late to turn back.

"So politics? No thanks. However, I’ll take the truth any day. And truth is, marriage already has a definition, and it does not include same sex couples. By redefining the definition of marriage, we are not only adding one more layer to the illusion of life, but in fact are getting closer to death without even realizing it.

So . . . what else do you want to know?"

Anna brought up the question that everyone was likely thinking, but no one wanted to ask, not after having listened to that trouncing of politics, So like what would someone like you do if you were president?

Jack’s head jerked back slightly. He looked at her, a little puzzled by the question. He was still trying to figure out what this crowd is here for. The lure is out there, the bait is being trolled. OK, he’ll bite. "For starters, I’d do what’s right, not what’s popular. Naturally, that would either get me impeached in no time at all or get me killed. One thing I would not do is sell out on my principles. Naturally, I can only imagine that would not go over all too well with the majority of the American people. There are so many people that have been conditioned by their modern American lives that they’ve been placed under the illusion that the American government is going to provide them with everything they need to live. You see, I know that’s a lie, but it sounds so good to everyone else that they’ve all bought into it. I wouldn’t play that game. The more that ‘we the people’ ask the government to provide for us, the more it costs us in taxes and the more socialistic our society becomes. I won’t play that game either, so I’ll never have to worry about what someone like me would do as president because no one would ever vote for someone like me. It would threaten the wealthy’s level of taxes and threaten the standard of living of those whose wealth has grown from ill-gotten gains. Someone like me would probably be shot before the first debate was even scheduled."

But, Jack, don’t you think all the other US presidents simply wanted to do the right thing? I mean, what the right thing is to one president may be completely opposite of what another president thinks is right. So what would make your opinion any more right than the others?

"You have a good point. I am not perfect, and unlike the candidates we have, I admit that but for starters, I would pray. I would let the right thing be according to God’s will. If it is according to God’s will, then it has to be the right thing no matter how foolish it may seem to us, whatever the ‘it’ is. I’m telling you, the best way for anyone to step up to be a leader is to kneel down before the Lord. Our leaders are too busy letting the mentally deficient remove God from our society. We need someone with some backbone who would step up and say enough is enough. As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.

But don’t worry your sweet little head about it, honey, an opinionated ugly ole codger like me wouldn’t even make it past the doorpost.

No one in the crowd felt the courage to actually ask Jack if he would consider running,