In Search of Public Relations: Some Short Stories & Tall Tales

By Dominick Forte

In Search of Public Relations is a collection of short stories. The title tale relates the story of renowned Roman senator and orator Marcus Tullius Cicero, who visits the twenty-first century seeking a marketing campaign to enhance his prominence on the world stage of literature and revitalize an interest in his historical achievements.

Stories run the gamut from theological fantasies, to Biblical narratives, to retelling of mythological tales, to firsthand historical accounts and autobiographical snippets, some real and some quasi-autobiographical.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781984551719

Dominick Forte

Dominick Forte is the author of The Redemption of Professor Evelyn, the story of a demonically possessed college professor, and The Reluctant Warrior, the memoirs of the Archangel Gabriel. He is a community activist and a former educator. Currently he serves as the Director of Marketing for New York’s premier men’s clothier Simoni’s International Fashions and is the co-founder and lead singer of Avenger, a Lower Hudson Valley cutting-edge classic rock band. He and his wife Bernadine reside in Cornwall, NY.

Book preview

In Search of Public Relations

When I opened the front door to my apartment on a brisk November evening last year I set into motion a series of events that would propel me into one of the most fantastic relationships with one of the most unforgettable characters that history has ever forgotten. The result is a story too weird to be true…but I assure you it is true, every word of it. I’ve recorded the entire incident just as it transpired.

I spend my days creatively as a budding young Account Executive for the prestigious Madison Avenue Ad Agency of Newcomb, Maglie, Erskin, & Labine. For fun on weekends I ride my Appaloosa, stabled in Staten Island. When I work, I work hard. When I party, I party hardy.

To relax during my leisure I like to read the classics in the original language text. I’m pretty good at reading Latin; I struggle a little more with ancient Greek. For the last few months during the time setting of this tale I had been focusing my attention on Cicero. Classical Latin has always been a diversion for me, distracting me from my stressful career in mass mind manipulation. Basically that’s what Public Relations is all about, you know. Skillful presentation of information following certain formulaic methods to create images and illusions which may or may not be always accurate but which will accomplish an objective. The desired goal may be increased profits, projecting and promoting an idea or concept, tearing down or tarnishing it, or gaining power.

I take my study of Latin seriously. Sometimes I really struggle with a piece. But I stick with it. I guess it’s the challenge which makes it so much fun. It’s the enrichment of going up against the challenge, regardless of whether I flounder or excel, which provides the motivation. It is a very engaging hobby, especially in light of the bankruptcy of most television programing. Lately, the commercials are better than the actual shows. Except for sports there is very little which will hold my interest for any length of time on the tube.

Here’s something that really turns me on. "Nunc, conscripsit patres, ut detester ac deprecer a me, quondam prope justam quaerimoniam patria. (Now enrolled fathers, that I may avoid and belittle myself, a certain nearly just complaint of my country:) percipite diligenter quaeso quae dicam, (attend so diligently I pray, the things which I may say,) et mandate ea penitus vestris animis mentibusque. (and commit them inwardly to your minds and understandings.)"

Marcus Tullius Cicero in a fascinating character of the declining days of the Roman Republic. Beyond his literary legacy, as an historical figure he is much underrated and has never been given due credit for the impact he had on later civilizations. He was one of the most fascinating characters of the ancient world. None of his peers was more charismatic. In fact he had no peers. He was an ambitious young lawyer and spellbinding public speaker who before his thirtieth birthday was bent on becoming IMPERIUM, the supreme power of the Roman state.

This is the story of Cicero’s attempt more than 2,000 years after his death to claim the glory which he feels eluded him. Cicero now emerges in our time after having lived in an age in which his contemporaries were Pompey, Caesar, Augustus, Antony, and Crassus, none of whom were lightweights on the world stage.

Nicknamed Tully he was actually the pre-Renaissance Renaissance Man. An exemplary orator, fearless statesman, prolific essayist, skilled politico, adept attorney, and a revered scholar, Cicero was a giant in the Golden Age of Rome. Yet after the assassination of Julius Caesar, when Antony and Octavius conducted their purge Cicero was the first to go. Outside Rome, in Formiae, he was pursued, apprehended, and murdered. His head and right hand were severed and served as a bloody exhibit on the rostrum of the Roman Forum to discourage possible enemies of the future Caesar Augustus.

I will never forget that certain Wednesday evening. I got home from work and upon entering my apartment at the Standish Arms I was surprised at hearing the sound of my television in the living room. I knew I hadn’t left it on. I was sure of it because I hadn’t watched TV for a few days. I’m positive I shut the box down at half-time of the Jets-Colt game on Monday night. As I entered the living room with caution I knew there must be someone there. But who?

Coming from the set: I don’t judge a man by the length of his hair or the kind of music he listens to. Rock was never my bag. But you put on a pair of shoes when you walk into the New York Public Library, fella.

I stopped dead in my tracks. The nerve. There seated on my easy chair was a guy, in his thirties maybe, wearing a toga and sandals, watching Seinfeld. I guess some homeless hippie-type person broke into my home and decided he’d watch some TV. Poor bastard.

"Let me tell you something funny boy…You know that little stamp? The one that says New York Public Library? Well, that may not mean anything to you, but it means a lot to me. One hell of a lot. Sure, go ahead, laugh if you want to. I’ve seen your type before—flashy, making the scene, flaunting convention. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking…Why’s this guy making such a big stink about old library books? Let me give you a hint, Junior. Maybe we can live without libraries, people like you and me…Maybe.

Sure, we’re too old to change the world. What about that kid, sitting down, opening a book right now in a branch of the local library and finding pictures of pee-pees and wee-wees in The Cat in the Hat and The Five Chinese Brothers. Doesn’t he deserve better? Look, if you think this is about overdue fines and missing books, you’d better think again. This is about that kid’s right to read a book without getting his mind warped. Or maybe that turns you on, Seinfeld…Maybe that’s how you get your kicks…You and your goodtime buddies…I’ve got a flash for you, joy boy. Playtime is over."

Although I remained composed I was somewhat taken aback at the thought of someone uninvited sitting in my recliner and watching my television. What do you want, I blurted out. I have no large sums of money here, no expensive jewelry, no drugs. The intruder looked up but did not speak.

You are at 231 East 68th Street. If you leave now I will not call the police. No response. I can call you a cab, or if you like, an ambulance.

He looked up at me queerly. "Why would I want to be called by those names: Cab, Ambulance? he asked stoically.

"Alright. Listen you refugee from Animal House. Get the hell out of my home now…or I’ll call the cops."

"Meus Amicus, I have come from afar through time and space to seek you out. I require your very special skills in advertising and marketing. I need multos relationes publicos bonos."

My mind was racing with questions. Who was this nutjob? Was he dangerous? How does he know me? How does he know of my background in advertising? Has he been stalking me? Is this harassment from a rival firm?

What do you want from me? I demanded.

My name is Cicero. Marcus Tullius Cicero. I want to engage you. You can help me.

Cicero died over 2,000 years ago. What’s your game fella’? Like what? You’re a ghost?

"Don’t rub it in. I have sought you out because of your capacity for mass mind manipulation and shaping public opinion. This public relations skill you possess coupled with your intimate knowledge of my life and my works are just what is required to right a severe injustice of history. Only someone with your background could be considered for the task at hand. You see I am unhappy with my place in history. Also my contribution to literature has been greatly underestimated. The muses have pointed me in your direction. You can right the wrong. Others, many of them my contemporaries, have greater stature than I. This cannot remain status quo."

What are you talking about, Mr. Cicero? I humored him.

Call my Tully.

What are you talking about, Tully? You are revered as one of the greatest statesmen and writers of Rome’s Golden Age. (I thought if I continued to humor him I could persuade him to leave peacefully.)

The intruder continued. "Julius Caesar has been immortalized in plays by William Shakespeare and George Bernard Shaw. Months were named after him and his nephew, my executioner Octavius. Dante Alighieri saw fit to make Virgil, a mere poet who didn’t even finish his greatest work, a chief character in his classic epic narrative poem La Comedia. By the way, isn’t it curious that people just give Virgil a pass for ripping off Homer when he plagiarized the Aeneid? Second-rate authors and hack politicians have it all over me. It’s a humped-up world! What do I have? Tell me, what do I have?

Well, I offered, there’s a town in Illinois named Cicero.

Pshaw! he ejaculated. Have you ever been to Cicero, Illinois? It’s a piss-hole. Let’s face it. I just wasn’t at the right places at the right times. I should be regarded as an intellectual and scholastic behemoth among men. Instead, my orations are used to harass 11th grade students into learning Latin grammar. Where’s the justice?

Look Tully… I was starting to get sucked into this outrageous charade.

"How about art. Go ahead. Scour the museums of the western world. There are numerous busts, statues, and paintings of Socrates, Aristotle, Dante, Caesar and his accursed step-son Augustus. D’ya think you could find anything commemorating me? What is Marcus Tullius Cicero? Chopped liver? Not even a figurine! It’s an affront, I tell you. Well, I’ve had it and I’m not going to take it anymore. It’s time to change this odious situation. The world must come to appreciate Cicero. That’s where you come in, Meus Purer. (My boy).

At this point the conversation had gotten just so ridiculously stupid that I was ready to physically eject the raging lunatic. He had pushed me beyond my borders of patience. I was tired, and I wanted him gone. Look, you looney bastard, get the hell out!

With that my uninvited guest became very animated. He was an intense, wiry man with thinning hair, no taller than five and a half feet. He leapt from my recliner with fists clenched. The whites of his eyes expanded giving the impression that his ruddy face was shrinking.

You don’t believe I am who I say I am, do you? You little shit! he snarled at me in a threatening tone. Well, I would generally leave sensational special effects to Hollywood. But in order to prove that I am whom I say I am… and with that he placed his hands on his ears, removed his head from his neck, and threw it at my feet. With his left hand he grabbed his right, removed it from its wrist and threw it down like a gauntlet next to his severed head. Looking up at me from the floor the disembodied head smiled coyly. Now do you believe?" His headless torso stood before me.

The next thing I remembered, I was regaining consciousness in my recliner. The man who told me he was Cicero was standing over me holding my hand. "I’m sorry I had to do that. It was essential that I convinced you of my veracity. I’ve waited a long time for this opportunity to attain my rightful place in history and in the arts.

Do you have any contacts in the theater? Don’t you think my life would make a great Broadway play? I didn’t answer.

Maybe off-Broadway to start? Your thoughts.

I heard myself mumbling as I was coming to, I do believe. I do believe. I do believe.

When I regained consciousness I sprang from the chair and threw myself prostrate before the great orator. "Yes, you are Cicero. Non sum dingus! Non sum dingus! Non sum dingus!" I chanted repeatedly before the Marcus Tullius Cicero. "Get up Meus Amicus," he took my elbow. He was again reassembled in the flesh.

I’m sorry I fainted. It’s just that…this is so incredible. I’ve never had contact with the spirit world before.

"We have much to do. I want your firm NME&L to handle my relationes publicos campaign. You will be the Account Executive."

Now he was pacing anxiously back and forth. "I want radio, television, print media, billboards, direct mail, even sky-writing. Cover all markets. And yes, I of course expect that the Social Media will play a major role in our campaign. I want you to hook up with a publisher and have my Philippics back in print. I want every man, woman, and child to eat, drink, and sleep Cicero. I want them all to marvel at the sound of my name and wonder how they ever existed before the advent of "Ciceromania."

Hold on Mr. Cicero.

Call me Tully.

"Look Tully. This will take money. I’m talking big bucks here. You know…magna pecunia. Advertising is not cheap. That’s why it’s such a lucrative industry. What