Chap. 38 – Can Max Help with the SLA Connection?

Chapter 38

Can Max Help with the SLA Connection? 

     It was already morning when the two-vehicle – Land Yacht & Rover – caravan rolled into St. Petersburg, Florida, hoping to get to Sarasota by early afternoon.  In Sarasota, Steve knew a lawyer friend, retired in a spacious condo near the Marie Selby Botanical Gardens, who, with his wife, had been planning on our arrival for over a week now.

     Earlier in the day, an absolutely gorgeous, perfect Florida Sunshine Day, we had stopped for a coffee break and re-visited the list of people on our list to visit – maybe more than we had time to visit, so we considered jettisoning the few who had no idea we were coming – – – to make sure we got to New York in time for the New Year’s Eve party that Huck was working-up with some of his musician friends.

     “Where’s everybody planning to stay tonight?”  Sally asked, knowing she and Jack had a back-up plan. 

     “You’re right,” Steve said, “I told George and his wife, Hazel, we only needed three bedrooms, so maybe we need to scout out an RV park.”

     “Maybe we should get a hold of Huck and see where he’s at,” someone said.

     “Really?  Let’s not,” Patty said.  “Let him find us and hope it’s not with Sunshine and Peaches.”

     After the coffee stop, Jack and Steve got in the Rover to drive ahead and scout up a good RV park near Sarasota, while the Land Yacht headed to Treasure Island.  “Glory Days,” the bar Rocky remembered from some 9-Ball pool tournament, was on our list of places, not people to visit.  It was a great bar with the deck facing the Gulf and it was still there, right where Rocky said we’d find it.  Rocky shot some pool.  Most of us enjoyed the perfectly white tiny-granule sandy beach and swimming in the Gulf.

     About four o’clock, Max called and said they were parking the Rover at his buddy’s condo, and we should pick them up to go to this RV park they found called the Sun & Surf RV Park.  That night Max and Steve shared one of Hazel and George’s extra rooms, Rocky and Skip another, and Patty had dibs on the third but said she’d give it up to Jack & Sally, and she’d stay in the Land Yacht at the Sun & Surf.

     Next morning, we were all poolside at the condo home of this retired couple Steve knew from Minnesota, with lush surroundings in every direction – quite the nice place adjoining the Botanical Garden.  We had told Patty we would be at the RV park by noon.  Thanksgiving was just two days away.  George and Hazel invited us to join them at some fancy downtown restaurant if we wanted.  “But for sure,” George said, “come over to our place for some of Hazel’s homemade pies.”

     Arriving at the Sun & Surf, Patty was pool-side, “A pool with a diving board!” Steve exclaimed.  Wanting to be the first one to show off his diving skills, Steve dashed into the Land Yacht, came out wearing a Speed-O bathing suit showing a bit of a bulge below the waist, but none above, and shouted, “Watch this, ladies!  Get it on film, Patty.”  Steve then ran head-long off the low board, tucked, and somersaulted feet first into the water.  This started a diving contest, which Patty said would definitely make the cut, because she explained, “Watch this.  What a spectacular diver you are, Sally!   Let me show you this one . . . ” as she played the tape back with Sally delicately balancing both feet inward at the end of the high board, not teetering a bit, not looking down, and suddenly leaping backwards, heels-over-head, doing a back flip into the water.” 

     Steve interrupted, “Nahh, I know why this is going to make the movie. Same reason you wanted to film that strip poker game.  You just love showing off my bod!”

     “No, Steve, us judges were giving you 2’s and 3’s,” Patty came back with. “You never once sliced into the water.  Big splash every time.”

——————————————————————————————————————-

     Meanwhile, Skip and Max went strolling down by the gulf – a three-block walk from the Sun & Surf.  Skip knew Max was a precise sort of guy, always wanting for things to be certain, rather skeptical about a Rump Legislature ever working.  Max had wrapped up a successful medical practice just this past summer, everything done by the book.  The summer before that, Skip knew he had also been very exacting in the divorce terms with his now ex-Lisa, but even more than that, also being very exacting about making sure it was fair to Lisa.  Thus, the friendly divorce.  It was that combination, divorce and retirement, that got Max thinking about a cross-country trip catching up with old Peace Corps friends again, calling it a “fishing expedition.”      

     With the sun blazing down on Max’s bald head and bulbous nose, Skip gave Max his baseball cap and asked if he’d heard much from his ex-brother-in-law Ken.  “No, just that he misses us and there’s still a buzz about us in L.A. – and lots of folks following us.  Apparently, people found that stuff Patty shot in Hot Springs to be really funny.”

     “Listen Max,” Skip pressed on, lowering his voice, “I haven’t shared this with anyone else, so I’d appreciate you keeping this between us for at least a while, but that guy your ex-brother-in-law Ken put me up with back in Sacramento, Gordy?  Well, he’s a former felon who did time for being a member of the SLA, and I’m worried that he might be up to his old tricks.  You’re still on good terms with Lisa, right?  How well does Lisa know her brother these days?  I’m worried Ken might be in on it.”

     “What do you mean ‘up to his old tricks’?  Ken or Gordy?  Lisa and Ken are brother-sister tight – best friends since grade school.  They’re only a year-and-a-half apart.  Been through a lot of stuff together – a total trust between them.  If Ken’s up to something, Lisa would know.”

     “Okay.  That’s good.  Next time you talk to Lisa, see if she thinks Ken is up to anything more than just organizing and escorting these days.  Try to ask in an offhand way so she isn’t alarmed or goes running to her brother right away.  Here’s what I know:  I suspect Gordy has ties with a criminal enterprise up in Vancouver.  See if Ken has anything to do with Vancouver.”

      “Got you.  I’ll give Lisa a call on Thanksgiving.  Anything else I should know?” 

BOOK TWO: The Dots Start Connecting -Chap. 37

*************BOOK  II************

**********THE DOTS START CONNECTING********

Chapter 37

Charlie Furbush’s Other Business

     By Monday, November 22, the Rumpkins were in Sarasota, Florida.

     Along the way they had an enjoyable, humorous stop in St. Mark’s on Florida’s panhandle (population 293) to visit another of Max’s Peace Corps friends.  This time Carl, who for years now was the Park Ranger in charge of protecting the few remaining Black Panthers in existence.

     Although it didn’t look like it on the map, it was a longways to Carl’s house.  Making good speed on U.S. 98, the most southern U.S. highway, Max said, “This is it – turn right.”  Now on Port Leon Drive, the going got slow. The road was built-up out of a swamp, a murky green dense swamp.  You couldn’t see more than fifteen feet into the swamp through all the tangled mangrove trees.  Finally, we got to Carl’s.  He lived in a house on stilts, a house barely big enough for one person.  No one else lived within miles.  

     We were there less than 5 minutes, when Rocky joked, “So this is the Everglades?  Just you, the alligators, and some Black Panthers?  Like being back in L.A.”

    “Any Black Panthers really live around here?” Sally asked, not laughing at Rocky’s joke.

     First pointing out to Rocky that the Everglades are in South Florida, and we were in “Spanish Florida,” Carl goes on, “There are only 26 known Black Panthers in the Northern Hemisphere, none in L.A.”  He added he has names for the seven he knows.

     “Ahhh, so these seven with names, like  . . . ‘Gertrude’ I suppose, or maybe ‘Big Paw’ . . .  Good chance we could meet them?”  Rocky asked in a way intended to scare Sally. 

     “Well,” Carl said, “just yesterday I think I saw ‘Newt’ streak across the road right behind me – he’s my closest neighbor.   Let’s take a drive into the fishing village of St. Marks, and maybe Newt’ll say ‘Hi.’”

     “Is St. Marks on the way out of here?  Then let’s go,” Sally said in a way that sounded more like ‘Let’s Get Out of Here!’   Sally added, turning serious, “What kind of fishing is there in St. Marks?”

     “Bass, and if you like sixfoot long armored fish,” Carl said, “then garpikes too.”

     After a quick oyster lunch in St. Mark’s, and a Sally decision to skip fishing, we were back on the road to Sarasota, hoping to arrive around daybreak. 

    Meanwhile, Skip had gotten a call from Susie back in Boulder; said he’d call her back; and offered, once again, to drive the Rover and let Jack and Sally get some sleep in the Yacht.

     Riding in the Rover, just Rocky and Skip, Rocky called Susie, who couldn’t wait to share what she had learned:

 “Guess what you guys, when you hire Charlie you get more than a hunting guide – You get girls!  That’s right, I sleuthed it out!  First, I overheard some guys talking at the restaurant, wondering if Charlie was still laying low or back in business.  They never said what this “other business” was, so I called Joey, hoping he’d clue me in, but he told me to back off or I could be the next person killed.  Great!  But I used some old-fashioned feminine charm on one of the restaurant’s old-timers and he told me Charlie runs a brothel, a whorehouse, out of the hunting lodge!  That’s right – he’s pimping sex!  So I called Joey back again to say I sure hope that isn’t why he knew Charlie, or why he had been out to the hunting lodge.  He told me he wasn’t happy I couldn’t leave this Charlie Furbush thing alone, and then told me the whole story hoping that would convince me to back-off.

“He told me:  

‘It’s worse than that, mom.  Furbush is part of a human trafficking ring bringing young girls from Thailand through Vancouver and into Canada with fraudulent visas and promising them the good life here in the states.  I don’t know what that guy Abdul had to do with anything, but some of Charlie’s friends are into the militia thing, you know The Proud Boys.’ 

Susie continued:

“Joey also told me one of the names he had been given to look up in Vancouver was another Muslim sounding name, like Abdul’s – the guy who got murdered.  

“And there’s more, I know Joey well enough to know that he wouldn’t cross the line to be involved in that kind of thing, sex trafficking, but he did follow the Bundy stand-off deal and talked about how the federal government should butt out of local land use issues, so that fits with him being out to the hunting lodge – if that’s what those guys were up to.”

     “Wowww!!!” Rocky shouted-out, “Amazing!  Holy Shit!  Really great work!  What was the other Muslim name, did he tell you?”

     “I asked, but he said, ‘Mom, I’ve told you enough.  You’ve got to back-off.’  Then I remembered what you had said, so I told him, ‘I overheard talk at the restaurant that there were other people in danger, not me, others right here in Boulder, who knew too much – so we got to put a stop to all this before someone else gets killed.’ 

     “Then Joey exclaimed, ‘Don’t be one of those, mom – drop it!’  But I said ‘Not on your life!  I’m 66-years-old and I’m finally going to do something important with my life.  Are you going to help me or not?’  That’s pretty much how we left it.  So now what do I do?”

     “Well, for starters,” Skip said, having heard everything on speaker phone, “we need to bring that human sex trafficking to a stop.  How the heck have the local cops missed all that?”

    “Oh, that’s another thing,” Susie said.  “The word on the street is that our local sheriff is corrupt, and people have been asking me and Eloise to help them run somebody new in the next sheriff election.  Do you think a Forward could ever be elected sheriff?  I know we elected a county clerk and a county board member a couple weeks ago . . . “

    “Oh Geez,” Rocky said.  “Now we have another front – a friggin’ sheriff in on sex trafficking!  Listen, we’re on our way to sunny Sarasota, Florida.  You wanna buy a plane ticket and come down and see Huck some more?”

     “Wish I could, but I don’t have the money.  I’ll keep after Joey to get on board with helping me out.  Let me know what you guys think,” Susie ended.

     After they hung up, Rocky told Skip he was becoming convinced that there was a tie-in somehow between the jihadi hint of responsibility for the Dodgers Stadium bombing and the posse, now being called Proud Boys, in Boulder. “Remember back a few years ago when the Somali population in Minneapolis was being heavily recruited by the Islamic State? We need to find out if there is any sized Somali population in Vancouver.”

     “So here’s a theory to ponder: We know Furbush is connected to Abdul some way – after all he allegedly shot him. We know Furbush is connected to Vancouver – he gave Joey some names to look up in Vancouver. Now we know Furbush and the mountain camp are connected to a sex-trafficking ring operating out of Vancouver. I think the next step maybe should be getting Max in on all this,” Skip suggested. “See if he can get his ex, Lisa, to tell us more about her brother Ken – and what Ken knows about Vancouver.”

Chap. 36 – Former Rep on Political Mission of his Life

Chapter 36

Former Rep on Political Mission of his Life

Dateline:  Daphne, Alabama, Saturday, November 20, 2022

     For the past ten weeks, former State Representative Skip Dewar and his merry band of followers have been on the political fringe doing street theatre traveling around the country, with the motto “Harnessing the Spirit of Imagination.”  They’ve been to 15 states since leaving Minnesota September 13th, this past week encamped in tiny Daphne, Alabama, on Mobile Bay.  But in a virtual reality setting, they’re appearing all over America live-streaming their political antics from a blog site <rumpkins.com>. 

     Traveling in a rainbow-colored RV they call “The Land Yacht,” heavily decorated with political slogans, conjures up – for those of us who came of age in the ‘60s – visions of Ken Kesey’s 1964 tour of America in a psychedelically painted bus named “Furthur.”   Kesey’s “Merry Pranksters” touted dropping acid in hopes of building a counter-culture.  “The Rumpkins,” the name Dewar’s followers go by, have a more serious mission in mind.

     The Rumpkins lofty goal is to unite former Trump supporters -whom they call “Trumpeters,” with the growing number of independent voters – whom they call “Indies,” together with disaffected Democrats and Republicans, and align in a third-party movement under the banner of Andrew Yang’s Forward Party.  “We’re the next major party,” former Rep. Dewar told me, “because we’re not proselytizing on any particular issue or issues, but rather talking about why we keep electing people who don’t represent the majority view, who are too far left or too far right.  Let’s move forward, not right or left.”

     The Rumpkins playbook is to have fun with politics on the internet pretending to be a “Rump Legislature” – not actually elected, but acting as if elected.  The session I watched last night mostly focused on uniting the country around the need for electoral reform, having open primaries, moving to “majority rules voting” (aka Ranked Choice Voting), having 16-year-old voter registration, having independent re-districting committees, among other things. 

     Back when he was a state legislator, Dewar, although elected as a Democrat, made a name for himself as a champion of third-parties, including taking Minnesota’s anti-fusion law all the way to the United States Supreme Court – and losing. (“Fusionis a way to let third parties be on the ballot without having to be spoilers.)

     One of the participants, Eloise Johnson, a recently elected school board member who won her election as a Forward Party candidate in Boulder, Montana, made a strong pitch for individual freedoms as a unifying issue.  “We don’t need a government telling us whom we can love or what books our kids should read or not read,” she blogged, which got a lot of “thumbs up” amongst the participants.

     The session started with a participant who said his name was “Pirate Jack” explaining the blog was designed to maintain an up-to-the-minute current count of participants, and a quick voting method clicking on either the “thumbs up” or the “thumbs down” icon to register one’s sentiment or move the agenda.  The highest count while I was watching was 207.

     Another issue garnering wide-spread support, almost all “thumbs up,” was uniting behind fighting terrorism, but how to do that wasn’t much discussed, nor voted on.

    Another participant, Curt Driscoll, the Chair of Minnesota’s Libertarian Party, whom I watched the session with, told me afterwards he agreed that electoral reform was key to getting back to majority rule in this country, and having a third-party movement focused on just that single issue was a good strategy.  “I’ve been friends with Skip Dewar a long time.  He’s always been good at making things happen, making things fun, creating excitement.  A good organizer.  Sounds like a fun trip – stirring up imaginations – and, hey, anytime you can get over 200 people to participate in anything, you’re doing great.  I’m sure Skip understands, though, you can’t have a legislative body when participation is unlimited and nobody knows whom the participants are.”

-End of Story-

     After reading the story a second time, Skip told us encamped on Mobile Bay, “That’s great.  You guys sure did it, not me.  Maybe you’ve hit upon the 2024 Pig for President way to organize.   Maybe we should all start wearing raincoats like Bud Clark.  Lots of things I never imagined leaving Minnesota.”   

   “Good Grief,” we all thought, “Sarcasm?  Doesn’t sound like Skip at all.”  But, of course, none of us except Rocky knew how all consumed Skip was by the specter of a terrorist attack to which he was now an accessory after the fact for 26 days now.

Chap. 35 – Skip Finds What He’s Looking For??

Chapter 35

Skip Finds What He’s Looking For??

     Daphne, Alabama, lies east of New Orleans, across Mobile Bay.  Traveling the last miles east on U.S. Route 98, Skip thought he sensed a subdued, almost brooding, vibe.  Were folks starting to get burned out?  The weather wasn’t helping.  The skies again overcast, brooding even.  And the temperature only in the 40s.  Way too cold for what they expected for the deep south.  Sally and Jack were trying to sleep in the Land Yacht.  Max was now driving Jack’s Rover with Steve navigating.  Huck was still in Lafayette with Peaches and Sunshine, and Big Sam. 

      Seeing Sally and Jack starting to stir, Skip decided to broach how people were feeling: “Get out the list, will ya Sally?  If we want to shorten the voyage, maybe there’s folks, not expecting us, we can just skip.  I’d like to still make New York.  And have we given up on the Rumpkins organizing idea altogether?”

     “Well, not exactly,” Jack said, surprising Skip.   “Patty was telling me how disappointed you were and she enlisted her friend Bonnie, here in Daphne, to aid us in pulling together one last effort.  I’ve been talking with Jesse, back in Portland, and he’s got something ready to go.  Bonnie’s been clued in.  We were hoping to surprise you.  Let’s see what happens.”  

     Patty was upbeat too, “Yeah, Bonnie claims I saved her life – so she said she’d do anything for me, and we can stay an entire week.  And, this should brighten your day, Skip.  Those Texas guys we met at the Phoenix RV park while you were still in L.A.?  Well, they’ve really fallen for us, throwing zingers our way, but I think they’re being friendly.  Just this morning on their Facebook page, ‘Top Ten Reasons the Rumpkins Should Not Run the Country?  #10:  They don’t know how to change a spark plug.’  They’re probably dreaming up #9 as we speak.  Can’t imagine what they’ll say for #1.  Rocky, join the internet age, get on Facebook, and start zinging back.”

     Rocky tried being upbeat as well, “Look Scotch, I’ve known you forever.  Quit brooding about everything.  You’re still my favorite politician and everyone back in Minnesota loves you whether this Rumpkins thing pulls off or not.  Just have fun with it.  How ‘bout I start our rump session with a riddle: ‘Who knows the name of the first Billionaire in American history who moved into public housing previously occupied by a Black family and is now off to jail.’ ”

     Patty ended the conversation for the moment promising, “It’s in the movie, no matter what.”

     Rocky thought, “Christ, Patty, if you only knew . . . ”

—————————————————————————————————————–

     Patty’s friend in Daphne, Alabama, named Bonnie, was a run-away Patty had met years before at the Greyhound Bus Station in Minneapolis.  Bonnie was 16 at the time.  Bonnie ended up crashing on Patty’s couch while she tried to figure her life out.  After a couple weeks, and many phone calls home – sometimes with Patty on the line too – Bonnie went back home on the next Greyhound with new rules on what home would be like.  Bonnie’s mom and dad were forever grateful and invited Patty to visit if she ever was down Alabama-way.  Patty did make it to Bonnie’s once before, and had stayed in touch over the years.  Bonnie now had teenagers of her own and was looking forward to our visit.

     When we arrived that Sunday afternoon, the whole family was there to greet us, “No problem you guys, the backyard is yours as long as you want,” Bonnie said, pointing to a backyard stretching maybe a football field to Mobile Bay, with a boat dock too.  The skies had started to clear.  We set up tents.  Max and Sally went fishing.  Bonnie made a spaghetti supper for all, her mom and dad too. 

      Bonnie’s mom said, “Nobody in our family is too political, but Bonnie has been showing me your blog and it’s great you’re giving young people some hope – it looks like you’re having loads of fun.”

     Bonnie told us that Jesse in Portland was ready to skype with us as soon as we were settled in.  Sally and Jack announced (to Skip’s surprise) that Jesse had posted a notice on  <rumpkins.com> that we were holding a “Rump Session” on Friday, November 18 at 7 p.m. CST.  Patty thanked Bonnie for all the hospitality, ending “. . . and that maybe we can stay here the whole week?  Wow!”

[Well, shit, Skip thought, I can’t tell them what’s going on with me – what the heck am I going to do this whole week – pretend I’m into this?]

     By Tuesday morning the temperatures had climbed back into the 70s, and the skies were not cloudy.  During breakfast, Max reported that Eloise, Susie, Gregory and maybe others back in Boulder were set to join the Rump Session.  Jack said the California Pirate Party was hoping for a crowd at its headquarters Friday night to be part of the session.  Patty said we had lots and lots of people from all over following us, “I just don’t know if they’re into politics, but you know who’s going to be watching for sure, Tex and Austin.”

    “Oh good,’ Rocky said, behind his aviator glasses, “I’ll get working on my zinger for those two.”

[Whoa, Skip couldn’t believe all this was going on without him knowing about it – and it seemed like they were all doing this just for him.]

     Also on Tuesday, skyping with Jesse back in Portland, Jesse told us all his good news: “This could be the start of something big,” he said.  “I’ve been working with the Yang Gang here in Portland.  Us local Pirates have pretty much tossed in with them.  They’re actually WINNING some elections.  Not just Eloise’s in Boulder, but also Forward Party candidates won local races in San Ramon, California and Salt Lake City, and some of the races they lost were actually close.   

     “I got Eloise to reach out to her fellow Forwarders, and yep, folks from some of the other campaigns are planning to participate in our Rump Session – a combination victory party and strategy session.  Best news of all, Andy Yang called Eloise back, and has taken to social media encouraging his followers to check out the session as a way to talk strategies for the next election cycle!”

[Holy Christ, Skip thought, this could take off!]

    Even more amazing, unbeknownst to Skip, Rocky had been in touch with Skip’s third-party organizer friend in Minnesota, Curt Driscoll, the Chair of the Minnesota Libertarian Party, and Curt agreed to get a reporter friend of his at the StarTribune to do a story about how some hometown folks were stirring up political trouble across the country, across the political divide.  The reporter agreed to come to Curt’s house and watch the livestream of the “Rump Session.”     Maybe the best way to describe the launch of this united third-party effort through “rump organizing” is to read the story that appeared in the StarTribune’s next day addition.  It’s set forth in full as the next chapter, along with Skip’s reaction to it

Chap. 34 – Back in Boulder

Chapter 34

Back in Boulder

     Pretty quickly, back in Boulder, Susie was on the job being a waitress-detective, gossiping with everybody, listening for any idle table chatter that might provide a clue.  Although Charlie Furbush had not been in for some time, lots of regulars had known Charlie a long time and he was Boulder’s most notorious citizen ever since his trial and acquittal. 

     One cold mid-November morning, several retired guys sitting by the front window were getting refills when Susie overheard one saying, “Charlie still laying low, or back in business?”  Unable to inconspicuously linger and learn more, she made a plan to be more friendly with these regulars, especially the guy who was usually first in and liked smiling and flirting with her.  Susie had heard him referred to as “the geriatric pussy hound.”   

     That night she called her son Joey in Vancouver and insisted he tell her what business Furbush was in besides being a hunting guide.  “Why do you want to know Mom?  Somebody is already dead – probably because he knew too much – just drop it!”