The Tooth Fairy Detonation

Mouse, the unofficial leader of the group of five, sat still next to the doorway, his body anything but tense. The other members of the crew took solace in his air of calm. They knew Mouse was small, but his lack of size combined with his farm boy upbringing made him relentless. He would rather die with his hands than lose a fight.

“Almost there,” a machine said from the front of the cabin. Without further direction, Mouse stood up and strapped on his gear. The group following his movements. It was okay that nobody came with them, except this machine that ran the plane. These were dangerous times and a drone would not do the work that needed be finished.

Each man and woman in the crew tapped the pink cylinder at the back of the craft as they walked past, as was their ritual. They called it The Tooth Fairy, and it would be their saving grace.

“How long before dinner time?” Horse, a lanky man, asked, showing his buckteeth off. It was also part of the ritual; he always asked the same question.

None of the group laughed, instead approaching the door that would invite them to take a plunge. Mouse went first, of course, sailing through the air, counting in his head, unable to see much in the blanket of darkness. A quick tug and his wings were out–-the Mouse could fly.

When the night air grew thicker, approaching the trees, they could see remnants of small fires on the grounding reminding them they were in hell. Star, one of the girls, navigated down gently with The Tooth Fairy riding piggyback.

They could not just drop the bomb–-it had to be placed at the point of greatest vulnerability. Horse took out his communiqué, and they could see the small silent blips showing them the path to take, up the hill, through the trees, to what would be an underground compound. They went silently.

Within a few yards of the place they had to scramble some detection equipment and then disable a few guards with a quick, noiseless splash of rust. The doorway of the compound was obscured by some camouflage, but they found it just the same.

Deep down, there were four columns that held up the regime, four columns where The Tooth Fairy would do her magic work. The first stop was the elevator controls.

“Seems too easy,” Horse whispered, but no one answered. Those words were not part of the ritual.

With great speed, they descended, watching the rock walls blur past them, then opened up the metal to the doors to find the cavern where the columns should be. Instead of meeting face to empty air, they found a layer of dark yellow dust creeping on the floor, with sudden flashes of brilliant light–-gunfire.

Two of their group dropped quickly, followed by Star, who died saving the bomb. Mouse cried for them to put masks on, and he and Horse did so, quickly sliding out the way and pulling the bomb after them.

Now it was just the pair, the bomb, and the open doors. They crouched, not sure what to do. Horse took out his communiqué, checking the number of signatures. It looked like most of the guards were on this level.

The answer occurred to both of them at the same time. Mouse gestured for Horse to flip the switches on the elevator while he shoved out the bomb. With bullets still pinging on the elevator wall, they had to move quickly.

The Tooth Fairy slid a good ten feet across the compound floor and Horse quickly flipped the switches, shutting the door. This just before the guards tossed their own bomb, which wound up detonating the Fairy, but also damaging the cage of the elevator.

Above the plumage of flame, the small metal box rose, coming to a crash with sparks, and the two survivors leapt free, scrambled up and out of the base, leaving a sinking crater behind them.

“Next time,” Horse muttered, though fighting for air, completing the night raid ritual.

---

JD DeHart

Eight Men Who Are Doing Quite Well

A notice appeared in the paper recently with the names and faces of eight men who have a combined wealth of $426 billion. According to Oxfam International, in 2015 this would have equaled the amount of wealth held by half the world’s population, the poorest half.  

Oxfam International is a confederation of charitable organizations in 90 countries seeking to stop the injustices that cause global poverty. They have been tracking wealth and poverty in the world for a long time. 

It’s remarkable that six of the eight men are Americans: Jeff Bezos, Michael Bloomberg, Warren Buffett, Larry Ellison, Mark Zuckerberg and William Gates.  Only Carlos Slim, the Mexican billionaire, and Amancia Ortega, the Spaniard, are from other countries. 

Oxfam blames what it calls this "obscene wealth” on laws that have shifted the tax burden form the wealthy to the middle class.  

Supposedly this concentration of wealth has grown a great deal since Ronald Reagan's administration.  President Donald Trump has said that he supports an additional tax cut of 15% for billionaires.  Some say this might result in an even smaller middle class although the dynamics of the connection are not entirely clear to the average layman. But many people would probably agree the six wealthiest Americans don’t seem to be in need of any additional tax breaks.

According to Oxfam, America is not the only nation where the wealthy seem to be living quite well, thanks to the failure to collect proportionate taxes. 

In Africa, Oxfam says that $15 billion dollars is hidden from tax collectors, quite a sum on a poor continent. Critics say that the $15 billion, if collected, could bring health care to four million residents in Africa and put a teacher in every African classroom whatever number of classrooms that might be.

In Europe, says Oxfam, Greece and Italy lead the way in citizens avoiding taxes. Both nations are enduring difficult times. Some critics maintain that uncollected taxes if collected would bring relief to these overburdened economies. 

Failure to collect taxes, according to Oxfam, endangers the European Economic Community. Germany is being asked to fill the gap and Germans are not happy about that and perhaps understandably so. And the current situation will not improve if Greece renounces its debt and firms across the world, long-suffering creditors in waiting, no longer have anything to wait for.

Meanwhile, in America, concern grows about what some people call “tax equity,” meaning the need for new laws to make the rich pay their “fair share,” whatever that might be. It is admittedly difficult to arrive at a “fair-share” percentage with economists differing on the amount.

Similar concern grows over the need to raise the minimum wage to a living wage whatever a living wage today in America might actually be. 

Minimum wage workers are lobbying hard for $15.00 an hour. Whether that would be a living wage or not is debated. Whether that amount should be enacted nationally or not is, of course, debated as well. 

But proponents of raising taxes on the rich and paying a higher minimum wage say that if something isn’t done to solve these problems, poverty will continue to grow and people will continue to suffer. 

Back in the early part of the 20th century, Henry Ford was asked why he was paying employees $5.00 a day and he is said to have responded, “Somebody has to buy this stuff,” meaning of course his automobiles. 

Today, if too many Americans max out their credit cards and have little cash in their pockets, who is going to take advantage of the sales at Walmart? Who is going to be able to buy enough of the products to make the economy grow?

These are very difficult problems but it seems obvious that something isn’t right if eight men, six of them in the United States, have a combined wealth greater than half the people in the world. 

And in the United States it doesn’t seem that a step in the right direction would be to reduce the taxes on our wealthiest six billionaires. Perhaps better to listen to arguments as to why their taxes should be raised and then have Congress make a decision. The bill would of course require the signature of President Trump but who knows what he would do. He is still in the early stages of his unexpected presidency and no one can be certain what he will do in many matters of great importance.

To do nothing and remain in the status quo is to risk increasing the number of poor and the United States, like the world, obviously has enough poor people as it is. 

Donal Mahoney

http://www.newsweek.com/oxfam-eight-men-own-same-wealth-world-poorest-half-542681

America Wasn’t So Bad Back Then 

We have something in common, a fellow I talk to now and then. We’re about the same age and perhaps the only ones in the diner who think our past lives are interesting. So when the two of us shoot the bunk over coffee, it’s amazing that two men who sometimes can’t remember much about yesterday remember a lot about the past. But the past sometimes shines a light on the present and the lives we lead today. 

It’s no secret there’s a movement on by some to make America “great" again. My friend said when he was young, America, despite its problems, was not so bad. And despite its problems today, it’s still not so bad. Witness all the people who want to come here, he said. Who can blame them?

I told him I never thought about America being great until the recent election. I simply thought America was the only country in which I would want to live, both as a young man looking for work and as someone now retired because of the opportunity I found in America. 

There were problems along the way, at least three of them quite memorable, all of my own making. But no need to go into those. I think what my friend Duane had to say is more interesting. 

He still gets letters and notes from old high school classmates, class of ‘64. Some of them even use a computer and know how to send emails. He’s been their friend for 67 of his 71 years. Any note, letter or email, he said, makes life in a wheelchair easier. 

One of his first high school memories happened during the Korean War--collecting metal and bringing it to school. Mrs. Lydia Rayburn (all names changed to protect the innocent and guilty) would take the metal to Herman Ladd's junkyard and sell it. She’d use the money to buy gifts for wounded soldiers and their families. She herself was a war widow from World War II. 

It was a great day, Duane said, when the Korean War ended. And it was a war, he reminded me, not a conflict. I couldn't disagree but my war memories preceded his. I was in grammar school during WWII, too young to be drafted for Korea. I was one of the lucky ones as was my friend also too young for Korea. 

Duane remembered everyone in his school getting under their desks during nuclear drills....as if being under a desk would keep them safe from radiation. 

And he remembered being in Mr. Claybourn's class when Sputnik was launched and being in Mr. Taylor's class when Alan Shepherd took his flight. Everyone in class cheered when the trip went well. 

He recalled vividly a striking young president who stood bareheaded and read a speech that called the nation to greatness. It was a far different time than now and the call to greatness meant something different, Duane said, than what we hear today. The call seemed noble then, he said. We agreed that whatever the call to greatness is today the word noble doesn’t seem to fit. 

The civil rights struggle came to Duane's small hometown when his high school was integrated in the fall of 1962. He told me proudly there was not one fight, not one walkout, not one act of civil disobedience ruining that transition. In fact, he and his classmates learned something about dignity and patience from their Black classmates although no one mentioned it at the time. 

I was able to relate to that because in 1953 I was a sophomore in Chicago high school called to assembly a day before the semester started. It had been an all-white boys school and the principal told us there would be three Black freshmen joining us the next day. There were no gasps, not even when the principal issued a warning I will never forget. 

“Bother them,” he said, “and expulsion is immediate.” 

No one bothered those three young men who broke the color barrier in 1953 and the school today is thoroughly integrated and thriving. Most graduates move on to college and do well in life as the alumni newsletters attest. 

In high school the Cuban Missile Crisis also bothered Duane. His fellow students were upset, and many folks in his town thought the End of the World was near. There was a sigh of relief when the Russians backed down and removed their missiles from Cuba.   

But most of all, Duane was shaken by the death of that young president, John F. Kennedy, who had called the nation to greatness in his inauguration speech. 

Another student, Annabelle Jones, was in a car with her boyfriend the day President Kennedy was shot. It was after the lunch break when she told Duane President Kennedy was dead. 

Duane and his classmates were broken, for want of a better word, as was the nation. He doesn't remember Americans ever being as optimistic again. 

I told him his experience after the assassination was the same as mine in Chicago. I agreed as well that Americans alive at that time and still alive today have never been the same. Their lack of optimism may have trickled down to the generations that followed. Hard to tell. 

Duane said that despite the assassination, his graduation day was wonderful. The sad thing is he has never seen some of his classmates again. He cherishes the ones he does hear from, the ones who come to reunions, and the ones who visit him now and then. All the years roll away in spite of the wrinkles and infirmities. 

At every reunion they’re kids again talking as fast as they did back in high school. They’re still afraid that if they don't say it, it won't get said.  

He and his classmates turned out to be who they are because of who they were in that small school. Their teachers and their parents made certain of that. 

For many in his generation and mine, that seems to be true. We both wish we knew a way to pass the formula forward to the students of today. They are the ones who will have the most to say about how great America is in the future, far more, Duane and I agreed, than those doing all the talking about it today. 

Donal Mahoney

---

Hunters for the Hungry

 

Fred has been working with an agency called Hunters for the Hungry for five years. During that time, his food bank has received thousands of pounds of venison to feed the poor. This year, however, when Fred received no call from the agency saying it was ready to deliver the meat, he called the organization himself. 

The answering machine was full and Fred never got through. Finally, he called a state officer for the agency and to his dismay he found out what the problem was. 

Fred learned that the state’s governor, in an effort to balance the budget, had stripped $100,000 from the allotment to Hunters for the Hungry. In past years, that money had allowed donors of deer meat to have it processed free of charge. The meat would be put in one lb. rolls to be given to non-profit groups that operate food banks. 

Fred was told the state now requires hunters to pay for the processing costs as well as donate the meat. Many of the hunters are unwilling to pay for processing. The cost is not cheap. 

The staff at Hunters for the Hungry is upset with this new rule as are the food banks that won’t get the meat. As a result, food pantries and soup kitchens across the state have a big problem this year they can do nothing about. 

After all, as Fred says, if the goal of private enterprise is to make a profit, and it is, then the goal of government is to take care of people. And in many states, government does a good job of doing just that. 

Balancing the budget is important but cuts should not be made, Fred says, to programs that help those already down on their luck.

Fred and others would like to know how the money allegedly saved by the governor’s action is being used. Roads in the state are still crumbling, schools are making drastic cuts and those in need remain in need at a basic level—food.

Meanwhile, the staff at Hunters for the Hungry is trying to locate other meat for Fred’s food bank. They know the demand for food is exploding among those with inadequate income. 

The missing deer meat means charities all over the state must spend more for food. This money would normally be spent to help pay for utilities, medicine and other necessities for the needy.

Something’s not right with this cut in the budget, Fred says. What’s worse, he adds, the next election is a long way off. 

Donal Mahoney

A Shining Star at Every Wake

Bill hates to go to parties but he loves to go to wakes. One of the advantages of being old, he says, is that there are fewer parties to go to but a lot more wakes. 

At parties he finds a distant corner, stands there like a sentinel and watches the young folks have fun. 

“At parties the young move among each other like bees among flowers,” Bill says. “When I was young I tried to find the right flower and hover there, if you know what I mean."

Although he doesn't approach anyone to start a conversation, Bill's not upset when people approach him. Some young folks want to know why is the old guy standing in the corner. And he doesn’t hesitate to tell them. 

“I came with my wife," he says. “She’s out on the floor somewhere having a good time."

Moments later, he adds the obvious: "She’s an extrovert and I'm not."

At parties Bill and his wife always slow dance at least once even though he says he has two left feet. He says that after 50 years of marriage, his wife’s used to having her feet under his. He says she never complains. She loves parties and is happy that he’s willing to come along, even if it’s only to stand in a corner. 

At wakes, however, Bill comes out of his shell. He’s in his element at wakes.

“I’m the life of the party at a wake,” Bill says, "if you’ll excuse the expression." 

His modus operandi at a wake isn’t complex. First he consoles the bereaved and then talks to anyone and everyone who has come to the wake. When Bill has finished his rounds, everyone, even the dead person’s kin, feel a little better. 

"Bill should have been an undertaker,” his wife says, coming back from the dance floor.

Bill says he would have been an undertaker but in most states you have to be an embalmer to qualify as an undertaker. 

"Embalming is not a trade I ever wanted to learn," Bill says. “But I don’t have to be an embalmer to help people feel a little better at a wake."

Several years ago, a friend of Bill's lost his wife and Bill, of course, went to the wake. 

He was talking to the widower when a lady walked up, interrupted them and said to the widower, 

"I know you're not ready to date, but when you are so inclined, I would like to throw my hat in the ring.” 

Bill and the widower were shocked, but later the widower dated the woman and married her. In a relatively short time, she spent most of his money and then divorced him when he got sick. He died a year later very much alone. 

Had Bill known his friend was sick, he would have tried to supply him with support. He has great empathy for the dying as well as for those mourning the dead. 

Going to wakes reminds Bill that some day he will be the guest of honor at his own wake. He has mixed feelings about that. 

“I don’t know if there is ever a perfect person for someone,” Bill says, “but my wife is the only one for me." 

He thinks it’s selfish to want to die first but that is his wish. He doesn’t want to live without his wife by his side.

“She’s my North Star….my compass,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to dance on anyone else’s feet.”

  

Donal Mahoney