Accession

CHAPTER ONE

EAVESDROPPING

“We’re poor little lambs who have lost our way

Baa, baa, baa” - Minnigerode, Pomeroy and Galloway

Reminiscing

Whilst listening to tunes of yonder and yore, shadows danced across the wood-grained office, embers dancing to the years gone by. Three somewhat old veterans were having a toddy for the body. That’s a mixed drink to you and me. “Alky’hol.” Warm Beam and honey with a cinnamon stick for good measure. Mmm mm. Nol’s dear friends dropped by to see how he was settling in. He wished them a belated “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas Nol … Mr. Mayor. Cain’t quite git used ta the sound of it. Caretaker of hound dogs running the city.” Cleo was always one to tease.

Nol let out one of those semi-smiles he was famous for, “Some reckon a lot of hound dogs in Topeka need tendin’ to these days.”

“Mayor Noland! With all that’s come and gone!” CJ raised a glass. Merry Christmas indeed. Now you might be wondering what a mayor is doing in the office two days after Christmas in The Great State of Kansas. Well, the year 2020 is coming to a close and a lot’s “done gone” and happened.

The recently appointed mayor of Topeka was none other than Ulysses Noland, a buttoned-down elderly figure of a man. Kind, steely-eyed, a force of nature unto himself. Nobody enjoyed a cup of black coffee like ole Nol.

You might judge him too traditional but that’d be a mistake. Both conservative and liberal-minded, he has never been one to take much guff unless from these two. They listened to Slim yodel the “Whip-poor-will” each reminiscing about their daddies and days on the farm long gone.

Even in good company, a warm fire, and a drink in hand, Cleo couldn’t muster up enough nostalgic love for the farm. In actuality, he never liked it. Shoeing those damn horses was the bane of his childhood. That’s why he loved trucks. Cleo, under the jokes and optimism, was a glass half empty. He spent his entire life trying to fill it for brothers and others at the Post over a hot breakfast and a football pool or two. Everyone loved this Quartermaster, very much the backbone of the VFW.

While Cleo might seem wily to some, CJ was the real slick-talking, booze hawking Vice Commander. Clever like a fox and mostly after fun. Being country meant looking for a good time between doing what has to be done. “Having a highball in the mayor’s office.” CJ happened to be the biggest distributor of hooch this side of the Mississippi. He shared, “You know this building was built around 1900. My daddy sat in this very office back in the 50’s. The mayor was the town doctor and fond of shine. Daddy said I was the most expensive delivery ever made in the State of Kansas ’cause of that man.”

“Nol, might wanna check that ‘Crown’ bag. You know how CJ’ll fill it with that Arcadian Hunter before comin’ over.”

Cleo looked at CJ. CJ looked at Nol, “Best believe ole George here will tell it straight!” They all hemmed and hawed as Cleo wondered “Why George?”

“Come on CJ! We need ta get on. Nol’s got a lot on his plate. If you’re stayin’ late, best stay the night. I’ll get Wild Bill ta run you over some of Miss Estelle’s cooking. Maybe I’ll ask Miss Ester ta come over.”

“Yeah on the food, nay on that woman. Ya’ll know I love her proper and read that Scripture. Yet, she be harpin’ on it like there’s no tomorrow. Like the Rapture’s done come to the door.”

Cleo smiled, “You let us know if you need anything, Tater too. You trust them militia boys in the lobby?”

“They us.” That was all he had to say. A two-word vetting … bona fide.

“Cleo, that snow out there’s not gonna let up.”They broke out the gloves and ear-flaps. That’s a cap to you and me. Seeing them off, Nol sat back in his chair and propped up his seeing eyeglasses on his nose. He looked over at Tater, as snug as a bug in a rug. He and that faithful hound dog were enjoying the warm fire. “Hey boy, how you getting along with that blanket?”

“Barrr.” replied Tater.

“Missing yer bed aren’t ya. Truth be told, I‘m missing my rocker a bit. This chair don’t sit right, but that’s ’tween you and me buddy rub.”

“Barrr.” Tater’s way of saying “not a word.” Nol got back to some papers and that fancy notepad Oly had given him.

Eavesdropping

Did I say a lot’s “done gone” and happened? That would be anunderstatement of enormous proportions. Less than two weeks ago, a Constitutional Convention by invitation only was held in Wichita. Don and Rutger were holding down the fort in Wichita while Micah and Oly secured Kansas City. Don’t worry, you’ll meet everybody soon enough. Just know they were the ones getting on with the program.

Nol was their moral compass of sorts. A lot of statesmen felt more secure with Noland smack dab between the restored capitol and Kansas City.

Nol put the drinking glasses away and got a sip of black coffee still hot from the pot. He took a moment to reflect on all that’s happened. Yeah-yuh. Lots to do, yes siree. What a Christmas! A lot of people’s reunited with family in they hearth and home, thank the Good Lord. Others got a trip they’ll likely never forget. Enjoy that lump of coal boys. Lost in thought, his young aide peaked through the door which snapped him right out of it, “Son, ya gonna come in?”

“Sir, didn’t mean to … are you stayin’ the night? I can get linens.”

“Come on in and take a load off. Keep an old man company.”

Preferring a root beer from the fridge to “Cinnamon-Honeyed Beam,” the young man found a comfy chair and got to speaking his mind, “The country’s plight is something this season.”

“A lot of prayers’ needed for this country, especially in the cities this Christmas. Those in exodus, too.”

As Nol took another sip, his aide asked in all sincerity, “Do you think restored forces can hold through January?”

“For as long as we draw breath, on that you can depend.”

“Some people said we’re hopelessly outnumbered down the line.The shadow of coming defeat is vast.”

“Standing room only. Katy bar the door!” A big smile came over Nol’s face as he thought about the meaning of fighting in the shade.

“Fellas are saying if the military gets involved, we’re toast.”

“If.” That’s a big if. Nol reassured his aide rattled by some hemming of the haw. “Never give too much heed to fear, son. They’re talking out of fear of what tomorrow will bring. They’ll worry you to death with indecision. The heart’s a much better judge. What does it tell ya?”

“My daddy used ta say stay the course, have faith in others and see it through. I suppose that’s where my heart lay.”

“Faith in others is the key. There are some very smart people handling the concerns you just put ta voice. I was proud ta know your daddy back in the day. When the time comes, you’ll fill his shoes just fine. Do me a favor. Before you leave tonight, look up Molon Labe. It might be Greek, but you’ll find yer daddy staring back from those words.” Nol knew he missed his daddy.

Nol came from a family of local legend. Some people still talk about them today, at least around Kansas-Missouri. The Noland family traces lineage back to Pappy John. Unheard of for a freedman to ride with the likes of William Quantrill, but that’s exactly what he did. Friends to the end. Jayhawkers harmed John’s parents so he joined up with notorious Bushwhackers to exact great vengeance. Those who rode with him described him as a man among men at many a Confederate reunion.

Nol grew up in Topeka, but everywhere between here and Independence, Missouri was home. Always one for the hunt, he grew up just like Pappy taught him. Times could be hard, the home modest, but the table was always laden with a hot meal and grace. Amazing how a hot meal and a good night’s sleep turns a lot of mountains back into mole hills.

“Mr. Nol, where do you think this’ll all end up?”

With no hesitation he replied, “Forward son, as always with everything.” His aide smiled, finished his root beer and went to find some linens. Dear reader, I’m glad you got to meet Ulysses. Why don’t we go back to November and get to know him a bit better. Some people are worth knowing.

Black Coffee and Cornbread

Noland woke up in his humble home on the outskirts of his beloved Topeka. It could be especially cold in winter. Made his knees ache. Raised Pentecostal and an avid church-goer, there’s not enough cold in Kansas to stop him any time soon. Not one to complain … too much, he missed his sons William, Jessie and Tom. They were off working and living life.

He missed his wife, too. Taken in childbirth almost 26 years ago, she’s been with the Good Lord. Lighting a candle for her every Wednesday and Sunday service, Nol moves forward. All in all, he hasn’t got it too bad … a paid-for house, truck that runs like he wants, two retirements and a loyal hound dog named Tater. A lot of people wished they had it so good.

Speaking of Tater, that floppy-eared hound was snoozing away. A full belly on a warm bed. He loved the old man. That was one happy dog, a fair contrast to a grumpy fellow whose feet just found his slippers.

Nol made his way over to the kettle and fired it up. The scent of strong black coffee was soon in the air as Tater’s ear twitched. As he sniffed his way back to consciousness, Nol made his way over to Tater’s bowl with a piece of cornbread for one, warm black coffee for the other. None of that sweet stuff for these two. No siree. Only black coffee for real men … and real dogs.

After a bit of effort, Nol arrived at his wooden rocker. Nothing fancy,getting more rickety with age … just like him. It had been passed down three generations now. Goes all the way back to great great pappy’s days of epic lore, fighting the good fight around Missouri and Kansas. Some say it was a gift from brothers Frank and Jessie. If you asked Nol about it, he would probably say, “Yep, this here chair’s got some mighty fine history. It’s gonna make its way to my eldest one day. Until then, it stays mine.” With strong coffee in hand, he sat the rest of the cornbread on the table and plopped himself in the chair.

When all the creaks had settled, he took a sip of that good black coffee … soaking up that bitter taste sending the cold in retreat. A hint of a smile escaped his face as Tater made his way over to his bowl. Thank you Lord for another day of life. Having “gived” thanks, he enjoyed his cornbread.

As the comfort of the rocking chair sunk in, it was time to find The Trading Post, Nol and Tater’s favorite morning radio show. Good deals to be had. If curious, The Bill Jones Show was the second. Nol reached over a newspaper collecting dust, over the Good Book not collecting dust, and a pamphlet of the Constitution with numbers on the back.

Having to manually turn on the radio never bothered Nol. What did bother him was the static and popping while changing channels. Why cain’t Trading Post and Bill Jones be on the same channel? Technically, it’s not complaining if you don’t say it aloud. Apparently technology had not caught up yet. Hope springs eternal.

Soon enough, the radio came to life breaking morning silence with crackling and sputtering in search of the Post. Found it. About half an hour later, Noland drifted from call-ins about livestock to the eagle on the pamphlet. A lot of people worried about that Constitution. Is it still there? Lots of opinions, not enough fact. Nol wanted to see what it actually said. He hadn’t taken a look since grade school. Now now, he who is without sin. When’s the last time you took a look?

Sipping his coffee, Nol re-read the Preamble thinking hard on its meaning. Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our posterity. Yeah, that sums it up. Nol found himself reading Articles I-V. Gub’ment … gub’ment … gub’ment … state gub’ment. Now I remember why it’s been so long since taking a gander.

As time passed and Trading Post ended, another program began unbeknownst to Nol who was deep in “ponder.” Article VI seems to be where the problem lie. Some of them sworn-ins’ ain’t supportin’ these amendments. How’d they get beyond the laws of the land? He was deeply entrenched in reading.

As the rhetoric and narrative from the radio got heated, it trickled in and interrupted his train of thought. “Enough,” he grimaced. Tater’s ears perked up. Giving Nol’s thought voice, “These people take issue with everything! Bray like mules!” Whining always rubbed him the wrong way.

The news told how new leadership will bring equitable Americans to the promise land stamping out systemic racism. Taking away liberty from some to give liberty to others. If that don’t beat all. A few months back, Noland got fed up with newspeople on TV. Vile and vomitous he thought them. They convinced him to give up not just TV, but newspapers, too. Glossy teeth and shiny suits just talkin’ bad about anyone an’ everyone. Thinking they’s perfect. There’s ever only been One to fit that bill.

The more Nol heard them speak, the more he disliked them. It wasn’t their politics. It was their incessant complaining. Everyone’s a white supremacist, even black folk. Nol being old school was of the persuasion … if you don’t have anything good to say … keep quiet. When you do have something to say, people will listen and believe you. He couldn’t remember the last time they reported something. When’s the last time they laughed? Waiting for misfortune like a sadist on a lobster. Lost they way.

The radio continued on about mostly peaceful protesters celebrating liberty by forcing others to kneel and renounce privilege. First they start needin’ ya ta do things fer ‘em. Then they start speaking fer ya. Next thing ya know, check mate, smothered bait. Done like dinner. Youth yelling for collars they can’t see comin’. Collars may have changed color but they values never do. Exasperated, he reached over and changed the channel.

Wagging the Dog

Would you like to know what else annoyed Nol? An unannounced doorbell. Have the decency to call before coming over. He waited for it.

“Yoo hoo! Nol, You in there.” Who loves you and who do you love. Maybe if we’re quiet, she won’t know no better.

“Barrr,” Tater answered.

“Hush boy. You’ll give it away.”

“I hear you hushin’ that dog in there. Nol, come open this door!” He made his way through the kitchen past the fridge to the back door facing the carport. There she was, Miss Ester Love. A bag full of groceries and a mean look on her face. “Heathen.” She mighta lost her youthful looks, but none of her charms. “Hmmph. Took you long enough. Sloth is a Sin. Praise Him!” Before Nol could even think of a reply, Ester corrected him, “Don’t you go thinkin’ them hateful thoughts. I know you Uly. God don’t like ugly!”

He held the door open as she went from tenacious to lovey dovey with Tater, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?” That tail just a-wagging. He’s a good boy. “Get on back to yer show. I know yer hankerin’ fer that drama. I come over to make sure you eat something proper. Otherwise, you’d never taste anything other than butter’d cornbread and coffee.”

I like cornbread, he thought. As God as her witness, she was bound and determined to set Nol on the straight and narrow. The problem was he was already there. He loved her though. Her loyalty was one of those virtues Nol had a lot of respect for.

Nol sat back down, “How’s the weather treatin’ you Miss Ester?”

“Cain’t complain. Cold’s set in and we’s set in our ways.” Nol smiled. She was tough as well, walked the walk. Getting busy in the kitchen making lunch for her favorite boys, Nol got back to the radio. “You need less radio and more churchin’up Ulysses S Noland, if ya knew what was good fer ya!”

“Woman, we go to church twice a week! Even Sweet and Sunny Jesus needs a break from seeing our faces glued to those stain-glassed winders!” Ester was fond of semi-smiles, too. She let loose with one. Only she could exasperate him like that. She knew he wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world. Even though, it might be best not to compete with Tater for the title. That dog’s a real good listener.

Straining with some effort, music … music … music …The knob crackled in search of a station with something worth listening to. There it is. Fingers warm, Tater fed, arguing with Ester finished, it was now time for the soapbox! Wisdom with more than a kernel of “conspiratorial” truth.

“Welcome to the Bill Jones Radio Show with your host … me, Bill Jones! Well, I told you! I told you this was all gonna happen! And it all went and happened this here November. Hopes and fears raised. Hopes of the left overthrowing the tyrant have been fulfilled. White supremacists and their Orange Julius have their noose around the citizenry no more. Racism’s on the run. Chasing their made-up phantoms, they plan on dashing the hopes of those still believing in the virtues of our forefathers.” Bill was on it this morning. Yes indeed.

“Well shucks folks! If no one will say it, I’ll say it. Those communists and their puppet stole the election! Soon, they’ll be the ones putting real nooses around citizens like you and me for good and all! The Republic is in dire straits … wait a minute … hold the presses! Did this election have more-than-the-usual amount of voter fraud? Say it ain’t so, Jethro. I got documents! I got documents!”

The first thing to know about Bill is he loves staring down liars with contentious scorn. A coat and jean wearing cowboy, he starts all calm and sensible. Then storms out of control when he’s on it. It comes across a bit nutty. Yet, he’s telling the truth … mostly … in an age of political narration. When he’s on it, he’s like a pit bull … can’t let it go. And that’s exactly what people like Nol love about him.

Nol pointed to the sliding glass door, “Come on Tater. Let’s go sit on the porch for a while.” When that coffee warmed him up, he liked the cold air outside. Liked to breathe it in. Tater was already at the door.

As Nol took in the snowy outdoor air, he went back to thinking on how people in the cities were clamoring like unfed hound-dogs. On the back porch waiting for heaping helpings from a tin-foiled plate, except it’s about to cave in on itself.

The big election had come and gone. People were waiting on the final results with great anticipation. Many were hoping election integrity could somehow reinstate President Cornet before the president-elect hands it all over to the Communists come January. Nol never understood why people got so worked up about loss. Better to face what you gain for those you love. “Ain’t that right, Tater?” Fears of calamity were not unfounded. The political tail was indeed wagging the dog.