Category Archives: history

Peer Review One: A Play

Peer Review One

__________________________

10 Minute Play

By Gail Chumbley

SCENE 1

The stage lights rise. Two wingback chairs sit closely on the stage, and a table. Two men, both marines, stand on either side of the stage apron. The sounds of voices are heard off stage. The stage lights shift to blue as a man, The President, steps onstage. The Marines salute, and the president salutes impatiently. The guards disappear in darkness.

THE PRESIDENT
I can hear them. Tourists. Here to see where I, their President lives.

Three girls enter giggling and taking cell phone pictures. The president fusses with his hair.

THE PRESIDENT

And where are you girls from?

The girls move on without noticing him.
Wait! I’m here. Your president. I’m here.

A couple appear looking about, pointing toward “walls,” chatting quietly. The president straightens his tie, and again touches his hair.

THE PRESIDENT
Welcome to my White House. Wanna a picture with your President?

The couple murmurs quietly, indifferently looking around. They turn and stroll offstage. The president follows a few steps.

THE PRESIDENT

You people deaf? What is wrong with you? This is disgraceful. I’m President of the United States, for god’s sake.

A man appears on stage left. He wears a top hat, mustache, pince-nez spectacles and cutaway jacket with tails. He carries a cane. The man approaches the president from behind. He speaks in a patrician voice.

THE MAN

Am I to understand that you are a New Yorker?

The president startles.

THE PRESIDENT
Um, hello. Are you here with a tour group? Bet you want a picture with me, your president.

THE MAN
I ask a simple question, and you reply with a question. I understand you are a New Yorker. Are you or are you not?

The President attempts to walk to no avail. The man stands uncomfortably close.

THE PRESIDENT (Looking around)

I can’t move! My feet are frozen to the floor! Where is my security detail! Where are my marines?

THE MAN
We have all been watching you, and even Mr. Nixon is appalled. Once again, are you a New Yorker? Speak up when I’m addressing you.
THE PRESIDENT

Mr. Nixon? How did you get in here? Are you a re-enactor?

The muted sound of tourists continues off stage.

Yes. Yes. Everybody knows me. I made my fortune in New York real estate, if you must know. I’ve heard many people say I’m the best businessman ever . . .

The man begins to pace and speak at the same time.

THE MAN
From my understanding you are nothing beyond a scoundrel from the wealthy criminal class. I made a career of exposing popinjays like you.

THE PRESIDENT
Well, you’re a nasty piece of work. I am the President of the United States. I won the election by the biggest margin in American hist . . .

THE MAN
Poppycock! We have come to find that result came about due a mere tilt in the electoral count, and foreign interference. Russians, no less. After the revolutionary stirrings in 1905, I feared Russian unrest would spread to the United States. Conditions in mines, shops and factories here were inexcusable. Strikers shot down in the Pullman Rail Strike, vile conditions in Chicago’s meatpacking industry, sweatshops forcing 12 hour work days. Labor agitators pushed for reform, and I agreed. In Russia, Bolsheviks never did extend justice to the working class, only more oppression. They were not, and are not America’s friend, and intend only to destabilize this nation. Through your absence of character, and love of money they have succeeded.

THE PRESIDENT

You are wrong. That’s a lie. A lie.

THE MAN
You foolish pip. Inviting Russians into the West Wing? Unacceptable! Never should foreign adversaries be permitted to enter the inner sanctum, nor rioters in the Capitol. Mr. Lincoln will have more to say on that particular travesty.

The President appears shocked. He mouths “Lincoln.”
You have besmirched America before the world. I’d say you are a compromised pawn of foreign meddlers, and their graft. You give not one whit for America.

THE PRESIDENT
You can’t talk to me like that. My security will be back and you’ll be thrown out.

THE MAN

Sergey Witte.

THE PRESIDENT

What? Who? Just get out!

THE MAN

Hold your tongue! When you are in the presence of a gentlemen, behave accordingly. Witte was a Russian, so you will approve. The Japanese inflicted the most impressive defeats upon the Tsar’s navy in 1904-05. America then had no quarrel with Japan or Russia, however, I was asked to arbitrate peace negotiations. My view of the Russians changed with Witte. What a crude, unmannered man, unlike the thoroughly well- mannered Japanese delegation who comported themselves so gracefully! This so-called “diplomat” grew belligerent during peace talks insisting Russia be awarded more largess from the treaty. That villain stalled and argued for adding more claims, despite losing the war. I gave that knave a piece of my mind.

The man removes his top hat and sets it on a table, and checks his pocket watch.

Good I have time.

THE PRESIDENT
Time? Don’t stay on my account. I’m a busy man. Meetings, briefings.

THE MAN

Sit down this instant.

The president instantly sits. Looks alarmed.

Witte is the point! The Russians only look out for Russia, not you, the bankrupt fool who fell backward into the presidency.

THE PRESIDENT
I’m being pranked. Some a-hole is filming this. Where is the camera? I hate pranks. Meadows is going to hear about this.

The muffled sound of passersby continues. The president sits uncomfortably, and shuts his eyes.

I’m dreaming. That’s it, I’m asleep. When I open my eyes he’ll be gone.

To the man.

I’m opening my eyes now and you better not be here.

The man leans over the sitting president. He opens his eyes face to face with the man. The president startles again.

THE MAN

I am not finished.

The man again paces and speaks.
Bribery does not belong in foreign policy. And America still has a grand future on the world stage. We show strength through integrity–not by shaking down America’s allies for political favors.

THE PRESIDENT

Stop right there, that was a perfect phone call . . .

THE MAN
In foreign affairs we must make up our minds that we are a great people and must play a great part in the world. Nothing less.

The man turns toward an imaginary window. The president attempts to stand, but only succeeds in moving the chair a little. He utters a grunt.

THE PRESIDENT
I have great knowledge of foreign policy. And despite what some people say, I was always against the war in Iraq, and a lot of people weren’t.

The man shakes his head in disbelief. The President continues.
Look, Obama left a foreign policy of one disaster after another. We don’t win anymore. . .We’re going to win big now.

The man looks around the Blue Room.

THE MAN
Talleyrand, Napoleon’s minister once remarked that though President Jefferson loved France, he was still an American first. I do not believe you are first loyal to America, only to your feral, financial instincts.

THE PRESIDENT

TalleyWho? Everyone knows I am the greatest Americ. . .

The man sighs, and with a turn of his hand silences the President.

THE MAN
It appears you have no pets. Quite revealing that-regarding a man. We moved into this house with dogs, cats, and other pets, including a pony. How the boys loved their animals. Our pets were considered part of the family. They and the children’s presence made the White House feel like home.

The man returns his gaze to the president, and smiles.
I would play a bear, and my two youngest would hide under the bed. I pawed and growled, and they giggled and shrieked for joy.

The president is defensive. He speaks.

THE PRESIDENT
Kid’s. The hardest thing about raising kids is time. I know men who leave their businesses so they can spend more time with their children, and I say, ‘Gimme a break!’ My children couldn’t love me more if I spent fifteen times more time with them.

The man watches the president doubtfully.

THE MAN
No pets. Not even for your youngest. And it appears the boy and his mother live separate lives. Your adult children keep their distance, as well. You have squandered a man’s real treasure for an artificial image.

The president wiggle-walks his chair still stuck.

THE PRESIDENT
First of all, I would feel like a phony having a dog. I don’t like dogs. And, so you know, my children love me, and my wife, too. They are so proud of me, so proud. I’m President. And most Americans love me. Those liberals are the problem.

The man snaps, waving his cane.

THE MAN
Is that why thousands of migrant children were separated from their families? Caged? Liberals are not, as you say, the problem!

The man clears his throat, and quietly speaks.

President Grant requested I touch upon the subject of military service. My father did not serve in the War between the States, leaving me a confused boy. I could not understand why. For me soldiering is the highest service a patriot can perform.

THE PRESIDENT
And now you’re going to tell me how great the military is. I really don’t care. Look, Sean Hannity is calling my office.

THE MAN
His decision concerned my mother. Lovely woman, my mother, she hailed from Georgia, and her brothers were serving the Confederacy. You see, my father loved her–simply loved her. He hired a substitute in his place, and aided President Lincoln in other ways.

The man taps his cane and smiles.

Still. I idolized him. He believed so much in public service. He cared about children, orphans living on the streets. Father founded the Newsboys Lodge, the Children’s Aid Society, and the American Museum of Natural History. The last he did for me.

The man strokes his mustache lost in thought.

THE PRESIDENT

On Central Park West?

The man nods.
Been there. Your father had it built? Seems like a big waste of money to me. Bunch of bones and dead animals.

THE MAN
Serving others is our obligation to the less fortunate. To me bad trusts exploited the poor for profits. We regulated fair rail rates for farmers, passed the Meat Inspection Act, and the Pure Food and Drug Act, to make all Americans safer.

The president looks bewildered.

THE PRESIDENT

Why? There’s a lot of money in big pharma.

THE MAN

Not listening.
As president, I never made a decision without wondering what my father would think.

THE PRESIDENT

Yeah, me too.

The president chuckles. The man shakes his head.

THE PRESIDENT
Still, I don’t care. Times have changed. Gotta get what you can when you can.

The man whips around.

THE MAN

Which is why I am here.

The President’s smile disappears.

THE MAN
All four of my sons served in the Great War, and fulfilled their duty. We paid the ultimate cost-our youngest, Quentin, in an aerial fight over Germany. So difficult to lose such a dear, sweet boy.

The man draws close to the president.
And Quentin was neither a sucker nor a loser! He believed in America, they all believed. Quentin held fast to the tenets of our noble land and answered the call.

The man flashes disgust toward the President, then becomes thoughtful.
In 1898, I, too, served as soon as I could. President McKinley named me under-secretary in the Department of the Navy, until I resigned to join the war against Spain. That decision led me to assemble the Rough Riders and ship out to Cuba. Most exhilarating. My father would be proud, of that I’m certain.

THE PRESIDENT
I’d like to do my duty too. But the political establishment trying to stop us is the same swamp responsible for our disastrous foreign policies.

The man frowns, then and continues.

THE MAN
We were on foot in Cuba, a cavalry without horses. We lined up at the base of Kettle Hill, and charged. The moment jolted electric, and my crowded hour began. Lifting my carbine in the air, I rallied from the front, showing the men they had nothing to fear.

THE PRESIDENT
And see, that’s the problem. That is why the military is a chump’s game.

The man shakes his head.
And who needs soldiers? I can do foreign policy, it’s easy. I know because I have a very good brain. I am very rich, people admire me.

The man gives the President an incredulous glance.

THE MAN
Are you deranged? Tossing about words, making no sense? And as for rich, I understand your father earned the fortune, and you have frittered away much of it.

THE PRESIDENT

Wrong. Lies.

THE MAN
Nouveau riche, new money. Gaudy, vulgar, pretentious, and hungry for the validation and acceptance that you will never receive.

The president audibly snores. The man continues to speak over the noise.

When I held office I used my “bully pulpit” in the best sense of the term. Once I believed as you, that the natural world existed to enrich man. But that is false. In my administration Congress approved five new national parks, protected bird sanctuaries, and game preserves. The intrinsic value of our land cannot be found in stock indices or business transactions.

The president snorts
Nowhere else in any civilized country is there to be found such a tract of veritable wonderland made accessible to all visitors, not only the scenery, but wild creatures of the parks are scrupulously preserved.

THE PRESIDENT
Well mister tree hugger I have gutted much of your precious protection and opened land for logging, mining, and drilling. Say goodbye to the Grand Staircase in Utah, well, half of it, anyway. Roads are being cleared as we speak, and off-road vehicles are roaring in. And that goody two shoes, Barack Hussein Obama created the Bears Ears National Monument. I chopped it up for developers. Because that is profit. Profit is real.

THE MAN
You are nothing new, but the only plunderer to reach the presidency. New York City has produced a long line of blackguards such as yourself, criminals like Boss Tweed, and George Washington Plunkitt. Driven by greed and power these men fleeced the public.

The man walks around the chairs still looking about. He speaks.

For the benefit and enjoyment of the people.

THE PRESIDENT

I’d enjoy getting the hell out of here.

He snores louder

THE MAN
Quiet you insolent twit. Those words are inscribed on the arch at Yellowstone Park. Now you shall no longer interrupt.

The man gestures, watching the president who is now unable to speak.
I, too enjoyed a life of affluence. However, with that wealth came obligations to the less fortunate. Doors down from our home on 57th Street the poor struggled in wretched poverty. And much like my father I possessed a troubled conscience.

The man strolls with his cane, and continues.

As Commander in Chief, our charge is to work for the people. All the people. Withholding aid to states you did not carry is a dishonorable breach of that trust.

The man touches the president’s chest with his cane, then resumes his pacing.

My love of justice and fair play may sound naive to you. But your blatant cheating, while pretending you haven’t, is shameless.

The man strikes the president’s chair with his cane. The president sits straighter.
My administration was known as the “Square Deal,” and we, my cabinet and I, kept that promise.

The man taps his cane on the floor again.

My father once counseled me to look after my morals, my health, and my scholarship. And that, I did. And your father? Raised you to love money and value nothing. Had you not been desperate to become president, you might have continued to lead this predatory life of grift and debauchery.

The president fixes his eyes on the man. Angry.

Much like King Midas, or a Greek tragedy, this fatal flaw, your infinite vanity, will now cost you your liberty.

The president struggles, mutely hopping his chair a bit.
You should not have run for office, where dignity and tight scrutiny are the norm. Unable to resist the lure of power, you are the catalyst of your own downfall.

The man puts on his top hat, and gestures. The president bursts free from his chair.

It’s time for me to leave, the others will join you presently.

THE PRESIDENT

Others?

THE MAN
Most assuredly. And the name of that national park is pronounced Yo-sem-i-tee.

As the man stroll off in one direction, the President runs off the other. The stage goes dark.

The Dramatists Guild of America was established over 80 years ago, and is the only professional association which advances the interests of playwrights, composers and lyricists writing for the living stage. The Guild has over 6,000 members nationwide, from beginning writers to the most prominent authors represented on Broadway, Off-Broadway and in regional theaters. To learn more about the Dramatists Guild of America, please visit http://www.dramatistsguild.com

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir, “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight.” Both are available on Kindle. In addition Chumbley has written two full-length plays, “Clay,” and “Wolf By The Ears.”

Behind the Smiles

This, of course, is Ann Frank. She sat for this photo montage in Brussels, Belgium, probably just before the war. The studio’s name was Polyphoto International and it was owned by a gentleman named Elie Gelaki.

Six years earlier Elie had established another studio across the Atlantic, in New York City, and evidence indicates he aimed to do the same across Canada, and Japan. Whether those offices actually opened is hard to determine, especially in Japan as war with China had erupted. However, the New York studio did open for business and Elie got to work.

The subject of this session was the reason Elie had traveled to New York. Her name was Helen Thompson and she was a professional dancer. Though at first he had mistaken her name, Elie fell in love with the Helen, eventually following her to New York, seeking marriage. But the wedding never came about.

The 1930’s was a perilous time, especially for people like Ann Frank and Elie Gelaki, both Jewish, living their lives under the growing shadow of Nazism. And though Helen never married the Belgian she worried about his fate as the European war blitzed to life, and of course she knew nothing of Ann Frank until later. You see Helen was my mother-in-law, and though we never met, my husband told me she occasionally shared her anxiety regarding Elie’s fate.

It is evident that behind the smiles, and the momentary pleasure of picture taking, an epic story of three individuals played out in a dramatic chronicle of the 20th Century.

For more of this story read “River of January,” and River of January: Figure Eight” both available on Kindle.

Chumbley has also penned a feature film script based on the books titled, “Dancing On Air,” and in addition two plays on American history topics-“Clay,” and “Wolf By The Ears.”

gailchumbley@gmail.com

Catch Up

A radical change in imperial policy between Great Britain and her American Colonies marked the beginning of the Revolutionary Era.

Well before the American Revolution an amiable, and profitable arrangement existed between the Colonials and Parliament. This mutually profitable connection quickly terminated after the French and Indian War, 1754-1763. That conflict, though a victory for the British, had cost the Royal Treasury plenty, and the Crown abandoned friendly relations by coercing Americans to share in settling that war debt .

Parliament began by imposing a number of taxes, all designed to force Americans to pay up. The Sugar Act, Stamp Act, and Townshend Duties, among other measures, had been designed to force Americans to cover the royal debt. Once proud to be British, Colonials were shocked to realize the Crown viewed them as a source of revenue, and nothing more.

Colonials had a long running smuggling network, importing cheaper commodities from the French islands, thus evading British tariffs. Those caught and arrested found fast acquittal by colonial juries of their peers, as locals were also customers of the accused. In Boston, tensions soon turned to bloodshed, followed later with tea spilled into the Harbor. The Crown, not amused, soon forbade traditional trials, and transported accused Americans to military courts, in particular to Nova Scotia. Next, British Red Coats were deployed to the New England colonies to impose martial law, and Parliament decreed American’s had to house and feed their own oppressors.  

These matters were met with vehement dissent, Colonials protesting they had no representative in Parliament, and would not tolerate taxation without their consent. “No Taxation Without Representation” and “Resistance to Tyranny is Obedience to God,” rang throughout Colonial America.

Tensions ripened, finally coming to a bloody confrontation in April of 1775, and the rest we mostly remember from school. 

Tasked with scribing a Declaration of Independence at the Second Continental Congress, Thomas Jefferson vented American grievances through his quill. Working alone, Jefferson defended the violent actions carried out by Americans, and took pains to explain the radicalism. . . . “a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.” And for six years the Continental Army persevered.

In 1787, the subsequent creation and ratification of the U.S. Constitution set an enduring national blueprint of settled law. The Framers designed a government derived from the people, meaning we all are equal, and guaranteed representation in shaping law.

That brings this story to today. 

The election of a president from an opposing party is not a radical, nor sudden change of policy. Rather, this cyclic American ritual is as normal as the singing the Star Spangled Banner before a game. American voters have chosen our leaders in this manner since George Washington’s name first appeared on the ballot. 

To all of you who attacked our Capitol, it’s well past time for you to catch up. Put away those symbols of rebellion; of coiled snakes, hangmen gallows, and Viking horns. The Revolution ended two and a half centuries ago. The story of America is well underway.

In point of fact, those January 6th insurrectionists themselves attempted a radical change in American tradition. In pursuit of violence and chaos, these terrorists attempted a savage disruption of our deepest democratic traditions. Now that is unAmerican. In point of fact, we all have political representatives, and a right to a jury of our peers, and nary a soldier is found lounging on the couch.

Grow up and stand down.  

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January” and “River of January: Figure Eight.”

Chumbley has also penned two plays, “Clay” exploring the life of Henry Clay, and “Wolf By The Ears,” an examination of American slavery and racism.

chumbleg.blog

Pickaxe To Nerve Agent

Josef Stalin was the embodiment of evil. Moreover, if one figure set the standard for Russian despots, it was Stalin. His reign of domestic brutality and foreign terror set the tone for a long, dangerous Cold War. Czarist Russia had set a particularly high bar for authoritarianism, but Uncle Joe inflicted monstrosities that would make Ivan the Terrible cringe.

After Russia withdrew from WWI, through a series of moves, the Bolsheviks, headed by Vladimir Lenin prevailed in gripping the reins of power. Through the aid of Leon Trotsky, a brilliant intellectual, and Josef Stalin a seasoned street fighter, the Bolsheviks founded a peoples state, loosely framed around the teachings of Marx.

During the next few years The US provided relief to the starving of Europe from Great Britain to Vladivostok. But aid made no difference to Lenin. In 1919 the Comintern was established in Moscow, professing the aim of Communist takeover of the world.

In 1924 Lenin died, and a fresh struggle for power ensued. When the snow storm settled Stalin was in command and Trotsky exiled.* Conditions in Stalin’s USSR flowed a crimson red. The Kremlin’s secret police cracked down on the people, through arrests, murders, and spying. By 1934 the NKVD began a purge that included the liquidation of middle class Ukrainian farmers resulting in the deaths of millions.

And those policies were domestic.

At the same time, spying took center stage in Stalin’s foreign policy. English and American assets were turned including left-leaning Americans disillusioned by the Depression, and England’s Cambridge Five, headed by Kim Philby. Philby held a high clearance in British intelligence. The use of such double agents allowed Stalin to essentially shoot fish in a barrel.

Atomic weaponry literally mushroomed on the scene, raising the stakes in East West relations. America lost it’s mind in the Red Scare, and Soviet agents burrowed deeper undercover.

That was then. But it is also now. Excluding reformer, Mikhail Gorbachev, Russian leadership emulates the tone set by Josef Stalin. Infiltrating the National Rifle Association, political misinformation, cyber hacking, and buying off scoundrels with generous loans, Vladimir Putin is an apt pupil of old Uncle Joe.

On January 6, 2021 as white supremacists broke past Capitol barriers, vandalizing and assaulting law enforcement, the winner of that moment was Vladimir Putin. Destabilizing America has been the object of the struggle since the Russian Revolution. 

Dear GOP, you are indeed Putin’s puppets.  

*Trotsky was murdered in August, 1940. An operative bludgeoned him to death outside Mexico City with a pickaxe. Putin critic, Alexei Navalny is currently in a Russian jail, weakened by a nerve agent that was meant to silence him.

Gail Chumbley is an author, and history educator. Her two-part memoir, “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight,” are both available on Kindle.

gailchumbley@gmail.com

This Is Why We Teach

Hi Mrs. Chumbley! This may be very random, but very much needed to be said. I’m reading a book right now about how school systems often fail black girls. One of the examples was when teachers will allow Black girls to not work up to the highest standard because of biases that the teacher may have.

I remember when I was in APUSH in your class and it was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. I cried almost every day. I had been homeschool and then went to a charter school. I had never experienced a class as challenging as APUSH. I LOVED the class and what we were learning, but I just felt like the class wasn’t for me. I remember coming to you in tears because I needed you to sign a release form for me to move out of the class at semester and you said something to me that I carry to this day. You said, “Gabie, you are an AP kid, and don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. You can do this and I’m going to help you.”

You did not fail me Mrs. Chumbly. Now, 8 years later, I am a teacher am applying to grad schools so that I can get my secondary social studies endorsement because it was in those classes that my life was changed. Thank you so much for believing in my and pushing me to the highest standard. I really do not think I would be where I am today if you would not have 💙💙

Peer Review #3

The military choir filed out of the Entrance Hall in a precise formation, trailed with a warm wave of applause. The President had enjoyed the evening performance, and bristled that no reporter had stayed to detail the concert for the public. “This is the kind of story real Americans would like to see on the news,” he complained, as he shook hands and chatted with departing well-wishers. 

The grand chamber soon emptied and the White House staff swept in, quickly stacking chairs, breaking down risers, and disconnecting sound equipment. The President turned from the racket, and headed toward the white Doric columns separating the hall and staircase. And it was there, beside an alabaster column, that the President stumbled upon a most unexpected visitor.

Lounging against the smooth white marble leaned a tall, lanky gentleman dressed in an antiquated silk dressing gown, white hose, and embroidered slippers. The man cooly assessed the stunned President.

“Are you familiar with the story of John Peter Zenger” the intruder murmured in a soft drawl. 

“Why are you still here? The entertainment left that way,” the President snapped, thumbing toward the side entrance.

“Zenger, a German immigrant, edited and printed a newspaper in New York,” the visitor continued, calmly shifting his position against the pillar. “Zenger had published an unflattering editorial of New York’s Colonial Governor, and the testy royal had the journalist jailed, charged with libel.”

The President, annoyed by the imposition, wanted to hurry up the stairs to his living quarters, but his legs remained stubbornly rooted in place. 

“Well, that Zenger character deserved it, he barked, unable to control his tongue. “Reporters need to watch what they write, and who they offend—like me. I’m the President, and they say terrible things about me, all lies and more lies.”

The tall figure crossed his arms and looked evenly at the President. “A jury of Zenger’s peers acquitted him, opining that if truth was stated, there is no libel,” the stranger subtly smiled. “That particular case established freedom of the press in this country, a principle I later insisted appear in the Bill of Rights.” 

“Do you understand how much I could accomplish if . . .”

The apparition spoke quietly over the President. “I, too criticized a president bent on stifling  free expression” the visitor thoughtfully paused. “President John Adams supported passage of the Sedition Act in 1798 to silence critical voices such as mine.” 

The oddly dressed gentleman began drifting through the pillars into the Entrance Hall, as if floating on a sudden breeze. Unwillingly, the President followed. “I’m particularly fond of this room,” the visitor whispered, “it was the only finished room in my time.”

“The press wants to destroy my administration,” this time the President spoke over his visitor. “With their unlimited snooping, the constant leaks, and the treasonous things they say about me on cable tv.”

The apparition appeared indifferent to the President’s complaints. “A particular writer, James Callender, cast enough aspersions upon Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Adams, that he found himself jailed under the Sedition Act. Once I moved into this House, I pardoned Callender, and hired him to again take up his poison pen.” The spirit seemed sadly amused, “when I refused to appoint Callender to a government post, his pen turned full force upon me, exposing my deepest, most safeguarded secret.”

“The Sedition Act. I like that,” the President beamed, indifferent to the visitor’s revelation. “What’s the matter with my lawyers. They never told me we have that law.”

Instantly the apparition jutted his face directly into the startled President’s. “You must not respond,” he breathed.  “You must ignore what is written and reported regarding your administration. Never, never challenge the freedom of the press, to do so diminishes the office of chief executive, exposing you as petty and small.”

“But the Sedition Act says . . .” the President squeaked, unnerved.

“Is unconstitutional,” the visitor finished the sentence. “I, too, resented what appeared in the press, besmirching my personal life, and my family. However, I resolutely remained aloof to the reports. And so must you.” 

The visitor began to sound weary, worn by the conversation. “I once stated that if I had to choose among the freedoms enumerated in the First Amendment, I would preserve Freedom of the Press. With that liberty secure, all others are assured.

As the visitor finished his statement, he lifted his eyes to some mysterious point above, and vanished. 

Dismayed by the experience, the President scrambled up the stairs.

Gail Chumbley is the author of the two-part memoir “River of January,” and “River of January: Figure Eight.” Both books available on Kindle, or at http://www.river-of-january.com.

gailchumbley@gmail.com