I am not driving, usually, but had no choice, yesterday...Earth Day, of all days to burn gasoline. Perhaps regular readers might recall that I changed up my work schedule just after midterms. I did not have too; nobody made me.
I did my old Thursday on Monday.
National Security...Counter Intelligence, Organized Crime; call it what you want because you pay the bills. I’m leaking, politely, because I can. I’m breathing until I can’t.
I’m using up all of my White privilege; pissing it away like a abolitionist, leaking out the trade secrets of the invisible empire. The MIC has moved on. Me too. We both outgrew the cloak and dagger era, the Goldman Saxification of HR...revenge will only get any one shofar.
My office for 22 years was on Ramshorn Drive, not on Fort Monmouth property, and neither was Charlie’s. Charlie worked out of Pine Ridge, and was the best in the business: he may have been the best ever.
I squeezed in the back door, at the end of Charlie’s career. His many decades of service began during Prohibition, before radar. Horses and Pigeons were more important then. Charlie had to hire thousands. He sold sporting goods out of his basement. He made sales calls to local schools, he was not very successful. The locals called him Charlie no Profit. He was humble, and church going. None of us kids who knew everything suspected he was the chief of civilian personnel. I never called him Charlie, I called him Captain Charlie, before he was a captain, when I started working for him in 1972.
The MIC...our end of it, any way, is the razor’s edge. The cutting edge, fair but cruel. Your phone bills and tax dollars and our sweat equity got US from former colony to superpower. I was wiping balls on the sideline and taping ankles before games at fourteen, preferring my Scout Uniform to shoulder pads, until I got good enough to shoot pictures...all in my freshman year.
I do HR now, but never was the chief or captain of any government operation. I teach Counter Intelligence, and field operations, in the field. I worked yesterday, I drove, fearlessly optimistic.
I’m leaking, and that’s that. I did fifteen of my forty seven years in public affairs. I know my stuff. I’m leaking because I call my own shots. I don’t work for Trump or Pelosi. I’m a contractor. I work for the people who pay me. They is US. Is leaking bad for business? Mostly, yes.
Is impeachment bad for business? Is regulation bad for business? Is the rule of law bad for business? Is genocide bad for business?
Today, I am not driving. The Red Rocket is road ready, and 2020 is coming around the mountain. Strength through peace. I’m running on that, not as a Democrat, but as a survivor of American Fascism, a party of one. I’m not fighting, I’m riding my old bike down from the double wide to the bayside. I’ll peddle my message until someone else does.
Charlie rode his old bike to the boat, his boat, that he kept at my mother’s house on the estuary until he got rid of it. He wore a straw hat. I had an office there too, and I’d help him if he asked, no charge. I don’t think my mother charged him to keep the boat there either. Charlie no prophet?
I’m leaking here, History...National Security history. Old news. I’m sorry that I cannot share more. I’m a historian, but was not a historian when Charlie died. I was telling stories in his living room, it was raining. I had practically grown up there, on that floor, watching Star Trek in color.
I know my stuff. We know our stuff, and yours too. Strength through peace. We are diverse, prepared, and I am not driving, I’m letting the kids drive. I’m riding the old bike with my Nike dryfit cap...no straw. It’s windy down there, and I’m doing about twenty five down the hill, a straw hat just won’t do.
I’m twenty four years younger than Charlie was when he died, I know that I’m not going to live as long as he did. He survived D day...earned a bronze star. I did not know that until he died. Charlie never leaked. I leak. Im no Snowden, or Manning, I’m no Charlie. I represent the cutting edge, from the razor’s edge. We all want to go home tonight, but not all of us will. We volunteered, some for better reasons than others. I was just fifteen, and wrong, and I admit it. I’ve grown up, and old...I know better now; I teach better now. I taught well yesterday. I made it home alive. The Red Rocket is ready for 2020. I will try hard to make it, too.
Whatever happens, I got the midterms I wanted. I’m standing down, not backing off. I can do wait and see. I’m going to do what I do...what I have been doing, just less. What’s your plan?