Oh, he was such a cute boy, but that
was to be expected. His father was handsome, and had raised himself
from poverty to the head of that influential stock brokerage. His
mother, I learned later, was the daughter of that Senator, you know
the one. She was a heiress of one of those fabulous East Coast
families. I distinctly remember the first day of 2nd
grade, when his maid dropped him off in his pressed white golf pants
and navy blue collared shirt. She carried his bag into the main
office and one of the secretaries scuttled around the desk to carry
it down the hall to Oliver's classroom. Our teacher was as equally
deferential, always asking his opinion about our next project, or
offering him the first turn regardless of the activity. I often
watched authority accede to him as if his dad was in the room with
the checkbook open. One day (and this was only one of many) I saw
him bully a fellow student into handing over a homemade chocolate
cupcake. The victim knew he couldn't escape the unjust demand, and
yet he squirmed and twisted, trying to catch the eye of the teacher,
who just as determinedly avoided his attention. You wouldn't think
such a well clothed kid would want to dirty himself with vice, but if
no one notices, is it a crime?
You're not going to attach my name to
this, are you?
…
Yeah
Oliver was a pain to friend and foe alike, but he had to deal with
our parent's unwieldy expectations. It was easier for me. They
entertained old fashioned opinions about the careers of women. I was
a year younger, and watched Oliver's diligent attempts to fulfill our
parent's demands from the safety of girlhood. It was in Jr. High,
7th
grade, that he first felt the pressure of grades. There are three
kinds of kids in school; those who succeed without trying, those who
learn with work, and those whose who can't be taught. Oliver existed
in his own fourth category; the one where your parent's ensure you
graduate regardless of your potential. It stunted him. He tried his
best when he could, when our parents didn't stifle him. But they
handed him everything he wanted, and somethings he didn't care for,
on a silver platter. Whenever the school hosted a fundraiser, one of
those scams where each student has to sell cheap junk to hapless
family members, Oliver would inevitably emerge the victor. Dad
bought enough to ensure this honor. All the kids wanted to be in his
class for the pizza parties, birthday celebrations, and other events
earned by his winnings. It made him a lot of friends.
I love
you Oliver, now suck it!
…
Sure,
Oliver had an entourage of friends. Most of them were posers. I
would know, being his best friend. You can't ask him to confirm
this, of course, but you could ask them. Better not. They'd all
claim they were his best friend, and I'm the liar. But I stood by
him for the best, and the worst. Not that he had many bad days. He
was prom king twice, and people voted for him because he looked the
part, like the second coming of Adonis. Being the starting
Quarterback Senior year didn't hurt either. I mean, it hurt on the
field, because even his dad's money (which helped him secure the
position) couldn't create talent. There was a mild scandal, when his
team won their single victory, and we wondered if Oliver's dad bribed
the opposing coach. I know Oliver applied himself to those subjects
which interested him. When his parent's weren't paying for
achievements you could see his eyes light up with energy. But, as
his best friend, I visited his home a number of times, and the
overbearing opulence was like a nauseating mist. His parents loved
him, cared for him, but they couldn't see how their lifestyle wasn't
a positive environment for a teenager. His feelings of inadequacy,
both numbed and heightened by cash expenditures, led to the fight at
his last football game. I'd never seen him as angry as when he
attacked that other boy. And that anger led to another sort of
brutality.
We were
close, and we weren't too close, but sometimes he got too close...
…
History
was his favorite class, and I don't think it was just because I
taught it. His parents had conditioned him to dislike anything
without use, which was odd, because he never needed to earn another
cent for the remainder of his life. His parents wealth could supply
his wants and those of his children's children. He enjoyed the flow
of ideas in history, the untangling of cause and effect, and the
connective tissue which bound events together. He wasn't very good
at it, because he'd neglected his education for the first two decades
of his life, but I helped as best as I could, and if I assisted his
GPA as well as his understanding, I don't regret it. You meet a lot
of kids like him at these Ivy League schools. Kids paddling just to
stay afloat, because their parents supplied the appropriate gift to
the University. I know his father donated enough for to University
to get his name on the new gymnasium. We teachers are ready for
these students, because we also know we can't fail them. They have
to graduate with Honors, regardless of any lack of innate skill.
Oliver's only true skill was his figure. He drew admirers like Paris
drew the attention of goddesses. Clothed he was gorgeous, but when
nude he was radiant like the sun itself.
What,
how did I know? I think everyone knew once or twice.
…
Graduating
from a prestigious university with a good record isn't a guarantee of
a lucrative job, though it helps. More useful to attaining money is
the aid of well connected parents. It helped him dodge the draft
when he applied for some sort of convoluted college extension, even
though he was already searching for a job. That's were I met him, as
he was turning in a form requesting the University to shelter him
from the real world. I don't know what he liked about me, when he
could have had any other girl (and certainly did). Within weeks he
was connected with a bank, earning hundreds of thousands of dollars
for work which required no labor. We were married a year later. I
knew there would be problems, things I didn't like about Oliver, but
what could I do? Turn down the invitation of a well connected
multi-multi millionaire? Even if I didn't love him then, and I did,
I would have done it. It was his wish, his command, and there was no
gainsaying his desires, which I found to my displeasure. I can look
back on our relationship with a hint glee because I inflicted on him
his singular wound, though it was astonishingly minor. I divorced
him, creating a blemish, which didn't reach the level of scandal I'd
hoped. Sure, he kept all the money, and the control of the children,
a boy and girl, but I removed a small sliver of his self assurance in
the process.
In
reality I know I caused him no pain, because he was incapable of
reflection.
…
Oliver
once told me he viewed his divorce as the luckiest thing which ever
happened to him, because he kept his money, held his children, and
met me. We had already met, but his separation freed us to start a
family. With my encouragement, and his innate vision, Oliver
undertook to expand the family fortune. With the assistance of his
father, and his own contacts, Oliver started an oil company. With
hard work, and a helpful blind eye from regulators, he built it into
the empire known internationally. He expected his employees to
replicate his work ethic, and accepted no excuse. Men who couldn't
meet his expectations were publicly shamed and promptly fired. I
once witnessed Oliver screaming at a subordinate that questioned his
decision. And the press records, that he called strikers, “dirty
commies” and said they should be hung for treason was true, though
he denied it. I know it was true, because he said much worse to me
in the comfort of our home. He broke that strike, and the two others
that followed. Each time we celebrated with month long vacations to
Paris, the Bahamas, and Rome. I felt vacations were a hassle, but he
loved them. When he wasn't on vacation or at work, he was in
Washington. He helped write legislation to receive subsidies for his
company, to fight costly regulations which would hurt the consumer,
to reduce taxes on the wealthy, and to prevent minimum wage
increases. D.C. loved him. His promise to donate half of his wealth
by his death produced adoring pieces in the national press. A
significant chunk went to non-profits supporting his favorite
policies, while some went to easing the pain of the masses and
assuaging their misguided anger. He was so happy when the President
awarded him the Presidential Medal of Freedom for his philanthropy.
It
convinced him he was meant for greater things.
…
Grandpa
was a great man, that's what my parents taught me. They said he
loved me very much, though he wasn't good at showing it. Last year,
just before I started 5th
grade, he bought me the newest phone so I can talk to my friends all
the time. We'd been seeing him less since the war started. Mom and
Dad were upset that he voted to support it, but they loved him and
supported his decision to send young boys to die in a far away land.
We went to see him a few days before. He looked like he always did.
Standing tall, proud, and strong. He looked me over, and gave me a
hug, before turning to my parents. My grandparents parents arrived
for dinner, which we ate in the second dinning room, and after desert
I was sent to bed while they talked. No one knew anything was
wrong.
We are going to capital for his funeral tomorrow.
…
Senator
Oliver Alexander Francis died last night peacefully at the
respectable age of 71. Born as the scion of two powerful American
families he was raised with happiness as his permanent companion.
His family loved him from the beginning, and by the end of his life
strangers would speak his name with awe. As a child he was cute, and
earned good grades, a rare combination. In high school he grew into
a handsomeness so profound many called him the Apollo of his
generation. He led his high school football team as quarterback, but
switched to track at college. During his four years he met his
future wife and graduated with Honors. Upset that he wasn't drafted
to fight in the war he found work to improve the lot of all
Americans, as a stock broker, building retirement savings for the
less fortunate. Married at twenty-five, he found time to raise three
adoring and respected children of his own, and founded his oil
company at thirty-one. At forty-five he was betrayed by his wife,
but found solace in the love of Ms. Carol Dyer, the wealthy daughter
of the Senator. They married a year later and had one son. After
donating prolifically to institutions to cure cancer, he was awarded
the Presidential Medal of Freedom. This inspired him to enter
politics, and he won his first Senate seat at sixty. He led the
charge for the successful invasion of the nation's enemy during his
second term, because as he said, “I was disappointed I couldn't
serve America in my youth with my body. I want other men to have the
opportunity I was denied.” Maintaining his athletic figure and
handsome stature he was a feature of Capital Hill until his death.
With no known cause, doctors assure the public that he died
painlessly with happiness at his bedside. The President has said his
body will lay in state in the United States Capitol rotunda in
recognition for his great service to the country. Senator Oliver
Francis is survived by his mother and father, brother and sister,
three children, and ten grandchildren.
We
despair that such a great statesman was taken from us too early, but
as the Bible says, “He who heeds the word wisely
will find good, and whoever trusts in the LORD, happy is he.”
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