Kings and Presidents First: The Life and Times of Caleb Donelson
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  Kings and Presidents First: The Life and Times of Caleb Donelson
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Author Topic: Kings and Presidents First: The Life and Times of Caleb Donelson  (Read 628 times)
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« on: January 21, 2014, 10:27:47 PM »

The cool air brushed up against Caleb Donelson as he sat alone, smoking a cigarette out on the porch of the run-down shack he called a home. "Hain't you going to come to bed, Caleb?" Called a soft voice from behind. Caleb didn't flinch. He just kept staring on out into the dusty, barren Earth which led up to his (and the woman calling him, his young wife, Claire's) home. She stood with her eyes transfixed on the man who'd proposed to her only months before, watching, waiting for a response.

"I'll be in in just a minute." He responded, inhaling deeply.

"Caleb," she paused, "is somethin' wrong? Did somethin' happen today?"

"I'm fine." He responded, taking another drag as she nodded, turning away.

"I...I'll leave the light on for you." Dropping her head and turning, she walked on inside, closing the door behind her.

He just kept staring off into the distance. Today he'd been given notice that he was being let go by the textile mill that helped pay the bills and put a roof over his head. For three years he'd been working there, ever since he was old enough to be legally employed in the state of Tennessee. And after all the long hours, after all the hard work, there he was. Tossed out. Thrown away. Done in. All because of this "Depression" everybody kept talking about.

He hadn't the guts to tell Claire yet. He was unsure if he'd ever have the guts. He was unsure about a lot of things these days, and she was one of them. She was expecting. She hadn't told him yet, but he knew it. He'd figured it out awhile back. And this, on top of that...it was just too much. Caleb was weighing his options out in the dark. Would he pull the pistol he'd laid on the ground when he came outside up from the dust and use it to end it all, right then and there? Or would he take what money he had and make a run for it? Get away from it all, start somewhere new? He'd heard there were jobs elsewhere, of course. Up north. Good jobs that paid well. He could go up North, start a new life, and leave this one behind.

Caleb put out his cigarette and reached down, picking up the pistol he'd brought to do the deed, if need be. He opened the chamber and checked it to make sure the gun was loaded before tucking it into his pants. Adjusting his suspenders and picking up the brown coat which lay behind him, he stood up and walked towards the pickup truck parked in his dusty driveway. Reaching down in the bed of the truck, he picked up a burlap bag, bulging with what little cash, clothes, and cigarettes he could carry. Opening the truck itself, he'd grab a cap and throw it on, too, before lighting up another cigarette and beginning his walk down that dusty road.

The wind picked up as Caleb made his way down the road, picking up the bits of discarded paper and garbage and moving it further on down. Caleb trampled much of it underfoot, however, but paused for a moment as his boot fell upon a ragged newspaper.

PRESIDENT-ELECT ROOSEVELT SLAIN BY GUNMAN IN MIAMI said the headline, marked February 16, 1933. "I sure as hell hope whoever takes his spot fixes all this," Caleb muttered between drags, letting up as the paper fluttered on into the night.
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Cathcon
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« Reply #1 on: January 28, 2014, 01:29:39 PM »

Cool. If you're so inclined, keep it up.
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« Reply #2 on: January 28, 2014, 02:02:35 PM »

Thanks man! I'll probably work on an update tomorrow on my day off. Smiley
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« Reply #3 on: January 29, 2014, 07:22:17 PM »

January 29, 2014
6:02 p.m. CST
Morton School of Social Science
Chicago, Ill.


Vernon Martinez walked like a man possessed into the wide open lecture hall, almost dropping his brief case as he turned to greet the class. "Good evening, comrades. I hope you have all read the syllabus I iMailed* you and have gotten the correct textbook for this course." He sit his briefcase on the wooden table before him and turned to the screen on the wall behind him. "As I hope you know, my name is Vernon Martinez, and I'll be your instructor for this course. You can call me Comrade Martinez, Comrade Vernon, Brother Vernon, Brother Martinez, or if you're feeling especially bourgeois, you can go with Vern."

The class laughed as Martinez cracked a smile. "Alright then," he paused, hitting the electronic, touch-screen screen on the wall behind him, bringing up a presentation, "this class is, of course, American Politics since the Great War. In this class, we will analyze the development of the class struggle in the United States since the conclusion of the Great War. Topics will include, but will not be limited to the decline of the Socialist Party in the 1920s, the destruction of the Fourth Party System heralded by President McKinley's election in 1896, the rise of the Socialist-Farmer-Labor Party to national prominence in the 1930s and 1940s, and of course subsequent developments in the 1950s and onward."

"Now," Martinez paused, "can anyone tell me what any of this means to us today? Why should you or I care about the Socialist-Farmer-Labor Party of the 1930s?"

An African-American male raised his hand, "Because it's not over. And we need to know where we're coming from to see where we're going."

"Exactly." Martinez smiled and nodded. "It's not over yet. I'm 53 years old. I can remember a time in this country when there was, more or less, peace between this nation and the Soviet Union. That's not the case anymore, though. Today we are in a state of Cold War. It is a contest to see who will blink first. It is ultimately a contest for which we all may forfeit our lives. And it is, by and large, the result of internal disagreements over the direction that the international working class movement should take. Today we have a bunch of parties in the United States, all of them more or less more left-leaning than those in previous generations. Sure, we have the Democratic-Republican Party, but even those guys have basically accepted economic planning, for conservative ends, of course. But even discounting the Democratic-Republican Party, there's still Socialist-Farmer-Labor representing the reformist left and the Communists, representing a revolutionary left that takes more of a page from Trotsky than it does the present Soviet society."

"Which is not to say the class struggle has ceased in the United States," Martinez paused, "far from it. One can argue that it is now more intense than it ever has been. Which is why you are all here. The Morton School of Social Science is supposed to train you, to help you, to go out into the world and help advance the cause of the international working class movement. Whether you do that in the SFL, as a member of the Communist Party, a trade unionist, or as a member of the Green Party matters little to me. What matters is that you take what you have learned here and put it into action."

"Now, I think I've gone off on enough of a spiel here. Let's get started with a quote from Comrade Caleb Donelson. . ."
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« Reply #4 on: February 06, 2014, 07:15:13 PM »

Quite the dystopia you lay out. I'd live to see more.
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