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Strolling down memory lane I stop and stare with amazement-as though these were ancient ruins-across the street where is the entrance gate beyond which are the four snake roads (sort of), each leading to their respective exhibit; namely, The Executive Exhibit, The Capitol Exhibit, The Judiciary Exhibit and The Intelligence and Military Exhibits; all of which comprise our great National Asylum-the expansiveness of which is, I daresay, quite impressive. Who woulda thunk there’d ever be a combination asylum and live (sort of) museum? I had never been here when it was what it was before. The inmates inside, hard as it may be to believe these days, actually dictated policy for us all such it made our lives utterly miserable. In retrospect, I suspect the problem was not so much that these inmates took themselves seriously as they did, but rather that we, ourselves, took them seriously. That is, the inmates had created a pedestal for themselves and we (at least, most of us) bought it and went so far as to idolize them. I know this is a particularly tough pill to swallow, however, I most firmly feel this is a good deal closer to the truth. Then again, we must never forget the argument that they would never have been able to pull off half their shinannigans without first having compromised our wellbeing by way of fluoridating our drinking water, vaccinating or otherwise drugging the bejesus out of us, poisoning our foods, the imposition of taxes for this, that and the other and, for good measure, setting loose the police/military thugs to keep disenchanted members of the population in line, etc., etc., etc. And so, these inmates (or patients, if you will) were not entirely without resources. So many things they had at their disposal. They did all this and more, one may imagine, out of fear of the population as well as just for kicks. It is truly incredible the havoc they’d wrought on our society. Yet, the utmost sobriety is necessary in our circumspection here lest we ascribe attributes to them they, themselves, have never been worthy of. That is to say, they were, indeed, merely following orders. Ergo, left to their own devices they would never have found employment.
And so, now in my eighties, feeling robust as ever (which means I can still get a woody), I feel so much alive and privileged to be here. I have for years only fantasized of making this, my own pilgrimage. Alas! Here I am! Truly amazing, it is. It has been said time and again, you know, one can spend many, many years in just one of the exhibits and still not see all there is to see in that one exhibit. Wow! Imagine! I have been told, further, if I remain still, quiet and patient long enough I may just be so fortunate to catch a glimpse of one or two of the inmates inside venturing to and fro’- if I’m lucky. Otherwise, it would be necessary for me to buy a visiting pass in order to gain access to the interior and get gander of these buggers up close. This is not a problem, of course, since it is not terribly expensive; however, the visitors (it is necessary there be separate groups in order to maintain the illusion the inmates are still in charge-for their own good, really) must agree to feign to represent notable interested parties from whatnot village, city, state, concern, etc., here to demand a resolution to this, that or another grievance. Usually, said grievance(s) pertain to stuff like social disturbances (it is reported they are quite good at addressing those-mostly talk, of course), tariffs or taxes being too high, expenses for the military, intelligence and such. Whatever the issue, it would be pre-determined for that day by the heads of staff of the Asylum. The theme or issue, if you will, is then presented to the prospective visitors for review with the stipulation that, in the event a given prospective visitor does not agree to the terms presented, said visitor may not be allowed access into the Asylum. Types of grievance(s) presented are non-negotiable. Most visitors agree, of course, since many consider it a thrill to have a listen at these characters. Back in the day, I had always felt they were a sad waste of taxpayer money. Presently, it appears they do fulfill some purpose.
It was only a matter of time, you understand, before that old house of cards would come tumbling down. That said, they were not stupid; just insane and most ingenious in getting the population to participate in their games (or, do we have Madison Avenue to thank for that?). Regardless, they deserve more credit than that. Hence, aware of the disenchantment prevalent across the land, they undertook precautionary measures to ward off the prospect of any oncoming assaults by issuing each member of the house and senate who felt so-inclined surface-to-air missiles and other sure-kill weapons, placing barricades round each of the branches, the placement of approximately one gazillion military/police guards round said barriers/branches. However, not wanting to engage in any major bloodbath, the strategy was to merely seal them inside-which included the secret underground tunnels leading to as well as from the area. The incredibly adept hackers assisting in this endeavor disarmed the surface-to-air and other stuff and the rest is history. That’s pretty much it, I guess.
Next, there was the problem of how to contain them, if that were at all possible. Suggestions such as fluoridating their drinking water, vaccinating and/or, otherwise drugging the bejesus out of them, poisoning their food (not a lot, mind you-just enough to render them docile), subjecting them to electro-shock therapy (assuming ‘therapy’ is the proper word here). My suggestion was to round up the most criminally offensive of the lot, line them up against a wall and have them shot without ceremony. However, an overwhelming majority within our camp were in possession of something what’s called a conscience and it was, thus, decided to avoid any of the more unsavory suggestions. To everyone’s astonishment, however, it turned out the bulk of those occupying the Congress and Senate as well as those in the Executive and Judiciary sectors, were truly delusional and/or under some sort of trance. In fact, if memory serves there was round this time widespread speculation something referred to as “Field Level MK-ULTRA” was already in full swing; that the so-called Manchurian Candidate of the past was no longer a lone nut who surfaced once in a while at critical moments, but was now abundantly everywhere, including inside the government. This would, thus, explain the view in some circles this country was really being run by aliens from outer space. And so, without that much difficulty the majority of these inmates were persuaded they could continue with business as usual-as if they actually could. The remaining bare handful who were, more or less, in possession of their own faculties saw no point in staying on and were, then, granted temporary stay at the Watergate place…
And so, visitors know enough to feign interest in whatever it is the inmates (still thinking they’re in charge) have to say and/or represent; pretend to be in awe of their presence and periodically stand up and most ostentatiously applaud when the inmates are making a speech-they really love that, I’m told.
So far, I’ve been standing here for several minutes and I’ve seen nothing, save for the crowd forming a line at the front of the gate to buy passes and an occasional security patrol inside the compound driving one of those miniature vehicles. But, that is okay. I am in no particular hurry. If I can keep from paying the required fifteen bucks for the inside peek, fine. Once, if memory serves, a tourist actually caught on film a whole flock of them-from both political parties, mind you-stoically marching toward one or the other of the exhibits; the purpose of which, well, is anybody’s guess. I forget the tourist’s name, but for a short spell he was quite popular.
At this point I hear a voice close by say, “You know, there’s talk of having it shut down.”
Absolutely stunned, I ever-so-slowly and apprehensively turn into the direction from which the voice came to find this elderly women (older than me) with a warm and very friendly, yet sad, smile.
“What?” I ask, trying hard to contain myself. I don’t know why this hit me so hard. “Yes,” she said, “apparently, they want to do something else with the area; this, even though the number of visitors have not diminished. There’s always a crowd.”
I can’t believe it. Just when I finally make my way here, they mean to shut the place down. That’s the very story of my life, I guess. I turn again to say something to her (I don’t recall what) to find she’d gone. Where’d she go? I looked all around and, for the life of me, she was nowhere in sight. Was she an apparition? Yes, that was it, I tried convincing myself. I only imagined her. Maybe they’re not closing it down, after all. I reach into my pockets to grab some cash. I’ll pay for the tour. I don’t mind.
“Mr. Velez?” I hear a man’s cheerful voice. I turn to see a man in a suit and tie (tie loosened, top shirt unbuttoned) standing by the curb next to a two door, front passenger side open. He is probably in his thirties or forties; at my age it becomes difficult to tell. He may as well be in his teens. “I’m Walt Hanson,” he said. “We spoke over the phone. Good of you to come."
I don’t know why I came, but they offered to pay for the trip and I was not especially occupied at the moment. And I did want to see at least one of the exhibits.
“Hello,” I offer back, “thanks for the invite.”
“If you’d like, we’ll give you a free pass to any or all of them; but, I gotta warn you, you wouldn’t be able to see them all-even if you wanted to.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that. And, yeah! I understand it’s a pretty big place.”
“Now, there’s an understatement,” he said, stepping forward onto the sidewalk, extending a friendly open hand.
“Greg, please,” I say jovially as we engage a firm handshake. It is unusual for me to offer up so readily, however I have an immediate sense of his genuine sincerity.
“Greg, call me Walt.” he said, motioning toward the car. “It’s just a few minutes’ ride. We’ll talk better at the office.”
There was nothing in the way of small talk on the way. He drove, I rode shutgun. I did want to bring up the subject of the Asylum’s future, but felt it best to wait till we’d reached his office to ask. The ride took no longer than five minutes. We parked outside a one-story structure which took up the entire block. Obviously, it could only serve as an office or any type of working place-not a residence. Designed obviously along the utilitarian motif, the interior was, to my surprise, decorated with some very beautiful paintings from various periods which hung on multi-colored walls; nothing drab. As we passed the reception area and walked along a short corridor, Walt greeted certain of the staff going to and fro’. They were dressed casually; some with jeans and sneakers; one or two even wore shorts. It appeared to be a relatively stress-free environment. Wow! I wouldn’t mind working here.
Now, we stepped into what was evidently a conference room with a long, well-shellacked wood table and several cushioned chairs all around. On top and center of the table were some cold cuts of sliced cheese, salami, roast beef, rye and another type of bread, some fruits and what were pitchers of water and some kind of juice or tea.
“Feel free to help yourself, Greg,” Walt said, motioning towards the goods.
“Thanks. I’m good for now,” I said, taking a seat. I wasn’t hungry and more interested in getting to the point of my visit here. Perhaps sensing what was on my mind, Walt went right on to business.
“We’re closing down the Asylum,” he said smiling, though apparently aware of my apprehension. We’re closing down the Asylum. His voice had weight to it; hence, the decision had already been made as a result of some deliberation well prior to my arrival here.
“Not straightaway, of course,” he said after a short pause. “It’s going to be done in increments. That’s why we asked you to be here.”
Alas! The truth comes out.
“I cannot image what it is I can do to help,” I said.
Now holding manila folder in his hand and opening it, “We have here your approval to be willing to render service when called upon.”
“To be honest, I never thought you actually would.”
“Everyone plays a part. We all do our bit. We need you.” He said. “Come on. We could sure use you on board. You’re perfect for this. You have room, board and a stipend.”
“You’re actually going to shut it down.”
“Well, not exactly. See, just as what used to be the Pentagon is now a housing complex, we have similar designs for the old Mall. The setup, such as it is, was never intended as something permanent. It’s all been strictly temporary.”
“What about the inmates or patients or whatever they are? I’ve never been clear on their status.”
“That is where we need you. You can help us phase them out of there and into different accommodations; surely, nothing quite so expansive as what they have now. Tell me, are you still in favor of lining them up against the wall and shooting them unceremoniously?”
“Uh, well, uh. . .I’m sure you’re aware most in our lot are in possession of this thing called a conscience and, well, uh. . .come to find out, I, uh, am also in possession of such.” What a hard statement that was for me to make and an incredible load off my back, eyes welling up, tightening of the throat and all!
Again, Walt breaks up with a knowing smile and, with a dismissing wave of the hand, “Don’t sweat it, Greg. I understand. Fact is I happen to be in possession of one of those myself. Trust me on this, Greg, I’ve tried and tried, but just can’t seem to shake it off.”
Go figure.
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