Fiction
Rally Speech
“Hello and thank you for coming today. We must stand up to this abomination—”
“Sit down!” Matt Broader shouted.
“Go back to Montana!” Winnie Everrs added.
Christian Cross took a beat to acknowledge his fellow protesters, but in that beat, he wondered why the opposition treated him more civilly than some of those on his side of the abortion debate.
“This clinic opened this week despite the Supreme Court’s decision rescinding Roe v. Wade—”
Moderate applause. A good sign.
“That put our great state’s trigger ban into effect—”
“You screwed that up!” Harold Dodsworth yelled.
“YEAH!” A large minority voiced their agreement.
“I will crisscross the state—”
“You’ve sure did!” Agatha Bingham yelled. The crowd’s laughter signaled support for her sarcasm.
“And that’s why we have to be here!” Dodsworth, again. The crowd started resembling an angry mob.
“I’ll take it from here, Chris.” Manny Fielding, Save-Our-Babies’ co-organizer, shouldered himself in front of the microphone. “Let’s gave thanks to Chris who’s given so much of his time and resources to fight for our unborn children’s right to life.”
Silence as Chris exited the makeshift platform.
“The clinic will open in fifteen or so minutes. We are here to discourage …”
Chris carried his “Save Our Babies” sign to a nearby bus bench. Pat Morgensen, an eighty year old liberal sat on one side and rested her arm on her “Our Bodies Our Choice” sign. He gestured to the open seat. She nodded.
Long ago, decades perhaps, they both agreed that there was no reason to bring personal animosity into their disagreements, and they disagreed on so many things. Disagreements did not prevent them from kind acts. A pro-life protester once kicked her water bottle out to the street where a car ran over it. He fetched a spare water bottle from his truck. The bottle had “Let The Unborn Live” printed on it. He found a small paper bag and put the bottle in it. When she saw the logo, she furrowed her brow as if to say, ‘How dare you?’ He shrugged his shoulders to reply, ‘What? You expect me to have a Pro-Choice bottle?’
Despite the tension in their disputes, he felt comfortable sitting next to her. Just two seasoned champions taking a pause before rejoining their struggles. A news photographer asked them demonstrate a little. They looked at the photographer, then at each other. Snap. They chuckled.
Chris returned to his thoughts. He wondered how things had got to this point. Why are so many young conservatives like, Dodsworth, Boarder and Bingham, so disrespectful to him, and frankly to so many people? When did his beloved Republican policies degenerate to uncivil treatment of fellow Americans? How did he get here?
Humble Origins
Jose Baptiste de la Cruz seemed born to put things together. At the age of three, he stacked his toys into a replica of the Bicardi Building. His mother scraped together as many stray LEGO bricks as she could. Jose constructed every building showed him on walks or in photographs. When he was five, he gathered driftwood and scrap lumber which he cobbled into chairs and tables to help his mother pay bills.
After his twelfth birthday, revolution took Jose’s mother from him. He returned from his scavenges and found her bed soaked in blood. He remembered little from his brief period of mourning.
“Soldiers gave you life, sabrino; soldiers took hers,” Aunt Yari consoled.
“Not soldiers.” Uncle Ismel stomped his foot. “Damned revolutionaries.”
Jose figured he’d have time to grieve later. He salvaged wood from the house and shed and built a boat. He spent the next day selling most of his possessions for food, a lawnmower and petrol. He converted the lawnmower engine into a makeshift outboard motor, and he crafted a few paddles just in case.
Florida was, roughly, north of his village. At night, he navigated by the north star. He guided his boat a little to the left. If he missed Florida to the right, he would die in the Atlantic, but if he missed to the left, he would still hit America. During the day, the morning sun was to his right, the afternoon sun to his left. His grandfather’s pocket watch helped him stay on course.
Jose didn’t know lawnmower engines were not designed to run continuously. He routed the fuel line too close. On the second day, the overheated engine caught fire and threatened to consume the entire boat. He sacrificed a paddle to lever it off.
Navigating while paddling proved difficult. He veered further left than he thought and landed in Alabama. Three days later, Hurricane Florence swept through damaging several buildings. Jose went to work fixing up houses and other structures. One of the contractors took note of his ingenuity and said he had work for him in Louisiana.
Jose kept finding work and moved from state to state. He bought a beat-up F-100 pickup truck and followed work which generally led him north. Near Billings Montana, he met Maggie Schmidt at a church event.
Maggie Schmidt considered herself average, or so she told Jose. She wished for only a few things in life: to serve God as taught by her church, to be fruitful and to raise her offspring to be Jesus loving Catholics.
Jose spent his last dollar buying a small lot and building Maggie a house just outside of town. Despite her parents objections and admonishments, they married a month later. Before their first anniversary, Maggie bore Jose a son. He wanted to name his child Jesus, but Maggie convinced him Christian would be a better choice. Since Jose provided the surname, Jose agreed to Maggie’s choices for the other two. Christian Mark de la Cruz was baptized a month later.
Transformative Years
Jose got to celebrate Christian’s first birthday, but a construction crane accident prevented him from Christian’s second.
The I beam suspended by the crane crashed into the administrative trailer killing Chris, a bookkeeper and the site manager.
Maggie’s parents refused to take her back in with her half Cuban son. Christian’s skin color seemed more than pale enough for him to be accepted as white, but her parents feared it would resemble his father’s as the child matured.
Desperate, Maggie took the bookkeeper job at the construction site. The new site manager, Robert Cross, arrived a week later towing a battered admin trailer behind his Chevrolet 3100 pickup truck.
The first weeks were rough. Maggie cried at her desk after Robert fired her for incompetency. A carpentry supervisor set him straight, and Robert rescinded her dismissal, but required her to work extra hours as there was much needed to get the project back on track.
Church members watched Chris during the day. On work evenings, they brought him to his mother along with her dinner. A few included extra portions for Robert.
“Thank you very much,” he thanked Mrs. Jenson before taking his meal into his office.
Maggie asked Glenda Jenson to pray with her, and they prayed. Robert shut the door. Later, after a few more meals were delivered, Maggie asked why he did not join them in prayer to give thanks to The Lord for His gracious bounty.
“Bounty comes from hard work, and I don’t have time for this.” Robert returned to his office.
Robert and Maggie became an effective team. Robert showed the same ingenuity and resourcefulness Jose had. He laid out the work making efficient use of materials and men. Well, almost, he treated the men like cogs, and they resented it. Maggie smoothed ruffled feathers and explained Robert’s reasons for doing things in particular ways.
“Why do you coddle them like that?”
“Treat a man like a mule, and they’ll become as stubborn as mules and twice as hard to move”
“Hmmm.”
In the mornings, Robert went over the day’s work plans before going out to check on something or another. Maggie relayed work assignments with crew chiefs and supervisors. After settling the books, Maggie began walking around the construction site. She checked up on the assignments, answered questions as best she could, relayed the questions she could not answer to Robert, and got to know several of tradesmen working at the site.
Even after the chaos subsided, Maggie and Robert still ate dinners together. Robert would take Maggie and Chris out to the local diner or Maggie would leave the site an hour early and prepare dinner at home.
As community sympathy to the widow waned, Maggie started bring Chris to work with her. Sometimes, Robert would watch over him. On one return from walking the site, she walked in on Robert showing Chris how LEGO bricks click together. Chris watched in fascination and held a couple bricks in his hands. Maggie recalled Jose’s plans to teach Chris how to build things. The LEGOs were one of the few things he brought from Cuba. Here was Robert filling in for her late husband. It was too soon. Chris was more likely to swallow one of the bricks than to snap two of them together.
When Robert first arrived, he slept on a cot in his office. After a dinner at Maggie’s he seemed too tired to drive. Maggie let him sleep on the sofa and made him breakfast in the morning. Robert slept well and expressed a desire for better sleeping arrangements. Maggie moved Chris into her room and charged Robert a modest rent.
Maggie liked the way Robert played with Chris. He crafted wooden versions of common tools like a hammers, pliers, wrenches, screw drivers and a ruler. He also helped Chris make LEGO bridges resembling the one at the construction site.
A few months later, Robert estimated the bridge project would soon be complete. Though business in Billings was robust, she could not find a bookkeeping job. She could become a bank teller with some training or a waitress at the diner. Neither place would let her bring Chris to work, so there would be additional expenses. She expressed her concerns to Robert who asked if she would like come with him to Bozeman for his next project.
Maggie sold her house and bought an Airstream travel trailer and a camper shell for the Ford. Father Carlson married them before they left town.
Maggie bore Robert two daughters, Danielle and Noreen, and a son, Paul. They settled into a home in Helena where Robert ran his own construction company. Robert never adopted Chris, but he treated him like a son in every respect. He also taught everything he knew about construction.
In the 1960’s, Robert switched his political alliance from Democrat to Republican. He couldn’t believe the party of Lincoln better represented his interests, but the other party seemed intent on coddling to blacks, Mexican’s and unions. “Have enough trouble with those types at work. Can’t see giving my hard earned money to those who want to make my life harder.” On other occasions, he exclaimed, “if we have to have a government, it should work to protect what we’ve built.” Robert never explained that statement. Chris thought he meant the things he constructed like roads, bridges and office buildings. Maggie knew him better. She thought he meant his company. After several hospital bed conversations, Paul believed Robert was more concerned about the Bill of Rights and individual liberties. By that time, Robert ceased identifying as a Republican, preferring Libertarians.
In the 1960’s and 70’s, Maggie read about the exploits of Catholic priests in New York and Pennsylvania. They supported several activists and are rumored to have participated in the burglary of an FBI office and the dissemination of several damning documents. Maggie scrimped, saved and gave some of Robert’s hard earned money to liberal causes. She drew the line, however, at women’s groups who supported abortion rights. She remained steadfast on Catholic teachings.
After his eighteenth birthday, Maggie wanted Chris to stay at home, but Chris wanted to be like Robert: strong, fiercely independent and proven capable of tackling the world with his skills, wit and belief in himself.
Unlike Robert, who never believed in much in God or church, Chris remained a devout Catholic. He attended Sunday Mass, all days of obligation and prayed every morning before work. He believed God would keep him on the straight and narrow.
He found work in town because he was well known in the construction industry. He wanted to venture out. Robert gave him a C-10 pickup and his mother gave him the old Airstream. He saw an advertisement for skilled tradesmen, and ventured to Montana City.
A verbal interview went well until the personnel manager looked at his application. Though he pointed out three misspelled words, Chris knew his surname cost him the job. The same thing happened in Missoula where Chris made sure no words were misspelled. In Billings, his surname added to his hirability as a couple supervisors remembered his father. Once he started working, his knowledge and skills garnered approval. He was a chip off his father’s shoulder but with added construction business savvy from his step-father. He worked three housing projects there.
Before he left, he legally changed his name to Cross.
“Virtually the same,” the court clerk commented.
Chris wrote home and explained his name change. His mother said Robert understood, but they both wanted him to remember his real father.
Chris worked hard for five years. He found working for oil companies in Wyoming lucrative. After consulting with Robert, Chris started his own construction company. As a subcontractor, Chris anticipated huge returns, but, almost immediately, his company fell behind.
While Robert, and even his mother, always enjoyed their worker’s respect. Chris’s first crew said “yes” to his face, but tasks weren’t finished on time or at all. He checked his employee’s references, and they all attested to competence and work ethic.
“They’re testing you, seeing what kind of man you are.” Robert related some of his first experiences as a manager and company owner. “I fired three my first week. Then I was fired. I couldn’t replace them. My deliverables fell way behind. I tried doing the work myself, but then I fell behind in my reports.”
“What should I do?”
“Tell you what. I’m going to send you some of my guys. You can use them for a while to stabilize your crew, but don’t fire anyone right away.”
“Why not? I know your guys. They’re best.”
“Yeah, I made them that way, but they have lives here in Montana. If any want to stay with, fine. But here’s the thing. They’ll get to know your guys. They’ll find out what’s happening, and they’ll tell you what you need to do.”
“Who’s payroll will they on?”
“Yours, of course.”
“I don’t know if I can afford that right now. I’m just starting out.”
“I’ll float you any loan you need. This may be the most valuable business lesson of your life.”
“Thanks, dad.”
“It’s okay, Chris. I want to see you succeed. Tell you what, I send you Sturges. You remember Sturges. You worked with him once or twice.”
“He taught me welding.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You listen to Sturges. He wont steer you wrong.”
A week later, Nile Compton, Leonard Sturges and five other of his father’s crew showed up for work. They came from different disciplines: Carpentry, masonry, heavy machine operators and welding. Two days later, Sturges took Chris out for dinner.
“Well?”
“They respect your knowledge, but they don’t respect you.”
“What?”
“They call you Robot behind your back and they call themselves your drones.”
“My lazy drones. I –”
“– have the wrong attitude.” Sturges slapped the table. “Back home, we all knew you were a momma’s … dedicated to your mother, so we didn’t take it out on you. You were also Bob’s boy. Here, they don’t know you, and you didn’t do anything to get to know them.”
“I interviewed them, I know –”
“– you know what they are and what they can do for you. Do you know when Ken’s girlfriend left him? How much money Tyler sends home to help his pa? What do you know?”
“All those other places I worked, I didn’t delve into people’s personal lives.”
“At most of those places, you were known as Bob’s boy. They made an effort to be nice to you. Here, you need to make an effort to know your crew.”
“Okay, when I checkup on them, I’ll ask a few personal questions, pal around a little.”
“They’ll see right through that and call you a phony.”
“So, what?”
“Friday night, I’m taking you out to a bar. Your crew will be there. You’ll buy a round or two, you got it. You can talk to them there. Don’t force it. They’ll be talking too, so you mostly have to listen, loosen up and enjoy it.”
Saturday morning, Chris woke up next to naked, woman whose hair blonde had dark roots. Hungover and unfamiliar with these situations, he was unsure about what to do. He tried draping his free arm over her. She rolled away and snorted like a slumbering sow. He rolled to his side of the bed, gathered his clothes and dressed in the living room.
Monday morning, several members of Chris’s crew slapped his back, gave thanks for the drinks and two inquired about girl with whom he left. A third chuckled in a manner that made Chris think he knew something about the woman Chris did not.
At Sturges insistence, Chris continued going to the bar Friday nights. He only bought rounds twice more, and he started leaving earlier and earlier.
In a few weeks, the project was back on track, but paying seven additional workers drained potential profits at an alarming rate. Chris fired two local workers whose productivity lagged behind. He also sent four of his father’s guys back to Montana. They seemed glad to be headed home. Sturges said he liked Wyoming, so he stayed on, and Chris was glad to have him even though his wages weighed the project down. Sturges took over supervision, and Chris started looking for the next project.
Two months later, Maureen Wilkins showed up at the work site looking for the company boss. Sturges escorted her to the admin trailer while Chris’s local workers sniggered.
“Boss, this young lady is here to see you.”
“Miss.” Chris recognized her. “This is a busy and dangerous, place. Can we meet at my office downtown?”
“Looks just as dangerous as a bar or bedroom to me.”
“Sounds like personal business.” Sturges headed for the exit.
“What do you mean? You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You shouldn’t go back to the same bar, you know. Folk get to know you.”
“I only saw you that one night.”
“A lot can happen in one night.”
“You didn’t fall in love with me?”
“Love, no, but I’m carrying your baby.”
“Are you sure?”
“Doctor said so last week.”
“So, we should get married?”
“I want to get an abortion.” Maureen took a paper from her bag. “I worked out how much it’ll cost ya’.”
“Abortion is immoral. I’m not going to pay for it.”
“You’re gonna pay no matter what. I don’t want to have a baby, but if I have this one, you’ll have to pay the child support, and it costs a lot to raise a kid.”
“If I’m going to pay for a child I might as well marry you.”
“Look, you don’t want to marry me. I’m not that type of gal. Trust me.”
“Trust you?”
“I like bars. I like to dance. I like fun. You don’t seem like the kinda of guy I like.”
Chris took a step forward.
“I’ll just cheat on you.” Maureen stepped back. “Or get you to beat me or something. We’ll be divorced in a year or two, and you’ll still have to pay the child support.”
“It’s the right thing to do. I’ll just take that chance.”
“You’ll lose.” Maureen found the door handle. “Here. I wrote it all down: travel to Denver, hotel room, doctor’s fees, lost wages from work. This covers everything.”
Maureen held out the paper. Chris crossed his arms over his chest. She let the paper fall to the floor.
“I know where to find you.” Maureen left.
“Twenty-five hundred. That’s a lot.” Sturges returned a moment later and picked up Maureen’s paper.
“I’m not paying it.”
“Don’t be rash.”
“I can not … I will not be any part of it.”
“Have you considered all your options?”
“No.”
“Good. We’ll go over it Friday night at the bar.”
“You and me?”
“All of us.” Sturges headed out the door.
However awkward Chris felt recounting his troubles in front of his crew, he understood Sturges’ reasoning for it, or, at least, he thought he did. His crew sympathized with him. Exposing faults made him more human, de-robotized him. Several told stories of similar circumstances.
“I ran out of town as fast as I could,” Todd Mayfield said, “Spent two years there before returning to Wyoming.”
“I married the girl,” James Winston offered.
“How did that end?” Sturges and stared at him.
“I rather not say.”
Now the whole crew stared at him.
“Let’s just say I ended up on the run as well.”
Most of the other stories ended with abortion payments.
“We got married after.” Tim Scott said. “We stayed together.”
“Are you talking about Sheila?” Chris turned to Tim.
“Yeah.”
“She’s a good Christian. You both are. You go to church every Sunday and I see you pray every morning before you start work.”
“All true.”
“Don’t you think abortion is immoral?”
“For everything, everything, boss, there is a season. Sheila wasn’t much of a Christian back then. She’s more like this Maureen girl is now, just a little sweater, I guess.” Tim drew knowing nods from the crew. “As I said, we stayed together. I took a while, but she eventually got to know the Lord a little better. Then, she accepted Christ as her savior and salvation. She was baptized, and, then, we got married. Been together ever since. We have three daughters of our own, now. It’s hard. She also works, but we barely pay the bills on time. I … I … sorry, didn’t mean to get into my troubles.”
“Only one thing wrong with that story.” Marty Spencer set his mug down. “Our Maureen ain’t nothin’ like your Sheila.”
Heads turned.
“Last year, my friend Terry found himself in the same boat as you, Chris. Same thing. Doctor says she’s pregnant, paid vacation to Denver. Cost him less, but he don’t own much of anything, let alone his own company.”
“What happened?”
“Said he couldn’t pay what she’s asking. Next thing he knew, the sheriff shows up at work. Tells him it’s in his best interests to get a blood test. The next night, Maureen calls him out at the bar. Makes a big stink. A few days later, she shows up at his work with a guy in a suit. Says he’s her lawyer. The guy serves him papers. Terry paid her. More than she first asked. His father had to co-sign for a loan.”
“You talkin’ about Maureen?” A large man dressed in blue jeans, Coors logo t-shirt and bomber jacket.
“Yeah. You know her?” Marty answered.
“She’s my cousin.” He surveyed the group.
“Sorry.” Marty turned to him. “No disrespect.”
“You.” He thrust his finger into Chris’s chest. “You must be the one who got her pregnant.”
“I … I –”
“That’s right. You better give her what she wants.”
“Hey bud.” Sturges stepped forward. “You don’t want a fight.”
“He don’t look like much.” He turned to Sturges. “Neither do you, old man.”
“There’s a lot more of us.” Tim stood up. “Than there are of you.”
“I’ve got friends, too.” He pushed Chris’s chest and stepped back. “You know what to do, and if you don’t, my friends and I will come back and teach ya.”
Three important lessons in two hours. First, bosses don’t have to be superman. It’s better to let your crew see that you are human. Second, the odds are that you are not the first person to encounter a problem. Your crew may already have answers even if they are not the answers you would choose. Third, if you build a strong crew, their collective strength can save you.
While the crew continued to discuss his Maureen problem, Chris began to appreciate Sturges’s wisdom. Although some of his crew said they’d run from this trouble, he had more to consider, like his fledgling company. They general consensus was that Chris should pay her the money and hope she didn’t come back asking for more.
They called it a night. At home, Chris struggled with their advice. In his mind, life, all life was sacred, and life began at conception. Babies in the womb needed protection. No one should deny them that. He also saw his company, his goals as babies in the womb. They needed protection as well. At four in the morning, fatigue finally quelled his thoughts, and he drifted off.
At 5:14 am, his alarm clock sounded and wouldn’t cease until he pressed it’s button. He called Sturges and asked him to run things that day. He slept till noon. Unsure how to take a day off, he improvised a schedule: shower, breakfast, phone calls to three prospective clients, a sandwich, think through his options with Maureen, dinner, more thinking, perhaps watch TV then to bed at a decent hour. Tomorrow he’d be back to normal.
In the evening, Sturges came by to check on him. The crew made great progress and sent their regards. They discussed upcoming projects. Chris would need more money to startup another worksite. He decided to ask his father for the loan. Sturges talked him into paying-off Maureen as the crew suggested. The notion went against everything Chris believed was right, but he agreed with Sturges, he simply could not succeed with that type of trouble. He added twenty-five hundred dollars to the loan request.
With a solid crew, Chris’s second project not only made a profit but attracted more oil companies. He and Sturges became business partners and ran two, then five, then scores of projects at a time. He paid off his father’s loan with, unasked for, interest.
At church, he met and married Helena Walsh and started a family. Leonard Sturges and an occasional plus one often joined the Cross family for dinner Sunday evenings.
To Chris, Sturges was more than a business partner, he became his mentor. Sturges learned more business from Robert Cross than Chris had. Chris learned more than business from Sturges. He taught him about how politics effects business on both the local level and broader levels. Chris learned to make political contributions to city council members and mayors. His company earned more community improvement contracts and faced less regulations. Chris made contributions to state representatives, state senators and congressional candidates. Sturges also made sure Chris became more active in politics by attending Republican party functions and serving on election committees.
Chris enjoyed politics. He felt at home in the company of Republicans. They not only understood his business interests, but they shared social values as well. He learned about the socialist Democrats and their wicked agenda to control everyone’s lives. Ronald Reagan led the way when he fired all the PATCO strikers. Sturges taught him that unions were not only corrupt, they also held truly capable men down. Men, all people for that matter, should stand on their own two feet. Their efforts should be compensated for their own worth, not by some labor leader’s formula.
Chris believed that, in society, the strong, smart and bold should rise to the top like cream. If we had to have government, successful men, like himself, should determine how resources should be allocated. The laws of men should be made by those who proved themselves able to guide men to greater things. As a man who organized, men, materials and tools to build large works not only for oil companies, but for cities, water districts and the great state of Wyoming, Chris felt like he should take on more political leadership roles.
Sturges succumbed to old age in the 1990’s. Chris completed a business management degree at the University of Wyoming at Casper more out of a desire for credentials than to meet a regulatory requirement. His friends in government made sure no regulations harmed his business which kept prospering.
On his sixty-fifth birthday, Chris took stock of his life. His children had grown and gave him several grand children. As his business grew, he became more and more the administrative head of his company. He had employees to handle all key aspects of running it. He devoted more time at church.
His business remained successful, but he no longer looked forward to going to work. He preferred working on political campaigns or organizing support for conservative legislation. When a major company offered to buy his company, he didn’t hesitate. The sale completed in just a couple months.
With new found time and capital, Chris decided to put his political views in motion. He campaigned for and won a seat in the state’s house of representatives. He campaigned against the new Democrat threat, Barrack Obama’s health care vision.
Obama care is socialist medicine like they have in Sweden and Canada. A government committee, more like a ‘murder board,’ decides who gets what treatment and who does not. Individuals, not murder boards, should decide what treatments they should get. (Casper Star-Tribune July 4, 2008)
Chris rode his opposition to Obama care to Wyoming’s House of Representatives. In his first year, he introduced a state constitutional amendment to counter all governmental healthcare mandates. Since Obamacare had not passed, he could not word his amendment specifically, so he had written it as generic as possible. His cosponsor, Jean Mason, a pro-choice conservative, thought the amendment too vague to be meaningful though she like its expression of individual liberty and freedom.
A handful of Democrats opposed the amendment, but it passed both houses, mostly on party line votes. In the general election, it garnered over seventy percent of the vote and became law in Wyoming.
Chris thought himself a conservation champion and won re-election with ease, twice. The Obama era came to a close. Wyoming, even more than the rest of the country, divided sharply on political labels, us versus them. Chris participated in this divide. A decade earlier, he enjoyed having a Wyoming bad-ass in the vice presidency during the George W. Bush years. He felt the fight against Obama necessary, a classic clash between what’s right and what’s misguided.
He didn’t trust Trump. He knew good business, but after binge watching a couple seasons of The Apprentice, he wondered what sort of businessman Trump was. His doubts doubled when he looked into the little actual information there was on the candidates business (every time a Trump company went public, the stock tanked, couldn’t stand up to actual accounting). When several respected billionaires, like Warren Buffet, opposed Trump, Chris decided not to endorse him.
Clint Duckworth, Republican primary opponent, attacked him on the non-endorsement point. Chris backpedaled which only made him look weak to newly energized Republican voters. Chris tried touting his opposition to Hilary Clinton who, he claimed, tried to impose socialized medicine in the United States during the Clinton administration. He tried to run on his conservative voting record in the state House of Representatives. Nothing worked. Duckworth said it was time to sweep out old politicians and Make America Great Again.
Chris lost his seat in the primary. He increased his religious devotion and focused on supporting causes that promoted religious rights and opposed legalized abortion.
After the United States Supreme Court overturned Roe vs. Wade on June 24th 2022, Chris organized a bus trip to Cheyenne to rally in front of Wyoming’s supreme court building. On Sunday the 26th, they chanted, held up signs and celebrated. Within months, the state legislature passed laws to enact the nations first total abortion ban including the use of morning after pills.
Those laws were challenged citing the state constitution’s thirty-eighth amendment giving all competent adults in Wyoming complete say-so in healthcare decisions. Cross’s amendment now thwarted his own anti-abortion agenda.
Back At the Clinic
“The law is a tricky thing,” Chris addressed a group of new recruits, “It’s not as simple as you think it is. Battery boils down to unwanted touching. Anything could be made to look injurious. Think about all those bad NBA foul calls you see on ESPN. There are cameras everywhere, so you can be sure that if anything happens, it will be caught on video and played in court. Just like in the NBA, cameras do not capture the actual contact force, nor do they capture intent.”
Knowing nods encouraged Chris to continue with his indoctrination.
“Assault is willful battery. By joining this protest, you already can be seen as willfully and deliberately intervening with another person, so any unwelcome contact against those who think it is legal to murder unborn children can result in criminal prosecution. Here, in Wyoming, you are likely to get a sympathetic jury, but it’s just not worth the risk.”
Chris scanned the audience. Fewer nods as some of the men seemed more interested in their boots.
“Sexual harassment is even trickier. You are going to hear different things from different people, but it take it from me, I ran a successful company and I made sure we were never sued for any harassment. Okay? Most of the people on the other side are women. They are a protected class. You throw out sexually charged insults like calling them sluts or whores or even Barbies, and you may find yourself in court facing stiff liabilities.”
“We can’t call them Barbie? Even if their name is Barbara?”
“Think how it will play in court. Everyone’s phone also picks up audio. It’s even worse with the women coming for abortions. They are pregnant women. They have even more protection in the eyes—”
“Who protects the babies?”
“We are fighting for that in the courts, and that fight depends on what we do here, today. The court needs to see the fundamental immorality of abortion. They need to see it as illegal. It’s not a philosophical issue, it’s an issue that touches us deep in our souls. That’s why they need to see us, here, fighting for the rights of the unborn, fighting for their lives.”
Mild applause.
“But we can’t be hooligans. That simply doesn’t play well in court, in the media or, even in person. You need to be careful about your actions. You need to be careful about what you say. Basically, if what you say sounds like you are trying to hurt the women coming here, you are not only subject to liability, you also hurt our cause.”
“We wouldn’t even have to be here if you weren’t such a political hack.” Matt Broader walked by with his own group chanting “Carry babies, don’t bury babies.”
“Those are the guys heading to court. It is better to stick to saying positive things. I like to say, ‘I pray for you and your child.” Nothing negative or hurtful there. You have to be careful. Sometimes, even a positive sounding thing can come off as sarcastic and hurtful, like … I don’t know … ‘Hope you are having a great day’ can be seen as harassment. It would be better to say … let’s see … “What a great day for children to play.’ Okay?”
Chris read impatience in their faces.
“Righty then. As they say, there’s nothin’ to it but to do it. Pick a good spot and let them know what’s right.”
Chris fetched his other sign, “Pray for the Unborn,” from his car, found a spot about twenty feet from the clinic entrance. His voice felt strained from his speeches, so he simply prayed.
Some pro-choice activists formed a human gate in front of the entrance. They could escort the clinic’s clients through the back door. No protesting is allowed in the parking lot. No trespassing signs clearly stated who was allowed on the property and who was not. Every few minutes, sign bearers walked by with no trespassing notices. Some tried to pass out clinic property policy leaflets, but there were no takers.
Chris knew, like his pro-life side, half of their tactics were for show. The real battle lies in the politics. Even in a conservative state like Wyoming, more than a third of the residents supported abortion rights. Throw in those who were wishy-washy or just didn’t care, and Chris’s side was in the minority. Most politicians prefer to be with the majority. The judges they appoint reflect majority opinions. Chris schemed to sway the those in the middle to take a firm stand against abortion, and he knew the other side targeted their messages at the middle as well.
Long ago, in the 80’s and 90’s, direct action at abortion clinics swayed women away. Soon, those early protesters met counter protesters who shielded woman away from harsh speech and pictures of bloody fetuses. Tactics changed. Groups like Operation Rescue pushed their way into clinics and disrupted procedures. Now human gates protected access and prevented radical pro-life activists from chaining themselves to the entrance.
Chris recounted the changes: physical rushes led to assault and battery convictions, shaming clients led to costly sexual harassment settlements, attempts to shut down clinics led to RICO convictions. Chris snorted at the last one. A federal law intended to curb organized crime was used against the likes of Operation Rescue’s more militant tactics. Talk about unintended consequences. Chris wondered how the guy who came up with that felt.
Today’s opposition tactics seemed clear. Along with the human gate at the entrance. They formed an escort bubble around clinic clients agreeing to enter through the front door. They put noise canceling earphones on the client and surrounded her. The bubble slowly walks to the door. When it makes contact with the human gate, both the gate and bubble open up and the client enters. The human gate closes and the bubble returns to the parking lot.
Given the infrequency of front door entrants, Chris assumed most of the clinics customers preferred the back door. Chris tries to stay on the right side of the law, but his friend, Milly, followed a Broader group to protest in the parking lot. Before they were declared trespassers, ticketed and taken back to sidewalk, Milly saw a human gate at the rear entrance as well.
Chris remembered when Milly tried to gain entrance to the clinic by pretending to be pregnant. She was caught by a pre-entry screener who didn’t believe the seventy-two year old woman. Milly then convinced her grandniece to pretend to be a patient. She made it through and handcuffed herself to a row of waiting room seats. The police noticed that the seats came apart and easily removed her. Chris posted her bail, and he convinced parishioners to cover thousands in fines. After three months, her jail time came to an end. She never returned to the protests.
Harold Dodsworth got a group to form a three deep wall across the sidewalk. Winnie Everrs set up a similar wall on the other side of the door.
“Ree-coh, ree-coh,” The pro-choice side chanted.
Chris knew the morning’s protests were coming to an end. Aggressive tactics brought unlawful assembly declarations. Soon the police will order everyone, both sides, to disperse. They could still protest from across the street.
“Tim.” Chris spotted Sargent Ford of the state police head towards Dodsworth’s group.
“Mr. Cross.”
“They’re just standing there. Not doing anything wrong.”
“You know I’m on your side on this.” Sgt. Ford turned to face Chris. “But I have to do my job. They are deliberately blocking entrance to a legitimate business in an effort to shut that business down. That’s the definition of racketeering.”
“Tell Harold I tried.”
“Do you think he’ll care?” Sgt. Ford laughed as he approached Dodsworth.
“Hey!” Chris felt a clasp on his shoulder.
“Don’t you remember me?”
“Paul?” Chris turned and saw his younger brother.
Reunion
Paul spread his arms initiating a hug. Chris’s signs proved too much an obstacle. He smiled instead.
“What brings you here?”
“Dani, Nora and I haven’t seen you since Dad’s funeral. We thought we’d come by for a little reunion.”
“Could have called first?”
“It was a spur of the moment kind of thing.”
“Where’s Noreen?”
Paul pointed his nose down the street. Chris followed his gaze. Daniela and Noreen were talking to Pat Morgensen. After a moment, Noreen hugged pat.
“Oh!” Chris looked away.
“You gonna be here long?” Paul asked.
“Well, it’s almost over, except the cross-street shouting.”
“Good, let me buy you a cup.”
Paul walked Chris to the Cottage Cafe. The route took them past the clinic. Chris looked, he guessed right; the opposition formed a human gate at the rear door. He also took another glance at his sisters as Pat Morgensen lead them to where pro-choice demonstrators rallied after the disbursement order.
“Chris, your my older brother, and I love. I always will,” Paul began as they waited for their coffees. “I always looked up to when we were kids. You were so good with your hands.”
“Thank you Paul.”
“We haven’t seen much of you, in … God knows how long … decades.”
“I came home as much as I could. It gets harder after you settle down.”
“I know, I’m married, too.”
“How is Helena and the kids?”
“The kids are grown and have kids of their own.”
“Yeah—”
“My wife is recovering from chemo.” Paul took a sip. “Otherwise she would be here, with us today.”
“How about Nora’s husband?”
“They divorced awhile ago.”
“Oh, that’s right. Mom must have been devastated.”
“She understood the divorce. She didn’t understand all those nights Nora came home bruised and beaten.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Dani’s wife decided not to come.”
“I’m glad to hear that—”
“– because of you.”
“It’s not my law; it’s God’s law.”
“Mom didn’t see it that way. She opposed it at first, but she came to believe that God is love. All love reflects God’s love—”
“Almost all love.”
“All love.” Paul leaned forward.
“A pedophile’s love of his prey?” Chris leaned forward and looked his brother in the eye.
“That’s not love, that’s perversion.”
Chris raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t know love from perversion?”
“I know it’s a sin to cast your seed on the ground.”
“Sounds like a male only sin.” Paul sat back. “Unless you think menstruation is sin.”
“I—”
“Did you call Helena a sinner every month.” Paul laughed. “Wait. Almost every month. You have three children. Still, the math don’t add up here. Does it?”
“Helena is a good Catholic woman.”
“Except every month, unless she’s pregnant?”
“The Holy Bible defines what’s a sin and what’s not.”
“For every situation?”
“Yes, for everything?”
“You can’t believe that.”
“I surely do.”
“The Bible has what, a million words. There are eight billion people on the planet. Eight billion sets of uncountable interactions, permutations, unique situations. You believe the Bible accounts for all that.”
“The constitution only has five thousand words and it covers three hundred million Americans.”
“But those five thousand words need interpretation, don’t they. The supreme court, alone, must have written over sixty-five millions words to interpret those five thousand. Some of those words reverse previous opinions. Right?”
“Right, that’s why—”
“And the Jewish Talmud has some two million words just discussing and refining the old testament.”
“What’s your point, brother?”
“That it’s not just what was written thousands of years ago. It’s how it should be interpreted today. With real people. That we know.”
“You don’t think God, with his omniscience, has thought all that out.”
“I’ll give you that, but where did he write all that down?”
“In the Bible.”
“It’s only a million words. Most of it is stories, poems, parables and secret coded messages that no-one has ever decoded. Are you so sure you can live by scattered excerpts?”
“I can follow my church.”
“Doesn’t your church preach that God is love? That your God is a loving god, not a vengeful god?”
“That is correct.” Father Patrick approached. “Who is knowledgeable friend, Chris?”
“Father Patrick, this is my brother Paul from Helena.”
“I see by those signs that you were at the clinic again.”
“Yes Father, God tells me that I should do everything I can to shut that place down.”
“You were in construction. Do you still have access to dynamite?”
“Father?” The brothers chorused.
“You said everything. I wonder how far you will go.”
“Everything legal, that is.”
“So know you think God is concerned with human laws?” Paul laughed.
“Family.” Chris looked up to Father Patrick.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
“Fine with me.” Paul gestured to the chair next to his.
“Ever wonder why I do not join you every Thursday?” Father Patrick looked at Chris.
“We could use your support.”
“God does not guide me to do such things.”
“Surely you believe life begins at conception, Father?”
“Yes. That is our teaching. Where are you going with this?”
“That taking that life is a sin, Father.”
“Then you should limit your statement to human life.”
“Why’s that?” Paul asked.
“I’m a deer hunter, Paul.”
“And it’s illegal to shoot a doe,” Chris added.
“It used to be, Chris. Those policies almost caused herd collapse. Not enough bucks. Many game wardens issue permits for a certain number of bucks and a certain number of does in order to maintain healthy herds.”
“But that means they may also kill innocent babies.”
“What, my brother, do you think adult does are guilty of?”
“I, I—”
“I’m sorry, Paul, it seems like you have something to say.” Father Patrick turned.
“I don’t believe there are any innocents. At least there are no innocent humans any more. It may be a matter of degrees of guilt, but that could just be splitting hairs.”
“Really my son, how did you reach such a contrary opinion?”
“A few decades ago, I went on my first international trip. At the time, terrorists were pulling American’s off cruise liners and airplanes and taxi cabs and shooting them. The news portrayed it as innocent Americans being persecuted.”
“Yes, I remember those times.”
“Well, I thought, what if that happened to me? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that, although I was not part of US diplomacy or the military, I’m not really innocent. At the very least, my taxes contribute to American intervention into other countries, and that those interventions may have benefited us, here, but they negatively impacted lives of people, real people, who live there. And those people aren’t wrong to blame me for their brother’s death or their poverty or suffering cruelties from their leaders the US props up. Even if I disagreed with those policies, even protested against them, I’m still part of their problems. So, Father.” Paul took a breath. “From one perspective or another, ain’t none of us innocent.”
“We believe that those who have not yet made decisions to be wicked are innocents.”
“Like unborn babies.” Chris tapped his sign.
“Even though you believe in original sin?” Paul tilted his head to Father Patrick.
“I’d love to discuss your notions of innocence, but I need to make the church ready for the eleven o’clock, mass.”
Paul chuckled.
“No, truly. Not a convenient escape.” Father Patrick pushed his chair back. “You should know that your brother is good man. He contributes to the church and shows his friends and the community many acts of charity.”
“Is that what you came over to say?”
“No. I overheard your conversation, and I came over to tell your brother a couple of things.” Father Patrick stood and turned his body to Chris. “I’m just as opposed to abortion as you are. Should a member of my congregation seek counseling, I always advise against the procedure.”
“See.” Chris beamed to his brother.
“But, we should acknowledge that others believe differently than we do, and we should respect their beliefs. It is not for us to impose our beliefs on other people. We tried that for a couple centuries, and it led to millions of unnecessary deaths.”
Paul nodded agreement to Father Patrick.
“I’m sure you’ll agree, ours is a church of life, not of death.”
“Yes, Father.”
“But your brother is right. Ours is a loving church, a forgiving church. We may oppose the acts of others, but we do not sit in judgment. We do not condemn them. We forgive the trespasses of others just we ask they forgive our trespasses. We say those words every mass. I’ve heard your voice among the congregation.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I hope you keep them in your heart.”
“I do.”
“Good, that’s what I came to say. I’ll keep your family, your whole family, Christian, in my prayers. I hope we can speak again, Paul, but I really must be going. Pardon me.”
Father Patrick left. Paul and Chris sat silently for a few moments.
“Dani, Nora and I would like to take you and Helena out to dinner tonight.”
“What?” Chris rubbed his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Why don’t you come by the house? No, I don’t think Helena is prepared for a large dinner.”
“We can bring pizzas.”
“Yes, that will be fine.”
Paul stood up.
“Paul, what do you think Mom and Dad would think about all of this?”
“Mom was always a good Catholic. She would take her priest’s advice.”
“Yeah.”
“Dad, I think, would be more complex.” Paul sat back down. “You know, at his death bed, he told me he was proud of you.”
“He really said that?”
“Yes. Not only did you run your own company, but you seemed to grasp some of his life lessons. The only thing he regretted was that Leonard Sturges had more influence on you than he should.”
“Did he ever talk about abortion?”
“Not at home. He knew how much Mom was against it. But—” Paul leaned in.
“I don’t know how to say this. He loved Mom. He really did, but Mom wasn’t everything to him. He had several affairs. Some of the women got pregnant, and Dad preferred to pay for abortions more than child support, if you know what I mean.”
Chris confessed his own experience with an unwanted pregnancy.
“Seems like you and Dad have even more in common. Just Dad, well, he thought it was his right to choose abortion for his mistresses. I think you would choose to pay for the child’s upbringing if you could.”
“Yes, I think I made the wrong choice all those years ago. I may not have succeeded in business, though. And I enjoyed most of my career.”
“You know what made Dad proudest of you?”
“That, unlike his three natural kids, I followed in his footsteps.”
“More than you know. He was in the hospital when he heard about your amendment thing. He said you understood individual rights more than the rest of us. He said it’s one thing to stand up for yourself, but it’s better to stop someone from government imposing rules on the rest of us.”
“I was. Now I’m standing up for the unborn.”
“By imposing rules on their mothers? Isn’t that like treating women like slaves? Forcing them to serve to please your sense of justice?”
“I, I never thought of it like that.”
“Well, I need to find Dani and Nora and tell them about the change in dinner plans.” Paul got up.
“Don’t worry, I got this.” Chris gestured to the check.
“Hey, I’m bringing the pizzas.” Paul left the cafe.
Chris picked up the check and his signs, paid for the coffees at the register and walked to his SUV. He put his signs in the back and started for home. After a few blocks, he made a U turn and headed to church. He snuck into the mass in progress. He did not follow along. He sat there and sought inspiration.
Three hours later, long after the congregation dispersed, after Father Patrick stopped by to make sure Chris was alright. After his own thoughts quiesced, Chris headed home.
He put his signs in a corner of the garage and went inside. A rush of grand children surround him. His three adult children sat in the living room talking to his brother and sisters. Six large pizza boxes covered the dinning room table.
A beaming Helena hugged him and led him to the sofa. Paul stood and shook his hand. Nora followed with hug. Dani remained seated and raised her purse off the floor. Chris spread his arms inviting a hug.
“I thought you would throw me out of your house.” Dani let go of her purse and rose.
“We are good Christians here.” Chris took a step closer.
“I never thought you were a bad Christian.” Dani embraced her elder half-brother.
Helena brought plates for all of them. Once everyone was settled. Helena asked her in-laws dozens of questions about their lives. Chris’s children joined in and his grand children played outside until sunset, then they sat on pillows and listened. The adults laughed, told stories and even sang with Nora accompanying on the piano.
After a few hours, Helena and Dani excused themselves to wash the dishes.
“We should go to Montana,” Helena announced when she returned.
“We can swing that.” Chris made mental plans. “It’s only five hundred miles to Helena, and there should be some reasonably priced hotels.”
“Never mind that. Dani says we can stay with her.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Mandy is looking forward to meeting you. But remember, Montana is an abortion rights state, so no protesting, please.”
“Just a little.” Chris held his index finger and thumb close with his other fingers folded over.
Helena and her children covered their face with their palms.
“Mom always quoted Matthew. ‘For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.’ So if you you have to–”
“I promise to leave my protest signs at home.”
Fact (mostly)
Actually just author’s notes.
Despite being a deep-red state with trigger laws against abortion, it is legal in Wyoming due to an Obama era constitutional amendment (see local news paper article https://www.thesheridanpress.com/news/regional-news/amendment-to-stop-obamacare-used-in-case-for-abortion-rights/article_8fa84810-141c-11ed-b332-cb745f9ba3bf.html ). The matter is coming to the state supreme court, so things could change.
The amendment is not only an example of unintended consequences, but, I believe, it shows a fundamental contradiction in ultra-right philosophy. The right has libertarian tendencies advocating for individual rights such as removing consumer protections to let businesses rip off unsuspecting customers, religious rights to let business owners dictate what medical procedures their employees can afford to have and the occaisional storming of the castle to overthrow election results. They seem against government rules and mandates, except, for women, there is a double standard.
Since the main actor in Wyoming is Bob Brechtel, I wanted my main character to have an alliterative name. Christian Cross game to mind and I couldn’t shake it even though I thought the name so overt no self respecting parents would give it to their offspring. I created an elaborate backstory to make the name seem reasonable. Should I revise the story, I think I’ll simplify that part and have him born to a single mother. Here’s the thing. When you Google “Christian Cross,” page after page of the religious symbol and adverts come up. I modified the search to include Linkedin and it turns out several people are actually named Christian Cross, even one woman. So the name is much more plausible than I thought.
I made one of Chris’s siblings gay because Dick Cheney supported his gay daughter’s marriage, but Wyoming’s Representative, Liz Cheney, did not. In 2021, Liz finally admitted that she was wrong on the issue.
I’m a Californian and I have never even been to Wyoming. I based several aspects of the story on my experiences in California. For example, California’s Assault and Battery laws are much broader than Wyoming’s so that part of Chris’s advice is probably wrong. Also, I set the conversation between Paul and Chris in a place called the Cottage Cafe based on looking at Google maps. I’ve never been there. I have it as a place that has waitstaff, but from the photos, it looks more like a counter based order and pay up-front kind of place.
Other than the Sheridan Press article, there is little information about Bob Brechtel. He’s a devout Catholic and seems more a Republican partisan hack than a thoughtful man with inflexible beliefs. My Christian Cross character may be more flexible and more sympathetic than the man the story is based on.
At the writing of this story, the clinic was not yet open, so descriptions of protest and counter-protest tactics come from some of my own experiences and a bit of imagination.
Fact(mostly), Fiction and Opinion 