CHAPTER 18

Kent State 2002

Scot strolled down the hallway he had traveled more times than he cared to recall.  While many visits to the University Academic building had been rewarding, many were not pleasant.  On the pleasant side, that was where he was offered a fellowship one summer that allowed him to stay in school with pay and eliminate the mad stampede of college students on summer vacation competing for a few scarce low-paying jobs.  It was there that he was offered a teaching assistant position just as his GI Bill college fund was exhausting.   

He double checked the name on the door.  “Kent State University Department of Humanities, Department of History” was inscribed just as Scot remembered it from three decades ago.  As was his habit, Scot had severed all relationships with roommates, girl friends, professors and classmates.  In all likelihood, there was no one here he knew, but he decided to check anyway.

While there were numerous people Scot did not want to see again, he hoped to see Kathy, the secretary he had dated, and Marty, his favorite professor under whom he served as a graduate assistant.  He approached the attractive blond sitting behind the reception desk who was young enough to be Kathy’s granddaughter.  She was far more attractive than any receptionist Scot ever had seen in that department.  Her hair fell far below her shoulders.  Just how far, he couldn’t determine from his angle.  She was dressed skimpily.  How that contrasted with the receptionists when he started college in 1965.  Back then, dresses stretched far below the knee.  Usually long bobby sox concealed any other skin of the leg.  No cleavage was socially permitted then.  This receptionist concealed no cleavage.  The conservatives who claimed men would be unable to control themselves if they were teased by the sight of female skin, apparently were wrong, or else their primitive genetic line had died off.  Skirt hems had been rising rapidly since the 1960s.  Rape incidents had not climbed.  The conservatives‘ like-minded brethren in the Middle East still had not learned the lesson.  Perhaps the practice had more to do with controlling people than purifying them.  

“May I help ya?” she asked with a distinct Eastern Ohio accent.  She sounded absolutely sincere and business like otherwise.

Scot took a stab.  “Is Kathy here?”

“Kathy who?” responded the receptionist, clearly baffled.

“Kathy was a receptionist here a few years ago.  She must have moved on,” he continued answering his own question.

“Oh yes,” she responded, “I see the name in some of our files.  She left long, long ago, at least five years ago.”

“Do you know where she went?”  Scot asked, even though he didn’t intend to do anything about it.

“I don’t, and I couldn’t provide that information to anyone outside the Department anyway,” she said seriously as if she were protecting highly classified information.

“I got my Bachelor’s degree in history here,” Scot responded hoping that would give him access to privileged information.

“What’s your name?” she asked “and what year did you graduate?”

“Scot McCormick, and 1974,” he responded.

She typed the information into her computer, and a match came up.  “What was your last address here?” she asked determined to make sure she was not giving information to some fraud.

“Clark Hall.  I was a Resident Assistant there.”

“Okay.  It all matches.  I don’t know what happened to Kathy or anything about her,” she said in all seriousness.  So the privileged information was the same as the non-privileged information, but due diligence rules were adhered to and the receptionist no doubt gave herself credit for a job well done.  She had earned her paycheck.

Scot wondered why she went to all that trouble to give him an answer she already had told him.  Obviously she was trying to do everything she had been instructed to do without asking whether or not it made sense.  Her primary job was customer, and more importantly, potential-alumnus-donator, satisfaction.  However, that gave him an inroad to inquire about others.  “Is there a professor here named Marty Boyd?”

“No,” she responded immediately.  “I know all the professors’ names, and that is not one of them.  We do have a Dr. Martin Boyd,” she volunteered now in a helpful rather than defensive security mode.

Scot was elated.  That had to be his friend Marty.

Scot looked at all the photos and awards displayed on the wall of the reception area ignoring the receptionist.  The University president’s photo was there many times usually presenting awards to some faculty member.  Scot checked every face.  None looked like Marty even when he attempted to account for decades of aging.  Of course, 1960s attire and styles had undergone revolutionary changes, mostly in the conservative direction.  That complied with another of Scot’s theories.  His three generation theory maintained that society advances in a liberal direction.  Then there is a reaction from the next generation erasing most of those gains.  Then the third generation reacts to them and implements the changes their grandparents started.

“Dr. Boyd has a class at this time.  He usually comes back to his office afterwards,” the receptionist volunteered.  “Unless he gets cornered by inquisitive students, he should return within a half hour.”  

The receptionist, named Julie according to her name-tag, volunteered the information as if to try to compensate for her earlier obstruction of information.  After all, she had been told, everyone is a potential donor to the university.  Alumni most of all, should be deemed to be supporters.  

Scot was willing to wait.  In fact, he was giddy with anticipation about how Marty would react when he saw him.  “Would he remember him?” he asked himself feeling somewhat uncertain.

As the minute hand on the large clock on the wall passed 10, the campus suddenly erupted with activity like a disturbed ant hill.  Several people, professors and students, came into the office.  Scot scrutinized everyone who looked too old to be a student.

“Dr. Boyd!  Dr. Boyd!” Julie exclaimed.  “There’s someone here to see you.”

Scot had watched the man go by, and decided he was too young to be Marty.  Scot now saw the resemblance concealed behind very conservative attire and grooming.  His hair was full and coal black, not the gray or baldness Scot anticipated.  He felt his face beam.  Marty stared quizzically, then relaxed and smiled as recognition descended over his face.  Marty crossed the room in quick, long strides and embraced Scot in a big bear hug.

“God, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” he exclaimed in the popular colloquialism.  “How have you been?  Come into my office.  I can’t wait to hear how you’ve been doing.”

Marty’s office was the typical austere space allotted to professors at a state university.  It was adequate for Marty who naturally was Spartan in his needs.  There were no piles of papers or books so common in the offices of most professors.  Everything was filed in the numerous metal cabinets lining the west wall.  There were no visible windows in the room, evidence that Marty was not yet a top professor in the department   Or, possibly, he preferred not to have a window leaving more space for cabinets and bookshelves.

“Where do we start?” Marty asked.  “How long has it been since you graduated?  You were here for the student massacre in 1970.  How many students have passed through my classes since then?  They have changed so much from the 60s students.  I suspect I have not influenced or changed a single one lately.  Now they’re like automatons interested only in grades.  Little or no curiosity.  Certainly there is no revolutionary spirit.  ‘There is no alternative,’ (TINA), Francis Fukuyama wrote in ‘The End of History’.  We have reached the end of economic and social evolution, and it’s Feudalism.  Corporations are the nobles.  That assertion seems to have been accepted without question.  There is more of a sense of desperation now.  So few careers available.  Everyone is fighting everyone else for the few jobs in limited areas such as finance, healthcare or information technology.”

Scot had a feeling this was a regular diatribe for Marty, but now he could say it rather than just think it.  

“What did people think would result when Ronald Reagan said he was going to change the economy from a manufacturing to a service economy?” Marty continued, resurrecting the type of dialogue he had had with Scot when he was a TA.  “What did they think a global economy would be like when their jobs would go on the auction block and given to anyone on earth who was willing to work for the least pay.  They thought they would get cheaper products.  They didn’t think they also would be working for less and could afford less.  They just did not think.  I’m starting to believe they can’t think.  The Chamber of Commerce ran commercials admitting the 19th Century Robber Barons were disgusting, greedy thieves.  But this is the 20th Century, they argued.  Business executives are enlightened now.  They would never employ little boys in their coal mines.  They would never make teenage girls sit or stand at an assembly line from sun up to sun down with rigid break limits and pay of pennies per hour.  Of course, anyone who bothered to look at their foreign factories would have seen that that is exactly what they were doing now.  They still are monsters.  Anywhere greed and gluttony are revered above all else, justice can not exist.  Greed doesn’t evolve.  This nation was build on the Plantation mentality.  It hasn’t changed.” 

Marty paused as if trying to estimate the number of students who had come under his influence and been changed for the better.  Scot was one student he felt sure he had influenced in a positive way.

“By the way,” he said in a hushed voice as if he held one of the world’s greatest secrets, “your best friend was here a couple years ago.  He brought his granddaughter for a tour of the campus.  She was trying to decide which school to attend, and he volunteered to be her tour guide for Kent State.  I was on the admissions committee and got to interview her.”

Scot waited, eager to find out who his “best friend” was.  

“Who was it?” he blurted out as Marty was building the suspense.

“That guy, Wayne.”  Marty said, somewhat taken aback that he had been interrupted and admonishing himself for digressing after intimating the friend relationship.  

“Wayne?”  Scot asked, looking for an indication of jest or sincerity.  He couldn’t remember what he had told Marty about Wayne.

“Wayne told me, within earshot of his granddaughter, that he had found and married the only virgin on campus.  Apparently he had been busily preaching morality to her.  He couldn’t pass up an opportunity to reinforce the message and show that he practiced what he preached.”

“Who did he marry,” Scot asked curiously.  He was certain he did not know who it was, or who was so unattractive that it was no struggle to stay pure.  To marry Wayne on top of that meant she had to have been desperate. 

“Darlene,” Marty said.  He watched Scot’s face for the reaction he expected to be astonishment.  He was not disappointed.

“Darlene? A virgin?” Scot nearly shouted at the thought.  Then he burst into uncontrollable laughter.  Marty was laughing nearly as loudly.  

“Are you serious?” he asked when he could muster enough breath to speak.  “She was a master of deception, but passing herself off as a virgin would be impossible unless she found the most naive man in the world.  Well, if there was a guy who could be deceived by that claim, he had to have been a virgin.  That guy had to be Wayne.”

“Did you ever become physically intimate with her?”  Marty asked in jest.  “Those discussions you mentioned sounded fairly racy.  From what I know about youngsters, those hormones can be triggered fairly easily and overpower any common sense.”   

“A couple times,” Scot admitted, downplaying the real extent of the relationship.  “She always portrayed herself as a pure Southern Bell, but every discussion ended in a discussion of sex.  For a practicing virgin, she seemed to be obsessed with the subject.  She always asked me for advice about how she should deal with her sex-starved girls.  Some of the ‘sex problems’ were so bizarre I never could have imagined them.  Often it was about multiple partners.  One time she confided that one of her girls was wondering if she could set a sex partners record.  She was toying with the number five as a possibility at the same time.  The description was so arousing I had to stop the discussion and claim I had an appointment with my advisor.  This was at 7 p.m. in the evening.”

“So when was your first time with her?”  Marty asked.

Scot hesitated.  He knew Marty was having fun at his expense.  Scot, like most men, took pride in his conquests, so he couldn’t resist another conquest claim, especially of a virgin.  He had calculated long ago that most men never deflower a virgin.  A few men like Scot had multiple conquests.  That meant many, probably most, remaining men never had a carnal relationship with a virgin.  Probably most men never sleep with a virgin due to this mathematical factor.  In his later years, Scot concluded that virginity was one of the most overrated values in civilized society.  As the consequence, it caused more problems than was deserved. Teenagers aren’t rational, so what’s important to them doesn’t need to be logical.

“I was her first,” Scot claimed, knowing the statement was untrue.  He knew that would amuse Marty, who smiled and nearly broke into laughter again.  “I needed to rent a hotel room for my parents who were coming to visit one weekend.  I asked Darlene if she wanted to ride with me to make the reservation.  She thought for a few seconds, then answered in the affirmative.  Once we were there checking out the room, she kept finding excuses not to leave.  She segued into one of the dilemmas of one of her girls, and sat down on the bed for the exhausting tale.  She crossed her legs, pulling her skirt above her knee.  I sat down beside her.  She nudged closer.  Her breast brushed my arm as she leaned over to scratch her right knee with her left hand.  Then it came back and rested there.  She looked up into my face.  Her lips, heavy with lipstick, were a couple inches away from my face and entranced me.  I moved my head closer to her expecting to scare her away.  A virgin knows to get out of those dangerous situations immediately.  She didn’t jump up and run away as I expected.  Must be one of those virgins who likes to tease men just to reassure herself she could get a man if she wanted one, I thought.  She had to do it again and again to reassure herself that she still was appealing to the opposite sex.  

“I expected to meet that virgin’s brick wall any second.  I decided I was going to find that limit.  I slipped my hand down to her breast.  She didn’t recoil or slap my arm away.  That was not the limit.  I slipped my hand under her blouse, under the bra and down to the breast.  That wasn’t the limit.  I fondled the nipple  which apparently was the end of that venture.  

She pulled away and stood up.  I sat there dazed even though I had expected her to do exactly that.  Instead of berating me as I expected, she began undressing.  When she got down to black panties as her only protection of modesty, she snuggled closer to me and began undressing me as I sat there frozen in astonishment.  Then it became clear where this was going, and I joined in the preparations.  

“We spent the night there since my parents weren’t arriving until early the next morning.  We had sex a couple times, then once again before leaving.  She was voracious.  She was making up for lost time.  I began to feel exhausted and drained.  Fortunately, I had the excuse of parents arriving to end the minnie bacchanal.  I learned from that experience that I did have limits contrary to what I had assumed to be impossible.  That teenage boy delusion met its demise.  And by a virgin at that.”

”Did you count that experience as a conquest or a conquest of a virgin?” Marty asked, half in jest.

“Initially I counted it as a virgin conquest.  Mainly, my ego was blocking out any rational explanation.  Then I soberly considered that she was too smooth and taking too many initiatives to be new at it.  Finally, I accepted it as just another conquest.”

A grin crossed Marty’s face.  “Yours or her’s?  If she initiated it, can you count it as a conquest?  Isn’t it her conquest?  Maybe you should deduct one from your list,” Marty suggested.

“Never thought of it that way,” Scot said after a moment’s consideration.  “Probably you are right.  I’ll remove her from my list until further notice.  If she settled for Wayne, that’s not something to be proud of.  What is she told someone she discarded me for someone better?”

“I happen to know,” Marty continued, “at least two guys who had affairs with her before you did.  She initiated both, they claim.  And she ended both.  So she was far from the pure Southern bell she tried to portray.  Also, those over-sexed Freshmen she was trying to help.  They didn’t exist.  Those were her own alter egos.”

Scot genuinely was surprised.  Even though he had sex with her, he had convinced himself that it was just a weak moment even a devout virgin could lapse into.            

“So, what are you doing here?” Marty inquired, a remnant of frivolity lingering in his voice.  He deliberately changed the subject because Darlene was a legend, and they could spend an entire day or a week discussing her.  “Would you like to enroll your granddaughter at your old Alma Mater  You wouldn’t be looking for Darlene would you?”

“I’m here for a conference,” Scot explained not missing the Wayne allusion since the two had very similar backgrounds.  He wished his reason had been to see his old friend Marty.  He chastised himself for his bad habit of severing all ties when he moved on, including those with his dearest friends.  It was curious that he managed to reconnect with past acquaintances as often as he did.

“Let me guess.  You’re the keynote speaker,” Marty responded.  “I read an article a few years ago about a guy with your name who was a highly successful executive in a transnational corporation that was one of the first to deal with Communist China.  The name drew my attention, but I dismissed it as impossible from what I knew about you.  Now I’m beginning to think it was you.  Was it?”

“I must confess it was,” Scot responded, feeling some shame at the admission.  “But the corporations never were able to change my values. 

“But no to your question about the keynote speaker role.  I’m here representing an organization in Chicago.  They knew I had attended Kent State, so I got the right of first refusal.  I jumped at the opportunity.  Now I have a chance to spend several days here.  From what I have seen so far, there have been a lot of changes, new construction everywhere.  My dormitory was at the far East end of the campus.  Now that area almost is the center of campus.”

“That Lamborghini in the parking lot isn’t yours is it?” Marty asked mockingly.  Certainly his Socialist friend couldn’t own something that ostentatious.  No one at the university could afford a car like that.

“As a matter of fact it is,” Scot acknowledged half in pride and half in embarrassment, “they pay me a lot of money, much of which I donate to worthy causes.  Most of which I don’t deserve, but they would squander it on something unworthy if I didn’t take it.  That car is the one and only extravagance I allow myself.”

“I bet it attracts a lot of virgins,” Marty teased. “You must have learned to concentrate on your objectives and goals finally.  I remember when that was a major problem for you.  You had no discipline.” 

“I never changed,” Scot confessed.  “I began life with no discipline, and by the time I decided I had to go to college to achieve my life’s goals, it was too late.  That ship had sailed.”

“Your parents or elementary school teachers never took you aside and explained that you needed order in your life,” Marty queried.

“No.” Scot responded with resignation.  “After the dogs and the outhouse incident, my father didn’t trust his fatherly judgement enough to do anything like that, especially with his sons.  He was more comfortable with daughters.”

“What was the Out House incident?” Marty asked.

“My brother and I still were toddlers, under five, when a couple stray dogs came to our house.  We thought having dogs would be great.  They looked hungry so we got some food from the kitchen and fed them.  They really appreciated the meal.  When our father came home from work, we proudly showed him our new friends.  He didn’t see them as new family members.  He said he better not see them around there when he came home from work the next day.  We offered them to all the neighbors.  None wanted them.  We led them several blocks away and told them to stay there.  They didn’t understand English or just were not obedience trained because no matter how far away we led them, they always followed us home.  In desperation, we threw them down each of the holes in the Out House.  Now our father would not be able to see them.  But they did howl.  And they howled and howled.  When my father came home, he asked what the howling was.  We told him the dogs wouldn’t stay away and what we did so that he wouldn’t see them.  He got some rope and fished them out.  Of course they were covered in feces.  They were so glad for their rescue that they jumped all over my father.  By the time he got ropes around their necks and under control, he was covered in feces and urine.  He had to throw away his clothes and shoes.

“When he finally concluded that he had to blame himself and his terse threats to his children for the mess, he questioned his ability to discipline his children.  From then on, he left that task to his wife.”

“What’s the purpose of the conference?” Marty inquired before Scot had a chance to respond to his allegation.  “I don’t recall any conferences scheduled for this week.  Are any Kent State faculty involved?”

“I haven’t looked in depth at the list of attendees.”  Scot responded apologetically.   “There are more than 100, I estimate.  There are a few names listing their organization as Kent State, but those could be students.”

“What’s the conference theme? How are you contributing if you are not speaking?” Marty asked with genuine curiosity.

“The theme is: ‘From Port Huron to Kent State.’  According to the promotional documents, we will evaluate the Port Huron Statement drawn up in 1962 by the Students for a Democrat Society for accuracy of its claims and predictions, evaluate its recommendations and replace or amend it if there are significant differences.  Or we can draw up an entirely new manifesto.  I got a copy of the Port Huron Statement and read it thoroughly.  I was quite amazed at how perceptive those young people were.  Most were college students from well-off families.  Tom Hayden was the principle author.  Their assessments and predictions were very accurate, highly perceptive, for the most part.  

“I began writing a replacement document.  As accurate as SDS was in its manifesto, the anticipated changes were derailed so easily.  SDS believed a Democratic Party without Southerners would be progressive and bring about changes to the militaristic, Feudalistic tendencies of the United States.  That proved not to be true.  Also, the Soviet Union was not the mad, suicidal, world-conquering nation American leaders and provocateurs claimed it was.  In fact, the U.S. fit that role more closely. It was practicing psychopathic projection, attributing to the Soviet Union the evil practices of the U.S.

“What do you think of that synopsis?  I was hoping you would be here to give me some guidance and opinions on this matter.  So I took a chance on finding you.  I can’t believe my good fortune that you actually are here.”

Marty hesitated a few seconds.  “It’s a subject that has fascinated me for a long time.  I would like to see your proposition.  I read the Port Huron Statement shortly after it was written.  I was highly impressed also, but more skeptical than other radical friends I had.  What was your alternative or alternatives?”

“I proposed a Matriarchal Millennium,” Scot said watching Marty closely for the slightest physical reaction.  From Scot’s experience, women strangely were the major opponents of the idea, and scholars also opposed it in large numbers.  There could be the ideological problem of discrimination against a particular group--a can of worms many would not want to reopen.  Once opened, it could be turned back on the original proponents.

“What’s your justification for that proposal?” Marty questioned more academically than as a friend, it seemed to Scot.

“We now have weapons that can annihilate life on earth!” Scot exclaimed.  “As we have seen, some nations are capable of putting those weapons in the hands of mischievous beings such as Ronald Reagan or George W. Bush, and, of course, Harry Truman, who are incapable of comprehending the consequences.  I think all could have justified to themselves the use of those weapons without fully comprehending the consequences.  There was no doubt in my mind that Reagan or Bush would have done that in a confrontation with nations such as the Soviet Union or China even if the likely consequence was annihilation of life on earth.  I think women naturally think of others, especially children, that would be affected, and would be more reluctant to take such lethal steps.  That gender naturally is more compassionate, altruistic and empathetic. Harry Truman allowed the nuclear attacks on Japan, and in 1952 had authorized preparations for nuclear attacks on the Soviet Union.  U.S. military and intelligence services had convinced him that nuclear war was inevitable and should be initiated while the U.S. had nuclear superiority.  Dwight D. Eisenhower got elected that year and stopped the plans, but only because the Pentagon could not guarantee that Soviet long-range bombers would not get through to U.S. cities.  We could be radioactive embers today if that one election had gone the other way.  That incident was only one of several confrontations that were generally labeled ‘brinkmanship’.”   

Marty listened closely with few noticeable changes of expression.  “The quarter is nearly over, and I would love to look into the subject after I have finished grading all the final exams.  Sorry I can’t do it sooner.  I realize you are here now, and it would be nice to discuss your ideas face to face.  It sounds like a fascinating project.

“What other suggestions did you have?” Marty asked.

“I’ve been curious about human behaviors for a long time,” Scot responded.  “I think I’ve stumbled onto some answers.  Why do poor and middle class working people defend the wealthy, no matter how they got their money?”

Scot noticed Marty become more alert as if he wanted to raise his hand and say he had the answer.  He suppressed the role reversal inclination and waited for Scot’s elaboration.  

“I’ve read a lot of books on comparative psychology lately, and I’m beginning to believe we have deep-seated animal instincts that dominate our behavior most of the time.  Our society encourages, modifies and manipulates those behaviors for better or for worse.  That’s another reason I was so eager to come here for this conference.  It should be an opportunity to get those ideas out there and debated.  I want to find out if I’m way out of bounds before I continue further down this path.”

Marty waited to be sure Scot had finished then offered his take on the issue.  “I think you are on the right path.  Our religious leaders, philosophers and political masters have pulled us in the directions that serve their particular needs or the desires of their paymasters.  Those conflicting tugs make us even more confused and leave us in a fog that prevents us from knowing where the light is.  I encourage you to pursue your idea.  I think there is a lot of scholarly potential there.

“Did you have any other jobs before you struck it rich?”  

“Actually, I did,” Scot responded.  “I got a job as a journalist at a small daily newspaper and thought I would be happy there.  There was the glamour, meeting interesting people and prestige, but that wore thin.  It was a small town and didn’t offer everything, especially the culture, that I desired.  I and some friends started a small theater group which was attended far beyond my dreams so the desire for culture was there.  But, I was restless and just had to move on, so I applied for the PhD program at Ohio State University.”

“That’s where you took the business courses that got you the business executive job?” Marty asked.

“I never took a business course.  I got the job by being in the right place at the right time.  That right place was a coffee shop.  I was discussing issues with a couple friends, mainly politics, when a guy sitting nearby overheard our conversation and noticed my Kent State sweat shirt.  He came over and asked if I had been there when the shootings occurred.  I told him I was.  He wanted to know if the newspaper accounts had been accurate.  ‘Not as far as I know.‘ I told him.  ‘Par for the course.’  He asked how I liked Kent State in general.  I told him it was quite conservative, mirroring the people of the state in general.  I mentioned that I had gone to graduate school at Ohio State which was slightly more radical.  I could go there only because I had been in the service and they had just reinstated the GI Bill for education.  I concluded that the Government did that to entice foolish or impoverished young men into their latest misadventure in Vietnam.  He asked if I had traveled outside the U.S. much having heard some of our conversation which was about foreign locations.  I said the nature of my job was to be stationed overseas.  He asked where, and if I knew any other languages, especially Asian.  I told him I had been a Russian linguist.  ‘I was offered language training in Chinese if I agreed to reenlist,’ I said.  ‘The Chinese language would never be useful outside the military.  They’re Communists.  The U.S. never would approve economic or any other relations with them.  So I turned it down.  I had studied Japanese when I was stationed there and some Korean.

“When I finished, he shook hands and introduced himself as Steven Keeler. ‘Want a job?‘ he asked.  He worked for an international trading company that was expanding overseas.  Hong Kong was their primary goal.  But Japan, Taiwan and Korea also were on the list.   Globalization was the future, they believed.  Computers also were the future and they were determined to merge the two futures.  

“The U.S. had recovered from World War II.  There was plenty for everyone.  The grocery store shelves always were fully stocked.  Like me, he had lived through the years during and after World War II when it was common for the stores to be out of many items on your shopping list.  So when those rare items were available, you tended to buy extras, to stock up, making them scarce for everyone else.  With computers and just-in-time (JIT) inventory practices, retailers could send inventory information to their suppliers.  Those suppliers could track the inventories in real time and pin point where supplies were exhausting and prepare to resupply that retailer.  Not only did the retailer now almost always have everything in stock, but there was less need for warehousing by the supplier and the retailer, eliminating a major expense for both.  In a global economy, every nation or area could limit itself to producing only what it made most efficiently.  This required the use of computers.  This company intended to offer training in computers and English Language courses at the same time.  Computers were compatible with phonetic alphabets, but not graphic characters such as the Chinese and Japanese languages used.”      

“The CEO and founder of the company lives in Kenya.  He will be judged as one of the greatest visionaries of the 21st Century, Steve predicted.  He’s very humble.  Even though he’s a multi-millionaire, he doesn’t call himself a business genius or an Ayn Randian Great Man.  He likes to be called ‘Chairman’ rather than president or CEO.  He refers to himself as ‘the ideas man.’  He believes the ideal conditions for great insights lie in the Cradle of Mankind.  Kenya, he believes, is the fertile ground where great ideas can bloom if the right person is planted there.

“Later, I discovered that he heard about an international plot to develop annihilation viruses.  He was obsessed with the carefree attitude of politicians about the ever increasing national debt that reached $4 trillion under Reagan, then went into a steady climb from there.  They didn’t care about the future of the nation.  They were willing to sacrifice or destroy it, he concluded.  In his efforts to make sense out these senseless actions, he came across a report of plans to develop lethal viruses.  Aides was one attempt that mutated and ended in disaster.  Often these attempts are collaborations with other nations such as Great Britain, France and South Africa.  The plan requires a virus that will not mutate readily, and the development of an antivirus for it.  When times and leaders are right, it can be spread around the world and only those chosen ones with the antidote will survive.”

Scot was overwhelmed with a sense of revulsion at the thought that evil most likely will triumph unless good people like the Chairman intervene quickly and successfully.  

“At first, I viewed the job as an opportunity to travel for several years, then move on to something else.  I always liked traveling.  My experience was that when an exotic travel idea was trotted out everyone was for it.  As the departure date got closer, more and more excuses came up for reasons not to go.  In the end, it would be three of us, more often two, and sometimes only I who would actually go.  This opportunity included the travel and paid for it.  I didn’t even ask what the salary would be.

“He gave me his business card then rose to leave.  As he departed, he said it would be an executive position starting at a salary of $250,000 per year.  That was about 10 years income at the newspaper job.”

“So.  What did this great job turn out to be primarily?  Travel?  Desk job? Teaching?”  Marty asked when Scot’s long silence seemed to indicate he was not going to volunteer further information.  Maybe he was ashamed, Marty thought to himself and regretted being so undiplomatic.

“It was fantastic,” Scot responded.  Hong Kong was picked as the launching point.  It still was controlled by the British so most of the people there speak both Chinese and English.  It was a major port for rare items such as ivory.  The biggest obstacle was that in international communications there must be common languages spoken as well as common computer languages.  They assumed computers would force Asians to learn a phonetic language.  English would be the obvious choice.  They calculated that if they got in early and made it the only choice it would become the international computer language .  Then they should be able to dominate a market that would expand for decades.  They would get the first foot in the door and make it the only door.   They planned to start schools that taught computers and English at the same time.  They also would advise companies entering the Global Economy.  The Japanese language was unique and should be easier.  It used characters borrowed from the Chinese.  However, the Japanese had developed a phonetic system to write rare words and words of foreign origin.  

The company was very successful getting governments to support and fund the idea, so there was plenty of financial support.  The Chinese on Taiwan gave carte blanch for funding of the project.  What they lacked was talent that was familiar with multiple languages and was comfortable in foreign nations.  I had studied five languages and had visited over two dozen nations, so I was exactly what they were looking for.

“I saved most of the income because I continued to live at my old lifestyle.  Nearly everything I did was on an expense account.

“My favorite pastime is to sit on my deck and read a monograph.  I was able to retire early.  I got drawn into social movements because, in my travels, I saw how European nations exploited and devastated other nations without any qualms of conscience and little or no punishment for those evil deeds.  In fact, there seemed to be no conscience in Europeans.  Europe was a history of theft, extortion and slaughter.  I was impatient with the slow pace of the movements and, out of frustration, ended up leading many of them.  That’s where I was when the invitation came for the Kent State conference.  I grabbed it up.  It’s almost as if my life has come full circle.  And a lot of money fell into my hands on the way.”