Captain Doug Remembers

Doug Anston- 2021 AD (2 EL)

Picture Asyl at deep autumn midnight, a tiny old town on the prairie. Lamplight shines from a very few windows. The propaganda screens on Main Street are silent. Bobbycats roam the dark streets unchallenged by dogs- for there are no more dogs after the plague. It is Halloween/Samhain, and the moon is full. In the countryside a few bonfires burn. Theres a party at the Art School; a string band plays by torchlight on the porch, while Jody, Andre and others dance on the lawn. It is the second harvest festival since Sealing Day- or, as LOOZers called it, the Renouncing. They say that old people sleep less, that something about their brains and bodies demands less time to process new experiences. Supposedly they remember things from twenty years ago better than things from yesterday. Captain Douglas Anson USN (Ret.) knew that it was true, at least the sleep part. At 70 years old he saw 12 am far more often than he used to, but his memory stretched like a highway straight back from today into his youth. OK, around 25 it turned into a gravel road that eventually petered out among bushes and fog. Even back there, some clear shapes stood out beside the road. So, here he was, sleepless at Midnight on Halloween, in a different Asyl than he could have imagined. If he could sleep, maybe hed have one of his dreams. Doug had the knack of tackling problems via dream, and sometimes daydream, conversations with famous persons. Many were the times that Admiral Bull Halsey or Winston Churchill had helped him with a situation. That would be just the thing on a night before visiting cemeteries. In his youth hed been a Road kind of guy. Those were the Nam years, so hed enlisted before he could be drafted- Join the Navy and See the World. And then there was that dream... Hed married Janine just before shipping out. Hed wanted to get as far from Asyl as he could; his knack for organizing and his ASVABs had landed him in the naval Quartermaster Corps. After a taste of travel with the Navy, two years had turned to five, then ten, then twenty, then forty. Theyd decided right off that the kids shouldnt be raised as military brats, so Janine had stayed in Asyl. Doug was the youngest of his siblings, so his folks had let her and the kids move in with them. The old house was plenty big for her, his folks, and the two girls. Now it was more than big enough for him alone. The flu outbreak of 09 had taken Janine exactly twelve years ago tonight. Theyd barely gotten used to each other again before she was gone. The girls were living in The Cities by then. Hed been proud of them, as they were strong, principled, outspoken women. Theyd jokingly called him a retro old loser when hed decided to stay in what was left of Asyl. When the Zones were declared, Shoshanna had stayed in the Metro, saying that she could fight the Fascists better there, and had urged him to join her and his granddaughter. Maybe she had been right. Her sister Annie had returned home, and now lived at Phoenix, where she taught young children. He saw her fairly often. Now they were both LOOZers, if not losers. Even though Asyl wasnt the same any more it was still home, sort of. Hed had his adventures, enough for a dozen men. It had been time to bring down that curtain. When Janine had died, hed actually been tempted to end everything, but Karl Mueller at Phoenix had made him an offer: What he'd needed was a job: the job of coordinating the coming LOOZ's internal logistics and communications. (It was

obvious even then that one day soon the people of Greater Asyl would have to depend on each other, and no-one else, for the necessities of life.) Other than his sharp memory, Doug felt his years. Decades of arctic cold and tropic heat on deck watches, too much partying in liberty ports, high alerts and just plain intense living had left him with a squadron of aches, pains and trick joints. He had come to hate stairs. Heating the whole big place when it held just one old man seemed silly, so hed drained the upstairs bathroom's pipes: It was now just more unheated storage space, like the three bedrooms. He'd moved his clothes downstairs and converted the living room into a fine Captain's Cabin. The dining room had become the Ward Room, where hung cork boards and charts for the logistics project, dominated by a huge work table. Where the Ward Room was all business, the Cabin showed who Doug was. Shelves held mementos from around the planet, from daibutsus to tapestries, conch shells and Greek statues, even a few coconut monkeys. Doug was one of the last larger-than-life Old Navy types. Hed seen and loved a big, wide world, but in the end it hadnt loved him back. Ultimately it had taken more fight than hed had left to give. Hed needed just to come home, to live out the rest of his days in a safe place that didnt change. But it HAD changed. Hed known that America was changing, and not for the better, but hed always pictured Asyl as being the same. No such luck. Everything had changed in ways he couldnt have imagined in the 60s. Hed come home to the USA, but by then Asyl was like part of a third-world country. This midnight he stood in the small kitchen clutching his night-watch-strong mug of ersatz coffee, and gazed out the window. Puddles of moonlight crawled across the yard, unmolested. When hed moved back to stay in early 2009, there had still been streetlights to weaken them. US 59 had been only two blocks away, so back then the occasional whine of semis or the drawn-out farts of their jake brakes punctuated the night. Now the only light was from the moon and stars. The only sounds were party noises coming from the Art School down the street. Those folks were still up, celebrating their version of Halloween. That was one of the changes; in his day, Halloween had been a night of mischief and treats, not religious at all. These folks, though, treated it like Easter. They talked about the veil being thinner, that figures from the past would come check up on you. Well, hed seen stranger things around the world, and they seemed like a good bunch of kids, so he gave them the benefit of the doubt. Besides, honoring those whod gone before was a good idea on principle. His own dreams had taught him not to pooh-pooh anything that wasn't obviously harmful. No, Asyl wasnt Asyl any more. Hed never have thought that hed end up sitting on the Town Council with a bunch of fourth generation Hippie-Pagans, but Asyls If you arent a Norwegian Lutheran you arent anything days were far behind it. Hed long ago abandoned any kind of formal faith, but he did kind of miss the old church bells. He was finally getting sleepy, and prepared for bed. He'd just finished in the tiny, dim, three-quarterbath when he heard footsteps. Someone was coming down the stairs! He faded back into the head just as someone entered the kitchen: someone young; someone wearing pajamas like the Captain hadnt seen since high school; someone who fumbled for the light switch and swore when it didn't work- it hadn't for years. The Captain watched from the dim alcove, amazed; so it was TONIGHT. Hed forgotten. He flicked his ancient standard-issue Zippo lighter, and lit the oil lamp on its sconce beside the bathroom door.

Hey, Doug, the old man called. Hows tricks? His younger self, startled by the flame and the kitchens strange contents, backed up a step. Who the hell he snapped. Its OK Kid. Nothing to worry about, Oh, Grampa, the teenager started to say. You had me going there for a mi No. Wait. Young Doug saw a straight, tall old man who resembled his grandfather. His hair was iron gray, and the eyes that peered from his weathered face carried the weight of command. He looked familiar, like family, but not quite right. The youth raised his fists. Who the hell are you, old man? What are you doing in our house? The retired Captain advanced toward soon-to-be-Seaman Doug Anson with his open hands held out at his sides. Sometimes Im not even sure of that myself, Kid, he answered while gesturing to the table and chairs. Sit down, take a load off. This will take some explaining. The youth sat, but hesitated as if the unfamiliar chair in his own home might collapse under him. The Captain watched while the young mans eyes wandered over the room, pausing on the refrigerator, Chester the big orange bobbycat sleeping beside the wood stove, the two other oil lamps in their sconces, and finally the calendar on the wall above the table. October Twenty-Twenty-One! he snorted. You must be kidding! Would I kid you, Kid? The Captain's eyes sparkled. Young Doug glared at the strange invader-who-belonged. Would you, old man? he said. You havent told me who you are or what youre doing in our kitchen! OR what you did with all our stuff! And what the hell is that big cat thing? Chester, that big cat thing, awoke, yawned and stretched, and came to put his head on the Captains lap. Doug Senior scratched his ears. Chester cut loose with a chainsaw-snarling purr. The Captain smiled as he said, This is Commodore Chester N. Bobbycat, and I am his loyal servant, Captain Douglas Anson USN, retired. And YOU are in MY kitchen, Kid. The young man peered at the Captains guileless face, then to the calendar and back. CAPTAIN Douglas Anson? In 2021. Seventy-Year-Old Douglas Anson. Hoo, boy, this is some dream. He looked sideways at the old man. Isnt it? Go ahead and think its a dream. he answered. I did. But here, think about this. The Captain reached for a small, black box about the size of a pound of butter. It had silvery grills near each end, some buttons and a small glass window on the front, and a small slot in the top. Beside it was a tray holding many colorful objects the size of sticks of chewing gum. Young Doug thought that the box looked something like a transistor radio, but had no idea what the sticks could be. The old man rummaged a bit among the sticks, then held one up. Beatles OK? he said. Before the eighteen-year-old could answer, the old man slid the gum from its wrapper, and popped it in the slot. Red numerals appeared in the tiny window, and began counting down. The strains of Oh Bla Dee, Oh Bla Dah filled the room, until the Captain poked a button on the box and the sound

diminished. Hey, I just bought that album! said the youth. Let me see that wrapper. Sure enough, the familiar picture of the Fab Four in ridiculous costumes adorned the thick plastic paper. Above them was the caption: Magical Mystery Tour- 50th Anniversary Edition, The Captain reached across the table to point at the tiny album cover. Here, he explained. Pull apart the sides to get the full effect. Young Doug did, and the paper expanded to a typing-paper-sized sheet with notes and MOVING illustrations. He stared for a moment, then dropped the futuristic artifact. It shrunk back to its original size. Stunned, the young man got up and walked to the window. He needed to see this world. He stood for a few minutes, staring out at the dim yard. OK, I give, he said over his shoulder. Im in the future, or at least a dream of it. So, whats that record player thing run on? Why the oil lamps? Why a wood stove? And what the hell is this- tigerdoing in your kitchen? If this is a gag, it doesnt add up. The Captain sighed. No, it doesnt add up, he said. Oil lamps and MP7s, wood stoves and mutant cats; I lived through it, and it still doesnt add up. Im not sure how to explain how we got from your day to mine. Religion, politics, the weather and the economy all went nuts at once. Young Doug faced back and stood with crossed arms. Try me, he said. Fine. No promises. Ill do what I can. 1968 has been a crazy year for you, right? Lots of good stuff is happening, what with Apollo just about ready to go, and gains in Civil Rights. Popular music is the best its been, or will be, for years. On the other hand, youve had two big assassinations, protests, riots, hippies, the Democratic Convention, the Tet Offensive, and 'Nam heating up. Its a lot to swallow. I guess, said the youth. But I dont pay much attention to political stuff. The Captain shook his head. No, I guess I didnt. he said I should have. He paused before continuing. The strains were too much. Do you know the song about Pave paradise, put up a parking lot? Yeah. So? Its true, you know. You dont know what youve got till its gone. Youre living at the pinnacle of your civilization, lad, and you dont even know it. Theres hope in the air- differences in how people think they should live it out is whats making the turmoil. We will not choose wisely. To mix metaphors, the US is about to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Hows that? Sounds like old man sour grapes to me. Doug poured them both mugs of coffee before he began. Let me tell you a story, Kid. The biggest, richest, most powerful country in the world is about to fall flat on its face like Jimmy Finlayson in a Laurel and Hardy movie. Nixon will get us out of Nam, sure, but

Nixon? Tricky Dick? How? The Captain snapped. Dont interrupt. The fiasco at the Democratic convention last summer sewed it up for Tricky Dick, and then some. We found out later that the trouble was caused by fake hippies. The Right would stop at nothing to win. OK, as long as it came up, let's start there. The hippies and their friends did a lot of good. They talked about really living out your spirituality and ethics, about caring. But once it all turned to sex and drugs they lost their rudder. They got nasty. They got violent. They got stupid. Then they got replaced. Replaced? With what? The Captain looked as if he wanted to spit. By the Jesus Freaks, he said, remembering. They looked and talked like hippies, but they were the exact opposite. Hippies were inclusive: Jesus Freaks preached our way or the highway. Hippies believed in spirituality: Jesus Freaks believed in religion. Hippies were free spirits: Jesus Freaks were the worst kind of conformists. He didnt have the heart to tell his younger self that their own sister would become one of those bespangled extremists, even though she eventually got over it. So, there were a bunch of Bible-thumping beatniks, Young Doug said. Sounds harmless to me. They would have been harmless, if they hadnt been part of a bigger plan. They were duped shock troops for a slow theocratic coup. Jesus Freaks made the kind of religion that people used to see as insane look cute and hip. It was a setup. You watch. In the next ten years youll see the heart and soul start to go out of your country. The crazy hope of your day will be replaced with greedy fear and conformity. Well go to the Moon, then lose the vision and burn the factories that built the ships, just like that Chinese emperor did 500 years ago. People will stop trusting their government and start trusting corporations, despite Ikes warning about the Military Industrial Complex. Some of those corporations will be something weve never seen before- ruthless big religion allied with reactionary politics. Right-thinking people' will stop trusting reasonable discussion, and go for any snake oil salesman who says the right weasel words. Nixon and his Silent Majority were just the start. Within a dozen years, Liberal will be a swear word. Well lose our vision and our nerve- permanently. Eventually the world will get sick of our self-righteousness and bullying. That's when the whole planet loses hope. Oh, come on! Young Doug protested. Weve still got guys like Humphrey, Mondale, McCarthy... Like I said, you dont appreciate what youve got. For instance, youve got a presidential election in a couple days, right? We dont. We havent had one for years. Why not? Because were at war and in a Depression. Eighteen years ago, a president attacked a country that hadnt done anything to us. That started the perpetual guerrilla fighting and Resource Wars. The minute one war ended another began- and we got governments that LIKED wars. Some places even got nuked. Nobody could stop that once it had started. On top of that, the environmental reforms youre talking about in 68 have all been undone, so the whole world is fighting over disappearing land, water and food. Its an emergency, so elections would just hurt 'national unity.' Is that why there arent any streetlights? Blackouts against bombers? The Captain laughed. Hey, I hadnt thought of that, he said. No, our bombs and planes dont need light to find targets any

more. There are no lights because youre on the Rez, son. On the Rez? Like Indians? Like Red Lake where we went fishing? Close enough for government work. Only this Rez isnt for redskins, but Green thinkers. Everywhere else, all the family farms are gone, bought out by one big company. Rural folks who didnt want to work for that company ended up here, fenced in. So, why am I here? What should I do? asked the young man of himself. I dont know why youre here tonight, but from what I remember, youll be home tomorrow. Just do what youre going to do. I trust you to make it all come out OK- mostly. Sure, youll make a complete ass of yourself more than a few times in the next decades. Youll do and see things that youll wished you hadnt. For a while youll be a minor deity to the men under you, but eventually youll realize that youre just a little sausage in the smorgasbord of life. Take care of yourself, and take care of your people. Thats all most of us can do. But what else? Im joining the Navy, thats for sure, but what else? Mostly that. After QM school your first berth will be on a cargo ship, with a tyrannical Pacific Theater-vintage supply ship Captain, just counting down to his retirement. Itll be hell, but good for you. Youll get to see how NOT to run a ship, and practice smiling and saluting over-promoted fools. Just one tour and Im out, right? Kid, youre naive. Your sense of adventure will grab you by the nose and kick you in the ass. The first time you smell Asia, even though you wrinkle your nose, youll be hooked. Not to mention that the Navy will look like a good place to lay low while things go to pot. Look at me, Im your future- a double twenty man. No kidding! the young man murmured. Where all will I go? Will I see any wars? It would be easier to say where you wont go, and yes, too many wars. No more really big ones, but lots of peacekeeping stuff, with a few banana republic invasions for spice, even chasing African pirates. Oh, and a few stints in the perpetual Middle East wars- until they nuke themselves off the planet. Thank God I was at Diego when that balloon went up. I cant tell you much more. Just be good, decent and honest, Kid. Learn from your abundant mistakes. Be good to Janine. Dont lose touch with the folks back home! Youve got the torch, now. Ill get it back in time. The Captain stood. You take your time and think about it, he said. Go outside and look around, if you like. Look, don't touch. Just be back before sunrise. I wont be here. Ill see you in, oh, fifty-three years. Im going to bed. Of course youll go, and touch, he thought. And you wont understand it any more than I did. Doug walked back to his cabin. Chester paced at his side. He thought about his unsuspecting younger self. Hed pretty much ignored any of the changes in his world: well, not so much ignored as hidden from them. Anyway, what difference could that kid have made? What difference can any one person make when a Civilization goes insane? He can just try to preserve his personal Honor. <**>

The next day was an outing day. What was more appropriate, after a night of remembering those who had gone before, then to visit the areas cemeteries? This early November day obliged with bright, warm weather. Fall, such as it was, didnt really start until mid-November anymore. At about 07:00 the Asyl Municipal Horse Cart pulled up in front of Dougs house. It was an old hayrack, rigged with an awning, benches, and a drop-down stairway for boarding. It was pulled by two huge, gorgeous Percherons with golden brown coats. Pumpkins, sheaves of grain and bouquets of colored leaves festooned the wagon and the horses bridles. Piled aboard were about a dozen residents of the Asyl Village Art School commune, including Asyl's Mayor Jody Neihaus. Andre DuPris, former theatre professor and biker extraordinaire, was driving. Several picnic baskets and ice-filled tubs of cool drinks sat among them. Except for the sunglasses and sun robes everyone wore, it could have been a scene lifted from a century or two before. The horse cart would make a loop from Asyl, visit the town cemetery, a few other plots, the Jacko Memorial and Phoenix, then return and repeat the trip. They would pick up and drop off people all along the way. Doug could make his afternoon appointment with Karl Mueller, stay overnight with Annies family, and hitch a ride back to town the next day. Doug climbed aboard with a small rucksack and sat beside Mayor Jody. So, old man, how are ya? she asked. Im not quite sure, he answered, then told her about the last nights visitation. She sat for a moment, silent, as the horses clopped along, then hmmm-ed. She said, There are times I wish I could go back and tell Bill about whats happened. Sometimes it feels like hes watching all the way from his burned-over plot in Colorado. Knowing you, maybe you really did talk to your younger self last night. Doug frowned. Well, maybe, he said. But I suppose it doesnt matter. Im here now. Whats done is done. Right. Its how we do things from here out that matters. The cart picked up a few more people in Asyl, then headed for the old Lutheran cemetery just south of town. Both Doug and Jody had people there. A person they all had in common was The Colonel. Colonel Samuelson had grown up in Asyl, then left to live a life of adventure. Hed ended up as a UN peacekeeper, and saw even more of the ugly side of the world than Doug had. Hed eventually returned to Asyl and lived out his life as a semi-recluse in the family mansion at the end of Main Street. He had seen few people, and had only shared his wisdom at times of great need, yet his quiet influence was still felt among those who remained. He had brought along a few young people whom hed rescued from war zones. Among them was Tina Dahingwa, an orphan from the Rwanda massacres. She was now Alec's Second Chief of Security at Phoenix. Tina hadnt waited for the cart. Shed walked the five miles from Phoenix to be at the grave by dawn. They found her kneeling there, praying. She had replaced her usual white Phoenix sun robe with a colorful, flowing, batiked garment. Every few seconds she tossed a pinch of herbs into a small brass bowl of charcoal that burned on the grave. It was a calm day. A cloud of aromatic smoke hung around her as she murmured. The newcomers quietly gathered around her. After a few minutes she straightened up and looked toward the headstone. He brought me out of life-in-death, she said. I can never repay that to him. The assembled people muttered assent.

She turned to her friends. So, I must repay it to you. After the hugs and tears that followed, Doug quietly separated himself from the group. Much as hed respected the Colonel, he hadn't known him well, and had more important visits to make. A few rows over and down he found the family plot. First, he stood before his parents grave, remembering. He then went to the newer, double-sized red granite headstone. One of its names read only Douglas Anson- 1950-. The other said Janine (Thompson) Anson- Beloved Wife and Mother- 1947-2009. Doug knelt and opened the rucksack. From it he pulled a bouquet of paper flowers and a handful of origami cranes. Hed seen the cranes while on station in the Orient, and thought them a fine custom. He put the offerings on the little metal shelf hed built below the headstone, pulled out his Zippo and lit them, then stepped back. His cheeks were wet as he watched the offering burn. I wish that Id been there more, he whispered. It was just you and the kids through those years while I was off knocking heads. I always thought that wed have time someday. Its someday, but there's no time. More the fool, me. He tried to be stoic, but sobbed. After a few minutes Doug realized that he wasnt alone. Jody had visited her parents grave and was standing a few feet away. Hey. Hey, Cap. He straightened up. It was just like that song, he said. You know, Cats in the Cradle? You know well have a good time then. But then never happened. I was gone for everything! Jody took Dougs hand and looked him in the eye. Right song, wrong line, Doug. I was there! I knew your kids. They grew up just like you, with strength and integrity! Doug flinched. Few people had ever had the courage to confront him so strongly since he was just a rating. She continued, Shoshanna risked her neck to feed homeless and to smuggle refugees in the Cities. She probably still is! Annies at Phoenix, helping the next generation to not grow up ignorant! You miss Janine. I miss Janine. But todays about her, not us! The best way to honor her memory is to go on right from here! <**> The cart picked up a few people from smaller farms along the way to the Jacko memorial. The road also led past both the Living Waters and Magic Pumpkin communes. As they trundled up the hill past Living Waters, the pilgrims saw several of its residents out in the fields. The women all wore long dresses and large bonnets. The men were dressed in overalls, dark shirts and straw hats. The few who looked up, all men, scowled at the passing wagon. Their particularly strict version of Christianity taught that they were in the midst of the Tribulation, and that only they would be saved. They certainly did not approve of anything to do with Halloween.

Andre slowed, waved and called out, Anyone coming along? The Living Waters folks all silently looked at the ground. The cart moved on. The reception at the Magic Pumpkin was quite different. Everyone descended to share a mid-morning snack with the residents there. The contents of the picnic baskets joined loaves of fresh bread, bowls of sweet mashed parsnips, piles of plums and grapes, and pitchers of apple cider on the trestle table. The colorfully dressed people shared good food and conversation for about an hour. A couple of hopeful bobbycats hung around, eager for handouts, which they got. When the Asyl horse cart left, it was joined by the Pumpkins over-sized buckboard, drawn by two strapping black quarterhorse geldings. The Jacko Memorial stood in a deep, narrow side valley off the Minnesota River valley, a couple of miles upstream from the ruins of Montevideo. A great oak tree whose roots bulged out like a cage stood on one bank. Among its roots dangled many Native American-style tobacco ties, paper cranes and other mementos. Beside it stood a life-sized carving of a big man flanked by two huge cats. Tommy Jensen of the Magic Pumpkin was Dougs age, but spry and wiry. He stood in front of the tree, pushed his cowboy hat back, and began to proclaim: Old Jacko here was a Jazz man. And Jacko was a traveling man. And Jacko was my neighbor for years before I even knew it. A man like Jacko lives to travel, by boat or train or shanks mare. If the ground under his feet aint moving, he aint happy. But one day the ground wasnt moving, nor was he, but the train WAS. He traveled fast then- to a hospital and years of rehab. Then he came to this valley to hide- and die. But the Life Force did not approve of his plan, no sir! Under this very tree he found two peculiarlooking kittens. Their bobcat mother had died trying to hide them from some enemy. He felt sorry for the things, so he took them up to the vet at Phoenix. Those folks fixed them right up. They were Louis and Aretha, the parents of all bobbycats. He was a great guy after that, but why a memorial? Well, because he was one of those fated people. He gave us more than he knew. When all the normal dogs and cats died, the bobbycats just got a little sick, but beat it. When those other animal partners were gone we still had the bobbycats. And they didnt just survive, they thrived and changed. Our bobbycats now are bigger and smarter than Louis and Aretha ever were. And all because this beaten man got un-beat. All because one of those surprises no one can predict landed at his feet. All because he dredged up the memory of how to reach out. All because he thought he was done, like some of us here think were done- but learned that he was wrong. And so are they. He got hit by a train. We can feel the same way. But he came back, and so will we. The thoughtfully chatting pilgrims passed the Magic Pumpkin again on the way to Phoenix. The Pumpkins buckboard stayed with them, but swapped a few people for the next leg. The two vehicles jounced along a dirt trail. To their left was the green Minnesota River valley, with the LOOZ fence on the far bank. Beyond that were no houses, no trees, no fences- just gently rising land covered in endless identical crops. Huge robot farm machines grotesquely busied themselves in that prairie parody. After half an hour the caravan rolled into Phoenix. A young woman sat in the gatehouse, but the gate stood open. Who but friends would come here any more? The vehicles passed through the jade-green archway, then came to a stop in the cleared area between old Minnesota 40 and the Community Center. About two dozen Phoenix residents in their characteristic spider-silk robes and gaudy hats came forth to greet the newcomers. Among them were Phoenixs patriarch, Karl Mueller and Dougs daughter, Annie. They took Doug aside while the other Phoenixites greeted the pilgrims.

Annie hugged Doug, then told him, Dad, good to see you. Doug turned to Karl, who shook his hand warmly. Captain Anson, he said. Your country needs you. My country? Doug answered. My country locked us all away here, remember? No, not THAT country! THIS country! It had been their usual greeting since Karl had used it to rope Doug into ramrodding his logistics project.