Flash fiction friday story up; feel free to view the rest here. The "Blue Eagle" takes a look at another one of my loves: history. I love "what would happen if" stories.
The Blue Eagle
Lenny shuffled into the dining hall. He was about the last of the three hundred men—it was all men—that could get into the place. The dining hall served Lenny’s Work Regiment, but like everything else, was open to all comers.
Lenny took his seat where he usually did; towards the back, near the door and about as far away from the bright stage and the inevitable appearance of the Four Minute Man of the moment. The stage was simply set, as always; a bushel of fresh corn, apples, oranges, a slab of beef and several bottles of milk formed the static display. Fruit of the land, but Lenny always thought it was a waste, putting that stuff up there. Ought to go in a man’s belly, he figured.
But the waste didn’t bother him as much as the eagle, the Blue Eagle, the symbol of the New National Recovery Administration. A stylized symbol of the real America: the eagle gripped in one claw the gears of industry and in the other the lighting of innovation. Where ever you saw the Blue Eagle, you saw America in action; helping the common man become a king, each with his own castle.
Lenny did not hold out much hope for a castle; a house would do nice, he figured. He just wanted a little place, couple of rooms and an indoor toilet. Lenny figured he’d get one soon; his contract with the Work Regiment was up in a couple of months. Lenny would be a certified New Man, and New Men usually got good pickings.
Then he’d figure on getting a wife.
Lenny had a plan; he just needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.
“Boys, boys…hard days work, right?” said the Four Minute Man as he took to the stage; the lights dimmed.
The Regiment mumbled its assent.
“Now don’t go getting the grumbles on me. Don’t forget I used to sit right where you are now; Work Regiment was the best days off my life.”
“You mean the ‘best day’ of your life,” came a voice from within the darkened hall.
The Four Minute Man peered past the klieg lights, vainly looking for the origin of that voice. “Well, now, don’t get testy. I won’t be but a minute, and then we can eat, all right?”
A cheer went up from the crowd, and the Four Minute Man beamed brightly.
“Now boys, I have a special treat tonight: a letter from the very own desk of our President, Hugh Johnson. The ‘Old General’ wants every one of us Four Minute Men to read this to you across the whole country. Boy’s, this is a treat.” The Four Minute Man paused, and began reading:
“Greetings, My Fellow Americans. I just wanted to stop a moment and let you know how things are going on down here in Washington. It’s only been a few months since we set things to right, and got rid of that old cripple Roosevelt. Seems everything I told you was right; Roosevelt and his so called New Deal Men were planning to get us into a war, a war boys, with the Japs. Imagine that, the Japs. Why, old Emperor Hirohito ain’t never done nothing to me; has he ever done anything to you? I can reveal now we were very close to going to war with the Japs; Roosevelt had to just keep on pleasing the niggers, Jews and socialists…I think from listening too much to that kook Churchill and his little toy Empire.
Well boys, we ain’t going to let that happen. I’ve sent envoys to Emperor Hirohito, Old Joe, the good bean Benito and Uncle Adolf to let them know what that old crippled Roosevelt was up too. I am announcing the cancellation of this cockamamie, so-called, ‘Lend Lease Deal’ with Churchill and his imperialist buddies: if they want to go on conquering the world, they are going to have to do it without the good old US of A. As long as I am in the White House boys, you will get work, not war.
And to give you work, I am announcing the end of the New Deal.
Now, the New Deal weren’t all bad; hell, I had me a job in the National Recovery Administration, as you may recall. The bad eggs were the ones running it. Some things we’ll keep; but no more New Deal. Instead, boys, I’m offering you a Swell Deal. Me and my Swell Deal Men are getting ready to work on a whole new set of programs; programs that are going to make you kings. Kings!
It’s a new world, boys. My ambassadors are going around with a whole new idea: a Fraternal Order of Nations, to replace the tired League of Nations. Instead of war, we’re going to look for ways to cooperate; and everyone’s going to get a share. For example, I’ve asked old Uncle Adolf to send Von Braun our way. Smart guy; makes rockets. I’m pledging to put a man on the moon by 1950 at the latest. Imagine having your own castle on the moon, boys. It’s going to happen. In exchange, I’ve offered up Einstein, one of our smart guys. Uncle Adolf seems eager to get him back home and working.
Boys, a lots going on here in Washington: the Lord’s Work is the People’s Business, and it ain’t never done.
Well, that’s plenty news for now, so I’m going to turn you back over to your Four Minute Man. I’m sure he’s got lots more to tell you. Exciting times ahead, Boys; and everybody gets a share.
Yours,
President Hugh Johnson.”
There was a ruckus in the back of the dining hall. Four Work Regiment NCOs in black turtle necks were hustling some poor sop out the back way. Probably the smart aleck, Lenny thought; some people never learned to shut up.
The Four Minute Man smiled. “Let’s chow, boys,” he said.
Lenny chowed
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