Dec 24, 1963
asey lay awake most of that night, thinking back on the events C which, over the past year, had ruined his life, but which had also left him positioned to counsel the President of the United States, the most powerful leader in the world, a man possibly destined to become the most important leader in the world’s history, if only he could find the key to unlocking the power in the unreadable text in his legal pads. To top it all off, the text was most likely given to him by gods: a thought preposterous beyond comprehension.
So obviously, Casey thought, he must be dreaming.
Or perhaps he had crashed his small Cessna the last time he landed at the Marshfield Airport, and like Dorothy in the Land of Oz, he had received a sizeable knock to his noggin, rendering him unconscious, and launching him into a dreamscape derived from his own subconscious. If he muttered, “There’s No Place Like Home,”
and clicked his heals three times, would he awaken from the dream?
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Bizarre as the past month had been, it was worth a try.
It didn’t work. It was still late at night, and he was still wide awake in someone else’s home. How on Earth had he ended up here, he wondered, and there he was, back at the beginning, thinking back over the events of the past year, none the wiser.
After the third time through, he decided no matter how improbable it sounded, he was stuck with the memory of the past year as his reality. He would navigate this reality until he either woke up, or encountered another way to slip back through the keyhole to his former life.
So how could Casey give Kennedy the help he had asked for?
It didn’t take him long to realize how inadequate he was to that task.
More people, smarter than he, should be part of the discussion of how to use the president’s legal pads. Then he thought of all the things that could, and probably would, go wrong, if Kennedy revealed the pads, their source and their power, to anyone but Casey.
In the worst case, since everyone would see the pads as scribbling, they would label Kennedy a kook, he would lose the coming election, and he would sink into obscurity, with no power or influence to change the horrid future he had been shown.
In the improbable event that Kennedy could convince a few vi-sionary people of the veracity of his claims, there would be as many opinions about the course of action to take on an issue as there were visionaries in the group Kennedy assembled. Those who did not support a course of action would have many opportunities to subvert it in many ways. For any group assembled, there would be at least some who would decide an issue based on how it affected them, or their group, rather than humanity. Some might even sell their vote.
It was a sad truth. Any group Casey could imagine Kennedy assembling was likely to be as ineffective and incapable of making a contemplative decision as congress was now, at times.
No, Casey decided, the pads and their power would be realized if one person, and only one, were Captain, Helmsman, Pilot and Crew. JFK.
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Casey believed that JFK could rise to the level of greatness demanded by the power in his legal pads. The only question was, How could Casey help him? In trying to answer that question, he was back at his starting point once again.
He must have fallen into a fitful sleep, for he awoke at first light, in a tangle of sheets, unrested, and with the feeling he was about to fail an important duty. His driver dropped him on Constitution Avenue, near the Lincoln Memorial, and they arranged a pick-up in time for the next meeting with Kennedy. Walking gave him time to think. The weather remained cool, but bright, sunny and windless. Perfect weather, he would have said, had anyone asked.
The middle of the afternoon found him on a bench with a view to the Washington Monument, hoping for inspiration. The day had warmed. Lack of sleep caught up with him, and he dozed.
In his dream, he stood near a fence separating two vast farm fields. The field on his side of the fence was recently tilled, exposing rich, dark soil. The field on the other side was lush with tall alfalfa.
A farmer in the middle of the other field shouted to Casey, but he couldn’t understand. He said, “What?” and in the next instant the farmer appeared on his left, and he shouted into Casey’s left ear,
“PLANT… A… SEED!!” loud enough to wake Casey up.
“Are you talking to me?” someone said.
Casey opened his eyes and saw a middle-aged woman walking past him from left to right. She pushed a baby stroller with her left hand and held the hand of a little girl with her right. “Did you say something to me?” the woman said again.
“No Mam,” Casey replied. “I was sleeping.”
The woman stared worriedly at Casey, tugged the little girl closer, and hurried off. While she was still only a few steps away the child turned her head toward Casey and, with deliberate and exaggerated lip movements, mouthed the words “Plant… A… Seed.”
Casey stood and began walking. He soon noticed the drone of a small aircraft. Looking up, he found the noise came from a yellow Piper tail-dragger, and it pulled a long banner printed with the words PLANT A SEED !!
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It surprised him that they allowed the plane to operate in the restricted airspace so near the capitol, and he was still trying to puzzle that out when there descended from the sky a gigantic human foot, wearing a gigantic wooden sandal. It thudded to the ground a dozen feet in front of Casey, buckling the sidewalk and tearing up sod and bushes. He looked up and saw a figure nearly one hundred feet tall, with wild hair and robes that reminded Casey of the myth-ical Zeus. The figure bent forward at the waist, and when his head was a dozen feet from Casey he said, “WELL, DID YOU?
PLANT… A… SEED?” It was so loud Casey could almost see the words as they descended toward him, and he felt the spittle that accompanied them.
This time Casey really did awaken, to find a little girl shooting him in the face with a red plastic squirt gun from two feet away.
“Emily!” her mother called from the sidewalk, “Stop that this instant.” She rushed over and grabbed the child’s hand to pull her away. “I’m so very sorry, Sir,” she said to Casey. “She’s never done anything like this before.”
Casey assured the woman it was not a problem. He needed to wake up anyway. As the pair walked off to his right, the girl turned toward Casey and winked at him. He realized it was the little girl from his dream.
“Okay,” Casey said aloud. “Plant a seed, I get it, you can ease back on the theatrics.” He looked around then and was glad to find no one within earshot. He began walking in the general direction of the intersection where his driver would pick him up. As he walked, he thought.
Seeds. Words could be seeds. Ideas could, too. Ideas planted in someone’s mind could take root, grow, and mature into social change. Is that what his subconscious was trying to tell him? That he should give Kennedy an idea? What idea? Casey didn’t believe he could summon ideas that could transform the world. Such ideas would have to come from a great mind, a mind such as Kennedy’s, perhaps, and even he would have to rise to that challenge. The chal-105
lenge for Casey was simpler: convince Kennedy to apply his intellect to solutions that would be the most beneficial to the world.
Casey wondered if the simple priorities of his worldview would be an aid, or a hindrance, when measured against obstacles to human interaction that had befuddled the world’s greatest leaders for all of recorded history. Then, in a moment of clarity, Casey saw his answer. It didn’t require a great intellect. He, along with most average people, could see when something was not right.
If Casey interpreted his dream correctly, he was expected to provide a directional compass for Kennedy, to plant a simple idea now that could mature in Kennedy’s mind to become the social movement that defeated, sidestepped or avoided the horrible cata-clysm Kennedy saw as the future of humanity. Furthermore, since Casey was chosen to plant this idea, the idea would have to come from Casey’s mind, so the Voice Entity must expect Casey’s clear distinction between right and wrong to govern his efforts. It was quite a responsibility, he realized. Frightening, but also wondrous.
He thought again that he might be experiencing a complex dream, and he decided again it didn’t matter. He would do his best now just as he always had, and hope it was good enough.
Casey arrived before six that afternoon. Kennedy was already there and waiting for him. He was searched again, and then shown into the little study with the two comfortable chairs in front of the burning fireplace.
This time both men had clearer objectives, and a tug of war developed between them. Kennedy favored a pragmatic approach that attempted only to avoid the worst of the portended pitfalls, and only for the United States. He looked to Casey for validation and collaboration toward that end. Casey pushed Kennedy to wage a full-out assault on all the faults of the human race.
“With an opportunity like this, we could become a species de-void of atrocities like murder, torture, enslavement and rape, and even non-violent crimes like fraud and thievery. We could become a species that not only claims to have risen above its animalistic 106
impulses, but one that actually has.”
“You can’t change human nature, Casey. Man will always have a saintly side, and a dark side, to his nature.”
“All men, do you think?” Casey asked.
“Most, maybe all,” Kennedy replied.
“Mother Teresa? Mahatma Gandhi?”
“Ok, that’s two. Who else?”
“My mother,” Casey said.
Kennedy smiled. “Judging by the son she raised, I’d have to agree. That’s three. Whom else can you name throughout history who was entirely good? Who did only good deeds, harmed no one?
Never cheated on a test or on his spouse, never ran a stop sign, never spoke ill of anyone.”
“I’ve known one or two whom I believe fit that description,”
Casey said. “They’re not famous though. You’d have to take my word for it.”
“To tell the truth, I may have known a few such as that too, Casey. Very few, and even they may have led a good life only because they never encountered a situation that drew out their evil side. It’s latent in all of us. We killed to survive, once. To deny that is foolish.”
“Is it foolish to think we can rise above it, our evil side?”
“Certainly not. Intellectually, we are capable of anything.”
Casey rose from his chair and lifted the fireplace poker from its hook. He knelt and spoke as he idly adjusted logs on the fire. “So, all we need to do is put those with a saintly side in charge.”
“Casey, that sounds like a terrific idea,” Kennedy said. “The problem is, the people you are speaking of shun the spotlight. You mentioned it yourself, ‘they’re not famous,’ mostly because they abhor the cattiness and hypocrisy that comes with fame, or the corruption that comes with power.”
“It seems to be a universal truth, then? That corruption comes with power? Why do you suppose that is, Jack?”
“Well, because it has always been so. Corruption has plagued 107
every civilization humankind has fielded. It’s a trait of human nature we may try to deny, but cannot escape. I’m certain some good people have entered politics with the loftiest of intentions, only to be changed by the system itself.”
Casey stood up, returned the poker to its hook, and turned to face Kennedy. “You said we can’t change human nature. I don’t think that’s accurate. One aspect of human nature is that we learn by example. You know yourself, an individual raised in an environment of honesty and compassion will possess vastly different ethics than would that same individual raised by thieves and murderers.”
“True, but…”
“Jack, have you ever thought about how much humans might have accomplished by now if most of our money, energy, and effort were not spent fighting each other? As a country, our largest ex-penditures go toward finding and implementing new ways to defend and protect ourselves from enemies, or to find and implement new ways to inflict harm upon those who are, or may become, our enemies. It’s been that way through all recorded history. It’s moronic.
“With all the opportunities we humans have had, all the inventions and refinements of the modern age, I believe by now the earth could easily provide food, safety and security for every single human inhabitant, if we weren’t so foolish. By we, I mean leaders. I’m sorry, but we learn by example. We can’t expect the average person to be led to a condition of honesty when so many of our leaders are unashamedly corrupt.
“I know, you’ll say one man can’t make much of a difference.
I agree. But when that one man has at his disposal a tool like your pads… Well, I wish I could read ‘em. I truly do.”
Kennedy rose from his chair and paced to the desk and back, thinking. “Where would you begin?” he asked.
“At the top, I guess. Those who accept power or authority over others should be, in my opinion, better than the rest of us. They should live by a different set of rules, not more lenient, but more stringent. Politicians, policemen, leaders from any occupation, should hold themselves to a higher standard. Caught cheating, 108
breaking the law, or bringing harm to an innocent, they should leave the field in shame, and failing that, they should be removed and shunned by their peers.”
“That’s awfully harsh, Casey. You leave no room for redemption?”
“Redemption gets your self-respect back, not your job. Live by the oath taken. That’s not harsh. That is, or should be, the minimum requirement of anyone who takes an oath.”
Kennedy asked, “Do you have any idea what it would take to accomplish the things you’ve talked about?”
“I believe an American president with a crystal ball could do it.”
Kennedy scoffed. “If only it were that easy.”
“Point taken. I don’t know what it’s like to commune with your pads. But I wonder, could what you get out of a session, depend in part on what you bring to it?”
Kennedy looked up, “What do you mean?”
Casey paced in front of the fireplace. “You’ve mentioned dif-ficulty following a problem to its source, or an action to its result.
From things you’ve said, I think it’s a given that you approach your sessions with the pads with a large-scale mindset. Probably not intentionally, but you focus on avoiding the large pitfalls. That is your target. Does that sound right?”
“Sure,” Kennedy said. “That’s accurate. My greatest fears are bound to hold sway over lesser worries. I can’t avoid it, can I?”
“If you’re unaware of it, no. What if you backed up a bit? Force yourself to concentrate on a smaller problem. Forget about tracing the effect it has in ten or fifty years. Start with the smallest, simplest action you could take, that will show positive results in a short time.
For example, use my pet peeve, graft in government. You could start with a single agency, or a single person, even. Go into your next session concentrating on one small, incremental change for the better.”
“That’s interesting, Casey, but… I’m just not a small, incremental change kind of guy. It’s not in my nature.”
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“I know,” Casey said. “Bold moves have served you well until now. Remember though, left on your own, you’d be pushing up daisies. Your words, I believe?”
“Granted.”
“Those dozen legal pads of yours can’t possibly be full of bold moves. I think you must acknowledge that, and when you do, your mind will open to anything the pads have to tell you, including the countless tiny moves you simply are not seeing now. We build things from the ground up. One small piece placed upon another, one step at a time. That’s what I offer. That’s my half of this partnership. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I’m sure of it now.
It will ease your effort when communing with the pads and it will stretch the value you’ll be able to pull from them. That’s what I must make you see. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Kennedy said. “What you are suggesting could potentially change the way I interact with the pads. If that change is positive, I’m all for it. I’m not convinced, but it’s worth trying.”
The seed Casey planted had not yet taken root, however. Kennedy thought he would give Casey’s suggestion a fair trial, but he didn’t think it would do him any good. Casey did not understand what it was like to work with the pads. How could he? How could anyone? He chided himself for expecting too much from the young man. He’d saved his life, and that was enough. The rest would be up to Kennedy.
They continued their discussion until ten PM. They parted cor-dially, with Kennedy thinking he had accomplished little by meeting Casey, beyond confirming the supernatural nature of the events that had brought them together. Casey felt the same way, for he sensed in Kennedy a reluctance to try the “small steps” approach to his legal pads, the only thing of substance Casey could offer him.
A few hours later, the sleek aircraft that had flown Casey from Dallas to Washington, delivered him to Wisconsin, where he spent Christmas with his family. Two days later, he took a bus to Dallas to cancel his apartment lease, retrieve his car, and collect his few belongings. His landlord was sad to see him go.
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