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LIGHT OF THE ATMA – THE SPARK WITHIN
“I don’t know Michael, you may be selling your brother short. I know men, and he’s a man who has confidence. And the kind of confidence I feel coming from him is not for show, it’s real.”
“So, if you think he’s worth the risk, you back him!”
“He’s your brother!”
“That’s what I thought! When it comes to your money, you’re all words and no action.”
“Grub-staking is not my investment choice!”
“Neither is it mine!”
“Well then . . .it’s your move!”
BACK TO THE PRESENT
” . . .As I say,” the judge spoke, “he may not be a man of means, but in my opinion he’s a man rich with character!”
“Do you know if he ever hit the pay dirt he claims he hit?”
“I’m not sure. I do know that your father did guarantee another substantial loan though! I also know many other men wanted in on the investment. And to be candid with you, I myself did end up investing in your uncle’s dreams.”
“And?”
“And I’ve got no complaints.”
“Wait, then why, did my father back him again when he said he wouldn’t do it anymore?”
“Your father was a speculator, Son. His instincts were sharp. I think he felt something was about to happen! Besides, your father had a soft spot, not all ‘hard as nails’ as many believe! As far as the other investors went? I’ve not heard any complaints from them either.”
“So – if worse came to worst, you would send me to live with my pie-in-the-sky, uncle?”
“Yes. But I’m not so sure he’s a pie-in-the-sky sort of man, really.”
“Do you know whether he is rich or broke?”
“It’s hard to say, men become rich overnight and go bust overnight. I knew what to do with my portion, can’t say what he did with his, never heard anymore about it.”
“But all-in-all you think he would make a good guardian?”
“To tell you the truth, I would have to think about this decision also.”
“Let me ask you Judge, what do you think a pie-in-the-sky uncle would do to my inheritance if he were on the search for more funds?”
“Hmmmm, I see your point. But keep in mind, I believe this in the depth of my mind – your uncle is a man of good character. He will treat you right, I’m sure.”
“Well Your Honor, I want to thank you for all your insights, but as you must know – as you have your doubts – I have mine. As you must think, I must think also.” Peter stood up. “When it comes to vast amounts of money Your Honor, even a saint may get his halo tarnished a bit, don’t you agree?”
The judge raised his eyebrows in agreement. “Unfortunately , I’ve seen my share!”
“So have I Your Honor, so have I.”
And with this, Peter left. He boarded his carriage and had his driver take him toward town.
ime measures out for all men the schemes that will play out in their lives. The good, the evil and the innocent all have their ‘time’ in the drama of humanity. Some men chase rainbows for the illusive pot of gold, some men chase dreams of fame, others merely live with hopes and dreams of doing well in life but poverty has them chained to a pillar.
Michael, by the twist and turn of fate, fell into the slot of wealth, and by cunning and manipulation built that wealth to a pyramid proportion. He was no man chained to a pillar. Michael was a man who saw wealth in merchandise and he went after the gold in the pockets of the masses rather than the nuggets of it in the hills.
Jonathan, on the other hand was struck with the fever of prospecting. He knew what to look for and where to look for it. But he had a run of tough luck with spurts of good luck in between. What stayed consistent was the current of excitement that ran through his veins. Every now and then he would hit a small pocket of ore which he then parlayed into loans. He swung from being on the brink of massive riches to being on the brink of poverty. He lifted the hopes of his investors to the heights but when the silver vein ran short, so did the patience of his investors. When he ran dry of funds, he drew loans on his profit share of the shipping business which Michael spearheaded; thus, he was in and out of the money periodically.
Michael had grown tired of the shift changes and wrote to his brother in Mexico. “I will buy you out – take it or leave it but no more loans! No more money!” Michael put the word out to every banker from New York to San Francisco and to the financial centers of England that his brother’s requests were to be met with rejections. The object was to force Jonathan to sell his portion of the shipping business to him. Putting people in that ‘little-or-no-choice’ position was just one of many of Michael’s secrets of success.
Jonathan wrote back: “I shall keep my interest and in spite of all the rejections I have received, I shall succeed.” And like a ship given so many provisions for a voyage Jonathan’s bank account held just so much money for him to spend. Michael wrote back, “One more loan, no more. Success or failure, let our lives each go their own way!”
In Mexico, Jonathan stood in a wooden house that was built by unskilled hands, chickens running all about and a dud of a mine. Hundreds of thousands of dollars poured into the operation and only a trickle of silver taken out.
‘He had a silver mine all right,’ Michael complained to himself. ‘Me!’
“AND THAT MEANS
EVERY LAST ONE OF US!”
As Peter was leaving Judge LaBelle’s mansion, many of Crogg’s associates had traveled the road to Peter’s mansion to pounce on him.
It didn’t take long for Beechwater to spread the news of the tussle between Peter and Lefty to all of Crogg’s cronies. And like a dam that breaks sending forth its waters rushing out with tremendous force, Crogg’s gang of men came flooding into the mansion to besiege him with questions. The telephone wires around town were scorching hot with the talk of the preceding boxing bout.
Each man who was living with his head under the guillotine of wrong doing, put all else aside to rush up the hill to confront Crogg. And they all converged on the place at the same time.
Each of the fifty powerful and influential men were shown into the library. In their own interest, they came together even though it was not profitable for anyone to learn they were connected with each other in these dirty dealings.
The library had filled up with smoke and sounded like a convention. All the servants were talking among themselves about what was happening. When Crogg entered the room, the men all spoke to him at once and crowded around him.
“Gentlemen!” he directed in a calm but raised voice, “Take a seat!” Crogg sat down behind the large, imported, specially-carved ebony desk that Michael loved so much. All the men stared at him with eyes that spoke of their intentions. If this were a trial, and they his jurors, the verdict would be ‘GUILTY!’
Being Judge Walker was one of the most influential and powerful men in the group, he started the verbal assault. “You are going to bring damnation on all of us through your wickedness! This is a bad sign- a bad omen that’s signaling the ruin of all of us!” The rest of the men shouted out with their gangster grunts: “Yeah! Yeah!” somewhat like the way the British parliamentarians’ grumble out their ‘Hear! Hear!’ at their debates.
Crogg was intolerant, “Keep your superstitions to yourself Judge! This is no time for hokey-pokey beliefs. This calls for rational analysis, not ‘hoodoo’ism’ thinking. The only jinx that will hex this deal is you, especially if you keep on with that kind of talk of yours!”
The judge disagreed, “I’m telling you Elmer, you just can’t go around cheating good and honest people of their due right without the hand of God’s Justice coming down on you!” Walker turned toward the group and declared, “And that means every last one of us in this room.”
The rumbles and grumbles of the men’s voices sounded much like a buffalo stampede. After they simmered down, Crogg spoke, “If you men are so afraid of the hand of God’s justice coming down on you, what business did you have coming in on this operation to begin with? Not only that Gentlemen, but your entire professional lives speak of your fearlessness of Divine Retribution, so why panic now? It’s not as though any of you haven’t had your boats rocked before by some protester who stood up and made noise.” He gave a demeaning look toward Judge Walker, then continued, “Besides, which one of you are the worse for living the life you’ve led?” As he saw the men come back under his spell, he added, “You gentlemen, are living proof that there is no ‘Divine Justice’!” and they all laughed. Judge Walker mumbled all sorts of religious curses toward Crogg under his breath.
But Ted Beechwater didn’t let Crogg off so easily. He murmured a contrary perspective while popping a few store bought, mixed with doctor prescribed, pills in his mouth. “Well, you did promise us that the boy would be virtually no trouble and that he would be sailing to England by noon. Instead, here it is two o’clock,” he pointed an agitated finger at the wall clock for all to take note of, “and all hell has broken loose on us.” He made a funny face and indicated that he needed water.
Crogg felt superior in intellect to Beechwater so he readily concealed his contempt, and carried on in a way contrary to his own feelings and distracted from the topic. Looking at some servant in the room he pointed to a pitcher of water with glasses on a tray. Shifting his eyes back on Beechwater, he asked, “What in creation does your madcap physician put in those little pills you take that make you look so ghastly?”
Pulling a vial from his pocket Beechwater complained as if his self pity had a sympathetic ear, “These are for my heart.” He gulped down all the pills with water. He turned to some of the men in the room as he took another pillbox out, “These are for my stomach. And these are for my headaches. And these are for my nerves; and these here, they are for my bunions, and these, for my gout . . .”
“Good grief Ted!” Crogg interjected, “You’d be better off being put out of your misery.”
“With my life….my wife? I’d be a lot better off being put out of my misery!”
Judge walker stood up and complained with an irritated disposition, “Your jokes won’t cure this situation, Elmer. We all have a real problem here. And we want solutions!” and he retook his seat.
Another stood up to speak, “You told us you were going to lead us to victory. So far, all you’ve given us is the suffering of defeat!” and he too retook his seat.
With this, Walker who was in the front row, stood up again and faced the gathering of a hundred or so men crowded in the room. “What you presented us with, Elmer, was the lunatic idea that you could lock up, like a common criminal, an heir to a multimillion dollar fortune in his own wine cellar, after his parents are killed, heartlessly depriving him of the privilege of his own house and home . . .and get away with it.”
Just this one incident,” he continued addressing the gathering, “when it hits the newspapers, will sink our ships too, and every last one of us will go down into the murky deep.” And he turned around and glared at Crogg.
Crogg ignored the judge’s rantings. “Take your seat Judge – take your seat!”
Standing up from the middle of the room another crony spoke out loudly about his convictions. “The judge is right Elmer. Public opinion will roast us alive when this hits the newsstands. There are a lot of people who will take advantage of us being villainised in the press.”
“Take it easy Boys,” Crogg assured, carelessly waving him back down in his chair. “When you get too hot under the collar, the only thing that will become roasted is your brains.”
“Once the papers get hold of this,” Beechwater yelled, “we’ll all be placed under such scrutiny that we’ll be forced to pack our bags and leave town! You just can’t throw an heir to a multi-million dollar fortune into a wine cellar, and get away with it! It’s just not done!” the whole group roared out again with their parliamentary-like objections.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Crogg hushed as he stood up. “What would you have me do?! The lad was throwing everything he could get his hands on, at Lefty. Those little chips of pottery that the servants are cleaning up out there, are the last of the fragments from very expensive vases worth more than all of you put together.
Crogg took a cocky stance, drew a long drag on his cigar and when he spoke smoke poured out of his mouth as if there were rubbish burning down deep within. He put a sorrowful expression on his face almost as though he wanted to cry. Seeing him in this state, the crowd feel into a quiet as their nervous mutterings begin to subside.
“I almost cried when I stood there, and looked at what remained of a one-of-a-kind Ming vase. When that hit the floor, it spread to every part of the room. Right now, I have servants combing the floor for every last sliver of that vase they can find. Once they collect all the pieces, I’ll send the entire grouping to the museum to see if the curator thinks it’ll be worth anything once it’s put back together.”
Judge Walker was unmoved.”The fact remains, Elmer, you had the boy locked in the wine cellar. Do you really think you can stop every rumor from leaving this mansion from every servant who saw that little esclandre?”
“Obviously I couldn’t . . for all this news certainly reached your ears fast enough to bring your all up here.” And Crogg stared at the judge with deadly intent.
Judge Walker wanted answers. “So, what are you going to do about this mess you got us all in?”
“Yeah!” all the others joined in, “what are you going to do?!”
When the loud voices of the men’s protests died down, Judge Walker stood up again looking directly in Crogg’s eyes. “I make a motion,” The judge called for, “that you apologize to the boy, and square things with him in any way you can. Give him what he wants. Let him go back to his Boston relatives, or let him live here, give up this notion of sending him to England.”
Crogg slowly sat back down and settled himself in the leather chair, “And go to jail?!” Are you all a little stupid?!”
Everyone looked back and forth between Crogg and Walker as the Judge preached, “Everyone has to make their peace with God sooner or later. God keeps tabs on our good deeds and bad and so far, the greater balance that any of us have is bad!”
Crogg leaned forward, “Cork it! Will ya’ Walker?! Your solutions are about as practical as carrying water in a bucket with holes. Didn’t the Lad hear from your own mouth that his grandparents are as good as sour milk? Forget so soon?”
“I said that alright,” the judge confessed “but they were your words, as so many are, not mine!”
Addressing the men as he gazed around the room, Crogg spoke, “The problem as I see it Gentlemen, is not as dark as all of you are painting it to be. I’m telling you,” he emphasized, “there’s really nothing to worry about!”
The sound wave of disagreement that came forth from the men was as potent as the boo’s that would rise in an audience to evict a lousy actor from a stage.
Beechwater protested first. He waved his arms with ferocious expression. As he did, the chair on which he sat, creaked and moaned as though it was enduring more weight than it could handle.
“You promised us the boy would be no trouble when you presented us with your proposal!” he screeched. “You promised us the boy would be sailing for England by noon yesterday, then you changed it for today! You lock the boy in the wine cellar – he knocks out your prize fighter in the garden – and now I hear he’s vowing to take back his estate in his own hands. And you sit there and tell us there’s nothing to worry about! Who are you trying to take for a fool?!” Again the men raised their voices with objections. Beechwater grumbled, “The boy reminds me of Michael all over again!”
“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!” the rest of them responded.
“Listen Gentlemen, don’t you know how to play things down? Each one of you are a master at twisting a phrase to make things appear just the way you want them to look. Now… if none of that works, then tell everyone who asks . . . you rode here on your white horses today to rescue the boy. But on your arrival, you found it all to be a cruel hoax.
Envy, Gentlemen, has taken many a mean poke at the well-to-do, hasn’t it? There isn’t one of us in this room who hasn’t been the victim of a bad rumor now or then. That’s part of the game we play being at the top of society Gentlemen!
The lowly social dolts on the lower rungs of the ladder of ergatocracy always hope to see us – the spoiled class – get a little mud on our silk shirts. That’s what gives them their satisfaction.
Now Gentlemen,” Crogg continued, “consider each of yourselves to be a fireman. Your task no less, is to put out this hot story. And there’s no more effective way, than taking your little buckets of counter gossip and splashing it on each smoldering and sparking rumor until it’s out.
Now, in case this story does leak out to the public, which it won’t, don’t we have something on the mayor we’ve been sitting on for the right moment? In this case Gentlemen, fighting fire with fire means fighting scandal with scandal.
This way when some hot-shot jockey of a reporter thinks he can ride this story to the blue ribbon, he’ll come out of the gate with his horse folding right out from under him. The greater scandal wins every time, and in the case of the mayor, he’s a winner.”
Just then, the telephone rang. Everyone’s eyes landed on it. A few moments later, Cornings knocked at the door. Crogg gave the high sign to one of his hoodlum bodyguards to unlock the door. The brutish bodyguard made an entry space and let Cornings in.
“There’s a telephone call for you Sir,” Cornings informed. “I think he said his name was Doyle, from the Tribune.”
“Thank you Cornings. I’ll take it in here.”
The bodyguard let the butler out, then resumed his poised stance. Most of the men in the room sank in their chairs and threw their hands to their faces or rubbed their mouths with worry, sweat exuding from some brows.
Crogg watched as they all fell into a formidolose state. As he picked up the earpiece of the telephone, every eye studied him. Hearts were pounding with anxious anticipation as he placed the receiver to his ear. Being caught in a scandal now would be the worst thing for all of them. Judge Walker shut his eyes and prayed silently as Crogg spoke on the candlestick telephone.
“Doyle -” he greeted in a friendly voice, “couldn’t explain to your wife where that lipstick came from last week huh? I bet you need me to get you off the hook.” Doyle, on the other end, laughed.
“That was some party, wasn’t it?” Crogg teased. “Say, where did you go after I introduced you to Jingles and Jangles?” Crogg listened to what Doyle had to say. “Whoa-ho . . .ho ho ho . . . is that right?! . . . You don’t say!
Say, Doyle, I’m having another little bash here tonight, [hopefully] and there’ll be a cute little number here that will take you to infinity. Now don’t come any earlier than ten, because that’s when the fun starts winding up.”
Crogg looked at his men and said, “Doyle’s laughing,” Crogg explained to the gang as he held the mouthpiece with the palm of his hand . . . . “What? You say that’s not the reason you called? I didn’t know you were that much a master over your wife.
What? You say there’s been a rumor flying around the office for the past hour that Old Man Smith had a dungeon under this castle of his, and the kid’s not missing at all but is down in the dungeon where I’m having him tortured?!”
Everyone grabbed their heads, and a wave of moans erupted from their mouths as though they were all weeping at a funeral. Beechwater took some more pills out of his pocket and put them in his mouth.
Crogg laughed heartily at the torment everyone in the room was experiencing.
“Is there any truth to these rumors?” Crogg repeated aloud. “No, of course not,” he told Doyle. “Listen, when you come up here tonight, I’ll give you a grand tour of the wine room they’re calling a dungeon. I’ll give you a bottle of Mr. Smith’s favorite Chablis, then introduce you to a bubble dancer who loves to have them popped.” Crogg listened as Doyle spoke. Just then, another knock came to the library door.
The bodyguard, at the direction of Crogg’s eyes, twisted the key in the lock and opened the door.
“It’s Phillip Elliot,” the bodyguard informed. Crogg indicated with waves of his hand toward himself, to allow him to enter. When Phillip Elliot stepped in the room, everyone’s eyes went on him. Crogg waved him over to stand nearby the phone.
“Of course, of course,” Crogg agreed, “I know you didn’t think there was any truth to the rumor. Yes…yes,” he laughed, “it does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it…? Of course, I know you have to follow up your leads…. You never know when some crackpot lead will turn up a mighty interesting story…”
On the other end, Doyle probed, “I heard the kid K.O.’d the contender. Now these are sizzling headlines! If it’s true, I’ve got to run the story.”
“I’m surprised at you,” Crogg chided. ” Haven’t you seen my boy work out? He’s so fast and powerful, not one of his sparring partners have been able to last one round with him. Are you trying to tell me you’re taking seriously a rumor that a ninety-five pound little Lad,” hyperbolically undercutting Peter’s size “could floor mine?
Putting his hand over the mouthpiece and turning to Elliot, he instructed, “Make sure Doyle kills the story.” Elliot gave him that assuring nod, then took the telephone and cleared his throat. “Doyle, this is Phillip Elliot.”
Recognizing his boss’s voice, Doyle answered, “Yes Sir?”
“I don’t want a word of any of these vicious rumors printed. Do you understand?!” Phillip Elliot instructed. “It may damage the future of an innocent boy, not to mention, damage a bright fighter’s career.
Now, I’ve been friends with the Smiths’ too long to see anything like this hurt the boy! Have the editor call me and spread the word to ‘kill’ every mention that’s associated with these foul rumors.” After a few more words, he handed the phone back to Crogg.
Crogg and Doyle exchanged a few more sentences then hung up. Looking at Elliot, he instructed, “Use the telephone in the study. Call every newspaper in town. Make sure no one runs the story. No telling who’s gotten wind of this!” The bodyguard let Elliot out then re-sealed the door.
Crogg looked over the group of men. “What are you all looking so sickly for? Everything is fine – business as usual.” He leaned back into the comfort of the chair and picked up his cigar from the ash tray.
“Boy, you never know what’s in the imagination of some people…dungeons!” he laughed. “Now Gentlemen,” he ordered, “go about your business and denounce this trivial incident that brought you here as a foolish rumor. I mean, if no one can take the word of respected men such as you, who can they trust?”
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