dissentcontinues
Banned
"In modern America, there are quite a few old Klansmen who served the infamous Stephenson administration during the Second Great War among the living. Some are unrepentant, some say it was a mistake done 'only following orders', others are senile, or at least claim it if investigated for war crimes. The iconography of the Klan has been strictly outlawed, though neo-KKK groups will use older US flags as a loophole. But a culture of shame has been instilled by the government put in place by Britain, Japan and the Soviet Union after the war's end. American culture has mostly moved on, but most families have at least one relative that for whatever reason, was part of the wartime fascist racialist government."
White Hooded Ghosts That Haunt: A Cultural Study of Post War America
In school, Rob learned about the Klan years, but it was a boring abstraction. Like the Wild West, or the Revolutionary War. It was before he was born. Therefore it didn't matter a shit to him. He knew it wasn't legal to say racist things, but most black people had left to the Black Belt Socialist Republic or Canada or the Caribbean and most Jewish people had moved to Israel, so there was nobody to hear it. An abstraction.
His problem was money he owed in gambling debts to a bookie. He was looking for work as a bouncer.
He lived in the suburbs of Pittsburgh and he had come into the city today to find a bar that might hire him to guard the door during Happy Hour.
He found an Irish pub, Flanagan's on Carson Street and walked up to an old man tending bar.
"Need a bouncer by any chance, pops?"
"Gotta be Restaurant Worker's Union for that here. Are yinz?"
"No. I come from up by Cranberry. Lost my job. Owe me some poker and blackjack money. Thought it was worth a try."
"Well...I can't have you working the door here...but I might have a side job for you."
"What?"
Even though there was nobody in the bar drinking mid day, the man motioned him to follow him in the back, and something made him twitch.
===================================
"My grandson owns this pub. He gave me the job since I'm on the National Medical Insurance blacklist and can't get Social Security benefits or much else."
"Why's...oh...you were one of them fascist Nazi Klan types back in the day, weren't yinz? Them's the only ones who get on the Feds' shitlist for benefits."
"Hell...everyone was back then. You had to be. President said so."
"Back before they lynched him in front of the White House."
"Well, I ain't looking to get what we gave to the Negroes and the Jews. But that's why I'm looking for a bodyguard. I gots me one of them Mossad assassins lookin for me. Either he'll put a bullet in me or they'll kidnap me and take me to Israel for trial like they did Hiram Wesley Evans."
"Sure it ain't just out of it from being old and working around free booze, pops?"
"When I wasn't tending bar, my grandson Jake said a man with an Israeli accent came in with a gun and a black jacket asking about me."
"I need cash to pay a bookie...not some old war criminal who killed a bunch of minorities because DC Stephenson and Hitler said so getting me shot by assassins or some shit."
===========================================
Rob walked out and a man he took to be the old man's grandson was there.
"Where's my grandpa?"
"In back."
"You ain't one of them Mossad, are yinz?"
"Nah...but he wanted me watching his back, but I can find less dangerous work."
"If you keep your mouth shut, you get a free drink. Don't want the secret police on us. Half the damn country's an informant."
"Deal."
=========================================
He sipped his beer. A few other people, mostly off duty steelworkers from the state owned collective plant came in, got a noon day swill.
The old man came back out and was pouring.
Then, a man with an accent sat down on the next stool.
"You know this man?"
"Nah, other than this beer."
He whipped out a gun and pointed it at the old man.
"Don't move. You are going to Israel for a war crimes trial."
Rob went outside while they weren't looking at him.
He hear shouts. Then shots.
It wasn't so abstract to him now, though.
White Hooded Ghosts That Haunt: A Cultural Study of Post War America
In school, Rob learned about the Klan years, but it was a boring abstraction. Like the Wild West, or the Revolutionary War. It was before he was born. Therefore it didn't matter a shit to him. He knew it wasn't legal to say racist things, but most black people had left to the Black Belt Socialist Republic or Canada or the Caribbean and most Jewish people had moved to Israel, so there was nobody to hear it. An abstraction.
His problem was money he owed in gambling debts to a bookie. He was looking for work as a bouncer.
He lived in the suburbs of Pittsburgh and he had come into the city today to find a bar that might hire him to guard the door during Happy Hour.
He found an Irish pub, Flanagan's on Carson Street and walked up to an old man tending bar.
"Need a bouncer by any chance, pops?"
"Gotta be Restaurant Worker's Union for that here. Are yinz?"
"No. I come from up by Cranberry. Lost my job. Owe me some poker and blackjack money. Thought it was worth a try."
"Well...I can't have you working the door here...but I might have a side job for you."
"What?"
Even though there was nobody in the bar drinking mid day, the man motioned him to follow him in the back, and something made him twitch.
===================================
"My grandson owns this pub. He gave me the job since I'm on the National Medical Insurance blacklist and can't get Social Security benefits or much else."
"Why's...oh...you were one of them fascist Nazi Klan types back in the day, weren't yinz? Them's the only ones who get on the Feds' shitlist for benefits."
"Hell...everyone was back then. You had to be. President said so."
"Back before they lynched him in front of the White House."
"Well, I ain't looking to get what we gave to the Negroes and the Jews. But that's why I'm looking for a bodyguard. I gots me one of them Mossad assassins lookin for me. Either he'll put a bullet in me or they'll kidnap me and take me to Israel for trial like they did Hiram Wesley Evans."
"Sure it ain't just out of it from being old and working around free booze, pops?"
"When I wasn't tending bar, my grandson Jake said a man with an Israeli accent came in with a gun and a black jacket asking about me."
"I need cash to pay a bookie...not some old war criminal who killed a bunch of minorities because DC Stephenson and Hitler said so getting me shot by assassins or some shit."
===========================================
Rob walked out and a man he took to be the old man's grandson was there.
"Where's my grandpa?"
"In back."
"You ain't one of them Mossad, are yinz?"
"Nah...but he wanted me watching his back, but I can find less dangerous work."
"If you keep your mouth shut, you get a free drink. Don't want the secret police on us. Half the damn country's an informant."
"Deal."
=========================================
He sipped his beer. A few other people, mostly off duty steelworkers from the state owned collective plant came in, got a noon day swill.
The old man came back out and was pouring.
Then, a man with an accent sat down on the next stool.
"You know this man?"
"Nah, other than this beer."
He whipped out a gun and pointed it at the old man.
"Don't move. You are going to Israel for a war crimes trial."
Rob went outside while they weren't looking at him.
He hear shouts. Then shots.
It wasn't so abstract to him now, though.