Beneath the Crimson Banner: What if America Went Red in 1919? (Discussion Thread)

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

--
March 21st, 1938
--
Oglethorpe University. The podium just up ahead, just then, his brace broke.
“Help me.” FDR said to his guard, Peter Swallow, a close companion.
“Yes, Comrade-President, I’ll get you right back up on your feet. Nothing to worry about.” Swiftly, he steadied him, hoisting him up by his shoulder before reapplying his brace to his left leg.
“Thank you so much, Peter!”
“Don’t mention it, Comrade-President.”
Arriving at the podium, he spoke to throngs of students gathered in the spacious University auditorium.
“My fellow Americans and comrades, I’d like to talk about … the economy. As you know, Gainsville Georgia is being rebuilt. After a deadly tornado tore through it. Proletarian Hundreds, some of them your fellow classmates, have sauntered forth over there, backed by the MRC and the Socialist Workers’ and Farmers’ Red Army to build back … better.” Applause and cheers just then had erupted from the gathered students. Waiting for the clapping and cheering to die down, he continued, “My administration has seen to it that Gainesville, then soon the whole country will finally, really breathe again after so much economic hardship and suffering. My Socialist New Deal is here to stay and is picking up the pace in my term in office. You are the arbiters of a great, brighter future … of hope!”
O, how the crowd roared and clapped their hands together in wild approval of his words! Finishing his speech, he and his guards strode back past the leafy trees and lawns and down nice, paved sidewalks of the mighty Oglethorpe University and then back to the black Ford car they’d ridden from the newly built, along modernist Socialist lines, Atlanta Airport.
Now, it was back to the airport and ultimately back to the United Capital City, formerly Washington, D.C.
“Goddamn, Comrade-President, that was powerful stuff!” Peter exclaimed as he put the car into gear.
“Well, I was always good at speaking, comrade Peter.”
“You are great at speaking!” Another guard named Thomas said, puffing on a slender cigarillo.
“That fall had me afraid for a moment, Thomas, my comrade.”
“You said it best back in ‘36 at your Inauguration: There is nothing to fear but fear itself!’”
Flashback in mind. FDR saw with perfect clarity the French assassin take aim at him, fire, and miss with an eight-dollar pearled-handled .32 revolver-five shots, all misses, one in the Miami park hitting instead of him the Chicago Labor Commune Marxian People’s Mayor Anton Cermak.
Breathing, in, out, deep, slow. Fear itself had just then ripped again through his chest. Managing it through the meditation, he said calmly “Yes, that’s so true!” Now, he chuckled loudly. Did they see his fear itself in him? Later, on the plane ride back, he settled into his padded seat, smoking, thinking about the fear itself he’d had only mere moments prior before falling quickly asleep.

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

--
April 9th, 1938
--
Switzerland.
Jacques Doriot’s mind ventured over to Heraclitus’s Fragments from memory:
Fire, in giving victory, is the noblest of elements, not unlike the seafarer giving his crew victory over the sea, on the one hand the source of the element earth, on the other hand the source of a great flash of lightning, even the element sky.
Today, he had gotten his victory, a fire, a mighty flame, had washed over Switzerland’s borderlands, victory had washed over the ethnic-French parts of the Swiss nation, victory had washed over the whole country.
Romandie. He stood here as a conqueror, as a victor.
“Hail my Leader Doriot, hail my Leader Doriot, hail my Leader Doriot!" Masses of people said in the streets of the capital of the new Swiss Protectorate, Bern.
“Friends," he said at the stone steps of the Swiss Parliament building, “you are … my racial comrades now and for all time!”
“Hail my Leader Doriot, hail my Leader Doriot, hail my Leader Doriot!"
“You have entered a new era, the era of the racial State, now and forever a staunch member of Patri France!”
After speaking some more, the triumphant racial Leader retired to a spacious room in the Bern Parliament building, enjoying a fine lit cigar in hand and, sending smoke forwards, he said to one of his closest racial comrades Louis Frank, “You, sir, are to be made Protector-General of the Swiss Protectorate.”
“Thank you so much, my Leader!” He said happily, a wide grin on his face.
“You’re welcome, Louis.”
“What to do now,” Louis said aloud, with a quick chuckle, “with all of … this?”
“One word: Francify them”
“And those who cannot be Francified, my Leader?”
Jacques Doriot remained silent, deep in thought just then, all the while puffing on the fine cigar. (Kill them.) “Deport them. Send them to some place in Africa.”
“And the Jews?”
“Let’s slowly kick them out of the economy, pass racial laws, make them wear the Star of David. Kick them out of the Civil Service, all Governmental positions and in the universities. Then, deport them all the same.” (Kill them.)
“Brilliant.”
Seeing his close confidant and advisor off, Doriot was soon whisked away back to one of his vast Paris mansions in the same black Ford he’d ridden all the way to Bern. (The genius of American, Yankee ingenuity and industry. When war came, he’d have to knock the USSA out very quickly to win.) Retiring to his office, he typed up some decrees meant for the new Swiss Protectorate. Later, in his bed, he passed out upon receiving an injection of sweet morphine just after reading some Cicero. (You couldn’t do without some Cicero in your pocket per the American revolutionary John Adams!)
And there the little bound, cheap volume of Cicero remained, in his suit’s right breast pocket as he slept.

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

Three more completed POV scenes.

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

A new POV scene, from the POV of WInston Churchill.

I introduce Count Dracula/Alucard and the head of the Hellsing Organization, one Sir Robert Hellsing.

Here it is; enjoy:

--
May 11th, 1938
--
Winston Churchill had a good conscience, which was bad.
He’d been the Lord Secretary of the Navy way back when in the 1914 pre-war crisis, after the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand by a Serb terrorist bullet, and … he’d rushed gusto into getting the British Home Fleet out to sea in late-January 1914.
Not having even told the House of Commons until just before the outbreak of hostilities or much of the British Cabinet, and, especially not the wavering, heavily resigning Radical Liberal antiwar Cabinet members, and, given war clouds looming over Europe, now, he feared he himself heavily caused that first, initial world war.
So … Nietzschean-like, the stark reality was he had a bad conscience, which was good.
Now, in the United Capital City, he sat himself down on a chair waiting for his close friend FDR to appear. Soon enough he did, exiting his office and saying, while grinning, “Happy to see you, Winston!”
“You too, Franklin!”
Going inside FDR’s Oval Office, both men sat down beside each other, just, as the American idiom went, “shooting the shit.”
“Drunken Sie Daumen,” FDR said, “Keep your fingers crossed-press the thumbs-that France and Britain don’t start a new Great Imperialist Slaughter.”
“You, were you not, Secretary of the Navy during the war?”
“Ah, yes, I was. I’d toured France, saw the state of our navy, and I was then a patrician, not-yet-’disabled’ I’d argue bloody arrogant New York State Senator before that!
That made Churchill think. Nothing, truly now, made him ‘disabled.’ No one had believed he’d ever become president, but there he’d gone and done that.
If someone, per Nietzche, lost their sight in an eye or their hearing in one ear, they were made all the stronger for it.
If war did break out … many people would not just lose sight in one eye or their hearing in one ear, but arms, legs … but, the survivors would be stronger … but again, war couldn’t happen again!
Turning on the radio, FDR frowned. News reports blared out: the desecration of Ireland continues. Hundreds of Irish officials, already, have been sentenced in British People’s Courts. The punishments have been harsh and unforgiving: Beheadings, hangings, the ingesting of poison, and mass shootings …
“Do we really have to listen to this, Comrade-President?”
“We don’t, do we?” Just then he would turn the radio off with the turning of the dial. “Ireland … tell me, if you were God, what would you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I meant what I said and meant what I say: If you were Christ Jesus, what would you do?”
“I still don’t understand.”
“I mean, would you allow this, or would you intervene?”
“It looks like the Lord Jehovah is allowing it, permitting it, not even lifting a finger to stop it!” Emotion in Churchill’s voice. Then, while Lord Secretary of the Navy, Ireland just prior to the war had been on the cusp of revolt … Loyd Austin had believed with many that sooner rather than later the “Irish Question” would have to be settled, peacefully … or not. The good Tory that he was, He’d stood on the English side of that enigma.
“Oh, now, is he?”
“He is.”
“No, O man, He is working through men to tip the human scale!”
“You mean, through us?”
“Yes, us, the salt of the earth, human souls He speaks to, telling us what exactly? To tip the human scale, be Jonbar hinges, be peacemakers, fight the unfightable,”
“But, He also said, ‘if someone hits you on the right cheek, turn the other cheek also.’”
“And ‘resist no evil.’”
“Ah, now we are getting somewhere, Winston. Given how war could break out any day now … We the People have a choice.”
“To be hit and not hit back, or to hit back, no?”
“Yes, precisely!” Going back over to his desk, he opened a drawer and removed a thick manila folder before removing a stack of papers.
“These are top secret. Tell no one, but I know you, sir, can be trusted. These people, they are vampires, all their Armed-Protection Squadron men, and there is a plan to figure out ways to do what the British and French Fascists have done … we just don’t know if ‘it’ can be done. You know, create our own vampire elite troops.”
“If ‘it’ could be pulled off … if we did figure out how to do ‘it,’ then … where to begin and where to start?”
“Well, no one would really know we’d done ‘it’ until long after, I mean, years after, but even then … no secret like this could last forever I fear.”
“How far would you go ...”
“I think we’d have to turn about a third of our entire force, like Army Rangers and marines, into vampires. It wouldn’t, truly now, stay secret for years. When the secret is out, during wartime, I’m prepared to accept the consequences, especially the public backlash.”
“If we could pull it off … humanity would be … vampires would walk the Earth in their thousands! They would feed and ...”
“Their blood would have to come from somewhere. These vampires can feed either off each other, or, we are prepared to give them blood taken from hospitals across the nation. Or they could feed off the enemy, too.”
“O, God, may it not be!”
“Come, there is someone I would absolutely love to introduce you to. He is already here in my office.”
“Where?”
“Here I am.”
“Count Dracula, meet Winston Churchill, my closest friend!” FDR said, just then lighting a cig before Dracula appeared out of nowhere!
“Hello, Count Dracula, It is I, Winston Churchill.”
“A pleasure to meet you, friend. Getting out of London, was a bit tricky after Moseley’s sudden, heinous, surprise coup back in ‘36. ‘Our people’ had to fight like Hell to do so, gun in hand even.”
“Do you mean, other vampires?”
“No, I mean, by ‘our people,’ those hailing from the Hellsing Organization.”
“What in the world is the Hellsing Organization!?”
“Ah, now there is one more person to meet us right about … now … I think they are a tad bit late. Only by five minutes ...” Knocking. “Ah, yes, do come in, Sir Robert Hellsing!”
He walked in, resplendent in a crisp brown suit, blue tie, cigarette in mouth.
“Comrade-President FDR and, you my darling servant Dracula.”
“Sir Robert, this man opposite me and Dracula is my good British friend and former U.K. Government official Winston Churchill.”
“Hello Winston.” Both men shook hands.
“Hello, Sir Robert.”
Hushed silence.
Then, FDR broke the silence: “Now that we are all acquainted with each other, let me tell you, Winston, all I know about just how we are going to win the war, if it comes to that.”
(O, God may it not be!)

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

Another completed scene, more from the POV character of der Major:

--
June 22nd, 1941
--
“Berlin!” They could see it.
The British Armed-Protection Squadron men could all see “it:” “Berlin!” the shout rang out throughout the airship, which had positioned itself just above the German national legislature.
But der Major was … “London, Europe! It is Europe, and the lights of London!” More shouting, and there he was, standing immaculate in a white, crisp suit jacket.
“Yes, it is Europe, it is London!”
“Heil Mein Fuhrer!” The soldaten of Millenium said aloud, in one great united shout.
“Now,” His spirit guide had said as he lay motionless, “dead.” “See Berlin.”
O, how the fair, mighty city glistened with the great lights of modernity, o, how full of light, what a momentous bringer of light and liberty!
Then the airships fired their payload, slamming into, annihilating the Berlin Soviet Congress. O, how Mosely’s men cheered and cheered and cheered before being sent down below by modified Revenge-1 rockets.
And the slaughter, not war, a slaughter.
“Don’t show me anymore!”
“You must see more, even all of it, der Major.”
“Their Red Army is weak, mere bugs to be smashed!” A British “ethnic warrior” said before machine-gunning a slew of defenseless civilians.
“Come on, feast on ‘em, turn ‘em into bloody, goddamned ghouls!” An officer, a captain named Peter Sandburg ordered his squad.
And feast they did, ripping into soft flesh, turning legions of German civilians, police who’d dared shoot back at them, into zombie slaves, ghouls. Resistance only made them angrier.
“Kill every last Jew-loving police officer, all Jewish “Socialist Red Army of Workers’ and Peasants’” soldiers who dare resist us, We the White People!” Captain Sandburg said; he looked to only be nineteen or twenty.
They were, after all, the Vanguard of the White Race!
Their Party was the Vanguard Party of Anglo-Saxon civilization, the heir to the civilized Greco-Roman world!
Raping, murdering, plundering, it went on for hours! And the “Jewish” Red Army … “Hold the line, hold the line, don’t retreat!” A German MRC man yelled while under heavy fire. His men in no small numbers started to rush back, some got shot by “blocking detachments” who’d fired at them in panic before holding their fire, the rest thus got sat down and given words of encouragement by MRC men and women, by Young Communist League members and their SPD youthful counterparts.
“Well, goddamn, we’re getting butchered.”
“Come on, you can and you will do this, Privat!” The order to fall back given what it was … the parts of Berlin still under Red Army control were burned, the community garden, burned, any food and water and civilians to set out on “the Long March” east closer to Soviet Poland.
(O, how much could one man endure the terrible horrors wrought by men!)
“You must see more, your Lord God the Father, the Son of God the Lord Christ Jesus, and the Holy Ghost-the One God, do not say ‘Trinity’-demands you see more!” The messenger of the Lord said, frowning deeply.
Then … London again, in the Anno Domini-the Year of our Lords … 2019!
And there he was again. He himself.
Conducting the battle for London, it was his beloved war!
Atop the airship, he smiled and laughed.
Bombs-V-1's and V-2s, continued to rain down onto the British capital, slaughtering untold millions.
“This war, this battle, is oh so splendid!” The alternate history version of himself said with a loud chuckle, “Und victory is assured!”
Then, back to Berlin:
He’d see a woman get raped by British soldiers, who couldn’t have sex anymore truly now, who could not ejaculate, due to them raping scores of women before.
Biting into her flesh after raping her, he smiled; it was the self-same captain he’d seen before.
“This blood tastes so bloody Good! His thoughts (And she was so bloody good!)
“See a little bit more, der Major.” The angel said aloud, hugging him.
Here … and back.
London.
She was burning.
Her people were being slaughtered.
Had she ever known such brutality ever in her entire history?
Now there he was, smoking a fine, big, smelly cigar and eating some rotisserie chicken.
“This tastes really good. Et ist sehr gut!”
“I’m glad you like it, my Leader.” A lady with … cat ears said with a wide grin on her face.
“Warrant Officer Schrodinger, go to the Hellsing manor. That subordinate … went against my orders, against my will!”
“Yes, my Leader, I’ll make it snappy!”
The man … didn’t care.
Then, the angel would tell him that you saw enough for now before he’d be cast back into his body.
Ich bin am mein Bett. Gut.
It was late. He’d sleep softly here, now.

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

Next up will be a characterization of the Kingfish, Huey P. Long, still alive in 1938, a Council Congress representative to the left of FDR and his Socialist New Deal.

 

[Garrison]

Here is my discussion page for my novel, an alternate history which asks the simple what-if question: What if America's 1919 Red Summer revolution succeeded?

Well I realize you have been working on this for some time but a quick wikipedia search suggests the red summer had nothing to do with Communism but was an eruption of racial violence:

Red Summer - Wikipedia

en.wikipedia.org

There is no ideological component to this other than white supremacism and the fight for civil rights. I cannot see how this could possibly lead to a Communist USA, especially given the primary perpetrators of the violence would hardly have been sympathetic to Communist ideals, in fact at the same time the USA had troops in what would be the USSR fighting against the Bolshevik take over.

 

[West234]

Well I realize you have been working on this for some time but a quick wikipedia search suggests the red summer had nothing to do with Communism but was an eruption of racial violence:

Red Summer - Wikipedia

en.wikipedia.org

There is no ideological component to this other than white supremacism and the fight for civil rights. I cannot see how this could possibly lead to a Communist USA, especially given the primary perpetrators of the violence would hardly have been sympathetic to Communist ideals, in fact at the same time the USA had troops in what would be the USSR fighting against the Bolshevik take over.

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_Red_Scare
The Red Summer is kind of associated with both the racial violence and the First red scare that happened after the First World War. However the First red Scare of 1919 was a very wide spread and real event and there was definitely at least a little communist and far left influence in America in those days especially in some of the labor movements and unions of the time. Just take a look at the vote percentage of Eugene Debs in many of the presidential elections.

 

[Garrison]

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_Red_Scare
The Red Summer is kind of associated with both the racial violence and the First red scare that happened after the First World War. However the First red Scare of 1919 was a very wide spread and real event and there was definitely at least a little communist and far left influence in America in those days especially in some of the labor movements and unions of the time. Just take a look at the vote percentage of Eugene Debs in many of the presidential elections.

Despite what so many seem to think there is a huge difference between Socialism and Communism. Even in the massively unlikely event that Debs won the election that is not going to turn the USA into a Communist state any more than Britain did after the Labour victory in 1945.

 

[West234]

Despite what so many seem to think there is a huge difference between Socialism and Communism. Even in the massively unlikely event that Debs won the election that is not going to turn the USA into a Communist state any more than Britain did after the Labour victory in 1945.

I understand that there are major differences between the two I was more using the Deb’s example to portray the level of left wing discontentment that was bubbling under the surface around this time. To my knowledge the communist party and communism in America in general at the time was mostly still finding its footing. I would however contend that 1919 is still one of the more realistic points to have a communist revolution in America even if it requires some seriously drastic PODs to make it happen.

 

[Garrison]

I understand that there are major differences between the two I was more using the Deb’s example to portray the level of left wing discontentment that was bubbling under the surface around this time. To my knowledge the communist party and communism in America in general at the time was mostly still finding its footing. I would however contend that 1919 is still one of the more realistic points to have a communist revolution in America even if it requires some seriously drastic PODs to make it happen.

Even if you insist on confusing socialists and communists it isn't remotely plausible.

 

[West234]

Even if you insist on confusing socialists and communists it isn't remotely plausible.

Um ok… yeah suit yourself I guess. I’m just saying it is one of the more likely times with serious pods beforehand. And again I am not confusing communists and socialists lol I get the difference.

 

[Garrison]

Um ok… yeah suit yourself I guess. I’m just saying it is one of the more likely times with serious pods beforehand. And again I am not confusing communists and socialists lol I get the difference.

Well it can be more likely than some other time in the same sense that 1,000,000-1 odds are better than 10,000,000-1 odds. It isn't even close to plausible and the OP doesn't offer any POD for how it is supposed to happen, perhaps because they are aware its practically impossible.

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

It is interesting.

The true POD I've already mentioned is this: the Russian Revolution remains multi-party, wherein the Bolshevik-Left SR coalition government survives.

It almost did, per the historian Alexander Rabinowitch.

He argued had this multi-party coalition also including SR Maximalists, Menshevik Internationalists, and anarchists survived through the Spring of 1918, the early Soviet Russian state could have turned into a real multi-party system.

the single party-state was very unplanned and ad hoc per the historian who wrote "Stalin: Paradoxes of Power", and per Trotsky, the collapse of the Bolshevik-Left SR coalition government caused complete panic in the RSFSR and the almost total collapse of the young Soviet Russian republic.

Given that the multi-party order, survives ... the idea was and is multiparty Socialist-Communist coalition governments come to power in Italy, Hungary, Germany, and in the USA during the Red Summer unrest which was heavily intertwined with the First Red Scare.

A. Mitchell Palmer, the architect of the Palmer Raids, is killed in a bomb blast during the real-life letter bomb attempts and, due to greater left-wing unity combined with an attempt at a bloodier crackdown on the Socialist movement, mass political strikes in response produce a council republic.

As for "Communism" and "Socialism" ... the early CPUSA came out of the tent pole party which was the Socialist Party; the CPUSA was simply it's left-wing prior to the split, the early Communists only adopted the name "Communists" and the name for their splinter party "the Communist Party of America" I strongly believe because they were trying to go back to a purer form of Socialism, inspired by the fact that Marx called for a Communist Party and referred to those who wanted Socialism as Communists, the same reason I also strongly believe the early Bolsheviks changed their name from the Russian Social-Democratic Labor Party to the Russian Communist Party (Bolsheviks) during their coalition with the Left SRs and others.

The rump Socialist Party and, the moderate Socialist Mensheviks and Right SRs, and the other rump Social-Democratic parties are the ones who started after their left-wings split to from various Communist Parties to differentiate between "Socialism" and "Communism"; but, in fact, because at the dawn of the 20th-century if you were a Socialist/Social-Democrat you stood for Marx's teachings and wanted Socialism (Per Marx, there were only two stages of Communism, the first stage [we have the Soviets to blame for calling this first stage Socialism] of Communism and the second stage of Communism-the Bolsheviks simply said that they were practicing Socialism,, that they wanted Communism or a stateless, classless society, but what they had I strongly believe was the first, lower stage of Communism ("Socialism"), and that their goal was the second, higher stage of Communism, "Communism"-this period of history is extremely complex and very confusing, but a very rich period of history nonetheless), the early Socialists in fact interpreted the October Revolution as a Socialist Party/Social-Democratic party in power.

If by "Communism" one actually means Socialism, for the USSR never claimed to have reached Communism, it said it was building Socialism, (truly the lower stage of Communism), then the USSA is a multi-party Socialist state transitioning to "Communism,," or in actuality the second stage of Communism per Marx.

I think the nascent CPUSA could have worked with the rump SPA and, coupled with the independent working-class setting up of councils (soviets) and greater labor unrest, the USA becoming the USSA was wholly possible.

These are just my thoughts on all of this.

I will be writing some more POV scenes shortly.

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

Huey P. Long's character will be coming up shortly ... in this, he is alive by 1938, due to him never getting assassinated in 1935, and he will play a role in the USSA in the 1930's into the alternate history WWII and postwar world.

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

Huey P. Long's first POV scene.

Some alternate history mixed with some "other true events," amen.

Huey P, Long was historically to the left of FDR, and here he is pushing for "share our wealth" legislation and, soon, he will play a role in WWII and the postwar world.

And he is a Red:
--
April 20th, 1938
--
The Reds were back in Congress!
Smoking a fine, greatly cherished cigar, Huey P. Long stood in the halls of the duly assembled new Council Congress, grinning immensely.
He could fight. He could swear! And talk faster than them all, in the Socialist State of Louisiana, in the whole country!
Get ‘em Huey!
And get them he would, on the floor of Congress, speaking about … sharing our wealth, more than the Socialist New Deal.
Being as he was to the left of FDR …
“To hell with it! We are not doing enough! The Socialist New Deal leaves untouched the remaining Capitalist industries, does not involve the full-scale Socialization of our nation’s economy!”
He’d put before Congress his Share Our Wealth bill, but this day it went down in defeat.
Back at his residence, a modest brown-stone, quaint apartment, he thought of the farmers: “Get’ ‘em Huey, go get ‘em Huey, Get ‘em!” They’d shouted as one at a country fair in rural Louisiana. “These people are White Guards, I tell you!” In 1927 … the year of that speech in his campaign for Louisiana's governorship, he’d ...
Now … resting on his bed, he thought of the wearing of pastel suits to Congress with purple ties and bright red ties, wing tips … Clown, a journalist had said of him … but he just didn’t care about what “those people” thought of him.
Clown … body, consciousnesses leaving!
He was seeing …
“Honey, what ever you do just stay in the closet!”
Little girl. People shooting parents.
Taking a fork, she stabbed him in the eye.
“You fucking bitch, you stabbed me in my fucking eye! Die, cunt!
Shot her through the stomach.
PTSD. Numbness in her. Seras. Seras Victoria was her name the angel said.
Voices, she was hearing voices and hitting, biting, scratching other children in an orphanage.
“What the hell am I seeing!?”
Dead eyes. Black, dead eyes.
I’m here, again …
“We want you back. You know me and Jake!”
Fucking hell!
She was safe, right?
“Worker, don’t you hear it?”
“What in the world am I seeing!?”
Not up to him.
Died and came back to life.
Well, last cigarette, right?
Smoking.
In that goddamned house.
Goddammit, a Friday, pizza dough and smoking a few remaining cigs before the morrow.
Then, London.
Bombs rained down on her, and kept raining down on her!
Goddamn John C. Calhoun!
Goddamn them!
Their burial to be.
It was scorched Earth!
Motherfuckers! I fucking hate you! Die bitch, die, just fucking die!
“You fucking cunt!”
“Murderer!”
“This session is over!”
Well, twice-damn you!
Goddamn Kathleen!
Goddammit, I’m dying again! Peeing fucking blood. Shit, I’m dying!
Well, at least she cares about me. She’s glued to, checking all my messages. But can’t respond.
Goddamn it!
I just have to keep trying!
Fuck these people, fuck them, fuck ‘em, let ‘em fall, hang their fucking bodies in the hall!
You’re goddamn right!
It’s all junk, like read my rights and shit!
Then … back in body.
Getting up, the clock saying it was well past nine PM, he lit a cigarette; he’d quit in ‘35, that and his cherished cigars, fried foods, losing his “bay window,” his chubbiness, before smoking again and regaining his self-same “bay window.”
(Old habits die hard.)
In his D.C. apartment … what exactly he just “saw” notwithstanding, he thought about all that he had done for the people of Louisiana as its first Communist-elect people’s congressman.
He’d built massive modern highways, saw to the creation of a new State Capitol, he would go on after the ‘36 Congressional elections to repair Baton Rouge’s sewer system, its streets, and he’d also nationalize the city’s badly-in-need of better finances port.
And o, how Party worthies and Government dignitaries lined up around him over in the Hearst Hotel!
(And godddamn John C. Calhoun, goddamn the terror bombing of London in a world I know not of, and goddamn Fascist tyranny, ever antithetical to free Governments everywhere!)
Getting some more sleep, he awoke anew to start his day.
First stop: his Congressional office.
(“Politics in the Socialist State of Louisiana is as clean as an angel’s ghost.”)
And that blasted mark on FDR, despite being of the same Communist Party! God gave him that mark, polio, and he guessed as he settled in a brown wooden chair with a pillow seat cushion that God was using him to effect His will, he having quoted the Bible once to that effect!
Knock on door. “So help me Christ, if its one of Comrade-President FDR’s goddamned banker friends, I want nothing to do with them!” He jokingly said, knowing per his watch it was a close staffer of his, one Bill Keys due to meet him at twelve O’ clock sharp.
Laughing, Bill said, “you sound madder about things than a sober alcoholic at one of those newfound AA meetings!”
“Fucking right, Bill, I might just be coming off alcohol for all you could damn well care! Now, as for my ‘Share Our Wealth’ Bill … thirty souls in the House back it, and counting!”
“And a hundred souls oppose it!”
“Well, Bill, I called you over here because I want you to know: I’m going to run for president in the 1940 election and ...”
“But its still 1938.”
“Exactly, it will be 1939 soon so I’m going to make some statements to the press today, announce early my candidacy.”
“But you are from the same Party, no?”
“And that FDR makes me redder than a Soviet Bolshevik or Chinaman Red, in the face I mean, for the rat bastard still can’t and won’t back my agenda, he won’t go further than he can possibly go, and-”
“Maybe all is right in the universe, Huey.”
“And maybe I want to turn the universe upside down, dammit!.”
“So be it. It's twelve-ish, the press should be here soon enough.”
“Not quick enough, eh?”
Then, they arrived, a bevy of reporters with microphones and newspaper men and women and all of it, the whole thing!
Speaking to them, he would announce his candidacy for the presidency in the 1940 presidential election still over a year-and-a-half away,
Where FDR’s administration went to the left, he would tell them he’d voted with it, and where it ran to the right he’d voted against it.
Given that only a handful of weeks later he’d openly break with the president, for the moment, he felt damn satisfied in telling them that … and he’d feel even more damn satisfied those few weeks later breaking with FDR, demanding, pushing for, fighting for legislation to fully, wholly, completely pass bills truly “sharing our wealth.”
(Amen!)

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

Next up is Jaques Doriot again.

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

--
August 19th, 1938
--
France needed … a victory, she needed to triumphantly lay to siege the Socialist nations like King Nebuchadnezzar had laid Jerusalem victoriously to siege in the Book of Daniel!
How just to do that, though …
Top secret operation.
The creation of vampire super soldiers.
Mina Harker’s heart beat softly in the large glass and metal tube housing the muscle.
“My leader, we can now start creating them, vampires.”
“Excellent General De Gaulle.”
“You’re welcome. French scientists, here, let me show you the breakthrough.” Taking him into a room, he introduced himself to a vampire trooper, one private Moreau.
“Private, show just how strong you really are.”
“Yes, sir!” Just then he picked up a hundred pound weight with … his fingers, barely gripping it.
“He can knock people down with a slight push of the hand. He can do a thousand push ups, can shapeshift, and so forth.”
“Excellent, General, my racial comrade. Now, execute Plan Orange.”
“Yes, my leader Doriot!”
Plan Orange given what it was … the complete turning into vampires of the whole Armee-EP, every soldier in his vast army period, public backlash be twice-damned.
Retiring to a mountain retreat in Colmar, he surveyed grand paintings, racial Socialist realist artwork. A heroic French peasant scythed through golden ears of grain.
These vampires would scythe through enemy soldiers like there was no tomorrow. That pertinent fact he knew with a certainty.
It would be a Twilight of the Gods!

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

--
September 24th, 1938
--
Helen.
Teacher saw and heard her over in her Connecticut house here, and there speaking in the United Capital City, speaking of Socialism.
“Your hands create, create all the wealth!” She said in her mechanical, ridged, but no less persuasive and powerful voice.
“Hell yeah!” A worker said aloud, pumping his fist into the air. “Helen Keller is speaking!”
O, how the crowd roared its approval at her words, words or cheering she herself couldn’t hear, throngs of people she just couldn’t see.
“Disabled” in name only.
Heaven. Gardens beneath which rivers flowed had been her home for two years now.
And it would remain her final home, resting place, unto the final Last Day.
She’d traveled across Germany, “saw” the Soviet Union, was continuing to fight the good fight.
“See and hear, Teacher Anne Sullivan.” The Spirit whispered softly into her heart, her soul, the center of her being, the core of herself, her corazon.
The Second Great War again, perchance?
No, something else: the University of Utah campus.
What year? “1955.” The Holy Ghost said.
Preacher. Mormon Socialist.
“You all should be proud, you who stood up for freedom and Socialist democracy in the war. I’d like to say to you, is your faith strong despite all the technological advances in Society? Yes, it is, friends, class of ‘55!”
The class of ‘55 roared its approval at the Mormon apostle’s words, one Richard Peel.
“Don’t lose your faith, in the wake of these great modern marvels of the twentieth-century, in the wake of the war and the worst genocide the world had ever seen, that evil annihilation of Europe’s Jews.
“Don’t lose your faith in Christ Jesus, who was, is, and will continue to be the Living One. Remember that the Earth shall-does-belong to the poor and meek of the world.
Best speech at the U of U in years the papers would say.
What was the world, what did the world of 1955 look like?
What world did the war make?
She’d continue to see what world the war did indeed just make, to hear the cry of freedom ring out across all lands before catching a wink of sleep in her mansion bedroom.
(Selah!)

 

[RedHistoryPintobean2]

--
January 14th, 1939
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints was … the one true Church of God on Earth, home the Aaronic priest Richard Peel knew with a certainty, not conjecture.
“The Temple-never been in. Can’t. Cigs and strong drink, coffee and beer.” He said to Father in prayer. “Help me do thine will!”
“You will do my will, are.”
Red Army uniform. PFC, formerly Private Peel.
Salt Lake City was … becoming.
Fort Douglas, built on the U of U campus, was full of new recruits as the storm of world war drew ominously closer.
“Socialist patriotism, right Corporal?” He said to his NCO Corporal Vens.
“Yep, PFC, looks like that’s what the papers are calling it these days.”
Socialism was no longer so … international. Love of one united country was heavily being pushed by FDR’s Government, something which Huey P. Long stated was a notion, concept, he wanted to fight hard in his campaign for the presidency.
Love of … Socialist America.
Love of … his neighbor and himself. (I must love mine neighbor as myself.)
But … did he?
Drinking problem. Beer and spirits. Bender on campus at a bar near the college.
(Listen to the seed of true love itself, that harrowing, sweet voice, not the seed, the voice of true fear itself.) The Holy Ghost whispered, but here he was … drinking in the barracks.
Drunk, he’d wake up later the next morning hung over.
(I’m just hung out and dry!)
As for his priesthood … no one could know that he had a drinking problem, a problem with wine and strong drink. No one would, did, know!
Meeting with Bishop at Church soon, over on Highland Avenue.
(Rock bottom, you’ve hit it.) God said.
Instead of meeting with his bishop, he’d gotten into a bar fight.
(Go to Alcoholics Anonymous.) A few weeks later after drinking again, being reprimanded by his superior officers, he was pointed to the nearest AA meeting.
Sitting in a Baptist church building, he heard these people speak about … sobriety.
He wanted what they had.
After the meeting, he lit a Chesterfield .., many stood outside the church grounds smoking. (Dismissal from the army, dammit!)
“All was-is-right in the universe.” His AA sponsor said aloud, also smoking, he’d started doing Big Book study with him after attending the meetings for about three weeks. Just couldn’t ditch it … this baffling power called alchol.
And AA, he knew, was spreading like wildfire across the country.
Army life. Getting his degree to boot. It all beckoned.
He’d only been officially sober for two days … the first thirty days were the roughest he knew from his sponsor Nick Wright.
(It works if you work it!) He thought to himself one evening alone in his small, single-room apartment.