William Brown ’20
The Communists and I Once a friend of mine, Bill, he asked me—over a beer, which is the best way—whether I had ever been mixed up in any politics. I told him frankly I hadn’t, except one time, back in high school—that time, you could say there were some politics, although it wasn’t my fault, not by a mile. There was a powwow or something—I guess they called it an activity fair, though I never yet saw a fair without a game or two, which is, customarily speaking, what makes it fair. So they had a fair. That’s fine with me, because if the headmaster wants to have a fair, I’ll go to any fair you please. I’m a pretty cool customer, a real Stoic type. I was A-O-K with as many fairs as you like, even if they hadn’t so much as corn-hole, which a decent man will always have at a fair. So I got to the fair, which is my part of the bargain, and I looked around to see what was doing. It turned out my part of the bargain wasn’t yet halfway done. Activity fairs, I must say, are not my cup of tea, and that’s a fact. There were some tables up, and folks behind them, and I didn’t want to be unsociable, because it didn’t hardly behoove me, a decent chap and a student and all. I get up to this table, where there is a paper with some signatures. Well, so. I’ve seen a lot of signatures in my time. I’ve pulled a few signatures myself, too. Turns out I was about to pull a few more, probably more than John Hancock, even. These folks at the table want me to sign. I’m a pretty cool hand, as I said before. I don’t ever back down, and that’s the truth, and anyone who wants to say otherwise should think with some profundity whether this might be best for peace and the brotherhood of man. Well, I signed the paper. I was real surprised how few signatures pre-ceded mine. It doesn’t seem half decent, to let these folks down, when they want you to sign some paper. It’s not even difficult, hardly. I once had some diffidence about my signature, and writing it, but that’s all patched over now. I can dash out my signature in no time flat. Seeing it was so easy, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t sign. Understanding, however, was about to dawn on me. The sun of wisdom had sent rose-digited dawn a haymaker, and Aurora was sprawled out all over my mind, in the form of a profound suspicion. I reckoned there might be something more to this signature of mine. Yes sir, enlightenment was coming my way, but fast. I didn’t hardly have time to duck. It turned out the next table had a paper too, and a place for names, and emails. I didn’t want to disappoint the good folks behind this table, so I broke out my signature for them, and felt practically 34
