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Damnation Days of the Duck Doctrine
Political spoof on contempary shenanigans told in a fictional memoir.
From:
$1.60
Excerpt
Shellie positioned herself between the pond and the three of us bottled water drinkers and spoke: "How could anyone want to destroy such pristine beauty? Ever since I was five years old, I rode my horses past this spot. I got my first kiss here. If those opportunistic developers have their way, there'll be no place for the horses to drink, no place for me to stop and take in this natural beauty."
"Pure avarice. That's what all this capricious building is about. The big developers come in and seduce our local government, build these upscale condos, take the money and disappear. We're the ones who have to deal with the traffic, overcrowded schools and destruction of our pristine panorama."
Mike's Abe Lincoln beard danced as he spoke. He only wore his runner's shorts in the summer heat. No one had a better mandate to wear them, for Mike had completed in the last four Western States races"the grueling one hundred mile mountain foot race from Squaw Valley to Auburn"and he placed first or second every time. Mike practiced dentistry and had moved from the San Francisco area while I was at Berkeley.
"I've only been here five years, but each year, the greedy mongers encroach deeper and deeper on our flora and fauna. We've got to draw a line in sand." He actually drew a line in the sandy ground. "This pristine pond has to be Auburn's Armageddon."
Shellie's friend Debbie applauded. She also wore runner's garb, her thin petite body looked as if it hadn't had a calorie in the last five years.
"Look we're not talking about building dwellings that this community needs, like low income ones for the elderly and the working poor," Shellie added.
"Or decent housing that African Americans and Hispanics are entitled to have," I added.
Shellie shot me a tolerant look. "Very few of those people live here. No, this development is just for more pretty people from the big cities to live in spiffy condos with big garages for their Lexus and Cherokees, people who want dramatic views of the Sierras." Mike and Debbie lived in a spiffy house with a view of the Sierras and drove a BMW.
"For sure, the developers will put a few contractors to work who will hire a few laborers, who will buy a few more six packs of beer. And a few merchants will prosper. But in the end, everything will be like before, only with less beauty: the contractors will be competing for more building opportunities, the laborers will be unemployed and buying less six packs, the politicians campaign chests will be growing bigger with special interest contributions so they can stay in office, and the developers will be scheming to destroy the pristine beauty with yuppe developments."
Debbie vigorously applauded Shellie's critique of Auburn's business shenanigans and looked directly at me. I had no choice but to nod agreement. Besides, I liked the part about the low-income housing. It was Debbie's turn to talk. I knew her as an attorney from San Jose who presided over the local CARAL, California Abortion Rights Action League. "This pond must be saved. I walk here with my children, and we gain peace from the vista. I run here with Mike, and we gain inspiration from the vista. I bike here with my white labador, and we regain a primordial tie with the vista. This is about saving nature and saving the denizen of nature." She swung her calorie-less body toward the pond, and on cue, a brown mother duck and six, yellow, miniature ducklings serenely paddled through the late idyllic shimmer. I was impressed.
"Ducks are born trusting, so will follow any figure large enough to be credible until misled, then they become testy."
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