From: caz@owlnet.rice.edu (HWRNMNBSOL)
Subject: America the Beautiful I (REPOST)
Organization: Rice University
Date: Sun, 13 Dec 1992 07:45:53 GMT

WARNING: This is a repost.  I will now sever my own scrotum with a potato
parer.  Killfile me now.

****************************************************************************

TUESDAY: 3:00 AM
SOMEWHERE IN AMERICA

He wasn't sure what it was that had made up his mind.  The rain, maybe, or
perhaps the kids.  It sounds funny, but kids today are definitely worse than
they were thirty-five years ago.  They're snotty, and foul-mouthed, and like
to stick gum on exposed surfaces.  Surfaces like Ronald's floppy shoes,
Ronald's baggy trousers, Ronald's happy clown face.

Ronald loved the kids in '58.  They would stare up at him -- slack-jawed, in
awe of their benevolent float-purveying deity -- and he could read in their
faces their pure and unadulterated love for him.  They were his disciples
of a religion that preached only love, joy, and french fries.

The entire world seemed cleaner then, too.  The vision that he had been 
created in the image of -- a happy place, an oasis in the black-and-white
paradigm of the Cold War -- was clean-lined, still sharply defined.  It was
a business, then as well as now, but its goals were crystalline; its quest,
a beacon.  Somehow, Ray and the other businessmen would bring the ephemeral
quality of innocence back to a suddenly complicated and frightened America.
And Ronald was the general to lead the charge.

For decades he worked tirelessly to further the cause.  Billboards, neons,
TV images with Ronald's smiling face.  Slogans of peace and joy, a stark
contrast to the grinding crush of human sewage that threatened to overwhelm
our sensibilities.  In the midst of a maelstrom, Ronald offered an anchoring
place -- a rock of security, built out of Big Macs and Apple Pies.  And 
America accepted his offering.

The decades marched onward.  Through a bitter and unpleasant war, a gut-
wrenching defeat, Ronald smiled on -- the symbol of an irrepressibly
child-like quality, almost lost in the haze over My Lai.  In South Dakota
Native Americans shot rifles in a desperate bid to regain their way of life,
but Ronald piloted America through the storm.  When the oil wells stopped
pumping, and Texans trudged along dusty country roads in search of solace,
they always knew that respite could be found *there* -- just beneath the
golden arches.

Now, Ronald wasn't sure any more.

Ronald's power peaked in the late seventies.  He looked about him, and saw
the sign (Over 10 Billion Sold!), and was pleased with the great works he
had created.  But he saw his labors were not complete, would NEVER be 
complete, so he gathered about him his noble companions.  Hamburglar,
Mayor McCheese, The Fry Guys -- and who could forget the ever-loyal Grimace.
Together they acted out their antics on the stage of the mass-media, 
performing a passion-play that captured the imagination of an entire
country.  Ronald's crew became a microcosmic metaphor for Utopian America:
a magic land where good ever triumphed over evil, and where a simple
cheeseburger could be the anodyne for any ill.  America, quite literally,
ate it up.

And then -- the beginning of the end.

First, Ray died.  Ronald mourned the loss of America's greatest unsung
hero -- the man who made The Magic Balm possible.  Meanwhile, the eighties
had crept up on America like a thief in the night.  The 'Me' generation
clamored for more, more, more, and Ronald found himself with less, less,
less to give.  When the Hamburglar puppets are all gone, what remains?

And yet, for the moment the rot remained on the inside of the wood.  
Ronald looked up, and business was still good (Over 20 Billion Sold!)
so what was there to do?  Surely the old formulae would serve as well
in the future as they did in the past!  Ronald kept right on smiling
and dishing out the happiness, never realizing that happiness was no
longer a top-notch commodity.

Troubles befell the company.  The realization that cholesterol was harmful,
possibly lethal, struck Ronald like a thunderbolt.  The children, the
hope for the future, poisoned for all these years!  The new businessmen
argued that there is a big difference between a deadly dose and a burger,
but Ronald's confidence was shaken.  Next, the environmentalists complained
that the purchase of Amazonian beef was ruining the atmosphere, and plastic
containers were clogging our landfills.  Ronald could not believe that,
after his many years of being the High Priest of America, his movement had
been doing wrong; even worse, was continuing to knowingly do wrong!  Such
a shock!  What would Ray think?

And yet, Ronald numbly continued doing what he had always done.  What else
could he do?  A symbol is as a symbol does.

The nineties rolled in with a lack of significance.  All the meaningful
distinctions, the clear-cut blacks and whites of the past, had washed out
into a monochromatic, nauseating gray.  The Cold War had crashed.  Americans
killed other Americans in Los Angeles.  The Restaurant had the gall to
print nutritional data on their products while continuing to serve some
of the most unhealthy food on the market.  Even the Sign had lost its
meaningfulness (Billions and Billions Sold!), and Ronald was forced to
search thirty-five years back to remember what he was doing here, anyway.

Now it's late, and it's raining, and the kids and the parents have all
gone home.  Ronald thinks back to the days when, from his pedestal 
overlooking the Playland, he could see the children PLAY, and HAVE FUN,
secure in the knowledge that their red-mopped playmate would ward them
from any danger.  Nowadays the kids sulk in the slide and put gum on him.

Ronald comes to a moment of decision.  On the one hand, there is the 
Restaurant -- his home, his playground, his battlefield for thirty-
five years.  On the other hand.....????????  Who knows?

He makes up his mind.  There is the CRACK! of plastic and paint as
Ronald's fibreglass feet separate from the concrete platform where
they have been bolted for so many years.  Ronald's joints, never used,
creak as he gingerly climbs down from the block.  He looks back at
the Playland before he goes.  There stand the statues of his boon
companions, his co-conspirators in the good fight.  They seem to stare
at him, as if crying out "Ronald!  Don't go!  What will the Restaurant
be without you?  We need you!"  Ronald smiles, a sad smile this time,
and waves fondly.  "I'm sorry, friends.  I must do this.  I have to find
out what is out there -- I have to reinvent a strategy for solving the
world's problems.  I can't do that from here.  I'm sorry."

One brisk run-and-leap, and Ronald magically clears the fence.  He stops
at the sidewalk and turns back, one last time.  The lights are still on
in the Restaurant, and Ronald can see the cheerfully-colored menu over
the counter.  He can also see the head of Grimace peeking out over the
fencetop -- a truly moving sign of undying loyalty.  "Goodbye, Grimace,"
calls Ronald softly, "I will always love you."

And then he starts off down the street, taking brisk strides, each step
carrying him further from There, and closer to Anywhere Else.  A terrific
smile lights up his face -- a real smile, this time, with true joy seeping
out around the edges.  He debates what his future holds for him, and 
considers the wonderful possibilities:

"Perhaps I'll run for President......."

 
-- 
HWRNMNBSOL
Xref: sparky talk.bizarre:41291 alt.prose:1644