I've had a hearty laugh that someone now believes I may be the former Dem Party chair in Kendall, Martin Flowers. Fact is, I don't even know the Flowers family. Never met them.
Truthfully, I've written to Flowers a few times and never heard back. I think that actually speaks to his credit.
But I know what I know. And I know who I am.
In the 1970s, a noble crusader in my home region who dubbed himself "The Fox" "gave it back" to corporate polluters of the Fox River by dumping their own toxic sludge in the corporate lobby, and plugging the factory waste pipes of the Dial Corporation's plant in Montgomery (which at the time, emptied its waste directly into the Fox River).
What's more, The Fox had a close-knit band of friends who aided and protected him. Many of them were local police officers, and many of the tactics they used should have landed someone in jail.
But The Fox served up my kind of justice.
It troubles me that many of the people who now live in the Southern Fox Valley don't know anything about that famous, secret crusader. Many who are jumping on the bandwagon of the local "Progressives" have no earthly idea who they're getting wrapped up with. It kind of all binds together nicely.
I have noted with more than one reporter who I've corresponded with over the past several months that Thomas Paine, the author of Common Sense, was probably our most famous anonymous pamphleteer. When his identity became known, his opinions mattered far less to those who loved him for his other works, The Crisis, and Rights of Man.
He was excoriated for his religious views after publishing The Age of Reason and died deeply in debt. Today, his grave is empty, and the whereabouts of his bones unknown.
But read this, and tell me it should be scorned:
- "These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.
But if his identity had been known, the work would have likely never made history.
Had Paine been known, you may have found a letter to the editor from some colonial mouth-breather that retorted something like, "...and thus blew out of the affholle of Paine, yet again."
I have also mentioned more than once that if my identity were to become known, I would not be able to live in this area any longer. And my friends and acquaintances who know Hastert and have shared secrets with me would never be the same. So let's be careful.
I also enjoy, oh... living in verticality above ground and being able to keep my job. After all, Denny Hastert is an idiot, but the people he serves are dark-hearted, malevolent, vindictive bastards.
(Hello to all of you secretive, spying little cocksuckers out there, by the way)
And here we are. All of us blogging. Some of us showing our names with pride, others "hiding behind an anonymous handle."
I am an anonymous pamphleteer. Those of us who were on top of things when "The Internets" first exploded on the scene more than a dozen years ago kind of saw this coming. Today, however, Thomas Paine might become the victim of an attack on his bandwidth, or "outed" by some of the people I've seen coming to SB/C lately.
So enjoy me. Hate me. Read me. Use your senses. Just think about it. That's why I am here.
I am Thomas Paine. I am The Fox. I am every famous Liberal who has passed, not afraid to take up that designation. I am your conscience, and the conscience of all others who came before you, bearing down on you.
I hate the term "Progressive," when it's used interchangably for "Liberal." I hate cowards who are afraid to use the word that Ronald Reagan made you so afraid of: Liberal.
Say it. And remember this about this about Liberalism:
Do not stand at my grave and forever weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and forever cry.
I am not there. For I did not die.