A DREAM THAT DIES

From the R.M. Dolin novel “The Dangling Conversation.”

Chapter 13: A Dream That Dies

KYLE: “Calling me distracted is like dry kindling to a forest fire. The thing is, and I speak from experience, life kicks you in the teeth and mires you in mud; nothing’s as it seems, everything far afield from where it appears to be. One minute you’re naively loping along after rainbows and in an instant, you’re entangled in some surreal shitstorm raining down hard and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. Another inescapable truth you learn with each cold hard kick is when you piss the wrong people off, punishment is maliciously without mercy. Mark those down as welts of wisdom.

“I was someone once, not a superficial someone like athletes or actors, but someone who made a difference, and then, I became the wrong guy in the wrong moment and when powerful people need to make their negligence someone’s fault, any patsy will do. And just like that, my most cherished dreams are banished from existence; that’s the cold hard reality of how this lopsided world turns. A dream that dies, dear Isabelle, is worse than death because you’re left languishing in its aftermath. People talk about dreams as if they’re owed rainbows; maybe they are if not for the evil lurking in others, dark sinister souls devoid of compassion, empathy, or any sense of fairness. Always look through what you’re being told because the more pleasant the promise the louder the lie.

“I’m not supposed to be here, this park bench isn’t meant to be home; yet here I am and here I shall remain. I had a dream once, a nice double-wide five miles north of Key West and eighty-some south of Key Largo; a beautiful retirement village on the Atlantic side called Sunny Shores. I rent this place along a canal where every house has a deck with a sea-worthy boat moored to the side and stay for a month to figure out if me and Florida can come to terms. Everyone’s amazing, guys trolling down the canal in the morning on their way to fish just invite me along. They’ve no idea who I am or even if I fish; there seems to be an unspoken rule that no one should ever be alone. It’s too easy, ya know, being isolated, if not for you, I’d sit here in silence every night. Imagine a place where people are real neighbors that actually care about you.

“One night this Polish lady from Buffalo and her husband Carl invite me for happy hour. She serves beer from Poland, best I’ve ever had; then tells me all about Dingus Day, which apparently is a huge deal back in Buffalo. In return I tell her about Pulaski Day in Chicago, cause it’s a big deal to my Polish parents. Before you know it, we’re talking perpogies, platski, and butter molded lambs. Carl’s one lucky-ass dude, even if it seems he’s got one foot in the grave.

“I like Sunny Shores so much I put an offer in on this property at the outer edge of Windy Point where the canal spills into the bay. I sit there a few mornings to get a feel for the overall vibe; dawn off the deck is like a postcard, to my left is a calm bay that boils with fish going after noseeums. Straight out is a dawn that makes you question eternity; the sun cracks over the horizon awakening miles upon miles of calm ocean water that seem sacred. In the evening dolphins and sharks swim right up to my deck to snack on crabs and all day long the tarpon roll and jump up and down the canal teasing me to try my luck.

“I still taste sweet salt air and the way warm breezes relax weary bones. Death is everywhere though; everyone’s either grieving or about to be, and yet, even the terminal are filled with a bizarre kind of joy. They’ve taken all the shit life can throw at them and survived; anything after that’s just happy hour. I often stare at our putrid sky wondering if the hazy smog can ever clear up enough to capture a horizon. But no; no sunrises for me, that’s what fate’s decided, because as soon as I return from Florida, my troubles start.”

ISABELLE: “Dad talks like that; not always, but there’ll be times when he goes dark. I ask mom about it, but all she’ll say is to let him be. We’re the kind of family that pleasantly avoids uncomfortableness. I don’t know what triggers it or drives him to such an unsettled state; it’s something he keeps inside. Is that a thing with guys or are you two just cut from the same cloth?

“He has an unwavering sense of right and wrong mixed with this belief he has to stand against injustice. He’s strongly committed that way and likes to say, “a man not willing to lay down his life for a worthy cause has no core beliefs.” This is my struggle with Henry, he doesn’t have core beliefs, nothing at least he’ll lay his life down for. He pontificates profusely about a philosophy devoid of wisdom, says meaningless shit like a man must constantly assess situations based on evolving circumstances; it’s the utter opposite of dad.

“Things are simpler for your generation, you know right from wrong, what you believe, what you’re willing to stand for. Our generation’s untested, we’re taught to abandon beliefs and because of that we’re fraught with conflict and confusion that feeds an unsettled frustration; it’s ironic really, and it casts us in this continual state of boiling unrest. We protest this and boycott that, but all we’re really saying is we’re adrift without anchors. I wish I knew Henry better; and that’s not actually even it, I wish Henry was more like dad, more like you.”

KYLE: “The callous rat bastards kill my dream without conscience; a cold uncaring zest that seems like some bizarre form of counting coup. Maybe that’s how it is in the corporate world, but it’s not a road in mine. That’s my sin, my naive belief that in the pursuit of things benefiting humanity, there should be some modicum of nobility. My dad reminds me, “only fools and children believe in the nobility of their fellow man.” He’s right, people always act in self-interest; and in that pursuit, they don’t give a rat’s ass who they screw over. Whether driven by greed, hubris, or survival, they can only be counted on for that one constant; everyone, and everything else be damned.

“In killing my dream, they banish me to the void, left to search for explanations. Where does one go to question the callousness of corporations. Where does one find justice in a world framed by executioners who practice their profession with glee. Integrity, or lack thereof, is part and parcel to the cancerous nature of power and the ease in which it corrupts. A man should be permitted to face his accusers, those who would kill his dream. To look them in the eye and see into the slimy nature of their soul but that’s not the way the world rolls, there’s always the person behind the person who pretends to lend a sympathetic ear as they slit your throat, and I can’t sort through who’s the greater evil.

“My fault is being born two-hundred years too late; a prairie cowboy talking truth to power, a man not willing to back down in the face of injustice. There’s no place in the modern world for relics like me; someone who believes honest work is rewarded with honest respect. I’m stuck trying to reconcile how the world can be run by those who assess each situation based on what’s expedient for their self-interest. The rat bastards exploit the shit out of you when it suits their needs then discard you like chewed-through leftovers; something less than a cigarette butt from a stolen smoke, or dredges from the bottom of a coffee cup. So, sit back dear one, as I tell you a tale of Machiavellian betrayal that’ll challenge all you have been brainwashed to believe.”

ISABELLE: “Now you’re channeling dad and it’s a bit weird. He’s a tool & die guy who used to work at a tool & die shop; small potatoes huh. No big-time doctor or powerful politician, he freaken makes metal parts, blue collar through and through, all the way to his weekend cans of Coors. He is special though, and his crew feels the same, they’ll be over playing poker and call him Houdini cause of the magic he musters when working machines. Everything’s good in his tool & die days, hard weeks that give way to relaxing weekends spent with me and mom, then back to the grind on Monday.

“Sometimes they make him work double shifts for weeks on end with no days off. But once a contract’s complete, they reward him with comp-time; and he doesn’t waste it. No sir, he’s in the kitchen fixing breakfast so mom can sleep in then driving me to school in his step-side Studebaker. My girlfriends are jealous, they never let on, but I know. Not because I come to school in a rusted-out pickup but because he drives right up to the front of my high school, there’s no getting out a block away like they make their mom’s do. And the boys are way into his old truck, not the kind of boys you bring home; at least that’s what I arrogantly thought back then.

“I’m about to graduate when things go south, too self-absorbed to notice anything unrelated to me. I never fully get what happens and mostly try not to think about it because it only leads to regrets. I see dad pulling away, first a little, then a little bit more. What I’ve reconstructed is that there’s this defense contract, a huge deal for his small tool & die company; they over-promise and rely too much on the magic only dad can deliver. As deadlines pass and fines mount, they push and pressure him until he’s past exhaustion. They use him, then kick him to the curb like an empty tuna can. For years they pretended to care but when the pressures of profit get too big, he becomes expendable, just another consumable in their production run.

“Why he doesn’t quit, I don’t know. Why is it men feel such loyalty to their jobs? With his talent he can work anywhere; until he can’t. I’m not sure what happens, it’s shrouded in mystery. What I do know is that he never works another tool & die job again and it’s something from which he doesn’t fully recover. I’ve never cared so much about a job that I’d let it ruin me, I mean, it’s just a job. This is where Henry might be right, a little context would’ve gone a long way to help dad make sense of his troubles.

“I never say sorry, never speak about my admiration; I mean he doesn’t walk on the moon or win world series, but he’s my dad and a damn good dad. I wish things were different, what I wouldn’t give to sit beside him during his troubles with my head on his shoulder as he retells one of his many stories; to make the hell they put him through some small amount milder. But you can’t go back, so the darkness of his darkness is now a dark cloud that obscures my sun. I wish Henry could see life through my history, I mean he could be right about context, but his wisdom isn’t earned; he lacks battle scars that would otherwise balance his beliefs. I’d like Henry to explain what happens when a man gets pushed to a point where he’s unrecognizable to himself and then have him enlighten me with context. What this world needs are more tool & die workers who make magic with their machines. Fine folks you can rely on, and who in return can reasonably expect the world to show some damn respect.”

KYLE: “I get your dad; he knows what it means to set aside what’s best for himself for higher obligations. Unfortunately, such men are dinosaurs heading toward extinction; it’s a shame, a real sad-ass pity. You nailed it though; the problem comes down to unwavering commitments to necessary truths. You can’t completely fault guys like Henry, they’re the product of corporations and governments being allowed to abuse and exploit workers. Not that standing up against wrongs ever got me anything other than pain and suffering, but ya have to have a wall your back can brace against. Young guys are cut from softer cloth; they’ve been trained to take whatever abuse is tossed on them regardless of how irrational or toxic things get. They strip strong men of dignity and self-respect until they’re hollowed into a shell of shallow compliance to the point where right and wrong cease to have utility, or even expectation; and that’s a shame, a real sad-ass shame.

“It’s the same for me as your dad, Nadia’s back in my life when the troubles begin but she’s a story for another night. I’m struggling with my job at State; they’ve lost sight of their mission and in this super surreal sense, their morality. I began there to serve my country but over time, it becomes this deal where if you don’t swear allegiance to their progressive politics, they make life a living hell. I’m as apolitical as they come but that doesn’t matter; things get so toxic I dread going to bed because all I have to look forward to is waking up to more of their toxic shit.

“I consider quitting but decide to gut it out until retirement, then the unthinkable happens; there’s this woman, isn’t that how all tragic stories start, she’s a very prominent and powerful politician, the wife of someone even more powerful and prominent. She’s caught stealing classified documents, something anyone else would be tossed in prison for but what’s her punishment for treason and espionage, absolutely nothing, not a God-damn thing. And it isn’t just her; it’s the entire culture; all the bigwigs circle the wagons; even those who can and should step up to preserve some sense of justice abdicate. That’s the horrible truth about how the world rolls, those in power do whatever they want, break any law they want, commit any act they want, regardless of who gets harmed, and it’s just not right.

“Each of us has to decide what we can tolerate. Henry might consider the context and weigh that against his need for a paycheck, but I can’t, it’s not the calculus of a prairie cowboy. I try, I keep my head down falsely assuming I can step outside the toxic culture but it’s not possible, not when the culture demands allegiance. So, I quit, like anyone would; there’s no context when it comes to a nation’s security, you miss handle sensitive documents, people get hurt, and the guilty need to be held accountable. I never regret my decision even in the aftermath of the shitstorm that follows.

“I move over to the Food and Drug Administration and have been there about a year when the troubles begin. The work’s meaningful; overseeing the safety of people’s health is a much different ballgame than overseeing the security of nations, but I have purpose. I’m doing good and making a difference; that’s important, ya know; feeling like you matter in the grinding gears of government. There’s a freshness at FDA and I recapture my eagerness for work; that’s important to men like me. The place isn’t toxic, at least not like State. Even though I’m more than four years from retirement, I’m already collecting brochures for my southern Florida dream. Nadia’s keen on the Keys, I mean it isn’t the south of France, but warm water beaches are warm water beaches, but like I said, that’s a story for another night.

ISABELLE: “I leave home during dad’s troubles; eighteen and grown, ready to take on the world. I keep in touch but to be honest, mostly talk to mom and she’s not one to burden me with whatever’s going on. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be, children grow up and move on, create new worlds with new world problems. Are we supposed to stay prisoners of the past and what could I have done anyway, once someone’s caught in the cogs of life there really isn’t much anyone can do. When I get divorced, there’s no medication mom can put on my pain, she can’t shoulder my sorrow or alleviate the things I must endure; some stuff you gotta just get through on your own. I’m not saying you have to suffer alone and it’s certainly comforting to have a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to but in the end, that doesn’t change the journey. It’s like running a marathon, there’s all kinds of people along the route urging you on, providing drinks and snacks to keep your energy up; it’d be hard if not impossible to finish without their help, but in the end, you still have to run 26.2 miles on your own and all their support doesn’t discount a single step.

“I don’t know how to help dad but know he wants me to get on with my life, to be out there building my future. But what if he doesn’t, what if what he really wants is his little girl to come home, to make his life feel complete and meaningful once again? I doubt it yet feel guilty; maybe not guilt, that implies I did something wrong. I just get this sadness sometimes, a sense I should’ve stayed home. I mean look how things turned out, certainly I’d have done no worse staying till I was older. I don’t know, we’re probably not supposed to. My dad has his shit, you have yours, I have mine, who doesn’t, that’s the takeaway.”

KYLE: “I see my troubles for what they are only after the guillotine’s started its descent; it’s like watching a dust devil in the distance coming at you as it builds toward a category five tornado. I’m tasked with doing an approval analysis for a new vaccine; not just any vaccine, it’s like nothing that’s ever been proposed, one destined for controversy. During the pandemic, big Pharma discovered the endless stream of profit potential in vaccines; like California gold, we’re an endless supply of nuggets waiting to be plucked. Think about the flu shot that maybe five million people take annually if you beg and coerce them; contrast that with a vaccine you mandate three-hundred-and-fifty million people take; perhaps even multiple times a year if you grease the right wheels in Washington. There’s billions, even trillions to be had in the new mandated vaccine industry.

“Every pharmaceutical company’s clamoring to not only hit the market early but with such a splash their vaccine is number one; trillions, just waiting to be had. It falls on me to conduct a review of blind study data to generate statistical summaries with special emphasis on outlier side effects. I’m under tremendous pressure from the bigwigs to wrap things up and finalize my report and because of that, I’m working long days that stretch deep into nights. I’m pouring over data one night and start sensing something’s amiss, not consciously and without obvious clues; something just feels off. As an engineer, I’m fluent in the language of numbers and how they speak in absolute truths. Numbers are expected to sometimes be uniform and other times objectively random; data should cluster around certain asymptotes but always contains outliers; this data has these behaviors but something about how they present causes me to dig deeper; that’s where things go off the rail.

“The more I dig the more unsettled I get and first thing the next morning, I brief management about my concerns. They don’t seem worried; in fact, they’re dismissively nonchalant and flippantly instruct me to send my data file back to the pharmaceutical company and let them explain things. I reach out to my pharmaceutical contact and we start swapping data files as directed, which is odd because the FDA never shares internal files with drug companies. If Big Pharma learns how we analyze data, they’ll figure out ways to game the system.

“What me and my contact quickly discover is that the data he filed with his application is not the data I’m analyzing; it looks like it but once you auger in there are subtle differences. At this point he and I understand we’re staring at a dangerous Pandora’s box about to have a peek inside. Neither of us is sure what to do but agree in a mutually assured destruction kind of way, we need to have each other’s back. Within hours though, my contact, in complete cover your ass mode, produces irrefutable evidence that he properly filed the correct data, which means the problem is somewhere inside the FDA; and by problem, I mean criminal deception.

“I brief management on this cataclysmic finding but at least now have the proper data to complete my analysis. Apparently though, I’m not seeing the bigger picture because management is all spun up about the preliminary report they pressured me to release prior to completing my analysis; a tentative approval based on faulty data. It’s a huge deal because once the report’s out there, it quickly goes up the food chain and now can’t be retracted; there’ll always be a trail leading back to whoever or whatever is responsible for the screw-up.

“An independent investigation is launched, and the developing narrative has me as suspect number one. With trillions at stake and corruption, the obvious catalyst, these are troubling times. The investigation’s intense and drags on far too long; the immense scrutiny I’m under is only countered by the methodical way I’m being ostracized, left out on an island with no idea about anything going on. All I have is management assurance everything’s okay and will soon be resolved. But it isn’t, weeks turn into months as my isolation intensifies. Finally, the investigation concludes I’ve done nothing wrong. The dark cloud of suspicion that’s been hanging over me is finally lifted; or so I think. They won’t tell me where or how the data was changed, and to be honest, I don’t really care; all that matters is I’ve been vindicated.

“There’s always another shoe to drop though, never forget that, and when you’re at the bottom of the food chain, that shoe drops on you. Between high school and college, I take a couple gap years to work as a plumber, there’s this old guy on the crew who takes me aside one day and says, “son, you only need to know two things to be plumber, shit flows downhill and paydays on Friday.” Well at FDA, shit definitely flows downhill, and it’s piling up around me. The deal with any organization, especially governmental, is their need to project an aura of infallibility, which means when they screw up, someone needs to be sacrificed and for this negligent malfeasance, that someone is me. The bigwigs dismiss the independent investigation because it exposes the causal factors for why my data was faulty; turns out the software the FDA uses for converting industry data files into FDA formats, which was acquired based on a lowest possible bid contract, has errors that have gone undetected for years.

“That should further exonerate me, only it doesn’t; suddenly the narrative shifts and has less to do with me and my data and more about the preliminary report I’d been pressured to release and the Pandora’s Box it opens. If this were just about data, they’d easily fix things by un-approving the application and rerunning the analysis with the correct test results; only they can’t because that would call attention to their much larger screw up. My analysis can’t be fixed because issuing a revised report calls attention to years’ worth of FDA approving drugs based on faulty data. So, nothing’s done; imagine the shitstorm that results and the impact it has on the nation’s sense of health care security if it comes to light that countless drugs were approved based on faulty data. The lawsuits alone would be staggering and that’s just the tip of the iceberg because the public panic caused by their sudden lack of trust is incalculable.

“The bigwigs have two options; admit negligence and do what they can to recover, which would be the honorable thing but would put their lofty salaries and bonuses in jeopardy, or they can cover-up their maleficence by burning a sacrificial scapegoat. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to conclude they choose option two and I’m the goat. When powerful people come after you, they don’t just destroy the piece of you they need vanquished, its complete annihilation, the full nuclear package. For their dastardly plan to work, the rat bastards can’t just quietly fire me or force me into retirement; they need a dramatic and vengeful exorcism, something that destroys me to the point I’ll never work again, and no one will believe me if I try to fight back.

“Your dad and me are cut from the same cloth and when confronted with injustice, loss of livelihood, and decimation of reputation, I fight back; and that’s when the real shit-show starts. They hit me with an entire ensemble package, things like saying I’m guilty of an intentional act of espionage that they uncover before any consumer harm is caused; they even use the preliminary report they pressured me to release as evidence of my malfeasance. The piece of their package I don’t see coming is getting a psychologist to paint me as an unhinged wacko who’s lost touch with reality. Truth no longer matters because those in power control the narrative and taking prisoners is not an option when casualties are required. They need me gone in a way I never resurface regardless of how insignificant my role in this offense really is; the longer I’m around the more I inspire other timid travelers and that doesn’t benefit those in power.

“They take everything, leaving me no means to recover, restart, or rebuild. They destroy my reputation, shame me in front of my peers, and ensure I’m unemployable; no one in government or industry wants anything to do with me when they’re finished. I’m discredited to the point that even if I go public, no one’s going to believe me. Along with all that’s lost, they take my Florida dream; the harshest nail they drive into my coffin. I’m completely off the grid now so they can’t find me, but sometimes, when I’m out riding my bike, this angst starts building toward anxiety as I become overwhelmed with worry that every car blindly coming up behind is driven by the guy they sent to silence me forever.

“The final chapter’s far from finished though, and even after all that’s happened, all that’s been taken, I still believe the truth will eventually come out and justice will have its reckoning. Until then, this park bench is all that remains for an extinct prairie cowboy. In the end, dear one, remember, a dream that dies is worse than death because you’re left to languish in its aftermath.”