Dateline Smileyville - Markus Jr. Pell

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Americans... I have great faith in you.

      TWO: A 'Positive Thinking' Experiment Gone Awry

      DATELINE SMILEYVILLE - You'll want to know what conditions I laid down before agreeing to be the presidential candidate of the Conservative Democratic Party, and here you go:

      1) For the 2012 election, I will not appear on the ballot anywhere. What's that you say, Americans? If I am not on the ballot, I cannot win? Precisely so. As mentioned in the last chapter, I do not want to actually be your president. And I know, from experience, that when you place your name on a ballot, even when no one believes you will win, God might just go ahead and have you win anyway. So, just to play it safe, my name shall appear on no ballots in 2012. If it cannot be avoided (and I aim to see that it can be avoided), I guess I might go ahead and appear on the ballot in 2016. We'll see. But for this election, at least, I can serve the immediate interests of America and the CDP just fine, without appearing on any ballot, anywhere.

      2) I personally get to pick my own running mate for the 2012 election, at a time of my own choosing. Ditto for 2016. If I know me, I'll probably announce the 'honorary' vice presidential pick (he or she won't have to appear on the ballot anywhere, either - it's only fair) in the second of the two ebooks that constitute my 2012 presidential campaign.

      3) My entire 2012 presidential campaign will be conducted via two ebooks, of which you are reading the first. I figure that if all goes well and according to plan, these ebooks can launch not only the Conservative Democratic Party, but the Bright White Light Entertainment Engine as well, and all in one fell swoop! We'll begin moving the CDP along the path toward all sorts of good things in 2014, and in 2016. That will, of course, be a very fine thing for you Americans.

      4) I am allowed to share with you Americans the true story of what happened when I conducted my disastrous 'positive thinking' experiment and the ghosts came to live with me - and anything else I feel like sharing with you. I retain total control over the ebooks that constitute my presidential campaign.

      The only real controversy was over this last condition, although the first and third also raised some eyebrows. But all four conditions were ultimately agreed to, and without further ado I share with you now the story of how it is that four ghosts, spirits, spooks, haunts, shades, call them what you will, came to live with me:

      Each of us goes through rough patches in life and, during one such season in my own, Chester 'Snook' Williams exposed me to the writings of various 'positive thinking' authors. Snook Williams is the oldest resident of Smileyville; he's one hundred and three years old. He looks to be about seventy - a hardy and virile seventy - and I put nothing past him. I've no compunction whatsoever about considering him a rival for the affections of Ellie Belle O'Dell, the woman I love and aim to marry. Sure, go ahead and laugh, Americans, but if you'd ever seen Snook Williams jitterbugging and gallivanting around with Ellie under moon and stars during Ojibwa Creek Days, our summer festival - well.

      So anyway, after I'd been living in the village a couple years and had started Smileyville Cab and Courier, I found myself in the doldrums (a chronic symptom of my Premature Curmudgeon Syndrome) and Chester Williams started sharing these positive thinking books with me. He started me off with Dr. Norman Vincent Peale and ended with Napoleon Hill, with all kinds of stuff in between. After what happened when I was reading Napoleon Hill, I stopped reading those books for quite a few years. Too potent. Heh. The first thing I read of Napoleon Hill was a little book called 'Think and Grow Rich.' I was encouraged by the title, seeing as I had the battle half won before I even opened the book. Inspired (I am not the first, Americans, nor the last) by Think and Grow Rich, I threw caution to the wind and read a two-volume reprint of Hill's 'The Law of Success in Sixteen Lessons,' which was loads of fun, too.

      For those of you Americans out there who have never experienced the writings of 'positive thinking' authors, let me inform you that while they may all have the same general theme, each comes at it in their own unique way. Reading Napoleon Hill was where I first became acquainted with the concept of the 'Master Mind.' The Master Mind is a group of individuals (the numbers may vary) who come together in a spirit of cooperation toward the attainment of a specific goal. Well, Americans, that was all good and well, and the things Napoleon Hill had to say regarding 'master minds' made perfect sense to me. But then came the place where I first read what Hill had to say about something other: the 'Imaginary Master Mind!' Suppose there is someone, or a number of someones, whom you would love to have in a Master Mind, but you are hampered by the circumstance that they are, well... dead. No problem! And what Hill suggested doing, I did that very night. It was summertime, daughter Mell had gone camping with the family of a friend, and I lay down with the lights out, closed my eyes and got all relaxed and 'blank' and stuff. And then I began, one by one, to invite people into my Imaginary Master Mind (IMM).

      I told each of them what I was attempting, and why, and what, specifically, I hoped each might bring to the table toward the attainment of my several goals. Now, there is no limit to how many people one may invite to join an IMM. One person might have half a dozen, another a dozen or more. To this day I thank God for the conservative sensibilities that led me to stop my invitations at three, although later I did invite a fourth. After my invitations were delivered, I waited a few moments and then commenced the first meeting of my Imaginary Master Mind. I spoke, in my mind, my eyes still closed. I spoke, and I listened. This went on for about twenty minutes. Then I thanked them for their time, adjourned the meeting, listened for a few more minutes (just in case), rolled over and went to sleep.

      It was along toward four in the morning when the explosion awakened me. I sat up and heard whispered voices in urgent conversation; the voices sounded like they were coming from the kitchen. I didn't know what the explosion had been. I did know intruders were in my home. In a kind of panicked daze I looked around for a weapon. All I noticed was a pretty dream catcher, a gift given to me by my hippie next-door neighbors, Leaf and Rosehips and Bear and Doe, a few months after I'd moved to Smileyville. Rosehips had made it herself, and said it would help unfurrow my brow. She said it might even help me to separate it back into two distinct brows, and maybe even unfurrowed ones, if I had faith and utilized her relaxation techniques. No luck so far. In any event, armed with my dream catcher, I peeped from my bedroom doorway into the hall. It was dark and empty; I still couldn't make out any words; I heard whispers, a soft laugh, a warning shushing noise, the clatter of a metal pan being placed in a stainless steel sink, more shushing and another quiet laugh. Definitely the kitchen. I slowly made my way down the hall, gathering my courage as I went.

      Being outnumbered, and deciding that the element of surprise represented my best hope of securing anything approaching a positive outcome, I did something, Americans, that I'd never done in my life, something I did not even know I possessed the ability to do. Leaping into the kitchen and brandishing my dream catcher, I let out the wildest, craziest 'rebel yell' anyone would ever want to hear. Even John Lennon, in the throes of primal scream passion, would have stopped to admire my own performance. Yes, I was ululating to beat the band (part of the enjoyment I take in sharing this story is that it allows me to use words such as 'ululating'), as my dream catcher sliced through the air like a drawn saber, alarming the three gentlemen in my kitchen and quite disconcerting my own self, if the truth be told. And then I suddenly stopped in mid-ululation, and slowly lowered my 'weapon.' There they were - the three gentlemen I'd invited, several hours earlier, to join my Imaginary Master Mind. There they were, as big and bold as life. Abraham Lincoln. Mark Twain. Charles Dickens. The explosion that had awakened me had been caused by Twain, who had taken a metal pan of meatloaf from the refrigerator and attempted to nuke it in my microwave oven. Yes, Americans, there they were, and there they have been ever since. They do not visit every day, but very nearly.

      Thinking back on that day, and reading again the words of Napoleon Hill regarding the Imaginary Master Mind, I see that he was saying, between the lines, 'They can come to you! The members of your Imaginary Master Mind can really come to you!' Would that he had spelled it right out, so a fellow could decide beforehand if he was up to dealing with an Imaginary Master Mind come to life, or not. Especially when all the people you invite are special and brilliant people while you are only, well... you. Not always such a picnic, Americans.

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