LizardRoi@aol.com
Sent: 15 March 1999 10:25
Subject: DG: EH Bischofe Contest Entry: Father and Son
Sam Meyer is a native American, it says so on his birth certificate. His
father, Johann, is one of the many Germans in the upper echelons of NASA
engineering. The Meyers come from a long line of brilliant engineers and
doctors and executives with beautiful, intelligent wives. And they all came
from the prosperous rural Meyers, canny gentlemen farmers with a stereotypical
Germanic preoccupation with breeding. And beautiful, intelligent wives.
There is some irony in the fact that these exemplary Heidelburg-scarred
graduates of Prussian military schools, scientists and engineers that made the
term "German scientist" synonymous with brilliant, and administrators that
embody the ideal of German efficiency, would be named Meyer.
Rastus. Pat and Mike. Kowalski. Bubba. Every culture has a generic name for a
rube, a bumpkin, the butt of every joke. Hermann Goering assured Germany that
the Luftwaffe would pulverize London and cow the decadent British into
submission, or they could call him Meyer.
Johann had been happy in the classical sense at Peenemunde. Performing to the
best of his abilities along lines of excellence. Honestly (and correctly)
deeming himself to be a resource that must be used to the best effect, Johann
considered whether he should be an engineer solving one problem after another,
or an administrator solving the problems as a whole. He chose to forego
designing a perfect nozzle and built rockets instead. And with his beautiful,
intelligent wife he raised a striking, brilliant family. With the typical
Meyer obsession, he swore to himself that the next generation to bear the name
of Meyer, plain and simple Meyer, would be smarter and faster, would be better
than the preceding. A new Man for a new Age. A natural leader for a world
under the rational, scientific Pax Germanica to come.
Inspired by some of Josef Mengele's findings, Johann used the facilities of
Peenemunde for his wife's prenatal care. Eva spent much of her time seated
comfortably in a hyperbaric chamber breathing an oxygen-enriched atmosphere,
reading aloud and listening to Wagner, bemused by the bright yellow urine she
saw during her numerous pregnant trips to the chamberpot. Johann assured her
it was only a natural result of her carefully designed vitamin- and mineral-
rich diet.
But there were events out of Johann's control. He made a concise evaluation,
then he made some contacts. Before the collapse and defeat, he and Eva and
their newborn son, Frederick, were flown to America as spoils of war.
Johann dreamed of a Brave New World that his son was born to run, and in
America he found it. His transition from good German to "good" German, one of
"our" German scientists was efficient as all Meyer projects. He and Eva lost
all of their accent, except for the charming bits. Don't try to appear as
something you are not, that's Sam's job. To make that job easier, Johann made
sure that their new son was officially named Samuel, or just plain Sam, in
their new country. Good, dependable, just-folks Sam.
He discovered Dale Carnegie, and applied the concepts like judo. He rocketed
up the ladder, and without the suspect taint of the PAPERCLIP refugees, he
also rose through the hierarchies of Security. Wherever there were insoluble
problems, insurmountable obstacles the refrain was "Meyer Needs To Know." When
the race to the Moon was a foregone conclusion, Johann turned his attention to
some of the rumors he heard about Groom Lake. The attention was returned, and
welcomed. There were insoluble problems, insurmountable obstacles: Meyer Needs
To Know.
Sam respects his father. That says a lot about Johann. His father's advice
consistently proves useful.
And Sam is everything and more than Johann would dare dream.
Whether casually excelling at academics at school; or gathering a circle of
admirers, each convinced that his charming, brilliant son found them to be his
peer; Sam was a golden child who became a stellar adolescent. And as a man he
wields power and influence far beyond any temporary title he might hold. In a
government infrastructure of Ehrlichmans and Haldemans and Kissingers, who
would notice a Meyer for anything but his brilliance?
"Meyer? Good man, and sharper than hell. He's, uh, Jewish, isn't he?"
Sam is unaware of his father's possession of Mein Triumph or the secret
conversations he holds with a Transcendant Adolph Hitler. He has never
accompanied his parents on their South American vacations. This is the way
Johann wants it for now.
Johann is unaware of Sam's other social activities. His clandestine
seductions of the daughters and sons of the best families, a hobby he's
indulged since adolescence. The games and psychodramas that he has them
participate in. The supremely degrading acts that they willingly,
enthusiastically labored at under his supervision. The perverse crimes that
they can be tied to, and he cannot; that make them conspirators in keeping his
secrets. This is the way Sam wants it for now.
During the last decades, each new President remembers the day when he first
met Sam. Some Cabinet member or Joint Chief or State Department honcho would
cheerfully introduce Sam as the guy who keeps the whole operation running. Sam
would offer a firm, warm handshake, and, smiling handsomely, say "Call me
Meyer."
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