The Fall of the Western Empire

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Foreword

Governor Kert, the folks in Nueces County have just placed a cross on top of the courthouse. I guess they weren’t bluffing, huh? Bill, the governor’s aide and all-around right-hand man, said happily.

I didn’t think they were, Bill. Marty Kert smiled and his slate gray eyes sparkled with life. He picked up his coffee mug with the governor’s office logo on its side. Half the candidates for county commissioner said they would do it if I won the governor’s race, and I knew they would keep their word to the voters. These are locals, Bill. Not politicians, but public servants. They’re far more likely to keep their word than the typical Austin or Washington ladder climber. He took a drink from the mug, letting the hot coffee warm his throat.

Should we do anything, sir? Bill persisted. Maybe a press release or a statement of some kind?

No. I say let it go, Bill.

Okay, then.

Wait. Check that. The governor, who was a good six feet tall with a trim athletic build, leaned back in his huge leather chair for a moment, then stood abruptly. After a brief pause, he said, Issue this to the press. ‘We congratulate the commissioners of Nueces County on their resounding win in the last election, and in keeping their promises to the people of Nueces County’.

Absolute silence hung in the room like a dense Texas coastal fog. Then Bill broke the silence. Well, sir, that’ll certainly stir the pot, won’t it?

More than a year earlier, in the thick of the highly unusual Republican primary against Governor Glenn Abshire (incumbent governors rarely face a primary opponent from their own party), then-candidate Marty Kert told the voters of Texas he believed it should be up to them, and only them, to determine the future of Texas, not five of nine unelected bureaucrats in black robes sitting in Washington, D.C. And, if they elected him, he promised, he would not rely on the same federal courts that had been stripping Texans’ freedoms from them just to restore them back through lawsuits.

He explained that, as governor, he would instruct Texas state agencies and personnel to refuse to enforce any laws that were clearly unconstitutional and to prevent federal agents from doing so in Texas. The people of Texas elected him in a landslide.

Now the hand was dealt and now it had to be played.

Chapter 1

Marty Kert had come a long way from the small west Texas ranch he was born and raised on. From the day he found out his family had fallen behind on taxes and couldn’t keep the ranch in his senior year of high school, he determined to be something—ANYTHING—but a farmer or rancher.

He finished high school while his dad worked part-time jobs in and around Fort Stockton, then headed to college at Texas Christian University for two years before his money ran out. He played football for one of those years as a walk-on, but the coaches weren’t impressed enough to offer him a scholarship, so he had to find work to supplement the few dollars his family sent every month. When his dad suffered a stroke, those few dollars stopped and Marty’s college career was over.

His short stint in the U.S. Army was followed by oilfield work for a couple of years until the kindness of two strangers changed his life forever. Marty volunteered to help ‘Stet’ Thomas, the father of his boss Rick, move some cattle in the spring. It became a routine thing for Marty to stop by from time to time to see if the old man or his wife needed help around the place. It reminded him of working with his own dad and grandfather on the old home place, and he enjoyed the company of country folks and livestock more than the citified crowds that followed the oil rigs heading to oilfields.

One Friday after he helped Mr. Thomas round up two cows from the road that ran by their place and mended the section of fence they had wandered through, Marty was invited to stay for supper with the elderly couple.

After they ate, he joined them on the front porch to drink a last glass of sweet tea. Mrs. Thomas took the opportunity to ask him about college and why he dropped out.

After he explained the situation, the Thomas couple looked at each other and smiled. Old Stet said, You know, son, we kinda thought it was something along those lines, and we want to make you a proposition.

Marty felt a little uneasy about what kind of proposition might be coming from two old country folks who didn’t have two nickels to rub together, but when they told him what the proposition was, he got the surprise of his life.

We have some money we set aside for Rick to go to college on, Mr. Thomas said, but he was never interested, and he really doesn’t seem cut out for anything but following drilling rigs. Would you promise to finish school if we pay for it, then promise to help someone else when you can? He peered at Marty over his wire-rimmed glasses, a question in his watery blue eyes.

Marty was stunned. He didn’t see how these folks could even pay for cattle feed, let alone a virtual stranger’s college education for two years. Can I have a couple of days to think about it? I would have to give Rick some notice anyway if I was dragging up.

They nodded their assent, and Marty finished his tea in silence. Mrs. Thomas cleared the dishes and disappeared into the house as the old man rocked in the breeze. Marty heard the gentle chiming of china and the clanging of pots and pans.

When Mrs. Thomas came back out, she was wiping her hands on a spotless white dish towel.

Well, will you look at that, she laughed. Mr. Thomas had fallen asleep and his glasses rested right on the tip of his nose. I do believe I should wake him up so he can sleep in the bedroom. She deftly plucked the glasses from their resting spot and woke her sleeping husband.

Marty exchanged some parting comments with her, along with his thanks for dinner and the proposal. He left a few minutes later. He stopped to check the fence he’d mended, then mulled over the night’s details as he drove back to town, knowing what a great opportunity had been offered.

He prayed over the weekend and, when he got back to work on Monday, he still didn’t know what he should do. Even though he was reluctant to bring it up to Rick, he had to get some answers so he could get it out of his mind, if nothing else. He decided to just open right up and tell Rick what happened.

Rick laughed. That’s why I sent you over there, Marty. I knew you were a fine man, and good Texas stock, and I wanted my mom and dad to get to know you. He strolled over to the coffee maker. Want coffee?

Marty nodded, and Rick filled a mug and handed it to him. My mom and dad are not exactly what they seem, Marty, he said. They’ve never spent a dime in their lives on themselves; everything revolves around helping other people and encouraging the people they help to do the same. You wouldn’t be the first person they helped get through college. Do you know Dr. Vivian Henry?

You mean the dentist in Fort Stockton? Marty asked. He saw from Rick’s grin that she’d been a beneficiary of the Thomas family, too.

I’ll give you my answer tomorrow, Marty promised. The next morning, he felt comfortable enough to tell Rick he would be leaving for school in the fall.

Rick, he said, I’ve determined to take advantage of the generosity offered by your mom and dad.

Rick beamed and clapped him on the back. You’d be a Texas-sized fool not to, Marty. My folks don’t misjudge people often, and they see something in you that even you might not see.

Your folks really are special people, Rick. Marty ignored the knot in his stomach and glanced down at his battered boots instead; maybe he could manage an upgrade.

Hey, Rick, if you don’t mind me asking, how did your dad end up with a tag like ‘Stet’?

Rick chuckled. It never occurred to him to be curious about it; Stet had always been Daddy (or Dad when Rick was a little older), and everyone he knew just called his dad Stet. But one of his friends asked the same question when the friend returned home for a barn raising.

Rick’s mom, who heard the story from her mother, told the tale: When he was little, barely walking, he grabbed an old man’s Stetson off the coffee table in the living room and put it on. It came down over his eyes, so he tilted it as far back as he could so he could see. He ran all over the house with that Stetson on, holding it on his head with both hands. He had tears in his eyes when he gave it back to the old neighbor, so the man just told the little tyke to keep it, said he had another one at home.

Mrs. Thomas giggled and went on. Stet’s momma told me he wore that stinkin’ old Stetson until he grew into it. He’s been Stet ever since.

Marty and Rick had a good laugh about it but, the fact is, that’s how most country nicknames come about. Some silly thing or another happens, and a name pops up and just sticks.

That next month was a blur of filling out applications, finding housing, buying books, and learning where things on campus were located. And meeting Victoria, a striking blonde girl with a smile as wide as Texas that melted his heart that day and the rest of his life. She would stand beside him through thick and thin (mostly thin) for a lot of years.

By taking summer semester classes, Marty got his degree in a year and a half. He married Victoria soon after graduation.

Chapter 2

Marty’s time in the Army was in one of the brief interludes between conflicts America seemed to always be wrapped up in, but he joined a boxing club at the urging of a couple of his buddies. He kept that up in Golden Gloves competitions and amateur bouts throughout his oilfield days and all the way through college. Became pretty good at it, too. He enjoyed the training and the comradery more than the actual bouts, and he found himself drawn to the gym anytime he was free and Victoria didn’t have a long honey do list for him.

It was at one of his rare turns in the ring against a live opponent that he met the woman who would introduce him to the world of politics. He was on the undercard; actually under the undercard is the way he put it, being penciled in for another boxer who busted up his hand on his day job. The bouts were at a venue in San Antonio that Marty never heard of, and against an opponent he never heard of, either. Out of Mexico City, he was told. These guys in the game who had been around a lot changed their names and hometowns like most folks changed socks. A boxing commission somewhere would sit someone out because a beating he took in the ring left him addled, and presto! Joe Smith from Peoria became José Menendez from Guadalajara so he could make a few bucks getting his butt whipped again.

Marty made short work of the Mexico City native with the New England accent and was on his way out of the gym when he was stopped by one of the managers with a message from Mrs. Travis. He didn’t know who she was, but the message said she wanted to talk to him across the street at the little café the crowd usually retired to after the fights, and the manager encouraged him not to keep her waiting.

He was met at the door by Mrs. Travis’ driver, and escorted to her table in back. Mrs. Travis was on her cell, pacing back and forth and gesturing as she spoke. She gave him a scant glance, motioned him into a chair, and continued her conversation, which gave him time to size her up.

She was slim, wore her silver-streaked blonde hair pulled back in a neat chignon, and her make-up was impeccable. She sported a cobalt blue silk blouse over a pair of jeans with rhinestone trim on the pockets. He couldn’t tell how old she was, but he guessed between forty and sixty.

She ended the call and, after introductions, she explained to him that her reason for wanting to talk to him was strictly on the up and up. She wanted to offer him a job.

It was one of those unusual situations that seemed to be more usual in his life lately, and he would find out the Thomas family had a hand in this turn of his life as well. Mrs. Travis was Mrs. Thomas’ younger sister and, when Mrs. Travis mentioned on one of her monthly visits that she was looking for a young man who was intelligent and could handle himself well in a tight spot, Marty’s name was the first one on Mrs. Thomas’ lips.

It turned out that Mrs. Travis was a mover and shaker in the political scene both in Austin and D.C. It was well-known among political hopefuls that they couldn’t hope to win an office at the state-wide or big league level in Texas without Mrs. Travis in their corner. There were no doors closed to her in either capital.

What she wanted from Marty was more of a combination right-hand man and bodyguard for the senior senator from the Lone Star state, Richard Cornish. Senator Cornish was one of her earliest beneficiaries when he ran for state