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    Convolution
    Convolution
    Convolution
    Ebook106 pages1 hour

    Convolution

    By Gary Ellis

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    About this ebook

    Bad stuff happens. Its all around us. Most of us dont like bad stuff. Lets get rid of all the bad stuffthen there will be just good stuff and we can all live happily in Utopia. Whos going to get rid of the bad stuff? Who else? Government! Of course! Just pass laws against bad stuff and it will all go away. Right? Wrong! You know better than that!

    The United States presently has the greatest percentage of its population behind bars than any country in the history of the world. (Dont take my word for itlook it up!) Those of us not behind bars should be the happiest people in the world, shouldnt we? Unfortunately, those behind bars, all the people who put them there and keep them there and all the people who make and administer the laws to do away with bad stuff, are all consumerstheir contribution to the economy negative. When we add up all the jail-birds, cops, lawyers, bureaucrats, lazy whiners and politicians, we have more people riding the wagon than pulling it.

    Raul Sanchez, a poor Mexican peon, was a good guy. He worked hard and, using the meager resources available to him, earned a PhD from Calpoly. Through a convoluted set of events and circumstances, tapping laws meant to delete drugs from the American scene, he sacrificed his noble ideals and used his education and creativity to acquire wealth beyond his wildest dreams. What goes up must come down. In spite of lethal force to insure the profitable status quo, someone in Washington got smart. It didnt make all the bad stuff go away but it did mitigate it and it did relieve the economic burden of enforcement. Raul? He lost his wealth and more but gained wisdom not part of the university curriculum.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateDec 30, 2011
    ISBN9781468532203
    Convolution
    Author

    Gary Ellis

    Weber High School, Class of 1955—three distinctions describe Gary Ellis—rodeo, wrestling and writing. (Don’t look for the name Ellis in the Golden Spike yearbook—that wasn’t my name then. You figure it out!) After the bulls, broncs and graduation began a labored university curriculum in Physics. College deferment was not in Uncle Sam’s vocabulary in 1959. There were only two options—two years in the infantry or three years doing physics stuff that I’m not suppose to talk about. I can talk about some of the places I toured—usually solo and without a passport--almost every country in Europe along with Greece, Turkey, Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Egypt. (Space here doesn’t permit a travel log.) This era ended, thank goodness, with an honorable discharge in 1962. I returned to Utah, where I repaired TV’s, completed a quarter at the University, remarried my ex, with the same dismal consequences, then on to Arizona, where I worked a couple years for IBM. I quit IBM and started climbing towers in 1964. I must like it; I’m still doing it. Oh, there were a few other adventures—a two-week dog sled trip with Paul Shurke, a solo winter climb to the peak of Mt. Elbert, a couple marathons (one of which earned me an impressive trophy), a couple failed businesses (a factory and cycle shop), one moderately successful contracting business (from which I retired after thirty-two years) two unsuccessful bids to our state’s legislature and the completion of two 500+ page manuscripts. (Random House and Knopf didn’t have the same high opinion of them that I did. They were probably right.) My wife, Nancy, and I presently own and operate a boarding stable. Well, here I am writing again and you, dear friend, have the first opportunity to be impressed or offended—and I don’t give a damn which, as long as you buy the book.

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      Book preview

      Convolution - Gary Ellis

      CHAPTER 1

      Francisco (Pancho) Villa, Commander of Division del Norte, was at the height of his military career and, in his own, modest self-evaluation, irresistible to any señorita of his choice. Though Francisco stood elegant in his black uniform, his chest adorned with gold medals, his silver scabbard swinging at his waist, Conchita del Hierro was not impressed.

      Conchita was ravishing. Her long black hair hung down in ringlets over her bare shoulders. Her salmon-colored evening gown enticingly exposed her ample cleavage and compressed her tiny waist above the flowing pleats.

      Francisco eloquently proclaimed his eternal love and devotion. If she would just consent to be his blushing bride. Conchita was well aware of her suitor’s history of proclamations and the bevy of brides whose sole contributions to Francisco’s conjugal bliss was one-night-stands. Poncho did not take rejection gracefully or marriage seriously.

      Mi Bonita, he begged, "No man will ever love you like I love you. In the chaos of battle I see your face. I long for your embrace. I thirst for your lips. Without you, my life is nothing. All I have is yours. Please say: ‘Sí! I will be yours.’ I love you, Conchita! I want you to bear my children."

      I loathe you, stated Conchita without emotion. You are cruel and the truth is not in you.

      Not to be discouraged by her obvious temporary fickelness, Francisco opened his arms in contrite surrender and encouragement for the lovely object of his affection to fall into his loving embrace. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, expectation of romance titillating his loins.

      WHACK!

      Francisco’s cheek blushed from the sting but, under his bushy mustache, his lips curled into a playful grin. Such fire! Such spirit! My heart beats only for you. With both fists Conchita pounded his chest. It was to no avail. She was powerless to prevent his lips from closing over hers.

      When Francisco came up for air Conchita was furious. She screamed: I hate you! You—you—! You are an ugly cruel man. Get out!

      The door casing splintered at the latch; the door crashed against Francisco’s backside, sending him sprawling on his face. Rudely awakened from their brief siestas, two guards stationed in the hallway seized the young intruder before he could inflect further damage. Though a humble Indian from Morelos, Roberto Sanchez was Conchita’s suitor of choice. Telegraphed through the now absent hotel door, Conchita’s screams and the sounds of violence had provoked the white-attired youth to ignore the risks to his own life to rescue the love of his life. Held against his will, facing the infamous Poncho Villa, the victim of his vicious attack, Roberto knew his life was about to end.

      At their first meeting, an unconventional treaty was validated when Villa and Zapata had calmly discussed the people they wanted killed. Villa would turn over to Zapata for execution Guillermo Garcia Argon. Villa, in turn, wanted Zapata to give him Juan Andrew Almazan. Since Almazon was Zapata’s guest, he preferred not to have him killed so, instead, offered substitutes. Villa accepted. Villa also wanted Paulino Martinez, the newspaper reporter who, in his columns, had been critical of Madera. At the time of the treaty discussion, Martinez had sat in an adjoining room and had heaped praise on both Villa and Zapata. He didn’t have a hint that he was about to be shot.

      Conchita del Hierro’s room at the Hotel Washington was a few blocks from the Teatro Morelos, in which the Aguacaliente convention was being held. It was October 26, 1914. Twenty-six representatives would determine the future of Mexico and Francisco Villa, Emiliano Zapata and the First Chief in charge of the Executive Power, as Venustiano Carranza called himself, were vying for power.

      With a rowdy festive din of profanity, loud laughter and gunshots, the proceedings on the Aguacaliente streets and in the cantinas were only slightly more boisterous and unruly as inside the Teatro. Drunken Villista soldiers forced several townsfolk, at gun-point, to cheer, against their will: Villa! Villa! Gunfights over prostitutes and disputed loyalties left the streets littered with corpses. Unveiled disloyalties and personal animosities added to the list of candidates for the firing squads. Jose Boñales Sandoval proposed a Diaz-Villa alliance which so infuriated Villa that he had Sandoval executed immediately. Roberto Sanchez, now languishing in jail, would face a firing squad, with Villa himself an executioner—when Villa could spare the time.

      Inside the Teatro, amid shouts of protests and support, Diaz Soto y Gama, a Zapata supporter, made a rousing speech. "During the colonization of our country, the Spanish crown was very generous bestowing and rewarding their adventurers and heroes with vast lands that their country and crown did not own. Our Indian ancestors believed land could not be owned; it belonged to all the people. The Peninsularies and Criollos inherited that land and now keep the peons in poverty working the land for their own wealth. The Plan of Ayala is the only way to return the land to the people. The plan will break up large land holdings and establish ejidos (communal farms) that will belong to the people who work them. As you know, Emiliano Zapata, our governor in Morelos, has already established some ejidos in our state and has persuaded the governor of Guerrero to pursue the same experiment. It has not been easy and it is too early to know if the ejidos will be successful.

      ‘The Peninsularies will not give up their land without a fight and I understand. It was not their generation who acquired the land unethically. Revolution always spills blood and creates hardships. Our revolution has been no different. I urge you to support the Plan of Ayala and Governor Zapata as our next president."

      Villa and Zapata representatives, against Carranza’s wishes, joined in a vote of enthusiastic support but, nevertheless; Carranza out-maneuvered the opposition by his announcement that he was disposed to relinquish his position if Zapata and Villa would resign their commands over their respective armies. Zapata and Villa would announce their resignations but nobody would actually resign. Carranza would later deny that he offered to resign. The revolution would continue with the forces of Villa and Zapata warring against those of Carranza.

      Dim illumination escaped the grimy globes of the streetlights and shined as halos through the fog and drizzle. Though most inebriants were sleeping off their drunken stupors, sporadic shouts and gunshots confirmed that the streets of Aguacaliente were still alive and rowdy. A lone figure, cloaked in black, darted from shadow to shadow, frequently pausing to embrace the dark. Two men suddenly exploded through a cantina door, cursing loudly, their fists swinging. The victim of a haymaker, one of the men splashed into the mud, splattering the black concealed cloak. The wearer was unmoved and unmoving. Pain and good sense numbed by alcohol, the man staggered to his feet and rushed his combatant, who by now had turned his back to walk away. Both men slammed into muck. A shot and a flash pierced the night. One man got up; one man didn’t.

      When the survivor reentered the cantina, the cloaked figure darted across the muddy street and into a hidden doorway. She knocked three times. No answer. She waited then knocked again, louder.

      Who the hell is it?

      I’m cold and lonely and thought you might like some company. Conchita del Hierro’s voice was feminine and seductive. The jailer opened a shutter on the small barred window in the door, held up a lantern and squinted through the opening. Conchita dropped the

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