Good-Bye April Moon

Burt Goldman
Copyright, Rancho Mirage CA 1998
60,000 words

CHAPTER ONE

Jogging north along Pacific Coast Highway, in Santa Monica, Alex Fredericks
caught the heel of his right foot in a crack in the pavement shooting a bolt of pain up his
leg. Hopping about for a moment he sat on the ground and rubbed his ankle praying the
pain would subside. The last time he twisted an ankle he’d limped for two weeks; that
wouldn’t do at all, not with what was going on at April Moon.
Two weeks and he would be out of a job. It hadn’t seemed possible the day
before but his position as executive sales trainer was in jeopardy. If he couldn’t run he
was finished. Larry Sapper, the new head of April Moon would see to that.
Sprains were funny; sometimes they were worse than a break, and at other times
they left almost as soon as they appeared. This time he was lucky, after massaging his
ankle for five minutes he stood up and tested it—the pain had disappeared. He sighed
heavily and smiled. Standing, he tested the foot by turning it back and forth a few times.
Seemed to be all right. He took a few gingerly steps to assure himself, and was soon
jogging again, pain free and deep in thought.

Alex had been the leader in the sales department of the April Moon Plumbing
Supply Company for three years. He’d started in a territory that had never produced
much and in one year had quadrupled sales. Charles Sapper, founder and head of the
company, knew a good thing when he saw it and bumped Alex up to executive status as
head of sales training. Larry Sapper, only son of the founder, argued with his father
saying the man was worth his weight in gold in the field, why bring him in to executive
staff so he can sit behind a desk? Charley slowly and carefully explained to his only son
that if Alex could teach others to do what he had been doing he’d be worth his weight in
platinum. By his reckoning, Alex multiplied was better than Alex alone.
Alex remained the sales trainer and eventually, as sales grew, Larry Sapper who
had warmed a bit to Alex, came to compliment the decision. He thought so much of the
move that he ultimately believed he himself had thought of it and loved to throw his
arm around the neck of Alex Fredericks and loudly proclaim, “This is my protégé. The
smartest move I ever made was bringing him in from the field.”
When Charles Sapper heard this proclamation, he smiled cynically and thought.
‘Why trouble the boy? He knows it was a smart move, that’s enough.’
But Charles Sapper himself was in trouble, the worse kind of trouble, the kind of
trouble you feel when your doctor gives you news that crashes the world around your
feet and bounces your stomach onto the floor. News that ends goals, finishes thoughts of
success, and tosses the day, along with hopes of happiness, right out the window.
For Charles P. Sapper, chairman of the board of the April Moon Plumbing
Company, was dying and there were not many good days; his magnificent home in
Beverly Hills, money and position notwithstanding. Even his pride and joy, a small
garden, with meticulously placed gray stones in a river of pure white pebbles, alongside
a small meandering stream fed by a gushing waterfall, failed to give him joy.
All these things were as nothing to Charley Sapper. He was involved with
dying; wondering if it would be the end, or the beginning. The beauty of his
surroundings and the caring no longer were important to him, they simply meant more
for him to lose when he left this world. Charley Sapper was frightened. Actually, he
was scared out of his wits. He did not want to leave what he had, to go into the
unknown, or worse, oblivion. But all the business acumen, accumulated over a lifetime
of battling competitors, was as nothing when the Reaper beckoned.
It had been a good life, all things considered. Had he to do it all over again there
would have been few changes; he wasn’t even sure whether or not he wanted to hang
around any longer. After getting the bad news from his doctor, and turning April Moon
over to his son, he had lost interest in everything. His old business life was over—he was
absorbed with the business of dying. Three more months, the doctors had said. Six if he
was lucky, two if he were not; but the general consensus was at the least, three more
months of life. Charley walked around in a state of shock; sort of a permanent daze
since turning both authority and keys over to his son. There was nothing in life that
interested him any more. He would not even answer the phone and when alone in the
house, should the instrument would begin its intrusive jangle, Charley would sit, quietly
staring at it until it stopped ringing.

The only person he had any desire at all to speak to was his friend and most
valued employee Jack Belson. Jack had been with him from the beginning and Charley
valued his wisdom. Belson seemed be one of those rare individuals in whose company
virtually everyone felt comfortable.
Everyone that is with the exception of Larry Sapper. Larry had hated Jack ever
since he was a youngster. Jack had often gone with young Sapper to the zoo when
Charley was too busy, or too involved with other things. Jack could always be relied on.
He loved the boy during those pre-teen years. That love quickly turned sour when
Charley brought Larry into the company. Larry had something bad to say about
everyone. He was the type who, by demeaning others, felt himself grow. His sharpest
arrows were saved for Jack Belson, the man his father trusted, and relied on. Larry
wanted that trust and reliance, but unfortunately he couldn’t be trusted, and he couldn’t
be relied on.
But now, Charley’s energy had been so depleted that he didn’t believe that even
Jack could get him out of the doldrums. It had been a month since he had gotten the
news, two weeks since he’d turned April Moon over to Larry. The dramatic events of
that day held no interest for him and when he thought about the ending of his business
career it was without a jot of interest. He did recall that Larry seemed surprised when
he was told the news.
“You won’t be there? You won’t bug me with advice?” His son had said to the
man who had turned a one man, one secretary office into a major supply house with six
hundred and forty two employees, and a yearly sales volume of forty two million
dollars; a man who sat in front of his son defeated, shaking his head in the negative.
The news had come as a shock to young Sapper, he knew that his father was ill
but figured it would be years before he actually stepped down. ‘ Well now,’ he thought,
‘this is a gold nugget in front of me. Finally, I get to show how stupid the old man is. If
I can’t double the income inside of three years I’ll eat the business.’
The following morning Larry moved into the big office. Making himself
comfortable he put his feet up on the desk, buzzed for his father’s secretary and studied
his manicured nails. She entered apprehensively, a frown on her face, not being used to
anyone but Charles Sapper himself behind the desk.
“Yes sir. Anything I can do for you Mr. Sapper?” She asked.
“Yeah, you can lose about a hundred pounds and get a new face, that’s what you
can do.” Larry said with a smirk.
Shirley Tepper flushed and turned away, walking back to her desk outside the
big office. Larry called out to her.
“Come on back Tepper, I’m sorry. Come on, come on.” Larry yelled in
frustration, “Get the hell back in here, I’ve got some things for you to do.”
Mrs. Tepper walked, back wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, and sat
down at her chair in front of the desk. She looked at him with hate flashing from her
face, defiant and waiting.
Larry broke the quiet, “Come on take it easy, can’t you take a joke?”
“It wasn’t funny Mr. Sapper, it was cruel.”
“Well let’s forget it anyhow. You heard that I’m taking over the company; that
I’m number one from now on? I’m running the whole show.”
Mrs. Tepper nodded. “I heard. Everyone in the company heard.”
“Good. Good. All right. First thing I want to do is call a meeting of the executive
staff for tomorrow at two o’clock. Tell everyone it’s going to be at least a three hour sit
so they can clear their desks for the whole afternoon.”
Larry gave more instructions to Shirley Tepper and all the while was thinking
about the fact that his father could have left him a secretary who didn’t look like an old
crow. Well he would take care of that as well. What a shock they would have when he
turned some of his ideas loose. He’d shake them up all right.
 It was the next afternoon that Larry Sapper released his bomb. “None of you
people are pulling your weight. You’re all doing a lousy job.” he told them. “But not to
worry, I’ve figured it all out and you’re not to blame. There’s a reason you’re
incompetent.” Looking around the room and noting the glares and the shocked faces he
quickly added, “Don’t worry gang, it’s not your fault. It’s my old man’s.” A clown-like
smile came over his face as his eyebrows lifted and the corners of his mouth pulled up.
His voice raised a notch as though he was revealing a great truth to them. “He put you
all in the wrong places. You people all have the wrong jobs.”
Larry continued telling them that from now on it was the survival of the fittest
and he was going to let the strongest people get the first crack at whatever job they felt
that they could do best. Just like nature does, whoever was the strongest must be the
best.
The crowded meeting room was filled with incredulous people who were aghast
at the suggestions that followed. At first amused by what they considered a rather
tasteless joke, the amusement quickly turned to astonishment when they realized their
new employer was serious. More than a few of them thought about other employment
possibilities.
Two of the executive staff quit on the spot, with one of them telling Larry to take
his ideas along with his job and stick it where the sun don’t shine. That outburst caused
a bit of a flurry and after the sound of the door slamming had died away Larry looked at
the crowd with a grim smile and said, “Anyone else want to leave? You can do it now.”
But no one else did. Then he laid out his plan for the ‘Great Race.’

They would run in Brentwood, along the San Vicente strip and over the four
Japanese half-moon bridges, a quarter of a mile from marker to marker and a quarter of
a mile back. The winner gets the opportunity to choose any job in the company from
President on down. Larry to remain Chief Executive Officer. Whoever comes in second
chooses whatever job is still available and so on right on down the line. The first ten
finishers would get the same salary their predecessors had received, plus ten percent
extra as an added incentive.
As they left, Alex, who jogged two miles every day, said to Linda Gale. “You
know it’s crazy but it makes kind of a maniacal kind of sense. The strongest in the
highest paying jobs.”
Linda looked at him in disgust, “You only say that because you have a chance to
win. By your reasoning a gorilla or a horse should run the company. Not bad Alex, you
might just get from sales manager to president in one jump.”
Alex nodded with a grin, “Yes, I do believe you’re right Linda, I do believe
you’re right.”

Later that day, Alex, called into Larry’s office, still incredulous, asked “Tell me
something Larry, if I win the race, do you mean it about any job in the company?”
Larry was sucking on a heroic sized cigar, it fit him like a saddle fit a pig but he
felt more in charge when he had one clenched in his teeth and it was rapidly becoming a
fixture. He nodded his head in the affirmative, “Certainly, as a matter of fact I’m
counting on you to win. You are going to make one hell of a president and general
manager, and the pay isn’t going to be bad either.
“But one thing Alex, I understand that there’s a fellow in the parts management
who used to be a mile runner in high school. He’s only twenty three, you sure you can
beat him?”
Alex smiled, “You mean Mark Sully. He’s fast all right, a whole lot faster than I
am for sure, but I also happen to know that he doesn’t want the job. He’s going to come
in right behind me and then he’s going to get the second highest paying job in the
company, as my assistant. It’s all set. With me training him he might turn out to be
something after all.”
Larry twiddled his cigar nervously, “Well, just make sure he comes in behind
you. You need any help?”
“No it’s all right boss. I can handle it just fine. What did you want to see me
about?”
Larry reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a manila envelope filled with
papers describing everyone in the company who was to be in the race. On the top right
corner of each sheet was a large dark blue number, and alongside the number a job title
notation. He handed the file to Alex. “Here’s the way I want the race to go. You’ll notice
that you have the number one spot.”
Leaning forward so that his elbows rested on the desk, Larry, with squinting
eyes took the cigar from his mouth and using it like a pointer, wiggled it several times at
Alex saying, “And you damn well better win the race Alex, because if you don’t...”
Leaving the words hanging in the air he leaned back and drew the cigar slowly across
his throat, leaving the implied threat to sink into the mind of his friend.
Alex nodded and browsed through the papers, he glanced at the top numbers
and then pointed to three. There were the names of Jack Belson, toilet manager. Shirley
Tepper, assistant to the toilet manager, and John Bagnow, Chimney sweep.
He looked up quizzically, “Chimney sweep, what chimney?”
“I’ll build one just so that stupid son of a bitch can sweep it. That’s all he’s good
for anyway. He was a bum when my father hired him and he’s still a bum. He thinks
he’s a hot shot just because my father felt sorry for him and made him head of delivery.
Bullshit.”
“But John does a good job Larry; we don’t have any delivery problems.”
“Why should we? What’s to manage? You get the drivers to load their trucks and
send them on their way. Big deal. I’m telling you anyone can handle that job, anyone.
Why I could do it myself if I had to.”
Alex shrugged. He knew better than to argue with his new employer at this
point, besides, Larry would find out soon enough how wrong he was. No department
ran itself, but this whole thing was crazy and he was getting more and more curious as
to how it was going to turn out in the end. After browsing through the papers he lifted
his head for a moment and asked, “Larry this might seem like a silly question, but why
don’t you just fire all these people and hire who you want in the job you want?”
 “Because of that idiotic equal rights thing that’s why. Because the government
won’t let me that’s why. Because they think they’ve got me over a barrel that’s why.
Because I’m going to beat them all that’s why. All, you hear?”
Alex nodded, “I hear you boss. But if you can’t fire anyone why not leave things
alone and just switch a few jobs around. Surely the government will let you do that.”
Larry Sapper jumped back and up so quickly that the chair he was sitting in flew
backwards with a crash. He flung his cigar out of the window—ash and spark following
like the trail of a rocket. Screaming at the top of his voice he pointed his finger at the
bewildered man in front of him who didn’t quite know what to do or say next, as he
heard, “You’re just like all the rest. You’re like my father; you’d like me to fail wouldn’t
you?
“Don’t lie, don’t lie. You all want me to fail. Well I won’t fail, I won’t, I won’t.”
The tirade ended as suddenly as it had begun and he moved around the desk
toward Alex who, not knowing what to expect had jumped up in confusion. Larry put a
hand on his employee’s shoulder and in a conspiratorial but loud whisper continued,
“Don’t you see Alex. It’s survival of the fittest. It’s the way the world grew. It’s the
dominant species theory. Except with me it isn’t going to be a theory, I’m going to turn it
into the real thing.”
Larry pursed his lips and stared at a spot on the floor suddenly lost in a haze. A
question popped into his mind. He looked up and stared into the eyes of Alex
Fredericks for a long moment. Then he asked earnestly, his hands drumming on his
thighs. “Say, didn’t you ever read Darwin?”
Larry picked up his chair, sat down, and taking another cigar from a silver
case—he put the body of it to his nose and inhaled. Lighting up he puffed for a moment
or two, relishing the taste as though he had just completed a fine dinner. Alex sat back
down wondering if he should reply. He was half convinced he was sitting across from a
madman. But he had known Larry for three years, and he had always seemed perfectly
rational. Since the business was turned over to him he seemed to be getting stranger and
stranger. He waited for the new owner of April Moon to continue.
“It’s like this Alex. Sure I can get around the fair employment act. There’s a
hundred ways to do that. I can vacate the whole company and start from scratch. I can
buy another company and transfer who I want to it. I can give some of them early
retirement. I can do anything that other companies do, but I’m not them. I’m Larry B.
Sapper, and what I am doing is setting a new way for everyone to see. From now on this
race is going to be known as the Sapper method. The whole world will recognize my
genius. No one gave me this idea, no one. It’s mine, all mine.”
Larry was quiet for a long moment and Alex, thinking he had to respond asked,
“Er, ah, did you just think it up? How did you get the idea? Where did it come from
boss?”
Larry smiled. He looked at the door, assuring himself it was closed, and then
leaning over his desk he whispered his deep, dark secret, “Oatmeal.”
 Alex was again baffled, he was sure he heard the word correctly, but then again
it didn’t make a whole lot of sense. He asked in a highly questioning tone, his voice
rising with the word, “Oatmeal?”
Larry, agitated, jumped up, walked around the desk and paced the floor, too
nervous to sit, “That’s where my best ideas come from Alex. When I really need to think,
I have a bowl of oatmeal and I stick in my spoon and stir; and then I stare at it and
things come to me.”
Alex took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. He wasn’t
sweating but he felt that he had to do something to get his mind working. He was
thinking furiously how not to antagonize the man who could do so much for him if he
could only stay on his good side. “What kind of things?” Alex asked apprehensively.
“Oh all kind of things. For instance the day after my father turned over the
company to me I sat down for breakfast and naturally I had to have oatmeal on an
occasion like that one. I was staring at the butter melting into the mush when suddenly
it came to me, but it didn’t come like butter melting into hot oatmeal.”
Alex was looking straight into Larry’s eyes as he paused, “It didn’t?” Alex asked.
“No it didn’t.” Larry broke into a beatific smile, his eyes moved upwards until
they focused on a spot on the ceiling as he continued. “It was more like the sun coming
in from between two clouds.” His eyes went back to Alex. “Yes, that’s what it was like.
It was a revelation. Suddenly, I knew. Tears came into my eyes Alex. Yessir I cried like a
baby and there it was, I saw the whole thing laid out in my mind. It was so precise that
for the first time in my life I really felt that I was going to be in charge. That I was going
to contribute something. That I was going to be somebody.”
Nodding his head up and down furiously Larry continued, “That’s when the
idea of the Great Race came to me.”
His smile broadened into a beaming light on his face. He sat up straight and half
closed his eyes saying, “You’ve got to admit it’s the most original idea any president of
any company has had in a hundred years.”
Alex’s chest heaved as he sighed, “It’s original all right. Well boss, if you had an
experience like that, I’ve got to go along with it. You tell me what you want me to do
and I’ll do it. I must say Larry, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but I thought
all the responsibility had kind of gone to your head. I thought maybe you were going
nuts or something.”
Larry stiffened; his face reddened and got very hard, but before he could
respond Alex quickly continued, “It sounds as though you kind of got a message from a
higher intelligence.”
Once again Larry jumped up, the chair flew back, he yelled, scaring Alex so that
his whole body jerked up as well, “That’s it! That’s exactly what it was it was; a
message.”
His eyes opened wide and he tilted his head a bit as he continued, “I knew I
picked the right man when I chose you Alex, I knew it. You’re the perfect one to be my
right arm. Only you recognized my experience for what it was.
“It was a message from God.”
CHAPTER TWO

Jack Belson was worried. He was in terrible shape and to make matters worse, he
had almost been a partner of Charley Sapper. The day was still clear in Jacks mind. It
was the evening when Charley had come to the Belson household to speak with Jack. He
had an important business proposition to put to him, was the way Charles Sapper had
stated it. Jack was just out of college, where he majored in accounting, and was looking
to land a job with Feathers and Lobo, a firm handling some of the biggest accounts in
town. It looked like he was going to make it too.
Charles Sapper was Jack’s professor in economics at Los Angeles City College.
Jack Belson was his favorite student and they had many after hour’s discussions on the
economy of the country, philosophy, politics, and what Jack was going to do with his
life on graduation. Jack looked forward to working at a high level accounting firm and
Professor Sapper told Jack he would make some recommendations on graduation. But
things changed. Charles Sapper decided to go into business if only he could raise the
start-up funding. His first thought was to bring in his number one economics pupil and
one day he found himself in a heated discussion with Jack’s mother. It was a pivotal day
in Jack’s life. One of those incidents that has a great effect on the future.
Jack would never forget that meeting, especially what Charley had said to his
mother. If only he hadn’t put it the way that he did, Jack might have taken him up on it
and he would have been a partner, and all this would never had come to be. But he put
the proposition in the wrong way and Jack had refused. Many times he had thought, if
only I could go back in time and change those words.
He could hear Charley talking to his mother even now. “Mrs. Belson, this is an
opportunity for your son that may never come along again as long as he lives. It’s a once
in a life time opportunity.”
“So why talk to me? Talk to my son.” was her response.
“I’m talking to you because only you can handle the economic part of the
arrangement.”
“You mean you need money?” Jack’s mother had asked knowing well the
answer.
Charley had been running a finger up and down the handle of his coffee cup. He
picked it up slowly and sipped as he stared at her over the rim. It was done in a sort of
slow motion the way that Jack remembered it. He recalled Charley finally putting the
cup down and saying. “Eighteen thousand dollars.”
The figure hung in the air. It was a fortune at the time. She laughed.
 Even Jack had smiled, but Charley didn’t laugh. He brought out figures and
spoke of what could be, and what better way to invest your money than in your son’s
future. And then he said the words that upset Jack’s mother and that was that.
“Don’t you want to see your son a success?”
Mrs. Belson had looked at Charles P. Sapper incredulously. She shook her head
from side to side saying with a cynical half smile on her face. “It always riles me when
someone brings up a statement of fact that they know has to be answered in the
affirmative. A fact that has nothing whatever to do with the matter at hand, and if you
answer either way you are wrong. If I say yes I want my son to be a success than you
take that to mean the only means to that end is with what you have been offering. If I
say no I don’t, than I’m a bad mother. Mr. Sapper, I resent that.
“I was walking by a market this morning and a woman held out a can for me to
put money in. She asked something very similar. She asked me if I would like to help
the three and the four year old starving children of the world. Mr. Sapper I do want to
help the poor hungry children wherever they might be but for the life of me I couldn’t
see how my putting any money in her can was going to do that. I think I’m intelligent
enough not to have to feel guilty about not doing it.
“What she yelled as I walked away really got to me; ‘Don’t you want to help a
starving child?’ she said. I resent her and people like her and I resent you asking me
whether or not I want to see my son a success. I do want to see him a success, and I do
want to help hungry children, but I will do it my way. And that does not include
handing my life’s savings over to you.”
Jack could very clearly see Charley leaving the small apartment. Somehow
Charley had raised the money and it was rough going for a while. Charley Sapper
worked long and hard. He worked ten years before April Moon became even a
semblance of what it was to ultimately be. When Charley called Jack and offered him the
comptroller’s job Jack often thought it was to show him what he had lost. But Jack had
never been bothered it turned out the way that it had. His life was all right. He wasn’t
sorry.

Jack’s mother had died soon after the incident with Sapper and being an only son
he had received her entire inheritance. Eighteen thousand dollars. No wonder she’d
turned him down, it was every cent she had in the world. Jack had put the money in the
bank and there it had been ever since, drawing a modest interest, slowly growing, just
like Jack Belson. Feathers and Lobo lasted a year. Jack left to start his own company.
But that wasn’t it either. The feeling of something more was pervasive. Jack was
beginning to mistrust his intuition although he had felt it a powerful force within him.
Most things came to him later in life than other people but whatever it was he felt was
coming had better come soon. Maybe his destiny was to be with Charlie Sapper. A year
after he opened the door to Jack Belson and Company he received an offer from Charles
Sapper and breathing a sigh of relief, closed the door to JB&C forever and joined the
April Moon Company.
 He had taken the job gladly and felt that he’d found his niche in life. He took his
salary and budgeted himself carefully. A dollar for this, ten for that—groceries, cleaning,
the movies, and an occasional date. There was work, there was food, there was
television, and on Sunday there were long walks, and that was Jack Belson’s life. Now
this bizarre race of Larry Sapper’s threatened to destroy the comfortable routine.

CHAPTER THREE

Jack often strolled along the wide sidewalk between Venice Beach and Ocean Park.
He walked early in the morning as the skaters, bicyclists, small shops, and tourists were
not yet there. Later the strand would look more like Times Square at noon than the
empty beach it was at five a.m. He should have seen the trash can but he was staring at
the sky and shouting. Slamming into the big container, over he went landing on his
backside right smack on the sidewalk. The crash should have awakened the
neighborhood—but it didn’t. There wasn’t anyone around. The shops were all locked
and shuttered with not even a coffee cubicle open to stir up the day. A few dogs stopped
sniffing around for a snack when he fell. But—after hearing him curse and watching him
brush his clothes off, they figured there was no threat, and back they went, noses
skimming the pavement.
Jack looked up at the sky again—squinting—but there was nothing there, unless
you counted a few clouds. Cupping his hands over his mouth he yelled once again.
“Where are you?”
No answer—not that he really expected one—he’d been yelling for twenty minutes
and the only sound was the surf. Jack was on the edge of a breakdown. Screaming to the
heavens for God and expecting Him to answer was a clue to his condition. But that’s
how he felt that morning. All he got for his trouble was the ocean breeze fanning his
nose.
He walked over to a closed shop. There was a big sign that proclaimed, ‘The finest
hamburgers on the Strand.’ There was the faint aroma of burnt meat and onions that
hung around the place like a blanket. He cupped his hands around his eyes and
clamped them on the window to see inside. Nothing. It was hours till opening.
There he was, at Venice beach, making a damn fool of himself. If anyone he knew
were to wander by, the whole world would know that Jack Belson, chief accountant and
administrator of the April Moon Plumbing Supply Company, was off his rocker. The
chances were slim to none that anyone he knew would be at the beach that time of day,
but still you never know.
People at April Moon looked up to him, and most of his co-workers liked him but
he wanted more. He knew that so far as his life went, he just did not have enough.
The nutty race thing that Larry came up with was the last straw. Jack’s thoughts
repeated through his mind over and over again. ‘If anyone ever needed proof that the
world was crazy that was it. The great race. What a laugh, this fool comes up with an
idea that would make an apprentice idiot shudder.’
Jack felt a pull to smell some sea air, and there he was—at the beach, yelling at the
clouds, trying to get God to talk to him.
His head felt like a balloon, it was a strange feeling, like it was swollen. He reached
up feeling his forehead with the back of a hand. It felt normal. But there was something.
He could hear the waves pounding on the shore and each crash seemed to burst into his
head.
Frustrated, he cupped his hands over his lips and yelled again in the direction of the
clouds, ‘Where are you?’
He didn’t expect an answer but then the sky lit up as though a bulb had flashed and
he heard a voice. A soft voice that seemed to come from both in front, and behind.
It said, “I hear you. What do you want?”
He looked around but there was nothing. The only thing in sight was the dogs
snuffling around a few garbage cans. Some kid fooling around, he thought. But there
were no kids around. But the voice wasn’t a kid’s voice, it wasn’t like any voice. But it
was a voice. He couldn’t explain. It was a voice but it sounded like a cross between the
waves crashing on the beach and distant thunder. But soft.
He walked over to one of the garbage cans and lifted the cover. Nope. Nothing
inside but trash. He muttered under my breath, “Who said that?”
No one could have heard but all of a sudden the voice came back, this time it
sounded like thunder right overhead—like a giant leaned over him and was speaking
with his mouth an inch from the top of his head.
“I did.”
Jack jumped a foot in the air and strained his neck when it twisted looking for
whoever. “Come on. Quit your fooling. Who are you? And where are you?”
He was putting up a brave front but inside he was custard pudding.
Waves crashed on the shore, a few squawking seagulls wheeled overhead, and a
truck stopping to pick up garbage were the only sounds. Nothing else—until... “You
should know who I am Jack Belson, you’ve been yelling at me for the past hour.”
“Where are you?” Jack asked.
“You ask where I am. Picture a fish asking where the water is.”
He looked out towards the ocean, ‘You mean you’re in the ocean?’
“That’s not quite what I meant; but yes, you might say that. I am in the water. Then
again I’m also in the sky, the earth, the air, and in you. I am infinite and therefore I am in
all the finite things that you are aware of and I am in all the finite things that you are not
aware of as well. What is it that you want?”
Hallucination? Nervous breakdown? Was he going mad? He fooled around a bit
with LSD once in the sixties and thought he was going crazy then too. It really spooked
him. Was this a flashback?
There he was talking to a cloud, getting a response, and speaking back. The race
finally got to him. It was bizarre but it was also kind of fun hearing a voice that you
know is your imagination. He figured if this was what it was like to go crazy he would
at least enjoy the experience. Jack figured the stress of his job finally got to him.
He answered loudly, “Mr. Voice in my head, you want to know what I want? What
I want to know is this. Are you God?”
Time moved on. Three waves crashed on the shore before the voice spoke again.
The answer took him by surprise. “What is God?”
“Come on now. What do you mean ‘What’s God?’ God is God. The Master of the
Universe, The all, The Creator, All that Is, and a million other names. That’s who. God.”
The strange sounding voice, now more of a boom mixed with the wave action
answered. “Yes. To the extent of your limited knowledge and understanding. I am.”
“You are?”
“God.”
Now what? Still feeling like he was breaking down, even though he had no idea
what a breakdown felt like, this had to be one. Not knowing what else to do, he went
along with it. Shaking his head with the strangeness of the thing he muttered, “Son of a
gun.”
The response came immediately. “Well I don’t know; it’s been such a long time. I do
not know if there was anyone before me or not.”
“Come on voice in my head, who are you?”
The voice continued, “I simply Am that I Am.”
Jack sat down on one of the benches that lined the beach. It was still early in the
morning. A few hardy souls had begun to drift onto the sand, none of them were close
enough to hear him but he spoke softly all the same. “What’s that? What do you mean
when you say, ‘I Am that I Am?”
“Just say that I am he to whom you have been addressing your remarks. Jack, I do
not care to spent the entire day in this somewhat simplistic conversation, just what is it
you want of me?”
‘What do I want?’
“You’ve been yelling for me half the morning haven’t you”
‘Well yes, but I didn’t think you were going to answer.’
“If you didn’t think I would answer, why did you call?”
The question made sense. “It’s really you?” He asked.
“Yes it really is me. Now then, what is it you want?”
It was beginning to feel real after all, maybe he’d found the Genie in a bottle. What
did he want? There were a hundred things he wanted, but the big thing was the race.
“I want to win a race.”
 “A race?”
“A special race. My company, or rather I should say the place I work was just taken
over by a new owner. A real bastard, a no good asshole son of a bitch—“
“Now Jack, remember, you are all my children.”
“Oh yea. Well some of these children of yours play funny games. I’ll tell you
something. I work for a wholesale plumbing supply company. The April Moon
Plumbing Company. I’ve been the head bookkeeper for twenty two years come next
month and they are trying to get rid of me—not only me, all the old timers. The only
reason they haven’t is because of the new fair employment practice law. With this law in
place nobody can be fired unless they are totally incompetent and I’m very good at my
job—and most of the other old timers are as well.”
“So anyway, the son of the owner, a no good yellow bellied—. Sorry, I forgot.
The son of the owner, a nice looking aggressive young man about twenty two years old
just took over the company. Just like that, his father decided to hand over the whole
shebang to this kid who’s still wet behind the ears and every place else. Right off the bat
he decides that he is going to change all the department heads, and he is going to do it
fair and square. Those were his exact words, fair and square.
“So this young man does something that he thinks will get around the fair
employment law. The sad part is, he might be right.
“He figures that if everyone in the organization qualifies for the job in the same
manner that would do it. What he is going to do is have a race. Whoever wins the race
gets whatever job he wants, and the person who comes in second gets the next job, and
so on down the line. So he comes up with an insane idea for a run, a half of a mile long.
Doesn’t sound like much does it? Well that’s not all, there are four bridges that you have
to go over twice; once going and another time coming back because the race is going to
be run on a street that’s a quarter of a mile long with four bridged cross streets.
“Still doesn’t sound like much does it? Well it gets better. The bridges are made
of wood, and they’re Japanese style, each bridge is so steep that they’re made up of
steps. That’s right steps, every bridge has fourteen steps going up and fourteen more on
the other side coming down. So you not only have to run but you have to climb steps
while you’re running. I figured out how many.
“Ha, every one in the company figured it out by now, it totals one hundred and
twelve steps to the half way point and another hundred and twelve on the way back,
and that’s in addition to the quarter mile run. How about that for a loony idea? I bet you
haven’t heard anything to equal that one since Hannibal asked for help to get his
elephants over the mountain.
“Look at me. I’m fifty pounds overweight; and my energy for running left me
fifteen years ago. I ask you; how am I going to win a race against a bunch of young
studs? Any one of them would love to get my job. Half a mile run; even without steps;
what chance do I have? I get out of breath when I walk around the block. God, I’m
telling you; even the janitor is going to beat me and when he does, I’m going to wind up
mopping the spit off the toilet walls; right under the don’t spit on the floor sign.
 Jack looked up at the brighter and brighter looking sky and asked, “So tell me
Master of the Universe, do you think you can help me?”
The voice rumbled clearly, “I will help you to help you.”
“You’ll help me to help me?” he asked, not understanding. Jack thought he was
having a nervous breakdown. He was just going along with everything, like he was in a
hypnotic trance. He argued. He thought the whole thing was him going crazy.
“Riddles. I don’t know why you always talk in riddles. Every time I read your
book I read riddles. Why can’t you just say that you’ll help me?”
The voiced boomed, “I will suggest. You will act.”
“Well, “that’s a little better anyway. O.K. What’s the first suggestion?”

The morning quiet was broken by early signs of life on the street. A youngster
sped by on roller-skates and a group of teen-agers clacked by on skateboards. Soon the
beach was filled with people on bicycles, rollerblades and joggers. Jack stood patiently
near the garbage can, waiting. A busboy from the nearby hamburger stand dumped in a
load of trash, eyes suspiciously wandering over to where Jack stood.
Minutes passed; more people appeared on the beach. Jack waited patiently.
More time went by and he looked around impatiently. Once again he addressed the
cloud; this time-mindful of the people all about-he whispered loudly. “What’s the first
suggestion?”
Nothing. No sound, no voice, no suggestion, no nothing. He felt frustrated and
in a sudden fit of pique screamed out. “So what suggestion do you have for me?” And
then once again, “I said - what - is - your - suggestion? I’m waiting.”
A tall, dark, gangling youth in a tank top, with chains of jewelry hanging from
his neck, tattoos showing from shoulder to wrist with a face full of piercings, walked
over to Jack and said, “Hey man; I got a suggestion for you. Get your ass off the beach.
You’re crazy, you know that?”
Jack stared at the young man for a long moment, thought of a few apt responses,
decided it wasn’t worth getting into a confrontation, and walked off. It was early and he
was getting hungry. He decided to stop somewhere for breakfast. The incidents of the
morning were fresh in his mind as he slowly walked towards his car. He knew that
stress could do strange things to a person and wondered whether he was in the first
stages of something serious. Settling into the seat of his automobile he turned on the
radio and listened to four commercial messages before the music began.
Each commercial, he realized was a suggestion. One told him of all the
headaches in the country and suggested a cure for, another that certain foods would
upset his stomach, the third reminded him about the decrepit furniture in his house and
the fourth was that of an excited announcer who was saying that unless he purchased
new linings immediately his brakes were going to fail at any moment. Suggestions,
nothing but suggestions. But each one, he realized, caused him to think about the
message. Maybe he was going to get an upset stomach if he had fried eggs, and maybe
he should have his brakes checked. For sure his furniture could use reupholstering. He
thought about the many suggestions he heard from all the various sources during the
day.
He stopped at the first coffee shop he came to and sat at the counter. The
waitress ambled over with a steaming pot in one hand, a cup in the other, motioned to
the cup with her forehead and asked, “Coffee?”
Jack nodded and spoke, “And a couple of eggs over medium with whole wheat
toast.”
“Our fresh smoked bacon is extra good this morning. How about a couple of
nice thick crunchy slices to go with the eggs?” she asked.
The image of crisp, smoke flavored bacon appeared in Jack’s mind and he
salivated, swallowing hard. He smelled the meat spitzing and sizzling on the grill. Jack,
always conscious of his weight, seldom ate bacon, but the suggestion opened the idea to
him and the delicious aroma drifting into his nose, along with the thought of the smoke
taste and crunch of crispy bacon was too much for him. “Gimme a double order and I’ll
have some home fries with it too. I’m hungry as a horse.”
Jack finished his satisfying meal and drove off thinking, ‘Now why did I eat all
that? All I wanted was of eggs and coffee.’
Riding towards the April Moon Plumbing Company, he patiently waited for the
indigestion that was certain to begin at any moment. He thought of one of the
commercials he had seen recently on television and patted his jacket pocket to make sure
his packet of antacid was handy. It was; he was ready for the attack.
A small bubble formed deep in his throat, it worked it’s way up and he belched
as the bitterly hot, sourness floated up though his esophagus to the back of his tongue.
He flipped a couple of tablets into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. He belched again
but the gagging bitterness was gone. Smiling, he congratulated himself on the foresight
to carry antacids in the car.
He thought back on the morning and said aloud. “Boy if it were only true. If
only I had my own personal pipeline to heaven. What a trip that would be.” He
laughed. “It sure would be nice, real nice if I could talk to God whenever I wanted to.”
“What would you say?” Boomed the now familiar voice. Jack jumped up, his
knees hit the steering wheel causing him to cry out. “Ow! What? What? What was that?
Who said that?”
Jack reached for the radio; it was off. He looked out of the window of his car but
no other vehicles were near enough for him to hear people talking. “Who said that?” He
repeated.
“Jack, Jack, how could you forget so soon? It has been only a short while since
our chat.”
Jack’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. His eyes opened wide as he
replied, “You mean I didn’t imagine this morning? It was real? But why did you stop
talking to me? I mean you said you were going to make some suggestions to help me
and then, nothing. You just disappeared. Well you didn’t really disappear, since you
weren’t there in the first place—I think.”
 Jack looked from one side of the car to the other and then up and out of the
windshield, not knowing where to direct his eyes he finally looked at the horn button, it
didn’t seem to matter; the voice was everywhere. He asked questioningly, “Did you
disappear?”
“Jack, I was, am, and always will be with you. I have already made one
suggestion to you.”
Jack was quizzical. “You did? When? I don’t remember you making any
suggestions.”
“I suggested that you leave the beach.”
Jack thought rapidly, his brows furrowing as he did so. “You suggested I leave
the beach? That wasn’t you, that was some snotty kid with a bandoleer of gold chains
around his neck and hoops in his nose.” He clenched his lips together and thrust his
head forward, “You mean that kid was you?”
“Not exactly, I just gave him the idea. You didn’t want to be late for work this
morning did you? You hadn’t had your breakfast yet.”
Jack thought about breakfast, “Did you suggest that I eat the bacon also?”
“No, that was not my suggestion. That one you got elsewhere.”
Jack threw up his hands and quickly grabbed at the wheel as the car swerved.
Annoyed, he asked, “Then how am I supposed to know when a suggestion comes from
you or from some other source? Why can’t you just talk to me the way you are doing
now so I’ll know its you?”
“If I do that it will hinder your growth.”
“My growth?” Jack asked quizzically, “You mean I’m going to get taller?”
“Not that type of growth Jack. I’m referring to spiritual growth.”
“I don’t understand ...God? By the way, what do I call you? I mean, do I call you
Lord, or God or Master or what?”
“Why don’t you call me Max.”
“Max? That seems disrespectful; why Max?”
“We are too far apart. It is impossible for you to get even a glimmering of what I
am. I am further from you than an ant is from an astronaut strolling on the moon. If
you call me Max it will give you a sense of yourself, if not of me. Think of the name as a
diminutive of Maximum if you will.
The voice rang through the car vibrating the very structure of the vehicle as it
continued. “Your spiritual growth brings you ever closer to me. It is necessary for you
to continue this growth. For me to give you absolute instruction would be to retard this
growth. You would have no choices to make, you would know absolutely what to do
and what not to do.”
Jack muttered under his breath, “Sounds good to me.”
The voice within his head continued; “I have set certain immutable laws down in
the universe. The rules of the game, so to speak. One of these rules is cause and effect.
As I am The Law, and therefore above it, I have made it difficult, even for myself, to
break these rules. You will recognize causes, and the resulting effects and by so doing
will begin to instigate your own, desired cause. You must have absolute freedom of
choice for spiritual growth.”
Jack Belson was feeling more humbled by the second as the voice rumbled on. A
feeling of constriction was developing in his throat and he felt a small lump almost as
though he wanted to cry. Something was happening that he did not understand but he
felt elated; enthralled. At that moment, the race was of no consequence; he drove slowly,
listening carefully. Every word hammered into his consciousness. Every sentence was
there waiting for him as though he had suddenly developed an eidetic memory. And
more than anything else he was wanting to remember every word, every syllable.
“When you sit with friends to play a game of cards it would be a foolish,
incomprehensible game if you did not know or understand the rules. Any game wherein
one of the players did not know the rules would be a game for infants. Imagine a game
where not a single player knew the rules. It would result in a Babel of confusion.
“Life, as you know it, is a game with certain rules. Most of the human race is
unfamiliar with those rules.
“Jack Belson, heed my words. You have asked for help from me. As much as I
give you I give you now. I give you the rules of life.”

Jack was driving so slowly that he was afraid of getting a ticket. He pulled over
to the side of the street and parked. A light sweat had broken out over his entire body.
He closed his eyes and allowed the words of Max to carve into his memory bank.
“Rule number one. You may call it, Mentalism. I have created the universe in
my imagination. I have peopled that universe with my imagination. The universe is my
mental creation, all is my infinite thought. Your reality is mental.
“Rule number two. Correspondence. The correspondence of one rule to another,
of one thing to another, of one dimension to another. As it is on one plane so it will be
on the other. As it is on the physical, so it will be on the mental, as it is on the mental, so
it will be on the spiritual. As it is below, so it will be above. As it is above, so it will be
below.
“Rule number three. Polarity. All things that are of the same nature will differ
by degree. What is tall is also short, what is hot is also cold, what is east is also west,
what is dark is also light, what is bad is also good, what is sharp is also dull.
“Rule number four. Motion. Universal things have a universal movement. All
things, physical, mental, and spiritual are in constant and never-ending motion. Each
thing has a frequency, a vibration that has a specific and definite manifestation on each
plane of existence. When a frequency is changed the manifestation is changed as well.
“Rule number five. Rhythm. All is cyclical. All things have their own time, their
own rhythm. All things are born, grow, peak, deteriorate, and die. To be born is to die,
to die is to be born. So I have decreed.
“Rule number six. Cause and effect. For every thing that happens there is a
cause. For every cause there will be an effect. Coincidence, accident, and chaos are the
effects of unrecognized cause.
 “Rule number seven. Gender. Masculine and feminine properties reside in all
things. The masculine is the outgoing, the giving, the instigative. The feminine is the
inflow, the receptive, the creative.
“Those are the rules Jack Belson; hear and heed.”

Jack recalled everything, the words had been chiseled in his mind. “I hear Max,
but I’m not sure I understand. How can I use the rules? Are they supposed to help
me?”
The voice boomed again through the car. “Know them for now. That is enough.
Understanding will come as you grow. I will be with you for a while to help you to
understand. Usage through your actions must come entirely from yourself.”
Jack was speaking quietly now. His gruff demeanor humbled by what he was
experiencing. This was real, he thought. But then again, did a madman know he was
mad?
No! This was not insanity. Somehow he had been chosen to hear the word of
God. He accepted that.
“Will you make more suggestions?”
“Suggestions will be made. You must choose the ones that are of benefit to your
growth.”
“But how will I know when it’s you?”
“Sometimes, you will be certain. Other times you will not. Your mind is now as
filled with past suggestions as a pasture is with grass. Suggestions act as a suddenly
braked car would on an ice slickened road in some cases, as cold acts upon honey in
others. You will always be influenced by past suggestions; accept that. Many people
will wish to introduce ideas for you to act on, some will be of benefit and some will not.
As you grow in your understanding of the rules I have laid out for you, you will act on
the correct suggestions.
“Let your thoughts be at ease. I will always be with you, even though it seems as
though I now leave you.”
Jack Belson had a feeling of great loss with a strong emotion of love and
adoration mixed in. His emotions were running wild and he cried out in an agony of
longing, “Wait Max, don’t go yet. Please. Tell me why there is so much injustice in life?”
“Think now about the rule of Polarity. If pleasure and satisfaction are part of the
human experience than you must be confronted with the options of suffering and pain.
In a world without pain, there can be no pleasure. If there were no betrayal and
desertion then loyalty would not be possible. As you love truth Jack, then the possibility
of falsehood must exist. Without an environment exposing you to hardship and
disappointment courage would be impossible. Without insecurity, uncertainty, and
suspicion there could be no such thing as hope.”
Jack nodded in understanding. “What about faith?”
“To exhibit faith mankind must find itself in a position to know less than can be
believed. Do you have faith in my existence Jack?”
 “I do. Even though I doubt myself right about now, I do have faith that you
exist.”
“But you need no faith.” The booming voice declared as the air vibrated with the
sound.
“You are talking to me therefore you know I exist. Faith is not required. When
you knew less of me, did you have faith in my existence?”
“I believed you existed yes. I did know less about you than I could actually
believe, but I still believed. I suppose that’s faith. If I hadn’t had at least some, I guess I
wouldn’t have been yelling for you like I did. I should say that I really didn’t have faith
that you would appear. As a matter of fact I felt certain you wouldn’t.
“I had faith you existed but not that you would come to me specifically. I’m still
a bit skeptical. I’m not certain whether I’m talking to you or if I’m having some kind of a
hallucinatory experience. I do wish you would stay with me for a little while longer. I
don’t care about the race, just don’t leave yet.”
The voice answered, gentle as a mothers breath cooling her infants fevered brow,
“Jack, you will be late for work. That is enough for today.”
The voice continued, but now sounding as though it came from a distance, a very
great distance. “Be at ease Jack, I will always be with you. I promise that we will speak
again. In the meanwhile, remember the rules of the game.”
“What about the golden rule?” Jack asked.
“The rule that reigns above all others is to love me. Understand that love is
seeing and sensing and feeling and knowing no negatives. None. Nor should you seek
to develop a love for me based on fear, or guilt, or because you want something. To
qualify that love is to diminish it. Simply love me, and in doing so you will develop a
sense of love for your fellow creatures. That is the true golden rule.”
The voice was gone. Jack, feeling confused and mystified, head light as a balloon,
stared into space as he silently, and thoughtfully drove to his parking space at the lot of
the April Moon Plumbing Supply Company.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jack Belson sat quietly in his car contemplating his hallucination. The voice he
had thought he heard faded into the deep interior of his mind. Once again he wondered
if he had imagined it. But then he thought of the seven rules. He had never had ideas
like those before, and he could not recall reading about the things he’d heard. They had
to have come from outside him. He sighed, and accepted the fact that he had just spoken
with a higher intelligence. He’d heard of people who funneled or channeled
intelligence’s from another dimension; was that what had happened? Another thought
occurred to him and he looked around the car, not really expecting to see anyone but
hoping anyway. He looked up; somehow up seemed to be the right direction, but on
second thought it really didn’t matter. Radio waves permeated the world, a radio
would play in any corner of a room, the waves were everywhere. Wouldn’t God be at
least as permeating as a radio broadcast?
He was parked in his regular slot at the April Moon Plumbing Company. Jack’s
hands gripped the wheel tightly as though his touch would stimulate a response.
Staring at the windshield he whispered in a loud tone, “How do I get in touch with
you?”
He sat for five more minutes; there was no answer. Finally he shrugged
sorrowfully and walked up the steps thoughtfully. He didn’t know if the events of the
morning had relieved him of a burden or installed one. Ah well, time will tell, time
would definitely tell. For the first time in his life he thought about the implication of his
thoughts. He considered the seven rules. What about time? Wasn’t that a rule of life?
What was time? Was it a thing? Should he think about it?
Thoughts raced through his mind. “I should have asked Him about time, and
light, and gravity, and sound, and failures and successes, and health, and religions, and
diet, yes, I should have asked Him what the best food for me to eat was, I should have
asked Him—?”
A thousand questions filled Jack’s mind. By the time he reached his office his
mind was a muddle. So many things to think about. So much to examine.
A neatly stacked pile of work lay on his desk. He paid no attention to the mass
of paper. Instead he picked up a pencil and began to doodle as he thought about time.
‘Vibrations mean that everything moves, Polarity means that all things have an opposite,
Cause and effect;’ he slammed the pencil down. ‘What’s time? Is time moving? Time
isn’t moving, we’re moving. How can I control time? Let me see now, what was that
about the rules of the game? If I want to control time, and if motion is involved than to
control time I must control motion. But how can I control motion?’
For the first time in a long while, Jack Belson thought about things he’d never
given any consideration to before.
‘Let me see now. Time doesn’t move, its a unit of measurement, we move, we
change. If time doesn’t move, it would be like a car driving past a row of trees; to the
person in the car it would seem as though the trees were moving. Actually what would
be happening for the one in the car is change. The view would change. Is time change?
Can there be any time without change?’
Jack pictured the world before man, before animals, before, plant life. He thought
of the world as a globe, with no movement, stationary. He saw that time could not exist
under a static condition. “But there has always been change, and therefore, there has
always been time. Or, has there?”
 Perhaps there is no ‘time’ for God. Time does not exist for God. God himself, is
perfect. To be perfect is to be unchanging. Without change there can not be a time
element. Therefore for God, time does not exist. But everything else changes. The
universe can never reach perfection because then there would be no change and time
would stop. There can only be everlasting, eternal change. And in an infinity of changes
then everything must eventually exist. And if there is no time for God then everything
exists now. Wars and peace, terrorists and pacifists, whatever could be thought, would
be for an infinite being.
Caroming bombs of understanding exploded through Jack’s mind. Thoughts that
would have been impossible to him the day before. That more than anything else caused
him to accept the fact that something spiritual had indeed happened to him that
morning.
Doodles appeared under the active pencil of Jack Belson as he mused. ‘The race
is certainly change. It consists of motion. If I complete the race before its run than I’ve
controlled time. Let me see. The race is over and I’ve won. That’s it. The race is over.
Let me see that, let me sense that.’
A sudden thought burst through his mind, ‘The race was a metaphor.’ That
being the case he would have to read it as such. And if that were in fact the case then he
would have to read into it something of great import.
Jack thought with deep concentration. His body relaxed as his mind left it. He
visualized the race, saw himself winning. He had won. It was over. Raising his head he
smiled as he thought of what he had imagined. The race had been won by him. It was
over. He could control time, mentally. But how to fix it in the physical world? Should
he even try? If the race were a metaphor than surely part of it would have to hold the
fact that Jack Belson would do his best, but whatever happened, he would read into it, a
positive energy.
Thoughts poured through his mind in a torrent. He had created a mental image
of himself winning the race. Therefore, according to the rule of motion, he had indeed
won the race. Mentally. But the rule of correspondence states that as it is on one plane so
it must be on another. And suddenly he saw. There must be other universes, other
dimensions, that run alongside our own—parallel to it. In one of those dimensions his
thoughts created him winning. Every thought would then manifest in another
dimension. These parallel dimensions would be infinite therefore in one of them God is
indeed speaking to me. If it is infinite then every thought, of every person, would
manifest in a parallel dimension.
Suddenly Jack changed, he understood. When a person looked at a thing, a
person, or an event, they would view that event from their perspective. The viewing
would change the event in every case but the change would register in other dimensions
just as changes in this dimension would be affected by viewing in other dimensions.
So many things had cleared up in Jack’s mind, his intelligence seemed to have
soared as well as his creative thinking. Considering his weight Jack came to the
conclusion that he had to rid himself of fifty five pounds. The answer seemed to be so
obvious he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.
 More ideas came. There were two separate but distinctive dimensions, one was
the physical and the other was the mental; if there was to be movement, or change in
one than there had to be the opposite or non movement or change in the other. ‘Yes,’ he
thought, ‘when I want to think, then I must be as still as is possible on the physical
plane. Does that mean then that the opposite is true as well, that when I want to be
physically active that I must be as inactive as I can be on the mental plane?’
Mulling the idea over while batting his pencil on the table he realized that he had
been doing exactly the opposite. When he was physically active he was always thinking
about what he was doing, about what he had done, or about what he was about to do.
When he was mentally active he always had a doodle to draw, a pencil to bang on the
table, or a foot to tap on the floor. He thought about the opposite of physical activity
and the word meditation came to him.
Jack Belson knew next to nothing about meditation; he’d occasionally read
something about it and he knew one or two people who went in for that sort of thing but
he himself knew nothing at all about it. The name Kenneth Grant came to him, ‘Yes,
Kenny, he meditates all the time.’ Jack thought.
He flipped through his address book and found the number he was looking for.
After a brief phone conversation Jack had made a luncheon appointment for that very
day with Mr. Kenneth Grant of the Woodstock Hardware Company.
All Grant knew was that the head bookkeeper of April Moon Plumbing wanted
to talk to him. Grant put the phone down and thought briefly about the rather strange
call, he didn’t owe any money to April Moon, and couldn’t imagine what was up. But
his curiosity got the better of him and he agreed to meet Jack Belson for lunch.

The restaurant was in Santa Monica and convenient to them both. Grant
wondered all through lunch why he had been called as Belson spoke in turn of baseball,
the weather, and the high price of automobiles, until finally Kenneth asked, “Jack,
what’s this all about? I know you didn’t ask me here to tell me that the Dodgers are in
second place.”
Belson put his coffee cup down and decided to tell outright what was on his
mind. “Kenny, you once said that you meditated a lot. I just wondered if you would
tell me how you do it.”
Kenneth Grant looked at his luncheon partner in amazement. If he had been
offered a thousand guesses as to the point of this meeting, meditation would not even
have been on the list. It was so far from what he had expected that he responded with a
hard swallow and a rather insipid sounding, “What?”
“Meditation,” Jack repeated, “I would like to know if you could tell me how you
do it.”
Kenneth leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Meditation?
You asked me here to talk about meditation?”
Jack nodded, looking a bit sheepish. The foolish feeling left quickly when he
heard Kenneth ask. “What do you want to know about it?”
 Now that it was out and he wasn’t being laughed at, indeed it seemed that
Kenneth was taking him seriously Jack leaned forward and asked intently, “I want to
know how to do it. Do you take some kind of a drug or something or what? I know you
have to close your eyes but do you have to cross your legs in that funny posture? Do you
think about anything particular?”
Kenneth laughed, “Drugs? You really don’t know the first thing about it do you?
Well let’s see. Meditation.” He stared up at the ceiling as though the words he was
looking for were emblazoned there and then suddenly he looked intently at Jack Belson
and asked. “Say, what do you want to know about meditation for anyhow?”
Jack simply shrugged and replied, “I guess it’s because I heard that it was good
for stress and I’ve been under a lot of that lately. I mean a lot of it.”
“You are referring to the great race?” Kenneth responded.
With a cynical snort through his nostrils Jack nodded, “You heard about that did
you? I guess everyone in the business knows about the stupid thing.”
“Knows about it? Say, my office is already taking bets on who’s going to win
and the second, third and fourth placers. You’d think it was the Superbowl. I have to
tell you Jack. There’s a lot of money that says you won’t even get the day janitors job.”
Jack cut him off, “I know, I know, I heard. Larry is saying that he’s going to
create a new job after the race to prove that he has a certain sense of loyalty to the old
timers. Meaning me of course. He’s saying that anyone who calls him heartless is
misinformed because he is going to keep everyone on the payroll; even whoever comes
in last.”
“What job did he create?”
Jack looked at his luncheon companion sadly, his glance slowly going from his
coffee cup to Kenneth’s eyes as with a cold stare he answered, “Toilet manager. He is
going to allow the person who comes in last to manage the toilet. That will be his only
function, cleaning and supplying the toilets; at the minimum wage of course.”
“So you want to learn to meditate because you think you’re going to come in last
and you’re going through a lot of stress?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Tell me Jack, if you do come in last would you do it? Would you take the toilet
job? I understand that if you quit, you lose your pension. You have, what is it six, seven
years to go?”
“Four. Four more years and I can retire from the company with fifteen hundred
and eighty dollars a month coming in for the rest of my life. That’s the way it was set
up. If I quit a day before my retirement date I get ziltch.”
Kenneth frowned as he asked, “I didn’t know that. Is there anyone else that close
to a pension?”
“Three others. Shirley Tepper, Claude Hoskins, and John Bagnow. Tepper
won’t even finish the race, what with her limp and weight and all. Claude might do
something, he’s a jogger, but he’s sixty four and doesn’t think his heart would stand the
strain of the competition. John Bagnow, well he and I are probably going to be neck and
neck, or maybe I should say belly to belly competing for last place.”
 “Shirley. Tepper? You mean even the women are part of this insanity.”
“Sure. Larry has to keep it legal, if the men run the women run.”
“But that’s crazy Jack. Shirley must weigh three hundred pounds. And isn’t one
of her legs shorter than the other or something like that?”
“Yeah, but that don’t cut no ice with Larry Sapper. He’s going to be fair so she
gets to start at the three quarters mark. Can you just picture her waddling along from
one side to the other panting over the finish line? Her heart is likely to attack her just for
walking too fast.”
Kenneth Grant shook his head slowly as he pictured the overweight and aged
group bumping towards the finish line in a competition for jobs that few of them
wanted. What he had previously laughed at, along with the rest of his office, was
suddenly seen in a different light and the unfairness of it all changed his viewpoint..
“What do all these people have to say about the race Jack? You know I’ve been
looking at it like it was a big joke but I don’t think it’s funny to you or Mrs. Tepper or the
other two you mentioned.”
“Some joke. No it’s not funny to us. We’re all pretty sick about it, especially
Shirley. You couldn’t know this but she’s been taking care of an older sister who’s
confined to a wheelchair. April Moon isn’t the greatest job in the world, but for Shirley
it’s the only job. Where on earth is a fifty six year old, overweight, crippled up secretary
going to find a job nowadays? She’s been with the company as long as I have; I even
have a suspicion that she was a lot of help to Charlie Sapper in building up April Moon.
“It’s not funny Ken, not even a little bit.
“We’re getting together tomorrow night to talk over the situation and I’m going
to try and get them to relax a little bit. That’s when I thought about this meditation
business.
“Do you think you could help us a little? Just tell me what to do; I’ll take care of
the rest.”
Kenneth nodded, “Sure I’ll help. It’s pretty simple; here’s all you have to do.
This is the simplest form of meditation; I call it first stage meditation.”
“First stage, does that mean there’s more than one?”
“Yes, basically there are three stages of meditation. Stage one is for relaxing and
stress removal. Stage two is a deeper relaxation that uses stage one as a jumping off
place, this is where you do your programming for simple things. Stage three is the
deepest state of all. I use it for health, energy, and a greater state of awareness.”
Jacks eyebrows bunched together, “Programming?” He questioned.
“I’ll tell you about that later Jack, first things first.”
“So how do you get to stage one?”
“Simple. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, let it out slowly; and you’re
there.”
“That’s it?”
Kenneth nodded. “Basically yes, that’s about it.”
“There must be more to it than that, that’s the way I relax. You telling me
meditation is like relaxing?”
 After a few seconds, Kenneth answered with somewhat of a twinkle in his eye
and a smile on his face, “Jack; meditation is relaxing.”
But Jack was not amused as he answered, “I’m serious Kenny. You just
described relaxing. I want to learn how to meditate.”
“O. K., let me describe it another way. Or better yet, you do it right now.”
“Do what?” Jack asked in a suspicious tone of voice.
“Meditate. You can do it right now. You O.K. with that?”
“You mean right here in the restaurant.” Jack looked around the place, it was
past the lunch rush. The room was almost empty. Waiters were nowhere to be seen and
the tables nearby were unoccupied. He nodded and continued, “All right, I’m game if
you are. Let’s see what you can do.”
Kenneth leaned over the table resting his chin on his hands and said. “Close
your eyes. Now think about the number three. Just that. It doesn’t matter if you see it
clearly or barely at all, just pretend that you see a number three. If you want you can see
three sticks, or three lights, or three baseballs; or the number three. Anything that
represents three. You got that Jack?”
Jack leaned back in his chair, relaxed, eyes closed. “Yeah, I got it. I’m looking at
a three.”
“No. Don’t look at a three. If you’re looking that means that you’re trying to use
your eyes. Don’t look at it, think at it. Think about the number three.”
“All right I’m thinking about a number three.”
“Good,” Kenneth said. “Now take a deep breath and let it out. Exhale slowly,
and while you’re letting your breath out, think about the number three, three times.”
Jacks chest heaved as he took in a breath saying at the same time, “What do you
mean three times. Do I think about its flashing or something?”
“If you want. You can see it flashing, or you can say to yourself, three, three,
three, as you let your breath out. You can’t do it wrong however you do it. Whatever
way you see the three represented is all right.”
Jack’s breath blew out of his nostrils until his head was quiet, and with his eyes
still closed he asked, “So now what?”
“O. K., that’s good. Now do the same thing with the number two except think
about it twice and the second time you think about it, think that the two is lower in
volume than you heard it the first time. Take a deep breath and mentally repeat and
visualize the number two, two times. And when you do that, you do the same thing
with the number one, except you think about the number one, one time and when you
mentally say it, say it so low that you can barely hear it. Relax Jack; I’ll be quiet while
you do it. Just motion to me, or say something when you’re finished.”
Jack Belson concentrated on the breathing and the numbers. He thought about
the numbers, concentrated on the flow of breath and without realizing it; he’d stopped
thinking about the race. His earlier conversation with the voice, the April Moon
Company, everything that bothered him was gone from his mind. For the first time in
days he was relaxed as he thought about the number one and concentrated on his
breathing. He nodded and grunted that he was through with the counting.
 Kenneth’s voice was low and soothing as he spoke softly, moving his face
towards Jack. “Think about what we just had for lunch.” Pausing for a moment he
added, “Now think about what you had for lunch yesterday. Then think about what
you had for dinner last night.”
He watched Jack carefully; now sitting calmly with his hands on the table, eyes
closed, and the tension gone from his face. After a moment or two had passed Kenneth
continued. “Now let your thoughts go to some happy time in your past. Anytime. It
could be last week, or a month ago, a year ago, or twenty or thirty years ago. Let your
thoughts take you there and think about that happy time.”
Thirty seconds passed and a slight smile appeared on Jack’s face. He sighed
deeply and the smile broadened. Kenneth took a deep breath and leaned back in his
chair thoughtfully. He looked at his watch. It was time to go back to the office but he
felt this was important. He motioned to a waiter and pointed to his cup. The cup was
filled and he sipped the coffee quietly, not speaking, not moving at all except to
occasionally bring the cup to his lips, and to silently put it back on the tablecloth.
Every now and again a sigh was heard from his luncheon host across the table.
The waiter came by and filled Kenneth Grant’s cup again; and later still, once more. He
looked quizzically at the man, sitting up straight in his chair, hands on the table, eyes
closed, with a blissful smile on his face and jerked a thumb in his direction. Kenneth
shook his head no, and the waiter left puzzled.
Finally there was a deep, loud sigh from Jack and his eyes opened. He was calm
and rested. He smiled at Kenneth saying, “That was nice. I see what they talk about.
That was meditation?”
“That was meditation.” Kenneth responded.
“Boy oh boy that was a pleasant couple of minutes.”
“Couple of minutes?” Kenneth responded, eyebrows arched in question.
“You mean it wasn’t that long?” Jack asked.
“You were just meditating—” Kenneth looked at his watch, “for a trifle over
forty six minutes.”
Jack was startled. “What! I don’t believe you.” He said looking at his own wrist
and noting the time. He stared at his watch for a long moment. “Jesus, I can’t believe it.
Almost an hour. And the first time out. Ken is this normal?”
“It’s not unusual Jack. At any rate, that was first stage meditation. Tell you
what, come over my house tonight and I’ll tell you a little bit about Alpha and second
stage meditation.”
“What’s Alpha?”
“Tonight Jack, tonight.” Kenneth said looking at his watch again, “It’s getting
late and I’ve got to get back to the office.”

Jack Belson did not accomplish much work that day. The pile of papers
remained the same, the doodles grew, and there was a good deal of pacing from one end
of the small office to the other. With hands clasped behind him, deep in thought, Jack
paced. Four steps forward, turn, and four steps back all the rest of that afternoon
 Some time later in Kenneth Grants apartment, Jack Belson was sitting in a
comfortable armchair listening intently to what his newfound mentor was saying. “All
right Jack, here it is, the Alpha link. Just listen to what I’m saying and accept it for now,
if you interrupt me every time you hear something new we’ll never get through. Take it
for what it’s worth and use it; you’ll find that what I’m about to teach you is effective.”
Jack nodded in understanding, “You’re the boss Ken, go ahead, I’m all ears.”
Kenneth decided to keep it as simple as possible so that Jack Belson would
understand it all. “O. K., here it is. First of all, the brain produces electromagnetic
energy; this energy can be measured by the use of an electroencephalograph; what you
probably know as an EEG machine.
“Brain energy is different when you’re sleeping then it is when you’re awake and
relaxed. Your brain has a different pattern when you are actively thinking, when you are
emotional, and when you are excited. There are four basic patterns that are produced by
the brain during these various activities.
“These are Beta, Alpha, Theta, and Delta. There is also a fifth known as Gamma
wave production, which is a higher form of Beta, that involves the amplitude of the
wave and has a lot to do with driving the brain but I’m going to keep it simple for now.
We’ll discuss Gamma waves another time. Beta is the awake state; the other three are
sleep states. When your brain is producing fourteen cycles of energy per second or
more, you are normally awake and aware, fourteen cycles and up is known as the Beta
state. You are now in the Beta state Jack, as you’re alert and listening. In all probability,
if you were to be hooked up to an EEG it would show twenty one cycles per second of
brain wave activity or thereabouts.
“As you relax your brain wave energy slows down. When you sleep, your brain
waves would show ten cycles during a light sleep, six cycles per second during a deeper
sleep, and two cycles per second during your deepest sleep. From 1/2 cycle to four
cycles per second you would be in delta, from four to seven cycles per second, theta; and
from seven to fourteen cycles per second alpha. Anything above that would be the beta,
or awake state.
“Now then, notice I said alpha was a light stage of sleep. The trick in meditation
is to produce the alpha activity but remain awake and aware. When you can do that,
you are meditating. When you’re meditating you’re relaxed, and when you’re relaxed
you cannot be stressful.
“It’s like a sound, healthy, diet, Jack. Moderation is the key to everything. If you
feel that eggs, or ice cream is bad for you, instead of cutting them out of your life eat
them, but in moderation. Say once a month. If you do not have an egg for a month and
you like them, just imagine the enjoyment, the taste treat you’ll have when you do dive
into a couple of them. And two eggs a month can’t hurt anyone. Neither can a gooey,
chocolate, banana split oozing with strawberries and whipped cream. Not if you eat one
a month.
“When you meditate a couple of times a day, you are doing the same thing to the
stress in your life. You’re moderating it. You can’t be stressful and relaxed at the same
time so during the time that you meditate you’ve taken stress out of your life.
Meditation allows you to cope. That’s one of the principles of polarity.”
Jack looked curiously at his friend and asked, “Polarity?”
“Yes, it’s a universal principle. I’ll tell you about it another time, first things first.
Let’s get back to meditation.
“Alpha is the key. When you slow your brain activity down to ten cycles a
second you are in alpha. You are going to be doing that with a meditation technique.
We’ll start with first stage meditation but your ultimate goal should be conscious
thought while producing Alpha activity. After that, we may get into the production of
Gamma waves but that is for a higher inspirational consciousness.”
Jack looked at Kenneth, his feelings were mixed. Wondering if all this was one of
those suggestions. He was shocked at Kenneth’s use of the word polarity. It was the
second time he had heard it expressed in as many days. He stared hard into Ken’s eyes
and questioned, “Where did you come from Mr. Kenneth Grant?”
Kenneth was puzzled for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“I know you for maybe ten, twelve years. You’ve always been a customer of the
company, and now all of a sudden you’re— you are, ah,—”
Kenneth finished the sentence, “Enlightening you?”
Jack jumped at the words, “Yes, yes, that’s it, enlightening me. That’s what I
want to know. Where did you learn all this, and mainly; why? Why are you doing it?”
“It’s been said,” Kenneth replied, “that when the student is ready, the teacher
appears.”
A cold chill went up the spine of Jack Belson at those words. He closed his eyes
for a second and concentrated, mentally throwing his thoughts out, sending them
through the void of his mind, ‘Thank you.’ He thought, in a loud, rolling mental
whisper.
From somewhere; out there, he thought he heard something. Although if you
were to press him to describe ‘out there,’ he could not have told you. But he did believe,
that for the faintest flicker of a moment; he had heard, in the dim, vast distance, a hollow
sounding response that sounded very much like, ‘You’re welcome.’ But he was never
quite sure about that.

Kenneth Grant was very thoughtful as he headed back to his office. He thought
about the words he spoke to Jack, ‘When the student is ready the teacher appears.’ A
chill went through him as he turned the aphorism around. ‘When the teacher is available
the student appears.’ He wondered if this was what he had been waiting for these many
years. He was an Adept, burrowed deep within the business world, waiting for he knew
not what. Was this it? Kenneth went into deep meditation that evening and spent the
entire night pondering the mission of the Adepts, and his personal goals.
CHAPTER FIVE

He was relaxed and at ease in his favorite chair, an overstuffed settee, with a
spring peeking through and a tear in the back upholstery. A lump of cotton batting had
worked its way down and was pressing against his right side. He had neglected to
remove the newspaper placed on the seat the night before and was sitting on it while he
meditated.
Oblivious to the batting, the spring, the occasional crinkle of paper as he stirred
to change his position, he sat as Kenneth had instructed, back straight, feet relaxed on
the floor, the thumb of each hand touching the middle finger, forming a circle, and his
arms resting on the arms of the chair. He’d been sitting for twenty two minutes but was
unaware of the passage of time. His mind had soared to a place beyond the senses and
had separated from his body. If he were to think about it his body would feel a low,
dull, throbbing vibration as though encased in a bale of wool. He was as satisfied as he
could ever remember being, with his head growing lighter as each passing moment
seemed to grow and encompass the entire world.
Jack had gone to the meditative state to think about his position in the race.
Should he enter it and make a fool of himself? Or should he salvage a small measure of
his remaining pride and resign from the company? As he considered the problem his
thoughts went to Shirley Tepper and his friends in the office. If he left he would feel like
a deserter. But then again, why should he take the responsibility of their problems upon
himself? Just who was he responsible for? This was the question he kept asking as he
relaxed. Jack Belson. Jack Belson. His name thundered through his consciousness and
using it as a mantra he soared further, repeating his own name with the subconscious
knowledge that his responsibility was to the owner of that name and that alone.
Then the name disappeared. The feeling of the body was gone. His mind was
one with the universe. All problems dissolved as he grew more involved with his
surprising capacity to experience the novel feeling he was undergoing. Time had no
meaning and if he were to be asked he honestly could not tell whether a moment or an
hour had passed. Dimly, from the far reaches of his consciousness, he heard a clanging
that summoned him back. Slowly and reluctantly he returned until he once again could
feel his shoulders, his hands, his body, legs and feet, the sofa and the newspaper. He
sighed, pushed himself up from his seat, and walked over to answer the door.
“Where have you been Jack? We’ve been ringing your bell for five minutes.”
Shirley Tepper said as she limped into the living room.
John Bagnow, following close behind, peered around the room as though he
were seeking someone, “Yeah, you know that’s not the most hospitable hallway in town
Jack, two of your neighbors gave us dirty looks. I think they thought we were going to
rob you or something.” Looking through the cabinet he continued, “Hey you got
something cold to drink, I got thirsty on the way here.”
“Make that two of whatever you bring,” Claude Hoskins called out from behind
the group as he settled into a couch.
Soon they were all comfortable and when the incidental conversation dwindled
to an expectant silence, Shirley asked in a quizzical manner, “Well, who’s going to
start?”
“Start?” Asked Claude.
“Claude, we didn’t come here for apple juice and cokes. Remember?” Shirley
offered, “We’re here to see whether or not there is some way we can save our jobs. So
someone come up with an idea.”
There was a long pause. Each was reluctant to begin. They all had reasons for
fear. Shirley Tepper thought about her age, her infirmities, a sister who needed support.
And then for the flash of an instant a picture of a bag lady came to her minds eye; she
shuddered and looked about expectantly.
Claude Hoskins thought about his father. The man had been successful and
affluent until a faltering economy had caused him to lose his major account. Bankruptcy
followed and his loses caused him to age prematurely. He’d become an
uncommunicative recluse, living in squalor, until he died a broken, lonely man. Claude
could easily see himself in the same position.
He worked for April Moon Plumbing supply as manager of the hardware
department and although the pay was not excessive, it was enough. He had thought
that the security that went with the job more than compensated for the meager check he
received at the end of every two week period. He had learned to live within his means
and was satisfied.
Less than a year to retirement and now this stupid race comes along. He spoke
first. “As long as what we do doesn’t effect my retirement I’ll go along with anything
you all come up with. You know I’ll be sixty five in ten months.”
“Well you’ll be all right,” John Bagnow stated, “you may even wind up with a
better job. You been jogging for what, about ten years now? Man you may even win the
stupid thing.” John laughed, “How about that Claude, when you’re the General
Manager, you going to re hire us all and give us better jobs?”
John’s laugh belied his feelings on the matter of the ‘Great Race,’ he was
frightened. Possibly more so than any of them there. At thirty nine he may have been the
youngest member of the group, but he had now worked for April Moon eighteen years.
He had been one of those lost souls as a youth; his father had deserted the family
when John was only two months old. John had been brought up by a mother who had a
problem with alcohol and men. After one particularly bad year, when John was
fourteen, she had been assaulted, and hospitalized. His mother had come out of her sick
bed and begged the man who put her there to take her back; that was too much even for
John and he was on his own from that moment on. John left shortly after.
 Unschooled, barely able to read, tending to overweight, with a faceful of red, pus
filled pimples he had found it impossible to find any type of regular employment. At the
age of twenty one he was in that limbo area many poor souls find themselves in—
drifting through life waiting for the moment when they can step off the world to end
their miserable existence.
One day while rummaging through a trash bin in the back of a small hardware
store he was approached by a man who offered to buy him a sandwich and would
throw in a five dollar bill if he would take all the material in the bin and lay it carefully
on the floor of the alleyway. It seemed that someone had misplaced a valuable wrench
and it was thought that it might have found its way to the trash. Now this was a job that
was made for young John Bagnow and he went through the garbage with relish. He was
actually getting paid to look through trash. He did the job so well, and found the
missing wrench to boot, that the man offered him a job helping one of the drivers deliver
hardware.
That man was Charles Sapper, and if ever a man was worshipped by another it
was Charles Sapper by John Bagnow. Now Mr. Sapper was dying, and John had been in
shock since hearing the news. He’d grown with the company and now headed the
delivery department, in full charge of thirty seven trucks and seventy four men.
Eighteen years of work it had taken to get to where he was. He had learned his work a
crumb at a time and it was the only thing he knew. Now they were threatening to take it
all away.
He stared at a coffee stain on the rug as he thought about his past life. Sighing he
lifted his head and meekly said, “I’m finished. I don’t know anything else. I’m a goner. I
don’t think I could finish the race if my life depended on it.” His fright filled gaze took
in his three friends, “I like my work. Why is Larry doing this? Why does he want to take
my job away? Jack, what am I gonna do? I don’t know how to do anything else.”
Jack Belson knew John’s history. He knew almost everyone in the company.
Employment records were his jurisdiction and as the comptroller of the company he
knew their pay scales as well. They would all have a problem finding equal
employment. In less than a year Claude wouldn’t need any other job, he was going to
retire anyway. His retirement wasn’t much but along with social security he’d be all
right.
Shirley’s voice broke through his reverie, “Jack, you know Charley better than
any of us, why don’t you call him to see if anything at all can be done?”
The group looked at him, maybe the old man could prevent this crazy thing from
happening. “I already did,” Jack said, “he’s out of it. Charley has changed, he didn’t
even want to talk about it. He says the place is Larry’s now and he couldn’t care less if
Larry wanted to blow it to hell and back. He doesn’t want anything to do with it.”
“But,” John pleaded, “doesn’t he know about us?”
“He knows,” Jack replied, “he just doesn’t care. He says that he has his own
problems. No, this one we are going to have to figure out for ourselves.”
The group spoke until the clock sang out eleven o’clock, time to go and nothing
had been resolved. It was one month until the big race.
 Jack found himself alone, but not sleepy after they had all gone. The problem
seemed irresolvable, not one of them wanted to race, they all wanted to stay on at the
company, and none of them wanted to change jobs. Shirley did want to work with
someone else, she would be miserable working as Larry’s secretary, but that could have
been resolved, there were many other executives in the company who would welcome
her skills.
‘Well,’ Jack thought, ‘what the hell, who’s going to know the difference in a
hundred years anyhow?’ He cleaned up the few cups and dishes, brushed his teeth, took
a shower and put on his pajamas. Sitting at the edge of the bed he looked up at the
corner of the ceiling. “Well Max, what could be done about this one? Are You going to
suggest something? Or better yet, are You going to do something? Do You do anything?
How about it Max, do You ever intervene?”
Jack shook his head slowly and answered himself, “No you don’t intervene. If
you wouldn’t intervene in a war you sure wouldn’t come into a little pissant company
like April Moon and change things around there. You’re going to let me do it. Well
that’s all right Max, but give me an idea of what I should do. Give me a suggestion.”
There was a horn stuck in the distance, growing fainter as the car drove around
the neighborhood. The driver was looking for a service station that was still open. Jack
heard water gurgling down a pipe somewhere in the building and a truck could be
heard gearing down on a nearby street. But other than that, the room was silent.

CHAPTER SIX

A thought brought him awake and alert. Why was Larry the way he was? His
father was so much the opposite. Shouldn’t the son be like the father? For that matter
why was anyone the way they were? Why wasn’t everyone just nice and easy to get
along with?
He looked at the ceiling, “Ah Max, if only you were really here, I’ll bet you could
answer that one for me. Why are we the way we are? What’s the real reason? How about
it Max, one more time, speak to me. Why are we the way we are?”
 The room was quiet, Jack waited for a moment not really expecting an answer. It
was quiet on the street as well. Sunday morning seven a.m. was the quietest part of the
day in his neighborhood. Suddenly there was a loud bark from one of the neighborhood
dogs. It was followed by an answering howl and soon the quiet was broken by a
cacophony of barking, whining, howling dogs. Jack laughed; “That’s your answer Max?
Barking dogs? What is this; punishment for my asking?”
Just then his phone rang, Jack picked it up to answer, wrong number. A nearby
church bell rang and at the third tone, the telephone jangled again; same party, wrong
number. Jack muttered as he put the phone back in its cradle, “So you’ve added bells.
Max is that supposed to be some kind of a message? Dogs and bells?”
The street was quiet again. The barking had ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
“What in the hell is going on here?” He questioned. Ever since the ‘hallucination,’ at the
beach and in his car Jack was looking for hidden meanings in everything. He picked up
the phone and dialed a number, after four rings he heard the quiet voice of his new
friend.
“Kenny, please forgive me for ringing you so early but I’ve got to know
something. Do dogs and phones, or bells and barking, or bells and dogs, mean anything
to you?”
There was a deep sigh on the other end of the line and Kenneth replied, “Jack its
not even eight o’clock, can you call back in a couple of hours?”
“I will, I will, but Ken, please, phones and barking. Mean anything to you?”
Silence. Then a groggy reply, “Bells and dogs Jack, bells and dogs.”
Jack got excited as he asked again, “Bells and dogs? That means something?
What; what does it mean?”
“Pavlov, Jack; Pavlov.”
“Pavlov? What’s that; some kind of a code?”
“Jack will you let me sleep, Pavlov is a man’s name, Ivan Pavlov, look him up in
the encyclopedia and I’ll talk to you later.” There was a click as Kenneth Grant hung up
on a confused Jack Belson.
“Pavlov,” he muttered under his breath, repeating the name so that he would not
forget it, “Pavlov.” He reached for a small, pocket set of encyclopedias he’d once
received for buying a lifetime subscription to a magazine that folded a year later and
browsing through the pages came to, (Pavlov, Ivan: a Russian physiologist who received
a Nobel prize in 1904 for Physiology or Medicine.) Best known for work on the
conditioned reflex. Working with dogs, Pavlov, regularly, over a period of time, rang a
bell just before feeding them. He got them to salivate at the instant the food was placed
in front of them. Pavlov found that after a while the dogs related the ringing of the bell
to the food and he was able to get the dogs to salivate on hearing the bell alone. They
had been conditioned to respond to the bell with salivation.
Slamming the pages of the book together he stared at the ceiling again and with
strong emphasis in his voice said, “Max, if that’s not a message I don’t know one.
Thanks.”
 He crawled back under the sheets and stared at the ceiling for a long, long time.
Conditioned reflex, now what was that? And what did a salivating dog have to do with
Larry Sapper? His head was whirling with questions, visual images, and the sound of
bells as he drifted off into a deep, dream filled sleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The next afternoon, Jack met Kenneth Grant at his apartment and was soon
sipping from a large cup of coffee as he asked his friend the question uppermost in his
mind. “What makes people the way they are Ken, and what does Pavlov and his dogs
have to do with it all?”
Kenneth was by the stove turning off the fire under his old fashioned percolator.
The bubbling ceased as he poured a steaming cup of the brew. He dashed in a spoon of
sugar, topped it off with a dollop of cream and smiled at his friend. “My only vice. A
friend in Kona sends me a pound of coffee every month. I love coffee the way it should
be brewed. Percolated, sugared, and only real cream to smooth out the bitterness.”
He sipped, swallowed and smiled before he spoke, “What makes people the way
they are? I can answer that with one word Jack. Programming.”
“Programming? What’s that?”
Kenneth was thoughtful for just a brief moment. “Ah, that is not so easy to
answer. Programming is your mother telling you not to go outside without a coat on a
chilly day or you’ll catch a cold for sure. It’s your teacher telling you if you don’t do
your homework you’ll grow up to be a dummy. It’s a parent spanking you and then
hugging you afterwards so that you associated pain with love. It’s your minister telling
you if you don’t do what’s right you’ll go to hell. Its society saying that if you sleep in
the wrong bed you’ll feel a guilt that can only be obviated by the confessional, or a
psychiatrist couch. And it’s a man ringing a bell at the same time he feeds you so that
you will connect food with the ringing of a bell.
“It’s associating one thing with another even though the two things are disparate
and unrelated. It’s making connections that may be illogical but when done under the
right circumstances are imbedded in the subconscious where they stay forever.”
Kenneth sipped the coffee; his eyes looked up as he thought of other things
associated with his ideas of programming. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully he continued.
“It’s an emaciated anorexic, looking at an eighty five pound body in a mirror
thinking she’s overweight because she associates food with being fat, and she associates
being fat with being unloved—or a two hundred and fifty pound lady believing its her
fate to be fat. Programming is what makes the shy, the extrovert, the patient, the
excitable, the pleasant and the obnoxious, the cheerful and the solemn, the happy and
the sad, the humorous and the dull.
“Programming is what makes one person courageous, another cowardly; it
causes rashness and caution, anxiety and fear. Programming is the root cause of taste,
and pride, humility, vanity and modesty. The arrogant, blustering, boasting, and
insolent have those attitudes due to programming. The sociable, reclusive, friendly,
forgiving, pitiless, benevolent and malevolent are that way because of programming.”
Kenneth stopped for a moment to once again gather his thoughts. He took a gulp
of coffee and walked over to the stove where the percolator was on a low, warming fire.
Pouring hot coffee into his cup he continued.
“In a way Jack, programming is a kind of hypnosis. We have all been hypnotized
into thinking we are what and who we think we are. Programming is hypnosis. What
the world does not realize is that everyone on this earth is a practicing hypnotist and we
hypnotize each other continually and constantly.
“When you called me this morning asking me about bells and dogs, bringing to
mind the Pavlov experiments you programmed me to start thinking about conditioned
reflexes and programming in general.”
Jack Belson held up his hand in protest. “But I didn’t mean to program you I
only asked you a question.”
Kenneth smiled as he said, “Virtually all programming is inadvertent. The few
people on this earth who do it consciously are the ones who own the world.”
“You mean there is such a thing as conscious programming. Making someone
else do what you want them to do?”
“Anytime that you are influenced by anything, or anybody, whether that
influence is caused by your environment, by your concepts, by people, or by your dog;
you’re programmed.
“A child is the most programmed person on earth, virtually everyone feels an
obligation to program a child. Why just to be in the presence of a child causes most
people to practically lick their chops in anticipation of being able to tell someone what to
do without fear of consequence. Innately we want to program everyone we meet. Our
own programming prevents most of us from doing that.
“The person who consciously programs another is light years ahead of the game.
So to answer your question, yes there is such a thing as programming others to make
them do what you want them to do. They don’t always respond, but just to attempt it is
to be successful. It’s like the man who would walk over to a woman he liked and ask if
she would go to bed with him. He got slapped a lot; but he wound up in a lot of beds as
well.”
The two men sat in silence for a while. Finally Jack spoke, “Could you teach me
to program other people? I mean is there anything to teach? Is there some kind of a
process for doing this or what?”
 “Yes I could teach you, but we’re a long way from that right now. First things
first. And the first thing you are going to learn is not how to program others but how
programmed you are. Jack it’s a whole lot more important to re program yourself than it
is to program someone else, so let’s work on that first.”
Jack smiled broadly, “I’m game. When do we start?”
Kenneth raised the cup to his lips slowly, eyes fixed on Jack. Finishing the coffee
he put the cup down and said softly, “Soon, very soon.”

The thought was disturbing. Did God want him to learn this stuff? He’d never
before thought about anything remotely like what he thought about now. He’d been
talking about programming and re programming, conditioning and associations, and
the more he thought about it the more confused he became. He was aware now that
programming was caused by virtually everything. It wasn’t much more than
suggestions made by people, institutions, or agencies such as the newspapers, television,
and various media. Programming caused a person to think in the manner that the
programmers wished.
Shaking his head in wonderment he asked his friend, “How does a person avoid
being programmed Ken? And can people program themselves? It would seem to me
that we’d all be a lot happier if we could pick our own goals and direction. I know we all
think we do, but your suggesting that all goals have been set by someone else’s
suggestion.”
“Control, Jack, that’s the secret, control; when you’re in control you have choices,
and that’s one of the secrets of happiness, choice. Past programming, and that includes
the subtle parental suggestions that get into the inner consciousness eliminates ones
control and reduces choice.”
Kenneth Grant continued, “Let me ask you something, why are you an
accountant?”
Jack Belson, at his ease on a comfortable chair, knew that there was more to the
question then met the ear. He thought about it for a while. His schooling, his mother,
the teachers that he had, all those things and more came to mind. He had always felt
comfortable with numbers, they never lied, they were always faithful. He had always
looked at numbers as part of his family. He allowed his mind to range over the years
with April Moon and his present situation. He would have felt silly telling Ken that
numbers were his friends. Finally he shrugged and said, “I guess because it’s the only
thing that I really know how to do well.”
Kenneth laughed, “Think about this for a minute Jack, there are about ten
thousand different things that people do in this world, do you mean to tell me that the
only thing that you can do well is work with figures?”
“Well,” Jack replied, “it’s what I was trained to do.”
“Yes, you were trained all right, just like Pavlov’s dog was trained. The dog
heard a bell and his mouth filled with saliva. You see a bunch of figures and
automatically reach for a pencil. The only thing that you know how to do when you see
a bunch of figures is to put them in some kind of order. The only thing the dog knew
how to do when he heard a bell ring was to salivate.”
“Well yes, but it wasn’t the only thing,” Jack responded quickly, “the dog could
still do all the things that he could have done before he was conditioned to salivate at the
bell.”
Grant looked at Jack Belson, a smile growing on his face. He sat there nodding
his head slowly up and down, saying nothing. Jack looked at him quizzically, finally
Kenneth said, “Jack, you can still do all the things that you knew before you learned
bookkeeping. I can probably think of a hundred things right now that you could do. Let
me give you some examples. Without knowing too much about your education or skills
there are some things that I know you can do, you may not want to do them but you
could if you had to. You could wash dishes, sweep floors, pick fruit, drive a truck, mow
lawns, wait on tables, park cars, be a clerk, you could probably get a job as a teller in a
bank, you live alone so you cook for yourself, you could get a job as a fry cook, or an
assistant in a diner. Right off the top of my head are more than ten things you could do
and I have no idea at all of your real skills.”
“But Ken, jobs like those don’t require a whole lot of skill. I wouldn’t want to do
any of them.”
“Why?”
“Well, I don’t know, it’s beneath me I guess, I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing
any of those things.”
“Why?”
“Don’t keep asking me why. I just wouldn’t, that’s all.”
“Let me tell you why Jack, it’s because you’ve been programmed to believe that
the only thing you can do is accounting work. You’ve been programmed by your
mother, the school system, life, and by yourself because after keeping the books for the
April Moon Plumbing Company for twenty six years you believe it’s the only thing that
you’re capable of doing.”
“It’s what I do best.” Jack insisted.
Kenneth laughed before he responded, “Yes of course it is, but what has that got
to do with it?
“Let me ask you something else Jack, do you think that you’re better than a fry
cook or a gardener?”
“What do you mean, better than.”
“I mean do you think that you’re above them class wise, or socially? You know
what I mean, do you believe that people who do those things are beneath you? Do you
think that they are inferior to you?”
Jack shrugged and looked at the floor for a moment before answering, “Well
Ken, I don’t really know; maybe I do, a little bit.”
“I think there’s a better way to answer that. Let’s say that you were at a social
gathering and you were introduced to a judge, or a senator, or the mayor of the city.
Would you feel that they were superior? That they were better than you?”
 Jack nodded his head, “Yes, I would. That one is easier to answer. Those people
are above me, they are better than I am.”
“Why?”
“You’re always asking why. What do you mean why? It’s obvious.”
“Not to me it isn’t. Tell me; why are they better than you?”
“They just are that’s all. They’re better educated, they have more knowledge,
they live better, they have more money, they do better things, they live a better life, they
are better.”
“Then you don’t feel equal to them.”
“No I don’t feel equal. Why should I? I’m not.”
Ken nodded in understanding, “Then you don’t feel equal to the gardener or the
dishwasher either.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“You think you’re better than them?”
“I am better than them, so of course I feel better than them. Don’t you?”
Ken rocked back and forth on his chair before he answered. “No, as a matter of
fact I don’t. I don’t feel better than, or above anyone. Nor do I feel less than or below
anyone. Why should a dishwasher be inferior to me just because he’s doing something
that I won’t do, or for that matter why should a judge be superior because he’s doing
something that I can’t do?
“All those people are different sure, they have different skills than I have but that
doesn’t make them better, that makes them different. I may be able to run faster than the
judge, or play the guitar when he can’t. He or she may be able to cook better, or dance
better, but whether that person is a senator or a fry cook, they are no more superior to
me than I am to them. We’re all human beings, and on that level, have always been, are,
and will always be, equal.”
“Well,” Jack replied, “I can see what you mean by that, I’m a human being and
so is the president of the United States, and the Queen of England, and by that measure
we are all equal.”
Jack tilted his head slightly as though seeking a thought, and continued, “So why
don’t I feel equal?”
“Programming Jack, programming. That is what we are going to have to work
on. Your past programming. All the experiences that you have had in the past have
provided a foundation for your present. What we are going to do is to strengthen that
foundation to allow you to choose the direction you wish to go.
“Right now Larry Sapper is in total control of you. He’s got you so mixed up you
probably aren’t sleeping at night, and neither are the rest of your little clique.”
Jack snorted cynically, “You’re right about that. How do I get control back?”
“First you’ve got to understand that the thing Larry has done was to remove
choice from you, that’s why you’re so messed up now. You believe that the only choice
you have in your life is to do your job, and that’s not the case at all. Having one choice is
the same as having no choice. You believe that your life will end if you lose your job, but
as a matter of fact it could mean a new beginning, a new life, a new Jack Belson.
 “That,” Kenneth continued, “is due to past programming, because past
programming has created the Jack Belson of today. But we’re going to change that. We
are going to create a new Jack Belson. To do that, we, or I should say you, are going to
change your past programming by changing your past.
Jack sat quietly listening as his friend told him of the necessity of seeing people
as human beings, and therefore equal. He thought of the fact that the more responses
you were capable of from the same individual stimulus, or the more choices you have
available to you from any single experience in your life, the happier you would be.
“Jack have you ever heard the expression, ‘As above, so below; as below, so
above?”
Jack nodded yes, he’d heard it somewhere, but he couldn’t for the moment recall
where. Without realizing the source he asked, “Isn’t that called the rule of
correspondence?”
Kenneth stared at his friend. His eyes grew into a slight squint. His head slowly
bobbed up and down. “Why, yes it is. Jack you surprise me. It’s the principle of
correspondence, but where in the world do you ever hear that? I thought you told me
you were unfamiliar with metaphysical concepts.”
Suddenly the words of Max floated to the surface of Jack Belson’s mind. Clearly
he heard the voice as it spoke of the rules of life. He heard once again the booming voice
in his mind and recalled the words, ‘Your mind is now as filled with past suggestions as
a pasture is filled with grass.’ More words flooded into his head, ‘You will be influenced
by these past suggestions.’
“I will be influenced by past suggestions.” Jack muttered.
“That’s what I’ve been saying Jack, but what about this business of
correspondence. Where did you hear about it? It’s not widely known.”
Jack Belson closed his eyes and raised his head slightly. A beatific look came over
his face and his entire being seemed to be smiling. Kenneth Grant stared, he’d seen that
posture and demeanor once before while undergoing Kriya training. He had happened
in on one of the adepts during meditation. He’d never forgotten that look. He did not
think man was capable of so profound a happiness that his entire being would glow.
Now, while in Jack’s presence, he felt that same peace.
Jack sat quietly and the room filled with his presence. Seated in his chair, he had
straightened himself and sat almost stiffly, feet firm on the floor, strong wide hands on
his thighs, and with that strange satisfied, wonderful look on his face he thought about
the time he spent speaking with Max. Kenneth was quiet. They sat in silence for a time.
Finally, Jack took a deep breath, and turned to his friend with a smile.
“I’m sorry Ken, what was it you asked me?”
“Never mind Jack. Where were you just now?”
“Oh, I was just thinking about an experience I had.”
He got up and walked into the kitchen. Pouring a cup of coffee for himself, he
asked his friend if he wanted one as well and soon both were sipping the hot brew.
There were no words spoken until Jack, still with that strange smile on his mouth said,
“You asked me where I heard the expression, ‘as above, so below; as below so above?’”
 Kenneth nodded, and Jack continued, “I had,” he stopped for a moment seeking
the right word, and decided to use the most general one he could think of, “an
experience. At first I thought it was a dream but now I’m not sure. Tell me something
Ken, do these rules mean anything to you. Mentalism, correspondence, polarity, motion,
rhythm, cause and effect and gender?”
Kenneth jumped up, spilling his coffee on to the floor. “Damn!” he exclaimed as
he ran to get a towel. Quickly wiping up the puddle of liquid he spoke a bit loudly,
almost yelling, “Damnit Jack, I thought you didn’t know anything about any of this.
Where did you hear about those principles? And by the way they are principles, Jack
they’re the seven absolutes. Principles, not rules. Besides its not possible for something
to be a rule and a principle, they’re either one or the other.
For the first time since their social acquaintance had begun Jack corrected his
friend, speaking softly, “No Ken, they are rules. Trust me; I have it from the highest
authority. And if you want proof that they are rules, you must then put a Thou Shall
abide by the Principle of Rhythm, and all the rest. Now you have both a rule, and a
principle.”
Kenneth thought about that for a moment and then slid onto a nearby chair. He
stared at Jack Belson. There seemed to be a sort of golden glow emanating from him;
almost like the shimmering waves of heat glowing off a hot sidewalk.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ken Grant had been a salesman in a small local hardware store after graduating
Los Angeles State College. It had taken a good deal of effort to put himself through
school; his parents, good folk but poor as the proverbial church mice, could not help him
financially at all. The extent of their helping the son they were so very proud of, and
who was way out there in that big city in California was to send packages of corn
fritters, and home smoked sausages; both of which he ate with relish. Chewing the
fritter, usually stale and hard as a nail by the time he received it, hearing it crunch
between his teeth brought back memories of the small house near Baton Rouge,
Louisiana where he was born and raised.
He was destined never to see his parents again as they left this world when a
storm had blown through the area catching them in their car. Kenneth’s father, his wife
sitting alongside him, speeding home to get out of the downpour as quickly as possible,
had swerved to avoid a rock on a small bridge just before the turnoff to the house. The
car had pitched into a creek turned into a maelstrom by the storm. The car fell into a
raging river. They never had a chance.
 Kenneth went back only once to settle things. After selling the house and the few
effects he found himself with a rather meager inheritance. Locking up the love and
respect for them both in his heart he determined to make himself into a success and
envisioned himself returning to Baton Rouge one day and buying one of the old
mansions, settling down with the lady of his dreams and raising a family. But it was not
to be.
Business was his major and although there was feminine companionship
available to him his naturally shy demeanor kept him apart. Right up to his twenty fifth
year he remained idealistic, visionary and virginal. Not that there weren’t opportunities,
Kenneth was a handsome lad, six foot two inches in height, sandy hair, and with his
smart, sharp features would have been considered handsome by anyone’s standards.
His student friends would often hint that it would take only a word on his part to have a
companion in bed on any evening he liked, but he would pretend not to notice the
double entente, nor even the direct statement. It was not that he was saving himself, but
rather that he felt there was some higher purpose to his life.
That all changed when he reached the age of twenty five. He was working as a
clerk in a hardware store, determined to learn from the ground up. That was the
business he had chosen as an ultimate career, feeling that he would rather be a large cog
in a small machine, than a small cog in a big one, when he met a woman who
overwhelmed him. Lizvy was her name, and at first that was the main attraction. It was
so unusual, and, it fit. She was a Lizvy. She moved with the sleek grace of a cat,
lithesome and sure of herself with the classic features of a Greek marble goddess. The
first time she glided into Harvey’s Hardware, Kenneth Grant could not keep his eyes off
her. By the time she actually walked over to him he was so smitten that his legs gave
way and he waited on her while seated on a stool behind the counter. The lump in his
throat formed by his urgent wanting had driven his voice up two octaves and his speech
broke a dozen times while waiting on her. For the first time in his life he spoke up to a
woman. The moment of humiliation that he felt in doing so was overridden by his desire
and he asked whether or not she would consider having a cup of coffee with him.
Lizvy was amused by the handsome bumpkin with the cajun accent and said yes.
The casual meeting grew into an affair so torrid that Kenneth was to be effected by it all
the rest of his life.
One day, Lizvy walked out of the apartment they were sharing and disappeared
without a word. Kenneth Grant went into a state of shock that lasted a full month.
His life changed while he was strolling along in a daze, day dreaming of Lizvy,
and relishing every moment of it as he went over the scene for the hundredth time. Not
paying attention to his surroundings he bumped into some people as they were walking
into a small temple. It was a store that was carpeted and painted white and gold, with a
large onion shaped dome over the roof. It was easier for him to enter than to push
through the mob and so he allowed himself to be swept inside with the crowd. He sat on
the floor with the rest of them, still thinking of Lizvy when a man came out, sat on a
velvet covered box and began to speak.
 Kenneth didn’t hear a thing except, what seemed like a background voice, for the
first half hour, and then words broke through his reverie. “Relationships,” he heard the
man say. “is simply a filling of needs.”
For the first time, Kenneth brought his attention to the man as he continued,
“When you have a need for something, whether that need is for experience, emotional
fulfillment, or a physical thing, you will have a fine relationship with whomsoever fills
that need.”
Kenneth thought of his need for Lizvy and the great relationship he had with her
when the need was being taken care of. It was so good a relationship he hardly thought
of anything else. It was the strongest need he had ever felt in his entire life and now, it
was not being filled and a relationship was non existent. At no time during their torrid
association however had he given one thought to the fact that she might have had needs
as well. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps the reason she left so abruptly was
that her needs were not being filled. Still another thought came to him that he had no
idea whatever what her needs were. He had assumed their needs were mutual. That
assumption had cost him Lizvy.
He listened in earnest now as the man continued, “A relationship is a connection
between two things. A carrot has a relationship with the earth it is growing in, the
relationship is so necessary and so strong that when you remove it, the carrot dies. The
strongest relationship of all is one that is life dependent. You have a wonderful
relationship with the air that you breathe, the food you eat, the water you drink, and the
place you sleep. To cut off any of those relationships, you die.
“If someone is filling one of your strongest needs, then you will have a mighty
relationship with that party. When however that strong need is not filled the
relationship deteriorates rapidly. At the other end of the scale examine a relationship
with a weak need. When that weak need is not filled it doesn’t add or detract from the
quality of the relationship; nor does it matter much when the need is being filled as it is
a weak relationship to begin with. This of course is proven out through the
understanding of the use of the great principle of polarity.”
Kenneth leaned over to an entranced listener beside him and whispered, “What’s
the principle of polarity?”
The person put a finger to his lips and whispered back, “Later.”
After the meeting there was coffee, tea, and crunch cookies to munch on while
animated discussions were taking place throughout the room. Kenneth learned more
about Hermesananda, the wise man who had just spoken. Kenneth joined the little
group and soon became a devotee learning many things about universal truths that were
formerly beyond his comprehension. Not the least of which were the seven mighty
principles. As a matter of fact these seven great principles which Jack Belson had just
rapidly reeled off, were the underpinnings of all knowledge. Kenneth had been a
member of the group for six years before he was initiated into the inner sanctum of
adepts with an aware knowledge of the seven principles. Then more years passed until
he was initiated into the society of master adepts. All the adepts were required to take
simple jobs during the day, practice the ‘adaptations’ and keep in touch with 6 other
adepts forming an octave of wisdom.
No wonder he was startled when he heard Jack spout them off so easily.
Looking at his friend quizzically he asked, “You heard about the principles from
the highest authority? Who?”
Jack smiled and shrugged, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
Jack pondered for a long moment and then the thought came to him; he had to
tell someone, sometime. Of all the people he knew, Kenneth Grant was the one person
most likely to accept it, if not to believe it. If Kenneth laughed he would never mention it
again, to anyone.
“O.K. my friend, here goes; but please don’t think that I’m crazy or that I
hallucinated the thing because if I did, then where did I get this knowledge from?
Kenneth sat quietly and motioned with his hand for Jack to continue.
“It started one day about a week ago. I was at the beach....” Jack told the story
simply and with no embellishments. How he called out for hours, the answer he got, the
incident in the car, everything. Kenneth listened entranced by the tale. He was amused
by the sobriquet, “Max,” but the look on Jack’s face, and his expression moments before
as he had obviously entered a state of expanded consciousness, was convincing evidence
that Jack Belson, at least, believed.
“The last thing that I remember Max saying was, ‘Remember.’ Kenneth, I do
remember, every word he spoke is in my mind like it was carved on my brain. And Ken,
he did say rules, not principles. For me, they will always be rules. But he didn’t explain
them, he said understanding would come as I grew.”
Jack rubbed his chin briefly, looked at his mentor with a raised eyebrow, and
said, “I was hoping you would explain them Ken.”

CHAPTER NINE

The April Moon Plumbing Company was silent. No scurrying material handlers
were about, nor were any bored truck drivers awaiting loads and paperwork. The yard
was deserted, as was the office building that housed the executive staff and their
assistants. It was five a. m., Thursday morning, only one light burned, brightening the
end of night in one small space outside the window. It was the former office of Charles
Sapper; the current abode of Larry Sapper, who was at present, occupied with papers
covering his desk.
Larry was staring at a map of the Boulevard parkway where the race was to be
held. He’d gotten permission from the city council to use the park like strip of land that
separated westbound traffic from eastbound. The strip was fifty feet wide and five short
blocks in length, exactly one quarter of a mile of parkway. There was a Japanese style
wooden step bridge recently built over each of the streets within the parkway creating
four bridges, giving the street a quaint, oriental look. The contestants would have to run
over each bridge twice, once to the halfway point and then turning back the other way
to finish at the starting point.
Larry pushed away the map and directed his attention to an architects rendering
of the bridges, which were identical in all their details. Looking up from his work he
muttered, “Damn it.” He yelled at the very top of his voice, in a tone just under a
scream, “Teeeper. Tepper, get your fat ass in here right now.”
There was no response and after a moment, once again, “Tepper, I said get in
here now.”
Still no response. Larry ran to the office door and flung it open with a yell,
“Tepper, I said......” He stopped in confusion; the outer office was dark, and empty.
“What the hell is going on here?” He asked loudly. “Where are all my people?”
Running back in his office he dialed his phone furiously. After six rings a sleepy
voice asked, “Who is it?”
“Alex, what the hell are you doing at home? Why aren’t you here?” He shouted
into the mouthpiece, “Where the fuck is everybody?”
“Boss? Is that you? What time is it? Holy smokes, hey boss, its five o’clock in the
morning. Are you in the office?”
He heard a confused voice reply, “Five o’clock? Five in the morning?” Alex
heard a click.
Larry Sapper, after slamming the phone into its cradle swept papers off his desk
with a curse. Then picking up the phone he dialed madly and when once again a
confused Alex answered he said through gritted teeth, mouthpiece tight against his lips,
“Alex, I need you. Get down here right now.” At that he again slammed the phone into
its cradle and walked down to the dark parking lot to wait for the man who he already
thought of as his second in command.
Alex Fredericks sat at the edge of his bed and sleepily shook his head to clear out
the fog. It didn’t help. Getting up he bumped into a wall before finding the light switch.
He stumbled into the bathroom threw cold water in his face and turned on the shower.
After a brief rinse, a quick shave, a quicker dressing, his brain still in neutral, he found
himself driving down the empty street to April Moon, six miles away. Peering through
the window of his auto and yawning he began to think rationally for the first time since
the phone woke him from a deep sleep. ‘What am I doing? That madman calls in the
middle of the night and here I am racing to him like a dog. He’s making me as crazy as
he is.’
 Alex had hitched his wagon to Larry’s star some time back and now was the time
to commit himself entirely or seek employment elsewhere. He wasn’t concerned about
finding work, good salesmen were always at a premium, but with April Moon there was
the possibility of top management, maybe even the presidency of the company. Mad or
not, Larry certainly made the company an exciting place to be. He would go along with
Larry Sapper at least until after the race. Then he’d see whether or not the rewards were
worth the hassles.
He arrived at the company just as dawn was pinking the eastern sky. Larry was
waiting for him and energetically swung open the gate saying, “It took you long
enough. Park your car and be quick about it.”
Alex was about to respond in kind but stopped himself thinking, ‘Ah well, in for
a penny in for a pound. But one of these days he’s going to push me a bit too far.’
Alex Fredericks never did rock many boats. When a high school chum who was a
heavy cigarette smoker in a school that frowned on the habit asked if he could keep a
carton in Alex’s locker because they were always searching his, Alex simply shrugged
his shoulders and said all right. And when the coach, who happened to wander by when
the locker was open, commented on the carton with a frown and a lecture, Alex just
stood by and took it, not saying that his locker was only a storage bin for friends—by
this time whoever had anything to hide would use Alex’s locker.
A girl friend had once asked him why he did all the things that he did for
everyone. Alex replied that he didn’t mind. ‘No,’ she had said, ‘but I mind. I don’t want
to be going out with the school shnook.’
‘What’s a shnook?’ He’d asked innocently.
‘A shnook is a doormat. That’s you, a doormat.’
‘Just because I like to do things for people?’
‘No,’ she had replied in an agitated manner, ‘I like to do things for people also;
but you let people walk all over you. You do things for people who don’t even like you.
Why only two weeks ago George Leonard, who incidentally despises you and everyone
knows it, wanted to borrow your car and you lent it to him. When he brought it back
with a dent in the fender you didn’t say one word to him.’
‘I can’t help it honey, I just want people to like me. I really don’t understand why
they all treat me like dirt.’
‘Alex, when you make a doormat out of yourself, it should not come as a surprise
when people wipe their feet on you.’
He was aware of his nature, he liked to please; the thought of protesting to Larry
Sapper never entered his mind. But when Larry laid out the maps and the bridge
drawing and told Alex his plan he came very close to a protest. He looked at Larry with
a hint of disgust and was about to tell him to take the race and the job and stick it when
Larry slapped him on the shoulder and said. “We are going to make a great team you
and me. A great team. You are going to win the race and be the president of April Moon.
I’ll be chairman of the board and the whole town will see the results of the strongest and
smartest running a company.
 Then, when Larry leaned over and whispered in Alex’s ear, although the entire
building contained only the two of them, all thought of protest left and he was suddenly
caught up in the mad excitement of his employer. “Alex, that’s only the beginning. We
are going to expand from coast to coast, and then Europe, the Orient,” he backed up a
bit to look his man right in the eyes as he said reverently, “And then China. China Alex,
the biggest market in the history of the world. Yes sir, we are going all the way.
He stopped for a moment and looked at the map of the city on his office wall and
snorted. “Look at that, my father built the company up to the biggest in the city and
thought he did good. Well I’m going to do better. I am going to make my father look like
a pip-squeak. I’m going to turn April Moon into the biggest company in the world. You
hear that?
“You are going to be the president of the world’s biggest company. We can do it
Alex, we can do it. But first things first, you got to win the race. I’m going to insure that
you win.” He slapped the papers on his desk with the back of his hand, and said with a
grim look on his face, “I’ve got a plan that’s going to take care of all that dead wood in
the place. Just a bit of hanky panky kiddo, just a bit. If it takes a little hanky panky to do
the job, well hanky panky it’ll be. Right Alex?”
Alex sighed, not having any idea what Larry was talking about, but fully
committed at this point slowly nodded his head up and down, “Right boss.”

CHAPTER TEN

Kenneth Grant, after hearing the story from the man he had considered his
student, was stupefied. His first impression was that of disbelief, and he asked in
amazement, “He said to call Him Max?”
Jack replied in kind, “He said to think of the name as a diminutive of Maximum.
It was quite an experience. Have you ever heard of anyone having a friendly
conversation like that before?”
Kenneth’s eyes widened, and he shook his head from side to side responding,
“No, I haven’t. Not quite like you describe. You actually heard his words? You heard his
voice?”
“I know it sounds crazy Ken,” Jack answered, “but I heard him as clearly as I
hear you now. No, I heard him clearer. When I think about it I can still hear him.”
“What does his voice sound like?” Kenneth asked. “Is it like a person speaking?
Is it a deep voice? Is it strong? Describe it to me.”
 Jack thought for a moment. “Well at first, he sounded like anyone. Like he was
just trying to catch my attention without scaring me. You know, like if you were to meet
a giant for the first time. The fellow would have to be easy with you or you might be
overwhelmed, even frightened by his presence. That’s what it was like, because when he
first spoke to me his voice was gentle, like a strong whisper but more so, and later on
when he spoke to me about the seven rules his voice went right through my body.
That’s the only way I can describe it. It was as though every cell of mine heard him. Try
to understand this, it was almost as though I was standing in the center of the voice, and
the sound of it was coming from every direction; from out of me to in, and in from me to
out. It was like I was in a vortex of his voice.
“Now when I think about it I believe that I would have gone into an ecstasy of
pleasure from the experience, but I honestly think that he kept me from doing that. As a
matter of fact it’s strange but I feel more like I was speaking to “Him,” now than I did
then. When I was actually talking to Him I didn’t think too much about it. It was just like
I was talking to an interesting stranger. It’s hard to believe now, that anyone could feel
like that knowing, or even thinking that he was speaking to the Almighty, but that’s
how it was at the time. Besides, I thought I was having a nervous breakdown.
“I don’t know how many other people have had God give them information in
that manner, but I can understand the prophets now. If they were commanded in that
way, they couldn’t do anything but act in the manner they did. I only wish that He had
commanded me to do something. I want with all my heart and my soul to do something
for Him. Ken, I couldn’t convey that feeling to you if I had a hundred years to do it. I
want to do something for Him so much that it hurts, but he didn’t ask me to do
anything.
“And love! Ken, when I think about Max now I know what love is. I love God
beyond my conception of love. I understand Spiritual love. It’s really beyond explaining
though. You will know when you have it. But it’s easy for me. I know. For me God is a
fact, I don’t need faith so don’t think my faith is strong. I don’t need faith because I
know! Thinking about Him now I could easily fall into a state of bliss. I could easily
submerge myself in Him, I almost think I know how. But I need more information first. I
don’t understand the rules yet and that’s one of the things he said for me to do.
“He said for me to remember the rules of the game. The seven principles, but he
didn’t explain them. He said that understanding would come as I grew, and that he
would be with me for a while. That much I can obey, I will understand.
“Ken I don’t care what you believe at this point, I believe that God spoke to me. I
feel, no that’s not right, I know, a love for God now that I could not even have dreamt of
before my experience. Maybe it’s just because I’m now sure that he exists, and that this
short span of years we spend on earth is not all there is. Maybe it’s because I feel myself
changing every day into a different, a better person. I don’t know.
“Incidentally, I also feel that you are the one to help me to grow.”
Kenneth Grant stood up. He walked to the front of the chair his friend was
sitting in saying, “I’m beginning to get the feeling that you should be teaching me my
friend. It’s not often that I get a chance to be with a person who has spoken with God. I
must say I am somewhat in awe of you at this moment.”
Jack Belson looked at his mentor and smiled, “Why Kenny Grant, you really
believe me.”
Ken nodded, “Yes, I believe you. I can’t imagine why Jack, but I do believe you.
It’s all I can do right now to keep from prostrating myself at your feet. Yes I believe. And
I also believe there has to be a reason for it all. God did not come and talk to you just
because you were yelling at some clouds. If you don’t mind Jack, our relationship is
going to change somewhat. I’ll teach you whatever I can and I will explain anything you
wish, at least to the extent of my knowledge. I very much want to spend as much time
with you as possible, every moment that I can for awhile.”
Kenneth stared blankly at his friend as though he was thinking of something
else, and then, squinting ever so slightly he asked, “Are you still going to participate in
that idiotic race?”
Jack nodded in affirmation, “Yes. The race was the instigating factor for the
entire episode. I feel that whatever is going to happen, the race is behind it, and
somehow I feel that I should be in it. I don’t understand whether I’m supposed to win,
or just run, but the race seems to be behind everything. I’m certain of that.
“Whatever this is all about, that race is going to be the cause of some great
event.”
Jack looked somberly at Kenneth and continued. “I don’t mean some ridiculous
little thing about me, or you, or any of the people at April Moon. I just know that this is
leading to something important. It’s a crazy feeling I know, but somehow I really feel as
if I’m to be some kind of catalyst. I have no idea whether I’m supposed to win or to lose
but one thing is certain, win or lose I’m going through with it.
“One of the rules is cause and effect. I feel more and more that the race is not the
effect of that nutball Larry Sapper’s crazy idea. I believe the race is to be the cause of
something big. What the final effect will be I don’t know. What I do know is, the race is
necessary as an instigator of that effect.”
“Did the voice give you any indication of what that effect will be.”
“No. But then again he wouldn’t, would he?”
Kenneth nodded thoughtfully. He could not quite understand the feeling that
Jack had about entering the race, but if intuition had anything to do with whatever his
friends actions were to be in the future, he would back him all the way. “Well Jack, if
you feel you should do it then I’ll help in any way that I can. When is the big day?”
“Exactly three weeks from today. Twenty one days to get ready, and Ken, I am
going to be ready. Tomorrow morning I start jogging. That’s going to be something. I
have a feeling this next twenty one days is going to be one tough time for me. I also have
a feeling that I’m supposed to be in the race, that Max wants me to run. And that my
friend, is going to make all the difference.”
“Tell you what,” Kenneth said, “I’m not the greatest athlete in the world but I do
jog. Would you like me to coach you?”
 “I don’t know what to say; you’re doing so much for me now. You want to coach
me to run as well?”
“Please Jack, I would rather instruct and teach you than anything in life I can
think of right now. I’m getting some interesting feelings also. I’m beginning to feel that
as soon as I take you to a plateau of knowledge, and I don’t know where that plateau is;
I think that at that point, I’ll be following you. Tough to explain, it’s as though I was
teaching a child basic arithmetic, with the full knowledge that the child would one day
turn out to be Albert Einstein. So please bear with me, accept what I have to give with
no applause, no gratitude, and no thank you’s. I must do this, just as you must do the
things of your nature.”
Jack thought for a moment and nodded in affirmation, “You’re right of course.
The more I think about it the more I realize how serious this is; it could be the most
serious matter on the planet right now. You know Ken, it’s almost like something has
been keeping me from the realization that I actually spoke with God. The profoundness
of that fact is just now beginning to sink in.”
Jack was thoughtful for a long time. His starting a jogging program was
certainly an effect of that cause. But it was only a branch. Suddenly Jack felt good about
the race. It had already caused many positive happenings. And here in front of him was
a new friend. But there had to be more, much more. He bowed his head and blanked his
mind; suddenly he lifted his eyes and said, “Ken, please don’t take this the wrong way,
but you are not the one.”
Jack looked deep into his friend and mentor’s eyes. He saw confusion. Jack put
his hand on Kenneth’s shoulder and repeated sadly, “You are not the one.”
Ken leaned forward anxiously, a crashing disappointment on his face, “I’m not?”
“No, no.” Jack replied, noting the curtain that had dragged his friends face
down, “I mean the race. I have this strong feeling that you are not to help me with my
jogging, or with any part of the race. Only that. I don’t know how I know it but I am
certain, so far as the run is concerned, you are not the one to help me.
“As far as my lessons go however, well let’s get on with them. How about the
reprogramming business? We never really finished with that. How do I reprogram
myself? You said something about changing the past. How in the world can you change
the past?
“One more thing Ken, it’s important for you to go over the seven rules with me.
Max was emphatic about that. I must become more aware of them.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call him Max, it sound’s disrespectful.”
“Think for a moment Ken, He only told me to do two things, one was to
remember, and the other was to call him Max.”
Ken stared at his friend for a long moment. Finally he nodded his head up and
down quickly and smiled, “Call him Max. One other thing, and please think about this
and if you’re not absolutely certain tell me.”
Kenneth looked into his friends eyes and asked seriously, “What should I call
Him?”
 “I am certain Ken. You are to refer to him as Max also; but only when we’re
together. Now then let’s get this reprogramming business over with so we can work on
at least one of the seven rules. What do you want me to do first?”
“Well, first of all I want to give you an example and the best way that can be
done is to set the thing up in this manner. You’re about to learn something about the
past. Can you think of an event that took place, oh say one year ago?”
“Sure lots of things.”
“Tell me about one of them.”
“Well I went to the beach to get some sun and a lifeguard pulled someone out of
the water.”
“Was anyone else with you?”
“No.”
“Think about something else Jack, something that happened when someone else
was with you.”
“Wait a minute, now that I stop to think about it. Shirley Tepper, and her sister
were there with me. Shirley wanted to take her sister for an outing. She asked me to
drive them. I took them to the beach when the incident took place.”
“Were you all together at the time?”
“Yes, we were all on the sand, watching the activity. It was pretty exciting.”
“Then you all saw the same thing?”
“Right.”
“Jack I want you to tell me exactly what happened.”
“OK, a woman swam out too far and screamed, the life guard jumped into the
water and put his arm around her neck and swam back with her and then he gave her
artificial respiration. An ambulance came and took her away.”
“O. K. Jack, now I would like you to call Mrs. Tepper and tell her you need to
know about it and have forgotten most of the incident and would she please go over it
for you?”
“What’s the idea Ken?”
“I’ll tell you after the call. Please make it.”
Jack telephoned Shirley Tepper. During a long conversation about the office
procedure the new chairman, and the race, he quizzed her about the incident the
previous year at the beach. After going over the scene three or four times, and many
questioning, ‘Are you sure’s?’ Jack hung up the phone and shook his head saying, “I
can’t believe it. It’s almost as though she had been somewhere else. Ken listen to what
she told me.
“She says that she remembers it clearly, a woman jumped in the water to save
her little boy and a lifeguard swam out and couldn’t find him and when they got back
she found him at her blanket and fainted. An ambulance came and took her away and
her husband and her little boy followed in their car.”
Jack shook his head in disbelief saying, “Now that’s not what happened at all.”
He stared at his mentor and asked, “What gives?”
 “What gives my friend,” Ken replied, “is that nothing ever really happens in the
absolute sense of the word. What happens is what you imagine is happening, what you
perceive as happening. Someone else, as you have just seen, at the same place may see
something entirely different. You both have your own perception about the same event.
You’re both correct.
“The point is that your perceptions about past events are entirely imaginary, and
are your own imaginary happenings. They are fantasy’s you have created and
embellished over a period of time.
“But something happened. There was a woman in the water, and a lifeguard,
and an ambulance. I guess there was a child as well although I don’t recall one.”
“Yes something happened; but what you think happened, and what Shirley
thought happened, never happened. It’s your awareness of the data that you received at
that particular time as it was sifted through your senses. Shirley Tepper’s sieve was and
is different than yours. What you both think happened never happened at all. You both
were aware of data about a particular event. That data, when pulled through your
senses was subjective material unique to you both. Everyone who was at that scene
perceived it in a different manner.
“Even you speaking with Max. You said yourself that what happened at the time
was that you had a somewhat casual conversation with God. Is that right?”
“Yes, at the time it was pretty casual.”
“And now?”
“Well, now I look at it as one of the most significant happenings of my life.”
Kenneth got up and started to pace back and forth as though the motion would
lend weight to his words as he said, “How do you think you’ll feel about the incident in
five years.”
“I don’t know. I imagine it will grow in my mind.”
“Jack, you know very well that it will grow. In five years that incident will be so
far removed from what actually happened that if you had a recording of it and listened
to it five years from today it would come as an incredible shock to you.
“You see Jack, as you grow, as you mature, your viewpoint matures as well. You
see things differently. When you keep your immature viewpoint on old perceptions the
programming of the past can have a negative effect on your present.”
Kenneth continued, “Because it is all imaginary.”
Jack Belson stopped his friend for a moment, “What do you mean imaginary?
The thing really happened.”
“Yes, but not the way you remember it as having happened. All you recall is
your perception of what happened. You only perceive what you imagine you perceive.
Therefore, everything in your past is imaginary. It only happened that way because you
believe it happened that way.”
Jack looked up, “The race is real enough.”
“To you it is yes. But even at that, do you believe that you will think about the
event in the same way a year from now as you do now? Even now, the race is one thing
to Larry Sapper, another thing to Shirley Tepper, something entirely different to myself
who is not involved with it, and even you have different thoughts about it. You have
just told me that the race lost its importance to you. Tell me frankly Jack, two days after
you heard about the race, when you were at the beach, and just before you spoke to
Max. How did you feel about the race?
“Don’t bother to answer,” Kenneth continued, “but think about your feelings on
the race right now. And answer honestly. Do your present feelings about the race have
any resemblance whatever to the way you felt about the race then? Let me put it another
manner; regarding your perceptions about the race, do you think about it today, the way
you thought about it a week ago?”
“No I don’t, not all. I begin to see what you mean. But what has that got to do
with reprogramming myself?”
“I wanted you to see first of all that everything that happened to you in the past,
or rather everything that you believe happened to you, is the direct result of what you
think happened to you, and your thoughts about all past events are yours alone. The
event was absolute, but you view events through the screen of your imagination. What
you think happened, never happened except as you have perceived it having happened.
“In effect, you have created a past for yourself that is not absolute, but your
perception of what was absolute. Due to this fact, that all your past is imaginary, we can
use the imagination to construct different thoughts of these past events and in effect,
change the past.”
“There’s a basic premise in the science of quantum physics that states, ‘When an
event is observed, it changes.’ Many a scientist has spent sleepless nights mulling over
that one. Actually it should also state ‘When an event is remembered it changes.’
“You see Jack, you observe events mentally as well as actually.”
Jack allowed the information he was getting from Kenneth to go through his
mind as he thought about it. After a while he asked, “But why would I want to change a
past event?”
“Ah,” Kenneth laughed, “the big question; why indeed? Well let’s see why.
Everything that you are is the result of some past event, or a past suggestion.
Everything. Your health, unless it’s genetic is a product of an association with an event
(and here we come into the esoteric as there are those who would say that even genetics,
which are a product of Karma, which is the product of an association with a past event,)
or a subconsciously accepted suggestion, as are your failures and your successes, your
friends, your home, your values, your fears, everything. If you are dissatisfied with any
of the things in your life and you want to change those things the best way to change the
thing is to change your perception of it. Sometimes that’s difficult. Especially when your
perception is telling you that the change is a lie.
“It’s difficult to see an oak tree as anything but an oak. You may talk yourself
into viewing it as an apple tree, you may make a suggestion to yourself so strong that
you will actually see an apple tree, even though everyone else will see an oak. But what
if you could reach back to the past, back to the acorn, and instead of planting the acorn,
you picked it up and threw it away, planting instead, an apple seed? Then, not only
would you see an apple tree, but every one else would as well.
 “What is there about your present life that bothers you Jack? Something that you
wish you could change?”
Jack stroked his chin as he thought, there were so many things, “Well, I’ve
always been kind of chubby. No, who am I kidding? I’ve always been fat. As long as I
can remember I’ve been fat. I was fat in college, and I was fat in high school. I remember
kids making fun of me because I was fat and I also always seemed to be munching on
something. If I could change anything in my life it would be that. All my life I’ve wanted
to look like Cary Grant, and more recently, Robert Redford.
Jack looked at his friend sadly, “But no reprogramming is going to change any of
that.”
Kenneth, comfortably sitting in an overstuffed armchair across from his friend
replied, “Let’s just wait and see. When you were in high school did you ever involve
yourself in any sports? Were you popular with girls? Did you date much?”
Jack laughed, “Popular? Man I was so shy I don’t think I would have asked a girl
out if you were to offer me a thousand dollar bill.”
“Why not?”
“I told you. I was fat, I was homely, and I had a personality like a stuffed bear.
Oh occasionally I played the clown and seemed to be somewhat social when I was
telling jokes or fooling around. I remember one incident in high school, I was so starved
for attention that I skipped a class and went to the cafeteria porch with a rope. I put the
rope under my arms to support me, and another one around my neck and hung it
around the rafters. It looked like I had hung myself, but I was really being supported by
the rope under my arms.
“When the lunch bell rang about two thousand students headed for the cafeteria
where I was swinging back and forth from this rope. I want to tell you I got into all
kinds of trouble after that, but I must say I got attention. I think if that didn’t work I
might have really hung myself. I must have been a little nuts at the time.
“Funny how things are coming back now. I remember Concha Lewis, who had
the same problem I had. Fat and ugly. But she was popular. She put out like crazy.
Everyone called her Hortense, with the accent on the first syllable if you know what I
mean. At the time I laughed and called her a whore just like everyone else. It wasn’t
until years later that I realized she was even more starved for attention than I was, and
who’s to say she was right or wrong in the way she went about getting it. At least she
dated a lot. But what a terrible price she paid.
“Anyway what has all that to do with anything?”
“Only this,” Kenneth replied, “fat kids who believe they’re different, don’t think
like kids who consider themselves normal. The normal ones don’t think about their
bodies at all except in a positive way. They relate to all things differently. So do skinny
kids for that matter.
“You see Jack, when you were a fat kid, you thought like a fat kid. You never
asked anyone to a dance, you were never chosen for anything, you were always nibbling
on something, you couldn’t run. You didn’t have the same experiences that the so called
normal kids have. You were programmed to think fat all your life.
 “Even now, take a Robert Redford type, being as that’s the model you chose. A
type like that would have no problem at your age walking up to woman at a social
gathering and speaking to her. How would you feel about doing that?”
Jack shrugged and replied, “Awkward.”
“Do you know why you would feel awkward?”
Jack shook his head in the negative as Kenneth answered his own question.
“Because you still think like that fat kid. You’ve been programmed all your life to
be that fat kid. Emotionally, you’re still the shy, resentful, lonely high school kid who
almost hung himself to get attention.”
“But I don’t need attention now Ken.”
“That’s because you’ve made adjustments. You’ve created substitutes. You feel
wanted and necessary in some areas of your life; your work for instance. But the fat kid
programming is still in place.
“Jack let me tell you something. If by some miracle I could turn you into a Robert
Redford, in six months or less you’d be a fat, homely Robert Redford because you
couldn’t cope with the world as a good looking thin person. You’ve had no experience
as a good looking confident male. Without the necessary experience there can be no
successful action, you need experience even though the experience is imaginary. You
aren’t able to interact with others as a Robert Redford. Not with programming that
causes you to believe that you’re a plain looking, unpopular, fat kid.
There was a deep sigh from Jack Belson. “Does that have anything to do with the
fact that I’m more comfortable around a Shirley Tepper than I am with a Linda Gale?”
“Who’s Linda Gale?” Asked Kenneth.
She works in the sales department. Real cute little number, late twenties, sharp
figure, and a face like an angel.”
“You’re not comfortable around her?”
“I never seem to know what to say. Something stupid usually comes out of my
mouth whenever I do talk to her about anything other than business.”
“Well Jack, I don’t want to oversimplify this thing, but yes, your fat kid
programming has a lot to do with it.
“But enough about past programming. Let’s talk about re programming. You’re
going to take that fat kid record that’s spinning around there in your head and change
it.”
“How do we do that?” Jack asked. “With a magic wand?”
Kenneth chuckled, “Even better, with the magic of reprocessing. We are going to
develop a process to reprogram your past. You see, everything in your past is unreal;
you make it real. All your history is imaginary. You are a product of your imagination
and so you are going to use your imagination to create a new history.”
“But Ken, won’t that be lying to myself? How can anyone lie to themselves?”
“You’re lying to yourself now Jack. All those things in the past never happened
the way you think they happened. What you are going to do is go back in time, mentally
of course, and experience the same general happening. You can’t experience the actual,
the absolute happening because you always see that through the screen of your
perceptions. You are going to go back and reprocess your perceptions.
“Tell me this Jack, are you more confident, more assertive now then you were
when you were in high school? Do you have more skills, are you more resourceful,
efficient, competent?”
“Sure. Isn’t everyone more competent in their forty’s then they were in their
teens?”
Kenneth nodded, “Yes. And you are going to create a new history for yourself by
taking your present resources back in time with you, through the creative use of your
imagination. This is how you are going to do it.”
Kenneth brought a pillow in from the bedroom and propped it behind Jack’s
back. “I want you to go to the Alpha state of meditation, when you’re there let me know.
You are about to create a new history for yourself; you might say this is going to be a
total reprogramming.”
“Can I speak when I’m in Alpha?”
“Of course you can. You can also listen because I’ll be directing you in the
reprogramming. So take a deep breath, and you know the rest.”
Jack did as instructed as was soon comfortably in Alpha. His head felt as though
he had on a tight hat, there was a pleasant floating feeling. “I’m there Ken.”
“Good. Now you are going to go back in time and imagine that you can talk to a
past self of yours. You have many past selves Jack. You have a past self who went to
grammar school. One that was in high school, one that was in college, one that got
married, that was divorced, that didn’t have a job, that worked for someone else. All
those selves were you, and yet they were each in their own way unique. Think about
any one of your past selves now.”

The room was quiet as Jack sat erect and relaxed, his hands comfortable on his
lap as his mind took him back, and further back, until he was at a high school dance, it
was the prom and he was sitting uncomfortable, by himself, watching everyone dance.
“Where are you Jack?” Kenneth asked inquiringly.
“I’m at a high school dance.”
“All right. Now sense that you can see yourself sitting, or standing around or
whatever you happen to be doing, walk over to your past self and tell him that you are a
future self and that his life will turn out all right, but that it could be a whole lot better.
“Tell him that you are going to help to change his reality. You know what
happened at that dance, it’s all in your memory banks. What you are going to do is to go
over the tapes. You’re going to change your memory bank. You’re confident. You’re
more mature. Most of all you’re in charge. You now have a completely different set of
resources that you are going to have your past self use.
“Do you see any girls?” Kenneth asked.
“Yes there are two, no three of them that I can sense.” said Jack, still in Alpha.
 “Good. Now have your past self use all your present resources, like your present
confidence, assertiveness, and authority, to walk up to one of them and ask her to dance.
You can also direct the girl, so you see Jack, you can’t really miss.”
Jack visualized his past self ask the girl to dance, he saw her smile and say yes,
he visualized them enjoying themselves dancing, having a cola drink, he saw them leave
the dance together. He took her home and saw her again, and then again, as the years
went by they grew together, he visualized them in an apartment, he visualized them
speaking to one another of philosophy and music, he saw them kiss and then make love,
he saw them wake up in the morning and have breakfast, him saw himself as a lover, he
saw himself eating light and healthy foods, he saw himself slim and athletic, he saw
himself popular, he saw himself aggressively going after a job, working and buying his
own shop, he saw the shop grow and himself as good looking and hard working, he saw
himself in the present as the head of the largest hardware firm in the country. And
then... he opened his eyes, looked at Kenneth Grant and said, “Whew, and wow. Ken,
that was fantastic, I just created a whole new past.
Ken jumped up excitedly, “Great that’s just what we wanted. Now whenever
you think back to anything in your past, use that as a basis for everything that you
perceive the past to be. From that root will spring a new memory of all your past actions,
and Jack if you pull it off you will never be the same again. You will be a new, fearless,
successful, confident Jack Belson.
“But we’re not through yet my friend. In a few minutes we’re going to do it one
more time, but with a difference. As the French are prone to say, ‘Viva la difference,’
because we’ve let a new you out of the closet. Now we have to make sure that the ‘new
you’ stays out.”
Jack grew excited, looking back now at the incident he could still see kind of an
overlap. On the one hand he remembered himself at that dance, alone and rejected; and
on the other he saw himself an active participant, happy and with many dance partners.
Which was real, which was false? According to Kenneth, neither actually happened and
so why not remember the one that would have a more beneficial effect? He would do it.
His attitude towards the event changed.
“What’s next?”
“Go back to that same dance, that’s the root of everything that we will be doing
from now on and we must now reinforce the positive energy.”
Jack used the Alpha process and soon was mentally back at the dance. With most
of his concentration at the dance, he asked in a quiet voice, “I’m there, what now?”
He heard Kenneth say, “Now we reinforce everything by enhancing as many of
your senses as we can. First of all go through the scene again, just as you did the first
time using all the tools of today as your resource. But before you do make the scene
brighter.”
“How do I do that?”
“Just will it Jack. Mentally say the word brighter and it will brighten.”
Ken heard Jack mutter something and then the words, “Son of a gun, it works,
everything is brighter.”
 “Good, now make the scene larger, in the same manner, make the scene crisp
and sharp, get a sense of the colors and then sharpen the color, make it three
dimensional. Is there music being played?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t too aware of it.”
“Be aware of it Jack. Make the music louder, make the sound crisper, get a sense
of the rhythm of the music, listen for the beat of the drum and the bass. Get a sense of
the temperature, how hot or cool is it?”
“It’s warm, and I’m dancing with a girl.”
“Good, feel her body pressing on yours, feel her hand in yours, get a sense of the
clothing you have on, of the floor beneath your feet, of your shoes. What does the place
smell like Jack? Get a sense of the odor of the place. Make the smell stronger. Take your
time Jack, you’re in control. Keep using your present knowledge and resources, and
change that high school self to the one you want.”
Jack sat in deep meditation for twenty five minutes as he cleansed his past self of
all the awkwardness, the fear of rejection, shyness, and all the negative qualities that he
did not want developed. When he decided he was finished and opened his eyes he
looked with growing excitement at his friend saying,
“That was great Ken. Do you really think that will have any effect on my present
life?”
“Do I think it? I absolutely know it! You will never be the same again. When you
do use those incidents as a resource, and those memories take, and they should, you will
have created a new Jack Belson.
“But we are still not finished my friend. At this time I want you to do two
things. First of all I want you to close your eyes and visualize the shy, fat kid you. The
one that was too shy to ask a girl to dance. Do you have that picture?”
Jack nodded, “Got it.”
“Now then,” Ken continued, “alongside that picture create a new picture; the one
of you with your present experience. The Robert Redford you.”
Jack, still with eyes closed and obviously enjoying following the instructions,
nodded once again. “O. K. I’ve got that too.”
“I want you to brighten the shy picture, give it sharp colors, make it three
dimensional. Then I want you to dim, and make the new you a dull black and white
picture.”
Jack’s eyebrows furrowed as he asked, “You mean the opposite don’t you Ken?”
“No, please just do as I say, brighten the one we are getting rid of and dim the
other one. You are going to exchange them.”
“All right, Ken if you say so.” After a minute, Jack once again said, “I got it.”
“Now I want you to make the shy picture large, and the new you picture very
small.”
Jack nodded, “O. K.”
“Very good. Now listen carefully Jack. I’m going to count from one to three, at
the count of three I’m going to say the word ‘reprocess.’ At that moment I want you to
switch the two pictures. Do you understand?”
 Jack once again nodded, “Right, you want me to exchange the bright, large,
colorful picture of the shy me, with the small, dim, black and white picture of the new
me.”
“That’s right. Ready?”
Jack nodded as Kenneth Grant counted, “One, two, three; reprocess.”
Jack switched the two pictures making his new, slim, assertive self the brighter of
the pair. Making the shy him so dim and small that it soon disappeared completely.
The strong visual image of himself happily dancing and being the most popular boy at
the dance remained. It was now a real memory.
Jack opened his eyes as Kenneth laughed, “That my friend, was your first life
cleansing experience. How did you like it?”
A smile appeared on Jack Belson’s face and he nodded vigorously, “I liked it. I
must admit it, that was something. I feel different already. I feel as though I could take
on the whole world. I feel...” Still smiling, but silent with his thanks as he looked into
the eyes of the man who had done so much for him Jack nodded, reached out for
Kenneth Grant’s hand, and solemnly shook it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Only three weeks until the ‘Great Race.’ Excitement was building in the Southern
California Hardware and Plumbing industry. Bets were made, pools drawn up, and the
younger staff members of April Moon Plumbing were getting excited, wondering who
the new executives would be. It looked as though Mark Sully was going to be the
general manager, although few believed that he could handle the company.
Sam the Syrian, a local bookie, developed a line on the participants, and had
worked out odds on every member of the group. Mark Sully was the definite favorite
with the odds on him set at one to five, which meant that for every five dollars you bet
you would get back six, the five you bet and the dollar you won. The odds would have
been even more lopsided had there been fewer people in the race. With sixty five of
them running there was always the outside chance someone would get hung up on one
of the four bridges. Alex Fredericks was second in the betting with odds on him set at
three to one. For every five dollars bet on Alex, should he win the race, the bettor would
get back twenty, the five he had bet and his fifteen dollar winnings.
Surprisingly the odds on sixty four year old jogger Claude Hoskins, even though
of a somewhat advanced age for a foot race, were seven to one, and there were a number
of backers placing bets on him. John Bagnow’s line was three hundred to one, and Jack
Belson, after Sam the Syrian received a report on his overweight condition and general
lack of exercise was set at five hundred to one. Shirley Tepper, although her starting
point was three quarters of the way heading back, had no odds set at all. Sam the Syrian
said that if she won, the race had to have been fixed and there would be no payoffs
anyway, so why set a figure?
People were hearing about the race all California and Nevada as well. In Las
Vegas, Mack Kimmel, the owner of Oromans, a legal betting establishment in the
glittering downtown section of the Nevada city heard about it through his brother-in-
law Jason Lynch, an attorney in Century City. One of Jason’s clients was the April Moon
Plumbing Company.
Jason called to tell his brother-in-law the news. “I tell you Mack, this is the
nuttiest thing I’ve ever heard of.” Mack Kimmel had asked his sister’s husband if he had
anything interesting going and got an earful.
“This guy is handed a company that’s generating a fortune in income and he’s
going to screw it all up with his crazy ideas. Listen to this one, he’s going to have sixty
five people run a race over a street course with half moon bridges. Get this brother, the
order in which they come in is the order in which they get to choose their jobs in the
company. How about that for a nut ball idea?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line until Jason said, “Mack, are
you still there?”
“I’m here. I’m thinking. Tell me about this race.”
After a twenty minute conversation, Jason was told to get as much information
about everyone who worked at April Moon, and fly out to Oromans with it the next day.
Mack Kimmel, was getting an idea.

Two days later, after going over all the information Jason had brought him, and
quizzing him on the size and scope of the company and the employees, Mack Kimmel
had his board of directors meet for a hurried conference. Business had been down for
eight months and he finally had a way to stimulate people’s interest in his betting
establishment. He put his idea before the group. Two hours later the decision was made.
They would set up a line on the race with realistic odds, make sure that everything was
run on the up and up, make up brochures with the vital statistics and picture of every
participant in the race, along with the mention of the prize of the desired job in the
company for the winners and runners up. They would then contact every one who had
ever visited Oromans in the past ten years and market the race like it was a major sports
event. Being as Oromans had a mailing list of some forty two thousand people, from all
over the United States, Canada, Europe and the Middle East it looked like a great way to
put Oromans on the map, and stimulate betting interest.
Everyone on the board loved the idea and Sam Addison of the A & C Ad
Agency, a local firm owned by one of the board members was called in to work out the
details, and to do it by the end of the day. Time was running out and they wanted all
the paperwork finished and ready for mailing in one week. Fourteen days was time
enough for the promotion every one agreed, but not a day more. Bully Rotter, a broad
mountain of a man who kept the peace in the establishment was sent to L. A. to check
out Larry Sapper and to make sure the race would be run with no hitches, and so the
excitement began to mount in Las Vegas as well

CHAPTER TWELVE

At the April Moon Plumbing Company, Larry Sapper was holding a meeting.
His office was filled with people. Jack Belson leaned towards Linda Gale and
commented, “I’m beginning to feel like a bit of meat stuffed into a sausage.” She smiled
in acknowledgment of the crowd of men and women standing body to body, shoulder
touching shoulder.
The first thing that Larry Sapper had done that morning was to personally see to
it that everyone in the company knew that he was holding an important meeting ‘right
now,’ and that everyone who valued their jobs had better be there or else. He had the
couch and all chairs and brik a brak removed from his office except for one chair which
he placed on his bare desk that had been pushed back to the wall. Now he sat on that
chair high above everyone and told them of his plans. He had a fixed smile on his face,
almost as though it had been painted on and frozen there. He looked at his employees,
his head turned to the left stopped as he stared for a moment with his head bobbing up
and down; then turning to the center of the group he stared at them, and once again that
strange up and down head movement, and then to the ones on the right side the same
bob of acknowledgment.
The room was totally silent and when Larry’s voice rang out a few of them were
momentarily startled. “Some of you think the race is dumb. Some of you even think I’m
dumb. Well you are going to find out differently. Today is April 30, and in exactly 20
days, on May 20, you’ll see just how smart I am, because on that day there’s going to be
a whole new team in this place. A strong team. A winning team.”
He looked about the room, the smile no longer on his face, leaning toward the
group he continued, “A loyal team.
“You all know the rules, they’ve been posted on the boards, and you got a copy
two weeks ago. Most of you have gone over to San Vicente Boulevard and checked out
the area. I don’t have to tell you about the bridges, you can see the problems you’ll have
there for yourselves.
 “It’s been suggested that we break up the group into two or three sections so that
people won’t be bumping into one another, I thought about that but we have almost
twenty yards before you come to the first bridge and by that time the field should have
thinned at the front, so I nixed that idea. Everybody starts at the same time, I had the
street measured and if we push everyone together, and I mean shoulder against
shoulder, you will all be at the same line at the gun. You better practice a rabbit take off
because if you don’t get a quick start you are going to have a mess of bodies to run
past.”
Larry turned his head around the group again, seeking to stare everyone down
with his growing sneer as he continued. “Someone outside the company asked me how
I can put a person who didn’t know anything about sales, to head up the sales
department just because that person was faster than anyone else. That dummy never
heard of Darwin I guess; everyone knows that if a person is fast he’s fast. If you’re fast
enough to win the spot as head of the sales department, then of course you are going to
be fast enough to pick up all you need to know about running it. I got my own theories
about running a company, and before long the whole world is going to know about the
‘Sapper Method.’
“Now then, before we break this up, are there any questions?”
Shirley Tepper, who by now felt that she had nothing to lose by speaking out
raised her hand and asked, “How could you take good jobs away from experienced
people who have been loyal to the company for so many years? Where is your
conscience Larry?”
Larry shook his head and sneered, “I would expect a question like that from you,
Tepper. So, you want to know about my conscience do you? Listen fatso, conscience was
invented by people like you to keep people like me at your level. It’s your word not
mine. Conscience doesn’t belong at my level, if I had one, I’d be like you. And I sure
don’t want any part of being like you.”
Shirley Tepper reddened and put a hand to her mouth as though she was going
to respond but wanted to hold back the words. She turned and sadly limped out of the
room. People pressed against one another to allow her a passage to the door.
Larry held out an arm and waved it around the group, “Any more questions?”
The room was quiet and he closed out the meeting with, “O. K. then lets all get
back to work. Alex, I’ll see you in your office, got a few things to go over with you.”

While Larry’s office was being put back in order he spoke quietly in the sales
manager’s office to his, ‘right arm,’ as he now called Alex Fredericks.
“First of all Alex, I want you to know that I’m taking care of any so called
‘miracles’ happening. I’ve spoken with Mark Sully and he tells me the same thing that
you did, he’s going to come in second just behind you. He better, if that son of a bitch
wins the race I’ll kill him myself.”
Alex Fredericks was poring over a detail of the bridge schematic, the bridges
were Japanese style and consisted of a series of steps to the top that flattened for ten feet,
and then the same series of steps carried a person down the bridge. Someone running
over the bridge would have to take the steps two and three at a time.
Larry pointed to the third, fourth, and fifth steps from the bottom saying, “These
are the magic steps Alex. Come with me I want to show you something.”
Guiding Alex to the woodshop storage shed Larry took out a key and the two
men entered and soon were looking at a small mockup of the bridges. “This thing cost
me a fortune but I had an idea and I wanted to see if it would work. Watch this.”
Taking a device that looked very much like a garage door opener out of his
pocket he grinned at Alex and pressed, saying, “Watch the steps.”
At first Alex didn’t see anything and then he noticed three of the steps turning
up to create a wall instead of a stair. Larry giggled like a five year old and said, “I love it.
Look at that Alex, anyone running up that is gonna expect his foot to land on a step, but
instead it’s gonna hit a wall.”
Larry giggled like a teen ager, “There’s gonna be bodies falling all over the
bridge.” Tittering with excitement he confided to his right hand man, “Alex, I can’t wait
to use this thing.”
Alex was dumbfounded, “But boss, everyone will see it.”
Larry yelled back, “No one will see shit.”
He leaned to whisper in Alex’s ear, “Keep your eye on the steps kiddo.”
Alex saw the steps resume their natural shape.
“You were looking at the steps,” Larry said, “and you didn’t see anything until I
called your attention to it. I guarantee you with fifty people scrambling over those steps
no one is going to see or suspect nothing. They’ll just think that someone tripped and
they all went down like dominoes. I’m gonna control the runners twice, once when
they’re on the way to half way, and once when they’re on the way back. I look at it as
great insurance. Well Alex, what do you think?”
The moment of truth. Alex knew what he thought. He thought at first that the
idea of the selection of the strongest, and the fastest was a natural selection that possibly,
if you were to stretch your credulity, had some merit, but the more he had to do with
Larry Sapper the more his own ethics and principles seem to fall until he hardly knew
what was right or wrong any more. One thing he was sure of however, this business of
designing a mechanism whose only function was to cause people to fall down and hurt
themselves so that they would fall behind in the race had to be wrong. But the more he
thought about his eventual position as president of the company, the more reluctant he
was to disagree with Larry Sapper. Every night for the past week he had thought about
the changes he would make as president, and how he would help to build the
organization into a world wide institution. He would give anything to achieve that
position. What the hell, he thought, so what if a few people do get hurt. They would heal
quickly enough.
“Well,” Larry repeated, irritated by Alex’s apparent reluctance to reply, “I asked
you a question.”
Alex sighed, turned to his employer and smiled, “I think it’s a great idea boss.
But how’s it going to work?”
 “Hah, I knew you’d like it kiddo,” he said even though Alex was some his senior
by some nine years, “you see, after you and Mark cross this spot,” he pointed to a
drawing he’d spread on the work table, indicating the third bridge, I’m going to slip the
three steps up, the next runners to hit the bridge are going to be dropping like bowling
pins. Soon as the first ones fall, back go the steps and no ones the wiser. Besides they’ll
all be so excited that they’ll be up and off running again like jackrabbits, but by that time
it’s going to be a two man race between you and Mark Sully, and we know how that’s
coming out don’t we?”
Alex stared at the drawing nodding his head as Larry continued, “Alex, don’t let
me down. You better take off like a rocket was up your ass. I want you to practice quick
starts for the next week you understand? I want you to take as much time as you think
you’ll need during the next three weeks and just run, but especially starts. Do a lot of
starts. You and Mark had damn well better hit the third bridge first or the whole plan
falls into the sewer, you understand?”
“I understand boss.” He replied, “I’ll be there first; my whole career depends on
it. I think my life depends on it, cause if I go through all this and don’t get the
presidency...” He looked at Larry who laughed, “Don’t worry my man, you got it. Who
else can I depend on besides you?”
Alex was cautious with his next words, he never knew how his employer would
react, at least not lately. “Larry, ah, Mark and I are pretty fast. I don’t really think you’re
going to need any gimmicks. We should win hands down.”
Larry’s eyes opened wide and his head pumped up and down in agreement, “I
know, I know; this is insurance kiddo, insurance; don’t worry so much, I know what I’m
doing. This is the best idea I’ve had yet.”
Alex sighed. He whispered the word he knew answered the question of why the
gimmick was necessary. “Oatmeal?”
And Larry stretched his lips over his teeth not showing them at all, looking very
much like a toothless Cheshire cat as he nodded gleefully in reply and responded in a
hoarse whisper, “Oatmeal.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
 Once again Jack Belson found himself on the strand, the long spit of sidewalk
that ran alongside the beach between Ocean Park and Venice. For the first time in
memory he was inspired to exercise. All night long he had dreamed of running, playing
tennis, volley ball and other vigorous games that he’d never before thought about. He
stood warming up, not knowing quite how, just stretching and jumping up and down at
the same spot that he recalled the voice speaking with him. He had been doing his warm
up stretches for a minute or two and was already breathing hard. “Boy if this works out,
I’ll be the most surprised guy in California, but I’ve got to try.”
Looking up to the sky he yelled, “See what you got me into Max? I’m going for it.
The big banana, the whole ball of wax, I’m in the race for real. Got any suggestions
now?”
Not expecting a response he turned and slowly trotted along the strand towards
a lifeguard station a hundred yards away, looking very much like a sack of potatoes
with legs, his body swaying from side to side. A caricature of a jogger. While still half
way to his goal, the pain in his knees and thighs and feet began and his trot deteriorated
into a fast loping walk.
Breathing hard he felt a strong breeze as a figure whizzed by. It was a pretty,
athletic woman dressed in a fashionable black, slick, skin tight, form fitting jogging
outfit with a broad orange stripe running down one side and each leg. The outfit was
very becoming to her slim figure. He wouldn’t have paid any attention but she stopped
about twenty feet in front of him and waited, hands on hips, until he caught up. Jack
stopped to ask if she wanted something but she spoke first. “Hey, I’ve been watching
you. You’re new to this jogging business, am I right?”
He admitted that he was not only new to jogging but that this was the first time
he had ever done it.
Taking a step towards him she leaned over to tighten her shoelace. Jack stood
still, hoping his breath would return to normal and that the pain in his side and calve
would go away. After a long moment, standing with hands hanging loosely at her sides,
she asked, “Mind if I make a few suggestions?”
Jack, breathing heavily, lifted his eyebrows and said, “What did you say?”
Still looking at him curiously, she repeated her question, “I just asked whether or
not you would mind if I made a few suggestions?”
Jack laughed as once again he recalled a mighty voice saying, ‘sometimes you
will be sure,’ he looked into the woman’s eyes after a brief amused glance at the sky,
“That’s what I call instant response.”
“I beg your pardon?” The lady said.
“Never mind, you wouldn’t understand. What’s the suggestion?”
“Well,” She started, “I wouldn’t normally do this because you might accuse me
of trying to drum up business.”
The pretty lady held out her hand, “I’m Maggie, Maggie Oliver, I own ‘Run For
Your Life,’ over there,”
 She pointed to a small shop along the walkway whose windows were filled with
the paraphernalia of the jogger.
Taking hold of her hand and shaking it loosely Jack introduced himself. “Jack.
Jack Belson.”
Maggie looked him over from feet to neck and smiled saying, “I must tell you
something Jack Belson, as long as I’ve been in the business I’ve never seen anyone jog in
a suit with a tie and dress shoes before.”
Jack noticed his reflection in a nearby store window, looked at the young woman
with her jogging outfit, special shoes and headband, then at himself and laughed, “I see
what you mean.”
His gaze shifted, he was staring at her reflection. She reminded him of someone,
but he couldn’t quite place who. Kind of a Meg Ryan, in her mid thirties, type. As he
stared at the reflection, Maggie, looking out towards the ocean, was taking long, deep,
breaths, stretching her arms and legs. She spoke without looking at him. “Take a short
walk with me, I’ll give you some pointers and show you a few things you might be
interested in.”
Jack smiled to himself, thinking, ‘I already see something I’m interested in.’
Ten minutes later, although her shop was not due to open for hours, Maggie
patiently explained a few of the pertinent points of jogging to an interested and eager
Jack Belson. Jack, in turn, told her about the race and why he needed to get into some
kind of condition whereby he would not make a complete fool of himself. She listened
intently to the details and then had him try on a pair of running shoes. After he was
comfortably laced up she offered to jog around the block with him. A few minutes into
the run, Maggie, looking sideways at Jack, said with a smile, “You weren’t fooling when
you said you’ve never done this before, were you?”
Jack shook his head, “First time.” He panted between breaths. A slight smile
broke through his heavy breathing. Finally after a deep breath, he calmed down a bit
saying, “But these shoes are amazing; I feel as though I’ve got a new pair of feet.”
“Look Jack,” Maggie said, “you’re as out of shape as anyone I’ve ever known,
and shoes or no shoes I don’t think you’re going to get into condition to run against
anyone in two weeks. In two months if you followed instructions, and worked every
day, maybe, but even then you’re not going to win any races. Why don’t you just do it
for the fun of the thing?”
Breathing harder, a stitch of pain forming in his side, Jack slowed and stopped,
saying “There are reasons. Would you mind if I ran a few mornings a week with you?”
He said, hand on his side, almost out of breath.
Maggie laughed, “Run? Jack I don’t think you’re going to ‘run’ for quite a while.
But it might be fun. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but yes, I’ll run with you, every
morning. You be here at six and we’ll be jogging partners.”
Back at the shop they talked for another hour about running, diet and exercise
until Jack took a look at his watch. and exclaimed, “Wow, it’s later then I thought.
Maggie, I’m sorry but I really have to go, can I come back this afternoon for more
instruction?”
 Maggie smiled, she had just sold the man seven hundred and fifty dollars worth
of clothes and equipment, “Jack you can come back anytime you want to. Tell you what,
if you don’t mind, you look to me like you might be good for a future testimonial.
Would it be all right if I take some pictures of you tomorrow morning?”
“What’s it going to be, before and after?”
“Something like that. I’ve got a feeling the after is going to wind up to be quite a
picture.”
A few minutes after Jack left, Maggie opened the door to the shop and watched
the receding figure. There was something about him. She could not yet put a finger on it
but he aroused something in her. Back in the shop she kept busy replacing the shoes
scattered about and generally straightening up. Her thoughts drifted back to the pudgy
man with the interesting smile. It was not something she did very often. Maggie did
attract men, she always had, but most seemed shallow and egotistical. She had, on more
than one occasion, insulted an arrogant male who seemed intent on getting her into bed
as though that was the only thought in his head, which more often than not it was. This
one was definitely different. By no measurement could he be called handsome, but
there was something about him. He was like a big teddy bear she wanted to hug. She
guessed him to be in his late forties. Not too much older than herself. Although she
could easily pass for a thirty-year-old, Maggie was a month shy of forty two. She
considered herself to be in the prime of life, and so she was.
She ran five miles every morning prior to opening the shop and every other day,
rain or shine, cold or warm, she swam out past the breakers and went for a thirty minute
swim. Maggie was in great shape, and looked it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Las Vegas; city of glittering lights. No one had ever counted the bulbs in use on
Fremont street but some nameless mathematician who endeavored to complete the task,
gave up after reaching four million with no end in sight, proclaiming that more energy
was used in lighting up the gambling casinos of Las Vegas for one year than was used in
all the hospitals of the world for the same period of time. His comparison apparently
had meaning only for himself as he remained an obscure tender of figures. But his point
was drawn, the popular gambling town was bright with light.
 At the edge of this paradise of glitter and color was Oromans betting
establishment. Not as well defined with light bulbs as the nearby casinos but difficult to
pass without some comment. The front of the betting parlor had been painted with a
collage of sports scenes. On the left side was a mural of horses galloping to the right
towards the finish line in the center of the structure. On the right a batter had just struck
a pitched baseball and was on his way towards first base. In the center a football was
being kicked straight on for a field goal, the goal posts outlining the front door of
Oromans. With everything outlined by tiny colored light bulbs the effect was
spectacular..
Inside the building were tables and chairs, all occupied by bettors with racing
forms, tabloid sheets, and tout messages about much of the gambling that was taking
place in the other states that day. Excitement hung over the vast room like a thin cloak of
haze. Behind a long counter stood banks of men and women taking the wagers being
placed.
In a sumptuous office at the rear of the building, Mack Kimmel was holding a
meeting with Jason Lynch his attorney, Bully Rotter his muscle, and Sam Addison,
associate and owner of the agency that would market his new idea.
Mack was flipping through the papers on his desk that contained the information
he’d asked for regarding the April Moon Plumbing Company. Also there were the
brochures and tout sheets that Sam Addison had his art department make up for the
marketing program.
“This is a real bitch.” Exclaimed Mack as he leafed through the brochure. “I love
it. Look at this Jase, he’s got the stats on everyone in the company.”
The four men pored over the brochure, occasionally one would laugh as they
came to a particular tidbit of information. “Looky here,” Bully croaked, laughing so hard
he threatened to upset the table, “this old broad weighs two eighty five, she’s five feet
four, and she...” Unable to contain himself, he jerked up and down with the laughter.
Finally coughing crazily and pounding the table, he screamed out, “…And she, limps.”
All joined with Bully’s contagious laughter.
“Hey chief, you’re setting the odds, what are you giving on that one, two million
to one?” They all cracked up again, until finally the laughing jag was over and Mack
said,
“Take it easy guys. That one is a problem. The honcho of the company,” Mack
looked over at Jason for help, “what’s his name again Jase?”
“Sapper, Larry Sapper.”
“Yeah, right chief,” interjected the big man who got his name in grammar school
when he would earn a nice living by taking lunch money from his friends in exchange
for not attacking them. “That’s the jerk I told you about. Not to worry, I’m set to handle
him tomorrow, he’ll be happy to let us in on the action.”
“Larry Sapper, right. Anyway fellows, this guy has let out a line with Sam
Stygine, crazy odds on some geezer named Jack Belson, but he didn’t have anything on
the old broad. We got to set up some action on her too, maybe we can set up a handicap
or something. Yeah, that’s a thought we’ll give her a head start and maybe even let her
go around the bridges, that way we can get bets down on the whole crew, but we can’t
go any higher than five hundred to one and even that’s nuts, what if there’s an
earthquake and the ground swallows everyone up except these two? I don’t lay more
than five hundred to one that the earth is going to stop spinning. Tell you what boys
let’s cut the odds on Belson to twenty to one and Tepper gets the five hundred to one
shot.
Bully laughed, “Hey boss at five hundred to one I might take a C note myself.
That’s fifty grand. I could retire.” He giggled thinking a thought and then said, “I don’t
think she could win if I jabbed her in the ass with a needle full of sparkle. Hey guys,
could you just see this broad, full of juice, hobbling down the street about two hundred
miles an hour?”
The thought of the woman, leaping and limping like a three legged race horse
coming around the backstretch, plowing up the ground with her gimpy foot as though
her life depended on winning, convulsed them all until Mack yelled at them to stop wise
cracking and to get serious as they were there to discuss the marketing strategy for the
race that was going to make Oromans the talk of Las Vegas.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Larry Sapper explained, to his father, his ideas of the new generation of
executives that would soon be in place at the company. Not that Larry was seeking
approval, he just wanted to brag about the unexpected side effect his idea was having on
the business.
“I tell you pop, this is the greatest scheme anyone ever thought up in the history
of advertising. I told you I was a genius and you always laughed at me. You should a
given me more control years ago.”
“Years ago,” His father repeated, sounding as though he had swallowed a
handful of gravel, “you were still a punk kid wet behind the ears. I still think the race is
a harebrained idea. Just because everyone knows about it doesn’t mean they are going to
deal with you.”
Larry sneered at his father, “Oh yeah, that shows how much you know. Our
business is already up thirty percent; and in two weeks. How about that for a
harebrained idea?”
 Charley Sapper sighed, he was in pain and felt years older with every day that
passed. Maybe his son was right. What the hell, he didn’t know or care anymore. He
didn’t give a damn whether the business sank or tripled in size. Totally out of the realm
of his son’s thinking, he couldn’t bring himself to give the boy credit for the increase in
business. He finally waved his son out of the room, too tired to speak any longer, he
threw a pain pill in his mouth and downed it with a quick swallow from a nearby carafe
of water.
‘At one time, how long ago? Perhaps two months, how I’ve changed in eight
weeks’,’ the thought caused a shiver to go through his emaciated body. Two months ago
he would have been thrilled by the activity, by the increase in business, by the
excitement. But who was he kidding? Before he heard the news from his doctor if Larry
would have come to him with his ‘idea,’ he would have sent him packing to the nearest
funny farm. Even now when he thought of his staff running for their jobs he shuddered.
What a world. Every year it gets wackier, maybe it’s time to leave.
Drowsier and drowsier, he thought of his little boy running to him, so long ago..
so very long ago. He remembered yelling at the boy not to bother him, he was busy, so
busy... he was always so... bus.... Until finally, blessed sleep and relief from the pain for
another few hours.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The clanging of the clock alarm woke Jack from a deep sleep. He’d been having a
pleasant dream about ladies and running and clouds. When his eyes opened the images
slipped away, as dreams are prone to do. He rubbed his face with dry palms and
yawned. Another day. Another shower, another trip to the toilet, another three meals,
another eight hours at his desk, another drive to and from April Moon, another long
evening with a book or television.
But it wasn’t just another day.
This morning there was Maggie Oliver. He lay in bed thinking how much his life
had changed during the past few weeks. Had it been only weeks? Yes. And Maggie
would be waiting for him in Ocean Park. The thought sent a surge of energy through his
body. He jumped out of bed and after a quick shave and shower tore the tags off his new
outfit and stood admiring himself in the mirror. He thought that if he didn’t run like a
jogger he sure did look like one. He felt like one as well, with the fresh new smell of the
suit and the soft cottony feel of the material, he was ready for whatever came along that
day and was soon on his way to the shop called ‘Run for Your Life.’
Maggie was waiting. Her back was to him. She was leaning on a low rail with
one foot extended straight out in a joggers stretch, and was engaged in pulling her
shoulders towards her toes, first towards the left leg and then the right. Jack stood back
and admired her routine. His eyes feasted on her, as she exercised and stretched.
Thoughts came to his mind but he cut them off before they broke through the surface.
He respected, appreciated, and enjoyed her. He did not want anything of a sexual nature
to interfere with any of that. Besides, what would she think, a beautiful lady like her,
about him, the creature from the black lagoon? But then his thoughts changed. That
black lagoon creature was dimmed and diminished. He switched to a picture of Robert
Redford smiling, the figure slipped over his own body and then he was smiling. His
visualization was that of a confident, handsome Jack Belson. He shook his head briefly
and once again brought his attention to the lady in black with orange stripes.
Now she was doing deep knee bends and each squat brought out the line of her
buttocks, clear and sharp, delineating every gluttonous curve. He stared at the pert
derriere and it seemed to grow as the material tightly covering her backside stretched
seemingly beyond the point of tearing each time she brought her body down to her feet
and then back again. Finally he coughed, consciously brought a smile to his lips and
called out, “Good morning Maggie.”
She turned and returned the smile. running her gaze from his neck to his toes
and then slowly back up again resting at his eyes, taking in the new outfit and bringing
a slight blush to his cheeks as her smile broadened, “Well,” she said, “now you look like
a jogger. Had breakfast yet?”
His head shook as he indicated the negative, “No, er. I, ah, haven’t.” His voice
cracked and faltered as he spoke.
“Good,” she continued, “let’s walk a hundred and jog a hundred for now. That
should loosen the muscles a bit.”
Soon they were walking briskly along the strand, the sea breeze bringing the
good smell of the ocean to their nostrils. The crashing sound of the waves breaking
along the nearby shore provided a pleasant background to their workout.
As they walked and slowly jogged together. Jack’s thoughts went over much of
what he had learned the past week; for learning, it seemed, was all he had been doing
lately. The rule of Correspondence came to him and he thought of the axiom, as above,
so below; as below, so above. How did this apply to his present situation? He felt as
though he had been sleeping all his life and had recently awakened. As it is with the
dreaming sleeper, so it is with the routine of life which had become almost dreamlike in
his living of it. He had discovered that another being was hidden deep within himself.
He was awakening. But what was the dream? He remembered something that a Chinese
friend confounded him with years before; ‘I dreamed I was a butterfly; or am I a
butterfly dreaming that I am a man?’
‘What about me?’ He thought, ’There was a fat, homely, shy man dreaming he
was a hero. Or was there a hero dreaming he was a fat, homely, shy man?’ Which was
which? Did it really matter? Not if he took the action to prove that he was heroic, for the
promise lies within the action. Now is the moment; and now is here. Everything is
change, for without change there could be no growth, and without change there was no
time, without change there was nothing.
His thoughts produced thoughts which produced other thoughts. Jack Belson,
like a caterpillar metamorphosing into a soaring, giant moth who had become estranged
to the ground from whence it sprung, felt as though he were breaking off the chrysalis
that entrapped him. Slowly jogging alongside the velvet lady he could feel his mind as it
expanded with the new freedom his seeking had produced and he was glad of it. His
body would not be quite so easy to control as was his mind but obey it would, for he
had the desire to make it so. As he breathed in the strengthening sea air he felt the
energy enter every cell of his body. The pain he felt as his muscles protested the
unfamiliar tensions, pressures, stretching, and contracting work that they had been
called on to do, was as nothing. He knew that the pain would lead him to the top of the
mountain, and what lay there no one could tell, but for him it would only be a plateau to
conquer for there would always be another peak, and then another and still yet another.
Maggie stole a glance at her running partner and saw a face determined to keep
up no matter the cost. She thought this man different from any of the people who came
into her shop. For a first time jogger, unusual, to say the least. There was something
about him that struck a responsive cord and she wondered as to his age and marital
status. Did he have a family? If not, why not? He was not the most attractive man she
knew; not by a mile but she felt strongly attracted to him. Strange, as she had always
gone for younger men in the past. She would have to examine this situation a little more
closely and made up her mind then and there to get to know more about the jogger
beside her who was huffing and puffing his way along the shore in what seemed to be a
tortuous circuit for him.
By the time they made the quarter of a mile trip around the strand Jack felt as
though the burning in his ribs was going to finish him. He walked back and forth, hand
on his side, breathing like a winded horse as Maggie opened the shop door saying with
a laugh, “In about two weeks, you’ll do what we just did and be raring for more.”
He smiled back at her and replied, “Maybe so, but ‘raring for more?’ that I would
doubt very much.” Jack’s face screwed up and he massaged his calves asking, “How
long does it take before the pain goes away?”
Once again she laughed and standing in the doorway motioned him in with a
toss of her head saying, “The pain never goes away, it only moves around.”
Jack sat on a section of chair attached to three other chairs. He nodded
knowingly, as that was what he would have expected. Slowly his breath came back to
normal while he fanned himself with a box lid. He was sitting in the shoe section, feet up
on the little bench. Maggie was in the back of the shop changing into her working
joggers suit. After a few minutes he called out, “How about breakfast Maggie? I’ve got
an hour and a half before I have to be at work.”
“Sure thing,” was the reply. “By the way, what is your work? I mean what do
you do?”
 When he replied that he was an accountant, she got very interested, took his arm,
walked out of the shop with him and said after locking up, “An accountant huh, just the
guy I need to talk to. My business is good but I sometimes don’t know whether I’m
coming or going. I honestly do not have any idea whether the shop is making money or
losing it.” She looked at him with eyes that pierced like a laser, running a sweet chill
along his spine that he had not felt for twenty years. Was Jack happy at that moment?
Ask rather is a mother happy at finding a lost child; Jack was ecstatic and barely heard
her ask, “Do you think you can help me?”
She brushed against him, not realizing they were touching. But Jack knew. The
touch was electric, both stimulating and weakening at the same time. His heart began to
pound and a lump formed in his throat so that he could barely speak, but speak he did,
saying in reply, “Yes. I could help you.”
Wanting to be near her more than anything in the world he wanted to say, ‘Yes,
yes, yes. Morning, noon, and evening. Forever and ever.’ But the words that came out to
his immediate horror were, “But I’m so involved in my work and this thing that’s going
on at the office I don’t know when.”
“We’eell,” she said, hanging on to his coat with Jack feeling her grip at his biceps,
“you know we could,” She stopped for the flicker of an eye, but a flicker that promised
more than the words conveyed, and continued, “go to my place in the evening; and you
could kind of go over a few things with me then.”
Jack heard the words but they had not quite sunk in before he heard himself say,
“I have an appointment tonight, but how about tomorrow night? I could be there then.”
As soon as he spoke he wished that he had the confidence to say that he would skip the
appointment. He would cancel the world to be with her that evening but it was not to
be. He wasn’t a star struck teen-ager, brimming with energy and juice. Not any more.
He wondered briefly if he ever had been. For the moment he had forgotten to enhance
his new image of confidence.
She stood up tall next to him and dropped her hand down to his wrist, and with
a long stridden walk that Jack had to match step for step or kill himself trying, and a toss
of her head said, “Wonderful. Tomorrow night at eight then. But right now, let’s have
some breakfast. My favorite place is only a block away.”
He was happy. For reasons she couldn’t begin to understand, so was she.

There was a small coffee shop in Ocean Park that abutted the sand. It stood all by
itself, a testament to the past glories of the beach community, for all its brothers had long
since been torn down to make way for more profitable ventures. It was a favorite of the
locals and as each passing season brought more tourists to the place it was with a sense
of relief when none of them were found inside. But since most of the locals owed their
living to these same tourists; they complained in a somewhat halfhearted manner. This
morning however, at that early hour, there were only three other customers and Maggie
led Jack to one of the window seats that faced the ocean and were so preferred by
everyone. After a friendly hello and greeting to the patrons and owner, Jack found
himself staring once again into the hazel green eyes of Maggie Oliver, this time from
across a table.
They spoke of jogging, and then of Jack and his company, and of Maggie and her
shop, and of the ocean and the restaurant they were in, and of the beach itself. Jack
realized that he was having a conversation. Just a conversation. Nothing earth
shattering, not a learning experience, not even business oriented. He could not
remember ever having enjoyed just talking as much as he was enjoying it now. When he
was with Kenneth it was primarily questions. Now he was talking and listening, but it
was different. He loved it. At the moment he loved everything for he was encased in a
cloud of loving energies, and his viewpoint towards the beautiful lady across from him
was of such a positive nature that it affected his perception of all things.
Jack always had an appetite at breakfast time and was surprised when Maggie
brought his attention to the fact that he had not touched the scrambled eggs he had
ordered. But he couldn’t eat a bite, his only appetite was for her. For her words, her
look, for the heady aroma that surrounded her, for her touch. He had an appetite all
right, and according to the sensations he was getting in his stomach, a strong one, but
eggs and toast were not the things he needed. Not that morning.

Later that day, at the April Moon Plumbing Company, Jack met with Claude
Hoskins, John Bagnow and Shirley Tepper. It was lunch time, they had taken a corner
table away from the main body of the patrons of the restaurant. They were discussing
the problem of seeking employment. With the exception of Claude, they had all had
decided to leave the company after the race. Shirley and John had already put out
feelers to other companies and much to the surprise of them both, they were known and
had received a favorable response. John was the first to speak, “I couldn’t believe it. I
called up the employment manager of Central Supply and he spoke to me as though I
was a brother. Do you know he knows all about me? As a matter of fact, he knows all
about all of us. I mean everyone in the company. It seems that there are brochures on the
race and in it is everything there is to know about us. Our positions in the company,
how long we’ve been there. Our weight, habits, how good we are at our jobs. Whether
we jog or have ever run before. They even have odds on my winning the race.”
The friends all spoke at the same time each adding to the information that John
had gotten, until Claude asked, “Well, did you get the job?”
“He said that after the race, if I were to call him, he would find a spot for me. He
also said that I may not be managing their delivery department but that he would
guarantee me at least as much as I’m making now. I mean that takes pressure off me like
you can’t believe. I actually got the promise of a job.” Turning to Jack he asked, “How
about you Jack? You get lined up yet? If you haven’t there’s no problem. Every outfit in
the city will make a spot for us. It seems that we’re getting famous.”
Jack shook his head violently, “No. And just because we can all find jobs doesn’t
make it right. This race stinks. The whole idea stinks, and making it into a circus doesn’t
make it any better.”
 They all sadly nodded in affirmation when suddenly Claude banged his hand
down on the table, “Dammit, I’ve got a good mind not to show up for the race. That
would teach them all. How about if no one showed up for the thing, what would that do
for their fancy odds?”
Shirley Tepper came to life, finally interested in the conversation. “Now there is
an idea I like. Can you picture me running? Claude if you don’t show up neither will I.”
Claude Hoskins calmed himself quickly, “Who am I kidding? With six months
to go for my pension, I can’t afford to quit. But I think you’re all forgetting something.
What about all the time you put in for your retirement. You know if you don’t show up
you lose your jobs and there goes the pension, right out of the window. No, I suggest we
all do our best and whatever comes, will come.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” said Shirley, “you’re a jogger. You may even win
the race.”
Claude shook his head, “No one is going to beat Mark Sully, I’ve jogged with
him, and he’s fast. Mark is our next general manager. Next to him is going to be Alex
Fredericks. No one in the company is capable of getting in front of either one of them.
There are a few drivers who could do it, but of course the union help isn’t involved so
that’s that.”
Back they went to lunch. Each lost in their own thoughts, with only Shirley
Tepper heavily concerned about losing her pension, and being able to find another job.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Larry Sapper didn’t show up at the company that day. Bully Rotter had
frightened him so badly the day before that he was afraid to go anywhere near the place.
The big man had come into his office, closed the door and said that he was the
representative of a syndicate that would like to sponsor the race with uniforms, shoes
and the like. He spoke slowly to Larry telling him that they would like to build
bleachers, sell tickets and handle all the merchandising. They would not interfere with
the race itself but would help to build it up.
Larry shuddered as he thought of his telling the big man to get the hell out of his
office and what happened next. Before he could catch his breath Bully had dashed
around the desk, picked Larry up like a child and smashed him right through the
window, spewing glass all over the empty parking lot. Larry found himself being
shaken upside down, held on to by the ham like fist of Bully Rotter which was clamped
around his left ankle. Larry hung upside down in shock, bugged out eyes staring at the
pavement three floors below. He practically flew back in when Bully pulled him up with
a jerk and put him back down, blood streaming from a dozen cuts in his head and face.
Bully looked at him, smiled and said soft and gently, “What was that you were saying?”
The quickness and ferocity of the action had frightened Larry to the very core of
his being. He would have nightmares about those moments on many a despairing
evening. At that moment he would have given the Goliath in front of him the keys to
the business along with his shoes and socks if he had asked, but all Bully wanted to do
was help. All right, he could help if he wanted to. Bully seated himself next to a very
docile Larry Sapper and explained what he was going to help with.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Excitement at Oromans was intense. Never in the twenty two year history of the
betting parlor had anything caught the attention of the gamblers in quite the same
manner of the “Great April Moon Race.” They were receiving calls from people they
hadn’t heard from in years. It seemed as though everyone wanted in on the action. The
brochures that the A & C agency had made up were more than just spreading the word;
they were reactivating the Oromans mailing list. Three brochures to each packet with
instructions to give the spares to friends. Everyone working at the place had been
contacted by a dozen or more friends or acquaintances to discuss the event, and it
looked as though every day was carnival. Mack had taken advantage of all this to set
aside half of the place for the paraphernalia of the “Great Race.”
It was festooned with bunting, balloons, and pictures of foot racers of long ago.
There was the first marathon as depicted in ancient Greece, alongside that were runners
of the Roman empire. A mural had been painted along one wall ending with Roger
Banister breaking the four minute mile barrier. Over the head of the man who had run a
race, in a time that was thought of as an impossible barrier, was a banner held by a giant
Mickey Mouse with the words, “Will new records be created at the April Moon run?”
Bets were being taken not only on the winner, but also on the second and third
place runners. There were pools as to the actual time of the finish. It was easy to
establish each bridge as they coincided with the streets they were on and so the first
bridge, was on First Street, the second one on Second street and so on. Bets were
accepted on virtually every phase of the race. Who would be the first to reach the First
Street Bridge? The Second Street Bridge, and on and on. If someone came in to place a
bet and there were no odds set for that wager, then Donald Feldman, Oromans odds
setter, would be called in to set the odds.

After a long meeting with all the interested parties it was decided that more
interest would be developed if the ‘Great Race’ could be a handicap affair. The great race
became, the ‘April Moon Handicap.’
“If it’s going to be a circus,” Mack had said, “let’s make it a real one.”
Jack Belson was going to start at the second bridge, Tom Gilly at the Third Street
Bridge, and after interviewing and secretly watching Shirley Tepper limping down the
street her handicap was the highest of all. She was to begin her ‘run,’ from the third
street bridge, coming back, a handicap allowance of some seventy percent. Because it
would be impossible for her to climb the bridge stairs in less than the time the entire race
would take she was the only contestant that would be allowed to bypass the bridges and
‘run’ alongside of them. Mack wanted action on everyone, and with that generous
allowance, and five hundred to one odds he figured that there would even be a bit of
action on Tepper. The two fastest runners, Mark Sully, and Alex Fredericks were to
begin three seconds after the start of the race. Not much of a time handicap but getting
around the mass of stumbling, racing executives piling up in front of them and perhaps
blocking the first bridge was a formidable handicap.
Mack noted only two bets on Tom Gilly. One look at Gilly’s brochure picture,
with his stomach hanging over his pants like a huge balloon filled with jelly, his apple
red nose, and round Santa Claus like cheeks, was enough to dissuade any potential
bettor. Even when the odds on Tom reached three hundred to one there were no takers.
Sam Addison wanted to change the picture of Tom. He’d obtained a copy of a twenty
year old marine newspaper that showed Gilly at his snappy dress blue best. The picture
was that of a hard, tough, lean marine; but Mack nixed that one, feeling that when
people saw the actual person there would be a riot by all those who had bet on the man.
No, they didn’t need any tricks, what with all the action they were getting it would be a
great race financially any way you looked at it.
“I don’t understand.” Jason Lynch was saying to his client and friend, Mack
Kimmel. “This stupid thing is attracting attention like it was the Kentucky Derby. Do
you know Mack, that three of my friends have called from New York? They want to
know if we’re selling tickets. I mean they want to come in and make a weekend out of it.
It was like they were talking about the Superbowl or the World Series.
“These guys wouldn’t walk across the street to see the President tango with the
Premier of Russia, and they want tickets to a race between a bunch of fat guys and old
ladies? From a plumbing company? I still can’t believe it.”
Jason stood and studied a plan of the street the race was to be held on. There
were areas marked off for portable bleachers, outdoor toilets, ticket booths and food and
souvenir stands. He shook his head and laughed. “When you said you were going to put
in bleachers and sell tickets, I must say that I thought you were going bonkers, now I’m
beginning to think you’re a genius.”
 Mack smiled at the compliment and then turned and scratched his head, shaking
it slowly. “I gotta level with you Jase. It’s beyond me also. I think I kind of went
temporarily crazy when the idea first came to me. For the life of me I don’t know where
it did come from. Business was so lousy that I was grabbing at anything. When I saw the
invoice for the brochure that Sam had made up I really hit the roof. Ten thousand
dollars, can you imagine, he hands me a bill for ten grand, for brochures.”
Jason Lynch picked up a brochure from the desk and fingered through it saying,
“Yes, but it was worth it. I think it’s the brochure that did it.”
Mack walked over to the window looking at the crowd of people on the busy
street, turning he replied with an emphatic flip of his hand, tossing the brochure he had
been holding into a waste basket. “Bullshit. I’ve had brochures made up before. None of
them ever brought anyone to attention like this has. No, the brochures helped spread the
word, but this thing is beyond brochures. I tell you Jase if I could figure out why we’re
getting all this action I could be the biggest gun in the history of marketing.”
He paused and walked back to the window. Staring out of it his head started
shaking back and forth again as he continued, “But I can’t. I must admit it’s got me
licked. I just can’t figure the thing out.”
There was quiet in the room. Mack strolled back to his desk, picked up the phone
and dialed a number, while he waited for a response he spoke once again to his
attorney, “Screw it Jase, the money is coming in like a river. I’m not going to worry
about it any more. Let’s just take advantage of the thing, and you,” He pointed the
phone at Jason Lynch to emphasize his point, “you just keep everything on the up and
up and legal.”
Turning back to the phone he shouted, “Hello.” Then to no one in particular,
“Where the hell are these people?” At that point someone evidently answered as he
asked without preamble, “How are my bleachers coming along?”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The crashing surf awakened Maggie. She sat up and stretched like a lazy cat and
then fell back on the bed. How strange it was the way things sometimes turned out and
an old axiom came to her, ‘What goes around, comes around.’ Yawning, she closed her
eyes and let her mind fill with thoughts of herself as a teen-ager, misunderstood by
parents, teachers and friends. She had run, along with tens of thousands of her peers,
from the bosoms of security into the unknown. Driven by forces they neither welcomed
nor understood they wandered. Some went East, and some West. Some drifted down to
Mexico, and others began their quest in the wilds of Canada and Alaska. Some turned to
drugs to find peace and solitude, others like Maggie Oliver, found a teacher, a master to
show them the way. They were the aftermath and residue of the sixties. For the most
part Maggie’s friends felt cheated because they were too young to participate in the
extremes of the sixties and early seventies and so they built their own castles of
independence. Seeking authority figures they could trust and depend on they became
the flotsam of the eighties generation.
But the wisest of the teachers showed them that the thing they were looking for
was to be found only within themselves. Those few who had found a new security, and
had laid all responsibility in the hands of their new found mentors, discovered that the
wise ones tended to throw them back into the world, for that was the only place to find
what they sought. To be one with themselves. To know and to love and to be satisfied
with their own true self.
Maggie was such a one. Finally at peace, after years of emptiness and depression;
years that went and left no imprint except the dim memory of unsatisfied longings and a
deep hunger that no man or food on earth could satisfy. Saving enough to lease an
empty store near the apartment she had rented, she struggled for three years to make it
a success. She surrendered to the economic facts of the society she lived in. Maggie
chose the most healthful business she could, believing as she did, that exercise was the
key to energizing the body and jogging the best of exercises.
When she first saw Jack Belson with his waddling part walk, part run, her first
impulse was to turn away. It was impossible to know why she stopped and spoke to
him. How strange circumstances were. He turned out to be the one person who could
have led her back to her blossoming roots.
Jack spoke to her of Max, and his conversation with him. Her first impression
was to go for the door. She had heard from kooky friends who were being directed by
God in the past, but the story was told with such conviction and sincerity that she half
believed. Thinking carefully of all the biblical and historical recipients of a direct
communication with God, she wasn’t sure whether to denigrate, or venerate. But then
again, he didn’t know anything; he said that himself. He was like a child when it came to
the esoteric principles and concepts. And so, by degrees, she determined to help in his
growth. One day he would find himself and awareness would come to her new friend
like the sun comes during a parting of the clouds after a noontime sprinkle. What would
he be like then? Ah well, she thought, time will tell.
CHAPTER TWENTY

Kenneth Grant sat quietly in the garden of the Pacific Palisades Lake Shrine.
He frequently drove up Sunset Boulevard and could often be found there. He
tried to spend at least one afternoon a week at what he considered the most peaceful
place on the west coast. He had his own little alcove across from the windmill chapel
and was seated in a modified lotus position, hands in his lap, his mind soaring.
In deep meditation he felt his consciousness expand to reach the heights of
spirituality. There were no mental images to contend with—he was all feeling. The
universe opened to him like a blossoming rose. His being expanded beyond the
physical. Suddenly, the face of Jack Belson was there before him, an enigmatic smile
lighting up his features.
Once again he heard Jack describe the celestial meeting. When Kenneth heard the
seven principles of Hermes reeled off so smoothly, from a man who didn’t have an
inkling of the meaning of the sacred scrolls, he was convinced that his friend, Jack
Belson, plain old chubby Jack Belson, was, for some mysterious reason, chosen to hear
the word of God—from God. Kenneth felt humbled and honored at the opportunity to
bear witness to his friend who he now believed was a true prophet. He would follow
Jacks progress with great interest.
When Kenneth was told he was not the one to guide Jack on the physical level,
he accepted that immediately. He felt there was a divine purpose at work and that the
April Moon race was the source of whatever fount would spring from all this. But
Kenneth knew in his soul that something wonderful would happen. Knowing full well
of Maggie’s training technique he didn’t intrude on Jack’s time. There would be plenty
of that after the race. Then he would go over each principle in great detail.
His thoughts focused on principle number one, what Jack would call the first
rule. Mentalism. The idea that the universe was a mental creation of the Great Creator,
God. That God is infinite, and therefore the universe was infinite. As an infinite there
would be an infinite number of God’s thoughts and therefore an infinite number of
universes. Going on and on forever. All parallel, and overlapping. Whatever thought
that God would have would be manifest in one of the parallels. As God has infinite
thoughts, everything that could be imagined, is.
Kenneth had attempted an explanation when asked about the nature of
God. “That’s impossible for me to know. Jack, you and I are finite beings and God is
infinite. Do you understand that term, infinite?”
“I think so, it means everything.”
 Kenneth shook his head, “Much more than that. It’s beyond all. Beyond
numbers, beyond space, beyond everything that we know, hope to know, or will ever
know. It’s eternity and expansion and contraction with no end, no beginning.”
Jack was confused. “How can anything have no beginning? Everything begins
somewhere, some time.”
“Think about the fifth principle. Your fifth rule. All things are born, grow, peak,
deteriorate, and die. When a thing dies, a thing is born. When a thing ends, a thing
begins. Scientists believe that the universe was created during a singular event they call
the ‘Big Bang’. What they do not address is that something ended when the so called Big
Bang started. Sort of an implosion in another dimension that manifested as an explosion
in ours. The universe didn’t begin four billion or ten billion years ago. The universe had
no beginning. Go back a thousand billion years, and you will still be trillions of years
away from trillions of—no, there’s no sense in using mathematics, it just doesn’t work
when considering spiritual concepts. Infinity is the supreme spiritual consideration. To
think of God is to think of infinity. By the same token you might also say that to consider
infinity, is to think about God.
“Look at God as an entity for whom time doesn’t exist. It’s generally believed
that God created the universe in seven days, and that’s correct, but God’s days are
infinite days. As God is infinite, his days are infinite. Attaching a seven to the time
element of creation is redundant. Finite beings did that. One infinite day is the same as
seven or seventy, or seventy trillion. There is no time for God who is time. Time and
energy and light. There is no space for God is space.”
Jack was getting fuzzier by the moment. He said, “Then are you saying that he
is—I’m confused. He is, what?”
“He is all. He is all that is. He said it. He described himself very clearly when he
said “”I am that I am.””
“He did? What does it mean?” Jack asked.
“Punctuate those five words and the meaning becomes clear. I am that, I am.
Now you hear it as I am that—that being everything. That statue, that thought, that rock,
that space, that picture, that icon, that tree, that person, that prayer. God is that—all,
everything. He even reinforced the statement with a verification, ‘I am.’”
Jack rubbed his forehead, mind at ease, but fixed on a distant voice. “He sounded
so real when I heard him Ken, like a person. How about that, does God have a
personality? He seemed to have one in his voice but I never saw him. He didn’t allow
me that blessing.”
“Jack. God is personality. Of course he has a personality. But as he is time, and
time becomes insignificant to one who controls it, things that we see from our limited
perspective are not what God sees from his all seeing viewpoint. It would be like you
knowing what you now know when you were ten years old. You would then make
choices that others could not possibly understand because you would have knowledge
of how plan a, or b, or c, would turn out before you made a choice. You could go back
and forward an unlimited number of times to choose the right course. That’s one drop in
an ocean of choice compared to God’s sea of choices.
 “Through the bridge of quantum physics the scientists are getting closer to the
answer. One of those answers is in the Parallel Dimension concept. Given that there are
infinite parallel dimensions, anything that you can imagine, anything that anyone on
earth could imagine, is, in one of the infinity of dimensions.
“You will have to meditate on that idea Jack before even a glimmering of
understanding will come. Then you will be closer to a basic realization.
“But allow me to give you a hint. In an infinite world of parallels, there is
another Jack Belson, an infinity of Jack Belsons. In one parallel, you are the king of the
world, in another, you’re a homeless wretch in India, untouchable. Or to get closer to
home, in one of those infinite dimensions you have won the race, in another, you lost it,
in still another, you are in Larry Sapper’s position and he in yours. Infinity, what ever
you can imagine, imagine one more. That’s infinity, one more.
“When you do the life change process you are really calling an alternate
dimension into play, one where the thing you are programming for, actually happened.
“Enough for now Jack. Let’s leave it for awhile.”

Later that evening, Kenneth, alone and deep in meditation considered the second
rule, Correspondence. The idea of all things in vibrational communication with all other
things. The thoughts of God are also the thoughts of His creations. If Jack could imagine
himself King, in one of the parallels he would be King, to think the thought was to
manifest it in one or more dimensions. As above so below, as below so above. As it is on
the physical, so it will be on the mental. To understand the spirit, study the mental, and
the physical planes.
Third was Polarity. All things are dual. Sharp and dull are the same, they only
differ by degree, as are love and hate which are simply variations in the energy, or
vibrations of one’s viewpoint.
Motion, the fourth principle, explained all things of mystery and unlocked the
mind once understood. All things are in constant and never ending motion, the
manifestation is the direct result of the vibrations frequency, amplitude, and length.
Eight hundred and eighty vibrations per second will manifest as the first note on the
musical scale, A. Eight eighty is always A, reduce the vibration a bit and the A is a little
ill, off key so to speak. The principle of correspondence tells us that as it is on the
musical or physical level, so it will be on the mental, and the spiritual. When a person is
ill their vibrations for that level of the physical is off key.
Fifth, rhythm. All things are affected by cycles. All things are born, grow, peak,
diminish and end. To die is to be born. Study your cycles and you control your attitude
and your reality.
Sixth is the principle of Cause and Effect. Every effect has a cause every cause
creates effect. Understanding that and controlling cause creates a desired effect.
Accident and coincident are simply unrecognized causes.
Kenneth meditated daily on each one in turn, seeing how to use the principle for
the benefit of people.
 He thought of the principle that so many use constantly without a smidgen of
understanding; that being the great principle of Gender. There is a masculine and
feminine quality in all things. The masculine is the instigative, the outgoing, the
feminine is the creative, the receptive.
Kenneth Grant was a knight’s commander with respect to the usage of the
principles and a first degree adept. He knew what he knew. As he thought about the
principles he immediately put them into action.
He created an image of Jack and Maggie. He saw them looking at each other with
love and respect. He used the polarity principle to make the image colorful, three
dimensional, and imagined them speaking to each other. Each representation
strengthened the vibratory note of Jack and Maggie together. In creating the images for
the benefit of the two, Kenneth used Mentalism. Then he mentally projected them to a
parallel universe where they were happily married and celebrating their tenth
anniversary using the principle of motion. He drew the image back going into the
receptive mode using the Gender rule.
He considered the tenth anniversary image from an objective viewpoint, as
though he was looking at the scene, and then from a subjective viewpoint, as though he
was part of the scene. He immersed himself in the energy of the pair and then, using
polarity, brought the energy into the first picture of Jack and Maggie. All this was
completed with the true nature of an absolute, positive and beneficial viewpoint.
In so programming for Jack, he put his knowledge of the seven principles into
action.
Kenneth then meditated on the spiritual dimension by using his imagination to
soar beyond the confines of our solar system. He would be with Jack again one day, of
that he was certain, but for now, he would concentrate on his own spiritual growth.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

 The ‘April Moon Handicap,’ excited more people than it depressed but depress it
did, and the most miserable person involved was the one who believed that she had the
most to lose. Even at best Shirley Tepper was not a happy woman. Although one would
have thought that living as she did with her sister would have brought companionship
and love, which were certainly not ingredients that produced sadness she was that
saddest of creatures, an aging, depressed, lonely woman.
Her sister Ann was totally involved with herself and her infirmities. She was
content to sit day after day in her wheelchair, staring out the window, conjuring scenes
that only she could perceive. Shirley had long ago given up attempting anything
resembling a conversation with her, and simply attended to her needs in a methodical
way. The life of Shirley Tepper consisted of arising in the morning, a quick shower, or if
her back was bothering her, as it usually was, a hot soothing bath after which a cup of
coffee, a buttered roll with a slice of American cheese well salted and peppered. Then to
work for eight hours and home again. A short hello to Ann, still at her place by the
window and then dinner, a book and bed. Her evening meal was generally as simple as
breakfast, an egg or two, potatoes, always potatoes, occasionally a slab of meat or
chicken and often fish.
After dinner while sitting at the table with her book propped up in an elaborate
holder she would indulge in her one and only vice. For ten years, almost as a ritual, one
hour by the clock after dinner, Shirley would open the package she had brought home
from Klinners, a small bakery around the corner from her apartment. Its contents were
predictable, it would be either a chocolate layer cake, or an apple or peach pie. She
would then take a quart of ice cream from her freezer and methodically cut a quarter of
the cake or pie and put it into a deep plate. Then she would spoon a generous slab of ice
cream on top of it, chocolate was her favorite.
The part of the day that produced her only pleasure in life had arrived. During
the following hour she would consume the entire pastry along with the quart of ice
cream. It was the only thing in her life that she looked forward to. Long ago she asked
herself whether this was a serious fault in her character? Was this a harmful habit? But
then again, she thought, without it, her depression would have developed into a sense of
melancholy so deep as to have caused her to end what she considered a useless,
unfulfilled life.
That evening, after placing her sister’s dinner tray on a special receptacle at the
arm of her wheelchair, she finished her own dinner sending a cloud of pepper on the
last bite of food, and thought about the day. For the first time in years she had neglected
to stop at Klinners; her appetite for sweets had vanished when she had seen the
Oromans brochure with her picture on it. It was shocking. The picture was taken by a
photographer hired by Mack Kimmel with instructions to show her at her worst. The
man had taken the picture when she was leaning over slightly. It was a three quarters
shot from the rear. She had been looking back and frowning at the time and the camera
had produced a picture that made her gorge rise when she’d first seen it. Disturbed even
more than when Larry Sapper had told her about the race and its attendant ‘prizes,’ she
ate her dinner angrily and over peppered everything.
 Shirley liked pepper; it was the only spice in her life. But it hadn’t always been
that way.
Once, long years back, she’d had a slim figure, long brown hair, a pretty face,
and a smile that sparked a small glow. She had many boy friends. Sitting at the table her
thoughts would occasionally turn to the past as she stared at the wall thinking,
How many were there, three? No four, perhaps even five proposals. In her hand
was a cup of coffee that had lost any ability to warm anyone. It had cooled to that point
between a good hearty hot brew, and a chilled satisfying iced coffee. She raised the cup
to her lips and sipped the savorless drink, not noticing, nor caring whether it were one
or the other. Lost in the memories of what had been, she was fantasizing a memory of
what might have been.
Her first real romance came just after high school graduation, so very long ago.
What was his name? Seily, Ernie Seily. She wanted to settle in Chicago, he wanted to go
to Alaska. They argued, it ended. Then on to Business school where she learned the
rudiments of marketing and her secretarial skills. There she met the second love of her
life Mark Levitt. They were madly in love, and perfectly suited for one another until
some war or other called him. He never returned. Still lovely and svelte, her weight at
that time never went above one hundred and five pounds, she graduated and found a
job at IBM which was just beginning to expand and grow into the giant company it was
to become. They sent her to California and shortly after her arrival the accident
occurred. Three cars, two lanes, four operations, and for the rest of her life she would
have to get along with one leg an inch and a half shorter than the other.
Joseph Tepper was a nurse in the ward where she spent so many painful days.
He helped to bring her back to health and on her discharge from the hospital they dated,
loved, fell in love, and married. Two idyllic years and then, Joseph confessed that he
loved another. The hurt that came from that rejection was so painful that she built an
impenetrable shield around herself to defend her from any future rejections. Shirley
Tepper never loved again.
Friends she had a plenty, but she would not allow any of them to get too close or
to open any emotional doors. She spent her life with books, studying her profession
until she became knowledgeable in all fields of business. When she was hired by Charles
Sapper as an all around girl Friday she was still youngish, with just a hint of her
developing matronly figure, and ambitious as she would ever get.
Charley Sapper said many times to his closest confidants, that the real power in
April Moon was his private secretary. It was she who had built up the company. But as
the company grew so did Shirley. Little Larry Sapper who saw only this huge woman
who would shoo him out of his fathers office whenever he came in to play, took a dislike
to her that grew out of proportion to reality. Larry associated her, along with Jack
Belson, with all that was bad in his childhood and when he took over the place; the thing
foremost in his mind was getting rid of her at any cost.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

At Larry Sapper’s Wilshire Boulevard luxury apartment the thing uppermost in

his mind was his new staff. Alex Fredericks was there, as was Mark Sully and three or
four of his friends who while not involved with the company were like most of those
who had heard of the race, interested, and had their own favorites. “Well fellows, I’m
going to let you in on a little secret.” Larry said to the group.
He stood up and put his arm around Mark Sully saying, “As long as that son of a
bitch Kimmel is taking all kinds of bets on this thing we may as well make a few dollars
on it.” Drawing Mark Sully closer he confided in them all. “The odds on Mark are now
four to five, and the odds on Alex are two to one. Well I’ve go some news for you guys.”
he looked around the room as Mark and Alex exchanged glances. “Mark is coming in
second.”
Buddy Walker one of the group of friends, stood and silently whistled. “You
mean the race is fixed?”
Larry just smiled as Buddy continued, “Jesus, at two to one, if I lay down two
thousand I can make a quick four grand. Fantastic.”
One of the other fellows there said, “Hell I was going to bet on all the long shots.
I figured fifty on Gilly, fifty on Belson and fifty on the gimpy broad.”
Larry responded, “If you want to throw your money away why not throw it my
way? Those phonies have about as much chance of winning as a snail does against a race
horse. Maybe I should be booking some of these bets.
“Listen up guys.” Larry said as he put his arm around the shoulders of his choice
to be his second in command, “Put your money on Alex, he’s a sure thing. What’s wrong
with tripling your money in an afternoon anyway?”
So it went, Larry telling all his buddies about the ‘fix.’ He was going to show
Mack Kimmel that Lawrence Sapper, was no one to fool with. And as far as Bully Rotter
was concerned, he’d get his as well.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

With every passing day Jack Belson felt an expansion of energy within his body.
Kenneth had created a gladness in his heart, a feeling of kinship and friendliness. Within
his head he felt a lightness and a persistent ballooning like buzz that enabled him to see
things in a different manner than prior to his meetings with the wise one. It was as
though he had been seeing the reflection of things in a pond of water that had been
stirred by the inhabitants of the pond, disturbing the images, and now was actually
looking at not the reflections but the actual images.
There were many new sensations that were opening for Jack Belson and he
found that he was looking forward to each one with the eagerness of a child at a first
picnic.
The torment of the initial jogging pain was more than offset by the company of
Maggie Oliver. He greeted the mornings in a manner foreign to his thinking of just a few
short weeks before. As the first halo of dawn lightened his room, he would fling off the
covers, leap out of bed, shower, shave and dress almost before he realized he was up.
Breakfast was reserved for his time with Maggie, and he didn’t even take the time to
brew himself a first cup of coffee at home. On with his jogging suit and off to the little
shop on the strand in Ocean Park. He was bursting with a new, and for a long time,
unfamiliar energy.
Two weeks had passed since he first met Maggie. Fourteen days of building new
attitudes along with his body. Who would have thought that Jack Belson would take any
pride at all in his appearance? The fact that the sloppy Chief Accountant would change
into a confident, healthy, assured individual in that short period of time was a miracle in
itself.
Jack was certainly no running champion, not by a country mile, but neither was
he the stumbling bumpkin of a few weeks ago either. Maggie was the cause of that; her
and the fact that he religiously appeared at the beach, not only in the morning, but after
work as well. In the evening, after a jog and a long shower at her apartment, where he
kept clothes to change into, they would meet Kenneth Grant to discuss the concepts they
were interested in. It was a happy time for Jack Belson.
He’d lost twelve pounds and it showed. When he started jogging practice it was
only that he would not look foolish during the race, but now the mental image of
himself was that of a handsome, slim, well dressed man about town. That was his goal,
with Maggie the prize. He gave no thought whatever of keeping his job, and only used
the race as an excuse to continue seeing the velvet lady who had become a part of his
life. Although he kept a few things at her apartment, they had not gone beyond the stage
of just talking, nor had they yet spoken of the feelings that both of them felt stirring
within themselves.
He felt so wonderfully fit after his morning and late afternoon exercise, and the
nightly brain stimulation he was getting, that he found himself asking Maggie a
question he could not even have considered before meeting her. At the time Maggie was
tying her shoelaces. They were sitting on the chairs in the back of Maggie’s shop. Jack
leaned back and looked at her while she was engaged in getting the tension just right,
“Maggie,” he began, scratching his neck as though he wanted to take some of his
attention away from what he was about to say, “do you think that I have any chance at
all of winning this thing?”
Maggie looked up a bit startled, and said somewhat contemptuously, “You mean
the great American April Moon Handicap race?”
 Jack nodded, raising his eyebrows questioningly, as she continued, “No chance.
Jack, you’ve come a long way, but think about this, if we run a quarter of a mile
together, I can turn around and run another quarter of a mile backwards and still beat
you. That’s without bridges and steps. No Jack, it’s a young person’s race. The only way
that Mark Sully is going to lose is if Larry ties a sack of cement around his waist. Forget
it.”
She got down at his feet and untied his shoelaces so that she could re-tighten
them. While she fiddled with his shoes she tilted her head up and said to him in a tone
that started the syrup once again, “Just finish, Jack. That’s all. I’ll be so proud of you.
You know you’re looking better every day. Don’t concern yourself with winning.”
“But my job?” He queried, looking down at the top of her head as she finished
tightening the laces.
“Screw the job. There must be a million other things you can do besides work for
that nut.” She got up and went over to her purse, pulled out a letter and handed it to
Jack. It was from her bank and said that if she would put together a detailed plan of
expansion they would seriously consider making her the loan that she had asked for.
They suggested however that she take in a partner knowledgeable in finance and
business. It was not a prerequisite but it might have a bearing on their final decision.
He took the letter and carefully read it. He handed it back to her without a word.
She returned it to her purse and walked back to him. Taking each of his hands in one of
her own, she continued, “You might even consider,” squeezing his hands gently she
continued, “coming in with me.”
Jack felt as though he were standing under a waterfall, so strongly did he feel the
impact of her words. Before he could respond she pulled him outside and raced ahead,
with him far behind yelling at her to wait up.
He felt like a kid running, tagging and taking off in another direction with
Maggie following close behind, who tagged him in turn, and then spun off and jogged
towards the waters edge. For the past few days they had taken to running on the wet,
hard packed sand at the shore line, and this morning, a breathless Maggie ran in
towards the sidewalk away from the ocean, dropped down on the loose beach sand,
pulled off her shoes and waited for Jack to catch up. “Come on,” she yelled, “let’s run
barefoot.” Off they went once again, together this time, running through the heavy sand,
shoes in one hand, hand in hand with the other, occasionally turning to grin at one
another.
It was a good time. Before they knew it; he had to leave for the office, and she to
get the shop opened. The hours they spent together were as moments, the moments
behind his desk like hours. But always there was the evening, and once again the
mornings to look forward to. Jack was changing more than he realized. Virtually
everyone in his office noticed.
That evening after their jog, Jack asked Maggie if she would like to join him for
dinner. She said yes. They both would have agreed that it was a good meal, but neither
of them would have remembered what was served. It just didn’t seem to be a time for
tasting, nor was it a time for business. It was a time of the inner senses. They sat quietly
and occasionally one would nibble at a bit of food, or glance at the other and smile. It
was a time for feelings.
They talked for hours, about themselves. With Maggie asking Jack about himself
and Jack wanting to know more and more about Maggie. They entered that realm of
emotions that warm the body and sensitize the very cells. They were courting and not
even aware of it. They, like so many others do during the courting stage, spoke only
about each other, everything they said to one another was interesting. They were soon
looking at one another with different attitudes than before. On the scale of polarity they
were at a hundred degrees and could see, and hear, and feel only the positives of the
other person. Fast approaching the area of love that warms the tummy, and sometimes
scrambles the brain a bit, the pair smiled a lot over their cups of coffee as they gazed into
one another’s eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Wednesday. Three days to the race. Larry sniffed whenever he saw his chief
accountant and shook his head as though he couldn’t believe the change. Once he yelled
at him, “Going for the big one Jack? Think you’re going to get it? You better bone up on
sweeping mister cause that’s the only job you’re going to get out of me.” And off he
would go with Alex Fredericks, now Larry’s permanent toady, following closely behind
with a sheepish look on his face.
Mixed feelings ran through the April Moon office. Some felt elated, others
excited, and most were looking forward to Saturday with joy and good positive
expectations. A few were depressed, and enervated, believing as they did that the
coming weekend was to bring major, and traumatic changes in their lives. Jack Belson
shared none of these feelings as he strolled down the hallway to his office. Physically, he
felt better than he could remember feeling, ever—mentally he was so imbued with new,
exciting knowledge that he could feel the throbbing energy of his expanding mind.
Spiritually, he could not have felt more secure or satisfied, and emotionally there was
Maggie. It would have been a wonder if all this did not show in his walk, his talk, his
demeanor in general. It was a confident, assured, assertive Jack Belson that entered his
office at the stroke of nine.
 The staff of April Moon stared as he walked by. The difference was obvious and
everyone took note of it. Some were concerned, some felt uneasy, and one in particular
was angered by his appearance. Larry Sapper had avoided his head accountant for the
past week, dealing instead with Jack’s assistant Ben Coppel, who, being younger and
seemingly more fit, was slated for the chief accountant slot in any case. That morning,
leaning over Coppel’s desk, Larry snorted as Jack strolled by with the air of a man who
had just won the top prize in a lottery. He said to Ben, “What the hell is he so happy
about? Doesn’t he know he’s about to get the ax?”
Ben simply shrugged, he’d noticed the difference of course and asked his
superior what had happened to change him so much, but all he received in reply was a
smile, and a secretive finger to the lips.
“Well,” Larry said, “by this time next week, I want his desk cleaned up and him
out of here.” Leaning over even more so that his nose was practically on Coppel’s he
spoke the next two words in an emphatic stage like tone, “You understand?”
Ben Coppel simply nodded in assent.
Much had happened to change everyone in the organization. Even Larry had
grown more assured, now completely convinced that what he had conceived was a
measure of his genius. Business was booming as never before. The company was
receiving calls and contracts from builders and contractors they had not heard from in
years. There had been an upsurge in the hiring of drivers and plumbers. So much so
that it became necessary to bring in a union representative who had taken a temporary
office in the executive building with his own private lines to handle the new outlet for
their members.
Jack got right to work and was soon buried in figures and the setting up of new
programs on the computer system. He was working closely with Ben Coppel, and
between the two of them had the increase under control. Working with one part of his
mind, while another part was on Maggie, and then switching his thoughts, he managed
to get his work done automatically. Hardly daring to think about Max anymore, he
nevertheless occasionally considered the fact that real or hallucinatory, his experience at
the beach and in his car with the ‘Voice,’ was definitely the catalyst that had taken him
to this very exciting time. In considering all the data he had, if there was any one person
that he had to thank, that person would have to be Larry Sapper.
He looked up at Ben who was immersed in pages of figures and was transferring
them to the spread sheet program in his computer. “How do you thank someone who
hates you?” He asked.
Ben looked up, “What’s that? Who hates you?”
Jack waved his hand a few times saying, “Never mind. How you coming along
there, need a hand?”
“I’m all right,” Ben said, “but if we get any more business I am definitely going
to need help.” He got up and pulled a chair alongside Jack’s desk. “Jack,” he said
somberly, “what’s going to happen Monday?”
 Jack looked up and shrugged as Ben continued, “I mean what happens if Claude,
or Gilly, or John winds up chief accountant? Or how about if I wind up with the job,
with one of those guys as assistant? How in the hell am I going to handle it?”
Jack shrugged, “There’s six jobs that pay more than this one Ben.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ben asked.
“It means that all I have to do to keep this one is to come in seventh. Did you
ever think of that?”
Ben looked at the chief accountant as if he’d gone mad. “Seventh? Jack you
breathe hard when you walk around the block, how in God’s name are you going to
come in seventh?”
Jack replied, “Haven’t you noticed anything different about me lately? Take a
good look. Look at my stomach. Notice any changes.”
Ben ran his eyes around Jack’s thinning frame, looked at his tanned face, thought
about the new confident person he seemed to have turned into and nodded as Jack
continued.
“Been practicing Ben. Running every day. Ben I’m not looking to come in
seventh, or sixth or even fifth.” He paused for a moment, got up and walked out of his
office, turning at the door he startled his assistant saying. “I’m going for the win.”
Ben Coppel’s mouth opened dropping his lower jaw down an inch, he followed
the swiftly walking, arm swinging, assured figure of Jack Belson as he moved down the
hall. His lips mouthed the words as his eyes opened wide, “Win?”
Jack was heading for the office of Larry Sapper, but first a quick hello to the sad
lady at the oak desk just outside the new executive’s door. Walking quickly, it seemed as
though he had springs in his feet lately, he stopped for a moment alongside her and
said, “Chin up Shirley, it’s not the end of the world.”
Shirley replied, “For you maybe. For me it could very well be; I’ve had a lot of
sleepless nights thinking about losing my pension at my time of life.” Jerking her head
towards Larry’s door she continued, “He won’t even talk to me any more except to curse
or have me bring him a cup of coffee. I feel like leaving right now.”
“Are you going to run in the race?” Jack asked.
She nodded, “Yes, I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me quit. If he
wants to get rid of me, he’s just going to have to fire me. Not that it would keep him up
nights, but at least I want the personal satisfaction, such as it is, of finishing the race. I
don’t care if I come in ten minutes after everyone gets to the finish line.” The last few
words caught in her throat and she started to softly cry. Taking a handkerchief out of
her purse she wiped her eyes carefully, “Oh my,” she said gaining control of herself,
“Look at what he’s got me doing.”
She sniffed and wiped her nose, “You want to see him?”
Jack nodded. He would have enjoyed strangling Larry Sapper at that moment.
There was the sound of a voice screaming curses, then silence and then more
yelling and shouting. Jack looked at Shirley and she answered by saying, “That’s been
his normal voice lately. He’s probably talking to his attorney.”
“Go on in,” She said, “I’m not going to announce you, just walk in.”
 While Jack was talking to Shirley Tepper, Larry Sapper was studying the finished
plans that his carpenters had drawn up after installing the new bridge steps. There were
details as to where the new wood went, as well as the under hinges and the electronic
mechanism. He was studying the bill and his complexion was turning apoplectic. It was
eighteen thousand dollars. The original estimate had been for five and he was yelling his
displeasure over the phone.
“Just a minute Mister Sapper.” The voice said smoothly and with measured
calmness, “I know we gave you an estimate of five thousand dollars but that was before
I knew we’d have to work at night and in secret. Do you know what it would mean if
we’d have been caught screwing around with city property without permits? Permits
hell, without permission. For Christ’s sake, they’d have thrown away the key. I told you
it was going to cost for the secrecy.”
“You said it might cost three thousand extra.” Larry screamed into the phone.
“Three thousand, three thousand, that’s what you said.”
“I know that.” The soft quiet voice went on, “The three thousand was for the
night work. The other ten is for the risk we took in doing the job at all.”
“Well I won’t pay it.” He screamed again, “I won’t pay it. Sue me. See what
that’ll get you.”
Still calm and low keyed, the voice said, “That’s all right Mister Sapper, you
don’t have to pay me. I’ll just keep the thirty five hundred deposit you gave me and the
buzzer.”
“The buzzer? What buzzer?”
“You know,” the calm voice said, “the remote control that flattens the three
steps.”
There was a long silence, and then Larry spoke, defeated, “All right you win.
Bring it over and I’ll have a check for fourteen thousand ready for you.”
Now there was the hint of a smile in the voice as it said, “You’ll have a cashiers
check for fourteen thousand, five hundred ready for me.”
Just then the door opened and Jack walked in. Larry, absorbed in the
conversation didn’t notice his arrival. He ended the conversation by saying, “Right, I’ll
have a cashiers check for fourteen thousand, five hundred ready for you.”
Putting the phone down he noticed Jack for the first time and said, his voice
rising in volume and in octave, “What do you want? How long have you been standing
there?”
“Take it easy Larry. I just walked in, but if you’re going to spend over fourteen
thousand dollars you better let me know about it.”
“It’s none of your God damn business.”
Jack sighed, “Look Larry, maybe it won’t be on Monday, but as of right now I am
still the Comptroller of April Moon, and all expenditures have to come through me.”
“Bullshit. This is my company and if I want a check drawn, I better damn well
have one, and if you won’t do it I’ll have Coppel do it. He’ll probably be doing it
Monday anyway.” Larry scratched his chest and yawned, the argument had drained
him. Then he bellowed, “What the hell do you want Belson?”
 “Oh, I almost forgot; someone from the Fair Practices Board called me about the
race. It seems that one of their people is coming by to see what’s going on.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know all about it. “ Larry said, “I already spoke to the nosy
bastards. What the hell is everyone sticking their nose into this thing for?”
Jack stood silent. Staring at Larry Sapper, he suddenly thought about Charles
Sapper and the work he had put into the building of April Moon. “What’s your father
think about all this Larry?”
“Screw my father.” Was the response, “I’m bringing in more business than he
ever even imagined. Besides I don’t give a rat’s ass what that old jerk thinks.”
Motioning Jack to leave he said, “Now will you please get the hell out of my
office?” Almost as an afterthought Larry snarled, “And tell that fat bitch to bring me a
cup of coffee.”
Jacks hands clenched as he looked at the tempting throat of Larry Sapper, but he
thought, ‘He’s not worth it.’ Turning he briskly walked out the door without a word to
Shirley Tepper who was staring at a blank sheet of paper on her desk, lost in thoughts of
a future filled with decay and loneliness.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

The staff had broken off into small cliques to discuss the possible changes of the
following week, and what lay beyond that. It was exciting in a way, with change in store
for all of them. Larry Sapper however, did not show up at the office at all that day,
something of great interest kept him away.
He was busy with last minute details which included a surreptitious examination
of the east side of the Third Street Bridge. He had spent hours walking the course,
examining each step on every bridge, walking up and down the bleachers, and waiting
for a moment when no one was around so that he could buzz the gimmicked steps of the
third bridge to see if his eighteen thousand dollar expenditure would work. Finally,
around dinner time the area was comparatively free of strollers and those who wanted a
last minute view of the street, closed now to through traffic. It seemed as though the city
council felt that the race was highly beneficial to the city coffers and were already
thinking about a similar plan for the following year.
Larry stood in the doorway shadow of a clothing store that had closed for the
day. A big sign in the window proclaimed that they would be open before, during, and
after the April Moon Handicap. Every storekeeper on the street was looking forward to
a booming day of business. Looking up and down the street for the tenth time and
seeing no one of interest, he slowly put his hand in his pocket as though a thousand eyes
were on him and pressed the button on his remote control device. He listened carefully
while staring at the nearby steps of the bridge.
There was a slight hissing sound, and then a clunk. Larry leaned forward staring
and then began giggling like a school girl on her first date. It worked. The steps had
folded back and turned into a three foot wall. He stood in the doorway shaking with the
effort of containing his laughter, still feeling as though unseen eyes were on him.
He thought, ‘No one could run up that bridge and not flop on his face. It was a
stroke of genius. The money I spent was more than worth it. Wait till I get that jerk
Belson and all the rest of them.’ He pressed the buzzer again and once more there was a
hiss and a clunk as the wall became three steps. Once again he pressed; hiss, clunk; a
wall. Another press of the buzzer; hiss, clunk, three steps. He stood like a child with a
new toy, hiss clunk, steps; hiss clunk, wall; hiss clunk, steps; hiss clunk, wall. He
couldn’t get enough. He felt an urge to call the carpenter and congratulate him on a job
well done but thinking of the argument over the fee, decided against it. One final hiss
clunk, and the steps appeared again. Patting the pocket that contained the remote
control, he left the area gleeful, grinning at everyone he passed.
It was all set. He would use the buzzer if anyone was even remotely capable of
beating Alex and Mark. ‘Insurance,’ he thought, ‘I just bought myself insurance.’ If he
did not have to use the buzzer it would be a shame, especially after all that investment,
but if he did, it would be a handy device to have available.
He had spoken to Alex and Mark and was satisfied that they were ready and that
everything was going according to plan. He was not happy with the intervention of
Mack Kimmel but as he thought about it he concluded that without the Las Vegas
interest, the ‘Great Race,’ would not have attracted the attention it did and therefore
would not have caused the surge in business so even that was all right. He walked back
to the start/finish line and swept his eyes over the bleachers. It resembled preparations
for the Rose Parade on a smaller scale. People setting up stands and pushcarts were
already in evidence. Also beginning to fill the street were those who were ready to
party all night. People were laying out sleeping bags and ice chests, staking out claims
to the best positions along the sidewalk. Larry had completed his testing none to soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

The evening before the great race was a time of introspection for Alex Fredericks.
Monday he would be the head officer of April Moon. The salary Larry was talking about
would more than double his present earnings but it was the authority that interested
him. A smile played over his lips as he thought of giving orders, signing checks, and
paying his lunch bill at Austin Reed’s Steak House with a signature on the executive
account at April Moon. He thought of his path to the presidency and the fluke of luck
that was about to bring him there. It took a madman to do it, but was Larry Sapper that
crazy after all? He was bringing in the business. Maybe it took a tinge of insanity to
make it big.
His thoughts went to Linda Gale, ‘Wonder if she would like to be my assistant?
Sure, why not?’ He fantasized her assisting him in the evening, and then they were in
his apartment, and then they were in his bed, and then...
His thoughts returned to the picture of himself giving orders to all the office
staff. He thought about setting up meetings. Doubling the business. If a screwball could
do it, how much could a person like himself do? Of the race, he thought not at all.

Mark Sully thought only about the race. ‘They must think I’m out of my mind to
turn this over to that blowhard. Well they’re going to learn different. How about that?
Assistant to Fredericks, and all I have to do is lose. Bullshit, all I have to do is win, and I
got it all. Sixty grand a year. Sensational.’
Knowing that if he didn’t agree to lose to Alex, they would see to it that he either
was not in the race or that he would somehow break a leg, Mark, with a cunning born of
a guy who had to scratch his way out of the Hollywood pretty boy street scene made his
own plans. A kid who had been thrown out of the house by a mother who had finally
taken all she could from a boy who felt that moms were born to serve, and dads were
something that people on television had. He was a kid who had been picked up by a
good looking, kind young man on Melrose and Highland, and had learned things that
no teen-ager should know. Finally finding his way to the April Moon Plumbing
Company and working on a punctual basis for the first time in his life, this opportunity
comes up. The President of April Moon, unbelievable. And they want him to give that
up? ‘No way Jose.’

Thomas Gilly sat in his favorite armchair and with a gulp drained the last of the
beer from his ninth bottle of the evening. He chortled as he looked at the picture and
description of himself in the Oromans brochure. “Honey,” he yelled at his wife. “Bring
me another brew.”
 His wife appeared in a few moments with a fresh bottle and a cup of tea for
herself. Sitting down across from her husband she asked, “You really going to run
tomorrow?”
“Shit yes I’m gonna run. You know I used to be the champion miler of the 18th
division?”
“Yes I remember Tommy, but that was a hundred and twenty pounds and
twenty five years ago.”
“Hell baby,” Thomas Gilly replied after a long swig of beer, “it’s like riding a
bicycle, you just don’t never forget how. Besides they’re giving me a good handicap; I
get to start at the second bridge.”
“Well I wish you would have gone with me to the bridges and run up and down
just one of them. You know it’s not the same as running down the street.”
Thomas Gilly scoffed, “Don’t get excited babe, it’s just a couple of steps. Besides
I’m not out to win, all I want to do is come in exactly tenth.” He winked at his wife as he
pointed to his odds in the brochure. I plunked down two hundred bucks that I come in
tenth. At sixty to one, that’s twelve grand baby; vacation time.”

Mack Kimmel had been picked up earlier in the evening at the Los Angeles
International Airport in Inglewood, and driven to his suite at the Beverly Hills Hilton.
Mack liked to live well. For him, life had been caviar and champagne for longer than he
cared to remember. He never thought about his roots any more as he had been away
from his small hometown for so many years that it was a distant mirage. Sometimes he
wasn’t even sure he really came from there. Not the usual bookmaker’s background,
Mack was born in Ellenville, New York. Leaving home at eighteen he headed for the
place his ambitions told him would be most likely to lead to success and the good life;
New York City. He was not to be disappointed. Tough guy, thief, burglar, enforcer,
collector, he did it all as he became part of the underworld scene. And then he found his
niche in Nevada, first Reno, and then to his present location in Las Vegas.
Occasionally Mack enjoyed something out of the ordinary to liven up his life.
Even the good things got boring after a while, and the April Moon Handicap was just
the ticket. Had it not stimulated his business he still would have enjoyed the excitement
but the fact that his income was multiplying because of the race added whipped cream.
He didn’t even consider putting in any ‘fixes.’ What would be the point? He was excited
beyond his expectations, and was like a kid at his first dance. Everything was set for the
race, and he had the first three rows of the A Bleachers reserved for himself, his
entourage and his friends. He was so happy with the affair that he had gotten together
with the city fathers to sponsor still another race the following year, and was to meet
with them on the Wednesday after the April Moon Handicap to go over the details. At
last he was involved with something totally legitimate that he could look forward to
with pride. He thought, ‘If only Dad could see me now.’

The person who was having the worst night of her life was Shirley Tepper. She
sat at her kitchen table staring at the chocolate ice cream melting over her peach pie.
Three quarters of the pie was still in the tin. The quarter pie slice in her plate was
untouched. She had no appetite for it, and finally with a sigh threw the whole
congealing mess into the sink and pushed it down the garbage disposal. She put the pie
tin away and sat down heavily on a chair next to her sister who stared back blankly.
“Ann, I don’t know what we’re going to do next week? I only have a little
savings account and I may lose my job and my pension.”
Her sister stared for a long moment and said, “We could live with Mama.”
Shirley turned away from her sister with a great sigh; their mother had passed
away fifteen years before. Shirley sunk into a depression, unaware that the depressive
state was saving her. Everything was being turned off, her brain was in neutral. After
sitting for thirty minutes thinking about nothing at all, she grunted her way to a
standing position and with a sigh of finality sadly limped slowly into her bedroom,
flopped on to her bed, and fell asleep on the covers without even removing her shoes.

Maggie Oliver was also growing excited over the big moment. Not because she
had any expectations of Jack winning, on the contrary she was hoping that he would
come in dead last. She knew he wouldn’t as he had gained remarkable endurance in the
relatively short time she’d run with him. She’d watched him grow day by day from a
breathless, clumsy, overweight bowl of jelly, into a moderately adept, slimming jogger.
He could now go the entire half-mile of the strand and not have any leg pains, nor be
breathing like a winded horse.
Maggie’s attachment to Jack was growing daily and she was hoping sincerely
that their relationship would not end with the race. If by some miracle he won, she felt
that it would indeed end. Or coming in seventh as he had once planned, thereby
keeping his position in the company would not be the best thing in the world for their
growing relationship. She was feeling the need for him more and more, and so, even
though she was going to be there at the finish line cheering him on, in her heart, she
hoped that he would come in far to the rear of the pack of runners.
Maggie had her fantasies as well. She could see herself and Jack as partners in
the shop. Beyond that she would not allow her thoughts to go. She sighed as she
prepared for bed. What would be would be. Things were in motion at this point and the
only thing to do now was to be there at the end, available and smiling no matter what
the order of finish.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

 Jack was upset. He had jogged with Maggie earlier that evening and felt really
good after the run. Changing clothes in the shop he’d asked Maggie to have dinner with
him and she refused, acting almost angry. He had been talking about either winning or
coming in seventh or better, which he thought that he could do and she had grown quiet
and withdrawn. When he pressed her for a comment she had suddenly turned on him
and said, “Oh leave me alone Jack.”
When he left her, he asked if she would be there in the morning. “I’ll be there.
Please go now Jack, and don’t be concerned about anything, I just feel out of sorts right
now. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The shop door was closed, the lights went out, and that was it. Jack walked for
hours thinking about the past month and all the changes it had brought. Walking along
the strand he bumped into a garbage pail, knocking it over. The owner of the restaurant
he was walking by ran out and spoke to him. “You make a habit out of doing that
mister?”
Jack looked at him quizzically and then realized that it was where he had stood
on that morning a lifetime ago when he had first spoken to Max. Jack shook his head in
apology and watched the man restore the trash to the can and bring it upright again.
“Well please be careful, it’s bad enough I have to watch for dogs without looking out for
people too.”
The man went back into the restaurant and all was quiet, it was late in the
evening; the beach was dark and deserted. Jack sighed and looked up, no clouds around
now. He walked toward the ocean, feeling the crunch of the sand filtering into his shoes.
At the shore line he stared into the black and muttered, “Well Max, I guess You gave me
plenty of suggestions. I got no complaints. But I wish I could have a heart to heart talk
with You sometimes, I really do.”
From beyond the water, out of the vast line of the unseen horizon came the
rolling thunder of a Voice he recognized immediately, “What would you say to me, Jack
Belson?”
Jack fell to his knees on the wet sand. He bowed his head, feeling so humbled
that a lump formed in his throat, and he held back a need to cry. He swallowed and
looked up, eyes wet with tears. A great sigh left his lips. Finally, he said, “It was real.
All the time it was real. You really did come, You spoke to me.”
One word boomed gently stirring his every cell, every molecule, “Yes.”
Jack was at a loss for words. Wanting to say a thousand things, he could think of
nothing. Not one thing. Finally he bowed his head and said with true and utter humility,
“Thank You Father.”
The Voice spoke again and asked, “Only thank you? No request to help win the
race?”
 Jack was filled with a longing so strong he could not respond. He felt a bubble of
love surrounding him and the uplifting feeling was beyond imagination. Time no longer
existed. Had you said that a moment or a day had gone by the statement would have
had no meaning for him whatever. He had been kneeling on the sand for well over an
hour before his radiant face lifted and he replied, “I do not care about the race. I only
care about you. Please.”
Jack pleaded, but for what he couldn’t say, he only knew he wanted to be lifted
to the bosom of his Maker to serve in any capacity he could. “Tell me what I can do for
you Father, please.”
A collage of thought pictures appeared in the mind of Jack Benson. Thoughts
and scenes of depressed and homeless people, of hunger, of rockets and bombs and
crying children, alone and frightened. He saw terrorists, and floods, and children with
old faces and weapons in their hands. He shuddered at the images and once again tears
filled his eyes as he lifted his head to the night sky.
Jack wondered why these intense scenes were in his mind. ‘Why these thoughts?
Why now? Why me? Why any of this to me? Who am I anyway? Jack Belson,
accountant. I’m not a world saver. I’m just a guy from Santa Monica.
A great need to be of use gnawed at him and he asked once more how he could
serve.
“Please Father, I wish to do something to bring peace and to restore order and
eliminate hunger from the world, only tell me how? I want to help to bring the people
back to you. What would you have me do?”
There was a time of silence and Jack, kneeling, felt, as well as heard the next
words, knowing this was no hallucination but the only true reality he had ever known.
“Maxine will know.” The Voice said.
Jack looked up, puzzled, “Maxine, who is Maxine?”
Jack felt the bubble of energy sucked away from him and he was once again just
a man kneeling on the wet sand. From far, far away he heard that incredibly rich, now
dimming voice as it receded to a place barred to mankind, saying, “Be at peace Jack, I
will be with you always.” And that was the last time that Jack Belson heard the voice of
his friend, God.

He lay prostrate on the sand, unwilling to leave the sacred ground, for he was
certain now. Never again would he believe that he had a dream of God or that he had
hallucinated. He was certain. Lying at the waters edge, he drifted in and out of an
ecstatic sleep, until the rising of the tide, when the waves lapping at his body awakened
him. It was dawn.
The vision came back to him, as did the words, “Maxine will know.” It was a
mystery he felt sure would be solved in due time. The race seemed insignificant, but
what could he do? He had no clear-cut instructions. He would do what he would do.
The first thing was to go through with the race. That had been the cause of all this and
he decided to see it through. Perhaps the answer would come when it was over. He felt
new energies and strength and was completely rested. Getting up he brushed himself
off and headed for his apartment. He had just enough time for a shower and shave
before heading to Brentwood and the race which was scheduled to begin at eleven. His
car was parked near Maggie’s shop and he strolled towards it, still in a state of grace,
radiating energy.

Maggie had spent the evening on a couch in the back of her shop and was, at the
moment that Jack passed, engaged in looking out of her window at the ocean, listening
to the sound of waves crashing on the shore. Her attention was attracted to the man
walking purposefully on the cement walkway. He was disheveled and blotches of sand
were stuck to his wet clothing as though he had rolled about in it. Coming closer, she
saw that it was Jack. The look on his face startled her. She opened the door and stood
there but he walked right on by without taking notice of her. “Jack.” She said as he
passed, and then once again louder, “Jack.”
He turned and smiled. It was a smile so beatific it lit the area. “Good morning
Maggie.”
Walking to her he took her by the shoulders, pulled her to him, and gently
pressed his lips on her forehead. Pulling back still smiling, a glow of ecstasy on his face,
he said, “I’ll see you at eleven. This afternoon we must talk.”
She nodded dumbly, mystified as he turned and left. The beach was silent with
the morning once again, with only the occasional crashing waves to be heard.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The quarter mile stretch of San Vicente Boulevard, between Stanford Avenue and
Fifth Street, was closed to traffic. Stores and shops were all doing a brisk business. The
street was filled with excited laughing people who lent a festive panorama to the strip.
The bleachers, completed only days before, were filled with more spectators, most of
whom sat within the last hundred and fifty feet of the starting position, which was also
the finish line. A carnival flavor was in the air with vendors selling balloons, pretzels, ice
cream and all the various foods and souvenirs generally hawked during a street parade.
The race participants were in various stages of loosening up, with some stretching, some
jumping up and down, some doing knee bends, and some with eyes closed, doing
isometrics.
The route of the race was from east to west and back. The runners would dash
west over four bridges, then turn and race back towards the starting point, running east
over the same bridges to the finish line. There was a wide white line from one side of the
street to the other that had been drawn with powdered chalk. Most of the contestants
were lined up along the line with the handicapped racers strung out along the
racecourse. Tom Gilly stood at the eastern side of the third bridge, heading west towards
the halfway mark. Shirley Tepper, the only one whose allowance included a run on the
flat all the way, stood at her position alongside Gilly, but facing in the opposite
direction, east towards the finish line. Jack was at the eastern side of the second bridge
waiting along with other contestants equally strung out along the run.
Jack was nervously shoving his elbows back and forth. The night spent at the
beach at the waters edge seemed to have energized him even more than the excitement
and he was raring to get started. Convinced now that God had something special in
mind for him he was determined to put his best effort into the race. He’d gone home to
change and then had called Maggie to ask if she was still angry with him? If she was,
why? She replied that she was not angry, just having a bad day and to please forget
about it. They’d spoken about the previous evening over coffee late that morning, with
Jack telling her that he had another one of those conversations but not mentioning the
content at all. Only to say that he was supposed to do something, what, he didn’t know.
He began to jump up and down, and above the racket of the bystanders heard Maggie
yell, “Good luck Jack.” He spotted her in the crowd, smiled, and waved.
Shirley Tepper stood alone, leaning dejectedly on the railing of the Third Street
Bridge. Less than three blocks separated her from the finish line and the mass of
concentrated spectators, but it seemed like a hundred miles away. Her special shoes
were on her feet but she refused to wear the racing outfit that Oromans had provided.
Slacks were not for her, and if the truth were to be known, after looking at her figure, no
one in the crowd objected. She wore one of her usual black skirts with the two
concessions to the race being her special jogging shoes, and a blazing red sweatshirt
with the letters, TEPPER, stenciled on the back and front with OROMAN’S, in smaller
letters over the name on both sides.
Feeling as foolish as she did, the excitement of the crowd had not yet intruded on
her humiliation. But she was going to go out like a queen. She would hobble along as
best she could, and the crowd might laugh, but they could not say that she did not try. If
they wanted to see her make a fool of herself they would be disappointed, she would go
out with dignity. She was looking forward to the moment that Larry Sapper would hand
her a menial job so that she could spit into his eye and tell him what to do with his
garbage position. At the very least, the race had brought out in Shirley Tepper a royal
portion of poise and aplomb. How she would make a living after April Moon was
something for her to consider in the future, this day she was thinking, is the darkest day
of my life, but I will go out with dignity.
The thousands of onlookers had for the most part, purchased the Oromans
brochure which were now for sale, and were pointing out their favorites to one another.
The one thing that had happened was that the April Moon Plumbing company was now
the best known plumbing contracting firm in the world. As no one had been in the office
for the past few days to answer the phones, all the answer machine tapes were filled
with messages. The e-mail had not been looked at for three days and the number of
messages had broken all records. April Moon’s fax machines responded with a busy
signal. The company was definitely on hold until the race had been completed and
everything sorted out.
Oroman’s as well was now on the map. The Las Vegas staff had been increasing
daily, with the gross receipts for the past week quadruple the biggest week of the past
ten years of operation. Mack Kimmel was one happy person, and sitting next to Jason
Lynch, he had a smile on his face that threatened to engulf the lobes of his ears. The last
time he had felt anything like the excitement he felt at that moment was five years before
in Arcadia during the Santa Anita Handicap. That was because his own horse was in the
race. To feel like this with a local nutty contest between, not champions, or even
competent amateurs, but a bunch of salesmen, bookkeepers, and middle and old age
men and women, well that was really loony tunes. What was even crazier, he was
enjoying himself immensely.
Larry Sapper was mingling with the crowd. Strolling around in a half daze he
was definitely not enjoying himself at all, nothing seemed to be going quite the way he
wanted it to. He had originally envisioned a quiet family-like affair with only the April
Moon staff, and perhaps a few of the suppliers and accounts in attendance, but never in
his wildest imaginings did he ever consider anything like what was going on. This was
his idea and it seemed that everyone in the country was taking credit for it; he was
excited and anxious and it showed in his nervous walk and the constant chewing off bits
of his cigar and spitting it onto the walkway. More and more resentful of the fact that his
‘Great Race,’ had turned into a circus, he once again looked at the unexpected crowd
with a sneer. ‘I’ll show you sons of bitches who’s in control.’ He thought, fingering the
remote control buzzer with his thumb.
The participants were all on their marks as the moments ticked by towards
eleven a. m. Alex and Mark were side by side, standing behind the mob of starters,
relaxed and confident even with their three second handicap. Alex turned to the young
man who was to be his second in command at April Moon and winked, receiving a
forced smile and sly nod of the head in reply. Jack Belson was jumping lightly up and
down loosening his muscles as Maggie had taught him. Nervous as maiden colts
everyone was out to do their level best.
The starter was a man who had been the official starter at UCLA for the past five
years and when he looked at the motley lineup he shook his head as if he was thinking,
‘How did I get myself into this? He looked at his watch and raised his starting gun, he
glanced around at the contestants, they were ready.
But what’s this? A dog, not knowing or caring that he was holding up the biggest
race in the history of Brentwood—the only race in the history of Brentwood, strolled
leisurely across the road at peace with himself and with the world. Suddenly as with one
voice a thousand throats hooted and yelled. Hundreds of hands clapped together in
unison and a roar came from the crowd. The hound picked up his head and realizing
that he was the target of the thunderous ovation, dropped his tail between his legs,
yelped in fear and with ears laid back and legs stretched to the limit completed half the
course in record time as everyone screamed, laughed, and applauded.
 Finally everyone settled down and were ready. Once more the starter raised his
gun, looked down at his watch, held his breath for a moment and tightened his finger on
the trigger of the 22 blank pistol. The hammer fell, the firing pin hit the cap of the bullet
and ‘BANG,’ the great April Moon Handicap race was on.

The runners surged forward as one body, yelling, kicking, and elbowing their
fellow executives aside. Four of whom fell immediately, plopping onto the street at the
first press of the race. Those who had fallen quickly rose and screaming at their fellows
began their run. The starter, still staring at his watch nodded to Alex and Mark who
swiftly spurted away from the starting line. Three seconds to make up, but already it
was obvious that they would have no problem at all.
By the time the gaggle of shouting, heaving, straining bodies reached the first
bridge it was clear that outside of the speedy pair trying desperately to elbow and bull
their way through the mob of runners it was going to be anybody’s race. They reached
the first bridge and the scramble began. The speed of Mark Sully and Alex Fredericks
was doing them no good at all as it was impossible to get past the bottleneck at the first
bridge unless they could have run over the heads of the mob. Stuck in the back of the
group they had been slowed to a walk and then a full stop as they elbowed their way
through the throng. By the time Alex and Mark had reached the top of the First Street
bridge, Jack Belson, with no one ahead to slow him, was half way up the road heading
swiftly towards the steps of bridge number three.
Shirley Tepper was hobbling along the walkway between the third and second
street bridge on her way home, looking for all the world like a furniture truck with a flat
tire, wobbling first to the left and then to the right, but moving as fast as she could. Tom
Gilly had made it scrambling over the third bridge but the effort all but killed him. He
was going towards the fourth bridge at a fast walk, already breathing heavily, one of his
hands pressed tight to his side.
The screaming mob had reached the second bridge, Mark and Alex were almost
past but not yet able to run full out. They sprung around runners and finally made it to
the top of the second bridge with only five contestants in front of and around them as
Jack Belson neared the Third Street bridge still breathing easily, with no pain in his legs
as yet.
With the exception of having to run past the initial mass of runners the going
was easy for Alex and Mark who had separated as they ran neck and neck and had
simply taken the steps two at a time at an easy trot. Turning to look back down the
bridge when they reached the top, they saw one shapeless mass of bodies all hitting the
steps at the same time. It was a shambles. Stopping for a moment at the top of the bridge
they both laughed watching runners grabbing each others arms for support and at the
same time pulling away and yelling for the other person to let go.
Irma Linko had her sweatshirt torn practically off halfway up the steps of the
second bridge and Frank Sanderson had his pants ripped away. He had reached the top
step first. Six hands grabbed him at the same time. Three runners on the steps just below
him were frantically attempting to pull themselves up, Frank’s pants were the losers and
he inadvertently mooned the crowd to their great and hilarious amusement. It was
apparent to everyone that the bridges were going to be formidable obstacles. The
scramble took place well within sight of the main body of onlookers, who were now
laughing so much that the bleachers were shaking and threatening to collapse, but no
one watching could help themselves.
It seemed as though the only person who was totally oblivious to it all was
Shirley Tepper who limped away steadily, her eyes fixed on the twin Palm trees that
marked the finish of the tortuous farce. She was determined that if nothing else she
would finish the race with dignity. Walking as quickly as she was able, stumping
alongside the narrow sidewalk that framed the length of the walkway she held herself
up as tall as she could. Although her head might tip a bit every time her right leg went
down that was no fault of her own. She would carry her cross proudly. But not a person
paid her any mind at all as the last runner finally scrambled up and over the Second
Street Bridge.
Mark Sully had pulled in front of Alex Fredericks by two feet and was jogging
along easily. No point in killing himself, he still had to run up and down two bridges
before he reached the halfway point and then back again and over them all one more
time. When Mark’s feet hit the first step of the third street bridge he was all alone and
ran slowly up the steps to the top allowing Alex to catch up. At the top of the bridge
they once again came to a halt to watch the scrambling runners, now shouting at one
another, as they ran in what amounted to a solid body, up the steps of the Third Street
Bridge. Alex and Mark taunted them all from their position at the top of the bridge. With
a pair of waves and a blown kiss to the cheering spectators they skipped down the steps
on their way to the Fourth street bridge. It was then that Mark Sully, turning towards
Alex, as they lopped side by side turned loose his bomb, “Sorry Alex, but I’m going for
the win.”
At first Alex didn’t understand. The words took a moment or two to sink in. But
then when Mark opened up the pace and shot ahead he understood in a flash. Alex
screamed at the man racing ahead of him, “You son of a bitch, you can’t do that.” He
frantically turned on all his speed to catch up. Now the race was run in earnest between
the pair. Alex noticed a stitch in his side and his breath came heavier as he thought
“God, and I haven’t even reached half way.” But he was determined to beat the younger
man and picked up the pace even more as they neared a surprisingly fresh Jack Belson
and a wiltering Tom Gilly.
You would have thought it was an Olympic field the way the crowd was yelling.
Each had their favorite and the din had turned into a gigantic roar attracting people to
the spot from miles around who came to see what was going on in the normally placid
neighborhood.
Jack jogged past Tom Gilly who had stopped and was bent over, holding his side
and puffing. It was clear that his two hundred dollar bet was lost and his wife was
screaming at him to sit down and forget about the race, but no, he turned and started
walking towards the Fourth Street Bridge breathing like a winded horse, as two forms
flashed by him.
 Jack was running easily now, his pace diminishing, but in the lead, unless you
were to count Shirley Tepper who had hobbled past the Second Street bridge on the way
to first street and home. She was already slowing her snails pace from the effort.
Halfway to the last bridge Mark and Alex, racing hard and together, zipped by Jack
Belson. Running like professionals they reached the first steps of the Fourth Street
bridge far in front of Jack, who was now being approached by Claude Hoskins, and the
rest of the forward moving crowd.
At the fourth and last bridge, before the return back over the course to the finish
line, the runners were approaching the steps in a group, with Jack ahead of the panting
mob by a matter of yards, and Alex and Mark already running down the other side of
the bridge to the turning point just twenty five feet away.
It was obvious to Larry Sapper that his champions would be running back over
the bridge while the other runners were still on it, and that the favorites would be swept
back and possibly be hurt in the rush.
Jack Belson and the rest of the crowd neared the first step of the critical bridge.
Alex and Mark were already on their way back, feet pumping like pistons to get in front
of one another, it was obvious that they would reach the west side of the Fourth Street
Bridge coming back, just as the mass of runners would be getting to the east side.
Larry Sapper made his decision. He would slow down the mob by God. They
weren’t going to get in the way of his champion.
The cheers and yelling of the spectators was deafening as they saw what none of
the runners could see due to the height of the bridge. Fifty two runners, with miracle of
miracles, Jack Belson, in front of the pack. He was about to reach the east side of the
Fourth Street Bridge. Coming on rapidly to the west side of the Fourth Street Bridge
was Mark Sully, moving like a rocket, just inches ahead of Alex Fredericks.
Dimly aware of what was going on behind her Shirley Tepper was hobbling
slowly, and painfully, towards the First Street Bridge, paying no attention to the
screaming spectators. She stepped carefully now, not wishing to injure herself,
concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other as she limped past the end row of
bleachers with the crowd yelling encouragement as she moved steadily towards the
twin palms and the end of her agony. It was obvious to the spectators she had no chance
but all hearts were silently rooting for the gallant lady limping slowly along.
Larry himself had run toward the Third Street Bridge and leaned against one of
the store fronts. He had a vision line to the east side of the fourth bridge and could see
Jack Belson about to reach it, closely followed by the entire company. He could not see
Mark Sully and Alex Fredericks at the west side of the same bridge coming back on their
way towards the finish line. If he could have he might have held off what he did but his
only thought now was to slow down the runners so that his ‘boys,’ could get past
without injury. Just as Jack got to the bridge, Larry Sapper pressed the button on his
remote control device. There was a hiss and a clunk that no one could possibly hear and
then....
Exhilarated by the activity, sparkling with energy, breathing hard and barely
aware of his heaving chest and the pain in his pounding legs, Jack Belson imagined
Maggie Oliver urging him on and a spurt of power hit him as he leaped on to the
bridges third step. He felt powerful and in control, his body, although paining him in
spots, was obeying his every command.
Jack’s leap past the first two steps was a spontaneous cry of joy; a joy of being, of
participating, of living life to the fullest. The surprise when his foot banged not on to a
step but into a wall shocked him. The step had disappeared. With nothing but a wall in
front of him his foot smashed forward tripping his knee into the now solid face of wood.
Jack; with no purchase whatever fell heavily into the non-existent three steps. His
forehead hit the eighth step and the last thing he remembered as consciousness left him
was a mass of bodies when the other runners now seconds behind ran into the same
barrier. He heard men curse, a screaming woman, felt knees on his back, a foot in his
face, the smell of sweat, and then... darkness and quiet.
The crowd saw Jack Belson reach the step, trip and fall. Runners just behind him
swerved to avoid his body, but somehow, they too tripped and dropped, and the
runners behind them also stumbled and went down until the lower part of the East side
of the Fourth Street Bridge was covered with moaning, groaning people lying about all
askew.
Once again they screamed as someone on the top row of the bleachers pointed a
finger at the fourth street bridge and yelled, ‘Look.’ There in full view of the spectators,
at the top of the bridge, running full tilt were Mark Sully and Alex Fredericks, each
trying to gain on the other. They fairly flew up, over, and down the bridge and both of
them noted the blockage of bodies at the same time.
Too late! It was impossible to control their speed at that point and they hit the
moaning, groaning bodies at the same instant. The crowd saw the legs of Mark Sully
where his head should be for an instant as he cart wheeled over the crowd to land on the
parkway with a sickening crunch; left leg splintering under the impact.
Alex Fredericks was no luckier. Not being able to slow down either he leaped
over the crowd and landed with a thud alongside Mark Sully. Thrusting his hands in
front of himself to break the force of the fall, he broke instead, both wrists. He moaned
and wriggled in front of the bridge, holding his hands up in front of his chest, wailing in
pain and writhing in defeat.
The crowd was stunned. Larry Sapper, who at first had sneered at the sight of his
executive staff lying about in all positions of distress, now had a concerned look of
apprehension on his face as he realized that his protégé, and right hand man was down.
His general manager, the man he had picked to preside over his company was on the
ground, sobbing in pain—staring at his twisted wrists.
Larry ran towards him yelling, “Get up Alex, get up and run.”, but even if Alex
could have heard him he was incapable of understanding, so great was his pain. Larry
neared the bridge repeatedly yelling at Alex to get up when still another great roar from
the crowd stopped him. He looked around but there was no movement. All the runners
were either on the ground or on the bridge laying about moaning. Jack Belson still
sprawled unconscious and bleeding from a cut in the center of his forehead and Mark
was screaming in agony, his left leg twisted out in front of him. It seemed as though the
only runner who was not laying on the ground was Thomas Gilly who was sitting
nearby, face red as a beet, trying to catch his breath. At that moment his only goal in life
was to get back home so he could flop onto his couch for a beer and a cigarette.
Again there was a mighty roar from the crowd and Larry ran to the other side of
the bridge and hurried up the steps to the top for a better view. What he saw caused the
hairs at the back of his neck to stand straight out. His face screwed up like a baby’s and
before he could help himself he began to cry. Beating his hands on the bridge railing in
anger and frustration, he screamed again and again, “No, No, No.”
Gathering himself together he looked again towards the finish line, hoping he
would not see what he saw. But there it was; Shirley Tepper, limping slowly towards the
twin palms. The crowd in the bleachers could see that everyone else had fallen and
unless someone got up and started running, she would win the race. But it didn’t look as
though anyone would.
But wait, there was someone running like a champion, sprinting like a madman,
with arms and jacket flailing the air like a windmill. Who was it? Why was he running
around the Second Street Bridge, not bothering to go over it? And where was his name
and running outfit? Soon the runner was recognized. It was Larry Sapper who wasn’t
even in the race. On he ran, shouting and yelling at the top of his lungs, “Stop. Stop!” He
paused for a moment to lend more energy to his voice and with a bellow that threatened
to tear his vocal cords—he let out a might roar, “I said stop!”
But Shirley Tepper kept going at the same slow plodding, limping pace, and
moments before a frantic Larry Sapper reached the First Street Bridge she had crossed
the finish line, holding her head in a dignified position of defeat. She had not yet
realized that she had come in ahead of everyone in the company, and that she, Shirley
Tepper, former executive secretary to former Chairman of the Board Charles Sapper,
presently secretary to Lawrence Sapper, had won the Great April Moon Handicap.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

 Jack Belson opened his eyes to find Maggie Oliver bending over him, a look of
deep concern on her face. He was lying on the grass. Standing in a semi circle around
her was a group of strangers staring and commenting on the accident. He heard cries of
agony coming from somewhere and a roaring that sounded like a distant crowd. His
head hurt. Reaching up he felt an egg sized lump forming just over his right eyebrow.
His hand came away bloody. “What happened?” he asked Maggie.
“You fell.” was her response.
Looking around him he saw what seemed to be the entire office staff lying or
sitting on the ground moaning and rubbing some part of their anatomy. He looked at
her, eyebrows rising quizzically.
“They all fell.” She said.
There was the sound of a cheer in the distance along with a great many excited
voices. Jack turned his head towards the finish line and then looked at Maggie asking,
“Did anyone finish?” Jack asked.
“Shirley.”
Jack rose to a sitting position, still a bit groggy. “Shirley?” He said. “She
finished?”
Maggie smiled, realizing that she was not getting through yet as Jack moved his
head about slowly to test the position of the pain. After a moment he asked almost
casually. “What was her position?”
“First.” Maggie answered simply.
Comprehension came slowly. His eyes closed for a moment and he thought of
the run, the bridges, his fall and Maggie bending over him. He could hear the voice of
the crowd dimly as though from a great distance. The words finally got through to his
consciousness. “First?” He ran his fingers through his hair stopping at a spot near the
top and scratching. “She came in first? Shirley did?”
He looked at her dumbly, a blank expression on his face as though he didn’t
quite understand what he was being told. Maggie sat on the grass alongside him. She
looked into his eyes and very softly, almost as though she was forming each word with
her lips said, “She won.”
“Won? Shirley won the race? Finally the words flooded in and Jack started to
laugh but he hurt. Both hands went to his head as he laughed, and then with a moan, he
laughed again, loud and long. He couldn’t help himself, nor could he stop laughing. He
stopped for a moment, and once again asked, “Shirley won?”
Maggie nodded, and he continued chuckling, holding his head and saying “Oh,
that hurts.” But he couldn’t stop laughing. The ache in his head grew worse, but still he
laughed. He thought of the events that lead to his falling on the steps of the bridge, to
Shirley Tepper’s win, to Maggie who was crouched besides him. He stared up at the
blue sky for a moment, his head slowly nodding up and down.
“Shirley won.” He said as a broad grin grew on his face. He flipped a thumb up
as he stared at the sky, “All right!” He said emphatically, and still nodding jerked his
thumb up higher and speaking beyond everyone, shouted, “Right on. Right on.”
 Jack Belson tensed his aching muscles slightly and tested his arms and legs;
finally he stood with a slight effort, took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he took in
the scene around him. People were attending Alex and Mark who seemed to be in the
worst shape. Most of the others were simply bruised and breathing hard. Nothing for
him to do here. He turned to Maggie Oliver and looked long and hard into her eyes as
he thought of what his future could be with her in his life. A smile played over his lips.
She looked at him quizzically. Finally, he made up his mind and said, “Come on babe,
let’s go home.”
“Whose?” She asked.
“Ours.” He replied.
He took her by the shoulder and with an assurance born of the recent events
said, “I’m coming into ‘Run for Your Life’ and into your life.” Their eyes locked
together as he continued. “Maggie my dear,” She drunk in the intoxicating words, her
head spinning with the joy of them. “Maggie. Maggie. Dear, dear Maggie, it was meant
to be. I couldn’t care less about April Moon. If you’ll have me, I want to be your partner
in business and your partner in life as well. There’s a wonderful future ahead for us, and
if anyone ever tells you that God doesn’t have a sense of humor, you send them over to
me.”
Gently taking a greatly relieved, beaming Maggie Oliver by the arm, Jack Belson
pulled her to his chest and pressing his lips on hers gave her a long, hard kiss. Moments
later, arm in arm, they walked away from the street of the ‘Great Race.’
Jack turned towards the grandstands and the crowd of people at the finish line.
He touched his forehead with the back of his hand and whipped it in the direction of the
runners. With loud and precise syllables he said loudly, “Good-by April Moon.” After
which he got into the car, and the satisfied pair drove away.

Well wishers and garlands of flowers surrounded Shirley Tepper. Mack Kimmel
was ecstatic at the way things had turned out; not one person had put a dime on the
winner and every bet that was placed had been lost. He had made a fortune. “Honey,”
he said, “I want to shake hands with the new general manager of the April Moon
Plumbing Company.” Looking at a dejected Larry Sapper who was in a state of shock
Mack said, “And if anyone tries any hanky panky with you,” Mack handed her a card
with his private number on it and continued, still staring at Larry, “you just call me and
I’ll send someone to straighten things out.”
Shirley just stood there repeating over and over again, “I won? I won?” Then
throwing her hands out in a greeting to everyone she yelled. “I won.” And all the people
within hearing cheered and whistled and applauded, all that is with the exception of
Larry Sapper.

It was the following Tuesday when Jack showed up to pick up a few things that
belonged to him. Shirley was moving into the big office. When she saw him she called
him over and asked where he was going. “I’m leaving the company Shirley.”
“Why? You still have your job. As far as I’m concerned, you’ll always have it.”
 Jack shook his head, “No Shirley. The race changed my life more than you could
possibly know. I’ll be getting married. My lady and I are going to be in an entirely
different occupation. You couldn’t persuade me to stay here under any conditions, so
please don’t try. Just wish me the same luck that I wish for you.”
“You know I do Jack. By the way, have you heard about Larry?”
Jack shook his head, “No, and I’d just as soon not hear about him, if I never hear
the name Larry Sapper again it’ll be fine with me.”
Shirley nodded, “I know what you mean Jack, I just thought you’d like to know
that he’s in the hospital. It seems that just after the race, when everyone was
congratulating me and all that, Larry wandered off. He walked over to Wilshire
Boulevard and started to direct traffic. Every time a bus passed he took off some of his
clothes. First his jacket, then his shirt, and then his shoes. By the time the police came
he was stark naked waving cars by with his shorts. Can you imagine, and on a main
street. I understand that he’s had a breakdown. Anyway the rumor is that he’ll be there
for quite some time, oh and by the way, you’ll never guess who’s assisting me.”
Jack looked quizzical, then shrugged, as Shirley continued, “Charley.”
What started as the hint of a smile grew into an ear to ear grin as Jack began to
chortle, “Charley Sapper?”
Shirley nodded, “Yes. He called me yesterday, and said that he was feeling
better and would I mind if he spent a few hours a day helping. He thought that he had
the strength for that for a while. Of course I said yes. Isn’t that something? Oh yes, by
the way, if you’re not coming back, I’m giving Ben Coppel your job, the rest of the office
stays the same. When Alex and Mark get out of the hospital, they can have their old jobs
if they want them. After all Alex was a very good sales manager.”
Shirley was beaming now, “One other thing, you’ll never guess. The Mayor of
Brentwood called me this morning. I’m to attend a meeting on Wednesday with the
City Council. It seems that they want to have another race next year. They want me to
work with that nice Mr. Kimmel, you know, the man from Las Vegas. It may even turn
out to be an annual event with gold and silver medals. He said that the business people
did so well it could put Brentwood on the map. Of course it won’t hurt April Moon a bit
either.
“Just imagine Jack, if it does turn out to be an annual affair, I will always be seen
as the first winner of the April Moon Handicap. Can you imagine, me, a gold medal
winner?”
Shirley Tepper’s smile lit up the room. Her eyes blanked for a moment as she
stared into space, thinking private thoughts of a new, exciting, productive life. Jack
slipped out of the office, turned at the door, and waved at her, but she was still lost
among the stars, thinking about her bright future, and so without disturbing her further
he walked out and left the April Moon Plumbing Company forever.
 Three idyllic months later, while Jack was going over a marketing plan for the
shop, Maggie came to sit by his side. She took his hands in her own and said, “Jack, I’m
frightened.”
He stopped what he was doing and asked why. Maggie replied simply, “We’re
going to have a child; I’m pregnant.”
Jack felt a flush of pleasure sweep through his body. He looked at his wife and
his entire being smiled. Images raced through his mind, and then he swept her into his
arms in a bear hug of joy. “But that’s wonderful Maggie. It’s the best news I have ever
heard.”
“I’m frightened.” she repeated.
Jack sat on the couch next to her and gently pulled her into his lap, his arms
folded tightly around her, “What is there to fear?”
“I’m forty two years old. That’s what frightens me.”
“Nonsense,” he replied, “it will be fine. Maggie dear, you must have only the
best of expectations. We will program this child, we will program you. Fear is not to be
allowed to enter our home.”
Many things crystallized in a flash for Jack. Finally, he understood. He closed his
eyes for a moment and was once again on his knees at the oceans edge. A feeling of
great calm settled over him. He smiled broadly at his companion and spoke
emphatically.
“We’ll use our knowledge and structure the birth so that you will have an easy
time, so that she will come into the world softly, and naturally.”
Maggie was infected with Jack’s enthusiasm and laughed, “She? How do you
know it’s going to be a girl?”
He held her at arms length, looked deep into her green eyes and said quietly,
“The moment you told me of your condition many things become clear.” He hugged
her as they sat close together in a quiet embrace, her head resting on his shoulder.
“How do I know that you are going to give birth to a girl? Maggie, I’ve never
been as sure of anything in my entire life.”
Maggie pulled back, studied Jack’s face for a moment, and said seriously, “Well
then there is only one name for her.”
Jack waited, a chill creating a soft shiver in him as he thought of the future,
knowing what the name would be, but wanting to hear it from her lips.
“Maxine.” Maggie said, “If it’s a girl, we will call her Maxine.”
It was.
And they did.
EPILOGUE

In a loft near downtown Los Angeles, in a nondescript section of town, Kenneth

Grant was in deep meditation. He chose Los Angeles as he wanted to be close to his next
project. The apartment building was owned by a fellow adept and Kenneth had the
entire top floor to himself. It had been converted into a single large room dedicated to
the worship of God. Festooned with orange, red, and indigo silks the loft was permeated
with the aroma of Frankincense.
Kenneth meditated every day, keeping the spiritual channel open in case a
message should arrive. The adepts were the tuning rods of the present. Every now and
then one of them would receive a spate of information from the realm of the spirit and
broadcast it throughout the planet. So the race of man grows, and so the race will
continue to grow.
Kenneth awaited his message. He felt certain it would have to do with Jack
Belson. Time would tell; in the meanwhile he would sit in the lotus position for hours, in
his sanctuary, receptively meditating. He was ready. When the gender principle worked
its magic he would polarize the message and send it out to the world.