2099 (What if a Global Remedy Could Happen) By Mark Farenbaugh

 2099 

(What if a Global Remedy Could Happen)

By Mark Farenbaugh

The three androids were waiting in the hallway to be called into a meeting; two were males and one was female. All of them appeared to be African American, but with Caribbean features. The men had lean and fit body forms. The woman was well above average in form and appeal. It was hard for a human not to notice her. For about a decade, they and other androids had been wandering throughout the county, still commonly referred to as Haiti, collecting information and planting observation and tracking devices. They stood in silence, waiting for a message to prompt them to enter the conference room.

Inside the meeting area were two senior officers from the mega corp Black Reach-Amazon Global-SpaceZ Systems (BRASS). They were there to brief the US government on Haiti’s current condition: its population, security, and environment; and on how they would convert it into company-owned territory. They were experts who represented the company’s proven ability to secure territory, add infrastructure, and earn global trust. The officers were important enough to commit the company to an international obligation. They both had specific experience in international law, android deployment, and global migration. 

Trevor Hale was the company lead as Chief Strategic Synthesis Officer. It was his job to consolidate the data from their androids and present the case for permanent human relocation should a purchase or lease proceed. His talent was selling plans of action. He intended to sell one framed as a voluntary, compensated population transition conducted under internationally recognized legal and humanitarian standards. His deputy was Raymond Kline, the International Director of Operations. He had been involved in android operations in several countries, but this was his first with the newer androids.

Included in the meeting were two officials from the United States government office of Global Organization of Land Use & Recovery (GOLUR). A powerful organization with the authority to promote the privatization of misused land in cases of complete political or democratic absence. 

Hans Richter, was the lead for the government. A lawyer with experience in international business law and the global deployment of androids. His assistant was Ulrich Weber, also a lawyer with experience in global real estate disposition and its transition to commercial owners. Privatization of this sort had become important worldwide, where the land was precious but dominated by conflicts or misuse. 

After introductions, the four men took their assigned seats at the U-shaped table facing the briefing wall. 

Hans spoke first. “We all know why we are here. BRASS intends to purchase or lease what remains of Haiti, and you are asking the international community to approve that transfer of authority. Before any contract can be considered, we will need assurances that your plan fully addresses the issues that typically determine success or failure in operations of this scale - human relocation and compensation, public health, and stabilization. Please also explain how you would manage the ownership transition.

“And to be clear: this is not a sale in any permanent sense. This will be structured as a long-term lease - fifty years is the norm. If annual inspections detect a deviation from agreed-upon limits, fewer.”

Trevor nodded in agreement and looked down at his notes. He was about to brief the room on what they now knew about Haiti. In practice, however, BRASS had already completed its initial feasibility study on acquiring misused land and clearing it of occupants. 

Trevor also knew that adding androids to the briefing would be a surprise to the government representatives, but it had to be undeniable evidence and information, and everyone knew that humans couldn’t perform well in the current Haitian environment.

He raised his hand to volunteer his thoughts. “We understand the restrictions and would like to brief you on what is currently going on throughout the area and how we could help cultivate a stable ownership that will contribute to its better use.”  

His partner, Raymond, continued from there. “As we all know, the international courts declared Haiti a non-nation a couple of decades ago. We understand this was based on significant population abandonment, criminal misuse, non-survivability of a democracy when installed, and where no one country wanted to help or assume responsibility.”  He looked at the government officials to see if there was any surprise to his statement. None. 

He continued, “We haven’t seen any positive attributes in the non-country of Haiti, which, by the way, we would most likely refer to as the BRASS Custodial Zone.

“We recognize that certain areas will require limited human oversight during the initial phase of our contract, and we are fully prepared to manage that transition safely. However, our plan does not include maintaining a permanent human presence. The immediate objective will be to completely secure the island and then start the orderly relocation of the remaining Haitian population, followed by a complete suspension of human entry until conditions are deemed stable. This will necessarily include preventing reentry from off-island populations, as evidence shows such returns would only recreate the conditions that exist today.”

Ray paused again to see if there was any concern among the government representatives. He saw no movement.

“Then, please allow us to brief you on what we have seen in the last few years.”

As if on cue, the androids entered the room and positioned themselves in front of the four gentlemen. The two government representatives were surprised at seeing the Haitian-looking androids.

The second government official, Ulrich, spoke up, “We did not expect to have androids in this meeting. Why are they here?”

“Sorry to surprise you, but we decided to have these model androids present to add realism to our ability to survey and record events, and to give credibility to the operation in securing the land,” Raymond answered.

The first male android recognized the signal to begin when he saw Trevor raising his eyebrows.

“I am Pathfinder 25. I was deployed about 10 years ago to observe and report on the size, makeup, and living conditions of the national and international human populations that are present. First, I would like to give you a historical review that led the world to declare Haiti as just a land mass.

As he spoke, a slide appeared on the screen behind him, reading:

• Haiti emerged from slavery, gaining independence in 1804.
• The revolution destroys colonial infrastructure but achieves the victory of freedom.
• External powers respond with isolation and debt extraction.
• Early leadership was chaotic and not consolidated without external force.

“Since 1804, after gaining independence from the French, Haiti has experienced a continuous pattern of governance instability. Violence and lack of institutional development have been constant, characterized by episodic violence, institutional fragility, and external economic constraint. Violence has served as a constant and recurring mechanism for political transition, social control, and economic survival. 

“From 1825, the…..”

Ulrich interrupted the android, clearly wanting to push through the history, “We are aware of the history, so please summarize the facts up to about 1980.” Then, turning to the BRASS representative, Trevor, “Are these your androids, and are they capable of blending into any society in this configuration?”

Trevor became concerned that introducing the androids into the meeting had become a risk and decided to play along with the government representative. He is not too smart about androids, he realized. He then winked at the Darling android, who acknowledged his signal with a slight upward curve of her mouth.

He answered Ulrich’s questions with instructions to the androids. “Please consolidate the historical portion, without slides, and continue. Also, return to your normal BRASS deployment configuration.” 

Pathfinder 25 simply nodded and resumed. “Our reconfiguration will take about 15 minutes. Meanwhile, I will continue the briefing as directed. A soft tone sounded. Low. All three androids initiated their conversion.

“For many decades, from about 1825 until 1935, there were foreign military occupations that achieved limited order and infrastructure improvements. However, after the withdrawals, the result was no durable political architecture and eventual long-term resentment from the people. It was temporary stability that eventually gave way to dictatorship in the 1950s.

“From 1957 until 1986, dictatorial rule was the norm, enforced by paramilitary terror. Any opposition was crushed with violence. The Nation-State of Haiti did not survive well afterwards.

As the minutes passed, all the androids’ skin changed from dark black to a slate color, then grey. Their facial features also returned to a more Caucasian form. The clothes remained the same.

“After the dictatorships, democracy and elections were repeatedly cut short or overturned by coups and armed factions. Anyone with even minimal military or police training could become a political actor, with enough skill to gather followers. The resulting gang violence shattered what little public trust in governance remained.

“In 2021, paid international assassins killed the last elected president. After that, whatever government remained called for help from the United Nations, which sent armed peacemaking forces. But they could not deal with the numerous violent gangs that controlled the streets. As the years passed, reports showed the gangs growing stronger while the peacemakers’ operational effectiveness declined; they were eventually forced to retreat to a fortified garrison, abandon their mission, and leave the country.

All three androids completed their transition back to their original Caucasian design. The female was impressively alluring, with close-fitting sheer attire, catching the wandering attention of the closest government representative, Ulrich.

“There has been no emergent local government, nor any country willing to help since the United Nations departed.”

Raymond then raised his hand to interrupt the android and take control of the dialogue. “As you know, while all this was happening, the burden on the population became harsh enough to encourage the diaspora of a large portion of the remaining Haitians. Those who could not escape by sea accepted offers to be flown to any country that needed cheap labor. The starving and terrified were more than willing to flee just to survive. Remember, it was a crime to be young in Haiti. All young men were forced to join one of the many gangs or be burned alive.”

Hans, noticing the attention his junior government partner, Ulrich, was giving to the female android, continued with the global response to Haiti. “Yes, I can add that it was about fifty years later when the GOLUR became aware of the significantly reduced population per square mile, with no ability for a follow-on generation to succeed those who had some leadership role. Nor could anyone defeat the infiltration of highly violent international crime on the island. 

“It didn’t take long to declare Haiti a non-country. All discussion within GOLUR came to the same conclusion: it had ceased to exist.”

The room fell silent for a moment. Only the eye contact from the completely Caucasian androids made the government officials uncomfortable enough to start asking questions again.

Ulrich broke the silence but continued to stare at the Darling android. “How many androids did you deploy on the island, and what were they doing all this time?”

Raymond quickly responded, “We sent an initial group of thirty, then added fifty more once we realized how long the initial field assessments would take without any public transportation. The first batch was mostly male, tasked with gathering DNA and implanting nano tracking devices on every human they could get close to. However, after it became clear that the gang leaders were well protected, we deployed our female pleasure models, like the Darling model in front of you. They also proved useful in clinical areas, where there were numerous contagious diseases. Please remember that there are no functioning morgues. The bodies are frequently burned in open ditches.”

Hearing the reference to the company adding female pleasure models, the Darling android let her weight shift onto one hip with deliberate slowness, as if she were choosing where the room should look next. The open slit in the sheer fabric showed more of her leg. With a slight twist of her torso, her blouse showed the curves of her large breasts.

She placed one foot forward, nearer to Drake, revealing one side of a perfectly formed leg and quietly claiming the space in front of her. The dress stayed close around her curved hip. Her chin lifted slightly. Then her eyes found Ulrich and held him - steady, assessing, unblinking. The smile that followed was thin and precise, less an invitation than a decision, as if she had already measured him and found him compliant. She could sense his arousal, and the faintest curve of her mouth suggested she had intended it that way all along.

Ulrich became uncomfortably aware that he was staring. His mouth was slightly open, his thoughts stalled, and when he finally realized it, he closed it too quickly and looked away, too late to pretend he hadn’t been caught.

She asked softly, “Would you like a glass of water?”

Ulrich blinked, caught off guard by the question, and glanced toward his boss. The look on his face silently asked for permission to accept. But his boss was mesmerized as well and didn’t see his partner’s idiotic look.

Trevor watched their focus drift, then deliberately reclaimed it. Success, he thought. He leaned in, his tone firm enough to break the spell. “We nearly gathered all the information we needed, but then there was a fresh surge in Mexican and Colombian narco traffickers battling the local gangs for control. The main city is still controlled by the gangs, with practically everything outside it controlled by illicit traffickers. That level of violence made it too hazardous to collect and implant devices quickly.”

Recovering from Darling’s spell and sensing the briefing was complete, Hans started with the more operational questions, those that he would need to solidify a transition from lack of sovereignty to commercial control, and of course, approve such a contract.

“How are you going to remove all the population with such a spectacle of violence, and how are you going to separate those who are not violent from those who are?”

“Each person has a device implanted that can tell us where they are. That same device can render the individual unconscious. We will simply remove them at night, barrio by barrio.”

“That will take hundreds of androids. How will you insert them onto the island?”

“We quietly move them by ship within a mile of the shore and let them swim to the coast.”

“What sort of compensation will you offer those humans who deserve it?”

“A free ride to the country of choice, half a million dollars, and a robot to protect them for a period of six months.” 

“The criminal elements?”

“They will go directly to whoever has the jail contract.”

“How long will it take, and how will you secure the island?”

“One year to remove everyone. It’s just a matter of logistics. But we have to secure the island first. We intend to set up a long string of coastal fast maneuver ships with the ability and permission to intercept violent groups, if needed. The ship design is already complete.”

Hans leaned back, satisfied. Ulrich closed his folder. The government decision, for all practical purposes, had been made.

Then Ulrich’s phone softly buzzed. A text came in.

Darling: Looking forward to working with you, Ulrich. The transition will be rewarding. I’ll make sure of it, if you want.

Kenlon Meets His Match by Bruce Emard

                                         KENLON MEETS HIS MATCH

Near the beginning of Servite time, adolescent boys came to Servite High School’s rudimentary Anaheim campus to challenge themselves in academia and athletics under the auspices of an order of Catholic priests and brothers called Servites who served the Virgin Mary.  These men of Mary reached into the Orange County community, still young and growing, where they found strong minded and passionate men and women to help them with their mission to prepare lads for college and adult life.  Among the coaches came Bill Miller, a former United States Marine drill sergeant, and George Dena, already a legend of a man whose heroics on the football gridiron as quarterback for Anaheim High School were widely known in Orange County newspapers and around the tables and bars of Orange County’s watering holes.  Under the tutelage of these two giants, Servite’s first varsity football team won the State of California’s Southern Section championship for small schools.  Having established a reputation for physical and mental toughness, hut drill discipline, and winning, Servite’s football program flourished under the leadership of Head Coach George Dena.  

  Into this high testosterone environment entered Stephen Kenlon. In 1970, on a hot September day reaching into the hundreds, Coach Dena brought Kenlon to the door of the Servite weight room. Kenlon watched the team straining under Olympic bars, tossing medicine balls, chinning, jumping rope, and dripping sweat to the rubber tiled floor and benches in the heat.  The double doors of the weight room lay open to a less than pristine grass practice field.  They let in a hint of a breeze that eased the stench of stale sweat.  Team members stopped in mid repetition to marvel at the bear of a young man standing in the doorway. Six feet tall, weighing two hundred or so pounds, muscles bulging from under his tee shirt and gym shorts, a square jaw jutting confidence, thick neck, shadow of a recently shaved beard, and a mop of long brown hair, he appeared ready to start at one of the varsity linebacker positions.  

After the weight training session, Coach Dena introduced Kenlon to the team.  “I’d like you to meet Steve Kenlon.  He’ll be joining the freshman team next week.”  The quarterback shook hands with Kenlon and said, “Welcome to Servite football.” He noticed and admired Kenlon’s strong grip.  Bill Zimmerman, the starting middle linebacker, on the other hand, either feeling threatened or just testing the lad’s mettle, glared at Kenlon and asked, “What do you bench, frosh?”  “Around two hundred,” came the confident response.  “Let’s see what you’ve got,” Zimmerman said gruffly.  He walked Kenlon over to a bench where a twenty-five-pound iron Olympic bar rested on its stand.  From the weight rack, he took a forty-five-pound iron disk in each hand, then slid the disks onto each side of the bar one-handed like it was child’s play.  After repeating the feat, he said, “There you go frosh.”  Kenlon slid his back onto the bench under the bending bar, then spaced his hands evenly on the bar above his pectoral muscles.  Zimmerman stood behind, expecting Kenlon to need some help.  “Need a lift, frosh?”  “No thanks,” came the reply.  Kenlon began taking long, deep breaths.  On the third inhale, he pushed the bar off the rack and lowered it to his chest.  Then, exhaling powerfully, he began pushing the bar up.  Close to full extension, the bar stopped moving and quavered a bit.  Smiling, Zimmerman reached his hands under the bar to provide an assist but at that moment, the bar continued up, then settled onto the rack.  “Gotcha, Zim.  That was two hundred and five,” Kenlon said with a boyish grin.  “Not bad frosh,” Zimmerman said with a sneer.  He walked over to the weight rack, grabbed a forty-five-pound disk in each hand, then slid them onto the bar.  Motioning for Kenlon to move aside, he slid under the bar, inhaled deeply, and lifted the bar off the rack.  In one long exhale, he pumped the bar in three full repetitions, then dropped it onto a shaking and straining rack.  “You’ve got some work to do,” he said, breathing heavily and pointing to the wall of the weight room. There, among black and white banners honoring championship teams and All CIF players, Blaine Nye, Pat Rooney, Brad Wekall, Blaise Evers, Steve Fate, and others, a signboard hung.  At the top it read, “Bench Press Records.”  Below the title, a list of names and numbers appeared in descending order.  “Bill Zimmerman – 365 - 1970,” led the list.

Four Servite years passed quickly for Kenlon.  With All-American honors, a full-ride scholarship to play football for John McKay’s USC championship team, and a bench press record of 390 in his pocket, Kenlon coasted into the remainder of his final year at Servite, enjoying his well-earned fame and looking ahead to an exciting future.  As the month of April wore on, the Servite senior class grew restless, knowing its time at Servite was short. They were anxious to move on to the next phases of their lives.  These can be dangerous days for young men with nothing left to prove and too much time on their hands.  During this time, a flyer began circulating around the Servite quad.  A travelling circus with a wrestling bear was coming to the Anaheim Convention Center on Friday night.  Whispers in the Servite halls and in the quad grew loud, but not loud enough for the administration to hear.  Plans formed.  Excitement grew.  Members of the senior class and many underclassmen convinced their parents that a night with classmates would provide a good bonding experience.  And so, the plans solidified.  The lads of Servite would have an unauthorized Night at the Circus.

All day Friday, a mysterious aura buzzed around the Servite campus.  The teachers and administrators felt it, but they couldn’t identify it.  Something was up, but what?  Larry Toner, the freshman football head coach and leader of a large group of student rooters, self-proclaimed “The Asylum,” persuaded a freshman to come clean.   Upon learning the source of the buzz, Coach Toner convinced Principal Father Motsko that the event was harmless, but there should be an adult presence. He gained permission to attend the event in an unofficial capacity to watch over the boys.  Sensing an epic event about to occur, Coach Toner told every freshman football player and every member of the Asylum that their presence at the Anaheim Convention Center was required.  The lads left the Servite campus that afternoon more quickly than usual.  There was no lingering. Souped-up cars seemed louder and faster as they left the parking lot.  A little rubber was burnt into the Servite asphalt that afternoon in defiance of a well-known rule.

At the Convention Center that night, the ushers noticed something unusual in the seats around the main arena.  The color black predominated. The lads of Servite were there in their school color and the seats were nearly full.  Kenlon was there with friends to watch the anticipated spectacle.  At 7:00 p.m. sharp, the lights in the main arena flickered, then went out. A spotlight shone from the ceiling to one of the entry gates.  Into this light walked a hulk of a middle-aged man, a bit pudgy around the middle, wearing only a tight-fitting red, white and blue spandex singlet and white laced red boots.  A thick silver chain extended horizontally behind him.  As the man entered the arena, a six-foot-four brown bear weighing four hundred pounds or more, leather gloves strapped tightly to its paws, a leather and iron grated muzzle secured to its snout, an iron ring around its neck with a chain attached thereto, followed, walking on its hind legs.  A rousing cheer arose from the crowd.  The announcer’s voice rumbled through the arena.  “Welcome to tonight’s main event.  Tonight, Gorgeous George will wrestle Bosco the Bear.  The establishment must warn you that Bosco is only partially trained.  Please do not do anything to antagonize him!”  Immediately, an antagonizing jeer rose up from the Asylum.  Bosco’s demeanor changed to one of slight agitation as he followed Gorgeous George through the door of a padded circular metal cage, twenty feet in diameter, a wrestling mat on the floor.  The lights in the arena illuminated.  Gorgeous George unlocked the iron ring and removed it from Bosco’s neck. He walked the ring and the chain to the door where he handed them to the announcer standing outside.  The announcer quickly secured the door with a thick iron bar, then grabbed a microphone hanging from the ceiling.  “Ladies and gentlemen. The only rules for tonight’s bout are the following:  Gorgeous George must pin Bosco the Bear on his back for ten seconds.  He has three two-minute rounds in which to do so.  If he fails, Bosco will be proclaimed the winner.”  A roar went up from the crowd, this time exuberant. 

Gorgeous George led Bosco the Bear to the center of the cage, where they stood facing one another.  A bell clanged.  Gorgeous George began circling Bosco, hands extended.  Bosco turned with Gorgeous George keeping him in his sight, paws extended.  Gorgeous George swiped at the bear, striking him on the side of the head.  Bosco swiped back, catching Gorgeous George on the shoulder and sending him tumbling into the side of the padded cage.  Gorgeous George lay stunned, but then stood and stumbled toward the bear.  The bell clanged.  Gorgeous George stopped and turned, then swayed to the side of the cage where someone squirted water from a plastic bottle through the cage into his mouth.  Bosco remained awkwardly in the center of the cage, seemingly uncertain what to do next.   A minute elapsed.  The bell clanged.  Gorgeous George approached Bosco and began circling him once again.  Bosco followed him with paws extended.  Gorgeous George grabbed Bosco by the shoulders and began grappling with him.  Bosco placed his paws over Gorgeous George’s shoulders. Suddenly, Gorgeous George raised a foot to Bosco’s chest, threw all of his weight backwards, and, while tumbling, pushed Bosco over him with his powerful legs.  Bosco landed on its back.  A collective gasp went up from the audience.  Gorgeous George immediately jumped up and pounced on Bosco, pressing him against the mat.  Bosco used his powerful limbs to raise Gorgeous George above him, but he remained on his back.  The bell clanged three times.  The announcer’s voice resounded throughout the arena.  “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner.  Gorgeous George pinned Bosco the Bear one minute, thirty-seven seconds into the second round of the bout.”  A clamor rose from the audience.  Some were cheering, some were jeering, some were simply confused.  Father Motsko, uncollared and in civilian clothing, sat quietly in the crowd next to an unhabited nun. “Is this the way a civilized society treats a wild animal?” he asked her.  “I’ll need to address the boys on Monday.”  As the clamor died, Gorgeous George approached Bosco the Bear. Standing next to him, he raised Bosco’s right paw into the illuminated night.  Lowering his paw and still holding it, Gorgeous George and Bosco the Bear bowed together.  Cheers and applause filled the arena. 

The arena lights flickered.  Some rose from their chairs to leave.  The announcer removed the bar from the cage door.  Gorgeous George stepped outside to the microphone.  He said, “Thank you all for coming tonight.  We appreciate your attendance, but I heard some jeering.  Are any of you naysayers man enough to step into the ring with this wild animal?  If so, I’ll give you a chance to wrestle him, and I’ll give a hundred-dollar bill to anyone who can last a round with him. A murmur spread throughout the arena.  People were asking one another, “Will you do it?”  The typical responses came back, “Hell no, do you think I’m crazy?”  As the murmur began to die, a sound began in the Asylum that filled the arena. “Kenlon, Kenlon, Kenlon.”  No one knows what entered Kenlon’s mind as that chant grew louder.  Some believe he was simply a brute who didn’t consider the consequences of his actions.  Others believe he was so over-confident he would take on any reckless challenge, even if it meant jeopardizing his USC scholarship.  Still others believe he became filled with Servite pride and was willing to defend its honor.  Whatever he was thinking, Kenlon stood from his seat and raised his fists into the air.  A thunderous roar rose from the Asylum and grew louder as Kenlon worked his way through the crowd toward the cage, lads slapping him on the back.  

When Kenlon reached the cage, the audience fell deathly quiet.  Gorgeous George approached Kenlon, shook his hand, and whispered something in his ear.  Kenlon removed his shirt, belt, shoes and socks.  He rolled his pant legs to mid-calf.  Wearing only a sleeveless black tee that read in white letters, “SERVITE FOOTBALL,” and pants, he stepped barefoot through the cage door and into the ring.  Gorgeous George stood outside the unbarred door, watching intently.  Inside the cage, Kenlon turned in a circle to the crowd. He raised his fists and flexed his pecs simultaneously.  The audience erupted in laughter and applause.  Then, Kenlon turned to face Bosco the Bear.  Bosco stood on four paws near the center of the cage, watching Kenlon disinterestedly.  As Kenlon approached, Bosco raised up on his hind legs to his full height, towering above Kenlon.  From the Asylum, another chant began.  “Beat Bosco, Beat Bosco.”   Kenlon began circling the bear as he had seen Gorgeous George behave.  Bosco followed his movement, watching Kenlon casually from the corner of one eye.  Kenlon lunged at the bear as if to attack him.  Bosco didn’t flinch.   Kenlon swiped at the bear, missing purposely.  Bosco didn’t respond.  The Assylum took up another chant, now led by Coach Toner, red hair flaming, face coloring to fire engine red, neck veins bulging.  “Take him down.  Take him down.”

Kenlon began circling faster.  Seeing an opening, he rushed in, struck Bosco on the back of the head with his fist, and jumped back.  Bosco bellowed through the muzzle, spewing bear saliva through the grate.  Now Kenlon had Bosco’s full attention.  Bosco’s demeanor became aggressive.  He took after Kenlon on four legs.  Kenlon sprinted away, sometimes running up the sides of the padded cage to stay away from Bosco’s reach.  Bosco began to flag. Kenlon reduced his pace to a trot.  Suddenly, Bosco stopped in the middle of the cage, panting.  Seeing his opportunity, Kenlon circled in from behind. He jumped on Bosco’s back. Reaching his arm around Bosco’s neck, he placed him in a tight headlock.  Bosco bellowed again, bear spit flying.  Then, to everyone’s amazement, Bosco reached over his head and grabbed Kenlon by the armpits. Bosco tossed Kenlon across the cage like a rag doll.  Kenlon hit the padded cage wall, then fell silently to the mat.  Undaunted, he sprang up, glaring at the bear.  Gorgeous George rushed into the cage and stood between Kenlon and Bosco, arms outstretched.  “Back off, Kenlon,” he shouted.  Then, Gorgeous George cautiously approached Bosco the Bear.   He placed the iron collar around his neck.  He walked Bosco to the side of the cage, where he attached the chain to an iron ring in the cage wall.  A group of linemen from the Servite football team rose up from the crowd and marched into the cage. They raised Kenlon onto their shoulders and carried him out of the cage to the sound of the Asylum singing Queen’s song, “We Are The Champions of the World.” When asked later what Gorgeous George whispered in his ear on that glorious night many years ago, Kenlon whispered, “He said, Please don’t hurt my bear.”  

Although no longer with us, Kenlon’s courageous spirit still walks the halls and the quad of the Servite campus. At least, I like to think so!  And while the story I have recounted may not be accurate in all details, it is inspired by a true event.  Today, when I sit in the bleachers at a Servite football game on a crisp October evening watching and listening to the hut drill before an opening kick-off, I imagine Kenlon’s voice calling out the huts as captain while the team’s pads pop and arms, legs, and bodies move with military precision. So, the story ends, but it remains alive in the memory of the quarterback who welcomed Kenlon to the Servite weight room those many years ago.