‘ The Last Crystal Bell’

 The Last Crystal Bell

He steps onto the bandstand in the town center, looks out over the grassy mall, and takes a deep breath. He is ten years old and five foot one with jet black hair and deep blue hellacious eyes that give him the look of a grown man ready to share everything he knows with the world. Of course, he has a boy's voice, but it is loud and clear and rings with conviction. Only a few people stop to hear what he has to say. Soon, though, a small crowd begins to form. It is a stifling day in Minden, Louisiana, and no one is in a rush, so why not stand under a tree, have a soda, and listen to the kid?

Preach to us, David Duroit; tell us what we need to know!

“Have you heard the Word of The Lord today? Does He answer your prayers? Do you hear what He has to say? You tell me that you do not. Well, I am here to tell you that the Lord will answer your prayers if only you will listen, if only you will open your heart to Him! You say He is silent? I am here to tell you that His silence is louder than all the thunder in the sky. His silence is stronger than the surf that crashes against the shore and louder than all the cannons ever fired. Hear his silence. He will speak to you if only you will listen. You say you are alone? Well, He will walk with you if only you walk with Him, and you will never be alone again. He will be your eternal friend. And that is glorious!”

Standing in the back of the crowd, two men look at one another and shake their heads in disbelief.

“Who is that kid?”

“That’s the Duroit boy, David Duroit. Comes here every day to preach.”

“Damn, if he can’t preach! What does the minister think of him?”

“Minister thinks he’s great. Said he couldn’t have done better. Why even a Catholic priest stopped by the other day to listen. Just shook his head and laughed--could not believe his eyes!”

The boy continues:

“The Lord is everywhere. The Lord is here among you, in your hearts and in your souls. Praise the Lord! His glory will reach into your hearts and fill you with joy. It is a splendor mightier than the strongest wind that has ever blown. You will be transfixed. You will be reborn. You will be one with him.”

The two men look at one another and chuckle. 

“No one can preach like that boy can. I mean, no one, man! He knows the Word, alright!” 

“Does he memorize that stuff?” 

 “Are you kidding? He don’t memorize nothin’! It comes direct from the heart. It has to!” 

“Ain’t no need to go to church this Sunday. I been there, done that!”

“Makes you wonder, though, don’t it?”

“Makes you wonder what?

“If he ain’t some kind of saint.”

“Nah, he ain’t no saint. Just sure can preach!” 

 When he finishes, he looks out over the crowd. He looks directly into every person’s eyes, and everyone sees the look in his eyes and knows it is meant just for them. It challenges, it beseeches, and it pleads with you. But then, just as you are about to turn away, it takes you in and overwhelms you. Few remember what he had to say the next day, but everyone remembers the look. And if the look doesn’t move you right then and there, someday it will.

“If he’s like that now, can you imagine what he’ll be like ten years from now?”

All are mesmerized, at least for a while; some are transfixed. 

“If I ain’t seen the light today, I never will!”

"You listen to that boy long enough; you goin’ to be in danger of becoming a holy man yourself.”

“No chance of that happening; I can tell you that.”

An ogre from the crowd, who weighs three hundred pounds and is six-three, steps up to David and tries to stare him down, but David holds his ground. The group watches as they stand there, their eyes fixed on one another as if linked by some powerful invisible bond. Finally, the man folds his arms, shakes his head, and walks away. 

Praise the Lord and bless you, David Duroit! You singed their eyes with that look, blinded them with a light so brilliant they can see again, and no one can get the better of you! 

The years go by, and he keeps on preaching. He travels from town to town throughout the state. Ministers invite him into their congregations to preach. People ask him into their homes. He preaches in prisons, to the homeless, to all who will listen, and to some who swear they never will but listen to him anyway. He fills a church in New Orleans and lectures to the football team at LSU. His Word is out; few have yet to hear David Duroit or see that look. 

David Duroit speaks the Truth; David Duroit speaks the Word. So stay with it, David Duroit! Take the Word to every town in the state. Preach The Word, and don’t forget to look them in the eye and leave them with that look. 

Over time, his voice gets more robust. You can hear it in your sleep and listen to it in your dreams. So preach to us, David Duroit! Let’s clear the air and hear the Word because it has never been spoken so well. And as for that look, we’ll never forget that look. It mesmerizes; it sanctifies; it strikes you in the heart and elevates you. But most of all, it makes you feel like you count and like you belong. 

When he turns eighteen, he moves to Chicago and changes his name; David Duroit becomes Daddy Do-right. He is now America’s favorite motivational speaker. 

Daddy Do-right’s on TV, Daddy Do-right’s at the movies, He’s on the internet and the radio. He fills auditoriums and stadiums; his books are best-sellers; his tapes are listened to by millions. His bandstand is no longer in a park in Minden but at the center of the realm. Everyone knows Daddy Do-right, and everyone believes he speaks directly to them. You listen to Daddy Do-right, and he gets you off your ass. You feel better about everything; you feel better about yourself; you feel better about your wife, your kids,  and even your next-door neighbor. You feel better about your life because everyone feels better about you. Is it a dream? If it is, dream on, but don't dream too long, for this is the eternal time for every man, woman, and child in the land. Every day is New Year's Day, and by God, Daddy Do-right wouldn’t have it any other way.

There’s an auditorium just outside Indianapolis filled with twelve hundred employees of The Omnimark Corporation, one of the largest software companies in North America. Their annual conference gathers twelve hundred engineers, coders, sales reps, and executives who sit anxiously waiting for this year’s speaker. 

"So, who's it going to be?"

“You know, the guy who's on TV all the time, the guy who looks you right in the eye and tells it like it is. It’s Daddy Do-right.”

“What do you think he’ll say today?”

“I don’t know, but I can hardly wait!”

He steps onto the stage, waits for the applause to die down, and walks downstage center. There is a sudden hush in the auditorium as he looks out over the crowd. The excitement is building; all eyes are glued to the stage. Then, finally, he begins to speak, almost in a whisper at first, but  his voice builds until it fills the room:

“You know there are no losers. There are no failures. Everyone’s a winner, and everyone's a champion. Hard to believe, isn’t it? But it’s true. I know; you go to work each day, and some days, you don't think your work is good enough. You don't think you have what it takes. But I am here to tell each and every one of you that your work is great! Of course, you have what it takes! Take pride in your work. But be aware that you are not just your work; you are not just what you do. You are much, much more than that. You are an individual; you are the one true architect of your destiny. Omnimark is great because you are great. And I can tell you Omnimark will have its greatest year ever, all because of you, each and every one of you.”

 A lone figure rises to his feet and shouts with all his might: “Daddy Do-right, do right by me!” 

“And so I shall, and so I shall,” Daddy answers. 

The audience stands up the next instant, chanting so loud that it resonates throughout the hall. And then they shout it out again: “Daddy Do-right, do right by me!” Twelve hundred voices so loud that they shake the rafters: “Daddy Do-right, do right by me!”

 Someone from the back of the hall yells something out, but it’s not loud enough to be heard by everyone, so he repeats it, "Run for president, Daddy, run for president!” The entire audience joins in, “Run for President, Daddy! Oh, run!” Daddy just stands on the stage, looking out over the crowd. He gives the audience a gentle smile, one that says, "We're all one; we're all of the same minds. I love you!"

 Dunkin Taylor, the founder, and CEO of Omnimark, walks up to Daddy and shakes his hand,

“I was wowed, Daddy, and so was everyone else here, I’m sure.”

"Thank you, Dunkin."

“Do you think you’ll run?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Dunkin. I’d be a long shot.”

“Well, I think you’d be a sure shot. And you sure as hell have my vote.”

“Thank you, Dunkin.”

“You know I’m behind you one hundred percent, and so is everyone else I know in Silicon Valley and Boston too!”

So clear the air, wipe away the cobwebs that cloud the Truth. Let's hear what's really going on. Look us in the eye and tell us the Truth. Run for President, Daddy Do-right! Oh, run for President!

And so he does.

Reporters line up to ask him questions. They’re sure they will stump him. Each one has the perfect question; each has rehearsed his question a thousand times for weeks. They push their way to the front of the audience and are face to face with Daddy, sure that this will be the one question he won’t be able to answer. Then, the next instant, they're face to face with him; their moment has arrived. It’s time to give this guy his due. It’s time to bring him down to size. It's time to show him this clown what he really is. But then he looks them in the eye; they pause and look away. And now they’re confounded, humbled, feeling humiliated and foolish. It’s the look.

"Thank you, Mr. D…D…Do-right, I guess that will be all for today.” 

One by one, they turn, look confused, and walk away. You can not question Daddy Do-right; you can only question yourself. 

The streets are lined with Do-righters chanting, "Daddy Do-right, do right by me!” They wear caps and t-shirts that read: “Daddy Do-right, do right by me!”

 Shout it out loud and clear so everyone can hear. 

 "This is it. This has made our day; this is our moment! Past and future time, who gives a shit? Daddy's here and now, and that’s all that counts!” 

Everyone hears what he has to say, and it is precisely what they want to hear. Everyone has the right, no matter who they are, no matter where they're from, and regardless of what they've done. There’s no doubt about it: it’s a sure cure for every ill. It's all you’ll ever need to know; it’s the Truth in a world full of lies. The banality of indifference, the common denominator of apathy-- so what? In fact, that's to be counted on. They'll never vote, but the Do-righters will, and that’s what matters. 

Speak out against the liar; speak out against the cheats. Speak up for freedom. Speak up for the commonwealth of all! Crush the rocks and salute the sky. Brace yourself for the dawn of a new day!

Jennifer has just returned from Europe and has a meeting with her managing editor in New York. She is Reuters’ chief correspondent in Eastern Europe and has been called back to New York after interviewing the President of Hungary. It was a breakthrough interview, a once-in-a-lifetime event. Lozonczi, the President and wannabe dictator, was humbled and then humiliated, “I don’t have to listen to this sort of thing anymore!” he says and walks off in a huff. Reuters is overjoyed.

 Jennifer looks like a refugee, returning home after a long absence when she enters the cab and closes the door. Her emerald eyes are inquisitive, brilliant, and curious. She looks at the cab driver like he's the most important person on earth. She chats with him all the way in from the airport. She asks him where he’s from—he’s from Hungary. And guess what? She just came back from there. She asks him what part of Hungary he’s from. She also asks him what he had for lunch and what movies he likes. She asks him about his life. He tells her he has a wife and kids; he tells her all about his life. He keeps on talking. He has never talked so much to any fare. He tells her everything about himself. She thanks him and says, “Have a good day.” He smiles back and says, “I think I am already the one who has had one of those." Then she tips him liberally. It’s a random act of simple kindness, the kind she makes twenty times a day, the kind that makes her who she is, the kind that makes her impossible to forget no matter who you are.

She struts into Reuters’ Fifth Ave. office as if she had just landed on the moon. People get up from their desks and high-five her: 

“Way to go, Jen!” 

“You nailed it, girl!”

 “Far fucking out!”

Her managing editor greets her with a huge smile and extends his hand when she walks into the office. 

“We were all damned impressed with the way you handled Lozonczi, Jennifer, damned impressed! We never thought we could crack that nut, but you did it!”

“Oh, he wasn’t that hard to crack,” she laughs.

“Well, you pulled it off, and we’re glad you did. No one has been able to do that since Lozonczi was elected. I'll get right to the point: we want you to cover the Do-right campaign.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you…thank you!”

She’s overjoyed. She was sure she was about to get a boring assignment covering the mayor’s race in New York or the drought in California. 

This is my lucky day. Daddy Do-right; you're on my radar now!

As she leaves the office, her editor’s assistant hails her.

 “You look like you just won the lottery!”

“Oh, better than that, much better than that!”

Jennifer is stepping out.

The room is packed with reporters. Jennifer has to push past several of them to get to the front of the hall. But she is used to this. She even uses an old trick, pointing at something behind the NBC reporter in horror. Then, when he turns to look, Jennifer steps past him to the front of the room, face to face with Daddy Do-right.

He sees her standing there, tall, confident, and proud, looking directly at him. He smiles, peers deep into her eyes, and regards her almost tenderly.

“Congratulations on your appointment from Reuters, Jennifer.”

"Thank you, Mr. Do-right."

“What’s on your mind today, Jennifer?”

“I have a few questions for you, Mr. Do-right.”

“Please, Jennifer, call me Daddy!”

“If it’s all the same, I’d rather call you Mr. Do-right.”

There is laughter from the other reporters, and a few sighs from The Do-righters.

Daddy chuckles then he gives a tepid grin.

“Well, I guess Mr. Do-right will have to do. What would you like to ask me, Jennifer?”

“Do you intend to campaign to every segment of the population?” she asks. 

“Our campaign is all-inclusive. We cherish every supporter.”

“But what about those who do not support you?”

“I didn’t know there were any of those, Jennifer.”

There is hysterical laughter from the Do-righters in the room, yet Jennifer persists.

 “But there are those in this country who feel that they will be marginalized by your administration at best or victimized at worst. So what do you have to say to those people?”

He gives her the look, but she doesn't respond, unlike anyone he has ever met. Instead, she just looks right back at him. Their eyes meet for way too long. Something’s not right. 

“What about it, Mr. Do-right?”

“Well, Jennifer, we intend to accept all people into our tent. We’re open to everyone.”

 Their eyes meet again, but there is no conquest, no surrender. Instead, she stares back at him with equal intensity. She gives as good as she gets, and Daddy doesn’t know what to do. This is something new. This is not how it’s supposed to work. He looks deep into the brilliant emerald crystals that are her eyes. But she looks back at him as if he is the President of Hungary, and she won’t let go. 

“There are those who say you won’t enforce the Bill of Rights. Is that true?”

He starts to answer her, but he falters. It’s almost as if the sun is in his face, forcing him to look away.

“You know I…I champion the constitution, Jennifer.” 

“But that’s not what your followers are saying.”

"Well, perhaps…you…you're talking to the wrong followers."

"So, which ones should I be talking to?"

He’s had enough. So stop the clock and clear the air; something's very wrong here. Daddy doesn’t need this.

"I guess that will be all for today, Jennifer. Congratulations on your assignment from Reuters.”

“But Mr. Do-right, you didn’t answer my question.”

"I'm sorry, Jennifer, but we really have to go.”

The other reporters chat with one another in hushed tones as Daddy leaves the room. 

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard Daddy say he’s sorry for anything.”

“Me too! What’s up?”

Hear him loud and clear! Of course, some will not follow. There are always those! Well, let them shut their traps, let them run for shelter, let them cower and whine and grovel. Who needs them anyway? Daddy-do right, do right by me! And do right by every man alive, except those too blind to see. Let them fend for themselves. Let them fall by the wayside where they belong.

After that, whenever Jennifer asks a question, Daddy leaves the stage, and his assistant Bob takes over. Bob is a balding, heavyset man in his late forties with a perpetual smile, a flag on his lapel, and absolute devotion to his boss. Bob would gladly take a bullet for Daddy, so a question from an idiotic juvenile reporter is no big deal.

“What about Health Care?” Jennifer asks. “Does Mr. Do-Right see it as the right of every American?”

Bob just gives her a condescending look and says, “Daddy will be answering that question in detail shortly.” 

"What about crime? Will Mr. Do-right back the current crime bill, or will he introduce his own legislation?

“Thank you for asking that question, Jennifer. I’m sure Daddy will have an answer for you in due time.”

“What about the Supreme Court? Does Mr. Do-right plan to stack the court?”

“Don’t worry, Jennifer. We’ll get back to you on that soon enough.”

Jennifer sits at the bar with her fellow reporters. She’s ecstatic; her colleagues are in awe.   

“How the fuck do you do it, Jen?” Miles, the CNN reporter, asks, swallowing a gulp of beer, “how do you do it?”

Lindsay, the CBS correspondent, gives Jennifer a playful punch in the arm.

“You asshole, whenever he sees you, he’s no longer the big motivational guru. It's like mommy's home, and it's time to clean up his room!”

Jennifer throws her head back and laughs. 

"I know; it’s something else.”

Miles takes another drink and raises his mug.

“You scooped us, Jen. You scooped us!”

Lead the orchestra, strike up the band, Daddy Do-right. Let the night bells ring, let the choir sing, and let everyone rejoice! Daddy Do-right just won his party's nomination for President of the United States.

Back in Minden, they watch TV and scratch their heads.

“I can’t believe that’s the same kid, the one who used to preach to us twenty-five years ago.”

"The same one. Now that kid's running for President."

“You goin’ to vote for him?

“You’re damn right I am. He’ll be the best thing that ever happened to this country; I can tell you that!”

“Me too. He’s my man!”

It’s a long flight from New York to LA. Daddy is on a plane. He walks to the back of the plane to use the restroom. When Jennifer sees him, she pushes her way up the aisle and stands outside. This is the moment she’s been waiting for. Daddy does his business, flushes the toilet, steps outside the restroom, and suddenly is face-to-face with Jennifer.

"So, what about it, Mr. Do-right?” Jennifer says as if she’s talking to her best friend.

“Please, Jennifer, not now."

“What about the Supreme Court? Are you going to pack the court?”

“You know my position on that, Jennifer.”

“Not really.

“Well, I just don't know…not right now. When we come to that, I should have an answer. Please, not now….”

“But people want to know.”

“And so they shall. They will get their answer, and so will you. Not now, though, not right now," Bob says, turning away. 

“Can’t you just say a few words about…

“No, not now, Jennifer. Really!”

“But just a few words…."

The pleasantries have broken down, the give and take is gone, and all the niceties have evaporated. Daddy's face is now white-hot. It’s filled with rage: the kind we’ve never seen before. It builds and builds until it reaches a crescendo. He glares at Jennifer with a palpable hatred. And then he explodes: 

“Why don’t you just get the fuck out of my face, you miserable bitch! I will end you! I swear I will end you!”

Bob runs up the aisle to Jennifer, grabs her by the arm, and pulls her aside. Daddy storms back to his seat. Bob says, “You know better than that!” And Jennifer returns to her seat. But all the time, her Smartphone was in her shirt pocket, recording everything Daddy had to say. She takes it out and plays it back. She’s got him; she’s got him cold. Then, sitting back in her seat, she smiles and thinks, Daddy, Do-right; you did right by me! 

Sure, there was the thing on the plane with that reporter. But so what? Everyone has a bad day; everyone slips up. Daddy’s only human; he has a right to lose it now and then. And that’s what we like about him: he speaks his mind. So he got a little carried away, so what? Big deal! That’s no reason to question Daddy Do-right; that’s no reason to doubt him.

The Pentagon loves him; the FBI does too. Even the eggheads at the CIA think he’s their kind of guy. 

 “I was skeptical at first, but I like what he has to say. He has a real command of foreign policy, too. He’s a damn knowledgeable guy!” 

“His historical perspective is brilliant.”

“He sure as hell is going to make our job a lot easier.”

 “Absolutely!”

“To tell you the truth, I can’t think of anyone who doesn’t support him.”

“I’m on board with him because he’s on board with me!”

“I think we all feel that way.”

Daddy’s not left, and Daddy's not right. These terms belong to an old fashion, two-dimensional spectrum, and Daddy Do-right’s a four-dimensional man—a new kind of man in a new type of world.

There are the debates, of course. But what a sorry spectacle--pathetic milk toast nebbishes who are no match for Daddy Do-right! They try to gang up on him like a pack of hyenas, but Daddy knows exactly what to say. He never insults, he never shames, and he never condescends. He's always at the top of his game. These petty hacks are no match for America’s greatest motivational speaker. They’re all a bunch of also-rans; it’s plain to see.

Jennifer has had a long day, but it was superb, the kind she’d been having since she came back from Europe. She walks down Ninth Avenue toward her apartment in Hell’s Kitchen as the noonday sun breaks through the buildings and plays on her face. Some people on the street recognize her and wave, and she waves back. A panhandler reaches out, and she hands him a five-dollar bill. Two teenagers see her, yell, “Yo reporter lady!” and high-five her. It makes their day. New York pedestrians, who never look at anyone, greet her with a smile. She smiles back, takes a deep breath, and then looks up at the sky above New York. For a moment, she thinks of what Manhattan looks like from above when you’re in a plane. It’s a site that always astounds her. I’m exactly where I should be, she thinks, this is my time, and this is where I belong! So she decides to take a shortcut through an alleyway. It's a long, dark pathway between two apartment buildings that would typically seem forbidding. But what the hell? It's a short walk, and she’s at the top of her game today. She’s invincible. There is nothing that can stand in her way. She can see the end of the alley; it’s really not that far. It’s only a few more steps, a short walk. She’ll be home in no time.

Election Day is approaching. The excitement is building. The rallies are everywhere. Thousands fill the stands. The camera's role, the bands play on, and every politician in the land wants to be photographed with him. Then, finally, he takes the stage, and ten thousand voices yell, "Daddy Do-right! Do right by me!" 

“And so I shall,” he responds, “and so I shall!”

He tells them that this country will turn around and that they'll be part of it. He picks a woman from the crowd and asks her to tell him about herself. She says she's divorced, works in a factory, and has three kids. He asks her to take a bow because she's a winner, and this country needs winners like her. She nervously looks around and then takes a bow.

“I want to thank you just for being you.”

Her eyes fill with tears, and the crowd applauds. Then the crowd begins to chant, and the chant gets louder: “Daddy Do-right, do right by me!”

“And so I shall, and so I shall!”

Two men outside the hardware store on Main Street are chatting back in Minden.

"Whatever happened to that reporter woman from New York? You know, the good-looking one who kept giving Daddy such a hard time, the one who asked all those questions.”

"Oh, her. No one seems to know. She just sort of disappeared. No one’s heard from her in some time. Funny thing. Looks like she just sort of vanished. Too bad, she was a smart kid, pretty too!”

It's election night, and you know what to do. Get your neighbors and get your friends. And when you’re finished voting, remember to turn out the lights. Remember to kiss the kids goodnight. And whatever you do, don’t forget to say a prayer and don’t forget to crush that last crystal bell.

The band is playing, and the crowd is cheering like it never has before. The hall is packed with crying, yelling, ecstatic supporters. Thousands of balloons are popping everywhere. Their man has won. It's a total victory for every man, woman, and child in the land.

Bob runs up to Daddy, bursting with pride. He he can barely speak.

"We did it, Daddy; we won the day!”

But the din is too loud. Daddy can’t hear what he is saying.

“What’s that, Bob?”

Bob shouts in his ear. 

“We did it, Daddy; we won the day!”

“Looks like we did everything right in the last election, Bob.”

Bob looks confused.

“You mean the one we had last September?”

Daddy puts his arm around Bob and gives him a tight hug and a smile.

“Oh, no, no, Bob, no! I mean this one. You know--the last election.”

 The numbers keep coming in from every state and county. The popular vote is a landslide, and of course, the Electoral College too. Kingdom come; he is now the leader of the land. 

Hey Daddy Do-right, do right by me and rule the night, rule the earth, and if not the world, then rule the day. The Word has been spoken, The Word has gone out, and everyone should take heed, for not to do so would be folly.

Richard McMullin graduated from The University of Massachusetts, where he studied creative writing. Originally, he is from Boston, where he worked as a social worker for five years. He moved to New York to work for McGraw-Hill. After three years living in New York, He moved to Chicago to work as a publishing rep. He now lives in Rutland, Massachusetts in Central Massachusetts, and is on LinkedIn and Facebook. My stories have appeared in Half and One and J New Books’ Literatus.