George Rebane
Tonight we made it to a gathering of the local Tea Party Patriots (aka teabaggers) in the Grass Valley Elks Lodge. I estimate that over three hundred of Nevada County’s rightwing extremists packed themselves into that hall. It was advertized as a celebration of the movement’s success here and across the country – fifteen million of us out there now. For cover, the TPP leaders had arranged for a band, no-host bar, free fat pills (aka desserts), four of the county’s Supes in attendance, and they even had Congressman McClintock there to speak. It would have fooled most people.
But everyone knew better. What we were all there for was to collect our monthly pay-off checks from the fat cat corporations that were bankrolling the organization. For the last year we’ve done our best to make it look like a grass roots affair. But early on, the feds led by Speaker Pelosi and Homeland Security Administration’s Napolitano saw through the whole thing and blew the whistle on us. Now we have to come up with all kinds of silly excuses to get together so that we can get paid and be given new marching orders.
Russ Steele and I were there with our wives, wine glasses in hand, applauding the speakers and trying to make it all look normal when who but cartoonist Bob Crabb walks up and sits down next to me. After exchanging a couple of panicked glances with Russ, I decided to engage Bob with some small talk seeing as how all three of us now worked for The Union. I thought I was doing a good job, but Bob kept glancing around. It was only a matter of time until he would spot the big fat manila envelope with the checks, and the clipboard with the sign-off sheets that were quietly passed from table to table.
If he did see it, he didn’t let on. Bob’s a cool character, he’s been there and done that, and he knows better than to talk while the flavor lasts. I guess we’ll know when his next cartoon appears in the newspaper. All we can do now is hope for the best.
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