Conspiracy
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“Well, dammit, Kiki, will you, or won’t you?” My boss stared at me. He never could tolerate indecision. “Want me to flip a coin?” he said when I didn’t answer. After a few days of investigating and mulling, I felt that the pros and cons about balanced out. So why not toss the choice to chance? “Okay, flip! Head, I go. Tails, I stay.” Max flipped a quarter halfway to the ceiling, deftly caught it, slapped it onto his left wrist, and thrust it still covered under my nose. After pausing a few moments to sustain the tension, he slowly removed his right hand. Heads! * * * So there I was, two weeks later, a sixty-five-year-old man, a widower of almost two years who hadn’t yet adjusted to life alone, tooling along a dreary two-lane state highway in a small bright-red Ford rental in subfreezing weather, heading not toward the Outer Banks where I’d planned to retire but toward a new assignment—all because of a coin toss. The destination was Plainston, the only walled city in the country—with a moat, not less. A century ago, Plainston was an ordinary Midwestern town of about 2,000 souls, but a very gradual change had taken place so that in the 1970s, the citizens there decided to separate themselves physically—the mental and spiritual separateness had already occurred—and the wall was built. Plainstans were always free to come and go, even to leave permanently, but by the 1990s, those from the “outside”—well, that was another story. I was an “outsider” being invited in, with the backing of my employers, the nonprofit Global Betterment Organization, known as the GBO, whose initial curiosity about this unusual community had turned into a deep interest. I was to find out what Plainston was all about. The offer of the Plainston assignment hadn’t interested me when Max had first proposed it, especially since what I wanted to do was retire. Checking out the alleged Utopianism of a place one of my commentator colleagues had dubbed “that loony-boony burg” had near zero appeal. My career as a reporter was centered mainly on big cities, and Plainston with a population of about 50,000 wasn’t even a county seat. “But they especially asked for you, Kiki,” Max had said. “The lady who called knows you’re planning to retire, so you’ll have time to stay in Plainston and write an unbiased description of the city. She made several very complimentary remarks about your reporting.” I wasn’t beyond being swayed by flattery, especially when it involved my literary talents. I asked for time to think it over and to get some basic background information. “That’s not a good idea,” Max warned. “They want you to learn about Plainston first hand. Don’t go there with a lot of secondhand information or more likely misinformation.” I laughed. “Surely, Max, after all these years, I can separate information from misinformation and remain open-minded.” * * * One article was written by a tongue-in-cheek reporter who praised Plainston with faint damning, using the title “Plainston! America’s Most UN-American City!” He wrote, Plainstans make an awful lot of stuff themselves—and make it very good. It lasts and lasts. They don’t throw stuff away. It’s recycle and repair. That’s just not the American way. And they do all this without any good old American competition. Yet Plainston doesn’t appear to be Communist or Socialist. It’s probably mostly Democratic or more likely populated with independent ticket-splitters, and that’s very un-American! The spookiest thing is no cars. There are lots of bikes and electric-powered carts for the feeble, but there are no traffic lights, not traffic. Eerie! And Plainstans don’t have to use will power. For example, they don’t have to avoid junk food because they don’t have any junk food around. They don’t need will power to quit smoking or drinking since you can walk two miles and not get a Camel, and there’s nothing more alcoholic than wine and beer. Also, regrettably, Plainstans have no conscience about the plight of the poor and homeless since they don’t have any such folks in Plainston to care for. They claim to know how to get rid of poverty and homelessness, not just in Plainston but anywhere. How’s that for arrogance? Summarizing the article later for Max, I said, “So it seems that to be a good American—I emphasize good—you must be a Republican voter. You also need to drive a car that’s not electric, eat junk food, smoke and drink, throw lots of stuff away, and have the poor and the homeless in your community.” Max, who isn’t noted for having a sense of humor, laughed loudly.
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About the Book
Dr. Edwin M. Swengel was born in Neoga, Illinois, in 1917. After he graduated from high school, his parents moved to Urbana, Illinois, so that he could attend the University of Illinois while living at home. Money was tight during those Depression years. After earning his bachelor’s degree, he married Elizabeth Loeffler, also an Illinois graduate, and they began a life together that included three daughters: Jane, Marcia, and Lockie, now deceased. For the next twenty-five years, Dr. Swengel, known as Mac by most, taught school, farmed, and remodeled a one-room school house to become the family home. He founded a community orchestra known as the Fithian Farmhouse Filharmonic and was active in a local church. When working on his master’s degree in the early 60s, he became interested in Montessori education—believing it to be the right beginning for schools using what he would eventually name Mutual Instruction. In 1963, he went to California to pursue more Montessori training. The following year, he, Elizabeth, and their youngest daughter, Lockie, moved to Los Angeles where he earned a Ph.D. from UCLA and developed YAK Phonics. In 1969, he and his wife moved to San Diego where he became a professor at the United States International University, both teaching classes and supervising student teachers at the high school and elementary levels. After retirement, he continued to study and read about education, which led to his writing The Plainston Chronicles, 1919-1951 and finally Conspiracy. Jane Swengel Creason was born in Urbana, Illinois, in 1942. She has lived in the same house since she was four, a remodeled one-room school house located on a small farm her mother inherited. She and her husband, Don, raised two children there, now both married. Their grandchildren, the fourth generation, know the old house well. Jane, who always wanted to be a teacher, earned bachelor and master’s degrees from the University of Illinois. Then she began what became a forty-plus year teaching career at the grade school, middle school, high school, and community college levels. She began writing her two young adult novels, When the War Came to Hannah and The Heron Stayed, while teaching middle school. Having lived in the same house with the same husband and having taught English in the same county for much of her life, Jane describes herself as a contented Midwesterner who has put down serious roots. Sarah Creason, the cover artist, became interested in painting as a relaxing hobby while working for the Department of Agriculture in Columbia City, Indiana. Within a few years, she was studying and painting during every spare minute. After retirement, she also began to teach painting. Currently, her work is displayed at the Orchard Gallery in Fort Wayne, Indiana, where she works part-time. Sarah and Jane, who are married to brothers Cliff and Don Creason, have been sisters-in-law for many years.
About the Author
Dr. Edwin M. Swengel was born in Neoga, Illinois, in 1917. After he graduated from high school, his parents moved to Urbana, Illinois, so that he could attend the University of Illinois while living at home. Money was tight during those Depression years. After earning his bachelor’s degree, he married Elizabeth Loeffler, also an Illinois graduate, and they began a life together that included three daughters: Jane, Marcia, and Lockie, now deceased. For the next twenty-five years, Dr. Swengel, known as Mac by most, taught school, farmed, and remodeled a one-room school house to become the family home. He founded a community orchestra known as the Fithian Farmhouse Filharmonic and was active in a local church. When working on his master’s degree in the early 60s, he became interested in Montessori education—believing it to be the right beginning for schools using what he would eventually name Mutual Instruction. In 1963, he went to California to pursue more Montessori training. The following year, he, Elizabeth, and their youngest daughter, Lockie, moved to Los Angeles where he earned a Ph.D. from UCLA and developed YAK Phonics. In 1969, he and his wife moved to San Diego where he became a professor at the United States International University, both teaching classes and supervising student teachers at the high school and elementary levels. After retirement, he continued to study and read about education, which led to his writing The Plainston Chronicles, 1919-1951 and finally Conspiracy. Jane Swengel Creason was born in Urbana, Illinois, in 1942. She has lived in the same house since she was four, a remodeled one-room school house located on a small farm her mother inherited. She and her husband, Don, raised two children there, now both married. Their grandchildren, the fourth generation, know the old house well. Jane, who always wanted to be a teacher, earned bachelor and master’s degrees from the University of Illinois. Then she began what became a forty-plus year teaching career at the grade school, middle school, high school, and community college levels. She began writing her two young adult novels, When the War Came to Hannah and The Heron Stayed, while teaching middle school. Having lived in the same house with the same husband and having taught English in the same county for much of her life, Jane describes herself as a contented Midwesterner who has put down serious roots. Sarah Creason, the cover artist, became interested in painting as a relaxing hobby while working for the Department of Agriculture in Columbia City, Indiana. Within a few years, she was studying and painting during every spare minute. After retirement, she also began to teach painting. Currently, her work is displayed at the Orchard Gallery in Fort Wayne, Indiana, where she works part-time. Sarah and Jane, who are married to brothers Cliff and Don Creason, have been sisters-in-law for many years.