(Tex shows off the new draft beer taps at Willow. This is a great day for the Republic. Photo Socotra.)

It was a little after five, and we were at our places at the Amen Corner of the Willow Bar. “So, did you hear Tom Clancy is dead?”

“Yeah. 66 years old, the son of a bitch. That is too soon to go,” I said, calculating the number of days I would have if I went the same way. I was having a hard time getting to four digits, and the thought was vaguely disturbing.

Brett the dashing bartender leaned in. “I never read any of his stuff.” He is almost a dead-ringer for the younger James Garner, who played Brett Maverick on TV in the days of our youth: glossy jet black hair and a twinkle in his eye.

“Couldn’t write a decent sex scene to save his life,” said Old Jim. “But he could sell some damned books.”

Brett had been on an extended monologue regarding the history of the James Bond film franchise, and then we transitioned naturally to Sean Connery as the definitive Bond, and then all the rest of them. I made a mental note to actually watch Daniel Craig’s latest outing, which I probably will not get too, since I bought all five seasons of “Breaking Bad” and have not even started on it.

“Clancy hit it right on for timing,” I said. I always envied him. Back in the Cold War, the Navy was looking around for a way to influence what the Commies were going to do in terms of technical investment in the submarine force. We knew they were ripping off everything they could, old school, just like the Chinese are doing today in cyberspace. So, The OPNAV Staff decided to approach this insurance-agent-wannabee-thriller-writer and offered to show him around some real high tech shit. That was Clancy, and he got some classified stuff to put in his book, and some stuff that was just bullshit. But it was all wrapped together so the Russians couldn’t tell what was what.”
“And it was a best seller?”

“Never was intended to be. It was published by the Naval Institute Press, and they assumed it would go on the back list, since they don’t do fiction, and the only ones who would notice would be the Soviet collectors.”

“Huh. Life’s funny, ain’t it. They didn’t say what he died of. Goes to show you cash and talent can’t beat the reaper,” said Brett.

Jim looked a little pensive. “Fuck that.” I smirked in amusement. “And fuck you, Vic.” We clinked wineglass against Bud long neck and went back to talking about the shut-down.
Tracy O’Grady stopped by to press the flesh with the regulars, since aside from a fair crowd on the patio enjoying the last of the nice afternoons, the dinner traffic was light.

“It is the shut-down,” she said. “Everyone is cutting back until they know how long this is going to go on.”

“Suppose they closed the Government and nobody noticed,” I said.

Tracy shook her head, a little sadly. “I worry. We feel it here immediately, and trust me, I notice. Dining out is one of the first things to go when there is uncertainty.”
“That’s why the politics is so amazing,” I said. “I remember the shutdown seventeen years ago. I think they closed the visitor’s kiosk at the Lincoln Memorial. They did not put barricades around it.”

“Well, seventeen years ago nobody was splashing green paint on Mr. Lincoln like they did last month. Did you see the World War Two vets were storming their Memorial yesterday? There were supposed to be more going there today,” said Tex, who had a smaller than usual crowd along the bar to keep happy.

“Yeah, they were there with some Congressmen. It was a circus- there were some paid SEIU demonstrators, too, to suck up to the cameras. They were masquerading as furloughed federal workers, but they actually were paid $15 bucks to carry signs.”

“Politics in Washington? Go figure. I think the Park Service deployed people and resources to close a plaza that is open all the time, 24×7.”

“Don’t believe that tea party bullshit. It is all politics,” growled Jim.
“It is not bullshit. That is what drives me nuts. Some idiot actually spent time thinking up the idea of the barricades and the signs and the cops on horseback to close the plaza to demonstrate that this is really serious and Speaker Boehner is personally responsible for all of it.”

Tex began to screw in the tap handles on the used six-headed keg cooler he had finagled from the Cowboy Bar on Lee Highway. He had three handles, so far: a stylized Dogfish Ale blue fish, a Presidential Jefferson and a Longboard Lager replica surfboard.

“Did you go operational with the draft suds today?” I asked in amazement, having forgotten that today was Der Tag- the day. “I was actually thinking about having a beer today to commemorate the occasion.”

Tex nodded with satisfaction. “Yep,” he said. “I have been dreaming of this moment since I came here two years ago. Now this is a full-service bar. He filled two glasses with Longboard, golden rich and topped with white foamy goodness and handed them to Jasper who was working the patio.

“That would be some Presidential appointee that thought it up. The Park Service normally doesn’t like to be used as a prop, any more than political messages used to be sent by the SECDEF to the active duty military.”

“It is a hoot, let me tell you. We are in a completely new place these days. The DC War Memorial had just one Jersey Barrier in front of it, since they needed a place to hang the sign saying it was closed except for First Amendment purposes.”

“Wait, isn’t just about everything a First Amendment issue if you say it is?”
“Just goes to show how stupid this is,” said Jim. “I am going to have one more beer and go home and contemplate the nature of the political discourse in these decadent times.”
“That is actually a brilliant idea, Jim. In honor of the shut down and the arrival of draft beer, I am going to have a Longboard.”

“Now that is some progressive thinking,” He said, slamming down his empty Bud, and reaching for the next one. “They ought to try some more of that around here.”
“Yep,” I said. “This is something I will never forget, a real national moment.”
“You mean the shutdown?”

“No,” I said. “The day that Willow re-instituted the Draft.”

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303