Byrd Man — Roleplayer Guild

**Washington, DC** Russell leaned forward to listen to the feeble old man’s words. “We want his guarantee,” Wilbur Helms hissed from behind his desk. “We want a presidential promise that civil rights will not be on the agenda.” Wilbur Helms, the senior senator from South Carolina, looked liked death warmed over. His silvery hair spread across his age spot freckled head in thin wisps. He held an oxygen mask in one gnarled hand, a pen in the other. His piercing blue eyes betrayed the image of weakness and showed just a hint of the man behind those eyes. At eighty-five years old Senator Helms was the oldest member of the Senate in terms of both age and tenure. He had first come to Capitol Hill as a congressman in 1931, four years before Russell had even been born. A short career in the House led to a run for an open Senate seat in South Carolina, an election Helms won easily. That was fifty years ago. This walking skeleton was just one of the many old, wrinkled asses Russell had to kiss during his time as Senate Majority Leader. Political power in the Senate flowed to those that had tenure, and nobody had as much tenure as Helms. As the head of the Southern Caucus, Helms held the fate of every bill in his hands. Every major Senate committee and subcommittee was chaired by either a Southerner or a Republican who was a Southern ally. The way the conservative coalition worked was that any bill it did not like, it ignored and let die an ignominious death in committee. That was the usual method, whereas the other method involved a very public death. With the power of the filibuster, Helms and his lieutenants would talk of nothing but the bill they didn’t like. They would clamp down the flow of legislation in the Senate, holding the rest of the government’s legislation hostage until the bill in question was withdrawn from the floor. That was why Russell was in Helms’ office, the night of the president’s joint session to Congress. After a quick run through the House, the president’s NEWI bill suddenly found itself stalled in the Appropriations Committee where Helms served as the ranking Democrat. “Wilbur, what do you want me to say?” “What I told you, goddammit,” the old man snarled. “We’ve been hearing rumors that Norman wants to end desegregation in the South. We want a promise from him that he won’t do that. You’re the Vice President, Russell. Tell me what you know.” “They’re just rumors,” said Russell. “People have been coming out the woodwork to call Norman a bleeding heart, but he’s a military man. Just give him guns and tanks to play with and he’s happy.” Helms pressed his oxygen mask to his face and eyed Russell. “I want this bill on the New England weapons thing to pass,” he said, the mask muffling his voice. “The best thing that son of a bitch Fernandez did while he was in office was his work with the military, and I’m glad President Norman’s continuing it… but I don’t know if it’s worth meddling in the rights of the state.” State’s Rights, thought Russell. It was that tired old excuse justifying oppressing people; the sovereign right of the states to deny rights to others as they saw fit. Russell planted his hands on the old man’s desk and leaned forward until he could hear the old man’s wheezing through the oxygen mask. “Senator— Wilbur, it’s me you’re talking to here. Remember who I was, what I did for this body while I was Leader, and now I’m Vice President.” “Yeah,” Helms groaned. “You’re Vice President of the United States. That and thirty cents will buy you a coke cola at the vending machine.” Russell stood upright and scowled. “What are you trying to say?” “What I’m saying is that the Vice Presidency ain’t worth a bucket of warm piss.” Helms pulled off the mask and showed Russell a wide grin filled with yellow teeth. “There ain’t a damn thing you can do for me, son. For ten years you was Leader and we let you do it, run the Senate how you saw fit. Me and the other Southerners didn’t agree with everything you did, but we did it because we knew what you were playing at. You wanted to be president, and I wanted that for you so bad. You… Russell, you’ve always been like a son to me. Had five daughters, but never a boy…” The old man’s jaw trembled, wetness in his eyes. He put the oxygen back over his mouth and breathed deeply in, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, the moisture was gone and his hard stare was back. “But then you settled for being the Vice President for Norman, a carpetbagger. You traded all that power and influence for a meaningless position—“ “I am a heartbeat away from the office of the president,” Russell said, pounding his fist into the desk. “You don’t think that’s important?” “It is… once that heartbeat stops. For now, Russell, you’re just an errand boy. You can’t do nothing for me, only the President can. So unless I get his personal word that he’s not going to try to pass a civil rights bill, his NEWI bill sits in committee. Run and tell him that, and then you can let the grownups decide things, ya hear?” Russell’s knuckles were turning white from the amount of pressure his balled up fists were creating. His whole body seemed to course with rage. Rage at the old man, rage at himself because of how true his words were. He wanted to reach across the table and smash the old man’s head against the hardwood desk until it was nothing but a greasy spot on the mahogany. “Mr. Vice President? Senator Helms?” One of Helms’ staff members stood at the doorway. The young man looked confused when he saw the looks of anger on the two men’s faces. He stepped back slightly and spoke quietly. “They’re ready for you. It’s time for the Senate to go to the House chamber.” “Thank you, Danny,” said Helms. He stood and grabbed the cane he used to get around. Russell held an arm out and helped guide the old man out of the office and to the Senate chamber. The rest of the senators stood mingling around their desks. Russell broke away from Helms and stood in front of the group of men. “We ready?” he said with his best fake smile. “Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me.” Acting as president of the Senate, Russell lead the ninety-six men through the halls of the capitol towards the House chamber. Russell stopped the procession just short of the chamber threshold. The big, beefy man with snowy white hair who acted as sergeant at arms nodded at him before stepping out and announcing to the audience: “Ladies and gentlemen, the Vice President of the United States and the United States Senate.” A light smattering of applause followed Russell and the Senate as they filed in. They were just a side attraction; the main event was the president and his speech. That thought brought Russell back to Helms’ office and his annoyance. He climbed the House rostrum towards the third tier. Two chairs were waiting in front of the American flag draped on the wall. “Mr. Vice President,” Speaker of the House Clay Foulke said with a smile as Russell climbed to the third level of the House’s rostrum, the post where the VP and Speaker stood behind the President. “How are you, Clay?” Russell said to his old protégée. “Same ole same ole. You seem upset, though.” “Wilbur Helms is getting on my last nerve,” Russell said as they sat down. Both men looked to the seat where Helms sat with the rest of the Senate’s old bulls. To his immediate right was Larry Beasley, South Carolina’s other senator. Despite the fact Beasley was seventy years old and a forty year veteran of the Senate and was still the state’s _junior_ senator. Clay leaned back in his chair and laughed. “Have you heard that joke, how do you become a senator from South Carolina?” “Stay alive,” Russell replied. A buzz circulated through the crowd, whispers and excited murmurs that confirmed Norman was in the building. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the sergeant at arms bellowed minutes later. “The President of the United States.” The crowd stood on their feet as President Michael Norman strode forward, stopping here and there to shake hands and gladhand with the people on the aisles. Norman stepped onto the rostrum and shook Clay’s hand before leaning in to shake Russell’s. “What did Helms say,” Norman whispered in Russell’s ear. “He’s gonna be a son of a bitch about it,” Russell said over the applause. “Go forward with it and let me deal with the old bulls, to hell with them. I can get what you want through congress, Mr. President. I promise you that.” Norman looked at Russell and gave him a curt nod before he turned to face the applauding crowd. With speech in hand, President Norman slipped his reading glasses on and looked out across the quieting gallery. The microphone he spoke into was wired for radio broadcast and three cameras mounted in the chamber provided television coverage. Clay pounded his gavel and spoke to the chamber “Members of Congress,” he said, “the President of the United States.” Another round of applause before Norman spoke. “Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President, members of Congress, and my fellow Americans listening to and watching this address. Tonight marks my first address to Congress since my election. I come here tonight to speak to you and the nation about my plans for the coming year…” **Natchez, Mississippi** James Calhoun awoke in a haze of dull pain. He wasn’t sure where he was, but his face ached and a distant hum buzzed in his ears. He looked around through swollen eyes and saw the dingy cement walls and iron bars of a jail cell. Cotton wads were stuffed in his mouth and the last events he remembered suddenly came back to him: Outside the courthouse, fighting the officer who put his hands on his daughter followed by the nightstick and then more nightsticks. “Good evening,” a voice said near the jail cell bars. James turned slowly and saw a woman standing at the door. She was white and middle-aged, her red hair up in a bun. She wore a black pantsuit with a white blouse and matching high heels. “Mr. Calhoun, I am Special Agent Jessica Hyatt. I’m with the Federal Crime Bureau’s New Orleans office. My superiors sent me here to speak to you about your role in the growing civil rights movement here in Mississippi.” James started to speak, but stopped when he felt the sharp pain in his jaw. Just moving it made it hurt like hell. The cotton was stuffed in deep, but he was sure he was missing teeth. Instead of speaking, he shook his head. “Dnt know,” he said through closed teeth. “Jst farmer.” “Right.” Hyatt leaned forward against the bars and stared straight ahead at James. “Mr. Calhoun, you are currently charged with attempted murder. You assaulted a police officer. In Mississippi. You’re lucky that you’re not dead. Knowing the good ole boys here, you’re going away for a very long time. Your farm without you there to tend it will go downhill very fast. Think of your wife and kids without their primary bread winner, think about your daughter who’s mixed up in all this. Imagine her going to prison, to the state pen in Jackson with all those bull dykes—“ “Nuff,” said James. “Wht do yu want?” “Isaiah Wolde, this movement’s leader. According to what we know he claims to have lived in Ethiopia as an American ex-pat prior to coming back and starting these protests. The FCB wants any and all information on him and the movement. We’re very concerned that this civil rights movement is a front to more subversive activities, and potentially radical religious violence. The FCB need an informant inside the movement. In exchange for information, the US attorney will intervene with the state and local officials and have all charges against you dropped and immunity for you and your daughter for any and all crimes short of murder.” James hesitated. He thought about earlier in the day, the implications from the protestors that he was an Uncle Tom. He believed in everything they did, but he believed it would eventually come and there was no need to make a fuss… but he didn’t give a good goddamn about things like the vote if he was facing a long prison sentence, or if Sarah was going to have her life ruined by these people. And then there was what Hyatt had said about Wolde’s potentially ulterior motives. He didn’t like the fact the man was a Muslim. He had heard things about those people that didn’t sit well with him. “Ok, I’ll do it,” he said through his teeth. “Thank you,” Hyatt said with a soft smile. “You won’t regret it.” --- “On the subject of civil rights there has been much speculation about the goals of this administration.” President Norman looked down at his copy and paused for a few seconds before looking back up with a stern expression on his face. “Since Thomas Jefferson wrote the words ‘all men are created equal’ this so-called self-evident truth has yet to be realized in this country. First through slavery, and then through segregation and disenfranchisement the Negro people of this country have been kept in bondage for over two hundred years. In this latter half of the 20th century, it is up to all of us to see that those rights our founders championed apply to all Americans, regardless of race or economic standing. All citizens should have the right to vote without Jim Crow, all Americans should have the right to public schools and quality housing. Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves, but it is my mission to see that their descendants finally receive the true freedom that has long been denied to them.” The crowd erupted, standing and clapping the president’s message. At least half of them did. Nearly half of the crowd stayed firmly seated. Russell looked towards the Senate section and saw Helms stewing with the other old bulls. The two men locked eyes and Russell stared the old man down while he clapped along with the audience. **Vancouver** Arthur’s shaking hands held two wires. The wires completed the circuit that would start the countdown. The timer he rigged up would, at the end of the countdown, send an electrical impulse to the chunk of plastic explosive Alex had given him. Arthur had no idea where he was getting all these explosives and guns, but their group had been putting it to good use. Two successful bank robberies was the seed money for tonight’s actions. While Arthur, Joanna, and Chris pulled this off, Alex worked on getting their message out. Letters mailed to all the newspapers, radio and television stations in Vancouver announcing who they were and what they stood for. A spark flashed when Arthur connected the circuit. The timer started, he had three minutes to get out of the blast radius. He rolled out from under the van and rushed to the idling car where Chris and Joanna were waiting. He climbed into the back seat and nodded at Chris, who gunned it through the parking garage. He sped their sedan up and out of the underground facility and down the road. Arthur checked his watch and quietly counted down. He looked out the back window just as the explosion ripped through the night. The plastic explosive had destroyed the van it was wired under, turning the car into a giant piece of fiery shrapnel that tore through the parking garage and the lower levels of the J. Surratt Federal Building in downtown Vancouver. It was after hours so there was very little chance of anyone dying in the blast, but it was an important first step. The bombing with Alex’s letter served as the coming out party of the Friends of Northwest Sovereignty. --- “We have waged two wars on this continent. We have witnessed both secession of states and annexation of new territory. Now we are united and stronger than we ever were. We must use this strength to improve economically, educationally, culturally, and militarily. We must show the world that we are back on the world scene.” A steady round of applause broke out at that. The president took time to take a breath while the clapping died out. “Finally, in matters of defense we must continue to improve.” President Norman paused, his jaw flexing with emotion. “I have seen firsthand, the realities of unprepared armed forces facing a stronger foe. Continuing President Fernandez’s work is one of my top priorities. To prevent a third war on this continent, the United States must be stronger. To prevent enemies invading our shores and borders, we must show them that we are ready to defend. We live in troubling times. Thousands of miles away, war grips Africa. It is a war being waged by the peoples of Africa against a foe that is all too familiar to the United States.” Russell watched the president remove his reading glasses and look straight ahead towards the television camera, ignoring the prepared notes and appearing to speak off the cuff. He did his best to hide his smile. “To the people of Ethiopia, this administration stands steadfastly by you in your time of need. You provided support and refuge for our people during our long, dark nightmare and we will be forever grateful. Your struggle is our struggle, the very same struggle people face the world over. I call on congress to pass a bill to provide the Ethiopian Empire with economic and humanitarian support as they fight to throw off the yoke of colonialist aggression. Pass this bill, and all the others I have mentioned tonight, so that people the world over will see that the United States has manifested its destiny, that the United States has arrived and it will not tolerate those that seek to enslave others. Thank you. God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.”

Flag: ![Dixie](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wrf6KR2xoFk/TbDg2yy196I/AAAAAAAAACc/WQt4AdFuxOw/s1600/CSA+Flag.gif "Dixie") Name: The Kingdom of Dixie Classification: Constitutional Monarchy Government: A monarch serves as head of state, a Prime Minister serves as head of the government. The PM and Cabinet are drawn from Parliament and Parliament members are elected by their constituents. Currency: The Greyback National anthem: [Dixieland](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1IQkhia3jM ) Motto: Yeeehaw! Continent: North America Brief history: Once upon a time, a group of people united together for the common cause. Headed by a landed noble gentry, these seven different sovereign nations came together, united as the Kingdom of Dixie. Under their first king, Thomas I, the Kingdom grew prosperous. The autocratic system the Kingdom used came into conflict with the disenchanted lower class, who soon rebelled. The rebellion resulted in the execution of King William III. Rebellion leader Paul Bryant, the fierce warrior known as the Bear, declaring the Republic of Dixie. The radical government lasted ten years under Bear's tight control. When the old man died, reactionary forces overthrew the Republic and brought the monarchy back. A new government with a ceremonial figurehead was put into place, William III's cousin James was crowned king and the Kingdom has continued to thrive in the years since. Anything else you wish to add: Nawp.

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