Thousand+ Words for Dec 1, 2025

The Park was Busy with People Despite the Fact that the Time was 2 pm on a Tuesday....

The park was busy with people despite the fact that the time was 2 pm on a Tuesday afternoon; children playing in the big yard, some older kids had kites in the air, and older people sat on the benches alongside the sidewalks that curved around the small lake and manicured flower beds. Steven was early, so, having never been to the park, he wandered around the grounds, getting the lay of the land and observing carefully the way the people in the park were dressed. He’d had help from Artois costumers, of course, but they weren’t always quite correct in their assessments, and the dress of a culture was hard to assess. Steven knew a colleague, Rod, that had been sent somewhere in 1882 to do some work in the Chester Arthur presidential administration, something about stopping a bill from being vetoed, and they had him in some sort of suitcoat that, it turned out, only saloon owners wore. Fortunately, Rod made a stop at the viewing gallery at the US Capitol, where he noticed that he wasn’t dressed in the manner that the lawmakers in the Senate were, and so he jumped back to Artois, reported the problem, and got something more appropriate. Good thing, too, because although the jump assessors did not believe that Rod would actually interact with President Arthur, he did—Arthur came in the parlor that would become the Green Room while Rod was negotiating with a Mr. James H. McLean, Republican from Missouri’s Second District to get a line of text removed from the bill McLean was sponsoring so as to avoid Arthur’s veto, which would otherwise occur.

President Arthur strode into the room belly-first—he actually pushed the door open with his expansive stomach. The door flew open and Arthur stood there for a moment, assessing the occupants of the room. McLean had his head down, studying the language that Rod had pointed out, and when McLean didn’t look up, Arthur spoke. “Ah, Mr. McLean, one of my favorite fellow Republicans.”

McLean looked up. “Mr. President. Allow me to pass along the good wishes of the fine people of the Second District, and my own.”

While McLean had been speaking, Arthur had been stepping over to him. The two men grasped hands in an elaborate handshake. “And please pass along to the fine people of the Second District my best wishes as well.” Arthur then turned his head toward Rod. “At least those who voted for me, hah!”

The two men laughed and then separated. “So tell me, Representative, what brings you to the people’s house on a fine summer afternoon?”

“House Bill Number 424, a bill to authorize the State of Arkansas to partner with our neighbor the State of Texas in the construction of a rail line from Fort Worth to Little Rock.”

“I see. Well, as the chief officer of the Federal government, I can tell you that the Federal government believes that the expansion of rail to the Western portions of our nation is a better use of funds than building rail where rail already exists.” Arthur stepped around Rod to peer at the form. “But if the Congress sends it to me, I shall consider it.”

Rod knew that if the bill in its present form was presented to President Arthur, he would, in fact, veto it—and on September 10, 1882, the bill was so presented to him and Arthur did so veto it. Thus a compromise which would have permitted the building of stations and structures to support a second rail line of the type proposed in the bill pending the funding of the actual rail line, which would take place the next year, would never be arrived at. No line, so no occurrence of a particular person travelling on that line in 1902 when, as a result of a deaf horse standing on the line, the train would derail and the individual in question would be killed.

And thus, having not traveled to Little Rock, the individual would live.

And this was not to be permitted by the Artois controllers.

Thus, the goal was to get the bill across the President’s desk with a signature, get the buildings and structures built, and then the rail line itself would be funded in the next cycle. The individual who was destined to die in the train wreck would die, and then the domino which that person, should he live, knock over in Little Rock would not be knocked over.

“I would be grateful for your consideration, Mr. President,” McLean said.

Then Arthur turned and extended his hand to Rod. “Hello, sir. I am Chester Arthur, of the fine state of Vermont and President of these United States.”

Rod took the President’s hand and shook it; the President’s zeal in the handshake was much less with Rod than it had been with the congressman. “A pleasure, Mr. President. I am Herbert Abernathy, Esquire, of the fine state of Connecticut, brought in by General Howe, your most eminent Postmaster. Representative McLean and I were just discussion the funding of his project and how the transportation of the mail on this proposed line can be a factor in his favor.”

“I see,” Arthur said. “Well, gentlemen, whip that bill into shape as best suits your convictions and I shall surely give it my most serious consideration.” He turned and strode toward the door, which was still open from his having pushed through it previously, as he continued to speak. “I must return to my duties.”

“Good day to you, sir,” McLean said as President Arthur stepped through the open door and was gone; an assistant, who had apparently been hovering in the hallway during the brief exchange, reached in and closed the door, and then Rod and the congressman were alone again.

“The President and I knew each other in the House,” McLean offered, evidently in answer to the question How do you know the President? Rod hadn’t asked it, but McLean seemed put upon to offer that information.

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