Chapter 12: Impeachment!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Uncle Bud and I were having our last beer for the night in the Select Taproom Room, an undistinguished establishment (OK, run down dive) in Southeast DC that he’d bought in his retirement. It was a quiet, out-of-the-way place for the GOP crowd to meet below the radar of the media and any other nosy types. It was early in the morning, around 4 a.m., and the debris from Karl Rove’s going away
Chapter 11: New Uses for Old Tunnels
Monday, August 6, 2007
Uncle Bud and his nephew stepped quickly through the door in the back of the janitorial closet at the Capitol Grille. Bud swung the door closed, and Carter took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low light. He could hear some muffled noise from the restaurant and some rumbling in the distance that was most likely a Metro train.
“How are we going to back to the bar?” asked
Chapter 10: Corruption in the Tunnels
Thursday, June 7, 2007
After Jake’s monologue, the birthday party drifted awhile and then wound down. Duke drank too much, and told doleful stories of his life with Louise. Everyone’s favorite story was about their meeting in occupied France. Duke had been wounded during an OSS reconaissance mission in preparation for D-Day. He’d been wounded by Louise, who, while not formally in the Resistance, was sick and
Chapter 9: Jake's Riff on the GOP
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Uncle Bud shut the apartment door and walked down the narrow stairs that led to the bar. He dipped his head without thinking as he passed under the two lights mounted in the low ceiling. He was 85 years old, but his back was still straight and his long legs lightly carried him down the familiar stairs.
He was pretty certain that his nephew wouldn’t stay in and rest as he had suggested.
Chapter 8: Blow, Winds, and Crack Your Cheeks!
Saturday, April 28, 2007
I was wrenched out my sleep around 5:30. Wind was howling through the open window. Papers I’d left on the nightstand were blowing around the apartment. I staggered over to the window and slammed it shut. I stared at the quiet street and saw trash zooming down the sidewalk. A man was trying to walk into the wind, his body leaning at a 45-degree angle, one arm flung over his face to protect
Chapter 7: The Black Bag
Saturday, April 14, 2007
The black bag. Freedom Fyter had been, I think the legal phrase is, “keeping it about his person” since he and I drove to DC from Detroit. I was firmly told to stay away from the black bag for my own sake. I knew that Uncle Bud was concerned about the bag the night that he and FF had their argument at the bar. And it seemed like Fyter was finally ready to let me in on the secret.
“Let’s
Chapter 6: A Self-Inflicted Rhetorical Wound
Friday, April 13, 2007
I ate the fried chicken breast and salad that Uncle Bud fixed for me, while listening to C-Span’s replay of some of LBJ’s taped phone calls. Uncle Bud suggested I listen to them to find out how a real politician worked. LBJ was Uncle Bud’s favorite Democrat. Come to think of it, LBJ was damn near the only Democrat he admired. He loved the way the big Texan could overwhelm any opposition. “
Chapter 5: Cracks in the GOP
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
It’s amazing how quickly you can get somewhere when someone else is paying for it. And if that person runs a bar with a door in the basement that leads to tunnels that Tom Delay and the K Street Project used to speed people and money under the congested streets of the capitol, well let’s just say that Uncle Bud doesn’t have to worry about his Amex balance overwhelming him on the 25th of the
Chapter 4: A meeting at Uncle Bud’s Select Taproom
Friday, February 23, 2007
I’d been home a few days when I heard from Uncle Bud. To be honest, I expected to hear from Freedom Fyter, not Uncle Bud. I thought I’d pissed the old guy off well and truly during my visit to DC last week. I had the definite feeling that I had outstayed my welcome and the all night bull session was a farewell party. So I cut my DC trip short and came back to Detroit.
The email was
Chapter 3: Freedom Fyter brings Democracy to DC, pt. 2
Monday, February 19, 2007
As I drove back to Detroit, I had about twelve hours to myself to think about what had happened. My trip to visit my Great-Uncle Bud’s had skidded off the tracks when he and my friend, Freedom Fyter, had locked horns. FF didn’t trust the old Republican, and the feeling was mutual. FF refused to tell Uncle Bud why he wanted to go into the tunnels DC. Uncle Bud refused to let him in until he
Chapter 2: Freedom Fyter brings Democracy to DC, pt. 1.
2/11/07
After hearing from Uncle Bud about his DC bar, I decided take some time off work and visit. When I mentioned on my blog that I was going to DC, Freedom Fyter asked if he could come along. We were both curious about the reception a 6’ 5” openly gay Black man would receive at Uncle Bud’s. He assured me that he’d dress conservatively, which I took to mean that he wouldn’t be wearing one of his
Chapter 1: The DC Report from Uncle Bud’s Select Taproom
2/1/07
What I know about Uncle Bud's working life I kind of pieced together from the ice fishing trips he'd take me on before his blood thinned and the cold started getting to him. Sitting in the shelter on some frozen Minnesota or Wisconsin Lake, he'd drop his line in the ice, take a few pulls of some private label bourbon or other, and tell me his thinly disguised adventures.
Today I heard from
