Originality does not consist in saying what no one has ever said before, but in saying exactly what you think yourself.         ___ James Fitzjames Stephen, 1859-1892

When I was young I always thought that my family was rather ordinary, but as I grew and met others I realized that it was a little more interesting than most. Considering both sides of my inheritance we find most of the lineage was Norwegian, Irish and German (although my father was sure he was Dutch.) The oldest member of my family I can remember when I was young was my great grandfather on my mother's side. I can't remember his first name but he lived out his final years with my grandmother and grandfather. He was pure and typical Norwegian. Although I met him several times in my youth, I can never remember him uttering a word.

I did not know too much about my father's side of the family since they tended to keep by themselves. About all I do remember was my uncle Ralph and my paternal grandfather Eli. Uncle Ralph was a test pilot for Bell Aircraft company in the days before WWII and later ferried planes "over the top of the world" for the US during this conflagration.

My grandfather Eli was something else again. I keep forgetting whether he had seven or eight wives, but it was quite a procession. I was told that his first wife died and that he married again to have a mother for his son (my father). He had three children with this second wife but eventually departed from her. I cannot remember if she died or if they divorced. I'm not certain if I was every told which. After this it seemed that his immediate charm (he was a striking figure with a full head of pure white hair when I knew him) could attract women, who then became disillusion by his rascality. Both he and my father worked as pattern makers in the early Boeing Aircraft factory in Seattle. My grandfather helped Boeing to make furniture after WWI when there was little demand for airplanes.

In contrast to the papacy of contact I had with my father's family, I had more than enough with my mother's side to make up for the paternal deficiency. My earliest remembrance of such maternal family gatherings was Christmas at the house of my great aunt Cassandra Mehedable Shwem, whom one and all called Nippy. To me she was Aunt Nippy, though no one ever confided in me from whence came the nickname. Aunt Nippy loved to hug all comers and whenever we came to her house the first thing we received from this rather buxom lady was a suffocating embrace. I trust it helped to satisfy some need in her for it certainly did not do so for me at age ten.

At these gatherings I was introduced to a group of vaguely recognizable relatives (or at least I was told they were relatives) and nauseam. It seemed at the time that everyone expected me to know and appreciate the special place that of each of these warm bodies had in the scheme of things. In all honesty I did not have the slightest idea then who they all were, nor do I today.

I did know and like some of my mother's close relatives however. My Great uncles Jake and Phil were always fun to be around. They ran the foundry that their father (my Norwegian great-grandfather) had left to them. During my youth uncle Phil had become chronically ill (I was never told of the nature of the illness) and had to retire to manage an animal preservation retreat that belonged to the original owner of Boeing. We always loved to visit uncle Phil because we got to see all the caged indigenous animals and also to play Monopoly — a game that both uncle Phil and his wife Mary loved. We would play it into the wee hours of morning so I got to stay up later than usual, something all youngsters seem to love. I guess it is the illicitness of the thing.

Uncle Phil's brother uncle Jake was as rambunctious and uncle Phil was quite and reserved. He was what today we would call a "swinger." Not that he was as licentious as today's swingers, but he would be the social equivalent from a more sedate time. He had several wives (not as many as old Eli however), all of them great beauties I am told. I only met one of them who was indeed quite attractive but did not seem to possess too many other endearing qualities. But his love life was not my business and I did like uncle Jake because he was always fun to be around in deference to the rest of my relatives who were rather boring for a young lad.

My mother divorced my father when I was eleven. One day she whisked my infant sister and me away to a large drafty house that then served as a temporary residence for women who, like her, were in the process of divorcing an unwanted mate. I found this new position the most depressing of my life. At that time I decided that I wanted nothing to do with either of my parents from that moment forward since it seemed to me, with my eleven-year-old wisdom, that neither of them took my welfare into consideration. If they did not care for my feelings I thought, why should I tie my happiness to their future actions. Would they not just continue to manage their lives to suit their own needs and desires and leave to me only the crumbs of their existence?

Admittedly, this was quite a revolutionary thought, but I could see no other practical course for me than to begin to manage my own life and not be a vassal of my patents, neither of who seemed to really want me around at this time. Both had their lovers and I seemed to cramp their style. There was of course my infant sister, Nancy but she was not the dampener of ardor that an inquisitive eleven-year-old boy could be. Therefore, when I suggested to my mother that I go and live with my grandparents so I would not have to change schools, which would have been necessary if I lived with her in her new domicile, she readily agreed.

My grandmother always had doted on me as her first grandson and so life with her and "Doc" my grandfather was most pleasant for me. I had little supervision or discipline but required little. I spent much of my time reading and developing my intellect. Since I had little money, I would frequent the Seattle public library for my entertainment and studied books on a wide range of subjects. The most interesting of these for me were on magic, cameras and electronic gear of all kinds. I was gradually becoming my own man. It was one of the happiest times of my life.

During my library days I decided I wanted to become a professional magician - an interest that began when I was about thirteen and has continued to this day. As we will see later, it was this interest that finally has led me to pen (or rather type) this novel.

After I finished grade school, my mother had dumped her current lover (or he might have dumped her, I only heard her side) and decided to move to the suburbs of Seattle. She then wanted me with her. It seems that she needed the child support for me that my father was now paying to my grandparents to help finance her new house. So I left my idyllic, as far as I was concerned, grandparent's home to once again return to reality. It was not the same as before, however. I was older now and had educated my self to become my own man. I may have lived with my mother, but I did not consider that I was dependent on her for my contentment.

As our new home was a few blocks short of the distance considered necessary for school bus pick up and let off, I had to walk about two miles each way to high school and back. At that time I did not think of this as a burden however, since it gave me time to create and act out all sort of fantasies in my imagination. To make them more realistic I would work them into stories and plays in which I took all the parts. And so as I wended my way to and from school each day I would act out a new play with all the vocalization and gestures. In time, as I was told later, I had gained a certain amount of notoriety around school from the other students who observed these dramas, by either passing me on the roadway or observing me from their-school bus windows as they rode by.

I soon discovered, as had the Roman Emperor Claudius before me, that there are many advantages to playing the fool. You can get away with a lot of outrageous behavior that would be quickly prohibited by those in authority if they considered you a truly serious individual. I will not mention here some of my more fascinating escapades in this direction but will only tell you that at no time were they injurious to my self or others. I will not say, however, that I did not occasionally deflate a few pompous egos, both of my fellow students and the school staff.

As you might gather I was not particularly popular in school. I was what they today call a nerd, but in that day we had no such connotation. Those of us who fell into that category were just ignored by the students even though we might be appreciated by some of them more sophisticated teachers.

During my sophomore year my talents as a prestidigitator had come to the attention of some students who were part of a USO troop that entertained the service men at our local military camps (WWII was over but men were still being conscripted). They asked me if I would like to join the troupe. Since I was basically a loner and not a joiner, I was very reticent to agree, but did accept an invitation to meet with the head of the group, Bob Fisher. He was an old retired burlesque comic. His rather vulgar ways did not appeal to me one bit, although his wife, who everyone called "Dutch", was really nice and put me at ease. How she ever managed to put up with him all those years I could not imagine.

After some thought and debate within my self I decided to give life on the stage a try. We were a rag tag group and, as I discovered later, were considered the bottom rung of such troop entertaining groups. We had some wannabe singers, rejects from dancing school, fledgling comics trying out new material and of course me who did comedy magic. There was no pay, but we did usually get a meal since we were picked up just as we left school in order to get to the military post on time.

Being a true nerd, I was very sexually innocent at the time but the older members of the group did help with my education as time went on. Most certainly Bob Fisher did his best to augment my education. To spice up the show, he gave me some of his best bits from his old burlesque routines. I did not understand them but they made the audience laugh and so both he and I were happy. My naivete was to get me into trouble at school later on, but eventually was also to lead to some very important events in my life.

Word of my theatrical exploits finally reached the students and faculty of my high school, and so I was asked if I would like to take part in a variety assembly that was being planned. Since my new stage career had eroded my natural shyness, I agreed and was given a spot in one (that is in front of the curtain while they were setting up for the next skit behind.) I wasn't quite sure what to do for my act, but since I wanted to make the best impression possible I decided to use only tested material and so planned to use my regular USO comedy magic routine.

Needless to say the students howled with glee at my act. Remember this was 1947 and such ribaldry had never been heard in a school auditorium anywhere in America before. The faculty was not as enthusiastic however. They along with the majority of the students seem to derive something from Bob Fisher's jokes that had eluded me. I was sent to the principle, Mr. Johnson, who, as a person, was not all that Victorian for the mid forties. After Mr. Johnson discovered, from a short interrogation, my nerdy innocence, he decided I needed no further punishment but assured me that in the future a censoring committee of teachers must first approve any act I might perform on the school stage. I rapidly agreed to his requirements, but left his office still wondering what I had said that created such uproar.

This event had many far-reaching consequences, both in regard to the teaching staff and the other students. I was still regarded as a nerd, but a nerd that not only had a salacious sense of humor, but also was not afraid to express it in front of the entire student body and faculty. This was something that even the most audacious jocks or class idols would have dared to do. In the students eyes I was now in a class by my self. Something you can bet I relished.

The teachers took a different view of my new notoriety however. While the male teachers condemned my actions vocally, it did not take much astute observation to detect an under current that admired the rascality to the whole affair. I could detect a definite new respect from most of these men following my "debacle." The female teachers took a different tack. They decided that I was good at heart, but had gotten into some bad company. I could not deny their view, but if it were not for the bad company, I would still be only an unappreciated nerd and the most important event in my life would not have taken place.

One teacher in particular, Mrs. Davis, decided to take the situation in hand and to place me where I would have the opportunity to be exposed to the right kind of people. Since it was the middle of my junior year she had decided to name me one of two senior editors of the yearbook for the coming senior class. In order to meet the needed deadlines, work on such books at that time began the year before their publication. For the other senior editor she chose Elaine Patterson, the probable Senior Valedictorian and a very stable and upright young lady. Since the Senior editors need to spend a great deal of time together, I have little doubt that Mrs. Davis trusted that Elaine's sensible and modest nature would have salubrious effect on my morals and deportment.

While I was not adverse to young women, as a nerd about the only experience I had in this direction was from my fantasies as I walked to and from school and what I had observed in the USO bus coming home from the military camps. Elaine was easy to talk to however since she was almost as shy as I was. I soon discovered that she was a female nerd, if such a thing existed. Unfortunately, she did tell me she had a boy friend, so I knew I had better keep to my fantasies as far as girls were concerned.

Our main job as senior editors was to create cute but poignant sayings to go under the senior pictures of some two hundred plus students. This was no easy task and we could spend hours going over just a few names to get just the right phase. This gave us time to talk about other things while we waited for our individual muses to kick in. I soon discovered that her boy friend was a sailor she had met in Seattle and that he want her to marry him and traipse around the world as a sailor's wife. I asked her if she had really thought this out. She was after all a very cultured and bright girl (you don't get to be Valedictorian without brains) and he seemed a very much of lowbrow. Gradually, we talked less and less of Marshall (her boy friend) and more and more of us.

As we became better friends she invited me to her house to meet her parents and have dinner. This was an interesting experience. Her parents were pleasant enough but the meal was — well lets say — different. I had already determined from our discussions at school that she and her folks held unique views of life and diet, but nothing could have prepared me for this repast. I understood them to be vegetarians but I had never seen vegetables or any thing else for that matter that looked like what was on that table. We started with what had the consistency of soup but I had no idea of its contents. I decided that it probably was not poisonous since no one would attempt to poison someone with something that untasty. After all, if you were going to do someone in, you would want to make the altered dish tasty to encourage consumption.

The next course was a salad. While I was not a great salad man, I was not unfamiliar with most of the herbs and vegetables used in this part of the meal. As hard as I looked at the dish placed before me, however, I could not recognize anything I had ever seen before. I turned to Priscilla, Elaine's mother, and asked with all the diplomacy a sixteen year old can muster, "Where did you get these interesting greens." I used the word "greens" even though they were not green but sort of a brownish gray in color because I thought it the most genteel word. "I'm pleased you asked," replied Priscilla, "they are mainly weeds from our yard. You would be surprised how tasty and nutritious weeds can be." She was right I was surprised.

Next came the piece de resistance — something they called a Vegeburger. Basically it was a glob of wheat gluten with a little coloring and a little flavoring added. While it will never replace a Big Mac, it was, at least, a commercial product and not something found in the yard. It actually tasted pretty good after the first two courses. Along with this part of the meal I was also offered a slice of bread. All attempts at sarcasm aside I must say this was the most solid piece of bread I have ever seen before or since. It was heavy, gray with light colored nodules on its surface and had none of the normal smell of any bread that I was accustomed to. However, with a little butter(1) and a dollop of honey it was eatable and filling.
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(1) Butter is one of few luxuries that the Pattersons had in abundance. Since they did not eat meat, John Patterson, Elaine's father, used his wartime meat ration points to horde butter and they had it stored everywhere.
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Following the bread and Vegeburger I looked forward to the dessert. This hope was dashed when Elaine's mother informed me that dessert is destructive to good digestion and was not offered in their home. She did offer to play the piano for me if I would like some entertainment. Since the only live piano playing I had heard up to this time was my grandmother playing her favorite medley of Nola and Oh! Johnny, I was eager to hear what she would present. The music was all new to me and did not strike any responsive cords. Elaine told me in later years that Priscilla had played Schubert and Chopin two of my favorite composers today. I am only sorry that I was not cultured enough at that time to have enjoyed the playing, that Elaine assured me was excellent, her mother being in her prime at that time.

I am sorry to say that the relationship between Elaine and I cooled a bit after my adventure at her home. I have always been a person open to new experiences but sometimes the culture shock can be overwhelming. I envision life with Elaine consisting of one such meal after another and the thought did not inspire confidence in a long-term relationship.

While I was at her house, I did find some of the titles of the books in their bookcase interest and was allowed to take a couple home for reading. When I did finally start to read this works, I began to see a new and exciting (to me) view if life and death. Later, at our editorial sessions, I began to ask her questions about what I had been reading. She gave me some plausible answers, but assured me that I would really need to ask her mother some of the questions I had, since she was not certain of the answers. Visions of the nondescript soup and salad suddenly entered my consciousness. "I will go," said I, "as long as we just talk, and no food." I can't remember if Elaine was offended or not but at least she agreed.

Priscilla, as a person and not as a cook, was quite acceptable. We really got along famously. She was different but then who was I to judge. She seemed to be able to give me satisfactory answers to my questions and soon I considered myself an advocate of their Philosophy (except for the food thing).

One day while we were working on the school Annual, Elaine asked me if I would like to meet the main instructor of their philosophy? Apparently, he came to the various centers of population around the country once a year to hold meetings and personal interviews. Since, I was greatly fascinated by this philosophy by this time, I eagerly accepted her offer.

We met in a small banquet room of a downtown Seattle hotel. There were about fifty people there. I sat with Elaine in the back but with a good view of the podium. The instructor arrived right on time. Something I admire, but am rarely able to accomplish. He was a smallish man in his sixties with thinning white hair and a courteous but distinguished demeanor.

The meeting was called a Roundtable and it consisted of a short to the point lecture from the leader, Dr. Claymore, about matters he felt important to his "students," while the rest of time was taken up with questions from the audience. After the meeting was over, Priscilla took me to Dr. Claymore for an introduction. While he was amiable and warm he seemed to look at me with a questioning expression on his face. Only later was the reason for this expression made known to me.

As Elaine and I walked away to talk by ourselves, I noticed out of my peripheral vision that Priscilla was still conversing with Dr. Claymore. Later that night as we drove home in Elaine's father's car, Priscilla asked me if I would like a personal interview with Dr. Claymore? I replied in the affirmative but bemoaned the fact that I did not have the twenty dollars requested for such an interview at that time. She assured me that Dr. Claymore had told her that he would see me this time without requiring the usual donation. All objections having been removed, the appointment was scheduled for the next afternoon.

Such interviews were held in Dr. Claymore's suite in same hotel where the Roundtables were held. The usual procedure was for the student to come to his room five minutes before appointed the time of the interview and knock three times. This gave Dr. Claymore time to end the previous interview without having to be so discourteous as to keep looking at his watch. Checking my watch as I reached the proper doorway, I found I had about three minutes before the fateful knock was due. I could feel my heart start to pound. What was I doing here? How did I get in with this crowd? If this is the man who tells his followers to eat weeds and cook indigestible bread do I rally want to talk to him? More to the point, why does he want to see me? And further more...just then I looked at my watch and it was time for the fatal knock. Three times I rapped my knuckles on the door. From within I heard, "Just a few minutes," and then all was silent. I had crossed the Rubicon; the die was cast. My brain was filled with similar clichés and I was a little light headed and nauseous.

After a few minutes the door suddenly opened and a little old gray haired lady came out crying. Not an auspicious sign I thought to myself. Dr. Claymore, in a voice more gruff than I had heard the night before, enjoined, "Come here Mr. Bruington I want to teach you something. Come in and sit down.

I did as I was told.

He continued, "For five years now that woman (referring I presumed to the one that had just left) and her family have been trying to get me to tell them they did right when they did wrong. Each of those five years I carefully explained the Law and assured them that what was done was done and to forget it, just don't do it again. Learn form you experience. However, they still want me to relieve their collective consciences by acknowledging that they did right when they did wrong. Today I told them if any of them brought up this matter again I would throw them all out from the Philosophy. What I want you to remember is that patience is usually a virtue but it can become a sin. Now do you have any questions to ask me?"

By this time anything that was in my mind had flown into another dimension. Stammering until my brain came to life again, I replied, "I do have some things that bother me about the Philosophy and would like to discuss them with you." Dr. Claymore dropped his head and looking over his half-glasses said in his usual congenial and calm voice, "Alright, proceed."

Since I was his last interview for the day we were able to talk for almost an hour rather than the regular half-hour session. Near the end of the interview he looked at me and asked, "How old are you Mr. Bruington?" "Seventeen," I replied. "Humm," was all I heard from him for a few seconds, though it seemed minutes. Then he enigmatically replied, "That is just about the right age." "The right age for what?" I queried. Looking very sternly at me with his eyes drilling holes into me with each glance he asked, "Are you sure you want to know?" Having discovered in my short life that an opportunity missed is an opportunity lost, I rejoined with, "Yes, I do."

Sitting back in his chair to obtain a more comfortable position, Dr. Claymore turned his gaze toward the ceiling and continued, "There is a good chance that by the time you are my age the world as we know it may no longer exist. Probably, however, this state of great change will not take place until the next century, which will of course also be a new millennium. In my early days I thought we might be able to prevent this destruction but now this no longer seems possible.

"In the late 1800's a new Celestial messenger was born who has been called Manisis — a name symbolizing the balance of the ideal individual. A balance of the masculine with its honor, virility, strength and willingness to accept all challenges and the feminine (Isis was the goddess of the Egyptians) with its love and mothering nature expressing a willingness to bear with fortitude the consequences of all one's acts.

"At first it was thought that he, like his elder brother, the man from Nazareth, might make himself known to the world so that they could be given the benefit of his teachings directly. It was determined by those wiser than I that this was not to be. The world today does not want more wisdom, all it wants is approval of its decadent ways. So Manisis will soon return to the Celestial spheres. We who will be left must give to the world his teachings when the time is right.

"I do not expect these teachings to be accepted by the public in my time. Those above know that I have tried, but only a few have listened. I only trust that the time might be right before you leave this Earth. Are you willing to take on yourself the responsibility of teaching this Manistic Philosophy?"

"Why me?" I replied, "Surely you have many others who are much better versed in the Philosophy than I."

"Yes, that is true, but none are as young as you," he replied, "I doubt if any will live into the new millennium with the ability to tackle such a task. According to Manisis, the time will come early in the next century when America will be attacked from all sides by every aggressor nation in the world. During this time the "nakedness" of her leaders on all levels will be exposed and her people will rise up and replace them with leaders who are grounded in the Manistic teachings. With the help of these uncorrupt able leaders, in business, law, medicine and government America will be able to fend off all the evil forces of the world and establish the true Brotherhood of Men and a Heaven on Earth."

"And you expect me to help bring this about?"

"Yes"

"All by myself?"

"No, we have enlisted several about your age."

"But," I queried, "What if several of us do survive to teach these laws. Won't this cause confusion in the public mind?"

"Not necessarily," said he, "what about the four Gospels of the New Testament? Here four man gave their view of the Nazarene's Law and no one seems to mind."

"All right. I agree," I said, "what happens now."

"You come and see me this same time tomorrow and we shall begin your training."
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