The Buck Passes Flynn (23 page)

“More than half a trillion dollars,” said Flynn. “Whatever that means.”

“Whatever that means,” agreed the President. “So much it’s really unthinkable. And the cheaper the dollar’s been getting abroad, the cheaper oil has been getting for everybody else, and the more expensive it’s been getting for us. This thing had to smash up sometime.”

Inevitable
.

“We have lots of options,” said the President. “And, thanks to you, we’ve had the time to implement them. That thirty-six hours warning you gave us makes all the difference.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Monday morning, everyone in this country takes whatever Old Dollars—greenbacks—to the banks and gets so many New Dollars—bluebacks—in exchange. We haven’t figured out yet whether they get either one or two New Dollars for ten Old Dollars. The damage hasn’t been completely assessed yet. Members of the Cabinet are about to come in and so advise me. Prices—prices of everything from gold to common stock
to services and bread—will fall accordingly, within hours. Monday noon, for example, your wife will be able to buy a loaf of bread for a dollar and a half, old currency, or fifteen cents, new currency. Soon, as a Chinese philosopher might say, there will be no more Old Dollars—those which currently are out blowing around the streets—in circulation.”

“I see,” said Flynn.

“Now, you see, thanks to our crazy friend in the Federal Reserve Bank, everyone knows the dollar isn’t worth anything.”

“I’m beginning to think he wasn’t so crazy.”

“What was his name, anyway?”

“Paul Sankey.”

“Thank ye, Paul Sankey. It was an insane thing to do, Mister Flynn. But it’s an ill wind, et cetera.”

“He said he was doing it only to reveal the truth.”

“Or, another option is to do away with the cash-money, currency system altogether.”

“Did I hear you?”

“Right. One of our banks in particular—actually, it’s Citicorp—has been setting itself up for years to shift us completely to a credit system. No cash in circulation at all.”

“No cash money?”

“None. Your income is paid directly into the bank. You have credit for whatever additional savings you have. You are given something like a credit card, identified by your Social Security number, which is also your income-tax identification number. You carry this around with you. For everything you have to pay—highway tolls, lunch, groceries, even a house—you simply present your card and things are charged up accordingly.”

“And tell me,” asked Flynn, “what does that leave you to give the odd beggar in the street?”

“It’s not a bad idea,” said the President. “For one thing, it would make the collection of taxes a great deal easier.”

“We’d all like that,” said Flynn. “Wouldn’t we?”

“Another great thing about all this,” said the President, doodling, “besides bankrupting organized crime, is that we jerk the magic carpet out from under all foreigners—particularly the oil-producing nations—who are holding American Old Dollars over our heads.”

“Ah, yes,” said Flynn.

“Accepting payment for oil in nothing but American dollars has bankrupted us, you might say. So they’re going to get ten cents back on their dollars. Surprise, surprise! That will teach ’em for buying six out of every ten United States Treasury bills we’ve issued the last few years.”

“I should think so. Indeed, yes.”

“As of this moment, the Free World is off the dollar standard,” said the President of the United States. “The world can use gold, spices, oil, toothpicks, S.D.R.’s, whatever, I don’t care. But, as of this moment, the international foolishness about the dollar has stopped.”

“ ‘Thank ye, Paul Sankey,’ ” repeated Flynn. “But, surely, Mister President, the inside of this cloud isn’t solid silver, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it is a crisis, isn’t it?”

“A manageable crisis, Mister Flynn. A manageable crisis. Under de Gaulle, the French devaluated sharply to a New Franc. France’s economy has been much stronger ever since, as a result. Devaluation gives the American economy a whole new life.”

In his mind, Flynn saw the scrub pine blowing down the empty main street of Ada, Texas. What had he been thinking then? What he was being told:
Satan walked the land. There had been an earthquake. Banks had extended too much credit to the ranchers. There was no oil under the land worth thinking about
….

And he thought of the Las Vegas comic Jimmy Silverstein:
…
here we all are in this big sandbox called Las Vegas, playing with money
…
because it isn’t real anymore
!

… and of sitting through the night in a rowboat on a lake, surrounded by hell’s fires, George Udine saying:
I make money because other people believe in it. I collect garbage because pigs want to eat it
….

… and of Cecil Hill, a great counterfeiter, standing in the cold, dank room of a printing plant in Russia, saying:
Both excrement and garbage have some use. Money is totally fake. All money is fake
….

Francis Xavier Flynn was sitting in the White House Office of the President of the United States.

“Somehow,” said Flynn, “I’m surprised to be sitting here, at this moment. Are you trying to tell me, Mister President, that Paul Sankey didn’t commit a crime at all? That he’s some kind of a hero?”

“No. Not at all,” said the President “What he did was insane and criminal. All over the country, all over the world right now, people are huddled, frightened beyond belief. The world, as they know it, has collapsed. They know that the American dollar, as they’ve known it, believed in it, is worthless. They are in real pain. Terror. What’s going to happen to them, to the world, without the unholy buck?”

Flynn said, “I know. But in the morning, you’ll give them something new to believe in. Is that it?”

“Bluebacks. Credit cards. New Dollars, somehow. Be assured, Mister Flynn, the American economy is still incredibly powerful.”

“I’ll tell my wife.”

“It’s just little green pieces of paper that aren’t worth much at the moment.”

“Excrement. Garbage. Tissue paper.”

“And I’m not waiting until morning.” The President glanced at his watch. “I’m going on television in two hours.”

Flynn said, “I thought that was a sparklin’ new shirt you’re wearin’.”

“As soon as I know what all the answers are.”

“Then I don’t see what Paul Sankey did,” said Flynn, “that fills you with such rollicking joy?”

“That’s easy, Mister Flynn.” Looking up from his doodle, the President grinned. “You tell me a little nut over at the Federal Reserve made the sky rain money, right?”

Flynn said nothing.

“So,” said the President of the United States, “one, poor, unfortunate, insane employee at the Fed, acting alone, gets blamed for the immediate, worldwide currency crisis. The entire United States Government does not get blamed. As long as people continue to believe in us—whether we deserve it or not—we’re home free.”

Flynn stared at the President silently.

There was a rap on the office door behind Flynn. He heard the door open.

The President laughed. “Don’t worry, Mister Flynn. This office isn’t bugged.”

From the office door, a voice asked, “Are you ready for us, Mister President?”

“Anytime,” said the President.

He stood up to shake hands as members of the Cabinet, the secretaries of Treasury, State, Defense, etc., trooped into the Oval Office.

The President said to them, “Now let’s see precisely what we’re going to do about this problem.”

The last person with whom he shook hands was Francis Xavier Flynn.

“Good night, Mister President.”

On the pad in front of him the President had sketched a rural scene—a valley with a house, a barn, a pond, a few cows, a horse—a perfectly peaceful scene.

“Good night, Mister Flynn. Always nice doing business with you. Thanks for droppin’ by.”