What Would Kinky Do?: How to Unscrew a Screwed-Up World (4 page)

THE FIVE MEXICAN GENERALS PLAN

Why is that? It's greed and politics, folks. Poly-ticks. Long before I offered the KISSP (Keep It Simple Stupid Politicians) program featuring ten thousand National Guard troops on the border; taxpayer ID cards for foreigners who want to work here, after criminal background checks; and socking it to employers big-time who hire illegals without the new ID cards; I voiced another suggestion to help stem illegal immigration. This was given to me by legendary Texas Ranger Joaquin Jackson. It was called "The Five Mexican Generals Plan." The people laughed when I first sat down at the piano to tell them about The Five Mexican Generals Plan. They're not laughing now.

They realize that no fundamental change in immigration policy is going to be introduced out of Austin or Washington, no matter who's in charge. The fact that the Democrats are now running things in the nation's capitol merely means that a different swarm of locusts and lobbyists has now descended upon the city. For their own personal, precious, political reasons, nothing will be delivered. I hope I am wrong, but common sense tells me that I'm right.

Therefore, just for the record, let me set down for you the plan Joaquin suggested to me, the plan that everybody thought was a joke but now is not so sure. The Five Mexican Generals Plan goes like this: We divide the border into five jurisdictions and we appoint a Mexican general in charge of each. Then we place a million dollars (or two million, whatever it takes) in a bank account, which we hold for each general. Then, every time we catch an illegal coming through his section, we withdraw ten thousand dollars. This will effectively shut off illegal immigration into Texas.

In 2006, George Bush Sr., the former president, invited me to Texas A&M to hear John McCain speak. Afterward, I got a chance to hang out a little with 41 and John McCain. I told them the Five Mexican Generals Plan. The former president chuckled over the plan quite a bit, but Senator McCain's response was quite different. He gave me a sort of wistful smile, then he said, "You know, that Five Mexican Generals Plan is probably better than anything we've got out there right now."

John McCain, of course, was right. It doesn't matter whether or not it's a joke, it merely points out that whatever we're doing (or not doing) now is not working. The plan may be a joke to some, but it's also common sense, the common sense of a man who knows the border and its problems more than most, Joaquin Jackson. Personally, I still strongly advocate the plan. I believe, along with a growing number of others, both inside and outside of government, that it's crazy enough to work.

Finally, let me just say that common sense is nothing new in government; it's merely something rare. Thomas Paine, one of the greatest, most significant Americans who ever lived, titled his pamphlet
Common Sense.
On his deathbed, Paine was harassed by clergymen demanding to know his nationality and his religion. Thomas Paine's only response was, "The world is my country; to do good is my religion."

In these troubled times, that's still a damn good answer.

BRING HIM ON

"Start talkin'," I said as I picked up the blower.

"Kinkster," said a familiar voice, "this is John Kerry. I haven't been very happy with you lately."

"Why the long face, John?"

"Are you aware that I'm running for president of the United States?"

"Are you aware," I said somewhat indignantly, "that my books have been translated into more languages than your wife speaks?"

There was silence, followed by a peculiar choking sound. I puffed patiently on my cigar and waited. One of the drawbacks to the telephone is that there's very little you can do to physically help the party on the other end of the line. Either Kerry would recover by himself or else he was definitely going to lose Ohio.

"I went to Vietnam," he said at last.

"I heard something about that," I said.

Indeed, it was one of the things I really liked about Kerry. America was full of patriotic-seeming people, from John Wayne to most of our top elected officials, who, when the time had come to serve their country, had not answered the call.

"I went to Vietnam myself earlier this year," I said. "Nobody told me the war was over." I heard what sounded like a practiced, good-natured chuckle from John Kerry. That was the trouble with politicians, I thought. Once they'd been on the circuit for a while, their words, gestures, even laughter—all were suspect, relegated to rote and habit. Something as natural as a smile became a mere rictus of power and greed. They couldn't help themselves; it was the way of their people. As Henry Kissinger once observed, "Ninety percent of politicians give the other ten percent a bad name."

"I'll get to the point," Kerry said. "I know you're pals with George W—"

"I'm also pals with Bill Clinton," I said. "In fact, I'm proud to say I'm the only man who's slept with two presidents."

"That is something to be proud of. But I don't understand how you can support Bush's policies. I'm told you grew up a Democrat. What happened?"

What did happen, I wondered, to the little boy who cried when Adlai Stevenson lost? What happened to the young man whose heroes were Abraham, Martin, and John? Time changes the river, I suppose, and it changes all of us as well. I was tired of Sudan being on the Human Rights Commission of the United Nations. I was tired of dictators with Swiss bank accounts, like Castro and Arafat and Mugabe, masquerading as men of the people. I was tired of Europeans picking on cowboys, everybody picking on the Jews, and the whole supposedly civilized world of gutless wonders, including the dinosaur graveyard called Berkeley, picking on America and Israel. As I write this, 1.2 million black Christian and Muslim Sudanese are starving to death, thanks to the Arab government in Khartoum and the worldwide mafia of France, Germany, China, Russia, and practically every Islamic country on the face of the earth. What happened to the little boy who cried when Adlai Stevenson lost? He died in Darfur.

"I don't know what happened," I said. "But as Joseph Heller once wrote, 'Something happened.'"

"You'll be back," said Kerry. "You'll be back."

He was telling me about his new health plan and how the economy was losing jobs when I heard a beeping sound on the blower and realized I had incoming wounded.

"Hold the weddin', John," I said. Then I pushed the call-waiting button.

"Start talkin'," I said.

"Hey, Kinkster!" said a familiar voice, this time with a big, friendly Texas drawl. "It's George W. How're things goin' at the ranch?"

"Fair to Midland, George," I said. "John Kerry's on the other line telling me about his new health plan. What's your health plan?"

"Don't get sick," said George with his own practiced, good-natured chuckle.

"He also told me the economy is losing jobs."

"What do you care, Kink? You told me you never had a job in your life."

"That's not true," I said. "I used to write a column for
Texas Monthly,
but it got outsourced to Pakistan."

"Kink, the economy's doin' fine. The country's turnin' the corner. We even have bin Laden in custody."

"I remember you told me that. Where is he now?"

"Time-share condominium in Port Aransas. His time's gonna run out two weeks before the election."

I chatted with George a while longer, then finished up with John. I had just returned to my chair and unmuted Fox News when the phone rang again. I power-walked into the office and picked up the blower.

"Start talkin'," I said.

"Kinky, it's Bill Clinton. How's it hangin', brother?"

"Okay, Bill. I just talked to George Bush and John Kerry on the phone."

"Skull and Bones! Skull and Bones! Tyin' up the telephones!" he chanted. "Hell, I still think about that night in Australia when you and me and Will Smith all went to that Maynard Ferguson concert. Too bad Will didn't bring his wife, wasn't it? Man, that was a party!"

I remembered that night, too. Millions of people undoubtedly love Bill Clinton, but I've always believed he has few real friends. That night he and I had talked about the recent death of one of his very closest, Buddy the dog. Like they say, if you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.

"Hey, Kink. There's a big ol' white pigeon sittin' on my windowsill here at my office in Harlem. Do you recall once asking me why there were white pigeons in Hawaii and dark pigeons in New York?"

"Sure. And you answered, 'Because God seeks balance in all things.'"

"That's right. Hell, I always wanted to be a black Baptist preacher when I grew up."

"Be careful what you wish for."

"Imagine, a white pigeon right in the middle of Harlem. If the whole world could see that, what do you reckon they'd say?"

"There goes the neighborhood?"

There followed the raw, real laughter of a lonely man who'd flown a little too close to the sun.

"Just remember, Kink," said Bill. "Two big bestselling authors like us got to stick together. Those other guys? Hell, they're only runnin' for president."

EPILOGUE

Cuddles and I spent many years together, both in New York, where I first found her as a little kitten on the street in Chinatown, and later on the ranch in Texas. She was always with me, on the table, on the bed, by the fireplace, beside the typewriter, on top of my suitcase when I returned from a trip.

I dug Cuddles' grave with a silver spade, in the little garden by the stream behind the old green trailer where both of us lived in the summertime. Her burial shroud was my old New

York sweatshirt, and in the grave with her is a can of tuna and a cigar.

A few days ago I received a sympathy note from Bill Hoegemeyer, the veterinarian. It opened with a verse by Irving Townsend: "We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own live within a fragile circle."

Now, as I write this, on a gray winter day by the fireside, I can almost feel her light tread, moving from my head and my heart down through my fingertips to the keys of the typewriter. People may surprise you with unexpected kindness. Dogs have a depth of loyalty that often we seem unworthy of. But the love of a cat is a blessing, a privilege in this world.

They say when you die and go to heaven all the dogs and cats you've ever had in your life come running to meet you.

Until that day, rest in peace, Cuddles.