Sonny Plasterman was a salesman at the Smythe Cadillac dealership in Pantaskadie, Kansas. His sales, over a period of years, had been lackluster. That was bad enough; he should have been let go long ago.
But he’d also been accused, by a number of lady customers (and one toy poodle), of improper touching and crass remarks. In addition, the owner of the dealership had confronted Sonny about several customer down payments he’d fraudulently endorsed to himself, and the sales manager had constantly chided him about the flagrant lying and gross exaggerations Sonny employed in his used car sales.
Each time the boss had confronted him about his bad behavior, Sonny had claimed: “They’re all lying. Everyone is out to get me.”
But the “proof was in the pudding" and the day of reckoning arrived. Sonny was fired. He should have hung his head in shame. Instead, he screamed to the local media about the car dealership’s unfair treatment; how he, as a long-term trusted employee, had never done anything wrong and how he had been cheated out of the commissions he had earned.
Many of the townsfolk were up in arms, and everyone was taking sides. There was terrible talk of burning down the dealership, and several of the town’s redneck residents had even talked about lynching Smythe. A simple firing had turned into a circus.
During the same week of his dismissal, Sonny stole a new Cadillac convertible from the dealer. He didn’t even hide his deed. In fact, he drove the shiny car all over town to be seen by everyone, stopping at the local nightspots and taking the hookers for rides.
The police were confused. They were concerned about the public’s perception of their department. There was already so much public whining about Sonny being treated unfairly, and they decided this case required kid-glove handling. After all, an arrest might turn into a riot, so law enforcement called Sonny on the phone instead. “Mr. Plasterman,” implored Officer O’Shaunessey, “you have stolen a car, and you need to surrender it and yourself within 24 hours.”
“Up yours,” buddy!” was the retort. “It’s my car and I refuse to give it back. As you know, the law is behind me—the one that says that there’s a transfer of title, to me, as soon as I drive it away.”
The officer’s head was spinning, and he had to mentally review what he’d just heard. Confused, he called the police chief. “What should I do?”
“Tell him that if he’ll bring the car back to the dealership, Smythe will withdraw the auto theft charges and the police will overlook the matter as one of “poor judgement.”
But, Sonny would not comply.
More than a year went by, and the Cadillac had not been returned. A warrant was issued, and Sonny was arrested. “This is just a hit-job by my enemies,” he claimed. “It’s so unfair, and I will prove my innocence. I will be vindicated.”
Once again he created a media stir, loudly declaring how shabbily he was being treated. His supporters yelled “Foul,” demonstrated outside the police chief’s home with guns and torches, and started a GoFundMe account for Sonny’s legal defense. In just a week, the donations had exceeded $100 million.
At trial, Sonny testified, “All Smythe had to do is ask me to bring the car back, and I would have. I actually offered to do that many times. That said, it’s a moot point. The car was mine anyway, because me merely thinking it would have constituted a transfer of title from Sonny to me. Why is everyone out to get me, when I’ve tried so hard to be a respectable, honest, and law-abiding citizen?”
Then the gavel fell. Guilty!
Once again, all hell broke loose: The town hall was burned, and the chief of police was tarred and feathered. A good 30% of the townsfolk believed a terrible miscarriage of justice had occurred and that Sonny should be their candidate for mayor.
Really! Just how ridiculous can people be?
Here’s what an honest man has to say about the newest Trump indictment. Mitt Romney minced no words, putting it into a simple perspective: “He brought it upon himself.” In addition to that terse summation, Romney noted how Trump had been given every opportunity to do the right thing, that the Justice Department had exercised more than the required “due care,” and that Trump had been afforded multiple opportunities to avoid criminal charges—something no other person would have been given.
Even Bill Barr, the defrocked sham of an attorney general and longtime fixer for Trump, couldn’t change the storm-cloud scenery. After reading the 37-charge indictment against the ex-president, he remarked that the charges were “damning,” and added, “if even half of the charges are true, Trump is toast.”
Now, the GOP must decide. Will it be the party of law and order? Will it be the party of truth? Will it be the party of decency and morality?
After embracing so many lies for so long, can the Republican Party survive this tide of shame? Even more important, can it avoid the delusional activities of its publicity-seeking renegade members in fomenting yet another Jan. 6? Every senator and representative that tries to create support for Trump is welcoming the destruction of our republic.
The delusions must end; it’s time to call a spade a spade.
The author is a retired novelist, columnist and former Vietnam-era Army assistant public information officer. He resides in Riverton with his wife, Carol, and the beloved ashes of their mongrel dog.
