Important! Please retain this information on your computer, as there will be at least 5 or 6 follow-up articles dealing with a health and life-extending program – an invention, and a wonderful new product -- at the end of this series. You may well want to refer back to it all.
Part One of.
Vested Interests Wrecking the Planet – A re-write.
From the Desk of George Barnard.
“Give The People What They Want!”
Many years ago, and further back in time than I now care to remember, a free-lance commercial artist, who complained about having great difficulties feeding his young family, approached me for work. Home payments, he said, were cutting deeply into his meagre earnings. He was desperate. Since there was plenty of work I could give him, and since his portfolio of past work assured me we would both come out winning in this new association, he went away happily with his first orders from my little company.
A few days later, and to my dismay, he returned with some ‘clinically clean,’ and most beautiful art work. Alas, this young man had considered not a single aspect of my clients’ clearly to him explained requirements. The artwork looked great, but it was useless. He told me, ‘I’m the artist! I decide what’s best for your customer!’ I shook my head. ‘No, my friend,’ I told him. ‘You must give the people what they want, always. They are the ones who pay the bills. Give ’em what they want!’
The angry artist stormed out of my office, and I did not see him again for a number of years. He was doing well now, looking happy, and he showed me his brand new motor car. ‘I owe it all to you, George,’ he told me. ‘I started giving the people exactly what they wanted, just like you said I should.’
Project Zero Emissions.
We were still a small production outfit in the early sixties -- just five of us, using our minds as well as our hands. We were doing well in a somewhat laid-back daily effort of producing all kinds of interesting ‘goodies’ in our small factory. We had time to look around, or visit the neighbors. In the place next door, two brilliantly-minded engineers were through developing a zero emission pollution control device for motor cars. The Volkswagen engine mounted on their workbench was roaring away at top speed. The paper towel held just half an inch from the exhaust, and for many minutes, was still the purest of pure whites. Their success ‘roared’ like the air-cooled engine did. They spent years thinking about it, months in developing it, then years in promoting it.
Their company went bust, and two dejected inventors held an auction and received less for their near-new machinery than was needed to pay their bills. ‘That was a beautiful new toy!’ I told them. ‘What the hell went wrong?’ ‘Vested Interests,’ they told me. ‘Vested Interests, George. We were even barred from watching the testing procedure. And generations of our kiddies will have asthma and all kinds of respiratory diseases, but the drug companies will fare well.”
They were government engineers who poured the wrong fuel into the Volkswagen engine’s tank, and, reliably, the report now told of Project Zero Emissions’ total failure. Undeniably, it was there in black and white on the official account of the test. An independent scientific report on the remaining fuel from the tank proved sabotage of two great guys’ years of dreaming for a better world to live in.
All requests to the Powers That Be for a follow-up test were denied. Why should the people have what they want, when there are Vested Interests?
Toting A Gun.
Years ago, he and his family lived on acreage just outside one of our major cities. He called himself a boilermaker. Wrought iron fences were what they made, and these he, and his crew, made so very well.
Strangely, a ten-foot brick wall surrounded his huge workshop and yard, and on top of this wall were big, pointed shards of glass that would have cut any robber to ribbons before letting him enter the grounds. Stranger still, at all times while he did his work, our middle-aged boilermaker toted a handgun. Lashed onto his wide leather belt was a neatly carved leather holster, and in it was a loaded gun. Most folks would have judged our man, and even his two employees, to have long ago lost the story line. Truly, they were all quite sane. There was every reason for the ten-foot wall; every reason for the handgun to be there, for powerful, ruthless people wanted what our metalworkers owned.
These three still are the proud owners of an insignificant-looking rusty metal box, which, at a guess, stands about thirty-six inches tall. It is about twenty-four inches wide, and less than twenty inches deep. At one end, a single garden hose enters the metal box. At the other end two long hoses emerge, and from it come the gases with which the men do their welding.
‘Have you patented your rusty box, Andy?’ I asked him with a smile. ‘Nope,’ he answered me. ‘I’m not going to tell anyone how the gizmo works either. There are Vested Interests who will ensure it will never be out there, after they pay me a million bucks.’ He grimaced. ‘Ask yourself, young George: What would a boilermaker do with a million bucks? Although, we earn only just enough to pay our water bill.’
I knew he was jesting. Simple, everyday H2O is welding steel to steel . . . straight from the water tap, unseen by Vested Interests.
© The 11:11 Progress Group.
You lit a Flame, and it will become a Raging Fire—ABC-22.
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