Chapter One
J.W.

There are two weekly newspapers on Martha's Vineyard: the Vineyard Gazette and the Martha's Vineyard Times. Both deal solely with island issues and neither makes much pretense of separating its editorial views from its news coverage. The papers are like dueling banjos, predictably taking opposing views on almost everything. The Gazette's writings are politically correct, brimming with nostalgia for an idealized past, and touched with hauteur, while the populist Times relishes muckraking and has asked local pols so many embarrassing questions that sundry boards and town leaders will no longer speak to its representatives unless the questions are first submitted in writing.

I didn't read either paper with hopes of discovering the truth, but merely to get a sense of the issues of the moment and a laugh from the political dissemblers and the more passionate letters to the editors. Between them, the Gazette and the Times gave strong evidence that Shaw was right when he defined a newspaper as a device unable to distinguish between a bicycle accident and the collapse of civilization.

But both papers agreed on one thing: the upcoming Celebration for Humanity was a very big deal.

It was August and the Celebration had been news all summer. And why not? It seemed that every celebrity, politician, and millionaire living on the island, along with countless others in New York, Hollywood, Washington, and from abroad, was involved, and every one of them would be wrapped in the American flag. It was to be an unprecedented event, bringing together the great and powerful from the entertainment business, Wall Street, religion, and government for one extraordinary weekend of song, speech, prayer, patriotism, and commitment to national and international peace, goodwill, and fearless resolve in the face of terrorism and evil axes.

The Celebration would be broadcast live on national and international radio and television, and taped for viewing by those unfortunate enough to have missed the original show and for the millions who undoubtedly would want to see it all again.

"I just don't think I can stand the tension of it all," yawned Zee, looking at the Gazette's front page. "Less than a week to go, and the island's problems are mounting. Not enough housing, not enough security, not enough tickets to the big event and some outrageous scalping of the ones there are."

"How about we rent out this place for that weekend and use the money to go to Angkor Wat?" I asked. "I've wanted to see Angkor Wat ever since I was a little kid and my father let me read his copy of Halliburton's Complete Book of Marvels. Our house isn't much but it should be good for a few thousand dollars during the Celebration. People are desperate."

"I don't know if they're that desperate," said Zee, glancing around the kitchen, where she'd spread the paper on the table.

Maybe she was right. Home sweet home was an old hunting and fishing camp expanded by a couple of modern bedrooms that I'd tacked on since the kids were born. I'd been working in vain for years to fix a leak in the corner of the living room that dripped whenever a strong rain blew in from the east, and the balcony floor was beginning to get a little spongy in one place I'd soon have to fix.

"People will pay anything to stay on Martha's Vineyard," I said, yawning in turn, "and they'll pay twice as much if they get to see a celebrity while they're here. No wonder the scalpers are doing so well. Maybe we should at least sell our tickets. What do you think?"

"As you'll recall, we don't have tickets," said Zee. "Somehow we got left off the VIP list again. I just can't understand it. I see here, though, that Joe and Myra Callahan are among the invited guests. I imagine Cricket will be coming along, too."

Years before, during one of then-president Joe Callahan's several summer holidays on the Vineyard, our paths had briefly crossed, as the paths of commoners and aristocrats sometimes do, but the former president's family and the Jacksons had since walked different roads.

"Maybe you should suck up to some of those Hollywood types who've been after you to become a movie star," I said. "They can probably get us in."

Zee, who had once been an extra in a motion picture filmed on our island, was still being pursued by its director, who considered her, rightly, I thought, to be one of those rare people who light up the screen. Zee, however, preferred to remain a nurse and to live on the Vineyard with our children and me.

"My once promising career as a film star is, I'm glad to say, a thing of the past," said Zee. "According to this story, though, I actually do know some of the people who'll be part of the show."

"No doubt they'll want you to perform."

"If nominated, I will not run; if elected, I will not serve. We can stay at home like all the normal people in the world and watch the big show on our little TV." She looked at her watch. "The kids should be home any time now. You know, it still feels weird to have them old enough to go play with other kids at a summer camp."

It did seem that way. "Well, their friends come to play here sometimes, so it balances out."

"It feels okay when other kids are here, but it doesn't when ours are someplace else. Does that sound normal?"

"Maybe you should take a parenting class to find out."

"No thanks. I have enough trouble being a parent with just you around. I don't need to be in a class with ten other people who don't know any more than I do. My mother says the secret is to be a grandparent, because by that time you finally know everything instead of always being a year or two behind."

It was a popular notion among grandparents, I knew, and maybe even a correct one, but with luck it would be another twenty years or so before we could either confirm or deny.

Zee scanned the paper one last time and folded it. "Even for this fabled isle where fantasies unfurl like flags almost every day, this Celebration is an eye-catcher. We have as much media here as we did the first time Joe Callahan came down."

During the Callahans' first Vineyard visit, so many security people and media types had been around that every hotel room was full and the island sank about six inches into the sea from the weight of machines and humans. It only rose again when the presidential party flew back to Washington.

"The beginning of that first sentence was quite alliterative," I said admiringly. "But you're right. This is a notable gala even by local standards. I'm going to pour myself a martini and adjourn to the balcony. Would you care to join me?"

Copyright © 2005 by Philip R. Craig and William G. Tapply