A Hunter Thompson Weekend

We're gonna have ourselves a Hunter Thompson Weekend,
Motel room in the woods with a bottle of booze,
We're gonna have ourselves a Hunter Thompson Weekend,
You an' me babe-we'll drink away our blues,
We'll drink away our blues.

Montreal, Quebec: Friday, May 19, 2000. In a large, dark, dank basement, about 50-60 young girls, ranging in age from perhaps 9 to 17, are asleep in row upon row of cots. One, a dark-haired, dark-eyed girl, is awake. She arises and, taking several plastic bags out from under the sheets, and putting them over her arm, slips past a middle-aged woman sitting asleep at a desk near the stairs. She quietly goes upstairs and across a darkened factory floor containing row after row of industrial sewing machines. She sneaks past two men, obviously night watchmen, watching TV behind a counter in a foyer area. The program they watch is broadcast in French. Their comments on the program are in French. The girl slips out the door. The door closing alerts the guards. She makes a run through a parking area and into dark city streets past a large cathedral. It is drizzling. She loses the guards, who seem not motivated to miss much more TV on a rainy night to continue the chase. We see her hitchhiking in the rain. She is taking some sort of food, maybe a muffin, out of one of the the bags, which blows off in the gusting wind and pelting rain, empty.

It's Monday, May 22, 2000, about 11:00 at night and the Lone Gunmen are putting their weekly newsletter "The Magic Bullet" off "to bed," that is, preparing to send it out to be printed. There is a knock at the door. After Frohike undoes all the locks, the girl slumps through the door into the room. In addition to two plastic bags over her arm, she holds an wet back-issue of their paper in her hand. Langly looks at the paper, tosses it, then checks her forehead. "She's burning up with fever, here-move back," Frohike and Byers move back. Langly picks her up and carries her over to the couch. He takes the plastic bags from her arm and puts them on a side table. He goes off to get a blanket. She begins to speak French. Byers asks Frohike, who took French on a computer course, "What's she saying?"

"She says her name is Annette, and that Ralston Puriner is after her." says Frohike.

"Ralston Puriner...You mean like Patsy-Ann Gizzard and Ralston Puriner, the TV talk show hosts?" asks Byers.

"She says she makes his shirts," says Frohike to Byers, who gives him a puzzled look.

Langly returns, and, placing a blanket on the girl, suddenly says, "Yeah, yeah! You know, Patsy-Ann and Ralston clothes? They both have a "Celebrity Line" of clothes...at WorldMart? Maybe she works at the factory."

Byers look at the small girl, "How old is she?" Frohike asks her, and turns to both men with her answer: "Fourteen."

Opening credits, music, etc.

Xanadu, R.I., June 2, 2000, the back yard of the cottage of Lois Lane. The cottage is white with black doors, shutters,and trim. Lois is transplanting tomatoes from a flat. Aunt Kate, Lois' neighbor from down the street, who is called Aunt Kate by everyone in Xanadu, sits on the patio pulled up to a white plastic table in her motorized wheelchair. She has opened and spread out the "The Lone Gunmen" on top of what looks like Lois' morning mail. Advertising and bills stick out from underneath the paper.

(Both women speak with a Swamp Yankee-Rhode Island-accent) "Oh my!" Aunt Kate exclaims, "Your friend Mel has quite an exposé on Canadian Sweatshops here on page one. Apparently they use underage girls to make clothes for WorldMart. This little girl (14 years old!) made relaxed-fit jeans and casual khakis since she was twelve!"

"Actually, I was able to find that article on-line in a political chat-room yesterday, Aunt Kate," replies Lois, standing up and wiping her forehead with a garden-gloved hand. "This might be the most important piece they've done. It's generating outrage with a lot of women's groups. Some people want to boycott the WorldMart store. "Fashion Designer Looks at Low, Low Prices?' Well, indeed! This 14-year old girl has a younger sister that assembles men's underwear! Imagine!"

Aunt Kate says, "Well, I'm glad to read here that she's in a children's shelter now."

Lois and Frohike met several months ago in an on-line political chat room discussing the Presidential Primaries for the November 2000 elections. She has subscribed to the paper, and has, on two occasions, written responses to Frohike's e-rants to her that the other Gunmen felt were good enough to publish as Op-Ed pieces along with "In Frohike's Opinion," his regular column.

Frohike receives e-mail from Lois the next day.

Dear Mel,
Hi! Got this week's paper in the morning mail yesterday. So, you've had lots of responses to your WorldMart story? I guess you know it also has been picked up on a lot of the Internet political news sites. Hope this gets you some new subscribers! I had some ideas to help you with the follow-up, and may have the opportunity to tell you about them in person. I'm going to be in Washington for a conference related to my work the weekend of the 16th of this month. Why don't we meet for lunch?
Lois

He e-mails her a response:

Dear Lois,
Sounds good. Call me when you know when you can meet.
Mel

They do meet for lunch Sunday, June 18, 2001. Lois suggests that the Gunmen make a film of the factory workers arriving for work, in the hopes of getting evidence of underage workers. Lois has gotten her summer neighbor, a young woman doing an aerial documentary for the local PBS station to use her family's plane to fly the Gunmen to Montreal. Lois says she thinks she can get the project funded through the local Xanadu Friends Service Committee, which is looking for a suitable humanitarian project. She cautions Frohike that the Friends will only pay for the expenses, and will want receipts. No one will get paid for their time. The Gunmen would be lending their journalistic expertise to this project to end the exploitation.

Frohike agrees to these conditions pending agreement by the other Gunmen. The other Gunmen agree. The project is funded at the June 20th meeting of the Service Committee. So, on Saturday, June 24th, the Gunmen are on their way up to Xanadu, R. I.

Xanadu, R.I. turns out to be a trip in itself. As the result of a bequest by a turn-of-the-century lace manufacturer, the little community is owned by the local Quaker church. Rental income of the houses supplies church expenses and project funding. Physically, all the houses are white with black doors, shutters, and trim. Even the large building which houses the Xanadu Friends Meeting Room, the staff offices of the Service Committee, and the Little Friends Daycare Center, is white with black doors, shutters, and trim. As Lois explains, "The Quakers are very thrifty. When it's time to re-paint the community, they look for a truckload sale. Also, if you’re not careful, you can arrive home and actually spend several minutes in someone else’s living room instead of your own. Everyone has the same furniture."

The Gunmen meet with Lois and then go to the small cottage of the pilot, Mary Mallon, to eat supper and plan their trip to Montreal. (Mary attends the Culinary Institute in Vermont, and has made a wonderful meal.) Langly has borrowed some video equipment. Lois has rented a station wagon that they will pick up at the airport in Montreal and has reserved rooms in a small hotel near the factory.

Byer's conscious mind does not register that, when he sees Mary Mallon for the first time, his pupils widen. Mary is a dark-haired, blue-eyed, buxom lass of Irish lineage. While the others load Mary's dishwasher after supper, Byers, because he helped Mary with dinner, sits with her alone on her living room couch. Like most men in this situation, he begins to talk about sports.

Mary attended a private girl's school, and was on several athletic teams. She keeps up with the sports page, and can quote statistics. Byers is awed.

Lois' two sons are over to Quonochontaug (pronounced “Charlestown,”) helping their Aunt Bea redecorate several rooms in her summer house.

(Leila's Note: I read once that the X-Files called the Rhode Island State Tourism Agency to find out the correct pronounciation of "Quonochontaug," as that's where the Mulders were supposed to have their summer house. I can SEE this in my mind. It's the middle of July, 1974. Four local kids are hanging around the gas station/grocery store in Charlestown. They've come up from being chased off a private beach. They've got deep tans and wear ragged cut-offs. They emerge from the store sharing one soda because only one of them had any money. Outside stands Fox in a natty white tennis outfit, a smear of white Noxema going down his nose, and that foolish grin. He says, "Hi there. My name is Fox. My family is summering here in Quonochontaug. Anyone care for a game of badminton on our lawn?" Who here doesn't know what happens next? Yes, exactly.)

The Gunmen will be staying in their rooms upstairs. Lois leaves a message on her sister’s phone answering machine, giving the Montreal hotel address and number in case they need to call her.

Frohike is astonished that no one locks their doors in Xanadu. He has trouble sleeping Saturday night because of this.

The air trip takes most of Sunday. It is dark by the time they check into the hotel and take some drives around the block, past the factory. They make more detailed plans based on seeing the layout of the place.

Frohike will interview workers arriving at the gate, along with Mary, who took French in the private school. She will handle any shyness on the part of the young girls. Langly will operate the camera, assisted by Byers and Lois. They make a list of interview questions over supper, and then head back to the hotel. At the hotel, they take Lois' suggestion to role-play scenes that could occur with irate factory managers and police.

Lois and Frohike are role-playing her being arrested, when the bellhop, a mere lad of thirteen working over the summer for his grandparents who manage the hotel, arrives with the cup of warm milk Byers has ordered. His youthful eyes widen as he sees Langly role-play "filming" the scene where Frohike, as "a policeman," drags the limp, uncooperative, and loudly "protesting" Lois across the room and hoists her up onto the bed, which is "standing in" for the police wagon. "Zut, Alors!" he cries, fleeing the room. Naturally, his Memé, a proper woman, is outraged. "Hein? We have not been paid to allow the filming of a movie of this sort in our fine hotel! Allez, Oust!" she fumes. When the five turn in their keys at the desk before dawn the next morning, she has already arisen and gone to the police station to file a complaint.

When the Gun-group arrives at the factory, they find that, in the first light of dawn, the place seems a lot cleaner than the night before. What’s more, no underage girls show up for work. And to add to it all, the police had pulled up at the factory before they did, and make it clear that they are under suspicion. The Gunmen and Lois and Mary now wonder if they have a story here, or if they ever have had a story.

"And what I seriously DO NOT GET," declares Lois, "is how did the police know that we were going to come HERE?" Everyone shrugs, bewildered.

The hotel owners now arrive, following the police, and begin telling the assembled crowd of factory workers and spectators about the carryings-on in the room the night before. The crowd begins to point fingers at the Gunmen's group, calling out, "Maquereau! Pervertir! Hein?" and "Hé, les types, foutez-moi le camp d'ici! Alalez, magnez-vous ou j'appelle les flics!" Worse, at this moment, reporters and trucks from two local TV stations arrive and begin to document the hostile mob’s denunciation of the Gun-group. Frohike notices that Lois has gone up quietly to the motel owners. She slips them some money and they leave. The police issue the Gun-group a warning, citing various laws about disturbing the peace, and public lewdness. The group leaves when ordered to do so.

The car trip back to the airport is marked by a heavy sadness. As they load their luggage and film equipment into the plane, Lois says to Frohike, "I can't figure out why the police were already there when we showed up!"

Frohike shrugs, "Weird!" The mood lightens, though, after they've left Montreal behind them. The view from the air is so pretty! No one can stay upset. They all decide that they've had "an adventure." Everyone makes jokes.

At this point Mary whirls around in her seat to look out the last window on the right side of the plane. Her skin has turned ashen and her eyes are wide. Lois, sitting in the co-pilot's seat, reacts, "Mary, what's wrong?"

Mary says, "Something's coming up behind us... at near mach 1 speed! Everyone turns to look and there's no mistaking that these are military jets. When they close in, Mary whispers, "MIGs...it's Canadian MIGs."

"MIGs...you mean Russian-made fighters?" Byers is incredulous.

Lois says, "It was in the Quaker newsletter that when the USSR collapsed, a quasi-military group semi-connected with the Canadian Armed Forces bought MOST of their military equipment...planes, ships, tanks, subs... the nukes, too."

Frohike gasps, "Why, that sounds like the One-World Domination Conspiracy!"

Lois nods, "The very same...some say this murky Canadian Syndicate now has the largest military organization in the world. It's all hush-hush, though. No one knows exactly..."

Byers interrupts her, "and they're after US?"

"Um, that would be my guess," says Mary, as the two MIGs pull up behind the little Cessna 320E, one on each side, "Look, they can't just shoot us out of the sky without contact, I don't think. I've got the radio off, so they have to actually come up next to us and order us to surrender or whatever it is they want us to do. I'm hoping that gives us enough time..." She points out to the front of the plane. Everyone follows her finger. "See that sun flash of silver? That's Lake Champlain...the U.S. border...no doubt we're on US radar also. Now, the U.S. Air force might show up and shoot us, as some sort of diplomatic courtesy, but I don't think they'd take kindly to any Canadians shooting us over U.S. airspace. You know. Territory thing."

A MIG comes up alongside the plane on the pilot's side. Mary deliberately hunches over in the seat as if adjusting or repairing something at her feet so she can't respond to the pilot of the MIG who is hailing her.

Langly points out to Frohike and Byers in a whisper, how, when the sunlight hits the side of the MIG just right, you can still make out the outlines of the red star that has been painted over with a red maple leaf, like some sort of insignia evolution from geometry into botany. Spookily, in the center of the star/leaf is the “Eye of God” pyramid thing, like on the U.S. dollar bill. The Gunmen shudder.

As the three men look at it, suddenly there is a blinding flash! The three men recoil, covering their eyes!

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” they shriek, “The evil symbol! The evil symbol of the One-World Domination Conspiracy (breath!) has blinded us!”

Lois looks to Mary in bewilderment. Mary whispers up to Lois, “The sun is low on the horizon. It may be reflecting off the MIG.” It may indeed, for soon the men recover.

“Well,” says Byers petulantly, “It’s a VERY evil amalgam of icons. It COULD have been emitting some blinding rays.”

Mary, still speaking from a hunched position, peeks up over the window edge, "Oh, it IS evil looking! It's meant to be scary!"

Suddenly the MIGS break off and arc away.

"Whoa, ok!" breathes out Mary, returning to an upright position, "We're closing up on the lake now. I guess they didn't want to pursue us too close to the border!"

"What I DON'T GET," declares Lois, "is how everyone seems to know exactly where we are! I'm gonna take a wild guess now... Mel, hand me your shirt..." Mel takes off his shirt obediently and hands it to her. She has taken out a pair of shears from her purse. Her eyebrows go up when she reads the label. Using the scissors to make an initial cut, Lois rips apart the shirt.

"Hey!" yells Frohike."

"Wow!" says Lois.

She pulls some of the threads apart. "These threads are transmitters. I read a story on the Internet that some WorldMart clothes were being laced with them as a test...part of a secret plan to eventually allow the One-World Domination Conspiracy to keep track of everyone. I thought it was one of those Internet Legends. Guess not.” As she says this she continues to spread apart the threads of the shirt, pulling up a thread from time to time that is like a flat matte fishing line, "What I don't get here is why you would be wearing this particular brand, Mel. This is a "Ralston" shirt." She gives Mel a stern look.

The group of guys slumps. Mel looks at his hands as he talks, "Initially, we just visited the WorldMart to get background information for our story, but...but then..."

"We came back for the low, low prices," Langly says glumly.

"And the fashion designer looks," adds Byers. He's on the verge of tears.

Lois is stupefied. "You mean you're ALL wearing Ralston? And this is why they know where we're going all the time?"

The trio looks sad.

Lois unbuckles her seat belt and stands up. "Back to the cargo hold, all of you! March!"

She turns back to Mary, "Mary, can you do a touch and go?"

"Sure thing," Mary says.

"Ok! Tell Burlington we're landing there, but do a touch and go. You three...get those clothes off NOW!"

As Mary approaches Burlington Airport, Lois has the boys stuff all their Ralston clothes from their luggage, plus some pillows from the plane, into the Ralston clothes they remove, and Lois attaches open parachutes with large safety pins. Fortunately, in addition to the pillows, there is a stack of blankets and lap robes in the hold. The Gunmen are able to wrap themselves in some lap robes, which are in three different plaid prints. The Gunmen look like escapees from the set of "Braveheart II.”

As she pins the clothes to the parachutes, Lois continues her explanation of the nefarious plans of the One-World Domination Conspiracy. "The worst thing is that they don't have enough evil minions to watch eveyone, all six billion people in the world, even for just a brief random time period each day." She pauses to push a safety pin through the tough nylon harness strap. "So, we'll all be required to take turns watching each other."

What?" Frohike is aghast.

"Yes," continues Lois, "We'll all be forced to give up a certain number of days each month to report to huge government facilities and sit at vast banks of monitors tracking other people's movements and keeping a daily log."

"Why that's nothing but Peeping Tomunism! I won't stand for it!" Frohike, always the brilliant political analyst of the group, is indignant.

As Mary does a touch and go, she shudders as a military personnel carrier and a jeep head down the runway towards the plane. When they are aloft but still within sight of the troops on the ground, Lois pushes the clothes out the door. The open chutes catch the wind and the clothes drift gently down and disappear into the woods off to the side of the runway. The military vehicles, which had stopped, now take off in the direction of the descending clothes, which now have dropped into the trees. The vehicles stop at the edge of the woods and about ten soldiers jump out and fan out to search the woods. Mary flies the rest of the way at treetop level. They decide to land at Westerly Airport, instead of Green Airport, figuring it less likely there might be someone waiting for them there.

Westerly Airport is about fifteen miles away from Xanadu, so first they circle Xanadu while Lois calls on her cell phone to her sons, who pick them up at Westerly. Lois' sons have brought three bathrobes for the guys, and have stopped at the Xanadu convenience store and bought three pairs of flip-flops, as per her request.

When they arrive back in Xanadu, the Gunmen, Mary, and Lois' sons plunk down in front of the TV to watch a sporting event. Lois goes to a rival discount chain store to buy the Gunmen more clothing. She is careful to look for the Union label, of course.

In spite of, or perhaps because of, the whole clothing jettison thing, Mary invites Byers up for a Fourth of July of patriotic gourmet dining, claiming she needs to keep practicing her culinary skills. They begin to date. Lois and Frohike continue to e-mail each other with comments on the upcoming election and the addresses of interesting Internet sites.

A major network muckraking show, "44 Minutes," finally "gets the goods" on the Canadian sweatshops, and Patsy-Ann and Ralston are discredited. The tracking threads remain an Internet legend. When the Gunmen go back to their local WorldMart to look for the same items, those types of clothes have been removed and replaced with clothes that do not have any transmitter threads.

Frohike is a little despondent when he sends this e-mail to Lois:

Dear Lois,
Well, I guess you’ve heard that “44 Minutes” will be taking home this year’s Pulitzer Prize in Investigative Journalism for their piece on Patsy-Ann and Ralston. Not only that, but I guess we must have tripped every alarm the One-World Domination Conspiracy has out there. They’ve just side-stepped us and set up their operations elsewhere. So the bottom line is: we’re still crack-pots crying in the wilderness.
Mel

Dear Mel:
Tonight 55 little girls are sleeping in real beds instead of on cots in a damp basement.
What would you change about that?

No, really, Mel. I read an article on why “44 Minutes” decided to look into this story. Apparently, during all the confusion that we caused, one of the Quebec TV reporters interviewed one of the factory managers, who got flustered and issued a denial of any wrongdoing. This faux pas was seen by one of one of the producers of “44 Minutes.” So we were doing better than we thought. The piece on “44 Minutes” brought immediate international attention to the problem. The factory owners were brought to justice.
What would you change about that?

As for the Canadian Syndicate, presumably they're not able to follow you everywhere now that you don't have those clothes anymore.
What would you change about that?

'Course it might be wise to always live your life as if someone were watching everything, anyway. I mean, if you've been sneaking under the pay-bathroom stall, or covering parking meters with "out-of-order" paper bags, imagine those actions coming up as a side issue at your political trial?

You are my Gonzo-Journalism Hero, ok?
What would you change about that?
Lois