bout de papier, Vol. 17, No. 2 (2000) — Summer 2000 // Été 2000, pp. 46–48
Flashback: the offices of Premier Rialto Sleazewagon, who lounged behind his desk, idly rubbing the head of his adoring Doberman, Stockwell. Across from him were two henchmen: Wild Bill van Salmon, former Premier, travelling tulip salesman and master of disguise; and farm-belt necromancer Hay Presto. Hazily visible in a pentangle beside the latter was an apparition in a frock coat and top hat, smoking a large cigar. “So, Hay,” said the Premier, “who is this guy?” The necromancer replied, “You asked for the savviest US politico I could — ah — dig up. I got you Boss Tweed of Tammany. If he can’t get you elected President, no one can.”
“And what has our advisor from the great beyond to tell me?” Sleazewagon enquired avidly. “That you are a complete fruitcake,” replied Tweed. “That you haven’t got what it takes to be President of the US of A. That as Canadian-born, you aren’t eligible anyway. That you couldn’t beat either of the two current candidates in an election for dog-catcher. And that I wouldn’t help you if I could.” The Premier smiled. “You know, I could always have Hay resurrect you completely and put your aged butt into long-term care in the province’s health system….
Wild Bill marvelled, “You know, I never realized a ghost could blanche.” Tweed cleared his throat and allowed as how perhaps he could come up with some ideas. Just then, the door slammed open and Papa Jack Paridy burst in, an accordion slung from his shoulders. “All set, Chief,” he said with a ragged arpeggio, “We’re ready to cook.” The Premier turned to Tweed and said, “Welcome aboard, then. Papa Jack has found you a home for the campaign.”
Cut to the House of Commons in Ottawa, a month later. Debate proceeded on a private member’s bill to declare Moose Factory a part of the USA, retroactive to 1902. The bill had no chance of passing. The private member whose name it bore was actually tied up in an Oka cheese warehouse outside the city, an ordeal from which she would need months to recover. Taking her place was a cleverly-disguised Wild Bill van Salmon, his imposture betrayed to the sharp-eyed only by the obligatory pencil-thin moustache and his trademark Meerschaum pipe. As the voting was about to begin, van Salmon gestured to the ushers, who swung open the doors to admit Papa Jack and his Gothic Zydeco Band — a far from euphonious collection of tubas, bagpipes and more traditional Cajun instruments, fronted by a tone-deaf fiddle-playing kangaroo and a circus calliope with Papa Jack himself at the keyboard.
Before the stunned onlookers could protest, the combo swung into the worst and loudest rendition of the “Ma Jolie Blonde” ever played. Chandeliers rained in shards from the ceiling, the Speaker’s chair tumbled over backward with the Speaker still in it, and milk soured as far away as Aylmer. “This is hell with accordions, cried a security guard in pained awe. “Hell already has accordions, my boy,” came the reply over a whiff of cigar smoke from the calliope. Finally the Band crashed to a halt. Threatened with an encore, the stunned members hastily voted the bill through. Confirmation by the Senate and signature by the Governor General were soon obtained. “Step one, check,” murmured a gleeful figure in York.
Next scene: the US Senate, the following week. “My distinguished colleagues,” rumbled the senior representative from North Carolina, “We have no need of a moose factory, particularly one from our socialist neighbours to the north. We already have all the American mooses we could possibly want.” Just then a suspiciously lumpy-looking crew in the gallery threw off their ponchos to reveal concealed musical instruments (itself a violation of DC bylaws) and began to play, as the doors to the Chamber were surreptitiously locked from the outside. Half an hour later, Papa Jack leaned over the railing to survey the chaos below. “OK, people, you’ve heard what we can do to “John Henry” and “The City of New Orleans.” Anyone who wants to avoid “The Wabash Cannonball” better vote that bill through NOW.” One Senator gasped, “We’re being railroaded!” But on being reassured that Canadian moose all vote Republican, the Senate passed the bill by a clear majority, confirming the earlier House decision. The President signed two days later and the Sleazewagon campaign was in business.
Three days ago: main conference room at The Centre. Ace logician LDC Liebnitz addressed the distraught members of the Sleazewagon Action Group
(SWAG). “If you think Premier Sleazewagon is a bad idea, try ’President Sleazewagon.’ Try ’Commander-in-Chief Sleazewagon with access to the nuclear briefcase.’ And he’s getting close. He’s given himself a US birthplace and he’s about to blow the two other presidential candidates out of the water. I’ve asked Bugbyte to fill us in on his plan.”
The elegant black Systems Administrator spoke up. “Sleazewagon has hired a topnotch computer graphics and Internet wizard named V Grep Mandelbug to create a video clip that will erase Goreman and Bushly overnight. Using computer-based photo-manipulation, the Republican candidate will be convincingly displayed opening an abortion clinic in Cuba with Fidel looking on, speaking out in favour of gun control and failing to spell the letter “W” His Democratic opponent will be seen personally emptying toxic waste into the Everglades, inhaling, speaking out against gun control and purchasing Arkansas riverfront real estate. These images will be simultaneously broadcast on every US TV channel and piped directly to every Web browser on the Net. Neither candidate will ever recover.”
Liebnitz picked up the thread. “This simultaneous distribution will be carried out through the new US Federal/Regional Emergency Electronic Broadcast and Internet Establishment being inaugurated next week in Washington. The Americans decided to invite a number of global broadcasting VIPs to attend the opening, but then for security reasons (and because some of them turned out to be dead anyway) decided to substitute US impersonators with security clearances. The Canadian group is made up of stand-ins for six former presidents of the CBC (Calgary Bubblegum Company):
Davidson Dunton, Alphonse Ouimet, Laurent Picard, Pierre Juneau, Patrick Watson and Perrin Beatty. What the Americans don’t know is that one of their imposters will be an imposter — a Sleazewagon ringer who will take advantage of a diversion to take over control of FREEBIE long enough to send out the clip.”
“Fortunately, we have a mole in Sleazewagon’s operation. It seems there are some things that even necromancers can’t stomach. The mole, an old classmate of Jimmy the Turk’s, has sent us the name the ringer will be using, in the form of this puzzle.” So saying, he handed out copies.
The following list provides clues to 23 words or phrases, each containing the name of a different US state. The first number or numbers divided by a slash indicate the number of words in the phrase and the length of each one. The final number after the dash indicates the key letter in that phrase. For example, 5/7-9 would mean that the phrase contained two words, five and seven letters long in that order, and that the ninth letter in the combined phrase was the key letter. Stringing out the 23 key letters in the given order provides the clue to the puzzle’s answer. (1) Spielberg hero: 7/5-3 (2) Hoagy Carmichael blues standard:
712/2/4-7 (3) Movie vehicle for Robert de Niro and Liza Minelli: 3/4/3/4-7 (4) Forty-niners’ quarterback, 1979-93:
3/7-5 (5) Jackie Gleason movie role: 9/4-8 (6) Western lawmen — the man who rode Silver was once one: 5/7-7 (7) Lynyrd Skynyrd anthem title:
514/7-10 (8) One way over the Rockies for the Conestoga wagons: 6/5-6 (9) Grand Canyon maker: 8/5-7 (10) Jefferson’s bargain buy from Napoleon: 9/8-9 (11) Where you catch the Chattanooga
Choo-choo at a quarter to four:
12/7-7 (12) Rogers and Hammerstein title song, now the state anthem: 8-4 (13) He sang “Sixteen Tons” and blessed our little pea-pickin’ hearts: 9/5/4-7 (14) A bluegrass hat or horserace: 8/5-7 (15) Island detective TV show: 6/4/1-4 (16) Twain’s time-traveller: 11/6-9 (17) Snowy mountain chain east of Sacramento: 6/6-6 (18) Northwestern spud: 5/6-6 (19) Mamas and Papas chart topper:
10/7-9 (20) Author of Rip Van Winkle: 10/6-8 (21) Hot ice cream dish: 5/6-6 (22) New England socialist or chicken:
5/6/3-8 (23) Side- or stern-wheelers like the Robert E Lee: 11/9-12
“With this in hand,” said Liebnitz, “we should be able to find the ringer and tip off the Americans to catch him before he can strike.” And the meeting was in fact able to solve the puzzle quickly.
Final episode: the FREEBIE centre. Dignitaries mingle as they await the arrival of the President. The Gothic Zydeco Band, a last-minute substitution when the original group mysteriously vanished, is tuning up for a medley from the score of “Apocalypse Now” — potentially an even more appropriate choice than FREEBIE thinks. Just as the president’s helicopter comes in sight, Papa Jack gives the down-beat and the FBI swoops on one of the visiting dignitaries. He drops the computer diskette he was just about to insert in the centre’s control panel, rips off a rubber mask to reveal the inane smile and Meerschaum of Wild Bill van Salmon and evades their grasp by shoving the kangaroo in their path. The scene collapses in chaos as the band rips hell out of “The Ride of the Valkyries” and the tubas lay down a thick smoke screen that spoils the aim of the oncoming Feds. When the smoke clears, all that is left is a bullet-ridden calliope, from which come the fading words “Thank God that’s over!” and a faint whiff of cigar smoke that quickly dissipates in the backwash of the landing helicopter. Stepping down, the President picks up the diskette, smiles faintly, and steps toward the control panel.
Can you duplicate the ace logician’s feat by determining the 23-letter answer to the puzzle and indicating which of the six CBC imposters was Sleazewagon’s ringer? Also of interest, but not necessary for the contest, can you provide the word or words corresponding to each of the 23 clues? bout de papier will decide the winner by drawing from a box containing all correct entries received by October 31, 2000. The winner will receive a book prize autographed by A Aalto.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 17, No. 2 (2000) — Summer 2000 // Été 2000, pp. 46–48. Read the rest of this issue →
