The Bitsy Bear Series follows the everyday struggles and heartaches of
a depression-era bear family
coping with life in a small Wisconsin town.
Now Bitsy, even at the tender age of 6 fuzzy years, knew enough about the candidates and the issues to know that this was not going to be a typical presidental election. With most of the country gripped in a horrendous economic recession, (Bitsy still doubted that the situation was serious enough to be called a true depression, or, as he erroneously suspected; an economic correction mixed coincididly with a blistering drought and a much higher-than-anticipated rate of unemployement rate)Bitsy knew that this election would play a pivotal role in which way the ecomonics of the country would be take. It is moot to point out that Bitsy favored the re-election of Hoover. He was simply too young to understand that a radical change *was* needed to remedy the problems that had befallen America and much of the industrialized world. Bitsy's small, mostly self-sufficient town in Wisconsin was a long ways away from the dustbowls that devoured the Great Plains, or the long lines of paniced depositers storming the national banks as they collapsed one by one depsite reassurances from the federal goverment that the people's money was safe. Bitsy admired Roosevelt, but feared his publically funded "New Deal" programs were simply too imposing on the spirit of private enterprise. Had Bitsy only considered that it was this very same sprit of unchecked free enterprise he worried about being diluted was the cause of the dispairity in wages between the worker and the business owner became one of the causes behind The Great Depression itself, he may have reconsidered his useless 6 year old vote.
Bitsy skipped along the streets of the small town, running a stick along the fence, enjoying the clatter it made as he thought about some of Roosevelt's ideas for economic reform, such as Social Security. What a cock-a-manie idea! It would almost be funny, were it not also so plainly frightening when one realized Roosevelt was sworn to this pet project of his. The idea of the goverment dictating and forcing a public citizen to fund the retirement of not himself, but *others* was scathingly Socialistic, and doomed to failure. "Social Security." Bitsy reasoned, "Given the current projected population growth versus the lengthing life spans, can not possibly last beyond the year 2012."
These issues weighed heavily on the young cubs mind as he made his way across town to the polling booths. On his way, he happened to pass the way of Officer McRand, the burly Irish policebear with a thick accent and a cruel billyclub that he was quick to use, and rather fond of using it, especially on heads and knuckles. Bitsy gave him wide berth as he went to pass by, but a sudden, quick rap on his chest by the club held the young bear at bay.
"An' whar; d' ya think you're goin', wee laddy?" the policebear asked,
shaking his nighstick under Bitsy's nose. "When I was your age, Tues'dee's were for schoolin', and I
was in school."
Bitsy stood tall and proud as he told the officer that he was
going to the polling booth to interview voters for a school assignment. "I have the permission
slip right here, sir." Bitsy said, handing the burly bear the paper. The officer took the
paper and crumbled it, tossing it indifferently to the side.
"Awwww, such things can be faked, ya know, laddie. I'm goin' to catch
a bit of lunch, and when I get back, ya'd better be gone, ya little jackanape, or you'll be
hearin' the frenly' hellos of my stick!" For good measure, he rapped the stick keenly on the side
of a nearby mailbox.
Bitsy was nodded and was about to walk away when a thought occured to him...
"Aren't you going to vote today?" Bitsy asked, wrinkling his little bear nose curiously.
"I've got too many other things t' do, snoopy little bear. Important things, too." he said,
waving his stick about lazily. "What's one vote mean, anyhoo, ya know? Besides, There's bound to be a
long line of fools at the polls, and I don' wanna be missin' a meal on account of some rigged silly
nonsense."
"Rigged silly nonsense!" Bitsy cried, incesed. "The Founding Fathers fought and died for the
very principal! Are you not holding a publically-appointed job, funded by the public for the public? Goverment and
politics should be right up your alley, sir. The outcome of this election may very
well determine if you'll still be patrolling these streets as an officer of the law
next year, or begging in the breadlines."
"NOW SEE HERE!" The policebear bellowed, clamping his massive paws on
Bitsy's shoulders. Lifting him up, the massive bear held the young cub muzzle-to-muzzle as he
roared about how proud the McRand family was, and how NONE of them EVER had to beg for anything, ever! "I'd rather die,
you filthy little rascal!" Officer McRand growled into Bitsy's ear, "than be caught beggin' like a tramp at
some breadline with drunkards and slackers!" Roughly, he dropped Bitsy to the ground, and glared down
at him, huffing. The whole time, the little bear quaked and shivered.
"I won't let him see me cry." Bitsy promised himself.
"So, you fear the very idea of being jobless?" Bitsy asked, and Officer
McRand raised his nightstick threatingly. Bitsy flinched, and stammered.
"Wha.. what I mean, umm, sir, is if you fear the uncertainty of
the future, perhaps you can do something about it. The future hasn't happened yet. We alone
determine the path it takes. Voting is a powerful tool that can assist in building the future,
but like any tool, if unused, serves no purpose to it's owner or society, and therefore, is
considered a tool only in form, not function."
The policebear reflected upon this. True, voting did take time, and he couldn't read very well to make a choice based on those tiny little ballots, but maybe someone could help him, or there would be pictures of the canidates on the ballot or something. If he didn't vote, he had no control over his or the country's future. Lack of control made Officer McRand feel flaccid and useless. No, he was a bear of control. He thrived on it.
With a ruffle of headfur to let Bitsy know there were no hard feelings, Officer McRand left his post on 14 MapleView St, and went to the polling station. Though his stomach missed lunch that day, his head and heart was filled with the knowledge that he had done the right thing; he had partaken in the process of voting, truly one of the greatest gifts this country had to offer a thinking person.
Bitsy smiled and watched, making a note of the incident in his school journal, glad to have made a change in someone's thinking, for one vote *did* make a difference.
Just like your's does.
-1996 David Orth