Yes, I do hate Deb's book about my mother, Jane. I am going to call it what it is for me: A Fairy Tale. Why do I hate it? Do I have an entire chapter? I will give three reasons: Her book skips over the social divisions which are tearing our country apart. It makes people think that I live in total luxury because Jane is quite wealthy. Finally, it skips over the unpleasant fact that the economic earthquake unleashed by Jane and her gang tore America apart. Let me devote one paragraph each to these issues, and then I will move on.
The Fairy Tale is the reason the unsatisfied ex-slaves (called the X-minuses) want to kill us. Somehow they forget the part where Jane was enslaved at age 15 (admittedly under favorable circumstances). All they remember is how rich Jane Foreman got. They act like there is no money around since Jane slurped up every dollar in the country. The truth is that she donated two-thirds of her wealth specifically to free slaves and assist with their integration into a unified market economy. She is not the enemy. Deb did no one any favors by revealing so much of the financial details of Jane's rise to power.
The second reason that I do not like the book is that it leaves so much out. There is nothing about how the ex-slaves are divided into three factions. Seriously, the nation is breaking apart, and there is not a single mention of any of the hundreds of clues of the evolving social crisis. Two of the factions of ex-slaves are not that interesting. The XX try to pretend they were never slaves, and the X-plus are ever so proud of how well their lives turned out. My mother is the queen on the X-pluses. Heck, Jane still wears her gold collar everywhere; what is with that? But it is the X-minus that drives me crazy. I am drawn to angry non-conformists, but it is hard to befriend those who hate my family. I do like to put on a disguise and hang out with them. I am a bit of a rebel, and they are fellow rebels. When I travel to a new town, I like to get dressed up like an X-minus and try to blend in at a bar or a music event. They are a strange and fascinating bunch. None of them ever imagined that Jane Foreman's daughter was the one who bought a few extra beers for those without any money at all.
The third reason I dislike Deb's book is that it irresponsibly avoids describing the countless lives that were torn apart by the searing events that are described blandly as “Jane's product rollout.” I have met people who were made wealthy by all the changes. I have met people who lost everything when the company they worked for collapsed in the massive economic cataclysm. I very much want to put it on the record that so many lives were transformed in such a short time period. I know it was for the greater good. We have democracy now. We have a constitution. Slavery was abolished. I know that is all true. But many people have an attitude about Jane based on what happened to them over a few short weeks before I was even born. My mother runs around the country trying to fix everything. On some level, I think she feels guilty for all the eggs that were broken to make that nice omelet.
On September 4th, I was traveling with my mother on one of her so-called Plain Speaking Tours. I was there as her assistant. I would make hotel reservations, arrange for large dinners, set up transportation, and make sure we had a good schedule. The trickiest part was finding a good speaking venue remotely and making sure it was properly prepared ahead of time. Sometimes I would call the people organizing the event to help them prepare the hall where people would be speaking. The work was repetitive, but I had to pay attention to countless details. And yes, despite my best efforts, things often got fouled up. At first, I turned to mom to fix the mix-ups, but then she told me that working out solutions was the best part of my job. Jane was right; the job got much more interesting when I worked things out without involving anyone else. I got to say things on the phone like, “You lost Jane Foreman's hotel reservation?” In a tone that would make anyone feel like an idiot. In the end, those who helped us, even in tiny ways, got an autograph from Jane Foreman. I found out that sometimes it was fun staying in junky hotels when the good ones lost our reservations. Eventually, I learned that a lot of people hated Jane, and that was why there were so many lost reservations. I think Jane was trying to teach me that by having me act on her behalf.
Anyway, most of you know the story. We were in Des Moines, Iowa, at a new theater called The Des Moines Dinosaur (weird name, but nice place). They had a pretty modern lighting and sound system that actually worked. As usual, the place was packed. Every seat was taken, and there were many people standing in the back and along the walls. The one thing I can say is that the two aisles in the theater were completely clear. That was one of my jobs.
The presentation was pretty standard. There was a panel of five people who were unhappy about the way things had changed over the last twenty years or so. Each panelist introduced themselves and got to speak for about five minutes. Then Jane came out and had a ten-minute conversation with each of the panelists. When that was over, Jane walked over to a podium to give a speech for about an hour. Finally, we had about twenty-five minutes of questions from the audience. The format was long, but it allowed Jane to directly address individual concerns, learn about local conditions, and also give her standard stump speech. Jane has not and is not running for office. She was trying to galvanize each community to work harder to heal social divisions. She told me privately, “Social divisions lead to the Civil War and the abandonment of our First Constitution. I want to persuade people to avoid a similar disaster.” Some mothers try to fix a broken vase. One of my mothers tries to fix an entire nation.
Just as Jane was walking over to the podium, there was this awful noise. To me, it sounded like all the lighting and sound equipment fell down at once. I ran down the right aisle to get closer to the stage, to see what had gone wrong. At about the same time, someone ran down the left aisle firing a gun. He was later identified as Brian Johnson. I was so focused on looking for malfunctions that it took me extra seconds to figure out that someone was running down the other aisle shooting a gun at Jane. No matter how I disagreed with Jane, I did not want to see her get shot. I screamed, “Mom, drop, drop! Someone is shooting at you!”
The fastest reaction was from Maria Santos, who pushed her crutch into the aisle just in time to trip Brian. At that point, everyone jumped on Brian and took his gun away. In all the confusion, the person who made the initial noise escaped. Someone tackled me and knocked me down. I ended up with a dislocated shoulder and a broken nose.
The cops somehow thought that I was an assassin. It had taken over two hours before people believed that I was Jane Foreman's daughter, and Jane could find me in the hospital. The Public Protectors (PPs) seemed to be very stupid about doing much of anything. In my mind, the renaming of police to PPs did not change anything. Theoretically, it is a good idea to have a reminder that they are there to protect the public.
Jane was totally confused by what had happened. It took her some time to understand that someone got three shots off and that they were aimed at her. No bullet hit anyone that day. Brian, the shooter, was beaten up pretty bad by some members of the audience. Sometimes these events can get pretty hostile to Jane. I was glad that this was a more neutral group.
A lot of people present were certain that they saw two gunmen attacking Jane. Of course, they were seeing Brian and me. The PPs looked at my ID card as if it were proof that I was faking credentials to gain access to my victim. When Jane finally figured out where I was, she found me in the PP section of the hospital, heavily chained to my bed and the wall. Jane came in and started laughing, “You look like someone in a bad documentary about slavery.” I took it all the wrong way. I thought she was making fun of me and making a speech about the evils of slavery. All the while the PP's were about to convict me of attempted murder, so I was still in jeopardy.
Now I know that she was shocked to see her own daughter, at age 15, locked in chains. I think it shook her to her core. I keep forgetting that Jane became a slave at age 15. Jane has been very weird this year. She is so proud of how she handled herself at age 15 under such difficult circumstances. But she does not want me to experience much of life for myself. I think being her travel assistant has been one way to travel and relax with Jane. Jane is telling me, “You could not cope with what I had to cope with, and I forbid you to try to learn for yourself if I am right or not.”
The one thing that Jane and I agreed on was that the PP's were making a mess of the investigation. Jane called up Deb, who was available to travel to Des Moines and help get to the bottom of this affair.
It was a relief when Jane got me sprung from the prison section of the hospital to the regular section. I was not interested in first-class treatment. I just wanted to have the shoulder popped back. I was so glad that I could start to use my arm to use my phone and computer. I needed a sling for the first day or so. I was so glad that I did not end up with a broken arm.
My nose hurt a lot as well. Once out of the prison section, I started to get some pain medication. They put some cotton bandages up my nose and put so much tape on me that all the little kids who saw me thought that I was some sort of monster, especially if they just saw me lying on a bed. I had to stand up and say something friendly so that they would know I was a nice person. I did not mind having to do that a few times, but you would think that doctors could fix a broken nose without scaring the snot out of every child in the hospital ward.
It was kind of funny that the TV news announced to the nation that there had been an attempted assassination of Jane Foreman by two assassins, who had both been caught. I have had some big arguments with Jane, but it was a bit upsetting to be identified as someone who tried to kill your own mother. Jane called me “her sweet, unwitting assassin.” She explained that unwitting meant that I did not know at the time that I was an assassin. I joked that I have two jobs that start with “ass,” assistant and assassin. Anyway, I should keep talking about the investigation.
Even before Deb made it into town, Jane started investigating. I will let her tell that part of the story.
My daughter, Rose is correct that Deb's book opened some wounds. I am doing my best to heal them. The Plain Speaking Tour has been my effort to bring people together and show how we can all work together to build a better world. I am not a dictator. I would love to see my financial fortune diminish as others see their fortunes rise. I have seen enough of this world not to want to be protected by something. I do not mind giving away most of my money, but I do not want to be left with not enough to protect myself and my family. I know that Amir feels the same way.
As Rose said, I like to hold real conversations with people, to help them understand that they hold most of the keys to their own future. Sometimes we discover real needs that are not being met. I do my best to fill these needs. The point is that you learn a lot from talking heart-to-heart with others who may well hold a grudge against you. I do give a speech at these events. I try to capture many of the points that were made, and try to reframe them in ways we can all work together towards a solution.
I cannot say too much more about the actual events. I was walking to the podium when I heard some noises. Rose yelled out. I flattened to the ground and crawled to get closer to the podium. I was not aware that Rose and Brian were knocked down. People took me backstage. Eventually, I was taken to a PP station. I was asked the same questions for over an hour. Eventually, I called Rose's phone number and got no answer. I kept asking the PP officers where my daughter was. They said that their primary concern was to get my story so that they could press charges against the assassins. Someone showed me two faces on their phone. I screamed that one of the people was my daughter. I demanded that I be allowed to see her at once. The shooting happened around 3:30 in the afternoon. It was close to 6 before I eventually found Rose in a situation that reminded me of my experiences at age 15.
Poor Rose! They were not treating her at all. No one had done anything about her arm and shoulder pain, and no one had fixed her nose. I got her out of the prison section of the hospital so she could be patched up. It only took a few minutes to get her shoulder popped back and to bandage up her nose. The longest part was getting all of Rose's things that were taken from her purse back. It so reminded me of my days as a guest of the Supreme Council and the Police. Her ID card said Rose Cynthia Foreman-Hassan, and it was coded to indicate that she was from a wealthy family. I was furious that they had identified her as an assassin based on the fact that she was seen running toward the podium at the same time the shooting happened. I asked, “How many bullets were fired at me?” They said, “Three.” I asked, “How many bullets did Brian fire at me?” They said, “Three.” So I asked, “How did this make my daughter an assassin?” All the PP officers I spoke to said their superior officer told them to treat them both as suspects.
In the middle of this, we saw a news report about the assassination attempt. As usual, it was quite garbled. The reporter was unsure about whether I was okay or hurt or worse. The news report said two assassins had been arrested. I started yelling about getting out a press release to establish that Rose was innocent. Rose said, “Hold on Jane, it may be useful to confuse things a bit. If someone gets curious as to who I am, we might find someone who is involved. Would it hurt anything to let the bad news report stay uncorrected?” I figured that this would connect Rose with the investigation. We were sort of flippant about this, but it turned out to be incredibly important. At that moment, I knew that the police would not help at all. We needed to investigate this together without the PP's. Each of us made contributions. My anger at the identification of my daughter as one of my attempted killers was enough to get our investigation started.
By nightfall, I had retained Campbell and Hamilton, the most important law firm in Des Moines. I asked the staff to view all of the videos that had been captured that day. The PP officers said they had no video. I had my lawyers make a public appeal to the citizens who had recorded events in the theater that day. They were asked to send the video both to the legal team and to the PP station.
By the following day, they had nine different recordings that covered the sequence. One of them showed that a man standing to the side of the theater dropped a metal container of something which made a large sound when it hit the floor. The video showed the man picked up his metal can and quickly moved away, and slipped out an exit before the police arrived. Once again, there were two suspects, but neither of them was Rose.
My schedule was very complicated. I talked with Rose about our options. She pointed out, “we have a few things scheduled for the next two days in Des Moines that we can cancel. For the next six days after that, we have events that we cannot cancel or re-schedule.” Rose pointed out that we could re-schedule the next two weeks after that six-day period. So that meant that we could spend September 13-26 in Des Moines, trying to figure out what was going on.
I called Amir and talked through everything. He decided to travel with our wife and our sons to Des Moines, so we would all be here for the two-week period. I knew that I was taking Phillip (age 11) and Amir Jr. (age 9) out of school, but it was better for the family to be staying together. Rose arranged for a large double suite at The Taft, a very nice hotel for our unique family unit. Rose also arranged for a small office in the law firm for Rose, Mary and I so we could concentrate on the investigation away from the boys.
The last thing I remembered about the investigation was that some old, rusty bolts, screws, and nuts were located in the theater in roughly the same place where the video showed someone dropping a can. Someone got a can full of junk and dropped it in the theater. That was the noise that Rose had heard. We ran some tests. Several people who were there said it sounded exactly like what they heard that day. Comparisons with the audio recordings seemed to indicate a match as well. We had all kinds of theories. We wondered if Brian had been hypnotized to shoot once he heard a loud noise. Perhaps he thought it meant that someone else was doing some shooting, and he was there to assist. We also thought by having everyone look at one side of the room; it allowed Brian to get a few shots off before anyone could react.
I arrived in Des Moines on the morning of September 9, which was a Thursday. I had phone messages from Jane about my hotel room and which law firm to visit. At the offices of Campbell and Hamilton, I found notes from Rose and Jane about what happened. What I read was very similar to what you have read so far in this chapter. They also urged me to write down what happened on a day-to-day basis so we could remember all the details, especially for times when someone else needs to be brought up to speed. All of these notes became the basis of this book.
I was shocked at what I found at the law office. It was clear that the video evidence showed that there were at least two people in the theater who were perpetrators, and only one was identified. The shooter, Brian Johnson, was not talking to the PP's. The investigation was going nowhere. I quickly decided to use my role as a US Senator. I called up several fellow Senators, and they agreed to allow me to make this an official/private Senate investigation. This meant that I could swear in witnesses and that I could threaten witnesses with jail for failure to co-operate. I had to pay for all the expenses of the investigation myself. I was lucky because, over the last six months, I had contributed to the funds for several private investigations for Senators who had lesser means than me. They were all pleased to vote to make my investigation official.
So on September 9, 2077, I started the Debra Coulter-Jackson Official/Private Senate Investigation #27 as authorized by various committee votes. That afternoon, I got a list of many of Brian's friends, relatives, and phone contacts. I issued subpoenas to everyone on the list. They were asked to testify the next day.
On Friday morning, I brought each person, one-by-one into a room with recording equipment. I swore them in and explained they could get a five-year jail sentence for not co-operating with the investigation. I got some background information fairly easily. Not surprisingly, Brian was an X-minus. He was a small child when his parents were freed from slavery, but he resented his family's deep poverty. I learned from many sources, and from Brian's parents themselves that they were grateful to be freed from slavery, and they were not bitter about the experience.
The most interesting witness was Robin Valcourt, the sister of Brian. Before we could swear her in, she insisted that we swear in her husband, Houston, so they could both testify together. I did not like this one bit. But she promised that she had plenty to say when they were together. Against my better judgment, I swore them in together. I knew that it was quite improper. I emphasized that I would hold them both responsible for a falsehood from one of them. Robin and Houston both agreed.
We barely got the recording equipment on when they opened their backpacks and pulled out a large dataset. Robin explained that “I was suspicious about the attitude and activities of Brian for years. I have asked Houston to keep him under surveillance. My husband knows what Brian has been doing lately. Of course, I have much more day-to-day contact with Brian. So together we have a lot of information about what Brian has been doing”.
I had assumed that these two were hostile witnesses, who were scared about their own involvement. I could not have been more wrong! Instead, they had so much information that they were afraid that we would not get the full picture unless they testified together. They were concerned that since each one held half the story, we might end up charging them with obstruction if some tiny details did not match between their two accounts. They were committed to testifying together so there would not be any conflict in their testimony.
Robin was able to explain that Brian was quite intelligent, but always seemed to run around with “the wrong crowd.” As a kid, he was always getting into trouble. Robin grew increasingly concerned when none of these patterns straightened out as Brian became a young adult.
At one point, Houston realized that his best friend from high school lived very close to Brian. Houston and Robin asked Edward Collazo to befriend Brian and to record his friends and activities. At no point was Edward ever to reveal his connection to Robin and Houston. They brought in a massive electronic notebook with dates, names, photos, and audio recordings. I was able to make a copy. It was overwhelming. Sometimes too much information is worse than too little information.
I showed them the blurry photo of the mystery person who dropped the noisemaker. Houston Valcourt said, “This is an X-minus named Mikey.” That was not much to go on. He was able to say that, “I think he works at a dismantling center on Army Post Road in Des Moines. Edward Collazo was in a bar near the dismantling center with Brian when Brian greeted someone named Mikey. I think I can pull up his picture. Edward was so careful and thorough. I am sorry that I do not have any other contact information, except they both had a similar negative attitude about social issues.”
I took a break and had a lawyer go to the dismantling center with the photo to get a full name. That part was easy. His name is Mike Sarno. Finding Mike Sarno was hard. He had fled Des Moines, and someone else was paying all of his expenses. I put a flag on his financial accounts. If he bought anything or got any money added to his accounts, I would know about it.