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Now available for preorder:
The San Francisco Panorama.
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G A B E H U D S O N ' S [Write a letter to the president.] - - - - [Gabe Hudson, a McSweeney's editor-at-large - - - - [These letters were compiled by Gabe Hudson, Jessica Rabinowitz, and Kevin Feeney.] - - - - Dear Mr. President, I was the man in seat 18C. For 33 years I have kept this fact a secret, but now I confess it to you. I sat quietly by while the likes of Agent Tosaw and Agent Himmelsbach profited off their false announcements of my death. I was a definite "splatter" case, they claimed. I actually laughed at newspaper articles that claimed Duane Weber or Richard McCoy Jr. had been in my seat. It dawns on me that you might not remember who I am—that seat 18C on Northwest Orient Flight 305 might not jar any memories in your head. I will not say that this saddens me, though it might somewhat, because I understand that there are many things which you have to know, and who sat in that seat on November 24, 1971, might not be one of them. I realize that you might not have even noticed when my pseudonym made the headlines of every major American paper for a week. It is enough for me to know that I was the last case that that queer Hoover could not solve, and I know my whereabouts haunted Agents Tosaw and Himmelsbach—none of them could ever admit they were outsmarted. I have lived the last 33 years in relative obscurity. I was unmarried and (as was normal of unmarried men and women in my day) I had no children. My father left us before I could meet him, leaving my mother and Elwin (my oldest brother) to care for me and my four siblings. At 17 I lied about my age and enlisted in the Army. I served my country in World War II. By the time of Vietnam, I was a Sergeant Major. I served my country and did my job well, but I was told that my injury made me no longer of service to Uncle Sam, though it certainly didn't hinder me in my parachute jump. I was encouraged to take my pension and once again be a civilian. Then I heard of Paul Cini's failed hijacking attempt in early November. It is an insult that the literature about my project talks of the location of my jump as being merely chance. Certainly I did not ignore the most important detail of my escape after so carefully planning every other aspect. I knew that the Boeing 727-100 could not possibly fly nonstop from Seattle to Mexico City without refueling given the altitude and speed specifications I required. Only an idiot would not, Mr. President, and I assure you I was no idiot. I let Captain Scott believe he had come up with the idea to stop in Reno to refuel, but I had already planned on it. I had my car parked not two miles from where my parachute and I landed, and the distance was only so great because the Captain flew faster than he should have. By the time the FBI arrived the next morning to search for my remains I was fast asleep in flannel pajamas before a warm fire in southern Oregon. After the project, I worked as a fireman in a small town in the Northwest for a dozen years or so, before growing weary of people and retiring to a cabin a few miles from town. I write you now because there is no reason for my identity to be a mystery any longer. Always faithfully in your service, - - - - Dear Mr. President, "After serving six years in the Army National Guard, one year in Afghanistan and one year in Iraq, 28-year-old Jordan Byrd has been told by the Army that her educational benefits will not be released that were promised in her contract. So instead of hitting the books she will be hitting the hay working for New River Stables in Deep Gap, NC, in order to figure out how she will pay for college." Sir, when I read this article in the Mountain Times today I was stunned. How could this happen to a young woman who put her life on the line? She joined the National Guard in order to pay for college. Now she is being tossed aside. What are you going to do about this? How many more will find themselves in this boat when they get home? Sincerely, - - - - Dear Mr. President, I am a proud mama of a young daughter. Her name is Megan. She is not a normal 11-year-old. She is very sensitive to the world around us. I hear her prayers and listen while she cries for our people you have kept in this war. I have tried my best to tell her how very lucky we are to live in this great country. My daddy, brother, many cousins and uncles, her daddy and his brothers have or are still performing their duties in the military. Megan has begged me to write to you. Now, I regret having not written earlier. Yesterday, we got news that her uncle was killed. William Francis Manuel, of Oberlin, Louisiana, her godfather. I cannot control her tears and outrage. I listened to her cries last night, begging God for this war to end. Tell me what to say to comfort her. Tell me what to tell her when she says you killed Uncle Bill. My heart is hurting, because I do not know how to comfort my own child. Sincerely, - - - - Dear Mr. President, Are you going to be the president you're supposed to be and listen? Sincerely, - - - - [NOTE: The opinions expressed in these letters do not necessarily represent those of McSweeney's, Knopf, Vintage, Kevin Feeney, Jessica Rabinowitz, |
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