Blog on the Lillypad
Saturday, January 10, 2004
Titles from Amazon.com on Fundamentalism
If you are desperately searching for a copy of Voyle Glover's detailed investigation of corruption in the pulpit of Jack Hyles at First Baptist of Hammond, you can check Amazon's used book offerings by clicking here for Fundamental Seduction: The Jack Hyles Case. Voyle's book is out of print, and copies are difficult to find, so best wishes as you search. Currently (Jan 10, 2004) Amazon has two used copies for sale, $50.00 and up, which is slightly more than twice the original price. But the book is thorough and comprehensive.
A Few Words From the Outside of Fundamentalism:
 | Understanding Fundamentalism and Evangelicalism by George Marsden. Here's a book that is more scholarly than outright critical of Fundamentalism. It shows the roots of Fundamentalism in a more detached presentation. If you grew up in an IFB church, you heard everything about Fundy history from the angle of God raising up great men, etc., etc. While Marsden's viewpoint is more secular and detached, he presents a necessary side of the history of Fundamentalism: a thorough presentation that looks at the history and the philosophical roots that fed the early popularity of the movement. Additonally, if you have become concerned that your grasp of history is weak, this book may introduce some larger ideas to you to start you on the terrific journey of learning more about church history. |
 | The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind by Mark Knoll. I have been tremendously discouraged by the incredible shallow and trite quality of Christian fiction, its refusal to address that which is pertinent, and its iron resolution never to show Christians as they really are. How refreshing to find a book with a first line that begins with the observation: "The scandal of the evangelical mind is that there is not much of an evangelical mind." In an era when Christian political thought has been reduced to a formula to get Republicans into office and Christian literature has been reduced to the level of Chick Tracts, Knoll offers a detailed assessment and desperate call for intellectual and scholarly reform in Christian Evangelicalism (and Fundamentalism). |
 | Cindy Swanson's Blog
It's about time! I am at last linking to Cindy Swanson's blog. Cindy is the news announcer who interviewed me about VALKYRIES. Cindy's site includes several reviews of current books. The real reason that it took me so long to link to her was that I lacked an icon of her. Everything in my links section has its own little thumbnail, and Cindy is a bit of a stumper. Usually, I don't want a real picture of my subjects. I want an icon. I would have used a radio (as she is a radio announcer), but I'm already using that for Grace Jovian's blog. At last, I spent a half hour hunting images on Google.com and found a bookworm that I like. As Cindy is quite the read-a-holic but has a lot of energy and charm, I wanted a bookworm with personality. And I especially wanted a bookworm character without glasses. Though I wear glasses, I don't like the idea that people who read books are all bespectacled. I've included a link to Cindy's blog in the permanent links at the right of this screen. Or you can just click here to visit her site. |
 | Well, there's elders and then there's elders
I received an annoyed e-mail from an IFB-KJVO preacher yesterday who has shown better sense in the past than his e-mail indicates. He demanded an explanation as to why other religions with a plurality of elders have also experienced gross and horrific sin. His two examples were the PC-USA (remarkable in the last decade for admitting worship of the Earth Mother into their churches and allowing homosexuals to hold church office) and the Roman Catholic Church. |
Okay, I realize that most readers recognize right off that the RC church has never used a plurality of elders to govern a congregation. They have a priesthood and an ecclesiastical hierarchy which so far has kept the men at the top completely untouched by questions of accountability and has actually protected the guys on the lower rungs, the priests, to an incredible extent. (Please note that if a school superintendent merely shifted around a teacher who committed pederasty, he would be jailed for life, but bishops and cardinals remain free, even though they committed just that crime.)
You will have to excuse the sender of the letter to me by recalling that IFB-KJVO preachers tend to know very, very little about anything outside their comfortable niche. And that niche is pretty small. I'm sure he does not know what an ecclesiastical hierarchy is; nor does he grasp the implications of "priesthood" as opposed to "pastorate". And he has not taken into account the obvious fact that the Roman Catholic church, from stem to stern, does not use the Bible as its sole rule of practice. It openly declares that it relies upon its own hierarchy as a second authority equal with scripture. Those of us who believe the inerrancy and authority of the Bible expect the Roman Catholic hierarchy to be full of scandal. It always has been. And the events of the last 15 years are nothing new at all. But these IFB-KJVO guys usually don't know this because they have no grasp whatsoever of history. (Remember Pastor Marty Braemer's incredible goof about that scenario in England during the period that the public display of Christianity was illegal?
| Also, we all recognize that eldership is not exclusive to Christianity. It's a common denominator of both society and religion the world over, just as marriage, patriarchy, rule of law, use of trial, etc. are. However, we Christians recognize (some of us) that Christian eldership is different than secular eldership; just as Christian marriage differs from secular marriage; Christian family order differs from secular patriarchy. In Rome, a father could have his children executed. In samurai culture, men under attack considered it a point of honor to kill all their children, then their wives, and then themselves. That doesn't make fatherhood bad; it just shows that the world's version of it is not the same as God's version of it. |  |
The point that the IFB-KJVO preacher failed to raise was What does the Bible say about plurality of eldership? When pressed to the wall by the tide of gross scandal that remains unaddressed in IFB-KJVO churches, he looked around to what he could see in this world, and he made excuses based on flimsy examples of worldly corruption: an apostate denomination that uses eldership and an apostate denomination that uses an ecclesiastical hierarchy. This is IFB-KJVO thinking in its most typical form, though I am surprised that this particular man stooped to it. But his point does concede that he expects no better from the IFB-KJVO movement than that which he sees in the world. And if that is true, he needs to step out of the pulpit and go learn of the power of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.
In an IFB-KJVO church, you will hear certain types of women called Jezebels, authority glorified, liberals and democrats called idiots--all safe things to declare and vent upon. But you will not hear anything that makes that sole ruler called the preacher feel uncomfortable. He will not stand up and declare that what is going on in several IFB-KJVO churches is gross sin and God's sword is ready to judge gross sin. He will not warn against the sin and its causes. He will not speak on behalf of the dignity of the victims. He will not turn the focus of the people to the vast power of the salvation in Christ that will overcome the evil done to those victims and supply them with grace. IFB-KJVO preachers continue to preach on their culture and they find refuge in it. Their armor is a tradition that keeps the preacher safe and beyond accountability.
 | As for the question itself of elders: The Scripture abounds with references to a plurality of elders. The following verses indicate that elders acted as a group to rule each congregation. (I've high lighted the most obvious word choices.) |
Acts 11:30 This they also did, and sent it to the elders by the hands of Barnabas and Saul.
Acts 14:23 So when they had appointed elders in every church, and prayed with fasting, they commended them to the Lord in whom they had believed.
Acts 15:2 Therefore, when Paul and Barnabas had no small dissension and dispute with them, they determined that Paul and Barnabas and certain others of them should go up to Jerusalem, to the apostles and elders, about this question.
Acts 15:4 And when they had come to Jerusalem, they were received by the church and the apostles and the elders; and they reported all things that God had done with them.
Acts 15:6 Now the apostles and elders came together to consider this matter.
Acts 15:22 Then it pleased the apostles and elders, with the whole church, to send chosen men of their own company to Antioch with Paul and Barnabas, namely, Judas who was also named Barsabas, and Silas, leading men among the brethren.
Acts 15:23 They wrote this letter by them: The apostles, the elders, and the brethren, To the brethren who are of the Gentiles in Antioch, Syria, and Cilicia: Greetings.
Acts 16:4 And as they went through the cities, they delivered to them the decrees to keep, which were determined by the apostles and elders at Jerusalem.
Acts 20:17 From Miletus he sent to Ephesus and called for the elders of the church.
Acts 21:18 On the following day Paul went in with us to James, and all the elders were present.
1Ti 5:17 Let the elders who rule well be counted worthy of double honor, especially those who labor in the word and doctrine.
Tit 1:5 For this reason I left you in Crete, that you should set in order the things that are , and appoint elders in every city as I commanded you-
Heb 13:7 Remember those who rule over you, who have spoken the word of God to you, whose faith follow, considering the outcome of their conduct.
Heb 13:17 Obey those who rule over you, and be submissive, for they watch out for your souls, as those who must give account. Let them do so with joy and not with grief, for that would be unprofitable for you.
Heb 13:24 Greet all those who rule over you, and all the saints. Those from Italy greet you.
Jas 5:14 Is anyone among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord.
1Pe 5:1 The elders who are among you I exhort, I who am a fellow elder and a witness of the sufferings of Christ, and also a partaker of the glory that will be revealed:
1Pe 5:5 Likewise you younger people, submit yourselves to your elders. Yes, all of you be submissive to one another, and be clothed with humility, for ÂGod resists the proud, But gives grace to the humble. (NKJV; but don't worry IFB-KJVO'ers who read ths page, it's also always plural in the KJV.)
References to elders are far more numerous than reference to one elder. The singular form of the word appears only four times in the New testament,
1 Tim. 5:19 instruction to an elder about dealing with an accusation leveled against another elder.
1 Pet. 5:1 a reference to himself as an elder (a fellow elder, by the way, indicating a plurality).
2 John 1:1 a reference to himself as an elder
3 John 1:1 a reference to himself as an elder
The role of "overseer" is called out in the singular, when Paul is laying down the instructions for each person who holds the office of elder.
The only refrence to sole leadership within a congregation that I can find is the lamentable Diotrephes, who apparently had cornered the power market in the congregation that John wrote to, and John gives a full and open report of this:
I wrote unto the church: but Diotrephes, who loveth to have the preeminence among them, receiveth us not. Wherefore, if I come, I will remember his deeds which he doeth, prating against us with malicious words: and not content therewith, neither doth he himself receive the brethren, and forbiddeth them that would, and casteth [them] out of the church.
John rightly assesses that Diotrephes, a man in sole control of a congregation, "loves to have the preemeninece". And look at the qualities of Diotrepehes: He prates with malicious words. (Sound familiar?) This is a man who uses his pulpit to harangue and call names. He minds the business of those in his congregation, determining who they can and cannot have fellowship with. And he labels those he chooses as being cast out. There is no church discipline where Diotrephes rules. There is no accountability among the people! His favorites are in, and those he dislikes are out.
Friday, January 09, 2004
 | Best Spoof of Star Trek Ever
The incredible Sir Derek Jacobi, best known to American audiences as the gentle, insightful, and brilliant detective of Medieval mysteries, Brother Cadfael, appeared on an episode of Frasier that I've never seen before. Jacobi played Jackson Hedley, a former Shakespearean actor now reduced to a continuing role on the popular sci-fi series, Space Patrol Frasier and his brother Niles decide to boost Hedley's theatrical career by putting up the money for him to do a one-man show that reprises his role of Hamlet from 25 years before. |
Regrettably, Hedley turns out to be a horrible Shakespearean actor, and both of the Cranes realize that they were too young when they saw him do Hamlet to realize how bad he was. Their show sells out, which means they stand to make a huge profit. But to save Hedley from embarrassment, they try every ploy to get the show canceled, all to no avail. They even misdirect Hedley's aged and doting father (played very well by Patrick MacNee) to a different theater in the hope of causing a postponement. Nothing works, of course, and the show goes on.
I've never seen Derek Jacobi do comedy. He played Jackson Hedley with perfect consistently and even respect, as Hedley is a sensitive man who appreciates Shakespeare but is actually much better playing an android on Space Patrol. But his lines when he renders Shakespeare are hilarious. He's so unbelievably awful that the comedy wouldn't be lost on anybody. Yet he delivers it all as a man who really thinks he is doing Shakespeare skillfully. I can only imagine that after a life of theater, Jacobi must have a catalog in his mind of all the horrible ways Shakespeare's lines have been rendered. He distills it all in the gentle and likeable Jackson Hedley.
This episode, number 176 and titled "The Show Must Go Off", stands out as my new favorite from the Frasier series. It was funny the whole way through.
 | From a sermon preached at a Bible Church
This is an excerpt of a sermon preached in a Bible-believing denomination. The text was Ecc chapter 9, and the specific verse for this part of the discussion was a section of verse 3: "The hearts of the sons of men are full of evil". I have offered to run a sermon from an Independent Baptist KJVO preacher against the gross sexual abuses that have gone unchecked and unconfronted in the IFB-KJVO churches. So far nobody has responded except to declaim that it is not their problem. But this preacher (not IFB), apparently, was moved enough by the grossness of the sins in these churches to exhort his own people to stay in a place where they are held accountable, from the newest member to the most senior pastor: |
The Scriptural form of church government is a plurality of Biblically qualified elders. As equals, they can hold each other in check and accountable: if one man falls into sin, the others remove him and they seek to restore him to a position of fellowship with the Lord, hopefully fellowship with the Lord’s people, and under special circumstances perhaps even eventually to a position of leadership among God’s people. This is the Biblical form of church government. And why? Because “the hearts of the sons of men are full of evil”
But what can happen if one man rises to a place of prominence in a church?
What can happen if the Biblical controls are not in place?
What can happen if a plurality of elders is missing from that church?
What can happen if the church is ruled by one man who is unaccountable?
Well we know that we’re making problems more likely, because “the hearts of the sons of men are full of evil”
I sometimes visit a discussion forum on the Internet for a certain denomination and this denomination is having real problems with preachers who are abusive and sinful: preachers who commit acts of physical and sexual abuse against children; preachers who are in long term adulterous relationships; preachers who fail to discipline their own children, and who watch them fall into sexual immorality and abortion; preachers getting 14 year old girls pregnant; preachers advertising in pornographic magazines to find new partners---and all of this while they maintain a façade of spiritual incorruptibility.
Now let me say that horrific as all of this is, none of it surprises me, and I’m not taking aim at another body of Christians. I’m not suggesting that we have better raw material than they – that they have sin natures and we don’t. It grieves me when a man sins, but it doesn’t surprise me because “the hearts of the sons of men are full of evil”
But the worst part is, because of a lack of accountability, these sins continue long term. If a man is caught in some of these sins, he admits it to some of his buddies, and everyone rejoices because he’s repented, and then it’s just business as usual, and the preacher moves on to another church were he does exactly the same things.
I hope that none of these horrific sins are present within our congregation, among our preachers, or among our leaders. I have no reason to think they are found among us, but because “the hearts of the sons of men are full of evil” we must guard our own hearts and conduct, and furthermore, because “the hearts of the sons of men are full of evil” we need to be mutually accountable with local church elders in the form of church government that God has mandated.
 | Snow storm
Well, for *us* it’s a snow storm. The weather forecasters last night were saying we would get flurries today and maybe a few snow showers that would end by late morning. This morning when I saw that it had started to come down in large, soft flakes, I double-checked the local news. A guy standing on a bridge said that a little bit of snow had accumulated on the bridge, but the roads were fine. |
So I warmed up the car and started out for the worksite, 42 miles south. Within 17 miles, I was amazed at how heavy the snow had become. It was slushing on the bridges and visibility was rapidly worsening. Then my windshield abruptly froze and completely obscured my vision except for one low peephole. I ducked my head, turned on the defrost at full blast, high heat, and prayed.
A few cars had slid off the road or pulled over. Others were skimming along like slick spots were a figment of the imagination. I debated going back home, but the trip was now half done, and the exit ramps looked horrible, as most of the drive is rural. I shifted down to fourth gear, then to third. Most people stayed lined up behind me. One poor soul was going even slower than I was, and I had to pass him. He was in a four-wheel drive in second gear, doing 19 miles per hour. (I was doing 30.)
Further along, I saw a huge red Suburban that had gone off the road, with its front wheel neatly hooked over the guard rail. It looked like a great red bug stuck on a spider’s web. He’d been coming too fast over a bridge.
More hazardous conditions followed, but as long as I kept the defroster on full power, the windshield stayed clear enough with the wipers going. I got to work at last. Everybody was talking about the spin-outs they’d seen, and the red Suburban on the guard rail was the main topic.
Our “light dusting of snow” is now measuring to between two and three inches, and people here at work are wondering how we will get home. There are reports of tractor trailers jackknifed and overturned on the main highway that we use to get here from our homes. And most people live 40 – 60 miles away. I plan to leave at 2:00 but I realize it’s going to be something of an ordeal.
Addendum at 3:30 PM
The trip was not bad at all. I kept my speed to between 50-55 most of the way, but overall the roads were clear, just wet. There were a few places were the snow was still in place in long strips, but overall it was not difficult. Played Johnny Cash in the CD drive the whole way.
Thursday, January 08, 2004
 | On a Rock in Iowa
For one of the coolest tributes to our servicemen and their sacrifices for our country, go to the On a Rock in Iowa" site to see what one artist did to a huge rock outside a gravel pit along Highway 25 in Iowa. Apparently the rock has been a cultural eyesore for years, bearing graffiti, slogans, artwork, and obscenities. But after one industrious and talented man turned it into a tribute, it has remained undisturbed for months. Click the link above, or enter http://www.ticz.com/homes/users/bob/On-A-Rock/On-A-Rock.htm directily into your browser. |
Monday, January 05, 2004
 | Back to the Basics
If you look closely at the picture on the left, you'll see that the platform of the standing heavy bag is rocking up off the floor. I was the only person who could do that at Gold's Gym. The bag is designed to absorb a blow into its padded, pillowy top section, and the semi-flexible "stem" is also designed to give so that the bag does not rock or move. Most other people who practiced on the bags could push them back with punches or kicks, but I could get the platform to rock up. I worked on this when I was developing hand speed to break concrete. To get such an absorbent target to rock up, you have to hit it fast and yet very solid. The only way to do this is to relax everything and punch from the hip with the knees slightly bent. At the last instant, you exhale and lock all the muscles and then immediately release. The camera got me at the exact right moment. I used to spend hours and hours on that bag, about two hours per session, three to five sessions per week, for about five months. That was in the mid and late 1990's. Eventually other training had to take priority over the punching as I prepared for fourth degree black belt. And then two years of back trouble benched me pretty effectively. |
This week, now that my back is beginning the slow recuperation process, I purchased a small "Wave" standing heavy bag and began to punch again, the steady, relaxed, rhythmic punching that amazes the mind by the slam of power after the relaxed execution. Hitting a heavy bag (or an opponent) is not done in a frenzy if the mind of the person is trained. The hardest, most devastating punches in the world come from a detached mind that has drilled and drilled and drilled on execution of technique.
How I have missed this type of training! I used to do it for a couple hours, and right now I can do it for 3 - 5 minutes at a time and don't dare attempt more than two sets. But how good it felt, after two years of near inactivity, to again feel the alignment of forces (like the universe is going through you) and to hear, in spite of relaxed delivery where power is expressed only in the breath and the final tighteniing at impact, the explosive slam, the feel of the bag "jumping".
And, probably because I have spent so much of my life in physical training, how good it felt to sweat again: to feel everything limber up and begin to work together, and the sweat form first on my neck, down my spine, and under my arms. A lot of people don't like to sweat and thus exercise turns them off. I always felt better in working out when perspiration started, and I always felt better after having perspired for 60 - 90 minutes (drnking lots of water, of course, to replace fluids). A shower feels a lot better after you've perspired hard, and it's easier to sleep after sweating profusely and replenishing with water and maybe some fruit, and then a shower.
Folk medicine, of course, is filled with recommendations to sweat in order to cleanse the body. I don't know how accurate that is, but it makes sense to me. I don't like just sitting and sweating, and I've never been one for sun bathing. Just sitting still and getting hot bothers me incredibly. But revving up my heart and lungs and working my muscles has long been one of my favorite past times. It felt great to hit that bag again, and I look forward to my next session.
 | More on Death and Chocolate
Episode One By Jeri Massi Episode Three Episode Two |
Sarah Jane Smith, swinging her tiny purse by its strap, entered the Doctor's laboratory to find the tall, white-haired scientist waiting for her, his feet propped up on the edge of the workbench, his body perched precariously on a stool that he kept tipped back.
"You look very self satisfied," she said at once. "Like the cat who got the cream."
"I am self satisfied," he told her. His smugness was almost comical. "I am extremely self satisfied."
She came around the stool where he sat with his long legs stretched to the table edge.
"Found a new planet?" she asked.
"No," and his voice was patient.
"Cured a disease?"
"Cured half a dozen before lunch. You missed it."
"Phhh," she said. She looked around the cluttered lab and cast a cautious eye at his TARDIS. Perhaps, she thought, he had rung her up to suggest a trip abroad. Out into time and space. She wasn't ready for this. But at the moment he seemed perfectly content to sit tipped back on that stool. And the tall blue police box that was his time machine was silent and locked up.
She came around him on the other side and tossed her purse onto the workbench. "Well you'd better tell me because a busy journalist like me takes precious little interest in asking questions of anybody with that smug look on his face."
For answer, he thrust a hand into his velvet smoking jacket and withdrew two small white envelopes. He held them up in triumph.
"What are those then?" she asked.
He flapped them back and forth, and a rich perfume touched her senses. For a moment it filled her with both anticipatory hunger and sudden realization. Her face lit up as she exclaimed, "No kidding! Invitations to the Chocolate House tour!"
"Those of us who have been invited choose to call it the Royalty House Tour," he told her. "As that is what it's properly called. And it's not just the tour, Sarah Jane. It's an invitation and two passes for me and my chosen companion to spend a weekend there, getting to know the place."
She came at him so fast that he nearly toppled backwards off the tipped stool.
"Chose me!" she exclaimed. "Oh I'd love to go!" For a moment her anguish at thinking he might really be teasing her flashed across her face with genuine pain. "You don't want to take the Brigadier or some chum from UNIT---"
"Chum from UNIT?" he asked. "Chum?"
"So you ought to take me!"
He swung his legs down and deliberately stood. When he did get up, he was a foot taller than she. "Of course I ought to take you, but the understanding is that we are a couple; a pair---"
"Well that's all right, isn't it? We'll go as father and daughter."
"Father and daughter?" Genuine surprise flashed across his lined face. Then he scowled. "What do you mean father and daughter? I'm still in my prime!"
"Then we could get a suite. Please take me with you! I'm dying to go!"
At her earnestness, his eyes softened. "Well of course I'll take you with me. That's why I called you here, to ask you to come along."
"Oh Doctor, that's wonderful! Thank you! I'm dying to take one of their tours!" She was so happy that she seized his hand in both of hers. "Oh maybe I can do a story on it."
His eyes twinkled at her delight, but as she left him to fill the electric kettle for tea, his face took on a faintly quizzical expression.
"And just think," she said as she opened the tap at the lab sink. "All that free chocolate. I've heard that you can have as much as you like while you're there---"
"You know, I cannot understand the incredibly addictive draw that chocolate has on even the most sensible of young women," he said.
"Oh I love chocolate. Especially well made chocolates, and they're ever so expensive---"
"Yes, but why?" He stepped after her to get the mugs from the shelf over the sink. "What's the attraction?"
She turned and shot him a puzzled look of her own. "It tastes so good! What else?"
He gave a slight shake of his head and started looking for the canister of tea. "I've never had time to investigate it, but there's a magnetic draw of chocolate for human females. Perhaps I'll look into it before we make the trip. Or perhaps while we're there. It's this weekend. That's the best I could do. Hope you can get away on short notice."
"I'll make a point of getting away for this. You don't snag a pass to the Chocolate House more than once in a lifetime!"
"Royalty house!" he exclaimed.
She suddenly turned. "Hey," and now her voice was uncertain. "What gives? Why are you keen to go up there? You got your nose into some sort of trouble?"
He set the mugs down on the workbench and started a search for the sugar. "Sarah Jane, you have a suspicious mind. As a matter of fact---" He straightened up with the sugar tin in hand. "The Brig wants me to go have a look 'round."
"Whatever for?"
"Oh, that financier, the one who committed suicide a couple weeks ago. When he was found there was a box of the Royalty House chocolates in his room. Matched the scenario of another poor fellow who did himself in a few weeks before. Box of Royalty house chocolates nearby."
"That is odd." And now she looked concerned.
"Well not really. Plenty of suicides have occurred, regrettably, in the interim between these two, with no Royalty House chocolates in view. When you're testing with a sample size of only two there's a lot of room for coincidence."
"Had they eaten quite a lot of it?"
He shook his head. "The first fellow had eaten about three pieces and the other had taken the lid off the box and then set it down. Perhaps a feeble means to distract himself from his suicidal thoughts. Or just a final, failed comfort before death."
Her journalistic instincts came to the fore. "Was the chocolate analyzed?"
"Yes. Nothing amiss. And boxes from the same lot had been shipped to other well-to-do chocolate fanciers who showed no ill effects---no inclinations to do themselves in. The police wrote it off, but by then the Royalty House had been called in, and they issued invitations to anybody who might need them. Very cooperative. So the Brigadier received a pair of passes."
"And the Brigadier just handed them off to you?"
She had forgotten about the kettle, so he walked past her and retrieved it. "The Brigadier, my dear Sarah Jane, has no interest whatsoever in chocolate."
"And you do?"
"Well my interest is not as keen as yours, but I do fancy a weekend in the lap of luxury. The Royalty House keeps a fine table, manicured grounds, and the sort of wine cellar that you can only read about." He poured the hot water into the teapot.
"But look here, are the police sure it was suicide?" she asked.
"Absolutely. Self inflicted gunshot wound in the first, and fatal jump from a fourth story window for the second, alone in his rooms, doors locked."
He closed the lid over the round, cheerful pot and carried the kettle back to the sink.
She turned to say, "But somebody must have suspected the chocolates."
"Not really. Both men were worth millions of pounds and handled the portfolios of dozens of corporations and fortunes. It was necessary to explore every link, every similarity. Recent discoveries about alkaloid components of chocolate prompted the police investigation to consult UNIT, as we have better forensic methods than anybody else. But the chocolate came out innocent."
She tilted her head. "Are you sure? You don't think Royalty House pulled a switch on you? Substituted normal chocolate for poisoned?"
He put his fists on his hips and adopted the air of a skeptic. "You know, you've read too many detective novels, young lady-"
"Bosh, I haven't read any. Not lately."
He relaxed and came to the tea pot. "Royalty House Chocolates has a large clientele and was quite anxious over being put in an unfavorable light. They quite literally swung the doors wide to allow investigation, and they carried out their own, in-house audit of materials and processing. If anything, they encouraged thoroughness."
She folded her arms as he poured out the tea. "So you're satisfied."
"My dear Sarah Jane, you can indulge your sweet tooth as much as you like, and the worst consequence will be stomach ache," he told her, and he forgot himself and tweaked her nose as he recalled her earnest desire to come along. "So pack along some peppermint, just in case."
"Doctor?" a familiar voice called.
"He'd better not forbid you from going to Royalty House," Sarah Jane exclaimed in a whisper.
| The Brigadier entered. At sight of the Doctor's young visitor, UNIT's commanding officer became slightly more formal. "Miss Smith, what a pleasure to see you again." |  |
"Thank you Brigadier. I was just leaving---"
"Miss Smith is going to accompany me to the Royalty House Tour this weekend," the Doctor said.
Lethbridge Stewart cocked an eyebrow. "Do you think that's wise, Doctor?"
"Why not?" Sarah exclaimed, ready to defend her rights as a woman.
The Brigadier tossed a small, cheaply bound paperback book onto the workbench. Both Sarah and the Doctor leaned over it to see the cover.
"New information," the Brigadier said. "From a disgruntled former Sales Vice President."
Sarah Jane read the title out loud: "Sweet Sorrow, an Account of the Tears I Shed at Royalty House, by Stephan Ischink."
The Doctor took it up. "Looks like a rag."
"Self published," the Brigadier acknowledged. "But it does blow the lid off, at least on the private life of the Chief Financial Officer and founder of the company, Jack Highlers."
"Not the chocolates themselves?" the Doctor asked.
"No, more an account of philandering, abuse of workers, deception, and misuse of funds. The author was a highly placed officer in the company, and Highler stole his wife right out from under his nose; covered up everything for years and lied his way out of one compromising situation after another. This chap finally got wise and secured a divorce. He left the company and has documented the moral lapses of the founder---"
"But has not indicted the quality of the product," the Doctor added.
Lethbridge Stewart shook his head. "No. There's some interesting background information that lends doubt to the official story of how the company grew, but they never adulterated the chocolate or produced anything unsafe, not as far as Ischink writes. The processing of the chocolate has always been sanitary and proper."
The Doctor set down the book and Sarah took it up and turned it over in her hands.
"Well, I can thumb through it if you like, but I don't think scandal caused the suicide of those two men," the Doctor said. "There was certainly no indication of that type of link between them and Royalty House. Neither one was especially a playboy."
"Brigadier, could I borrow this?" Sarah Jane asked. "I promise to bring it back."
Lethbridge Stewart inclined his head. "If it's all right with the Doctor, yes Miss Smith. You may borrow it for a day or two. I'll be seeing you at Royalty House, no doubt."
The Doctor lifted his eyebrows. "You're going up there this weekend?"
"Just to close things up in the investigation. Assuming that you don't unearth anything."
A sly smile crossed Sarah Jane's face. "Come on, admit it, Brigadier, you're addicted to chocolate!"
He tried not to smile, and he cocked a lofty eyebrow at her. "I assure you, I am quite indifferent to chocolate, Miss Smith."
Her mouth opened. "You're joking!"
"Not at all. It's very nice with coffee after a large meal, but I probably eat less than two ounces a year." He nodded at both of them. "Good morning to both of you then." And he went out.
Sarah took up her tea, her eyes thoughtful. "Just leaves more for us then," the Doctor said. He glanced at her with renewed interest. "Are you really going to read that book, Sarah Jane? A lot of corporate executives attract reprisals for their private lives. It's the stuff of tabloids."
She took up the book again. "I follow rules of strict journalism, Doctor, but it's always interesting to get the real lowdown on the rise of corporate entities. I might not print everything I find out, but if there were any real harm down, perhaps some honest journalism will help anybody who's been hurt."
She offered him a brief smile as a new idea crossed her mind.
* * * *
The bar at the inner city pub had filled with the lunchtime crowd. Clutching her purse and the slim paperback book, Sarah Jane squeezed her way through a mass of young, nervous men in gabardine suitcoats. They sucked on cigarettes and jetted out smoke in straight, forceful lines from their mouths. They eyed her as she passed through, and she decided that they were in sales: edgy from too much caffeine, and overly competitive and anxious from the current drab economy.
Another group of denim and leather clad men, leathery faced with work roughened hands, had taken over a larger corner as they drank their pints and chewed on chips and steaming planks of fried fish. The main objective just then was eating: people on lunch breaks who had to get back to loading docks or sales floors or telephones. At last she found a place at the bar. A tall, laconic man with a broad chest but thin, almost feminine arms nodded at her from the taps. "What'll it be, Miss?"
"Half pint, please. Pale ale if you have it."
He nodded, took a glass from an overhead rack and pulled down a tap.
"Does Stephan Ischink lunch here?" she asked.
Without looking up, he nodded. He wiped the bottom of the glass and brought it to her. She fished for money in her purse, and she saw his eye fall to the cover of the book. A light of recognition crossed his features. She handed him a ten pound note. "Is he here now?"
"He's at your shoulder," a voice at her ear said.
Sarah looked up and saw a tall, wiry man with graying hair. "I'm Stephan Ischink. Can I help you, Miss?"
"How do you do? I'm Sarah Jane Smith," she said. She offered her hand, and he shook it.
"I see you've been reading my book."
"Is there a place we can talk?" she asked.
"I'll get us a snug."
He walked away with a slightly unbalanced gait. It reminded her of an adolescent boy who was still growing, as though Ishinck were a man not entirely sure of his physical space in the world. It was a walk that was oddly innocent, she thought, boyish and a bit ungainly.
He nodded to her from across the room, and she followed him into a tiny alcove with a door and a bench that hugged the corner. They sat down.
"So you've read my book," he said.
"Not yet. I'm a journalist. I've managed to get into Royalty House for a weekend holiday, and then a friend gave me your book. I thought it might be faster to see you before I go. Perhaps you could tell me watch to watch for."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Watch for? Jack Highlers is beyond recruiting you into his sales machine these days young lady. I should think that you're safe enough from that."
"Sales machine?" She was puzzled.
"The legions of earnest young men and women who believed they could get a piece of the Highlers empire for themselves, win the friendship and confidence of Highlers himself, and hobknob with the rich and famous, all by selling thoroughly mediocre chocolates door to door."
Her mouth opened in surprise. "Royalty House chocolates are some of the most exclusive chocolates in the world! There's not even enough of them made to sell them door to door!"
He nodded, his eyes patient. "These days, yes. In those days---20 years ago, the company name was Harbor Chocolates---"
Recognition dawned on her. "Harbor, yes! I remember those! You could pick them up from vendors sometimes."
"Remember the taste?" he asked.
"No, not really."
"That's because there wasn't any. Harbor chocolates were the bottom rung, but Highler had an army of willing and energetic souls to sell them close to train stations, stores, parks, and museums---and door to door."
"He built Royalty House from Harbor Chocolates?" She was impressed.
"He built Royalty House from the sweat and toil of naïve young people who worshipped him and really believed that they could prove themselves and earn their way into paid staff positions," he said. Then he added, "But Highlers is beyond that. I mean, I'm sure he's overworking and under paying people in some capacity, but I can see that you've got a career and enjoy it. I expect that your safe from seduction on that level."
"I heard somebody say that Jack Highlers took your wife from you," she began. She watched his face, looking for defensiveness or hostility.
But Ischink remained calm. "Yes. He took her, had her for about ten years to do with as he liked, and then shipped her off, out of the way, to a cottage near the coast."
"Alone?" she asked.
"I've heard that she shares the place with a woman retiree of Harbor Chocolates. The official story is that they're friends who room together. Whether that's true, or whether the relationship is more than that, or whether the other woman is keeping some kind of guard over her, I don't know."
"And you're not inclined to check?"
"I did check. She told me never to call her again and she said that she'd left me for Highlers because I wasn't really a man and I'd married her under false pretenses and she knew I'd had an affair with another lady who sold chocolates. She still has some contact with our daughters, and she seems fine. So they tell me."
"And had you had an affair?"
"No, of course not. I wanted to save my marriage, not destroy it. Highlers did his best to put me and one of the other street sellers into compromising situations, but we never did what he intended. The young lady that he'd selected was a good friend to me, but she had very high principles and would never think of having an affair. It was out of the question."
She took a sip of her beer and said cautiously, "You'd think Highlers would have realized that."
"Highlers never comprehended moral integrity." Now he became more resolute. "But look here, what kind of story are you looking for? The history of Royalty House? A review of my book? An expose of the Highlers dynasty?"
She became slightly evasive. The fact was, there was no story in what he was telling her. It was tragic (assuming it was true), but not worth going into print in a hard news paper. Yet an odd reluctance and a fascination held her.
"I'm trying to get the picture," she said, a vague answer that sounded very journalistic and often worked. It worked now. "Were you a street vendor for him?"
Ischink nodded. "Highlers called it 'Open air clerks'" And he laughed. "Yes, I started at age 17, selling to school friends and did pretty well. So I launched out and sold them while I was studying business courses. I met my wife when she joined our cadre of Open Air Clerks. We worked together well, and we married within a year."
"So you did well selling?" she asked.
"Better than most. Then we went to an awards dinner, and Highlers told me he was impressed with my record and my attentiveness to my education. He brought me onto staff. I worked like a slave for him, and he promoted me about once a year until I reached the level of Vice President. But by then I realized what had been going on all those years. He'd turned my wife against me while pretending to be my friend. He even offered to intercede between us when things were bad, and I let him. I was honored." He shook his head. "I believed him for a very long time, Miss Smith."
"How?" she asked. "You couldn't see what was happening? What he was doing?"
Ischink sighed. "Not the art of lying, but the art of having other people believe you whether you lie or not was Highlers' specialty. It was control. And I was under his control for a long time."
He reached into his jacked and extracted a card. "If it's the chocolate you're interested in, look up this man before you go."
She took the card and looked at it. "Clarence Lawman, Chocolatier," she read aloud. She glanced up at him.
Ischink nodded. "Another survivor of the Royalty House slave market, and a man who really knows chocolates. He can give you information on the operations and manufacturing side of the process."
* * * *
 | "I might have known you wouldn't use the time to pack," the Doctor called as they tore around a curve in Bessy, the Doctor's vintage Edwardian roadster. |
Sarah Jane held her hat down to her head and called, "I was packed in ten minutes. That was easy."
He shot a sideways glance at her as they sped away from the congestion of city traffic. "Regular news hound are you?"
"Yes, I am."
"And this Clarence Lawman fellow is expecting us? I'd rather be straight on the way to Royalty House!"
"We won't miss the evening meal if you let me do the talking!' she shouted over the rushing air in the open car. "But we ought to hear what Mr. Lawman has to say!"
"All right. Better watch that map. Tell me where to turn next!"
Within minutes they were pulling down a narrow lane of shops on a street overly done to look picturesque. Sarah Jane frowned and wondered if there was any point in interviewing Lawman. But one of the shops was still open in the growing twilight. The lamps inside threw golden light through the many glass panels of its bay display window.
The Doctor smoothly slid Bessy into a parking spot. They hurried out of the car and went inside. As Sarah pushed the heavy glass door open, a tiny bell overhead tinkled, and the sweet, gentle fragrance of a confectioner's shop wafted over her. Wiping powerful, thick hands on a towel, a short, square man with reddish cheeks and white hair emerged from the back room.
"Are you Miss Smith?" he asked. "Did you have any trouble finding the place?"
Sarah quickly made introductions. "I'm Clarence Lawman," he said. "Come through to the back. It will be easier to explain things."
Lawman, Sarah Jane thought, had the ruddy cheeks, blue eyes, and snow white hair of a Christmas elf. But the effect was offset by broad shoulders and a powerful build. He led them into a wide, brightly lit back room that was the size of the front room shop.
The Doctor stared around at the gleaming stainless steel fixtures and white cabinets, deeply impressed. Lawman understood the look.
"Yes, I specialize in hand crafted chocolates," Lawman said. He nodded at a 50 liter tank, a long, shallow, open trough, and a cylinder that lay on its side. All of these were connected by pipes, and everything was stainless steel. The cylinder, Sarah Jane noticed, sat on rockers and could be separated from the piping by a series of clamps.
"I'm sure you understand chocolate processing, Lawman said, almost apologetically. "But I'll explain how it works." He gestured for them to follow, and he opened another door, revealing a narrow room in which stood two large vats on high legs. The smell was intense and not quite sweet, but not objectionable.
"Roasting and winnowing," the Doctor said.
The chocolatier nodded. "Yes, I buy the beans straight from the traders," Lawman said. "I shovel them into the roaster by hand and then transfer them to the winnower myself."
"You personally roast and grind all the chocolate that you sell?" Sarah Jane asked.
His ruddy face broke into a smile. "Oh no, Miss Smith. I also buy high quality cacao liquor, cacao butter, and cacao powder for my shop. I put it through a mixing and conching process to enrobe caramel and fruit centers. But what I process back here through roasting, winnowing, and grinding is for exclusive customers: men and women with palates sophisticated enough to appreciate hand processed chocolate from bean to confection."
"But I thought all the chocolates you sell are gourmet," she asked.
He smiled briefly. "Gourmet is a broad word, young lady. Most palates can be refined enough to make distinctions between what is broadly available and what a good chocolatier sells. All of my chocolates are considered gourmet. But a very few people, who train their taste buds over a long period of time, can gain a special discrimination and appreciate the extra care that I put into my hand roasted beans."
"And they pay for that special care?" the Doctor asked.
Lawman nodded. "Oh yes, Doctor, they pay very well. Exceedingly well. A single box of chocolates that I take from the trading floor to finished project can bring the same price as an excellent piece of jewelry."
"I say, that is lucrative," Sarah Jane exclaimed.
He suddenly laughed. "Yes, but I earn every penny, Miss Smith. When the beans are roasting, the temperature has to be perfect. Any deviation in temperature will ruin the batch forever. It can be very nerve wracking." He nodded at the winnowing vat and then at the stainless steel processing still in the larger room. "And so it goes until I have a finished project." He crossed to the far corner of the room. "Would you like a cup of tea? Let's see---Stephen said that you were asking about Royalty House."
"Tea would be lovely," Sarah Jane said, and she and the Doctor followed him and accepted high stools for chairs while Lawman filled and plugged in a tea kettle on a high, rickety table in the corner. "How do you and Mr. Ischink know each other?" she asked.
"Oh," and Lawman's voice became careless. "We worked together a bit in trying to investigate Royalty House. Foxhole friendship, one might say. Stephen is a good man. Lost his wife to the founder of the place---"
"Yes, I'd heard that. Have you dug up anything on the quality of the chocolates?"
Lawman shrugged. "Once upon a time, yes. Grit in the product showed a lack of conching. He was selling overpriced chocolates and adding food dye to make them a similar color to truly gourmet chocolate. The problem---" And he rummaged on the lower shelf of the flimsy table until he'd hunted up three cups. He stood with a slight grunt. "The problem is that when people buy upper tier chocolates, they are very much buying a look, a presentation, a name, even an emotional high that comes along with the idea of the romance of chocolates or the pleasure of eating them."
"So they got away with it," the Doctor said.
"Still, overcharging isn't a serious crime," Sarah Jane said.
"Well, it can be Miss. Questions arise about fillers being added. And within the chocolate industry I wanted to raise concerns. Our guarantees have to be worth something. He was promising the industry standard of historic ingredients: Chocolate, cocoa liquor, cocoa butter, cream, pure vanilla extract, and sugar. Nothing else. But when I tasted grit in the product, I was certain that he was adding lecithin---"
"A stabilizer," the Doctor said.
"A cheap stabilizer, Doctor," he added. He glanced at Sarah as he poured tea. "If you want to know the difference between a common chocolate and a gourmet chocolate, Miss Smith, it's lecithin. Gourmet chocolate must be conched for hours---"
She tilted her head. "Conched?"
"Sort of like kneading, except the chocolate is a liquid and not a dough. It's swept through and through with paddles or rollers, and then the chocolate is channeled into an enclosed tub and rolled back and forth with a gentle rocking motion. All of that is called conching. It cannot be rushed, and the longer chocolate is conched, the more thoroughly the pure chocolate will emulsify fine particles of sugar and any solids in the cream. You get a silky end product that will coat the tongue and produce a good impact on the senses and emotions."
"How long does conching take?" she asked. She swallowed as she felt her mouth start to water.
He nodded to the front room. "For gourmet chocolates sold through the shop, I conch for three days. For the specialty tier that I process from beans, I conch for five days."
"And lecithin provides a short cut?" the Doctor asked.
Lawman nodded. "You can get conching down to a few hours and still get a product that tastes somewhat like chocolate," he said. "As long as you add lecithin. But there is no such thing as a gourmet chocolate that has lecithin in it. I never use it, but I can detect it."
"Did you report him?" she asked.
"I published a report within the industry. But by then Jack Highlers was buying out independent chocolatiers and smaller processing facilities and adding them to his label. I couldn't be sure of what I was getting in any single box of chocolates. He had some skilled processors working as they'd always worked and just wrapping the end product in something that said 'Royalty House'.
"Still, you could have had samples tested," the Doctor said.
Lawman nodded. "I did. Never got a positive response back for fillers or lecithin."
"So you were mistaken," Sarah Jane said.
'I don't think so." And his voice was calm. "I think, Miss Smith, that you have not tapped into how extremely powerful and influential Jack Highlers is. He is not selling quality. He's not even selling an honest product. In fact, I don't think he even knows all that much about chocolate. But he is making money---"
He cut himself off as the unmistakable crash of a rock through the front shop window interrupted him. Instantly, all three of them leaped up.
"Doctor, see to the back door please; there's a hallway beyond the two vats," Lawman said, his voice calm. "I'll see to the front. Miss Smith, if you'll ring up the police I'd be grateful. The phone is on the table."
The Doctor rushed out, into the narrow room that housed the vats. Sarah heard a door beyond the vats open as he found the exit hallway. Lawman stepped quickly but cautiously into the front room. He switched off the front lights in front at once, a hopeless attempt to make the shop window less inviting as a target. Sarah plucked up the phone, but just then a figure, a man in black jeans, stepped out from the doorway that led to the vats. He closed the door to prevent the Doctor from coming back into the work room.
Just at that moment, Sarah realized that the phone was dead.
"How did you get in here?" she asked, but she knew it was a useless question as she asked it. He'd come in through the back door and had been waiting in hiding in the long narrow room with the vats. The Doctor had rushed right past him.
He swiftly closed the door to the front, and Clarence Lawman shouted, "Sarah, is somebody in there?"
"What do you want?" Sarah Jane asked. Then she shouted, "Doctor! Mr. Lawman, help! Help me!"
Lawman must have set his broad shoulder to the door barricading him from the workroom. It shuddered under impact, but it held.
"Look what do you want?" she asked the intruder. He wore black jeans and a black sweater, and his face was pockmarked with acne scars. "They'll break down those doors in a minute," she told him. "You don't have much time!"
"I don't need much time," he said. He fished in a side pocket and drew out a knife that opened with a snick. He came around the chocolate still towards her.
Sunday, January 04, 2004
 | Hey, it really does look like a big rock quarry!
NASA scientists today have broadcast the first pictures sent from their latest exploration craft that was sent to Mars. Doctor Who fans the world over raised as cheer as they saw that, yes, alien planets really do look like rock quarries. NASA cameras, panning for a shot, have observed a dry surface with hot winds. No signs of radioactive ambassadors or ice men. |
| However, cameras did focus on one distant object that appears not to be part of the natural martian environment. After calculating coordinates of the object in focus, NASA was able to zoom in for a closer look. |  |
 | Looks like we've been scoooped again! Oh well. |  |
