Midnight Liberty League - Part I



  Midnight Liberty League

  Part I

  Brock Law

  Copyright 2016 Brock Law

  Contents

  1. A Strong Body Makes The Mind Strong

  2. If My Name Is Not On It, I Get Up

  3. To All Brave, Healthy, Able-Bodied, And Well Disposed Young Men, Take Notice

  4. Three May Keep A Secret If Two Of Them Are Dead

  5. Beer Is The Proof

  6. He Who Knows Best Knows How Little He Knows

  7. Well Done Is Better Than Well Said

  8. We Hold These Truths To Be Self Evident

  9. Never Trouble Another With What You Can Do Yourself

  10. A Little Rebellion Now And Then Is A Good Thing

  11. Power Must Never Be Trusted Without A Check

  12. The First Duty Of Society Is Justice

  13. The Course Of Human Events

  14. Involve Me And I’ll Learn

  15. The Happy Union Of These States Is A Wonder

  16. Facts Are Stubborn Things

  17. Half A Truth Is Often A Great Lie

  18. Honesty Is The Best Policy

  19. Those Who Help Themselves

  20. The Boisterous Sea Of Liberty Is Never Without A Wave

  21. Patience And Fidelity Of The Soldiery

  22. Knowledge Will Forever Govern Ignorance

  23. Big Enough To Take Away Everything That You Have

  24. A Penny Saved

  25. Another Hill At The Same Price

  26. Issue the Order Sir And I Will Storm Hell

  27. We Fight, Get Beat, Rise, And Fight Again

  28. Do Something Worth Writing

  29. All I Am I Owe To My Mother

  30. You May Delay But Time Will Not

  31. No People Can Be Both Ignorant And Free

  32. The Dead Should Not Rule The Living

  33. One Travels More Usefully When They Travel Alone Because They Reflect More

  A Strong Body Makes The Mind Strong

  At the center of a freshly-sodded field, the University of Pennsylvania’s football team gathered. The head coach blew his whistle among a group of linemen who struggled to catch their breath. Players sprinted in from scattered formations around the field. They knelt on one knee with the university’s blue and red logo beneath their feet at the 50-yard line. The staff shuffled through notes as the team panted and pulled off helmets with a collective groan.

  At the center of the group were three players in red quarterback pinnies, one of whom didn’t appear nearly as winded as the rest of the team. Coach looked up at him and shook his head with an amused grin.

  “Alright guys,” Coach began, “I don’t have much for you. Not bad for the first week of practice. Study your playbooks, we’ll run some scrimmages on Monday. I think it’s going to be a great year, and I’m excited to be working with all of you again. For those of you who are new, remember you can always reach out to me and your teammates for help on and off the field. Good work everyone, good hustle. Go get cleaned up and enjoy a few days off.”

  As the team began to disperse and head back to the locker room, the coach jogged over to the stands where a spectator had been watching the practice. Clipboard in hand, he waved at the middle-aged man who waved back with a friendly smile. In khakis and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the man beamed pridefully through his neatly trimmed beard. The coach lumbered up the stairs and enthusiastically stuck out his hand as he approached.

  “Hello Professor, you must be William’s dad,” said Coach.

  “Yes, Joe Mith, pleased to meet you,” said the bearded man as he shook the coach’s hand.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to have Will back on the team. I didn’t think we’d be seeing him this season,” Coach said emphatically. “If he keeps playing like this he’ll be starting come September. His arm looks great.”

  “That’s excellent!” Professor Mith happily exclaimed.

  Coach stated with amazement, “That was one hell of an accident. Getting run down by a taxi isn’t something many people survive, much less return to playing a competitive sport.”

  “Someone must be looking out for him,” said Professor Mith.

  “That’s for sure,” Coach replied. “The doctors told us that he’d be out for at least a few months.”

  “Yeah, it took a few pints of my own blood to get him moving around again after surgery.”

  Coach nodded in admiration. “His endurance and accuracy have both improved. Did they give him robot limbs or something?”

  Professor Mith laughed. “My wife made the same joke. It’s lucky the university has such a great hospital.”

  “He put on a lot of muscle during rehab. I should get the rest of the team on a medical workout regimen.”

  “The team really helped out a lot when he was in the hospital. You have a great bunch of guys, Coach. I can’t wait for the season to start.”

  “The whole staff is excited for September. It could be a championship year,” Coach stated proudly.

  Out of the locker room came the young man who had previously been wearing a red jersey. Some other players came out with him, slapping his shoulder and exchanging words of encouragement. The quarterback waved to them all, lifted a weighty duffle bag around his neck, and headed for the stands with a salute to the two men.

  “Looking good, Will,” Professor Mith yelled.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Will said as he ascended the bleachers.

  Coach inquired, “How’s the wrist feeling?” Coach inquired.

  “It feels fine. Just needed to rest it for a minute I guess,” Will explained.

  “You hurt your wrist?” Professor Mith asked.

  “I thought I might have twisted it. I felt a sharp pain, but it stopped after a few minutes.”

  Will held out his hand to be examined. The professor felt around the bones at the base of his thumb. He turned the joint around a few times while Coach looked on curiously.

  “You’ll live,” Professor Mith said stoically.

  Coach tapped his clipboard against Will’s arm. “Gentlemen, enjoy your weekend. It was very nice to meet you, Professor. Get some rest, young man, I’ll see you Monday.”

  As Coach headed back to the locker room, Professor Mith stood and said, “Mom called about dinner. Still interested in meeting her at City Tavern?”

  “Definitely, I could use a solid meal. I’m getting tired of the diet the doctor has me on.”

  “I hate that rabbit food,” Professor Mith joked.

  The pair walked off the field and out to the street. The professor hailed a cab. As soon as the doors were shut the cabby jammed the accelerator and sped off. Both men’s heads jerked back. Will snatched the handle above the door and dug his other hand into the seat cushion.

  The Schuylkill River sparkled orange under the sun as they raced over the South Street Bridge. The cab squeezed between turning cars on its way to Broad Street. Will’s lungs began to inflate again as a flashback of his nearly fatal accident faded.

  “Sounds like Coach wants to make you the starter,” Professor Mith said. “You were brilliant after stepping in at the end of last season.”

  Will feigned modesty. “Hard work, Dad. Just like you said.”

  Professor Mith started to say, “You’ll never do anything great…”

  “…if you think you already have,” Will finished the family motto.

  The cab traded skyscrapers for brick survivors of the Revolution as it entered Old City. White marble columns flanked polished entryways, and immaculate boxwood hedges lined the sidewalks. Many homes, which lined the streets in precise rows, were embellished with bunting and thirteen-starred flags. They drove past s
everal governmental structures that had been out of use for a century, continuing a journey back in time. Finally, the taxi pulled up at a red colonial structure. City Tavern, the favorite drinking place of the Founding Fathers, looked even more worn than the rest of the neighborhood.

  The boisterous restaurant entertained a lively dinner crowd. Servers rushed through archways from the bar to adjoining dining rooms that spurred off of the regal entry way. Upon seeing them, a cheerful hostess in colonial fashion skipped up to the two men.

  “Reservation for Mith,” the Professor announced.

  “Perfect, the rest of your party is upstairs. Follow me please.”

  Will dodged a tray of salads that sliced by at eye level. The hostess had already reached the stairs and turned back to wait. Looking both ways before passing the threshold, Will stepped carefully until he was clear of any culinary danger. He looked over his shoulder and saw his dad had paused and was glaring into the bar room.

  “Hey, Dad, table is ready,” Will coaxed loudly over the din.

  Professor Mith’s eyes widened, seemingly vexed by the commotion in the next room. The hostess tapped her shoe impatiently on the bottom step, but still the professor remained. He was motionless, completely distracted. Will peeped around the corner to see what his father was looking at, but noticed nothing other than a busy dining room. His dad inched forward in the wrong direction, drawn to something.

  “Dad!”

  “Huh, what?”

  “Table.”

  The momentarily confused Professor turned. “Oh right, sorry. I thought I saw an old friend.”

  If My Name Is Not On It, I Get Up

  The damp heat and sticky humidity was as sweltering now as it was in 1776. Driving and walking, a withered mass trudged across the city with smeared faces, burnt by the sun. The sky emanated scorching rays, which