Being Frivolous With The Feds

The meeting was scheduled at the Manor for 9:00 a.m., an unearthly hour to be up, but needs must. Apparently I am going to be charged with some weird form of copyright infringement. Hence the meeting.

At precisely nine o'clock, Irving, my butler and sometime minder, showed a gentleman into the study. The man was young, tall, balding and thin as a rake. I had the feeling that if he came too close to one of the cracks in the wood flooring, he would disappear forever. 

"Mr. Wishope", Irving announced. "From the Bureau of Indian Affairs." 

"Do come in, Mr. Wishope," I said, and gestured to one of the Chippendales. "Let us see if we can satisfy your wishes and give you hope."

The man looked puzzled, and I quickly came to the conclusion that some plodding was going to ensue.

He then cleared his throat, and the plodding began. I'll give the man this -- he came right to the point.

"It has come to our attention that you may be in contravention of the federal Indian Act, and we would like to rectify the situation as quickly as possible. To avoid any awkward charges, you see." A note of smugness had crept into his raspy voice.

"Goodness," I agreed. "Can't have any of those. Just what seems to be the problem?"

(I knew damn well what the 'problem' was, but one doesn't hand out goodies to opposing troops -- unless your Laura Secord.) What the Band Councils and Ottawa bureaucrats hated was the growing success of the Foundation in freeing young tribal members from the reservation strictures and giving them start-up funds to educate themselves and to enter business or a profession. Jobs in Ottawa were being affected, as well as calling into question the leadership qualities of certain Band Council Chiefs. All of which was legal. Why, then, was Mr. Wishope here at all?

Mr. Wishope explained.The problem, Dr. Strunsky, is your  'White Cloud' Foundation. The name has been challenged by a certain Band Council, who also have what is called a White Cloud meeting once a month. The name derives from a noted Huron warrior."

"Ah, but my derivation, Mr. Wishope, is quite different. It also stems from a certain tribal member of famous repute. I have actually registered all this with the U.N. Human Rights Committee, who have given full approval. (Cost me an arm and a leg, but as I stated at the start, needs must.)

"And just who might this member be?" Wishope said in a more cautious tone. The mention of the U.N. had definitely had an effect.

"Have you not heard of Little White Cloud That Cried?"*

"No."

"He's the son of Big Chief Rain-In-The-Face. I'm surprised you did not know of him."

Wishope was silent for a bit. Then, summoning his courage, said "You're making all this up."

"Possibly," I replied, "but the U.N. had no objections, and, indeed, commended the Foundation for its positive impact upon First Nations peoples. I don't think you want to enter into a disagreement with the U.N. on the issue. How would you put it? Oh, yes, bad optics. You agree?

Wishope nodded. The young man was coming round nicely. "I will inform the Chief who had made the challenge that a legal suit would not succeed."

"Appreciate that. Now, have you some time for some first-rate Brazilian coffee, scones, and juice freshly squeezed from Israeli oranges? It's all been prepared in the adjoining room."

"I have a feeling, " Wishope said, "That I better not refuse that offer."

I smiled. There was definitely hope for the lad. First task -- getting him out of Ottawa. Next task.....but I forget, brevity is the soul of wit.

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* A song from 1951, sung by Johnny Ray. Had to look that one up -- way before my time. How the Lady knew of this, well, a mystery. -- Ed.