CHAPTER
Three
It was after three in the afternoon when Marc
finally came in from the studio to fix himself lunch. Turning on the
television, he went to the refrigerator and pulled out what was left of the ham
and bread. He threw together a sandwich and sat down in front of the
television. Flipping through the channels, he landed on a program from the
Smithsonian, a tour of the White House Ceramics Collection. As he watched and
ate, he saw some truly beautiful work. Here was a pitcher that looked as if it
was strutting across the table, then a set of covered jars that looked as if
they were two-dimensional. He also felt, however, that most of the work
featured was on an even par with his own, or worse. "By all rights, that
should be my vase right there," he said of a plain blue vase with a simple
neck and handles.
The commentator described the process of building
the collection. Some pieces had been gifts, some purchases, some left to the
country by wealthy collectors. She then explained that those currently on
exhibit were only a portion of the entire collection, works were lent out to
museums and libraries, and some were stored and rotated through the various
exhibitions. "They probably don't even know how many pieces they
have," he thought to himself. Marc swallowed the last bite of his
sandwich, killed the television, and returned to work.
"Did you see that thing on TV from the
Smithsonian" he asked Randy later as they were firing some planters at his
place.
"No," Randy answered. "What were
they showing, the Wright brothers plane?"
"They toured the White House collection of
pottery. They showed some pretty cool work."
"Was it actually at the White House?"
Randy asked as he bent to check the flame on the kiln.
"What they were showing was, but a lot of it
gets lent out and traded around. They said a lot of the pieces were
gifts."
"Yeah? So?"
"So I was thinking of sending the president
a gift."
Randy mulled this over for a moment. "If
that's all there was to it, that collection would be huge."
"It is huge, Rand. They probably have pots they've never even
seen. What would they do, throw it out? Send 'em a nice vase or something and
they toss it?"
"You should do it," Randy said
thoughtfully. "What's the worse that could happen? Maybe it gets
returned."
"Or maybe the shipping goons shatter it like
the one that went to New
York."
Marc thought for a moment. "I'm gonna do it, Rand. I've got those three I
made as replacements, and that one with the green flashing came out pretty
cool. They'd have to keep it. That glaze turned out killer."
b c b
Dear
Mr. President,
I have long admired your ability to make
decent, moral decisions under pressure, and I feel the bombing in Kosovo was
another splendid example of that prowess. Your speech to the nation the other
day left me with goosebumps, and I am proud to be an American. You really hit
the nail right on the head, Mr. President, and I'm grateful that you're in
charge.
As a symbol of my gratitude, please accept
this vase as a gift. I am just a small-time potter, Mr. President, but even if
I had money I wouldn't know what to buy for the man that has everything. My
family has had some things to say about you sir, but I tell them that they 're
dead wrong. You're a fine man and a great leader. Keep up the good work.
Sincerely,
Marc Gorman
Marc read the letter again after he printed it
out, then put it in the envelope and sealed it up. The vase was wrapped in
bubble-wrap, surrounded by packing peanuts in a double-wall box, and that was
surrounded by bubble-wrap and placed in a larger box, also double-walled. They
could drop-kick this one, he thought to himself. He put the envelope into the
box and taped it up.
He paused as he wrote out the shipping label. He
was actually sending one of his pots to the President of the United States, hopefully to be included
in the White House Ceramics Collection. He almost did have goosebumps. He
carried the box down the hall and set it on the table.
Randy came in a few minutes later and looked
quizzically at the box sitting next to the television.
"I thought you said they didn't match close
enough. Which one did you choose?"
"No, Rand. It's not going to New York. Look at the
label."
"You're really going to do it?"
"Yeah, sure. Why not? How do I know this
isn't how half of those pieces got into the White House Collection?"
"Could be. I'm on my way into town now; you
want me to drop it off?"
"Yeah, thanks Rand. I wasn't going to do it until tomorrow, but if
it sits around here I might lose my nerve."
"No problem," Randy said, as he hefted
the box. "You charging the president for shipping?"
"No, let me grab some cash" Marc said
as he went down the hall toward his bedroom. "Thanks again, Rand."
"No problem."
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