It was this growing group-mind of knowledge that, in time rallied to name the culprit, and "blow the man down". So, this was "Pass & Stow". Or, "pass it on", and "stow it", meaning save and remember. These men saw secrecy as counter to the public good. They saw secrecy as sick. When the Constitution was first penned, without the Bill of Rights, this world-wise international group sod "Oh no, not more sovereignty and secrets. We know what that leads to!" This was a loud collective voice. These were the hands that turned yonder windlass, raised the anchors, and set the sails that moved the cargos upon which the fortunes of our young nation completely depended. And further: many who were first taught "Pass and Stow" as seasick ordinary seamen on first voyages were now Owners and Masters: men of fortune, no small voice. It was this voice in unison that sent the founding fathers back to Philadelphia to do some rewriting. The name of the sadly forgotten corporation in Philadelphia which keeps and preserves the Liberty Bell is "Pass and Stow". This too-soon forgotten, but ancient marine reason is stopping not on him or her but you. This "Pass and Stow" is a responsibility: for if Liberty is to be tolled for you, it must be told by you. You are the addressee: not him or her, but you. This "Pass and Stow" concerns, in some deep measure, the news. But it is not new. It is the same old story, changed only, but with utmost import, by the possibility of being too late: but it is not new: In some forgotten Byron canto he railed at the "Gazettes" He pointed to them living it up in Falmouth, England then compared them to, and rhymed it with, the regiments they were carelessly replacing. This is the same old story. It is not a new story, but there are higher stakes. This is a true story. I beg the reader forgive some unavoidable short dullness in one part or another, but I am being exact. It would have been so much easier on me, and you the reader, to have composed this in that genre of truth-hidden-as-fiction. That, however, would soften some much needed sting. For, as this is a careful and truthful account, it is also a deposition: a depository of accusation. I accuse. This is the truth. It is far from entirely dull. There is the Mafia, there is a Kennedy, there are spies there are lies. There is high drama and expose'. There is some romance. But, unfortunately, those things are not important here. This is critical information. This is bad news. To bring you this needed bad news I must not coddle your need for entertainment. You will have to make an effort to learn something new. There are some pearls in front of you, but you must be teachable. To be teachable you must see yourself as ignorant, and this, again unfortunately, is a reluctant vision to just those who have the capacity to learn and to benefit and to benefit others. This is bad. This is critical. I accuse. This is a warning. This is war. How teachable are you? Every day countless commuters from the Hamptons on Long Island and the bedroom communities of Upper Westchester and the Montclairs and other port-over-starboard--home sections of Jersey read the New York Times on their daily rides. These are the bright. and the creative and the influential. They read and they think and they are in the know. No. They do not even know what they are reading. Every day for weeks in June of 1993 a full page ad appeared in the Times. Ostensibly it was an ad for Citibank. The headline, in biggest letters that any art direction could compose, stated simply: "CITIBANK INVITES YOU TO A PRIVATE SALE." The small body copy under the headline talked about Citibanks Citicard. Nothing in the body copy related to a private sale. Only by very obscure and convoluted stretches of reasoning could you even begin to connect the body copy to the headline. The ad ran full page for weeks. Not cheap. Any junior copywriter would be fired for such a headline. But it ran, full page, every day in the Times. But millions of the bright and the influential and those who are in the know and aware saw this every day for weeks, the biggest ad in the paper. Certainly they would notice this. No, they did not. It is amazing that the biggest "secret" messages are hidden in the open. A reasonable person would question what I just said. "Large secret messages in newspapers, in the biggest ads, where the ads don't even make sense and people don't notice? No raised eyebrows? Not likely!" Nevertheless it is true, and with a little effort you can see for yourself. I wouldn't believe it. I didn't believe it. I had to be shown. I would respect you, the reader, if you had to be shown too. I have included some copies of some ads, (they are in the appendix, but that is not enough. Best to see the real thing. Busy person? Fine, have one of your kids do it at their college library. Give your secretary's secretary something to do. The topic is war. So let us look at the first one again; -CITIBANK INVITES YOU TO A PRIVATE SALE. (Page "A" of the appendix is the full page ad reduced from the back page of the first section - A 22 -from the Wed April 28 1993 New York Times. Page "B" of the appendix is the body copy to size. This same ad had been running for about a month in both the Times and Globe. Think of the expense!) The mind naturally makes sense of things, looks for sense, wants to see sense. So you strain for sense in this. You must work at it. There is nothing private about the card. Even if you bend and twist, possibly they are touting the "exclusiveness" of the card etc., it is still quite a stretch. There is nothing implied about exclusivity. At he very least you can see an ad with a headline that a junior copywriter would be fired for. Doesn't make sense. Yet there it is running day after day, week after week. Not just in the Times but in the Boston Globe as well. It is easier for you to see this now, not just because I am pointing it out to you but because of the form it is in. An exact copy of the ad and the ad itself in the Times are two different things: they evoke different reactions, reactions that are miles apart. It is far far easier for people to see how stupid the headline is when it is a copy of the ad. When the ad is shown while it is in the Times something goes off in the mind that states, "This must make sense. This is after all the New York Times. God only knows what a full page costs day after day. It can't be nonsense!" Here, and it is fun to watch, very intelligent people will try to make sense of nonsense: will insist that this nonsense is sensible. Why? Simply because it must be. The same people looking at a xerox of the ad will have a different reaction, most will see how silly the headline is right away. I have for some time been searching for some adjective to describe this reaction besides "hypnotic" or "mesmerizing" or "magnetizing". I can't. Not only that, but a more careful examination of the operant function where the placement of the ad in the Times changes its import, and its impact, and changes the very meaning of the same words is not like hypnotism ... ; it is hypnotism. It is the same "relaxant" defense lowering mechanism. Mass hypnotism: and this from the news-ink that is our social glue! That ad for Citibank is copied on pages "A" and "B" of the appendix. I suggest that you keep this so that you can check what I am saying; what I am saying is, you must admit, a tad outrageous. And some of you may be thinking, We'll just see about this. Don't we know Trip Whoshisfather at Citibank? ... And who is Citibank's agency again? Don't we know someone there?" I do not know the entirety of the answer that you will receive when you do connect with Trip. But I do know the first word. And so, Dear Lady - Kind Sir, do you. You know because you have heard it. You know because you have said it. You have said it when some too-wise Turk found out something about you and you had to either lie and make up a cover story or let this youngster in on a few of the secrets of 'management' or 'command'. In most cases you creatively hid a portion of lie in a portion of truth. But your first word was always the same. You remember it from Colonel Staybunker. It was the first word he spoke when you confronted him with hard evidence that he never had any intention of providing your platoon with cover fire, that you were fodder for another maneuver. You remember it from this boss or that boss when they allowed you, with a bit more of the truth and a bit more of the lie, deeper into the emotional bonding of "management". You learned. So you always said the exact same word yourself. You always said this word very slowly, this first word, as it gave you, leaning back with thumbs in suspenders, an extra second to formulate your own concoction of "a few bones" and , "a slice of baloney": "Weeeeeeeellll .........."
