Read Online Wicked Is the Whiskey: A Sean McClanahan Mystery (Sean McClanahan Mysteries Book 1) by T.J. Purcell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T.J. Purcell
Ads: Link
the 1970's, he marched with feminists to fight for women's rights, but in recent years he has come to celebrate maleness.”
“Maleness?” said Mick.
“He says that achieving equality for women was one thing, but now women are trying to ignore biological differences between men and women. Too many believe men and women are the same. He says that some are attempting to destroy masculinity altogether. Clive had a tenured position at Carnegie Mellon University, where he apparently founded the neo-men's movement.”
“The neo-men's movement?” said Mick.
“He teaches men how to be men, how to embrace their primitive masculinity that he says has been lost in the last 20 or 30 years,” I said. “He left the university and now conducts retreats and seminars full time.”
“Whatever the case,” said Mick, “he seems to know of a woman from a strip club who sounds a lot like Erin Miller. Looks like you've finally found yourself a lead.”
And so I had.
Chapter #19
My headlights cut through the black of night like a welding torch slicing through sheet metal.
Adam Clive’s assistant told me he was conducting a workshop for men in the mountains up near Ligonier, PA that evening. I left just before the sun went down and, about an hour later, was driving along dark country roads, having difficulty finding the campground.
Just when I figured I was lost for good, I spotted a bonfire up on a hill to my left. I drove a little further down the road and saw an opening in the fence. I turned into the opening and drove over a grass field that was matted down by car tires. I drove the truck to the top of the hill.
There was a thick chill in the mountain air. As I walked toward the brightness of the fire, I saw a dozen men laughing and cheering. They reacted to the words shouted by an elderly man who stood at the ridge of the hill.
He had long gray hair and a gray beard; from 50 feet away and the shifting reflection of the fire bouncing off of him, he looked more like an apparition than a man. He spoke with bravado and energy. His voice ebbed and flowed and cracked with the currents of the cold country air.
“We’ve been lied to, men,” he said. “Lied to in a thousand ways. We’ve been told we’re too aggressive, too violent, too insensitive. We’ve been told we have a feminine side and that we must embrace it. And too many of our brethren have heeded this ridiculous call. Too many men have gone soft.”
The men cheered. They passed around a white jug with three big X marks on it and took hearty swigs.
“Today, the landscape is polluted with sensitive new-age males. Touchy-feely males with soft voices and caring eyes. Males who cry at anniversaries and wedding showers — who clap heartily when junior uses the commode to do his first number two. But is this the kind of men our women really want?”
“No,” shouted the men.
“Is this the kind of father our sons can look up to?”
“No,” shouted the men.
“Men, when your wife comes home from the mall with a bag of new clothes for your son — a bag filled with color-coordinated knickers and suspenders and matching saddle shoes — you must speak up. Our sons are not play things to be decorated according to the fancy of our women. When your wife said, ‘Isn't it cute?’ do not say, ‘Yes, dear.’ You must say what our fathers and grandfathers would have said had our mothers attempted such a move: ‘No son of mine is going to wear a pair of damn knickers.’”
The men roared. The elderly man continued.
“Men, you must also reclaim control over the naming process of your sons. We must give our boys names like Tom, Sean, Jim and Joe. We must not let our women name them Gilad, Jeremy and, God forbid, Michelle.”
More laughter.
“Men, we must stop shopping at the mall with our women. We are men, for goodness sake, not girlfriends. Our dads never went along with this. When our mothers dragged our dads to the mall, our dads would make a
“Maleness?” said Mick.
“He says that achieving equality for women was one thing, but now women are trying to ignore biological differences between men and women. Too many believe men and women are the same. He says that some are attempting to destroy masculinity altogether. Clive had a tenured position at Carnegie Mellon University, where he apparently founded the neo-men's movement.”
“The neo-men's movement?” said Mick.
“He teaches men how to be men, how to embrace their primitive masculinity that he says has been lost in the last 20 or 30 years,” I said. “He left the university and now conducts retreats and seminars full time.”
“Whatever the case,” said Mick, “he seems to know of a woman from a strip club who sounds a lot like Erin Miller. Looks like you've finally found yourself a lead.”
And so I had.
Chapter #19
My headlights cut through the black of night like a welding torch slicing through sheet metal.
Adam Clive’s assistant told me he was conducting a workshop for men in the mountains up near Ligonier, PA that evening. I left just before the sun went down and, about an hour later, was driving along dark country roads, having difficulty finding the campground.
Just when I figured I was lost for good, I spotted a bonfire up on a hill to my left. I drove a little further down the road and saw an opening in the fence. I turned into the opening and drove over a grass field that was matted down by car tires. I drove the truck to the top of the hill.
There was a thick chill in the mountain air. As I walked toward the brightness of the fire, I saw a dozen men laughing and cheering. They reacted to the words shouted by an elderly man who stood at the ridge of the hill.
He had long gray hair and a gray beard; from 50 feet away and the shifting reflection of the fire bouncing off of him, he looked more like an apparition than a man. He spoke with bravado and energy. His voice ebbed and flowed and cracked with the currents of the cold country air.
“We’ve been lied to, men,” he said. “Lied to in a thousand ways. We’ve been told we’re too aggressive, too violent, too insensitive. We’ve been told we have a feminine side and that we must embrace it. And too many of our brethren have heeded this ridiculous call. Too many men have gone soft.”
The men cheered. They passed around a white jug with three big X marks on it and took hearty swigs.
“Today, the landscape is polluted with sensitive new-age males. Touchy-feely males with soft voices and caring eyes. Males who cry at anniversaries and wedding showers — who clap heartily when junior uses the commode to do his first number two. But is this the kind of men our women really want?”
“No,” shouted the men.
“Is this the kind of father our sons can look up to?”
“No,” shouted the men.
“Men, when your wife comes home from the mall with a bag of new clothes for your son — a bag filled with color-coordinated knickers and suspenders and matching saddle shoes — you must speak up. Our sons are not play things to be decorated according to the fancy of our women. When your wife said, ‘Isn't it cute?’ do not say, ‘Yes, dear.’ You must say what our fathers and grandfathers would have said had our mothers attempted such a move: ‘No son of mine is going to wear a pair of damn knickers.’”
The men roared. The elderly man continued.
“Men, you must also reclaim control over the naming process of your sons. We must give our boys names like Tom, Sean, Jim and Joe. We must not let our women name them Gilad, Jeremy and, God forbid, Michelle.”
More laughter.
“Men, we must stop shopping at the mall with our women. We are men, for goodness sake, not girlfriends. Our dads never went along with this. When our mothers dragged our dads to the mall, our dads would make a
Similar Books
