Caprice by Constantine Gochis

 When Dad got calls of solicitation, political or not, he generally turned the tables and engaged the caller. A few of the telemarketers did not hang up for even though Dad was playing with them, he did so with an abundance of charm. Today, is the tale of "Caprice".

The voice had a childlike quality. I could not place her age.

"Is this the Gochis residence?"

High school or early college, I thought, or a newly installed telemarketer, but I wasn't sure. I decided to use my least offensive method for cutting off unwanted calls.

"Mr. Gochis is on tour of the Cayman Islands," I answered. "I'm the butler.:  I find this method useful in discouraging the telemarketers.

She laughed.  She was not put off by the tactic and the tinkling sound in her voice tempered my impatience. I decided, instead, to listen to the sales pitch.

"What's your name?" she countered. There was a generous good humor in her tone.

"My name is Constantine." I replied, fully expecting the usual incomprehension, the hesitant garblin responses to my given name. 

"Contantine!" she exclaimed. That's a nice name.  She laughed.  It had a genuinely pleasant sound.

"What are you selling?" I said, in capitulation.

"I'm not selling.  I 'm offering hope; hope for the children of our schools."

Ah, the children again. Another chant from the dome in Washington.  My enthusiasm was slightly dampened.

"Are you running for something?"

"No," she said, "just helping in the fight."

"Are you in college or an aspiring politician who has been promised a fat IOU?"

"I'm a sophomore."  How prophetic. This is a Greek word signifying wisdom and absence of knowledge, both.

"What's in this thing for you--a job--a novitiate aspiring to a more ambitious internship-pardon the expression?" I felt a little guilt at the questions.

"No, all I want to do is to help Caprice in her battle."

"Who is Caprice?" I asked.

"Caprice is our hope for better schools, for the children," she said. "She is running for leadership in the coming School Board primaries on April 13th.

"Rather an unfortunate name for a politician," I suggested.  "Haven't we seen enough capriciousness in politics the last several years?"

She had no response.  She seemed now rather to be reading. 

". . .Caprice Young is endorsed by the L.A. Times. . ."

Mentally, I made this a count against her. The L.A. Times is not a plus in my book.

". . .And Mayor Riordan. . ." the voice continued.

Again, not a recommendation.

". . .she will provide the kind of thoughtful common sense and leadership, and accountability, that our school system desperately needs. . ."

I had had enough of the lyrics.

"Do you believe all this?"

"Yes, I do," she said, with the enthusiasm only possible in the very young and unspoiled. "Will you come out for her on the 13th?"

I thought it would be sinful to deby her a small victory. Such innocence deserves tolerance, at least.

"Yes, I will", I encouraged.  "It would be capricious of me not to."

She laughed.

Last night I channel surfed the news programs for the election results. If there were any, I missed them.

I learned that some unfriendly bees were swarming in the vicinity.  On a happy note, the last of a trio of criminal beavers was captured. California trees are now safe from these marauding dam builders.

Last but not least, Arkansas Judge Susan Webber Wright discovered that President Clinton lied.  Now, that's news.