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Once upon a time there was a boy named Johnny who wanted a little blue wagon. In his dreams he had seen it: a beautiful dark blue wagon, well-built, made to carry a lot and still move smoothly. It was the kind his father had when he was a little boy way back when, the kind nearly every kid used to have. For years, though, the most popular wagons had been the little red wagons made by the GOP Company of Freeperville, Alabama. They were awful little wagons that broke down constantly, but they were cheap and easy to replace and the commercials for them were everywhere. This frustrated Johnny to no end, and his friends wondered why he just didn't get a little red wagon like everyone else. Johnny was right, of course: the little red wagons were nothing but a scam, and the GOP Company was rich because people kept having to buy new ones. But nobody cared how bad they were, and some were afraid not to get one because they wouldn't fit in, like Johnny.
But Johnny's parents understood. They really wanted him to have that little blue wagon he had always dreamed of. So all year his father and mother worked hard and saved money so that he could have the best wagon that was out there, and at Christmas, Johnny received a shiny new wagon from the BHO Company of Chicago, Illinois, a beautiful blue wagon with a little red trim, the best and sturdiest wagon that was currently available, one even his father said was every bit as good as the little blue wagon he had as a kid, and that year many kids got one under their Christmas tree as well. A lot of people still had the crappy old red wagons, but this year the shiny new BHO wagons were the most popular, a big change from days past.
So Johnny, beaming with excitement, began to parade the wagon around the neighborhood, drawing astonished glances from all the other children who were still dragging those awful little red wagons all over the sidewalks.
And then it happened. One of the front wheels fell off. Johnny turned to look at the wagon, lifting it off the sidewalk to get a better look. And all that beautiful blue paint started to flake off in Johnny's little hands. Underneath the blue, Johnny saw nothing but red. And the shiny metal BHO Company label fell off, held onto the wagon by cheap glue. And that's when Johnny started to cry. Because hidden underneath the shiny metal BHO Company label was a cheap plastic GOP Company label. By this time, the kids with the crappy red wagons were pointing at Johnny and laughing viciously.
Johnny's parents heard his cries and ran outside to see what was the matter. Then they learned the awful truth about Johnny's little blue wagon. Mother burst into tears, frustrated that she had been taken by yet another scam. Father balled his hand into a clenched fist, his teeth clenched in anger.
That's when the kindly old man in tattered blue overalls came around the corner and dropped to his knee in front of Johnny and his crappy red wagon painted to look like a shiny blue one. He tried to console the boy with a candy cane, then looked up at Johnny's parents. And he spoke:
"I am so sorry, folks - I used to work at the BHO Company, and we worked so hard to make these little blue wagons just as smooth and sturdy as the little blue wagons you and I had as children. But something awful happened at the company. One day, I punched my timecard on my way into the workshop, and there was this new boss with beady eyes and a big cigar between his teeth. And this new boss told us that the GOP Company of Freeperville, Alabama had taken over the BHO Company when nobody was looking, and we would be building BHO wagons with GOP parts from now on, and if we didn't like it, we could leave the workshop and never come back. I stayed as long as I could, because I have a wife and a little boy to take care of, too. But when the new boss started ordering us to paint the wagons with cheap blue paint in order to trick people into buying them, I couldn't take it anymore. I walked out of the shop and never looked back."
Then the kindly old man patted a sobbing Johnny on the shoulder, and he said: "If you'll let me work on the wagon, I still remember the way these wagons are supposed to be built. I think I can fix the wheels and the handle so that they won't come off so easily. And I still have some of the blue paint we used to make the good blue wagons with, so I can give your wagon a really good coat of shiny blue paint with no red showing."
"I hate my wagon," sobbed Johnny. His mother and father stifled a sob.
"I know," said the kindly old man, "but if you'll give me a chance, I think I can turn this wagon into one that you'll truly love. Will you give me the chance?"
Johnny nodded his head. And the kindly old man was true to his word. He took the wagon back to his garage. He replaced all of the crappy GOP wheels with smooth and sturdy wheels that he managed to rescue from the garbage dump behind the BHO Company. He tightened the handle and oiled it so that it wouldn't squeak or come off. Finally, he painted the entire wagon a deep and beautiful blue.
And Johnny saw his little blue wagon, and he jumped for joy, because it looked like the wagon his father had when he was a little boy. And he hugged the kindly old man so tight. And he hugged his mother and father so tight. And he thanked them all for his shiny little blue wagon, which he took around the neighborhood just as he did earlier that morning. But this time, the wheels remained tight, the wagon didn't fall apart, and the beautiful blue paint didn't flake off. And Johnny loved his little blue wagon.
All the neighborhood children with their crappy red wagons looked at Johnny's little blue wagon in astonishment. A couple began to wish they had little blue wagons just like Johnny's. But most of the children seethed in anger and jealousy because Johnny refused to give in, fit in, and get a little red wagon from the GOP Company. And the parents of the children with the crappy red wagons began to conspire against the kindly old man, and they brought the kindly old man and his garage to the attention of the boss with the beady eyes and the big cigar.
What happens next has yet to be written. Now it is your turn to finish the story.
(With all due apologies to Cup O' Joe.)
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