Note to my voracious readers:  I am sure most of you know this is fiction and could never happen, and didn’t happen and any names used are purely fictional. But then, with Ollie, you never know what is real and what is fiction, because he only allows certain bits of truth to be known, when he wants it known.  You see, Ollie is real, because our searching souls desperately want him to be real, when everything else is simply chaos.

The old man remained seated alone at the long bar, and anyone trying to sit next to him was ushered away by the nervous bar employees, per order of the secret service. But he smiled at them, and shrugged his shoulders because there was nothing he could do. The agents were already inside the bar, searching the remaining patrons as well as the cooks in back, stationing multiple sentries outside to keep anyone else from coming in.

Ollie was half-done with his second mug of Guinness, then told Rick the gracious bartender, “I need a nice cold glass of diet coke, with no ice please.”  Rick looked at him, surprised, raised his eyebrows and got the diet coke for the old man, thinking it was unusual to order that soft drink after two Guiness brews.

Ollie placed the cold diet coke on his right in front of the empty chair, then, in an unusual move, moved his cane from his right side to left side, which he never did, because his right side was the injured side.  He wanted to respect the president.

The advanced guard walked in, sunglasses on, surveyed the room then signaled on their shoulder radios that it was ok now to bring in POTUS.  He walked in, smiling, waving to the patrons and talking to them and then after about ten minutes of handshakes, the lead agent pointed to Ollie, telling him that is the old man he came to see.  He really didn’t have to point, because he was the only one at the bar, and his polar-white tornado hair could not be missed. POTUS eventually sat down next to Ollie, Secret service agents surrounding both of them on both sides, front and back

Ollie got up, lost his balance just a little without his cane, then smiled and shook the President’s hand: “It is an honor to meet you sir, thank you for coming to meet me on your busy schedule.”

The President smiled and said, “I’ve heard about you Ollie, but it seems there is much that we don’t know.  I came and took a tour of Washinton, D.C., and I’m proud of the work we’ve done to stamp out ugly crime here.  The people need to be safe!”

“Yes, I agree,” said the old man.

“This is highly irregular you know, but something compelled me to meet you, and I can’t explain it at all.  Usually, people meet me in the oval office: it’s much safer and more dignified, I guess, but I like meeting with the people I serve.  I understand you were put in jail during the previous administration, and that’s why you don’t like to visit the Oval Office.  What was that about?”

“Not a great story sir.  I got in trouble with some of your secret service guys here because I wouldn’t allow them to take away my necklace with a metal crucifix on it, and well, one of them ended up on the floor.  And perhaps it was because I secretly put a stick pin of a cross on the previous president’s desk, and I guess, guests are not supposed to do that.”

“Interesting.”  The President took several gulps of his diet coke.  Ollie took a gulp of his Guinness.

“I want you to know sir, that I respect what you are doing to make our country strong and God-fearing once again, and I admire your courage.  I have not seen that in other presidents I have met over the years.”

“Thank you. It is what I must do.  But tell me, the agency told me that you were nominated for the Medal of Honor years ago, somewhere, by the men you commanded, but your superior officer blacklisted you for the award.  Please tell me what happened.”

“I disobeyed his orders. I was told there was a downed pilot and the enemy forces were closing in on him in a certain location.  He told me I could not go rescue him, because he would be a casualty of war, and they could not afford to lose me, or something weak, like that.”

“So, you went and got him.”

“Yes sir.  My soul told me to go, no matter what, and I brought him back, taking several men with me, but I protected them from repercussions.  We brought the man back alive, and that is what I had to do, and you are now the only other man on the planet who knows this, despite me.”

“I understand your sacrifice, Ollie and of course, this event never happened and is erased.”

“Correct.”

“So, tell me Ollie, or whatever your name is, what skills do you have and why does my staff want to meet you, since they are completely incapable of explaining?”

“I don’t know about skills anymore.  I am 103 years old and I limp and probably drink too much beer.  However, Mr. President, I have been enriched with many blessings in life by Christ, and this includes a long and satisfying —although tragic life, and a brain that still works as well as it did at age 25, but without the stupidity that comes with youth.  So, I will push the question back at you sir.  Although many problems have been thrust upon you to solve, what is a major problem that you think needs to be solved or at least fixed, that seems to be most vexing to you, or least likely to be tackled in the near future?”

Potus touched his chin, became pensive and after several minutes, and a quick finish of his cold diet coke, he said, “The children of America.  The young people it seems, are lost and being led astray by the educational system and the WOKE culture that does not value patriotism, honoring God, or appreciating hard work and sacrifice for the country. We have allowed the brainwashing to go unchecked.  Ollie, is there any way you can help me, or the country, attack this problem and try to guide our children back to the wonderful bright light we call the United States?”

“I am at your service, Mr. President.  I figured you might have a job for me, although this little task presents a mountainous challenge that may drive me to drink.”

“Oh, and thanks for the diet coke, Ollie. And by the way, you don’t look a day over 95,”

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