Article VIII, History: Dissolution and the Lost Years
It is with a heavy collective heart that The Preservation Society Board of Dictatorial Governance and all members in good standing are hereby released from all institutional duties and benefits. The events of the past few months have led us to conclude that the dissolution of The Preservation Society is the only way forward in service of our mission. For the sake of posterity, we leave this final entry of our institutional documents as a warning to future generations.
Much can be said of the pain brought on by making this proclamation, but, as old sparky is warm and we can hear the warden jangling the metaphorical keys to our cell approaching, we will be brief.
There is no doubt that the dissolution of our organization will come as a shock, --lordy, this metaphor will not die, to each of you, except one. If our disbanding can be blamed on one individual, which it can, we will say here that the man who is to throw the switch is none other than Mr. Jerrald (Jerry) Hop. The loophole he has fallen through has become the noose around our neck --changing metaphors. Nothing would please us more than to take this opportunity to label him a Backslidden Deviant and be done with him. Alas, we have come to terms with the fact that he alone will survive this fiasco.
Mr. Hop’s situation began innocently enough, but through a series of addle-brained missteps, he struck the first domino which has led to our collapse.
The beginning of our end began the night of September 8, 2008. Jerry was dewy-eyed as he was selected by The Preservation Society Spinning Bottle of In/Decision to become our new Recorder of Deeds. As luck would have it, Mr. Hop could both read, write, and traveled with a pen and paper thus making him an ideal candidate for the recently vacated position. Jerry’s sudden promotion was necessitated by his predecessor’s sudden departure for Tulsa. We wish Susan all the best with her appendectomy.
Throughout the past years of trial and error, we came to know that an organization without a Recorder of Deeds might as well cease to exist. We are, after all, a society collected to inform the public of the actions of none other than ourselves. Mr. Hop immediately set to work transcribing the proceedings of our conclaves and sideline conversations. Without question, the man’s shorthand was pure wizardry. Every detail, every shuffled foot, and every affirmation offered for having shuffled one's feet so well, fantastically found its way into his tiny notebooks. The man was able to turn the world around him into institutional record better than any individual we had ever witnessed. Especially Susan, who we wish all the best with her appendectomy.
While he was an incomparable Recorder of Deeds the strain of the position manifested itself in Jerry’s greatest vice. His insatiable consumption of candy. The tumbleweed of wrappers that billowed behind him was both disgusting and mesmerizing. The Preservation Society ran as smoothly as it ever had until September 5, 2008, when Jerry failed to show up on time for our bi-weekly conclave. In his momentary absence, it was decided that we would take the high-road of inaction and remain deedless until the proper time when our actions could be recorded. Even making the decision to remain inactive was akin to pulling an ox out of a ditch on the Sabbath but we persevered and passed the measure. Such disregard for procedure was a first-class offense, but, as there was no one around to record it The Preservation Society Board of Dictatorial Governance decided that it was acceptable to proceed by not proceeding. Just this once.
Just this once. The words that have come to haunt us. As weeks passed, Jerry’s tardiness began to detrimentally affect the organization. By the time we realized that by not documenting the triumphs of the society the icy arm of certainty was elbow deep, and using The Preservation Society as a puppet. Factions spawned. The Preservation Society Young Republicans were certain they could use our coffers to influence public policy regarding their right to discharge their weapons into the air in celebration. The Preservation Society Salad Squad was ruthlessly persecuted by eaters of meat. Dozens of sects and offshoots of sects formed, even the Salad Squad was lampooned by The New Preservation Society Salad Salvage Squad, whose cause was to promote eating the leftover roughage from salad bars Any other means of saladic consumption was deemed inhumane.
We were in shambles.
One evening, three hours late, and with the smell of Skittles on his breath, Jerry stumbled into the dark of The Preservation Society Headquarters to fulfill his duties. Everyone had long since gone home with the exception of our Senior Minister who had stayed late, to do nothing, as was his custom these days. Over several strong cups of mint tea, It came to light that Jerry had been keeping banker’s hours for The Preservation Society and donut maker’s hours with another organization. The “little somthin’ on the side,” was for none other than an organization called Preserve Our Nation's Sovereignty (PNS) a local super PAC in full support of, but not in collusion with, Kenny P. Snatt. A local candidate running for federal office.
Tears streaming down his cheeks, Jerry hid his face in shame with one hand and crammed a second Almond Joy into his mouth with the other. Amidst Jerry’s barely coherent blubbering about the threat of blood rot and being chained to a basement desk in the nude to solicit donations, our Senior Minister took pity on the miserable candy-coated creature before him.
In a flash, pen and paper were produced, and with some coaxing Mr. JRH persuaded Jerry to take down the following amendment to The Preservation Society Conduct Bulletin. Mr. JRH spoke the following and Jerry dutifully transcribed his announcement.
“The services of Mr. Jerrald Rerrald Hop shall no longer be required as the duties have proven too great for a single individual. Henceforth, each member of The Preservation Society will be responsible for the documentation of his or her own conduct in perpetuity. The resulting documentation will be collected at each bi-weekly conclave and irrevocably added to The Preservation Society Articles of Incorporation and Conduct Bulletin.
Dictated, not read, Signed,
Mr. JRH
A cool breeze of relief blew across Jerry’s face. The wandering ink trails of his shorthand scribblings had led him out of the immediate darkness of serving two organizations.
As one final gesture of goodwill, Jerry offered to immediately duplicate and transmit the notice of resignation to our membership. Mr. JRH acquiesced in spite of his concerns regarding the reliability of a, now, civilian conducting official business. As Jerry scuttled to the post Mr. JRH gave himself a literal pat on the back for having been so incredibly gracious and trusting.
The resulting storm de excrément that hit within the following twenty-four hours can only be likened to a brimming county-fair port-o-potty in a hurricane. As it turns out the entirety of our membership anxiously turned up at our meeting held the very next evening. Each member had received the communique sent by Mr. Jerrald Rerrald Hop and in an unfortunate coincidence due to Jerry’s shorthand the message delivered said the following,
The services of Mr. JRH shall not longer be required as the duties have proven too great for a single individual. Henceforth, each member of The Preservation Society will be responsible for the documentation of his or her own conduct in perpetuity. The resulting documentation will be collected at each bi-weekly conclave and irrevocably added to The Preservation Society Conduct Bulletin.
Dictated, not read, Signed,
Mr. JRH
The mishap in question, of course, resulted from the unfortunate fact that Senior Minister JRH and Jerrald Rerrald Hop have the same initials. Jerry, in his insistence on using shorthand, had shortened his own name to JRH and as a result, had effectively written the resignation letter of our own Senior Minister.
Chaos ensued. Hundreds of pages of documents to be ratified in hand, and cries of foul play shook the foundations of The Preservation Society Headquarters. The remaining members of The Preservation Society Board of Dictatorial Governance sat in shock as member after member delivered their own records of conduct and demands to the lectern. Certainty after certainty of each faction amassed and was ratified as it was added to the Conduct Bulletin. What had been an institution built on mystery had become a rigid shell of conflicting ideologies.
The Preservation Society was undone. Out of respect to the readers with weak stomachs, we have opted to not include the police report which details the riot that ensued that fateful night.
Mr. JRH was whisked away by several steadfast members of The Preservation Society Board of Dictatorial Governance to an undisclosed location as the throng of miscreants splintered The Preservation Society into a thousand fragments.
Hounded by factions and the media, Mr. JRH disappeared into hiding. Shuttering access to The Preservation Society until a time when it could be reinvented and serve its mission. For the time being the Frankenstein he had created roamed far and wide spreading the certainty it had fought so long against.
