The Good Economist - Part 3: A Patriot’s Funeral

September 14, 2001

A group of several people had assembled in a cemetery in New York for the funeral of Hugh Courtland. Though no body was recovered from the World Trade Center, a symbolic tombstone was placed next to the graves of his parents, Andrew and Margaret Courtland. The original plan was to bury him next to his late wife, Larisa Zinovieff, in Chicago, but Hugh’s will demanded that he not be buried in the same graveyard as any non Anglo-Teutonic bodies.

Several prominent guests were in attendance. John van der Boer, a New York stockbroker who was Hugh’s childhood friend, had brought along his son, a young soccer hooligan by the name of William van der Boer. Arnaldo Orozco, the former president of Val Verde, had fled the country after accusations of war crimes and now worked as a used car salesman in Miami. Elizabeth Tadworth, Hugh’s first wife, was there with her second son, Gerardo Espinosa, who had used Tadworth connections to land a high ranking position in the Walt Disney Company. Hugh’s two sons were there: Roger Courtland, his eldest son, was a successful realtor in Miami, while Augustus Courtland, his youngest son, was known by his pen name of Gus Zinn as the author of The Deathless, a dark fantasy series inspired by Slavic mythology. Most important in attendance were Dr. Arnold Anderson Wood, a former military and intelligence operative and a good associate of Hugh, and The Right Honourable Lord Rockford, a British aristocrat and an associate of Dr. Wood. Presiding over the funeral service was Reverend Samuel Vanderhoff, a pastor of the Reformed church that Hugh’s family had traditionally been a part of. Reverend Vanderhoff instructed the guests to say their last words to Hugh one at a time.

“I would just like to say,” John van der Boer began, maintaining a stoic nature. “Hugh was one of the best men I ever knew. He was always a stalwart supporter of economic liberty, the type of liberty that allowed me to achieve the success that I have today. Under New Deal communism, I would’ve never been able to take out a small $100 million loan from my parents, who were prominent shareholders in Royal Dutch Shell plc. Thank you, Hugh, for being a good colleague and a good friend. I hope you rest easy.”

“Go Holland!” William van der Boer shouted, ripping open his suit jacket to reveal a Dutch football jersey underneath. John growled and pulled his son back into the crowd.

“Hugh, fuiste una bendición para mi,” Arnaldo Orozco said, in a horrendous Hispanic inflection that shocked the rest of the funeral goers. Unlike the rest of the guests with black clothes of mourning, Arnaldo wore his old caudillo uniform. “I may not be president of Val Verde anymore, but we truly showed the world that communism would not be tolerated. I couldn’t have massacred all those campesinos and sterilized all those indigenous women if it hadn’t been for Hugh’s guidance and CIA connections. Descanse en paz, mi amigo.”

“Oh, Hugh,” Elizabeth Tadworth weeped behind her black veil. Her two sons stood by her side and comforted her as she continued. “I know things hadn’t always been so good between us, but you were my first love. You were the smartest man I ever knew. I saw you the night before you died, when you were in Boston. Oh, how I wish you had spent the night, then you would still be with us today. I hope you find peace on the other side.”

“You put it very well, Mama,” Gerardo added. “I didn’t know Hugh that well, but my condolences to those who held him close.”

“Dad, this is really tough,” Roger began, choking back tears. “Our relationship was a little rocky growing up, but I owe it all to you. I got my ruthless entrepreneurial capitalist nature from you, and I wouldn’t have been successful without it. Well, that and all the Tadworth family money. I love you a lot, Dad, and I pray you rest in peace.”

“You put it better than I ever could,” Gus chimed in, walking up to his brother.

“Nonsense,” Roger chuckled. “You’re the writer, bro.”

“Thanks,” Gus stammered. “Uh, I don’t really know what to say. Me and Dad didn’t always get along, especially after Mom died...I’m pretty sure he killed her? I don’t know, I’m just being silly. I never really got the economics stuff either. That’s not important anymore, now I’m just coping with the fact that I’ve lost both of my parents. I just, uh, I don’t know. I hope you’re resting easy, Dad, and maybe you and Mom are together again.”

“You two honor your father with such kind words,” Dr. Wood chimed in. “Now, Hugh and I met pretty late in my career, but still, witnessing him during negotiations was mind blowing. Never had I seen a man more intelligent, more cunning, more analytical, than I had with Hugh. I followed in his footsteps into the academic world, and I hope to leave as much of a legacy as he did. Rest in peace, old friend.”

“I concur,” Lord Rockford said, taking off his signature top hat in a solemn gesture. “I did not know Mr. Courtland for very long, but his intellect and stoicism left a lasting impression on me. We at the Rockford Foundation wish to honor and continue his legacy, especially through his ideas. May you have a peaceful respite.”

“These are all fine words,” Reverend Vanderhoff began, concluding the funeral. “The Courtlands have been a beloved family in these parts for generations. I remember meeting Margaret Courtland when I was a brand new pastor. Now, presiding over Hugh’s funeral, I feel as if I’ve become quite old. Hugh, I can only pray that God has predestined you for salvation, and that you are reacquainted with your parents and your...pagan wife...on the other side. We therefore commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.”

With the conclusion of the funeral service, Hugh’s coffin was lowered into the ground, and several people grabbed shovels and covered the coffin, laying Hugh to rest. Soon, the crowd dwindled away, until the only ones left were Elizabeth, Hugh’s sons, Dr. Wood, and Lord Rockford.

“It’ll be okay, dear,” Dr. Wood said, hugging Elizabeth. “Believe me, I’m hurting just as much as you are.”

“I just feel like if I had acted differently, he wouldn’t have gotten on that plane,” Elizabeth cried.

“There’s no need to blame yourself,” Dr. Wood replied. “We have no way of knowing how things will happen. Now, there’s no need to sulk around here any longer. Go home, have something to eat, get some rest. Do make sure to take care of yourself.”

“Thank you, Arnold,” Elizabeth weakly smiled. Once she had left with her sons, Dr. Wood turned to Lord Rockford as the two began to discuss other affairs.

“We had no way of knowing he would be on that plane,” Lord Rockford spat. “Even when you plan these things meticulously, there is always a margin of error. Nothing can ever be perfect. Look at me, for instance, I’m only 98.8% Anglo-Saxon, as I’m 1.2% Scottish.”

“Well, this was certainly a blow,” Dr. Wood sighed. “I almost don’t feel enthusiastic about the plan anymore. Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, Syria, Iran...it all seems futile now. Sure, the wars are going to happen now, but where will the Patriot Initiative go without Hugh?”

“Do not fret, my dear friend,” Lord Rockford explained. “When a man dies, he lives on through his works, his ideas. I ordered some of my men to retrieve all of Mr. Courtland’s notes from his Chicago apartment. The fact that a man of his pedigree was made to live in such conditions...the nerve of that traitor Roosevelt! But no matter, the Patriot Initiative shall honor his thoughts. His economic models will serve as the fiscal policy of the Anglo-Teutonic nightwatchman state world government we will establish.”

“I hope to see it come to fruition,” Dr. Wood replied. As the two stood before Hugh’s grave, rain began to fall from the gray sky. The two men looked at each other and sighed.
“In order to discipline ourselves in a stoic manner,” Lord Rockford began. “We must punish ourselves for allowing a valuable member of the aristocracy to perish in one of our plots. We must not allow it to happen again.”

“Of course,” Dr. Wood nodded. The two men removed their shirts, baring their backs to the frigid rain. From their briefcases, they both drew cats of nine tails and began to self-flagellate. Their backs were lashed across, bleeding and bruised, and they seethed in pain, but their stoicism made them hold it in. The two men remained there until they had felt they had made up for their mistakes.

Despite his death, Hugh Courtland’s legacy lived on through the Patriot Initiative. For his ideas to be implemented in a perfect government of economic liberalism, social authoritarianism, racial supremacy, and international hegemony, it truly makes him a good economist.

FIN