Harmon Sloan

The Favor Club Harmon Sloan

I will never know for certain, but I think Aunt Levana had me in mind for becoming her helper, long before she decided to stir up the American people with her peculiar brand of politics, months before the Presidential election. Unfortunately, the diabolical scheme she created against several citizens in our town was much different. It begin innocently enough with the simple task of moving boxes of files to her home. At the time, I was following the leading candidates in both parties, and keeping a political journal, in order that future generations would know what it was like for a young man to witness the first woman becoming President of the United States of America. A Friday afternoon phone call asking for a favor that involves physical labor is not a pleasant experience for a young single guy, let me tell you. Reluctantly, I drive over to her office hoping the job will not take more than ten minutes loading my car with a few boxes, and making only one trip. "John Martin (she always addresses me by my first and last name), I have decided to retire at the end of December. I want you to remove the boxes of personal files according to the printed code," she states, while unlocking the storage room. "When you get to my home, use the same method storing them in the empty bedroom." Aunt Levana has a doctorate in education and very intelligent, but I think she is odd in many ways. Retirement means discarding old files in the trash dumpster and entering the golden years with a big smile. Had I noticed the vindictive expression on her face, maybe I would've opened one of the boxes.