The Marching Morons
By C. M. KORNBLUTH
Illustrated by DON SIBLEY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction April 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man, of
course, is king. But how about a live wire, a smart
businessman, in a civilization of 100% pure chumps?
Some things had not changed. A potter's wheel was still a potter'swheel and clay was still clay. Efim Hawkins had built his shop nearGoose Lake, which had a narrow band of good fat clay and a narrow beachof white sand. He fired three bottle-nosed kilns with willow charcoalfrom the wood lot. The wood lot was also useful for long walks whilethe kilns were cooling; if he let himself stay within sight of them,he would open them prematurely, impatient to see how some new shape orglaze had come through the fire, and—ping!—the new shape or glazewould be good for nothing but the shard pile back of his slip tanks.
A business conference was in full swing in his shop, a modest cubeof brick, tile-roofed, as the Chicago-Los Angeles "rocket" thunderedoverhead—very noisy, very swept-back, very fiery jets, shaped assleekly swift-looking as an airborne barracuda.
The buyer from Marshall Fields was turning over a black-glazed oneliter carafe, nodding approval with his massive, handsome head. "Thisis real pretty," he told Hawkins and his own secretary, Gomez-Laplace."This has got lots of what ya call real est'etic principles. Yeah, itis real pretty."
"How much?" the secretary asked the potter.
"Seven-fifty each in dozen lots," said Hawkins. "I ran up fifteen dozenlast month."
"They are real est'etic," repeated the buyer from Fields. "I will takethem all."
"I don't think we can do that, doctor," said the secretary. "They'dcost us $1,350. That would leave only $532 in our quarter's budget.And we still have to run down to East Liverpool to pick up some cheapdinner sets."
"Dinner sets?" asked the buyer, his big face full of wonder.
"Dinner sets. The department's been out of them for two months now. Mr.Garvy-Seabright got pretty nasty about it yesterday. Remember?"
"Garvy-Seabright, that meat-headed bluenose," the buyer saidcontemptuously. "He don't know nothin' about est'etics. Why for don'the lemme run my own department?" His eye fell on a stray copy ofWhambozambo Comix and he sat down with it. An occasional deep chuckleor grunt of surprise escaped him as he turned the pages.
Uninterrupted, the potter and the buyer's secretary quickly closed adeal for two dozen of the liter carafes. "I wish we could take more,"said the secretary, "but you heard what I told him. We've had toturn away customers for ordinary dinnerware because he shot the lastquarter's budget on some Mexican piggy banks some equally enthusiasticimporter stuck him with. The fifth floor is packed solid with them."
"I'll bet they look mighty est'etic."
"They're painted with purple cacti."
The potter shuddered and caressed the glaze of the sample carafe.
The buyer looked up and rumbled, "Ain't you dummies through yakkin'yet? What good's a seckertary for if'n he don't take the burden ofde-tail off'n my back, harh?"
"We're