“The concentration on military means has helped to breed fear. It has bred fear and insecurity partly because of the horror of atomic war. But… Fear has many manifestations. The Communist threat inside the country has been magnified and exalted far beyond its realities. Irresponsible talk by irresponsible people has fanned the flames of fear… Suspicion has taken the place of goodwill.”

Marie noticed it after dinner was served. She saw how uncomfortable Jim Reynolds became at the mention of the nuclear capabilities of the Soviets. It wasn’t a nervous uncomfortable; it was more of a guilty uncomfortable. This reminded Marie of his reaction to last week’s launch of Sputnik. He wasn’t scared of what it meant for America. Instead, he applauded the giant progress mankind had made, no matter what country had made it.
She had never really liked Jim. He never attended the neighborhood coalition meetings, never brought food to the cookouts, never invited the other residents over. Jim was single, making him an anomaly for the neighborhood  He had always made her uneasy, but now Mary was starting to connect the dots. He, of course, worked in the state department, spending hours each day in close proximity to classified documents, to government secrets, to blueprints, to her own husband! It would be easy for him to steal information and funnel it to the communists. Someone needed to do something about it. Marie decided to look deeper into the issue. If she was gonna report him to HUAC, she needed proof. A smoking gun, a membership card, a photo.
That night, Marie settled into bed with her husband Jack. He smelled like brandy and sawdust. It seemed he was always working on something around the house, although this did not bother her. His numerous hours in the shed afforded her some alone time in which she could expose Jim as what he was: an Un-American communist out to bring down her fine country.
At 7:30, Marie awoke to the sound of Tony Bennett's voice coming from the kitchen. He was her husband’s favorite singer, and he always seemed to be on the radio at this time of day. Marie got up, brushed her teeth, applied makeup, and got dressed. Today, she was out the door before her husband. Today was a special day. She walked over to 312 Peterson Avenue, a modest Cape Cod style house painted a ghastly yellow, where her good friend Jane was serving breakfast to her three children.
“Hey y’all,” she said through the screen window. “Question for you, mind if we talk in private?”
They moved to the next room, hunched over the art-deco glass table, whispering as if they were generals going over a battle plan, or two robbers about to hit a bank. In their minds, the conversation was just as important.
“I’ve always thought Jim was a little weird, but not to that extent..do you really think so?” jane asked.
“Definitely. Come on Jane you’re not thinking. He’s more than weird. He’s un-American. In fact, he’s un-American and he has the capabilities to harm our way of life. I’m really worried” Marie explained.
Jane didn’t need much convincing. The framed picture of her uniformed brother and the folded flag in the glass cabinet explained the widow's patriotism. The two took out some paper and pens,  and began planning their course of action. By the time the children arrived home from school, fliers had been designed, a bottle of chardonnay had been finished, and PRACT had been formed. Peterson Residents Against Communist Threats was the long name for it. Designed to make sure all Peterson residents were strictly American, the group had already scheduled its first meeting for Wednesday night, right after Leave it to Beaver aired.  Marie hoped that the members of the community would come together, pledge allegiance to their country, and attempt to root out Communists from their street.
She taped a flyer to Jim’s door.

There are 47 families, 6 young men, 14 widowers and even a young single woman living on Peterson. Most of them have some sort of connection to the State Department. After all, the sweeping realm of DC is almost visible over the forests of Northern Virginia. All the houses on Peterson are standard, straight from the imagination of Bill Levitt. On Wednesday night, 32 proud Americans showed up. Some, Marie assumed, were there for the social aspect. Others however, she hoped were passionate about their country. She hoped they would rally around her cause,  that they would expel communist influence from the neighborhood. When the meeting was called to order, after the Pledge of Allegiance was recited of course, Marie gave a short yet passionate monologue about how beating the soviets was up to people like them. Beating the soviets was about teaching children American values, about going to church weekly, about keeping a watchful eye on those who wished to bring America down. She then launched into a discussion of their neighborhood.
“Does anyone know of any suspicious activity that's occurring in Peterson? Please speak up. You can help us defeat the Soviets” Marie pleaded with the crowd.
“Well actually,”  Anne, a quiet, newly widowed woman, interjected, “I’ve heard a lot of weird noises coming my neighbor Roy’s house late at night. It sounds like heavy machinery. And, there’s been a van out front of his house for the last couple of weeks”
“Roy has always bothered me. That damn dog of his has kept my son up at night more than a few times” stated John Schmidt, Roy’s neighbor. “About three times a week I hear him leave his house real late at night. I bet he’s going to some Commie meeting or something.”
Approving grumbles were heard throughout the room. Marie didn’t know Roy very well. He lived on the last block of Peterson. However, she would gladly take any information given to her.
“Okay,” she started “Do you know of any acquaintances Roy has? Who does he spend time with? Any late night visitors?”
John spoke up again: “Actually, I know Roy plays a lot of golf with Jim Reynolds. Well at least he says they play golf. Never really liked that guy either. In all honesty, it wouldn’t surprise me if they were in it together. Two commies on the same street. We’re in a damn war zone.”
John knew a lot about war zone, or at least that’s what he made people believe. He was a veteran who had never been deployed during World War Two. However, he often told tales of his time overseas, earning him the respect of other residents. Now, Peterson residents were rallying behind him. They trusted his instinct, saw him as a gruff, hard veteran who had earned his freedom. Now, he was trying to preserve their precious freedom. Thankfully, the other residents supported him, and before long they were all devising a battle plan to contain, and stop the two communists who threatened to disrupt their placid street.
When Mary returned home that night, she filled her husband in on the events of the evening. He wasn't at the gathering as his meeting that day had run late, but he pledged to be there next week.
“It was really great to see everyone coming together as a community. They’re all willing to do whatever it takes for PRACT. A lot of the residents are concerned about Jim and his friend Roy. They think they’re involved with, well, un-American activities. I think they’re right. I think they need to be stopped” Marie explained to her husband Jack.
“That’s great honey,” Jack replied. “I’ve always gotten a weird feeling from those two. They’re not normal. They stand out. I think you’re doing something great here.”
The residents planned to hold weekly meetings, and keep a close eye on both Jim and Roy. They would continue to leave flyers on their doors, and if they did not show up after a month or so, they decided that they would confront them both. Mary hoped the confrontation would invoke a confession from one of the men. A confession which could be sent straight to HUAC. This would rid Peterson of communist influence for good, and prevent others from joining the cause. Mary slept soundly that night. She felt good about what she had done. She felt good about what she was going to do. She was helping America win the Cold War.

“There are today many Communists in America. They are everywhere -- in factories, offices, butcher stores, on street corners, in private businesses. And each carries in himself the germ of death for society.”
? J. Howard McGrath

The next month was fairly uneventful. There had been four PRACT meetings. At each meeting, the residents had gossiped excessively about Roy and Jim. Meeting after meeting, the residents became more hostile towards the two absent men.  Rumors were thrown around, some of them sticking and others being shrugged off. Perhaps they were building something in that garage. A bomb? A communications device? Perhaps Roy had really gone to Russia last spring instead of to his Father’s funeral. After all, no one had ever heard Roy speak of his father prior to his “death.” The residents were reasonable enough, however, to rule out the possibility that either of them were born in Russia. Their accents were too pure. Besides, they did not look Russian. They didn’t have the rigid facial structure, nor did they have the prominent nose that defines many Russians. The residents also decided that Roy and Jim were not dangerous. They believed that they were trained in espionage but not in combat. This would of course make the inevitable confrontation easier. No force involved which was less painful for everyone involved. Many of the residents wanted a confrontation. Although they vowed to halt plans for a conflict if Roy and Jim showed up to the PRACT meeting, the residents secretly hoped this would not occur. In fact, the flyers put on their doors every week were like the Olive Branch treaty that the American’s attempted to send to the British prior to the Revolution. It was too late to fix anything, and they were ready for war.  The confrontation was inevitable, and many Peterson residents were excited for something new in their life. Something irregular, something that was not scheduled weekly. Something that broke from the conformity of their average life.

“Collective fear stimulates herd instinct, and tends to produce ferocity toward those who are not regarded as members of the herd.”
? Bertrand Russell

It was a Saturday night when PRACT decided to do something about Roy and Jim. It was humid outside, and the ground was still damp from the afternoon shower which had given a much needed watering to the grass. 46 peterson residents (membership had steadily increased over the past month) met at Jane’s house and  made their way over to Jim’s home in a silent procession. Marie led the slow charge. She hopped up the stone steps and stood there for a moment or two. The crowd looked on in silence. She knocked. After a few short moments, a tall, lanky man opened up the door. He was wearing spectacles, and had a lit cigarette in his hand.
“Jim Reynolds,” Marie began, “We have reason to believe you do not have the utmost loyalty to the United States of America. We do not feel that you are a good influence on the children of Peterson, and have decided to report you to HUAC. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Jim was silent for a few moments. He observed the crowd behind Marie. When he spoke, he seemed tired, listless, uninterested: “I hope this a joke. I can’t believe you simple minded people have the audacity to come accuse me of this bulls***. I expect an apology from you people.” He slammed the door on Marie’s face. She turned around with a smile on her face.
“Did you see that defensiveness? He’s hiding something. He know’s that we know” she said excitedly. “Let’s go to Roy’s house. Maybe he’ll crack.”
They walked the two blocks down to Roy’s house. There was more chatter than before. Many residents were analysing the interaction they had just had. They were wondering who the hell he was calling simple minded.
When Marie walked up the gravel driveway of Roy’s colonial style house, she quickly noticed there were no lights on inside. The shades were drawn, and all the windows were closed.
“Jim probably warned him!” John Schmidt yelled from the back of the procession “I bet he’s hiding in there, waiting for us to leave. Probably phoning his superiors” John picked up a small rock and threw it towards Roy’s second story window. He missed. The rock pinged off the house’s chimney and dropped  harmlessly into Roy’s bushes.
“Don’t worry guys, we’ll catch him another time. He can’t be gone forever. Let’s all go home for the night and reconvene on Wednesday” Jane told the crowd. “Then we can decide what our official action will be.”
There was grumbling from the procession but they slowly filed back to their houses. Marie was satisfied. They had made progress, they had confronted the communist and could now file an official report. It was only a matter of time before Roy and Jim were exposed and expelled from Peterson. She walked briskly to her house and quickly poured herself a celebratory glass of wine. Marie noticed that no one was home. Her husband had probably left to play poker with his friends from work. She hated when he left without telling her, but had come to accept it as normal. Marie turned on the radio and listened to a special on Joe McCarthy. The program was not overly fond of the senator, but he was a hero in Marie’s mind. He was taking action when others were simply talking about doing something. She was following in his giant footsteps.

“Neither a man nor a crowd nor a nation can be trusted to act humanely or to think sanely under the influence of a great fear.”
? Bertrand Russell

Marie had been up for 2 hours by the time Jane frantically knocked on her door. Marie opened the door to see Jane, still in her robe and wearing hair curlers, pointing at Jim’s house.
“What are you trying to say Jane?” Marie asked curiously. She noticed two police cars parked outfront. Two blue boys leaned against the squad car smoking a cigarette.
“I’m not sure I saw them pull up twenty minutes ago. Do you think they caught him?” Jane responded. “Wow I knew we were right!”
Before Marie could reply, her attention switched to an ambulance which raced down Peterson, screeching to a halt in front of Jim’s door. Two paramedics grabbed a stretcher out of the vehicle, and rushed into the house. Marie looked on, confused. She was worried about what had happened. Had he killed himself? Did he have someone else in there with him? Could she have caused this?
Suddenly, the paramedics came out of the house wheeling the stretcher. Someone was in it, although she could not tell who as he or she was covered by a blanket, and was wearing an oxygen mask. The ambulance was gone in a flash. The siren was switched on midway down the block and the vehicle blew through two stops signs before it disappeared from sight. It was probably headed to Mercy Hospital, just 3 miles down the road. Marie looked around and noticed she was not alone. Other residents had cautiously stepped out of their house to find the origin of the commotion. Excited chatter could be heard. After all, it’s not everyday that the police department visit Peterson. The last time the cops had been on the street was when Darby Johnson had slipped on ice outside her home. The police arrived to make sure she was alright, but since then police intervention had never been necessary. Now, someone was seriously injured, maybe even dead.
Marie crossed the street and greeted the police officers: “Hello there Gentleman! What happened to poor Jim?”
“It looks as if someone entered forcibly and then proceeded to assault the bastard with a blunt object. My best guess is a candle stick. It’s like that f***ing game Clue” the officer chuckled.
“I bet it was Mrs. Peacock” the other policeman laughed, “In the conservatory.”
Marie wasn’t amused. She thanked the officers and walked back into her house. She had a horrible feeling in her stomach. Her gut was wrenching and she began to sweat profusely. Marie felt as if she had done this to Jim. Although she had not broken into his house, nor had she beat him senseless with a candle stick, she had basically started the suspicion of the man. She had led to the other residents hating him. Maybe she had led to the other residents wanting him dead.
Marie called her husband at worked and left a message on the answering machine. It was 10:30 and he apparently wasn’t at his desk. Nevertheless, she filled him in on the drama, “Jack..I’m scared. Someone assaulted Jim and I think it was someone in PRACT. I feel responsible for this. He might not even make it out alive Jack.”  Tears welled up in her eyes as she said goodbye to the empty line.
Marie’s phone rang. It was Jane.
“Marie! Oh my god Marie it was Dick. Dick Smith! The mechanic!” Jane wailed, “He did it and they arrested him in front of his wife and they found Jim’s blood on his clothes and he’s going to go to jail. My girlfriend at the hospital said Jim is gonna live but he won’t be the same ever again. He might not be able to walk-oh Marie what have we done?”
Marie stood silently with the receiver up to her ear. She didn’t respond to Jane, instead she hung up the phone, grabbed a bottle of white wine, and walked lethargically up the stairs. When her husband returned home, Marie had been passed out in her bed for three hours. 

“Things come apart so easily when they have been held together with lies.”
? Dorothy Allison

Naturally, all PRACT activities had been suspended indefinitely , much to the dismay of many residents who were incredibly excited for the fourth of July BBQ that was to be held in Jane’s backyard. A whole family friendly day of patriotic activities had been planned, and now Jane needed to find a use for 100 mini American flags. Marie had unofficially relinquished her position as president of PRACT ever since the incident. In fact, she hadn’t done much since the incident. She had started drinking heavily, careful to have only enough to be drunk when her husband was at work. She didn’t want him to know how hard it been on her. Besides, she could sense that things had been bad for Jack recently at work. He had been coming home later than usual for the past few weeks, and was not his usual cheerful self. Marie had asked him what was wrong, but he never gave a straight answer. He usually mentioned something about his boss being a jerk. Marie began to accept her husband's new behavior, and his distant nature allowed for her depression to manifest.
One day, Jack didn’t return home at all. She called his office but received no answer. Marie was nervous, but assumed that he was out with his friends for happy hour or something. She was halfway through a bottle of riesling when she passed out on her couch, still clutching her crystal glass.
Marie awoke to her husband entering the door early in the morning. He looked disheveled. His tie was loose, his shirt untucked, his beard was unchecked.
“Where were you?” Marie barked at her husband.
He looked at her, dropped his briefcase, and began walking up the stairs. When he reached the top he responded: “Work.”
Marie poured herself another glass. It was 8:37 in the morning.

“I have here in my hand a list of two hundred and five people that were known to the Secretary of State as being members of the Communist Party and who nevertheless are still working and shaping the policy of the State Department.”
Joseph McCarthy

That afternoon, there was a terse yet stern knock on Marie’s front door. Jack was in the shed working, so Marie answered. She opened the door to two middle-aged men in suits.
“Hello. Is your husband there?” The shorter, mustached man asked. “I’m agent Schafer and this is agent Jackson. We’re with the FBI. We just want to talk to him for a minute.”
“Yes he is. I’ll go get him” Marie replied listlessly. She was drunk, and wasn’t all that interested in the agents, nor did she care why they wanted to talk with her husband.
She walked to the garage and called for Jack, telling him he had some visitors that wanted to talk to him. She then moved to the kitchen and began reheating last night’s pork chops for dinner. She could not hear the conversation between her husband and the FBI agents, but not even ten minutes had passed before Jack was showing them to the door.
“What was that about?” Marie asked her husband who was still in the living room.
He slowly walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He did not speak.
Marie looked up at the kitchen and asked again: “Well? What did they want?”
After a few seconds, Jack responded, “I’ve been summoned”
“For jury duty?” Marie quipped.
“No Marie. I’ve been summoned by HUAC. They found some documents in my office and now they’re making me testify. I f***ed up Marie. I should have been more careful. It’s over.”
“What the hell do you mean it’s over?” Marie asked. Did you do anything wrong? How could you have done something wrong? Are you going to be convicted?”
“If they found what I think they found, then yes” said Jack. He was staring at the maple table, expressionless. Marie on the other hand had lost interest in the pork chops. Instead, she was focused on her husband. She looked at him. Tried to imagine him intentionally harming his country. Her country. Their country. She couldn’t even think of it.
“What now?” Marie finally said after a minute of silence. “What do we do?”
“We do nothing. I have some papers to shred.” Jack said softly as he walked upstairs.