Behind the Wall

Now hold on a minute, about this wall thing.

Great empires have had their better wall days. Hadrian’s runs about 73 miles, and the nearly 3900-mile wall in China is the stuff of Guinness records. Historically speaking, the world is long overdue for a wall.

Why should the United States, as empires go, be an exception?

Of course, we only have 1,989 miles to work with on the Mexican side and a whopping 5,525 with our Canadian neighbors, but—well, you know. Hmmm, go for the record or….

As infrastructure projects go—wow! Of course, these ideas are just paper-napkin brainstorming between slices of pizza. I’m thinking concrete and wire and high tech surveillance stuff, maybe 20-feet high, with watchtowers and command and control centers.

Roads built where there are no roads, and hamlets for housing border guards and families, and then schools and hospitals and shopping centers, maybe a public library here and there. Dentists. Massive job creation—bingo! Low-tech, high-tech, in-between tech.

Sloganeering: Made on American Soil.

Wait—the Colorado River. Let me check. Yep, somewhere upstream from Yuma there’s a dam waiting to happen. Maybe we could out Hoover the Hoover. Can you say recreational possibilities?

Could be among the hottest travel destinations in the land. And on an international scale. Heck, even a theme park or two or three. Tombstone tourism might go off the chart. An app for saying “Draw, Pardner” in the top 6500 languages. Maybe we could include some of those walkouts so that fellow Americans could take selfies while standing over a foreign country.

Just a thought—graffiti. We could hire kids, have contests, maybe for college credit. And what a canvas for the other side.

Oooo, boy, don’t you know congressional delegations will be salivating at the prospects for campaign fund-raising. You know how it goes, spend a little, make a little.

Of course, I have no vested interest in any part of this project. Except for calling dibs on a 24/7 Tortilla House diner—copyrighting the idea as I write. Let’s see, one every 50 miles or so: Franchising!

Hahaha, Old Bob Frost—something indeed.