![\"\"](\"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/01\/0585-power-cover-200x300.jpg\")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Ben Clift\u2019s business acumen not only made him the world\u2019s richest man, but also created several of the world\u2019s most powerful women. The technology he invented, and brought to market, is unsurpassed. His efforts in large-scale pollution removal, petroleum-free vehicles, coupled with his Amazon reforestation program, made him history\u2019s greatest environmentalist. His support of community, theater, and sport is legendary.\u00a0 Yet, his clandestine, one-man crusade impacted hundreds of millions more people than all of his other achievements combined.\u00a0 Follow his rise from a happy retirement to becoming the most powerful man in the world in this, H. Ben Clift\u2019s intimate biography.<\/p>\n
[toggle title_open=”Close Excerpt 1″ title_closed=”Excerpt 1″ hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” excerpt_length=”0″ read_more_text=”Read More” read_less_text=”Read Less” include_excerpt_html=”no”]<\/p>\n
He kept looking at the digital readout at the right bottom of his computer monitor.\u00a0 It said twenty minutes to five, exactly the same as the last time he looked.\u00a0 She\u2019d gone to lunch with friends in East County, just as she had so many times before.\u00a0 She should have been home long ago.\u00a0 Usually, when she was running late, she\u2019d call.<\/p>\n
He swiveled, got up from his leather arm chair, went into the bathroom, filled his water glass, and paced back and forth across the room the two of them used as a shared library and den.\u00a0 When he sat back down the digital readout had changed to eighteen minutes to five.\u00a0 The ring of the telephone made him jump, and drop his wireless mouse to the floor.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi,\u201d he said. \u201cWhere are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMister H. Ben Clift?\u201d The voice sounded strange.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is Grossmont Hospital.\u00a0 There\u2019s been an accident.\u00a0 Your wife is in critical condition.\u00a0 You better come as quickly as you can.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ben jabbed the phone\u2019s OFF button, slammed the handset into the cradle, leapt out of his chair, and dashed into the bedroom.\u00a0 He threw off his sweat suit, pulled on khakis, a collared shirt, and slipped into his topsiders.\u00a0 He found his wallet and glasses, grabbed his keys and cellphone out of the basket by the elevator\u2019s sliding door, and punched the elevator button.\u00a0 She\u2019d fallen in love with the elevator\u2019s opening directly into their top floor condo.\u00a0 Now he cursed while he heard it grind its way all the way up from the basement garage.<\/p>\n
He\u2019d always loved the roar the old V8 made.\u00a0 His was the last year Mustang offered that engine.\u00a0 It was the way a car should sound, or at least the way all the hot cars sounded when he was a kid.\u00a0 The other sound he loved was the squeal of the tires when he put his foot down hard on the accelerator at a stop sign.\u00a0 This time, he didn\u2019t even hear it as he fishtailed out onto Rosecrans.<\/p>\n
Rosecrans, he knew, was the shortest, and usually the fastest way to get to I-8.\u00a0 The exception was at this time of the evening.\u00a0 He left Rosecrans at Nimitz, and accelerated up the hill.\u00a0 He made the light at Chatsworth, and then came to a sudden halt.\u00a0 Traffic inched along until everyone reached the lane closure, where a sign declared, \u201cBeautification Project, Point Loma Association.\u201d\u00a0 He gave the work crew the finger, even though he recognized three of his neighbors.<\/p>\n
The Mustang\u2019s speedometer read over eighty before he reached the end of the on-ramp that serves as the beginning of I-8.\u00a0 A mile later, not far past Sports Arena Boulevard, the traffic slowed to barely ten miles an hour.\u00a0 Ben swung to the right, threw up a cloud of dust passing several trucks on the shoulder, cut off a couple of old ladies to get back into the left lane, and cursed the engineers who thought it a good idea to narrow the interstate to one lane for a hundred yards, even if it was at the I-5 interchange.<\/p>\n
At most times of day, the trip from their condo on Kellogg Beach to the Grossmont shopping center across from the hospital, took twenty-five minutes or less. Now, he\u2019d been driving for twenty-five minutes and was only approaching the junction of State Route 163.\u00a0 The stretch of 163 from I-5 to I-8 through Balboa Park, Ben knew, was the shortest designated Scenic Highway in all of California.\u00a0 At this time of day, it only made for adding more congestion around him.\u00a0 Ben swore at all of the cars in his way.\u00a0 He cursed again at those that would crowd onto the freeway at the up-coming I-805 and I-15 interchanges.<\/p>\n
Ben\u2019s watch showed twenty-minutes to six when he spoke to the lady behind the glass window in the Grossmont Hospital emergency room.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m Ben Clift.\u00a0 My wife is in there somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n
The lady put a visitor\u2019s badge on the stainless steel tray below the window.\u00a0 \u201cBed nine,\u201d she said.\u00a0 \u201cGo through the door on your right.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ben heard the lock release buzz before he reached the heavy metal double door.\u00a0 He pushed his way through, noticed several men and women in green scrubs scurrying to and fro, and started looking for number nine.<\/p>\n
He paused before the curtain pulled across the room\u2019s entrance.\u00a0 He took a deep breath, and a wipe of his eyes, before he reached out and pulled the curtain open.\u00a0 She lay there, motionless, with all but her head covered by a white sheet.\u00a0 The big wheels on the gurney must have rolled her in.\u00a0 Now they just sat there.\u00a0 Bottles and bags fed tubes down each of her arms, and disappeared under the sheet.\u00a0 Instruments with green displays, flashing colored lights, and yellow traces moving across their faces, sat on stainless steel carts beside her and behind her head.\u00a0 Three tentative steps brought him next to her.\u00a0 The entire left side of her face showed bruises, scrapes, and scratches.\u00a0 One eye was swollen shut.\u00a0 He kissed her forehead.\u00a0 His tears dripped off of his chin onto her hair.<\/p>\n
\u201cMister Clift?\u201d\u00a0 The quiet voice behind him jerked him erect and turned him around.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s badly injured.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stared at the woman in her pale green scrubs and cap.\u00a0 \u201cHow bad?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSevere concussion, multiple internal injuries, crushed arm, and crushed leg.\u00a0 Her left side may never be the same.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I hold her hand?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight hand, sure, that\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
He watched the curtain close behind the nurse, shoved the room\u2019s only chair next to the gurney, sat in it, and slowly slid his hand under the sheet and gently took her hand. She didn\u2019t move.\u00a0 He bowed his head onto his chest, and cried.\u00a0 The siren that went off in his ear snapped him to his feet.<\/p>\n
Four bodies rushed through the doorway, one pushed him and his chair against the wall, and two of them grabbed the gurney and shoved the remaining two drug the carts, poles, bags, bottles and instruments right along beside the gurney.\u00a0 Ben followed until a hand gently took his elbow.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir.\u00a0 You can\u2019t go any further.\u00a0 Please wait back in room nine.\u201d<\/p>\n
Twenty minutes later the same scrub clad woman came into the room.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Mister Clift,\u201d she said so quietly he could barely hear her.\u00a0 \u201cYour wife has died.\u201d<\/p>\n
[\/toggle]<\/p>\n
[toggle title_open=”Close Excerpt 2″ title_closed=”Excerpt 2″ hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” excerpt_length=”0″ read_more_text=”Read More” read_less_text=”Read Less” include_excerpt_html=”no”]<\/p>\n
The following week will forever be a blur in Ben\u2019s mind.\u00a0 His daughters and daughter-in-law scurried about, making sure all the details of the memorial service and the ensuing celebration of life were not only done, but done perfectly. A glowing obituary appeared in the newspaper.\u00a0 E-mails flowed out to everyone.\u00a0 Friends and neighbors seemed to arrive morning, noon and night, each bearing condolences and food. His freezer and refrigerator overflowed with casseroles. A checklist appeared detailing everyone he needed to contact, from the bank to the theater\u2019s season ticket office.\u00a0 Two dozen death certificates arrived in the mail.\u00a0 When he finally dropped Pippi off at the airport for her return flight, he was totally exhausted.\u00a0 That afternoon\u2019s nap lasted two hours.<\/p>\n
After testing yet another new casserole for dinner, Ben sat on the balcony and tried to review everything that had happened all week. He gave up.\u00a0 Instead he tried to think of all of the things he\u2019d managed to do by himself.\u00a0 Two loads of wash, one white, one colored, were clean, folded, and put away.\u00a0 He\u2019d loaded and unloaded the dishwasher not once, but three times.\u00a0 He made some decisions, but taken no action, on how to logically rearrange the contents of the kitchen cabinets. Both bathrooms sparkled after he finished with them. He\u2019d gone to the market and found everything he needed.\u00a0 The bank recognized his user name and password, and let him access his accounts.\u00a0 The house cleaning service came an extra time at his request. He\u2019d even stared long and hard at her closet, but couldn\u2019t bring himself to part with any of it.<\/p>\n
Thinking of her closet jolted him out of his self-congratulatory mood. He knew he didn\u2019t have to get rid of any of it.\u00a0 There certainly was no sense of urgency.\u00a0 But, those were her things, her things alone in a world that revolved around the two of them.\u00a0 That world was gone, shattered by a drunk Arab terrorist.\u00a0 The new world held only him.\u00a0 As long as her things were anywhere nearby, he sensed he\u2019d never escape from their world.<\/p>\n
He stood up and peered into the living room.\u00a0 They\u2019d picked the sofa together.\u00a0 The artworks on the walls were of places they\u2019d been. \u00a0They both liked the CDs in the rack.\u00a0 Things like those weren\u2019t hers.\u00a0 They were theirs.\u00a0 They evoked memories, memories he would savor forever.\u00a0 Her stuff was chains, chains that tied him to a world now gone forever.\u00a0 He shook his head to try and drive those thoughts out of his head, and turned on the television.<\/p>\n
Television for Ben consists of three things. First is sports, especially baseball.\u00a0 Second is any science or technology documentary.\u00a0 Third is anything she wanted to watch before his bed time.\u00a0 This night, his second favorite science channel began a documentary on the double helix only a minute or two after he sat down.\u00a0 The world around him faded away as he let himself be absorbed by the way in which a nucleotide uses its sugar side to mate with another\u2019s phosphate side.\u00a0 The shows commentary made the assembly process sound oh so romantic.\u00a0 DNA strands, it seems, don\u2019t enjoy being single.\u00a0 They\u2019re always looking for each other for a lifetime together.<\/p>\n
At the commercial, he got up and walked around their condo.\u00a0 He, like DNA, had found his soulmate.\u00a0 Unlike DNA, someone stole his from him.\u00a0 The show continued with the statement that DNA always exists as a stable, double-stranded molecule.\u00a0 Furthermore, they added, DNA strands are always put together using a preexisting strand as a pattern.\u00a0 At this point the show diverged to point out that sugar, no matter which kind, is composed of carbon, hydrogen and oxygen.\u00a0 He shook his head in wonder of the basic stuff of the universe.\u00a0 Carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen, it doesn\u2019t get any more basic than that.\u00a0 The Phosphate side appeared even simpler.\u00a0 It consists of only phosphorous and oxygen.<\/p>\n
At the end of the show, he got out of his chair, stretched, and said to himself, \u201cSimple stuff, just twisted together in a double helix.\u00a0 Nothing to it.\u00a0 Probably works for everything, everywhere.\u201d He turned, and headed for the bathroom and his toothbrush.<\/p>\n
The first time he got up to pee that night, he found himself thinking about his first college physics class. Like all undergraduate engineering students, hard core science and mathematics classes filled his freshman and sophomore years. Once through them, he never thought of them again, until that night.\u00a0 Back in bed, he tossed and turned, worrying about the formulas for rotational torque.<\/p>\n
The second time he got up to pee, he found himself thinking about his college chemistry lab. He\u2019d always liked the way the magnetic stirrers managed to mix chemicals without having to put a hole in the bottom of a glass beaker.\u00a0 He spent another hour in bed wondering if the same principle could apply a circular pattern of radio waves to a material.<\/p>\n
The third time he got up, his thoughts hovered on the resonant frequency of electrons rotating around atomic nucleoli.\u00a0 The dawn\u2019s first light, and the bizarre question buzzing around in his head, drove him to shave, shower, and begin his morning exercises.<\/p>\n
[\/toggle]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Ben Clift\u2019s business acumen not only made him the world\u2019s richest man, but also created several of the world\u2019s most powerful women. The technology he invented, and brought to market, is unsurpassed. His efforts in large-scale pollution removal, petroleum-free vehicles, coupled with his Amazon reforestation program, made him history\u2019s greatest environmentalist. His support of community, theater, and sport is legendary. Yet, his clandestine, one-man crusade impacted hundreds of millions more people than all of his other achievements combined. Follow his rise from a happy retirement to becoming the most powerful man in the world in this, H. Ben Clift\u2019s intimate biography<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11,3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-177","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-senior-fiction","category-writing"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/177","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=177"}],"version-history":[{"count":18,"href":"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/177\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":527,"href":"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/177\/revisions\/527"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=177"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=177"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dlakewriter.com\/home\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=177"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}