Quiet Victory

Quiet Victory

By David Tulloch

Copyright © 2025 By David Tulloch

Tyler was not like other teenagers. While his peers were watching baseball on television, partying in the local park, or playing computer games, he was daydreaming about politics. In his reveries, the giants of the past came alive: Abraham Lincoln, Franklin D Roosevelt, Sir Winston Churchill, JFK, Pierre Trudeau, Barack Obama.

Civics and history were his favorite school subjects and during some of these classes he fantasized about being a famous and powerful politician. He became giddy over the possibilities and was determined to learn everything there was about acquiring and keeping political power.

During a class discussion Tyler announced, “I think the Prime Minister displayed a great deal of responsibility when he decided to sign the treaty.”

Randy Callahan quipped, “Must suck that you’re too young to vote for him, eh?” Some classmates laughed. Randy was known as a less than stellar student who dabbled in drugs.

Mr. Lee was one of Tyler’s favorite teachers. He ignored Randy’s remark and replied, “Yes, maybe Tyler. But you also have to ask yourself what your responsibilities are. Now, who can tell me one of the ways that an ordinary voter can influence the political process?”

Life was somewhat trying at home. Tyler had no memory of his father; he had left the family when Tyler was a preschooler. His mother’s bitterness about the husband who abandoned her morphed into a deep grief when her eldest son died in a traffic accident.

Although it had been seven years since Eddie’s death, she would on occasion become very quiet or spend time in her room, not answering any knocks on the door.

And sometimes she would compare her brilliant deceased son to Tyler. “You must spend more time on your math and science homework and less time on your history assignments. Eddie knew the importance of excellence in all areas. He was an all rounder and he was always at the top of his class.”

“It’s like shadow boxing,” Tyler confided to a classmate. “No matter how hard you try, you just can’t compete against a ghost.”

One day Tyler’s mother said, “Raminder Singh is looking for someone to help out with his chip truck. He’s getting older now and wants to slow down a bit. You’ve always liked him. Maybe you should apply.”

As long as Tyler could remember, Raminder attracted customers from around the city to his location in the business district downtown. He sold a blend of Western and Indian food, used only the finest ingredients, and always charged fair prices. He entertained customers with his corny jokes and folksy wisdom. Tyler often joked with Raminder, “Mr. Singh, you make good Kaju cookies.”

After school Tyler went to meet Raminder who greeted him enthusiastically. “Of course I’ll hire you. You’re a great kid. You are nice to everyone, and you don’t get into trouble with the police. You can work one day a week, so I can take some time off work.”

Tyler’s decision to seek the job proved to be a good one. As he gained experience, his confidence grew and he quickly became skillful at interacting with customers and encouraging sales. His shyness waned.

One day while at work he noticed two vaguely familiar heavyset men staring at him from across the street. Since they didn’t linger there for too long, he soon forgot about them.

A few days later, however, Tyler received a cell phone call from a frantic Raminder. “I’ve been given a letter from the city threatening to take away my vending permit and there are two angry men here. I don’t know what to do!” “Don’t panic, Mr. Raminder,” Tyler tried to calm Raminder but he felt rather uneasy himself. I’ll be right over.”

When Tyler arrived at the chip truck, he saw two large men gesticulating angrily at Raminder; they were the same two men whom had been staring at him earlier in the week. This time he remembered that they were security guards from Distar Corporation down the street. Tyler further recalled reading on an obscure political website that Distar Corporation had been a major financial contributor to Mayor Robert Ryan’s election campaign.

“We don’t need your smelly food stinking up the street!” one of the thugs crudely shouted. “And that old lousy truck of yours is a real eyesore!”

Despite his inner shakiness, Tyler confronted the men. “Raminder has been here for years and no one has ever complained. He’s always obeyed the city by-laws. You can’t push us around!”

“We’ll see about that. He’s just been given his walking papers,” the other guard growled disparagingly as he and his partner sauntered away.

“Don’t give up,” Tyler tried to reassure Raminder. “We’ll fight this.”

At school, Tyler told Mr. Lee about Mr. Singh’s plight.

“Hmm, it doesn’t surprise me.” Mr. Lee sighed. ”That’s what happens when cynical people constantly denigrate politicians and don’t try to improve things. Good people decide not to run for office. And you end up with riffraff in power, completely beholden to the corrupt business operatives that helped get them elected.”

“Is there anything I can do to help Mr. Singh?”

“Sure there is. Although trying to reason with these people and pointing out the unfairness of it all may not work, you can show how it is in their best interests to let Raminder keep his business,” Mr. Lee suggested. “If that doesn’t work, find a way to scare them. I’ll lend you some books on political activism; they’ll show you how to start a petition and organize things. Also, try to find as many allies as you can at City Hall.”

Galvanized by Mr. Lee’s pep talk, Tyler went to work to save Raminder’s business. First he talked to those councilors who agreed to meet with him, and he introduced them to Raminder and his predicament. Then he found as many people as he could who patronized Raminder’s business and he spoke to them.

After identifying all his allies, Tyler brought everyone together for a meeting to plot strategies. They soon set up a website, a petition for people to sign, posters, flyers, and press releases, all designed to promote Raminder’s cause. Finally, a notice of appeal was sent and deputations were scheduled at City Hall for people to express their support for Raminder.

When the big day came, Tyler and his allies were shocked to learn that the Committee Chair had cancelled most of the deputations and reduced the time allocated for the remaining speakers. “There was lots of time for everyone to give their deputations,” Tyler angrily declared. “No other council business is scheduled for today.”

“Unfortunately, we do have other matters to deal with,” the Chair stated quietly without emotion.

Shaken by this, Tyler sat down in front of the microphone. One of the councilors was overheard saying, “Who’s the skinny kid?”

Another replied, “What’s the matter, you jealous?”

A ripple of laughter followed the remark.

Disappointed but not demoralized, Tyler commenced his presentation. He was nervous, but he reminded himself how important this was to Raminder and many others.

A few minutes into his speech the butterflies in his stomach began to fly away. Tyler was eloquent and forceful as he stressed the unfairness of the City’s actions against Raminder.

Suddenly, Mayor Ryan chuckled, “Those sound like fighting words to me, son.”

Then he said more seriously and condescendingly, “But you see, the business district needs to operate without any unsightly obstacles on its streets. We need to do whatever we can do to attract and keep the most vibrant businesses in our great city.”

It was like a pail of cold water had been thrown onto Tyler. Despite all the work he’d done, it seemed to have made no impact on his fight to save Raminder’s livelihood.

He felt the energy and confidence quickly draining from his body.

When all seemed lost, Councilor Mary McCormack rose from her seat. “Hold on, Mr. Mayor, this young man has made some very good points. Mr. Singh is well known in the city. He has shown himself to be a great asset, giving tourists and business visitors alike valuable information about the city in a friendly and clear manner. The testimonials about him in this regard are practically legendary. And I haven’t even mentioned his delicious food. I just can’t believe we’re going to toss all that aside without a second thought.”

“Man, you’ve got to try his Pista Rolls!” another councilor joked. “They’re fantastic!”

This was of course a violation of council decorum, but it did generate some supportive laughter throughout the room.

Councilor Kam Pong added, “I must say I’m concerned about the optics. Many of the larger business players are pushing for a reduction in street vending. Do we really want to be viewed as their puppets?”

The room buzzed with sounds of agreement and nodding heads were to be seen here and there. Mayor Ryan’s face turned apple red and he swiftly arranged for a vote on the issue.

Tyler and his allies crossed their fingers as they anxiously awaited the outcome.

Raminder leaned over and patted him on the back. “No matter what happens, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your efforts.”

Turning around to smile at the friendly man whom he had known since he was a very young boy, Tyler recalled all the tasty treats and wonderful conversations that now hung in the balance. The minutes ticked by slowly.

Finally, and overwhelmingly, the councilors voted to let Raminder keep his vending permit.

Raminder jumped up ecstatically. He cried as he hugged Tyler. “No one has ever done so much for me! I don’t know how to repay you!”

Tyler was still trying to grasp the reality of all that had just happened. He felt like he was floating inside some happy dream. “That’s okay, Mr. Raminder,” he managed to reply. “I know you would have done the same for me.”

“I am definitely not going to forget this,” Raminder promised as he beamed.

The next day, flushed with his new success, Tyler raced to school. He pictured himself being greeted as a hero, becoming fast friends with the cool kids and the girls lining up to meet him.

After Mr. Lee announced to the class what Tyler had accomplished, there was no fanfare, no celebration.

One girl said, “Way to go, Tyler,” although it sounded less than enthusiastic.

Randy Callahan snickered and said, “Wow, man,” as sarcastically as he could. Tyler went to the library to check the morning newspaper and the internet. There was no mention of the event in the paper or online. He listened to the radio and checked the television in the media room. Still, no news. He was stymied because days before he had contacted all the media outlets in town.

At the end of the day, Mr. Lee saw Tyler walking down the hall with his head bent and shoulders slouched. Knowing he was disappointed by the lack of publicity, he caught up to him and said, “You should be very proud of what you did yesterday.”

Without responding, Tyler walked slowly out of school.

That evening, Tyler’s mother answered the knock on her door. “Hello stranger.”

She smiled at his sad face silence. “Not going to talk to me? You did knock.”

But her son seemed unable to speak.

“Listen, Raminder told me what you did yesterday. That was a very good thing.

Your first political triumph and I am very proud of you.” She looked at him quizzically.

“But it was a quiet victory,” Tyler replied at last. Hardly anyone knows about it.

And even fewer seem to care.”

“Okay, it was a quiet victory. But some of the greatest victories are the quiet ones. If you do choose a career in politics, you’ll find that you will be blamed for things that are not your fault, and you will be praised for things you had nothing to do with. Some of the best things you do will cause no attention at all.”

Then she looked directly into his eyes, the way she always did when she wanted to make an important point. “You defended a little guy, a person many powerful people don’t care about. You fought for his rights and you won. Even Eddie could not have done better….”