Coming in through the same doorway were two men, a young orderly dressed in hospital white was pushing an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair. “Make way, please. Thank you,” said the young man with an apologetic nod.

Jonathan tried to pass, but found his way blocked by a long line of elderly folk in wheelchairs coming up the sidewalk, each being pushed by an attendant. Another wheelchair passed, then another close behind. Jonathan finally caught the attention of a woman who was pushing the next in line. “What happened?” he asked. “Are these victims of some disaster?”

“Sure enough,” replied the woman, wiping her brow and stepping out of line with her wheelchair to explain. “Worst economy in memory.”

Jonathan responded, “A train wreck or something like that?”

“Worse,” the woman replied. “Debts mounted. People stopped buying. Jobs were lost. Never seen anything like it.”

“What’s being done?” asked Jonathan.

“Gotta stimulate the economy. Gotta spend money, hire more people, modernize…all that sort of thing,” she said.

“How will that help these folk?”

Lowering her voice she whispered into Jonathan’s ear, “It’s official now—a new program, ‘Cash for Codgers.’ Gotta sacrifice for the island, you know. It’s all for the best.”

“Cash for Codgers?” repeated Jonathan with plain incomprehension.

“You haven’t heard?” said the woman. Turning her patient to face the wall, she pulled Jonathan out of earshot of the old man in the wheelchair. “The Council of Lords has set up a fund to replace rundown old models with more economical new models.”

Jonathan was still at a loss. “Does this mean that old wheelchairs are being replaced by new ones?”

“No, no, a much bolder initiative,” replied the woman. Barely speaking above a whisper, she explained, “The elderly are being replaced by newborns.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened in shock. The woman patted his arm reassuringly. “Don’t fret! It’s been worked out by the best actuaries. This year the Council has offered cash payments to families for bringing in their elderly and exchanging them for brand new models.”

“What!” exclaimed Jonathan, aghast.

“That’s right.” Calculating broadly for Jonathan, she continued, “You see, the elderly live too long after retirement, increasingly dependent on society for medical care, pensions, recreation, and, oh their needs are endless. Whereas infants, you see, have far fewer years of decreasing dependency for medical care, training, and other needs. Soon the new issues are hearty young producers, able to pay taxes for a generation!”

“What happens to the elderly?” sputtered Jonathan.

She talked on, “In addition, we create so many new jobs by hiring the unemployed for the new model production line, the old model decommission line, and so many officials to oversee each line. See for yourself,” she indicated with a gesture of her hand, “the queue of applicants reaches ‘round the corner and up the street. By all measures, this
program is a great success!”

“But what of the elderly?” persisted Jonathan.

“Come now! Think of the greater good! Sacrifice is necessary in these hard times, surely you know. The public good can’t be served by selfish free riders.”

“Doesn’t anyone protest when asked to pay for all this?”

The woman laughed, “Who’s gonna ask at a time like this? Can’t afford the luxury of choice in an emergency! That’s the business of the Official Bureau of Money Creation! And just think,” she added enthusiastically, “how pleasing it will be with fewer footprints trampling all over Mother Island!”

The old man in the wheelchair looked up and whimpered in a frail, shaky voice, “I’m feeling pretty good today.”

“Sure you are,” said the attendant as if soothing a child. Turning the man’s
wheelchair to rejoin the others in line, she comforted him gently, “We’ll review your case and you’ll have nothing more to worry about. You’re in good hands with the Bureau of Good Will.”