The Bitsy Bear Series follows the everyday struggles and heartaches of

Bitsy Bear Goes To Market

The Bitsy Bear Series follows the everyday struggles and heartaches of a depression-era bear family coping with life in a small Wisconsin town.

It was a cool, crisp autumn afternoon in October when Gramma Bear asked Bitsy Bear to go to the market for her to buy some apples. Bitsy Bear, who was always very helpful to his family (especially Gramma Bear, who was half-blind), agreed. The young cubbie took the fifty-cent piece from his Gramma's feeble paws and headed out to Market Street. Bitsy smiled to all the other bears he met along the way, politely saying "hello!" to each of them as they strolled by. The Great Stock Market Crash, which had taken place only three months earlier, had yet to dampen the economy of this far-removed Wisconsin town. Just the sight of the hustle and bustle of Market Street was evidence of that!

Bitsy Bear was approaching the Farmer's Market when he happened upon a large policebear signaling frantically at the traffic in the street. Bitsy Bear, remembering his manners, waved to the uniformed policebear. He admired the bear’s shiny badge and the efficient manner in which he kept the light traffic flowing.

"Good day to you, sir." Bitsy Bear said, giving a curt bow.

"And g'day t' you, laddie," the policebear nodded, speaking in a thick Irish accent that Bitsy found appealing—if a bit difficult to understand. "Where are ya off to, m'boy?" The policebear queried, eyeing the young brown cub suspiciously.

"I'm off to buy some nice red apples for my Gramma." Bitsy replied.

"Oh?" The policebear asked, narrowing his eyebrows. "Buy or steal? Do ya' have any money?"

Bitsy reached into his pocket with indignation and pulled out a shiny half dollar. Handing it to the policebear, he explained that his Gramma had given it to him earlier that day. The policebear looked the coin over and muttered about the deluge of fraudulent coins that had trickled their way into the area.

"It's a real fifty cent piece; my Gramma gave it to me!" Bitsy whined, with his furry face filling with the pout only a put-upon 6 year old could muster.

"I say it's a fake!" The policebear said, pocketing the coin. "I'll just be keepin' it for evidence! Now, run along, before I run ya in!" Then, as if to annunciate his point, the policebear pulled out his billyclub and gave Bitsy a smart rap on the head.

"You scoundrel!" Bitsy hissed, staring the massive hulking bear-cop in the face. "How dare you?"

"I dare, b'cause I have this nightstick an' a badge that says I can use it on smart-mouthed little bearcubs!" The policebear growled again, and gave Bitsy a quick rap on the knuckle with his cruel club.

"Damnation!" Bitsy cried. "The scamps of today hide behind the shiny badges of honor bestowed upon them by a public in blind, trusting need! Woe unto our society, set upon by such scoundrels in the guise of the helpful, for they wield absolute power that cannot be challenged!"

"Absolute power?!" The policebear bellowed, his Irish accent getting noticeably thicker as he shook his nightstick in Bitsy's flinching muzzle. "Ah' know nothing o' such p'wer! Nay, I say unto you, lad, that me paws, though filled wid' th' p'wer to enforce th' judicial laws o' th' land given to us by the Founding Fathers of this Great Nation, are indeed actually so tightly bound behind me that I can barely reach back t' scratch m' bottom! I was given NO judicial power!"

Bitsy Bear scowled. "Binded? By what power? I see nothing stopping you from misusing your position here in this sleepy little town, far removed from the legislatures you seem to despise. The lack of the power to judge those criminals you bring in is not your innate right! It was taken from you in the name of balance in the justice system, which was working pretty keenly until you came along. You, as an enforcer of laws, are the muscle behind the legislative and judicial branches of law! You are empowered to enforce en masse the laws which dictate what evildoers will be stopped, set upon not by the law-makers in congress, but by you, the lowest form of the judicial system! You, who have abused this power unjustly, have taken from me my money, as well as my God-given right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness! The Founding Fathers would have your head."

"To 'ell with those Foundin' Fartheads!" The Cop-Bear screamed, grabbing at Bitsy. "They be food fer' worms! Even still, it is them and their constricting laws that bind me! It's like they dinna' bury those old bastards deep enough! My paws are binded by those same slave-driving fathers that have set upon me a meager earnings wage of six dollars a day! The wage I receive issna' determined by m' supervisors, who see me as a fit officer o' peace, but by the legislative fiends in the statehouse, who know not of what I suffer in my day to day ritualistic hunting down of the very criminals that those inbred mongrels turned loose on the streets in the first place—probably because they see a bit of themselves in the criminals. Both prey upon the common man and take no special pity on anyone but their fellow blue bloods!"

"You!" Bitsy hissed, drawing his six-year old frame as high as he could, "would dare compare the legislative officers of the house to the common wolves that prowl the streets in search of innocent prey?"

"I've been seein' too much t' believe in any true inn'ocence!" The Cop-Bear growled down at Bitsy. "And ye, I say to ya, that the rich bastards in the government should be punished for committing the same crimes that the poor are punished for e'ry day! It is their damned fault the whole nation is cryin’ out ‘buddy, kin’ ya spare a dime!’"

Bitsy threw up his furry arms. "Keep your voice down, foul-mouthed bear, lest someone thinks you've gone mad!" The young bear was now obviously uncomfortable. "I will not listen to such backwards, socialistic Marxist nonsense! Pity that you were not in France when your so-called glorious compatriots in idiotic thinking were sent to the gallows during that glorious revolution!" Bitsy turned away and huffed off towards the market. He had to escape the rantings of the policebear. His words, however, rang painfully true in the young cub’s ears. The legislature was soaked in corruption and greed; moreover, in bed as they were with the captains of industry, their machinations had stripped the working class of all dignity.

As Bitsy crossed the street, the Cop-Bear hollered a few naughty words and flung a rock after Bitsy that skipped harmlessly past his feet.

Bitsy turned and called back. "Viva la Frances! Viva La Revolution! Revolution is the highest form of cultural and political progress, ape!" His tone was mocking, but the words sounded powerful on his lips. Bitsy was beginning to realize that class revolution was the Great Dialectical Wheel in which new ideas churned to the surface.

Bitsy returned home that day, and told Gramma Bear about the mean ol' cop that took his money. Bitsy described him as “little more than a fascist, publicly (and probably erroneously) appointed to office.” Gramma Bear was disappointed, and rarely asked Bitsy to run errands from that day forth.