Presidential Shadows

by Michael Cantwell

The second year of middle school is a blur to me. I remember making the honor roll and scoring a goal in soccer. President Ford missed it. Grandpa saw it and was proud. Susie Baker saw it too. She left after the game holding hands with Rian White. Hussy.

  Summer scooted by fast. Too fast. Bruce and I rode bikes and went fishing a lot that summer. Wendy was at her grandparent’s house in Florida. Bruce even came with me to the beach on vacation. It was a good summer.

  Once school began, we were the big kids. Greg had detention the very first week of school for trying to stuff a new kid into his locker. Greg was never going to learn. I made straight A’s the first marking period. Mom and Dad were pleased. Summer had turned to fall.

  Mom and Grandpa were discussing current events at dinner. The nation was looking ahead to another election for president. Grandpa said we already had one. “George Bush is the President. He deserves another term in office.”

  “Oh Frank, twelve years of Reagan and Bush is plenty,” Mom said. “I like this Bill Clinton. In addition to Bill, we would get his wife, Hillary. She’s so smart. Why not get a two for one proposition?”

  “Maureen when are you going to wise up to the ways of the national media? They will never support conservatives. When the press sees a fresh face liberal, they will support that candidate any way they can to see they’re elected.”

  “Hogwash Frank, the media does their job in a very non-bias way.”

  Dad almost spit out his chicken strip. He and Mom had been doing their best not to argue for months. Life had been good around our house until that moment. I knew by Mom’s dirty look that if Dad had spoken up, the quiet life was over.

  Grandma said, “Can’t we have one dinner without arguing over politics.”

  The room went quiet except for me crunching on the crusted chicken strips. Dinner was almost over when Grandpa broke the silence. “Maureen, can you imagine George Washington ever going on television and playing a saxophone? I was already asleep, but Harold Myers, from down the street, called the next morning and told me he watched Clinton playing a saxophone on television. How presidential is that?”

  “You’re right, Frank. I cannot possibly imagine George Washington ever going on television. They didn’t have televisions in Washington’s era. So, how do you know he wouldn’t have done it? From what I know about Washington, one of the reasons he married Martha was to upgrade his social standing. I liked the idea of Bill Clinton playing his sax. I thought it made him more likeable and human. We need a president who is one with the people.”

  Grandpa shoved his dinner plate aside. “Here again, Maureen, learn something. Politicians hire focus groups. Public appearances are staged events based on demographics.”

  Grandma shoved a smaller plate in front of Grandpa. “Eat your pie, Frank. You were snoring so loud that night you woke me up. I flipped on the television in time to see it too. I think Clinton is going to win the election.”

  Dad mumbled, “I hope not. We’ve had enough big government Democrats.”

  I could see Mom’s face turning red. I tried to keep everyone from fighting. “President Andrew Jackson was a Democrat and he was for a limited government. He was also the first president to allow people to visit the White House. I read the people loved President Jackson. So, he musta been a man of the people.”

  Grandpa smiled then said, “Close, Alex. Jackson was originally in the only political party of his time, the Democratic-Republican Party. It disbanded after Jackson’s first attempt to be president. In that election, Jackson won the most popular votes, but John Quincy Adams became president. The country split politically after that election. When Jackson ran for president in 1828, Jackson’s friend Martin Van Buren, reformed the party. Only this time it was called the Democratic Party and has been known only as the Democratic Party since that election.”

  “How do you know all about President Jackson, Grandpa?”

  Grandpa looked at Mom. “I came from an era when we learned something in school, Alex. Plus, it helped that I read your book before giving it you.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember. My friends Mr. Van Buren and Mr. Adams told me about that election. There was a discussion in the House of Representatives to pick the president. Ever since then, Andrew Jackson was against the Electoral College.”

  Mom raised her voice. “First of all, Frank, I’m tired of you denigrating our education system. Secondly, what do you mean those men told you all about the election, Alex? Are you telling me that you still think you are speaking with former presidents?”

  Grandpa was looking at me and shaking his head. I looked at Mom. “No, Mom, I read it in my book last year. What I meant to say was; they spoke to me with their written words.”

  “Finish up and get to your homework,” Dad said. I could tell he was in no mood for arguing.

  “Lighten up, Steven,” Grandpa said. “It’s not often I can get Alex to talk about anything other than sports or spelling bees. It’s very important he learn our nation’s history. Besides, Maureen, get off your high horse. I was not implying you are a bad teacher. You have done a wonderful job raising this boy. The older one, well, he got lost in football.”

  “Exactly, Frank,” Mom said. “It’s a big reason why we don’t push Alex into sports. Steven Jr. lived for football. For what? He barely graduated college and now bounces from job to job out in California. Lord knows what he’s doing or what will happen to my boy.”

  “Hey Alex,” Grandpa said as Grandma put another small piece of pie on his plate. “Do you know why the Democrats have a jackass as their symbol?”

  “No, Grandpa.”

  “It’s not a jackass, Frank,” Mom said.” Do not fill the boys head with misinformation.”

  “Believe what you like, Maureen,” Grandpa said. “Since Alex was talking about Andrew Jackson and the formation of the Democratic Party, I thought I would tell you why the jackass.”

  “Donkey,” Mom said.

  Grandpa frowned. “Whatever. When Jackson was running for president, his opponents called him a jackass. Eventually, that talk died down but a cartoonist by the name of Thomas Nast drew images representing a jackass. Since the Democratic Party was new, the image stuck. Ever since then, thanks the Nash, the jackass is the Democrats symbol.”

  “Donkey!” Mom said. “Tone down your language and stop making up ridiculous stories about Jackson and why the Democrats use a donkey as their symbol.”

  “Oh Mom, I’ve heard tons of bad words in the school from Greg and other kids.”

  Mom pointed towards the kitchen. “Oh? Maybe I should call his mother and some of the others to let them know what’s going on in at school.”

  “Enough, Maureen,” Dad said. “Alex will be thirteen in a few days. If jackass is the worst word he’s ever heard, he needs to get out more. You can’t keep him in your private cocoon forever.”

  “I failed with our first child, I refuse to give up on Alex,” Mom said as she stood up.

  Grandpa snickered. Mom and Grandma cleaned the plates from the table. Dad gave me a stare. Dad excused me from the table. I headed up to my room.

  Homework was a breeze that night. Math and science were my least favorite subjects. I did those assignments first. English was boring. One time I had to write a story on any subject I chose. I wrote about how Calvin Coolidge met his wife. My teacher wrote on my graded paper, “Your story took great imagination and was well written.” She gave me a B for my grade. When I asked my teacher why I didn’t earn a better grade, she told me, “You could pick any story you liked but the instructions said the story had to be non-fiction. You obviously made up your story.” I objected and told her the story was accurate. She refused to alter my grade. My English teacher might have known grammar, but she knew little about history.

  After a quick bath, I opened my president’s book. An old dude showed up in the chair near my bookcase. I was used to seeing old presidents sitting in the chair, once I popped open my book.

  “Your gramps was right about the donkey,
Alex. My detractors did call me a ‘jackass’ and a blasted cartoonist did make the symbol stick. I would know. I am President Andrew Jackson. I am also the general who defeated the Indians in many battles and the British at the Battle of New Orleans.”

  I have some questions for you, Mr. Jackson. “Can you please tell me why people came to America? Was King George and the people with the red coats bad to people? Did they run away from England?”

  Mr. Jackson smiled. “Many reasons, Alex. One was for religious freedom. Most of the founders of this great land were deeply spiritual men. As am I. The Bible is the rock on which this Republic rests. Another was for profit. There was a vast land here to be obtained.”

  “Mom drags me to church most Sundays. Dad comes sometimes.”

  “Many a soldier died to protect your freedom to worship in your church of choice. Never forget that, Alex.”

  “Yes, Mr. Jackson.” Andrew’s voice made me pay attention. He brushed back his wavy white hair from the front of his head to the back with his long fingers. He pointed at my stereo and tape player. He got up from the chair and walked towards my bookcase.

  “Do tell, what this contraption might be?”

  “It’s my stereo. I have lots of cool stuff. I can listen to like fifty radio stations from all over the place. There is a replay of a famous Yankees game on now if you want to hear it?”

  “Yankees? Did Sam Morse manufacture this box? Are the damned Yankees sending secret codes? I fear one day this nation will be torn apart in a civil dispute.”

  “No, it’s a baseball game. Scooter talks into a microphone at Yankee stadium and you can hear it all over New Jersey, New York and maybe even other states. Don’t ask me how it works but it’s not Morse Code. We learned about Samuel Morse, Thomas Edison and some Italian inventor named Marconi. I studied hard and got an A on my test. I still don’t know how any of that stuff works. Radio waves float in the air. I think. That’s all I know.”

  Andrew touched the dials. “So you are telling me this box emits sounds?”

  I picked up the remote and turned on the ballgame. Andrew jumped back from the bookcase. His eyes widened while scratching his head. He looked at the ceiling then the floor. His jaw lowered before settling back into the chair.

  “Are you telling me the Yankees know about this air wave machine?” Andrew said.

  “George Steinbrenner is the owner of the Yankees. He must know about it. The players talk after the game if they get a big hit or pitch a good game. I’m sure all the Yankees have radios and televisions.”

  Andrew stood up. He put his ear against the speaker. I thought about turning up the volume but Grandpa made me promise to be nice to any president who showed up.

  I must inform the Secretary of War, Mr. Eaton, about this talking box. Are you sure all the Yankees have one?”

  “Not just the Yanks, President Jackson. The Sox, the Phillies, the Mets, even kids like me.”

  “I’m the President of the Union. How could I possibly not know about the existence of this machine? Do you not understand the ramifications if this were to land in enemy hands? That troublemaker in South Carolina, my own Vice President John Calhoun is stirring up the good folk of his state wanting to secede from our great union. If they had a secret way of communicating through the air with no way of seeing it; why I don’t even want to ponder the outcome.”

  I shrugged.

  “There is nothing I shudder at more than the idea of a separation of the Union. I swear I want to hang Calhoun.”

  “President Jackson, I really think you’re getting upset over nothing. Radios are all over the place. I got mine as a gift. I had to buy the tape player with my own money. Dad made me borrow some of his money so I would have enough.”

  “Owing money to anyone infuriates me. As President, I made sure the government paid all it’s debt. I take great pride in knowing it is the only time in our history the Federal government was debt free.”

  I sat on the edge of my bed to get a better view of Andrew. He was touching my tape player. He might have been President, but I didn’t want him messing with my stuff.

  “Be careful with my tape player, President Jackson. I shoveled a lot of snow and walked Mrs. Macy’s dog for weeks so I could get the money for it. The dumb tax alone was two weeks allowance.”

  Andrew turned towards me. “The wisdom of man never yet contrived a system of taxation that would operate with perfect equality.”

  “Yeah well, when you go back to wherever you came from, tell that to Tommy Wilson.”

  Mom walked into my room. “Turn off the game, Alex, it’s past your bed time.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek. I turned to say good night to Andrew, but he was gone.

  A few days later was my thirteenth birthday. It fell on Election Day. Dinner was late because Mom stood in line for an hour to vote. Dad stopped by to vote on his way home from work. Grandpa and Grandma came over for dinner and cake. Mom made cheeseburgers and French fries. Grandpa and Mom both promised to behave for my birthday. They did try for a few minutes.

  Grandpa grumbled, “I’m afraid that little guy from Texas is going to mess up the entire day and give Clinton the victory.”

  Mom smiled. “What Texan might that be, Frank? George Bush?”

  “You know who I mean, Maureen. Ross Perot. He can go on television with all the graphs and charts he likes; he won’t win the election. The only thing he can do is siphon off enough votes from Bush to allow Clinton to win.”

  Dad entered the conversation. “We could do much worse than electing Perot, Pops. The man is very successful in business. Washington could use someone like him to stop all the excessive spending. It might be good to have someone from outside of Washington go in there and clean the place up.”

  Grandpa sat back in his chair and dropped his fork. “Is that your way of telling me you voted for Perot?”

  “It’s not polite to ask how much money someone makes or how they vote, dear,” Grandma said. “Now, please. Maureen asked us all for a quiet dinner. Let’s all try to abide by her wishes.”

  “Can you believe the Jets beat the Dolphins last Sunday, Grandpa?” I said.

  “That was a butt whooping. I was surprised. I haven’t seen the Jets play that well since the days of Joe Willie Namath,” Grandpa said.

  “I know, Grandpa. I bet Greg a Snickers bar the Dolphins would win. Dan Marino tried to bring them back, but it was too late.”

  Grandpa smiled. Then Mom said, “I hope you paid up and bought Greg a Snickers bar.”

  “Of course I did, Mom. Don’t you remember me asking for fifty cents the other day before school?” I chuckled. “Don’t worry, I don’t lose many bets.”

  Mom frowned before getting up from the table. She went into the kitchen returning with a cake lit with thirteen candles. Dad and Grandpa mumbled a version of Happy Birthday while Mom and Grandma sang with more excitement. I blew out the candles with one shot then opened a few gifts, mostly clothes. The one surprise was a hand carved chess set from Grandma and Grandpa.

  “It’s time you learn strategy,” Grandpa said. “I’ll be over this weekend to teach you a real man’s game. Being a chess champion will put hair on your chest.”

  “I’m starting to wonder, Grandpa. You keep telling me a bunch of stuff will put hair on my chest, but every time I look in the mirror, nothing.”

  Grandma laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry about all that, Alex. A woman only wants a man who can make her laugh.”

  “I don’t know about that either, Grandma. When me and Bruce were younger and made Wendy laugh, she would hit us in the arm. She doesn’t hit us anymore. Now she giggles and plays with her hair.”

  Mom and Grandma smiled before clearing up the plates. “The polls are closed on the east coast, Steven,” Grandpa said. “Let’s turn on the news and see the early results.”

  That was my clue the birthday dinner was over. I went into the living room where the four of them eventually sat glaring at the newscasters. The people on television p
retended they knew who would win some of the east coast states even though they had only counted one percent of the votes.

  I asked Dad how they make predictions without counting votes.

  “It’s complicated, Alex. They asked people after they voted how they voted. It’s called exit polling. They have a history of how that part of the state or country voted in past elections. Really smart people jumble it all together and make predictions.”

  “Are the smart people ever wrong, Dad?”

  “No one is perfect, Alex,” Dad replied.

  “So you are all watching this and you might not know who wins until much later tonight or even tomorrow?” I asked.

  “True,” Mom said. “However, this is history, Alex. It’s so exciting.”

  I decided that watching the newscaster say the same thing continuously for thirty minutes wasn’t very exciting. If I wanted to know about actual history, I had a book full of presidents. I said my good nights and went to my room.

  I did my homework before opening my book. Like many times before, after reading a few pages someone appeared in the chair in the corner of my room. Something I noticed, a lot of them had beards. This one did too.

  “It must have been hard having your birthday on Election Day,” the man said. “I remember Election Day the time I ran for President in 1876. My opponent, Samuel Tilden, acquired more popular votes than I did. A President needed one hundred and eighty five Electoral votes to be elected in that year. Mr. Tilden was one vote short.”

  I remember thinking it was my birthday and I should turn on my stereo and listen to music. Enjoying music was one of my favorite things to do. The man in the dark suit looked at me with one raised eye as if he was waiting for me to allow him to finish his story.

  “You’re right. It does stink having your birthday on Election Day,” I said. “My birthday should be one day I don’t have the television reporting news all night. I don’t think I’m gonna get to see one of my favorite shows tonight, ‘Northern Exposure.’ Dad records it on our VCR and Tuesday is always the night he lets me watch it with him and Mom before I go to bed. Stupid news people, they ruined my birthday.”

  “There will be other birthdays, Alex. By the way, what is television?”

  “I get tired of explaining all the cool stuff we have now to you presidents. I have no idea what you old people did for fun. Tell me your story, so I can listen to my stereo. Before you ask, a stereo is a box that plays music and ball games. A television is like a stereo only you see the people too. President Andrew Jackson told me that you old people didn’t have that either.”

  “I understand you are upset, young man. However, that is not an excuse to take your frustration out on me. Sam Wilson asked me to tell you the story of the election of 1876. If now is a bad time, I will return at a more convenient juncture.”

  “Nah, its, fine, mister. Sorry if I was being rude. What’s your name?”

  “I am Rutherford Birchard Hayes. I was president after President Grant and not long after the war between the states concluded.”

  I chuckled. “Birchard. Don’t tell the kids in the school yard your middle name. If anyone asks, tell em your name is Rutherford B. Hayes. Come to think about it, I might ditch the Rutherford too. Tell em your name is Randy. Kids won’t mock you so much with a name like Randy.”

  The president crossed his arms to his chest and ran his fingers in his beard. “I dare say; a child will not intimidate me to change my name. I fought in the Civil War and retired a major general. I battled many in the courtrooms as a lawyer and outwitted many a Congressman. All with this name. Now, would you like to hear my story or not?”

  “If it will get you to go away and let me enjoy the last few hours of my birthday, please tell me the story,” I said with an exasperated tone.

  President Hayes began his story with a terse tone. “As I was saying, I was the Republican nominee and Tilden for the Democrats. Each of us had a reputation for being honest men. Tilden was a fine man. It was not a surprise to anyone he had the most popular votes as well as the most Electoral votes. The problem was that so much corruption occurred in Florida, Louisiana and South Carolina, the final tally of votes could not be trusted. It was difficult to award those Electoral votes. There was also an issue with the delegates committed to my tally from Oregon.”

  President Truman told me about political machines. I asked Rutherford if the political machines broke and that was why they could not count all the votes. He laughed and continued.

  “President Grant appointed a commission of five members of the House of Representatives, five Senators and five Supreme Court Justices to determine the fate of the twenty disputed Electoral votes. The twenty votes would determine the winner. The committee was comprised of seven Republicans, seven Democrats and one fair-minded independent, David Davis. After the committee was selected; the Democratic legislature in Illinois; elected Mr. Davis to the Senate, hoping to sway his vote. Being the honorable man he was, he removed himself from the committee.”

  “I should tell Grandpa Frank about Mr. Davis. He doesn’t think many of you guys are honorable.”

  President Hayes scratched his head. “With good reason, Alex. I can assure you however, there are some with who serve with honor.”

  I wanted the story to end. I knew Mom would tell me to shut off my lights soon. “Can you please finish your story? I want to listen to the radio.”

  “Of course, Alex. It is your birthday. But Sam Wilson thought it wise to hear the story of one of the most disputed elections in our history on Election Day.”

  “Ok, I get it. But, it’s my birthday. Even Wendy was nice to me today.”

  “I’ll proceed,” Rutherford said. “President Grant appointed Justice Joseph Bradley to the committee. Grant felt that Bradley was the best choice of the remaining Justices. Eight members selected me to become the next President and seven selected Tilden. The Democrats were furious.

  “Maybe if they didn’t try to cheat, the other guy woulda won.”

  Rutherford smiled. “Possibly. However, to quell the uprising from the Democrats, calmer men reached a compromise. The Federal Government pulled troops from the south to end the bitterness left after the Civil War. It ended the Reconstruction Era. However, many of the former slaves saw it as a betrayal.”

  “Thanks for the story, Mr. Hayes. I still think you should change your name to Randy around kids.”

  President Hayes shook his head and disappeared. I flipped on the music and enjoyed the last few moments of my birthday.

  ~~~*~~~

  Chapter Fourteen