Unlike most, Hahn’s idea of winding down was listening to the fiery debate and heated arguments airing on any one of the conservative talk radio shows broadcast in the metropolitan area. But at four o’clock during the week in New York, there was only one show that kept his attention. There was no radio talk show host more thought-provoking than Josh Anders.
Anders was the recognized, undeniable and self-proclaimed King of American conservative talk radio. He was bigger than life with a girth to match his ego. You did not get to be the king for nothing. Well-educated in law and politics, Anders used those tools to begin his burgeoning radio career, starting with a small popular station in Providence, Rhode Island, before being unleashed on the country. He knew the industry; friends and foes, competitors and novices. He kept tabs on them all throughout the country. Anders was a great judge of character and took many of these young talk show hosts under his wing, never refusing his advice and counsel when sought.
He also promoted many of these shows, some of which aired on the same regional station that syndicated his show. One of these shows was based in Charlottesville, Virginia with a host who seemed to echo much of his political beliefs. Tim Jenson’s producer had called the Anders show asking for a few minutes on air while they both broadcasted from Philadelphia over the Fourth of July weekend.
Of course Anders agreed, but now the weekend was upon them and he jotted down Tim Jenson’s name on his calendar, a reminder to google Jenson when he had a moment. As he looked at the calendar, he noticed Jenson’s name was right next to the publisher’s name to which he agreed to give an interview. Anders’ son loved this guy’s magazine and devotedly read it. Anders trusted his son’s judgment so he happily agreed to the meeting. But at the moment, Anders could only think about getting through the next few days. He couldn’t wait to get this weekend over with, so he could head to his retreat in the British Virgin Islands where he could kick back, relax, and vacation anonymously.
Anders scribbled in his calendar, packed it in his briefcase with his iPad and ledger book, closed the briefcase and told his staff that he would see them at the hotel in Philly later that night to go over Friday’s schedule. “How is it possible that the number one radio show in the country could be on tape delay in its biggest market, New York?” A voice yelled that the show would be live within a month or two, to which Anders nodded. With that, he waved them goodbye and left the studio.
The main floor of the publisher’s office was unusually quiet that Thursday afternoon. The buzz all week had been around the exclusive interview that the magazine’s owner was able to land. A quiet, nervous energy permeated from cubicle to cubicle. Each desk was occupied by a young man or woman, none of whom looked a day over twenty-five. Some were writing while others were programming. One of the writers, a recent graduate of Villanova University, looked over about ten pages of his handwritten notes one last time before making his way to the boss’s office.
The door was always open and upon entering, the writer noticed that though his boss was leaning in toward his computer monitor, his eyes were locked on the plasma flat screen television on the wall. He was transfixed on a political talk show on the World News Network. The young author shuffled his notes together one last time, fastened a paper clip on them, then dropped his notes on the desk, noting to his boss that everything he requested was in the clip, in chronological order. Brian Faulk looked down at the notes then back up at the young man and thanked him for his effort. The subordinate nodded, and exited Faulk’s office with a look of contentment.
Faulk had planned to change the world when he founded the magazine, The Impoverished Review almost two decades before. Now all these years later, the seventy year old entrepreneur had not given up his quest. His magazine was the pulpit he always desired. Faulk hoped landing the exclusive interview with the one and only Josh Anders may be a way of bringing attention to some good men that might team up and fight the good fight. He almost felt guilty by the sheer luck of landing it. Anders’ son was a big fan of the magazine. But while it may have been dumb luck, the good work done by Faulk and his staff resulted in the coveted interview. He smiled with satisfaction at the sight of Anders’ background notes on his desk and began to sift through them in preparation of the next day’s meeting.
But the sound emanating from the television on the wall kept diverting his attention. He couldn’t pull his concentration away from the talk show host, William Fredericks, berating a US Republican Senator from Texas. Faulk recoiled at how over-the-top and personal Fredericks was getting as he directed his wrath at the politician. Faulk had no respect for this bombastic, pompous Brit, who never met a conservative American he did not despise. Faulk looked back at the notes, shaking his head and wondering how an individual could speak like that to another human being and live with himself, let alone sleep at night.
About sixteen hours later, Fredericks was awake again, alert and facing that horrible red light of his alarm clock. He had begun thinking of it as the red eyes of the devil mocking him as he suffered through yet another tormented night. He kept the stiff upper lip of a British Gentlemen, but how many more nights like this could he handle?
This time his bleary eyes and swimming brain registered 3:10am. It was going to be another bad one. The demons were back. Although he had been warned by his doctor to abstain, he continued to believe incorrectly that the nightly fifth of Beefeater would keep the demons away. Tonight they attacked with particular aggression, demanding Fredericks accuse his “enemies” of treason. These voices demanded the ruin of all opponents. The image of his enemies hanging from trees stuck in his alcohol-soaked brain as he stumbled out of bed heading to the loo for a few sleeping pills.
Fredericks did not understand why these nightmares had grown even more malicious recently. The voices had left him alone for the most part since he quietly began taking Xanax, but now they returned with a vengeance. Thank God they had not again interfered with his “day job.”
Certainly, he had appeased the voices over the last couple of years by using his 8:00pm primetime political TV talk show, Today’s World on the World News Network (WNN) to savage his conservative enemies. He had dutifully taken on every issue and every comer with all the dirt the research department could find and all the fervor a zealot could deliver.
But something else was troubling Fredericks this early July morning. Recently he began to question which side was evil, those against him or those with him. During these fleeting moments of clarity, before the sinister synapses of his brain kicked back in, he actually lamented his admiration for the American people. After all, it was the bravery, ingenuity and generosity of the Yanks that delivered England from the Nazis. He knew in his heart what they could and would achieve if the American people were to be left alone, free of interference and even free of his demagoguery. He was having his doubts about his overall view of the world.
But the numbing effects of the gin began to wear off and he could no longer hold at bay the demons that returned for the night.
Such was Fredericks’ life. He imagined his death. Even Hell would be a welcome respite from these nights. But Hell would have to be put on hold. In a few hours, William Fredericks would once again begin preparation for another show.
Chapter 3
The red Chevy conversion van was in front of the Murray house promptly at 7:00am.
Jack was relieved. Dorothy was not sold on going to Philly during prime beach time so at least the trip was starting out right. The traffic to Virginia Beach or the Outer Banks was going to be murder anyway. The beach was always a zoo on Fourth of July and Jack knew that even Dorothy would concede that fact. She was putting the finishing touches on her makeup as Todd bounded out the front door in his favorite tee shirt, white emblazoned with a large red “USA” across the front, his blue Villanova lacrosse hat, black basketball shorts and red Nike basketball shoes with no socks, untied, and his black knapsack slung over his shoulder. There was no doubt he was excited, the all-American teenager looking forward to
his first trip to Philadelphia.
As Todd jumped into the van to check it out, Jack followed. Neither he nor Dorothy, whom he called “Dot,” knew how to dress for all this. And they were too embarrassed to ask. The diminutive contest winner decided on a pair of neatly pressed beige khakis, a white Lands End golf shirt and his trusty brown Sperry boat shoes with no socks. He carried two suitcases, over-packing as usual for what was anticipated to be a two night stay. Not knowing what to expect, he and Dot had packed some clothes for any occasion. Jack secretly hoped Jenson would take a liking to him. They were going to be travel companions for the next couple of days and Jack was anxious to meet some of the political types that Jenson’s producer promised would be there. Hell, he may even get to meet Josh Anders.
Dot looked good in her light blue sun dress, low heels, sparkling blue eyes, and flowing shoulder length auburn hair. She locked up the house, turned and walked toward the van and Jenson. Jenson did a quick double-take as he introduced Skip Keaton and himself to Jack Murray. They then met his son, Todd. Jenson then righted himself, smiled, and reached his hand out to Mrs. Murray.
Keaton, looking at his watch said, “It’s a good ride to Philly and we want to get there in enough time to set up. So I think we need to get moving.”
With that, Keaton jumped in the driver’s seat and started the van. Jenson took his place riding shotgun while the Murray family slid into their seats in the rear passenger area. Jack thought Dot looked impressed so far. Keaton and Jenson seemed like regular guys and the van was new and clean with plenty of room. It had a refrigerator, comfortable seats and Todd’s favorite Xbox games to keep him busy. Everybody settled in as they pulled away from the curb.
Knowing the van’s high tech navigational system would never recognize the area, Murray directed Keaton through the winding country roads toward Interstate 81 north. Todd dropped Call of Duty into the Xbox and began to wipe out a platoon of Russian Special Forces. Dottie put her headphones on, hit shuffle on the iPod, and drifted off blissfully to the sound of Alan Jackson (as only a busy mother granted a few hours of down time could do).
Keaton changed the radio station from his employer’s talk radio, which was broadcasting a juvenile morning show, to classic rock station 106.3 WBOP, and began singing along to The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” Amused, Murray noted to himself that Jenson just smiled at Keaton’s abrupt behavior. Murray immediately liked the older Jenson and settled in for the long journey with familiar music, relaxed company, and the beautiful Virginia countryside as it passed by the window in a blur.
While baseball season was in full swing with the young, upstart Mets holding a four game lead on the high priced Marlins and Phillies, it was football that always ended up dominating any sports conversation in Murray’s house. Murray was a born Redskin fan. One of his earliest memories was of his father sitting in front of the TV rooting on Billy Kilmer, Charlie Taylor, and the 1972 Skins against Bob Griese (and the undefeated Miami Dolphins in Super Bowl VII). They lost that day, but Murray was hooked on the Skins. Though not a gifted athlete, through playing sports, coaching and attending events, Murray developed a respect for people coming together to achieve a common goal.
Unfortunately for Jack, Todd inherited a love for all things Carolina from his mom, including the University of North Carolina Tar Heels basketball. This was a sore spot for her husband as Dottie and Todd enjoyed the friendly rivalry with Jack. Murray’s one solace was that at least they weren’t Eagle fans. After all, Dot was born in Philly, so it could have happened.
The radio show host and teacher began to jell as the upcoming football training camp became the subject of discussion. Jenson concurred with Murray that the Skins were going nowhere again and they both agreed that Mike Shanahan was a good coach if left alone by the meddling owner. If Dan Snyder sold the team or removed himself from the football operation, they could return to the glory days of Joe Gibbs and George Allen. Within thirty minutes, the wanna-be Redskin general managers had fixed the future of the team and now turned their attention to fixing America’s future.
The next two hours were filled with lively political debate, ranging from the state of the union to which president was each man’s favorite.
“Thomas Jefferson was by far the most accomplished of all the presidents. He wrote the Declaration of Independence, doubled the size of the country in one fell swoop with the Louisiana Purchase and invented products still used today like the dumbwaiter and the swivel chair,” Jenson argued.
While Murray agreed that Jefferson was a great president, he countered that the man who was known as the Father of the Constitution, James Madison, was a greater thinker than Jefferson. Murray argued that Madison was underrated as a president and reminded Jenson of Madison’s most important contribution, The Federalist Papers, which helped define the relationship between the States and the Federal Government.
“Madison made plain that the rights of Americans are God-given and not subject to the whim of government or politicians,” Murray admonished. While Jenson was not dissuaded from his opinion, he was deeply impressed with the depth of Murray’s understanding and passion. At least both men could agree that no president or founder exceeded the talents and contributions of George Washington.
Dottie knew her Jack was on fire now, speaking of his beloved Constitution. She smiled as she thought, “That Mr. Jenson has no idea what he has gotten himself into,” and quietly drifted off to sleep.
It was now ten in the morning and just in time to tune in to the Josh Anders Show. He too would be broadcasting from Independence Hall that morning, so Jenson focused on how Anders would kick off his show. Jenson’s show followed and he did not want to copy anything the master would say out of the gate. But for Jenson, the best was yet to come.
Anders had agreed to appear at the beginning of Jenson’s show today. The host from Charlottesville would be ready. Jenson and Keaton would be set up on “radio row” at the Statehouse before two, at least an hour before his spot with Anders and in time to begin his broadcast after the news update. Anders had only promised ten minutes, but Jenson was looking forward to it, keenly aware that even a few minutes with Josh Anders could potentially open doors for him nationally. It was exactly the kind of opportunity he wanted and hoped for when he originally planned the contest and trip. He liked the fact that he and Anders thought alike, both wanting to be in Philadelphia for the weekend. Jenson smiled as he turned his attention to Anders’ voice roaring over the radio.
Anders opened with a fury, exclaiming that he was disgusted by the few remaining candidates sniping at each other rather than focusing on defeating the current president, who they all agreed was dismantling the fundamental principles of our nation. The attack on each other by way of negative ads, filled with lies and distortions, made him sick. He continued his rant that the candidates were engaging in the kind of class warfare usually confined to the Left, and using labels like “Vulture Capitalist” to describe one another.
As the van approached Philadelphia, Jenson added that it was unbelievable that these supposed capitalists would use terminology like that.
“I despise campaign catchphrases like ‘Compassionate Conservatism.’ If adhered to without intervention, there is no more compassionate, no more equitable a system as capitalism, and it need not be apologized for, nor should it be tinkered with.”
Murray was on the same wavelength, following almost reflexively with a quote from Adam Smith.
“It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest. We address ourselves, not to their humanity but to their self-love.”
Murray could not contain himself.
“Unlike today’s liberals, the founders understood human nature, you know, Smith’s ‘Invisible hand.’ The founders designed the Constitution with this as a guiding principle. Human nature demands pursuit of one’s own interest. The Invisible hand aligns self interest with societal inter
est through risk and reward, upper mobility, unfettered financial incentives and minimal government intrusion. As Smith said about man, by pursuing his own interest, ‘He frequently promotes that of the society more effectually than when he really intends to promote it. I have never known much good done by those who affected to trade for the public good.’”
It was evident to him that he found in Murray a kindred spirit who understood that the only vultures in capitalism were those in the government who, through taxes and regulation, picked on the bones of once vibrant businesses.
“I knew I liked this guy, he’s my kind of people!” Jenson yelled to Keaton, startling his producer and everybody else in the van.
Dottie, having woken up with about half an hour left in the ride, listened intently to the conversation as they pulled up to a red light in front of Independence Mall in Philadelphia. All heads were swinging back and forth taking in the immediate sights in the foreground and distance. With Independence Hall and the famed Liberty Bell to the left, Dottie happily noted to herself that Jack was really in his element now.
Jack needed this. She had sensed his recent restlessness and knowing her husband as she did, knew that he needed fellow conservatives with whom to discuss his frustrations; people who would listen, unlike many of his students who came to him already jaded by their liberal instructors. His words to them fell on deaf ears more often than not. Even the members of his local Tea Party were falling into the “all talk and no action” trap. Jack needed men of action who could affect a kind of real change that was not just words on a bumper sticker. Maybe Jack had found what he needed. Maybe he had won this contest for a reason other than an all expense paid weekend.
Chapter 4
What we need is a candidate this country can rally behind. I don’t care what his political party is. I want a president that puts the good of the country first and not the good of himself, his wallet or his political cronies!” Josh Anders was in the latter part of his third hour on the air live from Independence Hall. It was the Fourth of July eve and he had spoken to just about every type of person that day. Even a handful of ninety-nine percenters who descended upon the City of Brotherly Love stuck around just to give their two cents to the radio behemoth.
The New Founders Page 2
