The New Founders

by Joseph F. Connor

  He could feel a drip of sweat on his brow as the stoic man next to him seemed to peer into his soul. Fredericks appeared to accept his guest’s compliment and settled himself by adjusting his glasses and taking a sip of his Evian water.

  “Candidate Walters, who are you?”

  “I am Frank Walters, a man who believes in our great America, its people, its traditions and institutions.”

  “No, Mr. Walters. Who are you? A few weeks ago, no one ever heard of Frank Walters. Now you are a household name, running for president with the so-called Tea Party. According to an overnight poll, right now you would win over twenty-five percent of the Republican vote, sixty percent of the conservatives and astonishingly close to fifty percent of the vote against our seated president.”

  Almost frothing from the mouth, Fredericks went on. “How is this happening? We really know nothing about your background?”

  Walters smiled easily. He turned, looking in earnest into the camera.

  “I suppose I am a man who says what I mean and that just happens to be what the people feel in their hearts and minds. It’s really rather simple in words, but much more extreme in deeds.”

  Fredericks came right back at him. “But a higher percentage of the general population would vote for you over any single Republican candidate out there. The polls even say you would get a higher vote total from minorities and women. How do you factor that?”

  Walters wanted to scold his host right there but took the high road. He smiled, like a father to his son. “Mr. Fredericks, I suggest you stop categorizing Americans as you do. The results of your precious survey reveal that Americans are not groups, but individuals, with their own individual views and values. They should not be thought of as blocks, but blokes if you will. I believe sir that you answered your first question with your latter one.”

  Fredericks visibly recoiled. Sensing he was losing his edge as the conductor of the interview, he immediately upped the rhetoric.

  “Mr. Walters, you have a resume of running your own businesses, including one that imported dangerous chemicals and high tech surveying equipment that has subsequently been banned by the EPA for fouling our environment. You have become a wealthy man on the backs of non-union labor and have attempted to keep union workers out of your businesses. On top of that you have a very sketchy public record, virtually no political record, aside from four years on your local school board. How do you expect to become President of the United States and further, how do you expect to be an effective Chief Executive with such a light resume and public record?”

  Walters once again maintained his cool.

  “Thank you, Mr. Fredericks. You flatter me by pointing out so many virtues.” Walters halted his statement and smiled. He looked for physical feedback from his host and William did not disappoint as he appeared confused. “You have revealed much about yourself, Mr. Fredericks. As Thomas Jefferson pointed out, ‘Let those flatter who fear. It is not an American art.’”

  Hahn, who had joined Rader in the “green room,” burst out laughing. “Holy cow, Ken, can you believe him? I hope he is not being too aggressive.”

  Rader thought the same thing and prayed Frank would get back to his message and not be taken off his game by the slick Fredericks. Mr. Walters did indeed return to his message describing his strong record as a Chief Executive in the private sector where he created jobs and pushed for innovation. He followed by detailing his two tours in Vietnam and remarking that he was proud of his service to family, country, employees, and his Creator. “It is the service to my family and my God that I most cherish. For when we raise the level of our families, so do we raise the level of our society. And to raise the level of our society is to honor our Creator—the source of our natural rights.”

  William was visibly frustrated, but composed himself as he called for a commercial break.

  Walters quickly exited the studio as the break began. Josh’s crash course in television presentation proved invaluable, especially the warning about the odd powder that would most likely be applied to his nose and forehead. He had advised Walters to think before speaking and address his adversary in a clear voice.

  He also gave Walters two old tricks taught to him years before; to look into the camera when addressing the people and avoid any small talk with Fredericks. Live microphones were dangerous and Mr. Walters was taking no chances.

  As the second segment began, Fredericks looked for a one punch knockout.

  “Mr. Walters, you are obviously a very skilled politician. You have managed to avoid the questions, so I will put it to you most clearly. There are people who say you are not who you claim to be. You came from nowhere. There are even precious few photos of you during the last few years. Once again, Mr. Walters, who are you? Are you a fraud?”

  Hahn shot a look of shock at Rader who didn’t comprehend the reason for the alarm in Hahn’s face. If he was bothered by the question, Mr. Walters did not show it.

  “William, let’s be frank. We agreed to participate on your show and were told by your producer that we would discuss my policy ideas as candidate for president. But you have ignored politics altogether and directed your line of questioning toward my person. If you feel more comfortable doing so, so be it.”

  He knew that addressing his host as William was disrespectful and he made a mental note to try to avoid that in the future except under special circumstances. Walters had been tested by far more confrontational and direct questioners before, most of which had been in his own administration. The host before him offered no such challenge.

  Once again, Walters penetrated William’s familiar eyes, eyes that offered a window into who this gentleman really was. Walters felt he knew this hostile and terse individual from many years earlier. But after a few minutes of back and forth dialogue, he finally understood that his initial impression of William Fredericks was correct. He had gazed on an image of those eyes before. Putting his revelation aside, he continued.

  “I understand your thoughts, Mr. Fredericks. I would find it most disconcerting as well to swear in a president who may not be of the identity he claims; where little proof of his lineage exists. Such a fellow would be a danger to these states and the people. Even a hint of impropriety would be worthy of further intensive investigation, especially with all the resources you and your media colleagues have at your disposal. I am sure you would agree, William.”

  He had called him William again but by this point it was inconsequential. Walters was now in charge, and his subordinate on the studio set was going to listen to him. It was at this moment that the first president had his own epiphany that members of his new inner circle may have already suspected.

  “Fortunately, Mr. Fredericks you and the people of this great land need not have any such concerns about my intentions.”

  Though William didn’t understand why, he felt an odd connection to Mr. Walters. While he continued the direct questioning for the remainder of the half hour segment, sprinkling in political issues, Fredericks backed off his snarling intensity.

  As the segment concluded, the host thanked his guest for appearing on the show. Fredericks and Walters offered one another a respectful handshake and Walters stood, looked down upon his still seated counterpart, and marched off set.

  As Frank moved toward Murray, Hahn, and Rader, they noticed something slightly different in their leader. Maybe, Rader thought, it was a sense of relief from getting through the interview. But the perceptive Murray was not so sure and had his suspicions as the four men exited toward the elevator.

  Chapter 24

  Ken Rader, Bill Pepper, and Steve Anders were back at their Potomac headquarters near Mount Vernon planning their candidate’s barnstorming tour around the United States. The whirlwind ahead would span the month leading up to the Republican convention. Rader’s goal was to build Walters’ popularity so that it would crescendo with the opening of the convention in Tampa.

  Rader presented the plan to their leader. But Frank Walters had his
own ideas.

  Walters outlined his vision of an overall strategy in which they would plan their attack in week by week intervals. He explained that every general had a plan going into battle, but once shots were fired, most plans needed nimble revisions. The team devised a seven city, six day insurgency in which Walters would focus on Democratic strongholds. He knew that for the most part, conservative America would enthusiastically back him.

  “Men, we need to go to the urban areas and to constituencies who do not know my message. We must focus on areas where misinformation and propaganda has thrived. There will be time for Tea Party meetings and rallies in the heartland from coast to coast. But right now, our focus needs to be on the less enlightened population.”

  A couple of the men looked down at their toes and chuckled as Steve Anders sheepishly mentioned that the first stop they planned was a Tea Party rally on the Boston Common. Walters paused, and then nodded his head.

  “Boston is fine, a traditional Federalist, Democratic stronghold. But can we change the venue to one of the poorer sections, possibly South Boston? Josh has told me much about his father’s produce business in that neighborhood and the men and women that frequented his establishment. We need to be there.”

  Steve Anders was frustrated but assured the first president that he would do all he could to comply with his request. Within seconds, Anders was on his phone and out the door.

  Rader quickly got Walters’ attention when he laid out his new plan-for the trip, starting with Detroit, Chicago, and Madison, Wisconsin, three union centric cities that were virtual locks to carry any Democratic vote for president. Walters took note as the Builder’s itinerary showed Las Vegas, San Francisco, and Los Angeles as the next stops. Rader explained that the trip could be taxing and the team would be short on sleep because of the cross country journey. Mr. Walters dismissed his concern. He looked forward to seeing the western expanse of the nation and meeting its people.

  “I’ve slept long enough in my life. Where to next after the city of angels?”

  Rader outlined a return flight cross country to Atlanta, then to Baltimore. He explained that the day after Baltimore, the group would rest and map out their next plan of attack. Walters again rebutted the idea of rest.

  “Gentlemen, Baltimore is still close to the capital is it not?” Mr. Walters asked with a touch of sarcasm. “I would like to go back to Washington DC and speak there; not only among the great monuments, but in the urban areas among the people. We can plan the following week while we stand on our soapbox, don’t you agree?”

  Neither Ken Rader nor the rest of the team was about to disagree with the assertive candidate. He had exhibited the energy of a twenty year old on the Freedom Trail tour and the team was not about to doubt the man’s drive at this point. Rader instructed the team to pack their things and head to the waiting cars outside their headquarters in Mount Vernon.

  Though relatively lightly attended, the Boston Tea Party rally went off without a hitch. A small platform and dais had been set up in front of the elder Anders’ produce market in South Boston. Candidate Walters addressed the assembly of well wishers and skeptics and held them glued to his every word for just short of an hour.

  He spoke about the origins of the Tea Party and the events leading up to it. He hammered home the tyranny of taxation without representation, translating the rallying cry of 1773 into the modern day equivalent by noting that the people of South Boston saw their taxes increased as unemployment rose, hope diminished, cynicism grew, and public services declined. He stressed how the city of Boston was integral in the fight for freedom during the revolutionary times and how it could be integral now in the fight against government oppression.

  Walters concluded with a story of how the Vietnam War had such a profound effect on the South Boston area. He spoke of the young men who were called to duty during the war, only to return to the neighborhood with missing arms, legs, and souls, if they were fortunate enough to make it back at all.

  Instead of coming home to a hero’s welcome, they were confronted with war protesters that shouted obscenities to their faces. Frank described an incident in which police tried to quell a protest, only to be attacked and provoked. He told how the protesters had pre-meditated the scene and had cameras at the ready as the police force used night sticks in their defense.

  He again translated this story into modern day current events, outlining the left wing’s use of war protesters like Patty Sheehan and schemes to buy votes in general elections. He reiterated that the people of Boston were too smart to fall for this once again, sparking the crowd into applause.

  Walters finished by telling them that the police in the Vietnam incident had a guardian angel in a young lawyer that took the case when nobody wanted it, and ultimately exonerated the officers involved.

  “And that lawyer was none other than the son of the man who owns this very establishment. And I know you know who he is!”

  A chant of “Josh” rained down as the men left the dais.

  The campaign was invigorated as the team took off for Detroit. There they visited an automobile factory which the candidate found fascinating, judging by the fact that the team went over their originally planned time schedule. The union workers were impressed by the quick witted and genuinely interested candidate. He then went directly into the heart of the city and gave a short speech in front of an abandoned building near downtown. He was disheartened by the lack of feedback and came down from his perch to talk with people one by one. This gesture won him favor with some of the Detroiters, although Walters left feeling unsure.

  Next stop was the belly of the beast where Frank quickly snapped back with a successful visit to the Chicago Board of Trade and the Cabrini-Green projects. He warned residents of the Hog Butcher to the World that the current administration will not end its goal of controlling the people with PresidentCare, cautioning that it was only the beginning. He advised that in a second term they would set their sights on the food we eat and begin regulating production and distribution of the very sustenance of Americans.

  “If you think they have power grabbed now, wait until they get a second term and go after your food.”

  The campaign continued in search of the illusive blue dog Democrats in Madison and managed to find a few during his speech in Veterans Memorial Park. Frank addressed the very public sector unions that had protested the current governor and his budget. Walters hoped to win over some of these Reagan Democrats who identified themselves as Americans first and Democratic Union labor second.

  He emphasized the notion that public sector jobs, particularly teachers, police, and firefighters, were extraordinarily important to the betterment of our society, yet municipalities could no longer afford to pay for certain benefits and under-performing workers. He explained that public sector workers would be compensated appropriately according to market forces. Public servants would continue to enjoy long and meaningful careers serving society so long as the public could afford to pay them. The candidate concluded by emphasizing that if society suffered, so too would the workforce.

  The team thought Walters presented a strong argument. It was, however, received with protests and less enthusiasm than the new founders would have liked. Still Frank was pleased with the message presented and expected he would win over some of those detractors.

  Despite the mixed results in Madison, the team was energized for the long trip west. Frank was inspired by the breathtaking views of the beautiful country passing beneath the jet. He beamed with pride as he sang to himself the words to a song he had recently heard: “From the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceans white with foam, God Bless America, our home, sweet home.” Then, the jet touched down at Las Vegas McCarran International Airport.

  Now they were rolling.

  The team had just pulled off a major coup having their “rock star” candidate deliver a rousing version of his rising tide stump speech to an afternoon teamsters union convention in Vegas. Mr. Walters knocked it
out of the park, yet again. Murray was beginning to think that it was Babe Ruth that had come back from the dead, not George Washington.

  Murray was blown away thinking they now had members of the country’s largest labor union aboard the SS Walters. Who would come on board next, the Wisconsin teachers union?

  The Cafe Bellagio bar was rocking this early evening. Even though it was crowded, Murray and Hahn secured seats of honor at the corner of the bar facing the TV. The sights and activities of Vegas were famous and Murray enjoyed some of those leggy sights as they walked past the barstools.

  Murray was relieved that Walters was back in the hotel room now, probably watching the History Channel or reruns of American Idol, his other favorite show. As a candidate for president, their boss was now under full secret service protection or professional sitters, as Murray called them.

  “That one secret service agent Michelle, she’s not bad. I saw the big guy eyeing her this morning. You think he’s finally getting acquainted with a twenty-first century woman? You know how those secret service folks are these days.”

  The men smiled at Murray’s comment and toasted the image of Walters’ wicked ways.

  Murray was just grateful the old man was not at the bar with them. He would most likely spoil the fun by barking orders and demanding everyone cater to his every whim.

  Murray felt his BlackBerry vibrate again as he reached for his second Tanqueray and tonic. Instinctively, he reached down and hit the off button to stop the annoying vibration. He’d get to the call or text after another drink or two. It was probably Walters busting his chops or Dottie telling him where she’d been while he was away. Maybe it was Todd calling from one of his summer baseball tournaments. Regardless of what the message was, Murray told himself it could wait until he was done with a drink or two. Relaxation was the word of the moment.