by Tom Abrahams
“Dillinger,” asked the show’s host, Vickie Lupo, “I am curious. I know it’s early. We shouldn’t speculate, but are Capitol Police already preparing for the hundreds of thousands likely to show up and pay their respects?”
Dillinger was framed on the television in a box to the right of the screen. “Well, I don’t know about hundreds of thousands. Maybe. I mean, when President Reagan was memorialized in June 2004, there were an estimated two hundred thousand who funneled through the Capitol to see his casket. And that was the first state funeral for a former president in, like, thirty years. So, I don’t know we will see that many here. We could, given that Foreman was a sitting president, but I’d be surprised.”
“Dillinger Holt,” the anchor jumped in, “with the wildly popular website PLAUSIBLEDENIABILITY.INFO. We thank you for your insight.”
Davidson couldn’t see the screen, but he could hear the program as music began to grow louder. Vickie started talking again.
“When we come back to Constitution Avenue, we will be joined by a DC insider with a unique perspective on the president’s death. Former attorney general Bill Davidson is up. You’re gonna wanna hear his take. I’m Vickie Lupo, and we’re back in two minutes.”
Davidson heard the percussion crescendo again before the commercial began. He pulled out his pen and journal and made a quick note about Dillinger Holt’s interview.
“Bill, I need a mic check from you.” The voice in Davidson’s head was an audio technician in the show’s control room.
“Okay,” replied Davidson. “One, two, three, four, three, two, one. Is that good? Do you have your check?” He put the journal back in his pocket but held onto the pen. It was a good prop.
“Got it. Thanks.”
“Bill?” It was the producer’s voice this time. She was the woman who made certain the show’s segments stayed on time and kept moving.
“Yes?” He was adjusting his tie, running his thumb along the black 50-ounce silk tipping along its backside. He’d already checked for the dimple under the knot; it sat perfectly.
“We’ve got four minutes for your segment, though I’m going to try to keep it to three and a half. So when I give you a wrap, I need you to finish your thought and stop talking. Cool?”
“As a breeze.” Davidson was a pro. He was relaxed and comfortable on camera and got right to the point of any conversation.
“Ten seconds.” The producer gave her final warning to Davidson the show was about to return from commercial. The music restarted, and then Vickie Lupo, with her bottle-blonde hair and large white teeth, began her introduction of the segment.
“Back on Constitution Avenue now!” She squinted into the camera and feigned concern as she acted the script on the teleprompter in front of her.
“Joining us with some perspective on this sadly historic day is DC insider Bill Davidson. He is a current fellow at the Hanover-Crown Institute, a political think tank here in Washington, and he is a former attorney general.”
“Bill, thanks for being with us.” Vickie Lupo leaned on her right elbow and gestured with her left hand.
“Thank you, Vickie.” Davidson nodded and smiled almost imperceptibly. He ran his tongue across the bridge in his mouth.
“Bill, you have a unique insight here as a former top cop. Explain why we don’t have a new president yet? Shouldn’t Speaker Jackson already be in the Oval Office?” Vickie leaned into the camera as she folded her arms and waited for a response. Her head was tilted slightly.
“It’s not that simple,” he began. “The constitution is a living, breathing document open to interpretation. There are fundamental questions being raised here. The Twenty-Fifth Amendment is clear that the vice president ‘shall’ become president should the sitting president be unable to perform his duties. And the Act of Presidential Succession of 1947 provides that, should both the president and vice president be unable to serve, then the office falls to the Speaker of the House upon resignation of his or her congressional seat.”
“So the office belongs to Speaker Jackson?” Vickie interjected.
“Not so clearly.” Davidson raised his hand. “In testimony before the United States Senate Committee on the Judiciary in September 2003, Miller Baker, a lawyer who focuses on constitutional litigation, made the strong contention the 1947 act is unconstitutional.”
“We have some of that testimony,” Vickie again interrupted. “Let’s put the text on the screen for our viewers.”
Davidson couldn’t see the text, but he’d discussed this with the producer beforehand, so he had notes on the excerpt in his journal. He began to read aloud.
“He testified, Vickie, that ‘The 1947 Act placing Congressional officers in the line of succession is probably unconstitutional and is certainly unwise policy…because it appears that the Speaker of the House and the president pro tempore are not ‘officers’ eligible to act as President within the meaning of the succession clause.’” Davidson paused and then looked back into the camera.
“Now,” he restarted, “this is followed by Baker’s legal argument that the line of succession is a constitutional mess once we get past the vice president. There are others who agree.”
“Like who?” Vickie, Davidson knew, was playing the devil’s advocate. “I mean, Bill, c’mon. Aren’t these just conspiracy people bent on anarchy?”
“Hardly, Vickie.” He shook his head and his brow furrowed slightly. “These are well-respected scholars. For example,” he cited, “Akhil Reed Amar is the Sterling Professor of Law and Political Science at Yale University. He teaches constitutional law there. And he sat on a panel about a month after Baker’s testimony that dealt with this very issue. It was a popular topic in the aftermath of 9/11. He talked about the problems with succession. I was there in attendance, and I think I sat next to Senator John Cornyn of Texas. And Amar, who’s also coauthored a paper on this, talked about the 1947 Act’s misinterpretation of the word ‘officer’ as it relates to succession. The Framers, he said, essentially meant that officers were cabinet members and they weren’t intending to include members of the legislative body. That is part of the argument examined in a 2004 Congressional Report prepared by Thomas Neale, dealing specifically with succession legislation. Again, this was a thoroughly examined issue in the thirty-six months following 9/11.”
“Is that the basis for Secretary Blackmon’s lawsuit, then?” Vickie was reading a piece of paper on her desk as she asked the question. When she finished speaking, she raised her eyes to the camera while only slightly lifting her head. Davidson thought it gave her a judicial appearance.
“It could be.” Davidson nodded. “We haven’t seen the emergency request yet. But it likely will fall into the realm of the validity of the 1947 Act. And that opens another can of worms.”
“How so?” Vickie tilted her head again.
“If Blackmon wins the constitutionality argument, it still doesn’t guarantee him the office. He was never sworn in. It could be that his fight drops the job into the lap of the secretary of state.”
“So, Bill, where do we go from here? What is going on inside the White House tonight? How is what’s left of the administration coping and moving forward?”
“Vickie—” Davidson chuckled and shifted in his seat “—I’m not sure that’s the right question to ask. Or even the right series of questions. But I will say in response to you”—he was trying to talk his way through her verbal diarrhea—“that this is something that has not happened since John Kennedy was shot and killed in Dallas in 1963. It’s the first time since Richard Nixon’s resignation in 1974 that we’ve had no time to process the loss of a leader.
“It’s not something that is easily moved past. Members of the Foreman administration are mourning his loss. Without thinking about what’s next, they are consoling one another tonight.”
“But, Bill”—Vickie had shifted her weight to the other elbow and was now pointing her red Sharpie at the screen—“I can’t believe there is no politicking an
d scheming. There is a country to run. Right? And these are professional people. I have to believe the people’s business is part of the discussion tonight in the West Wing.”
“Sure.” Davidson remained the statesman the country believed him to be. “You are right that there is a series of emergency meetings this evening. We know there are some legal issues delaying the official transition of power. But as the Chief of Staff deals with the reality of serving whoever takes the oath, he is hurting. The staff is hurting. And I can tell you that amidst the planning inside the White House and Executive Office Building next door, and aside from the politicking that’s going on up on the Hill tonight, there is sadness. We are a country in mourning, and I think we need to take a moment to embrace that grief.
“To that end,” he continued, without giving Vickie and her high-definition-friendly Ellen Tracy cardigan the chance to cut him off, “I would suggest the previous guest made suppositions about the viewing, memorial, and funeral for President Foreman that are inappropriate. And I think—”
“Bill,” Vickie interrupted. “Bill, I am sorry to interject. But,” she continued joyfully and breathlessly, “we need to get our viewers and friends straight to the Capitol Rotunda, where we are expecting a joint statement from Speaker of the House Felicia Jackson and Secretary John Blackmon. Blackmon, as you know, was confirmed late last night as the next vice president, but he has yet to take the oath of office.”
Davidson was no longer on camera. The producer got in his ear and asked him to stand by. He agreed and sat listening intently to Vickie and the impending speech. He opened his journal again, flipped to a new page, and scribbled on it.
“There we are now.” Vickie was no longer on the screen, and instead there was a stationary shot of an empty lectern in the rotunda. “We are looking live at the rotunda, where, in an unprecedented move, television cameras are allowed on the floor. I’ve never seen this before.
“Just an incredible night, folks,” she continued. “And I am told we have just a few seconds until we hear from the two people who, I think it’s fair to say, are fighting it out to be our next president. I for one am incredibly anxious to see who speaks first. That should tell us a lot about the behind-the-scenes machinations. Who is the wizard pulling the strings right now, and who is left to click their heels?”
Chapter 8
One hundred and eighty feet beneath the dome of the Capitol Rotunda, Felicia Jackson walked with purpose to the lectern, the microphone, and Secretary John Blackmon. In front of her was a wall of television cameras stretching almost the entirety of the ninety-six-foot diameter of the symbolic heart of the Capitol.
She took her place between statues of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson and next to Secretary Blackmon toward the southern-facing edge of the room. She smiled at him and shook his hand with both of hers. The Speaker leaned in to feign a kiss on his cheek when he whispered in her ear.
“I think I’ll just say something real quick, then let you have the rest of the time.” He pulled back and smiled. Without waiting for her response, he slipped forward to the microphone.
He’d outmaneuvered her.
How could this have happened?
He was getting a chance to speak first. He was the one appearing presidential. She was the “woman behind the man”.
Felicia glanced up at Washington’s statue and imagined he would be displeased with the spectacle. The Speaker then affixed her gaze on the opponent of the moment and his tall, thin frame. From behind him she noticed his regal carriage and broad shoulders. Blackmon was polished.
For the sake of propriety, she nodded and stood a step behind him to his left. She appeared to the right of the screen on television, remaining close enough to him that even if the cameras zoomed in to a tight shot, she’d be in it.
“I would like to begin tonight with just a few words before handing the microphone to my colleague from the House, Representative Felicia Jackson of South Carolina.”
He is smooth, Felicia thought. He was reminding the country she was from the weaker side of the Hill. He did not mention she was the Speaker of the House, as protocol dictated he should.
“For those of you who don’t yet know me,” he continued, placing his right hand over his heart, “I am the confirmed vice presidential nominee and Secretary of Veterans Affairs, John Blackmon. On behalf of your elected leaders, I would like to express our condolences to the family of President Foreman and to you, the people who make up our grieving nation.”
Felicia suddenly felt nauseous. Blackmon was stealing the job and the power she coveted. He was doing it in front of the entire nation and she had to watch silently.
“I know I speak for both of us when I say that despite the loss of my friend Dexter Foreman, this country is in good hands. There is no absence of strong leadership. Congressional leaders and President Foreman’s staff have been meeting much of today, insuring a smooth transition to the next administration.
“To our friends around the world, we say thank you for your prayers. To our enemies, we warn you our nation and its foundation are as strong today as they have ever been. May God bless President Foreman’s soul and may God bless America.”
John Blackmon spoke for less than a minute. He was calm and forthright. He was, Felicia hated to admit, presidential.
She slid to her right as he stepped back. It was her turn.
“My fellow Americans,” she began after adjusting the microphone downward slightly, “we stand with you as your humble public servants asking for your help and guidance in these coming days.”
She was not using the teleprompter in front of her. She felt the sudden urge to improvise.
“I can tell you that Secretary Blackmon and I are working together with the administration to continue the work important to President Foreman and to the nation. We promise to keep you informed of all developments with regard to a plan for succession. And as we learn more about the memorial and funeral for President Foreman, we will share those details with you.
“Right now—” she paused and bit her lip “—we can tell you that all Americans will have the chance to honor the life of the president, as there are plans for him to lie in state right here in the Capitol Rotunda. I think it’s best we keep this brief so we can get back to the business of the people, but I will be happy to entertain a couple of questions.” She pointed to a reporter from The Washington Post.
“Speaker Jackson,” asked the man as he poked his head above the row of cameras in front of him. “Please comment on Secretary Blackmon’s court filing that prevents you from taking the oath of office. And please tell us if you have plans on resigning your congressional seat to become president.”
“Well—” she smiled falsely “—I think the suit is better addressed by Secretary Blackmon. But I will suggest it is better for our nation to move forward as quickly as possible. A prolonged fight predicated on personal gain is not what’s best for our democracy.
“As for the second question,” she continued, “there is some issue, my attorney advises me, as to whether or not I need resign my seat to assume the presidency. The constitution may not require that. For me to resign that position right now would leave the nation in an even more precarious position. Should the court take a prolonged time to determine the proper succession in this most serious matter, it would be better that I continue to serve as Speaker of the House. Given that there is currently no president and no vice president, I am the highest-ranking officer in the line of presidential succession according to the 1947 Act. That act requires eligible successors must have taken their sworn oaths of office. I have done so.”
“So you are suggesting the current situation is precarious?” the Post reporter chirped in an unapproved follow-up.
“Only in that we are mourning. We are distracted as a nation, and rightfully so. President Foreman was a good man and a good leader. We miss him.” She felt a gentle hand on the small of her back. She turned her head to her left and saw Blackmon was moving in
toward the microphone and was physically suggesting she move aside. Felicia stiffened against his touch and only moved when he began speaking without the microphone directly in front of him.
“I think, as Representative Jackson recommended, I should address the reporter’s first question.” He moved squarely behind the lectern as the Speaker finally ceded her position. “It relates to my request that we take a moment before rushing into a presidency which may, indeed, violate the terms of the document upon which our freedoms are based. There has long been concern about the constitutionality of the current line of succession. While I’ll refrain from making a legal argument here tonight, I will suggest to you the public interest is best served by reflection and a thorough examination of our laws.”
He was a lawyer. The Speaker knew she hated him for a reason.
Felicia stood slightly behind him, looking at his profile as he spoke. She was convinced he could have defined “is” for Bill Clinton and the former president couldn’t have argued with him. It was killing her. She despised lawyers in a town filled with them.
“We have nothing to lose here,” he continued. “Our nation and your neighborhoods are in capable hands. We have strong leadership in all three branches of government. I am certain—” he raised his index finger and looked back over his shoulder into Felicia’s eyes “—I am certain,” he repeated, looking back into the cameras in front of him, “our good servant, Felicia Jackson, feels as I do that the presidency is too awesome a responsibility to treat without such pause and regard.”
She raised her hand and began speaking as she moved back to the lectern, forcing Blackmon to step aside.
“My colleague is so right,” she began, looking directly at The Washington Post reporter. “It is the constitution that I swore to uphold and protect when I took my oath of office as Speaker of the House.” There was silence in the rotunda. By the time the assembled reporters had refocused and were jumping to ask questions, Felicia had turned to Blackmon, put her hand on his back and began to lead him away from the lectern. She was ending the press conference. She was taking control. He may have had the first word, and a few pointed ones in the middle, but she’d had the final word. Reporters continued to call after the two politicians as they made their way out of the rotunda and toward Statuary Hall. Her office was nearby. A pair of security guards followed them. As a member of House leadership, Felicia always had a security detail with her.
