The President

by Parker Hudson

  “Folks have been slaves on this earth for thousands of years. But it was the power of God working through mainly white people who freed us in this nation! Where else has that ever happened? Thousands and thousands of whites who worked tirelessly from pulpits and podiums from the time the first slave arrived here through Abraham Lincoln and the bloodiest war in our history, right up to the men in power who listened to Martin Luther King Jr. and were changed in their hearts! Now who changes hearts? Not politicians. Not commentators. Not rioters. God changes hearts!

  “We’re the inheritors of the greatest setting free since the Hebrews left Egypt—except that in our case the Pharaoh’s heart did change—but just like the Israelites, we’ve forgotten the God who freed us. We’ve trusted in a false god, the golden calf of the government, and forsaken the God who really saved us. Government programs never have and never will make us prosperous. Education, yes. Equal rights, yes. But programs that pay a woman more money for more children when there’s no husband at home are only bound to make the plantation and its degradation larger and larger. Where are the black leaders who are willing to stand up and say that? And then help get rid of these programs, to replace them with what has always worked in the past—people and families helping people and families.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we don’t need black leaders. We don’t need white leaders. We need God-fearing leaders of both races! Men and women who first acknowledge God’s sovereignty in this nation and in their lives. Where do we start? How about ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ If you wouldn’t want to be on welfare, then why propose it for someone else? How about ‘Husbands, love your wives...as your own bodies’ and ‘Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.’ Does that mean to do everything we can to keep families together? Do you realize that ninety-five percent of black families with a mother and father living together with high school educations are above the poverty line? You don’t have to be a black rocket scientist to figure out what works! How about ‘look after widows and orphans in their distress.’ We’ve created a whole lot of literal and figurative widows and orphans, and we— not the government—better start looking after them, or the consequences for all of us will be disastrous.

  “We can do all of that—we’ve got the blueprint. I’ve just quoted you a few short lines from it. The real wealth in this nation is one that’s virtually untapped: the wealth of people’s hearts. And hearts only come in one color.

  “Let me make it real simple. To make black people prosperous, we must do two things: encourage education and family formation for those who haven’t been sucked into the government plantation, and family-to-family emergency help for those who have. And that’s what we’ll to do if you elect a group to Congress in November who first fear the Lord and are willing to accept that he knew the answers long before we invented social engineers.

  “Friends, there is hope! Everyone in this room is a living example of how good this country can be to all of us. Rather than whining and pointing fingers at the white people who mostly want to help us, I ask you to pick up a ballot in November and help us tear down the walls of the plantation that still has so many of our brothers and sisters enslaved. It won’t be easy, but ladies and gentlemen, listen: there is no other way.”

  Leslie watched the end of the tape as the predominantly black audience sat in silence. Then there was a smattering of applause that led quickly to a tumult, and most of the listeners rose to their feet as Joe Wood sat and acknowledged their applause with a single wave of his hand.

  Next Leslie took out her tape and inserted a copy made from their nightly newscast only a little while before. She fast forwarded through several segments, including her own story on the vice president, until she came to Ryan Denning on the screen with a still picture of Joe Wood behind him.

  “In other political news today,” Ryan led off, “the president’s second highest ranking black advisor, the Reverend Joe Wood, addressed a meeting of black educators in Washington. In his speech, Reverend Wood accused whites of creating governmental plantations for blacks but went on to say that blacks should nevertheless put their trust in God and whites—that black leaders are no longer needed.”

  There followed quick excerpts from the address, run together, showing Joe Wood saying, “White leaders ‘guaranteed’ everyone into a federal plantation system that emasculates our men, turns our women into degraded baby machines, and then enslaves our children... My friends, this is a majority white nation... Trust God... We don’t need black leaders.”

  The camera came back to Ryan Denning, who looked very serious and said, “We understand that the president and Jerry Richardson are trying to obtain a copy of Reverend Woods address. Now, for more on the upcoming election, here is John Sherry in Portland with the president of Keep America Strong—No Church in Government.”

  Leslie was even more angry than when she first heard his report. After writing a final sentence, she put in a call to New York. Two minutes later she reached Ryan, who was apparently about to leave the studio.

  “Hi, Leslie. How’d we do tonight?”

  “Awful,” Leslie replied. “How could you so blatantly misrepresent what Joe Wood said today?”

  “Misrepresent? Come on, Leslie. We used his own words, and everything I said was one hundred percent true.”

  “But you quoted little pieces of sentences and put everything in the wrong context to make him look bad to both whites and blacks.”

  “Hey, he said what he said,” Ryan replied.

  “But he didn’t say it how you reported it. You were grossly unfair and inaccurate!”

  “Leslie, that was Joe Wood up there. The president’s chief Uncle Tom who wants to put black people back in chains with religious garbage— singing spirituals while they hoe cotton.”

  “Come on, Ryan. I was there, and that’s not what he said or even implied. In fact, he said just the opposite!”

  “Leslie, have you forgotten that this is a war we’re in? That’s one of the president’s generals, and in war you do what you can to take out generals. We’ve got to discredit him, and if we can do it with his own words, then so much the better.”

  “But you—we—lied tonight!”

  “So what? Not really. And the goal of dumping these wackos certainly justifies a little creative editing.”

  “I don’t know, Ryan.”

  “Hey, I know. It’s important. And here you and I are fighting, when we’re supposed to be married in just over two months. You know, I’ll be glad when this election is over. You really haven’t been the same since back on the Fourth of July. That storm must have really affected you.”

  Leslie was silent for a moment. “Yes. It did. Ryan, I think I felt the real war that day, and I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since.”

  “Come on, Les...”

  “No, really. And I wish you’d told me about all those other cities before last week. Ryan, don’t you see it’s impossible for that to have just ‘happened’? I checked yesterday with the National Weather Service record office. The wind in each of those cities was blowing from a slightly different direction! It’s like God was saying ‘I know there’s a battle raging in Washington, but I want to show everyone that I’m still in charge, and I can make a strong wind blow in fifteen cities from clear skies, all at the same moment, from any direction I want, so don’t lose sight of the real power.’ But we missed the miracle. It happened right before our eyes, and we missed it!”

  “Leslie, that was just a coincidence and nothing more.”

  “Sure, Ryan. I think it was more like really creative editing!” And she hung up.

  26

  When you become entitled to exercise the right of voting for public officers, let it be impressed on your mind that God commands you to choose for rulers just men who will rule in the fear of God. The preservation of a republican government depends on the faithful discharge of this duty; if the citizens neglect their dut
y and place unprincipled men in office, the government will soon be corrupted... If a republican government fails... it must be because the citizens neglect the divine commands, and elect bad men to make and administer the laws.

  NOAH WEBSTER

  Friday, October 18

  One Month Later

  WASHINGTON—William Harrison had just finished the strategy session with his key advisors for the last two weeks before the election, including the plans for the final rallies on the weekend of November 2, and was seeing them out the door of the Oval Office. Waiting outside for his scheduled appointment was Senator John Dempsey.

  “Hello, John.” William offered his hand and a smile of genuine affection.

  “Hello, Mr. President,” came the older man’s reply, as they went in and shut the door.

  “Let’s sit together by the fireplace. What can I do today for the senior senator from Ohio?” The president sat down in a wingback chair, as did the senator.

  “Well, I want to thank you again for campaigning with us a month ago,” Dempsey began. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but the polls show that I’ve got about a seven-point lead, and I’m grateful to you.”

  “I’m flattered you consider my involvement an asset. In some districts my presence at a campaign rally is considered the kiss of death.” William laughed, but both men knew his assessment was accurate.

  “I hear from around the state that most of the congressional races are within a few points of being dead even. What does the picture look like nationally?” Dempsey asked.

  “We’ve pulled up a bit. I think there’s been a tremendous amount of one-on-one persuasion. It’s starting to show, as people really consider the implication of voting against a biblical view of the world. Our biggest problem right now seems to be that many, many people, when confronted with the choice, still want to sidestep it. Unlike the Israelites before Joshua, our voters can do that just by not voting at all.”

  “And, Mr. President, despite all you’ve done, I still hear people say that they believe strongly in God but they don’t want to drag him into politics or national government.”

  “Which is just a vote for the other side,” the president said.

  “If you can’t beat ‘em, confuse ‘em.”

  “I guess that’s been Satan’s motto since day one.”

  “Yes, you’re right. But hey, I had a more specific reason to ask to see you today,” Senator Dempsey said, reaching into his coat pocket. He took out three audio cassettes and an envelope, which he held out to the president.

  “Here. Take these. I told you I’d give them to you on the last day either of us is in public office. Well, today isn’t that day, but you’re not the same man I talked to then, either. I’ve seen enough to know that only the Holy Spirit could do in you what’s obviously been done, and I don’t want these tapes hanging around where they might cause some embarrassment. That’s the affidavit plus the original tape and the only two copies I ever made.”

  William slowly took the tapes and the envelope. “John, thank you. And thank you for being tough with an unbelieving president who was about to do some very stupid things, and would have, if you hadn’t brought him up short with these.”

  “We all can change, William. Thank God that he can do that. And I hope you destroy all of those before the sun sets today.”

  “You can count on it. And God is amazing, isn’t he? Think how far we’ve come in less than two years. The interesting thing is, if I had known and believed then, before our election, what I know and believe now, I probably would never have run for office.”

  “God’s timing is perfect, William.”

  ATLANTA—Eunice Porter answered the knock at the door of her apartment. It was Sally Kramer. She opened the door and stepped back. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks,” Sally said as she took off her light coat. She sat down on the couch and opened her shoulder bag. “Here, I’ve got your train tickets. You go up on Saturday evening, November 2. You arrive on Sunday and they do it on Monday. I just did the same thing, and it’s a piece of cake.”

  Eunice sat down beside Sally and took the tickets. “Thanks. I’ve got a question, though. Will they pay for me to have someone stay here with the kids at night if I’m gone that long?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll ask. I think they should, since it’s so far for you to go. Or I can stay with them when your sister’s not here.”

  “And where is this place?”

  “It’s the Burroughs Clinic, located on 110th Street. The people are real nice. They’ll put you up in a hotel nearby. I tell you, there’s nothing to it. I came back the next day with my money.”

  Just then the phone rang on the table next to the couch, and Eunice answered it.

  “Hello, Eunice, this is Rebecca Harrison. Listen, I’d like to see you if I could.”

  “I’m not scheduled for another appointment for a week.”

  “Well, can I come see you there?”

  “I...uh, I don’t think so. Can’t you just tell me what you want to talk about?”

  “Well, I’d rather see you in person. But, Eunice, I think I’ve figured out, with the help of our computer guy, that last year when you had your abortion, the organs of that baby were transferred out of here and maybe sold. Is that true?”

  Nervous because Sally was sitting with her, Eunice stalled. “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, my friend started looking at all the records—I asked him to— and he finally hit upon a pattern of you or other women coming in for an abortion, all done by the same doctor, and then a completely different medical record appearing later the same night indicating that a transfer of organs was made with the permission of another mother, due to an accidental death. But none of those records check out in the details of the deaths. The mothers have turned out to be fictitious, as far as we can tell, and each one happened the same evening as one of these abortions. Now I realize those abortions were legal then, but selling the body parts was and is illegal, to prevent unscrupulous doctors from creating baby-parts factories from aborted babies. Is that what you were doing, Eunice?”

  “I, uh, I don’t...no, not really. At least I don’t know. Listen, I gotta go, and I don’t think it’s really any of your business, anyway, my personal life.”

  “I’m sorry, Eunice, but if that’s what was going on, it very much is my business. And, if it’s true, now that these abortions are again illegal, I think I understand why you want a baby of your own so soon.”

  “Please, just leave it alone.”

  “I wish I could, but that’s not possible. I’m going to dig a bit deeper and see what turns up. If you ever want to talk to me, I think you’ve got my numbers, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, somewhere. But I won’t. Please, just forget it.”

  “I’ll call you back if I learn something new. Call me anytime. Goodbye.”

  Eunice hung up. Sally had taken an interest in the call and now looked questioningly at her friend. “Who was that?”

  “That nurse, Ms. Harrison. You know. She said she’s figured out about the abortions last year and is going to keep digging into it further. You heard me tell her to drop it, but I don’t think she will.”

  “I’d better tell Dr. Thompson.”

  “Yeah. Maybe he can stop her or something. At least she doesn’t think it’s still going on, with the law changed. She thinks I want this baby because of that abortion.” Eunice looked down at her extended abdomen and ran her hand over it. Just then the baby kicked, and she felt the same cold chill that had racked her with every single kick since she’d seen the boy on the ultrasound. She closed her eyes, trying not to feel the emotional pain and wishing she didn’t owe the doctor five hundred dollars or need five thousand.

  “Okay, well I’d better go and give him a call. I think you’re all set. You should have your money in about two weeks.” She stood up and put on her coat. “Call me if you have any questions. All right?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll call
. And let me know about them paying for a sitter. I try to be a responsible mother.”

  OFF NORFOLK—The Fortson had spent the previous weekend on recruiting detail in Boston, and the ship had then operated with a Canadian squadron for three days before returning to her home port that Friday afternoon. As they neared the sea buoy, Teri Slocum found Hugh Harrison in the combat information center behind the bridge.

  “Here are the reports the shipyard needs to prepare for the removal of the fire control radars in January, and these are some personnel evaluations for your review,” she said, handing the stack of paper to her department head.

  “We should be able to see land,” Hugh said, glancing at the surface search radar. “If you’ve got a minute, let’s go outside.”

  “Sure,” she answered, and they walked out through the bridge to the port bridge wing, where it was sunny and protected from the wind. Teri leaned against the captain’s chair, letting the fresh air revive her. “I had the midwatch this morning, I can use a little sunshine right now.”

  “Good,” Hugh responded, glancing through the papers she had given him. “I hate to see this ship made into scrap. But the radars on the new ones can nail a fly at over a hundred miles. Are you going to transfer to one?”

  Teri smiled. “Well, frankly, no. I think after more than eighteen months on board, including one deployment, I’m ready for a change. Shore duty doesn’t look too bad now.”

  Hugh paused, thinking of the decisions he had made as a junior officer when he was about Teri’s age. He lowered the papers to his side and looked out at the Virginia coast. “Now that you’ve actually been stationed on a combat ship, do you think you’ll stay in?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment and then looked over at him, shielding the sun from her eyes with her hand. “You know, I’ve thought a lot about it, and to be very truthful, the answer is probably no.”