George and Lydia gave each other a look and Paul realized, in his enthusiasm, he may have
said too much.
“Anyway, my life is finally on track and I’m happy as a clam.” He moved to his desk and sat down, suddenly all business. “Now what’s this about a new album...and this one en francais?”
“Paul, we’re so glad for you! Arnie sounds like just the one to fill that void in your life.”
Lydia nodded and George took a relieved breath. “But we have another project for you, if you’re available. To act as producer on this French and English album, I’m working on. Twelve chansons in French and English are written and just about arranged for our usual music group.”
“Sure, George! Let’s do it. I just finished up Arnie’s first album and the timing is perfect. I assume we’ll work out of the S.F. complex.
“But of course, mon ami.” George laughed. “Not sure our public is ready for such an album, but I am. It will probably be my last.
“George, I think you could do an album of la, la, las and it would go platinum. When do we start?
“Right away. I need to get this one in the can ASAP so I can get on with campaigning. Maybe you could help me with that.”
Paul laughed, “Wait a minute, monsieur, now that you’re on the road the the presidency, you won’t need my show biz merde any more. Good thing actually, with the all-consuming George Potter career to manage, I have sorely neglected my other clients. I’ll miss the glitz and glamour, but it’s high time I got back to the delightful grind of promoting other talents. Thanks for the gesture,George, but under the circumstances, it might be better to let the past rest for a while. This afternoon, I’ll start calling the boys in Nashville and L.A. to set up the recording session.” He paused and taking his coat from the rack added. “But right now, let’s go to lunch!
TWENTY-SIX
The Potters’ return to Marin County was followed by the arrival of special guests Paul Connor and his new friend Arnie Ardor. Work on the new George Potter album in French and English moved along quickly. The recording, production, and promotion of the album caused a sensation worldwide and sales soared. Connor and his friend bid the Potters a fond farewell and returned to New York
George canceled his bid for another starring movie role and with new house guest Dr. Bernard Whitman, settled down to run for U.S. Senator from California.
“I seem to remember you do or did have a certain genius, George.” laughed the professor. And a great talent in the political science, sociology, economics field. Your doctorate thesis shows glimmerings of brilliance. And many are now reading and quoting it. With a little guidance, you’ll do just fine. Lord knows the country will be behind you, and that’s the main thing.”
George Potter’s campaign for Senator was one of the must unusual in history. The moment he announced his candidacy, donations began to pour in. George decided to turn back all donations over five dollars. He didn’t want to be obligated to anyone. Actually, he paid for much of his campaign out of his own pocket. He even formed his own party...”The Friends of the People”.
“Sounds a little Pinko”, growled the opposition. Actually, George’s opponents quivered and quaked at the prospect of running against so popular a candidate. They grasped at straws. They made light of George's show business career, How could this singer know anything about Politics? The good Dr. Whitman conducted the campaign like a symphony orchestra. He had George’s Doctor’s Thesis published in installments in Newsweek. The hardcover and paperback were already high on the New York Times Best Seller list, but the Potter Campaign Committee wanted his profound ideas for the country to be common knowledge. No one paid any attention to the opposing parties. The months that George was away had been filled with long gloomy days. Now he was back and happy days were here again! Their George was back, and in spite of the heavy yoke of inflation and unemployment that plagued many of them, George could make them laugh and hope again. George was there and that’s all they cared about.
George’s TV campaign showed him singing his own jingle, high on a windy hill as he smiled and beamed from the tube. That’s what they wanted from him. The face of hope. There were really no concrete campaign promises. Everyone was pledging better days. A return to the economy of the forties and fifties.
It would have been redundant for George to make the same promises. His message spoke of this still proud country with the same great people. He alluded vaguely and modestly to the need for new leadership. He didn’t criticize or even mention the other candidates in the race for senator. It was almost as if they didn’t exist. In fact, in the hearts of most Californians, the other senatorial candidates weren’t even considered.
George’s mammoth campaign rallies were unusual in the extreme. They were more liket those happenings at Woodstock or the great revivals of old. Songfests is how they were described by the press. George sang some of his new songs, but mostly it was a grand sing-a-long of his old favorites. The same songs that had inspired the multitudes before. George’s voice still had the magic power to project the philosophies contained in his songs. The rallies were uplifting experiences for all who attended or viewed them on television. Everyone went away feeling better about themselves and the condition of their lives. They loved George Potter all the more.
He got so much free publicity, since everything he did was news, the Equal Time regulation was screamed into every station manager’s ear from the Oregon Border to Mexico. No amount of ballyhoo on behalf of the opposing candidates did the least bit of good. The polls predicted it months before the election: Therefore, it was no surprise when George Potter walked into the Senate seat with the largest vote plurality ever recorded.
The campaign workers at Potter headquarters in the Fairmont on Nob Hill came unglued following George's acceptance speech, and their celebration shook the old town like the earthquake of 1906.
A few stood back and surveyed the scene with a jaundiced eyes. They said in sage prophesy; “Now that they’ve elected George Potter what can he do for them?” Still no one listened. George Potter now belonged to the people. Ol’ George was the man of the hour.
TWENTY SEVEN
“...and that concludes the old business, gentlemen,” said the chairman.
A few gray heads nodded while one grumbled. “Doesn’t appear to conclude much of anything, if you ask me.” This was greeted by several “Hear! Hears” and an “amen”.
Senator Thomas Courtman of Minnesota, Chairman of the Committee on the Nation’s Economy, leaned back and surveyed the members of the groups. They were a rebel bunch--every one dedicated to the same cause; to do something about the inflationary spiral and it’s resulting effects. Something had to be done and quickly. Prices were skyrocketing beyond the public’s buying power, business were feeling the pinch of too much supply and not enough demand. Many had filed bankruptcy.
These men wanted desperately to help. Of course, there were those with selfish motives. These sensed their survival in politics was in peril--that they might be tarred and feathered if they didn’t perform some miracle soon. Many looked discouraged, tired and old. All except one. The junior Senator from California, George Potter. Tom Courtman cast an eye on the young man who was as usual busy scribbling in one of the brightly colored, spiral notebooks he always carried in his attaché’ case. A really likable young man, thought the chairman. Even more delightful, if possible in person than the singing star the world knew.
The rest of the group were taking a short break. Talking among themselves’ some had lit fresh cigars and the already close atmosphere was in for another barrage of smoke. The chairman rose.
“Gentlemen, your attention!” he tapped persistently on his glass with the stem of his pipe.
The committee members turned to face him again, curious there could be anything left to cover. They’d been over the same ground so many times, yet were no closer
to a solution then when they’d begun. In the past months they’d discussed every avenue, interviewed all the nations most prominent economists, even some from Europe. None had agreed on a solution; most had agreed there was none.
“Gentlemen,” continued the chairman, now that he had their attention. “Our young friend from California met with me early this morning for breakfast. He has a most interesting proposition; a theory that may sound harebrained and may contain the faint odor of sedition. It is an interesting idea, however,and I’d like you to hear it.” He turned toward the young Senator. “Senator Potter, if you would be so kind.”
The older man sat down as George, blushing, stood up. “Th...thank you, Mr. Chairman,” he stammered slightly. Amazingly, though he could speak before thousands, even millions of people, he felt a bit awed by the group who now gave him their complete attention.
He paused a moment to gather his composure and hooked a thumb into the watch pocked of his vest, as he looked over the twenty distinguished leaders who sat in front and to each side of him. Over five hundred years of political experience sat at the long table and he wondered for a moment what the hell he was doing there in such heavy weight company. Finally he flipped open the red spiral notebook in front of him, and after consulting the neatly outlined notes for a moment, he began:
“Fellow Senators, I’ve sat here along with you for the last months and listened to the discouraging parade of views from every prominent economist in this country and others. Even a green-horn like myself can see we’ve come up with a big fat zero.”
Several of the senators nodded assent and muttered under their breath.
“Along with the millions of people outside this room,” he went on, “I have been studying the economic problem for years.”
“Between concerts, George?” chuckled one old man.
“Exactly, Senator Burney, between concerts,” smiled the young man.
“Some of us are lucky,”he continued. “We needn’t be concerned about where our next meal is coming from, but there are millions eating dog food or worse and being happy to get it. As long as we are here, being paid far too much by some of these same people, we’d better try to come up with a solution.”
“But I digress. The chairman mentioned my harebrained scheme. I think we can all look at where the inflated dollar goes, and without too much investigation, see there is one party getting a bigger slice than he deserves. He doesn’t manufacture, nor does he reap, but he does rape the public and even the producer and the retailer. There ‘s such a narrow margin of profit these days, there is no longer any place for his kind. You all know I’m a mild kind of guy, so you know my feelings when I refer to some if these individuals as leeches.!”
Several of the senators at the long table puffed on their cigars, and nodded when George pronounced the name, they echoed him.”
“The middleman!”
Some snickered at the chorus of echoes and others snorted.
“George, that’s common knowledge. What is this idea of yours? It’s almost time for lunch and I’m craving some middle-manned, overpriced grub.”
There was general laughter at this sally.
“you’ve hit it squarely, Senator. Over -priced because the middle man and even the speculators, often take ten to twenty percent of the price of the goods and pocket it. Now I think something should be done about this.”
“Right George, we agree to all you’ve said so far, get on with it.” growled the Senator from Tennessee.
George paused a moment and took a deep breath before he went on. “I guess I’m hinkle-pinkling around to get up courage enough to lay this on you. Well, here goes. The middleman does perform an important function--distribution. My only complaint is that he’s getting too much for his services. I propose gentleman, that the government becomes the middleman.
There were some loud groans from the assembled senators. Someone offered the label, “Communism!” Another, “No--Socialism!” Several wanted to hear more of what George proposed and shushed the others into silence.
“Yes, I realize it does smack of tampering with private enterprise--that it sounds a little socialistic--even illegal. But look, gentlemen. Is inflation legal? Is unemployment legal? Is starvation legal? Is suicide legal?!”
He had them, they were listening to a man. Cigars smoldered untouched in the ashtrays as they concentrated on his words
“I think you can see the utopian simplicity of the government getting into these distributorships. We’d keep the clerks, dispatchers, drivers; all the personnel necessary to run each operation. The only one who would have to go would be the boss. We could pay a fair price for his equipment and facility, but nothing more.
“The distributor goes out to pasture, or, if we think we can trust him and find him valuable, we can hire him back at a reasonable salary to run the operation. Our peacetime army can certainly be employed to help out. My statistics show that most of these operations can be operate on one to three percent. They’d pay for themselves and still show a profit.
The men in the room were dazed by the audacity of the plan. But most could see its validity.
George's eyes were shining as he concluded, “The beautiful thing about the plan is that the agricultural distribution centers alone would, even at three percent, show enough profit to pay the subsidies that are such a drain on the tax bite. I see the result as a substantial reduction in most prices and a slight reduction in taxes. Buying power would increase, demand would increase, jobs would increase, economy improve.
“But George, aren’t you forgetting the Supreme Court? Even if we could get this through both houses and the president, they’ll label it as illegal.”
George’s eyes were burning bright now with determination.
“I repeat, gentlemen. Is inflation legal? Is unemployment legal? Is starvation legal?!” and he shouted the last. The entire group jumped to their feet and cheered.
“Damn you, George potter. You’re one hell of a politician, and I mean that as a compliment!” one shouted over the noise.
The door opened a crack and the committee secretary peeked in.
“Thank you, Miss Carter. Just a bit of frivolity. Please guard the door and don’t let anyone in. This is definitely a closed meeting.
“Well George?” asked the chairman, turning back to the young Senator. “What’s the M.O.?”
“I’ve anticipated Supreme Court interference and I think an old fashioned stump campaign is in order. I think we should go out and tell the people what we propose. see what their reaction is. If we offer a unanimous mandate, the Court can’t stand against us even if we have the change the Bill of Rights!”
One very old senator rose unsteadily from his chair. He’d remained quiet through the entire proceedings with his eyes closed. Everyone thought he was sleeping but he’d listened to every word; studying and weighing the arguments one by one. Many of the others were hoping for his endorsement.
“George,” the old man began. “I’ve listened to your ideas. They are interesting we all admit, and I pronounce them sound--radical, but sound,” There was a rustle of agreement from the others. “I am a Republican, “ he admitted , and a damned conservative one. But by God, I think it’s high time for some radicalism. Therefore, I would like to place in nomination the name of George Potter as the one to take this message to the people. The people love him. They’ll listen, and they’ll act on what he says. We all know his power over the populace. Many of us fear it. Myself, I’m too old. My ambition is gone. George is no longer a threat to me.”
He spoke pointedly as he glared at several senators seated at the table, then smiled at the young man who was in his second year as Senator. “The people need George Potter...the next President of the United States!”
For a moment they all thought the grand old senator had had a lapse. That he’d gone senile and in his inconsistency had wandered of the subject.
At last they realized he was right. If George Potter could pull this off, there was nothing to keep him from the Presidency, if he wanted it. Many of them applauded. Some left the room with darkened brows. concerned for their own futures. But most agreed with the old man. The nation needed George Potter!
TWENTY-EIGHT
While George stumped the country, preaching the new doctrine of the U.S. Mercantile Distribution Service, lobbyists howled in Washington.
George spoke to anyone who would listen, and that was nearly everyone. He spoke to consumer groups, ladies club teas, the Rotary, Lions and university students. The news media flocked to his assemblies, because as always, whatever George Potter did was news. He appeared on TV, Radio and in newspapers and journals. He was quoted on every street corner.
Supporters of the now beleaguered middlemen tried various tactics, but failed miserably. They just didn’t have a leg to stand on.
The country listened and the country nodded in agreement with George Potter, Senator USA. He even composed and sang a little jingle on a thirty second TV spot that was paid for by consumer and other supportive organizations. If there was one thing the nation loved, it was to hear George sing. They listened and when he asked them to write their congressman and senator in support of the U.S. Mercantile Distribution Service, they did so. Almost to a man and woman, (Some children, too). The mail flowed into Washington--the greatest deluge in history. Congress had no choice. It was a mandate from the people. The Potter Proposal was pushed through with all possible speed and George hurried back to Washington to help implement the plan. He was made chairman of the M.S.D. Bureau. Secretly, George felt that one more bureau was much too much, but this one was his baby and he believed in it.
Suddenly, as he had expected, there came great rumblings from the Supreme Court. The new Law is unconstitutional! George Potter is tampering with the free enterprise system. The middlemen and speculators smiled for a moment, but not for long. Again the mail poured into Washington, this time through the hallowed portals of the Supreme Court and nearly drowned the crotchety old men in their stately judicial robes.
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