Landers Democratic Party campaign HQ
9:35PM
Evan Landers had little expectation of winning, and he now has no chance of beating Preston or even Dowling. He feels almost relieved. He would have had to battle a Republican legislature, like Clinton in 1995. That would've been more work than Landers really wanted.
Dowling Republican Party campaign HQ 11:08PM
11:08PM
Dowling hangs up the phone with Governor-elect James Preston, and fumes, "Well, Ted, you didn't quite call this thing, did you? Six points! Not 'within 3%' but six points! In a three-way race that's nearly a mandate! Thanks a lot, Ted! And now, for my goddamned concession speech!"
Dowling leaves the back office for the large conference room.
"Friends and supporters! I thank you for your hard work and sacrifice these past months. We tried our best, but Wyoming has decided against us. (groaning and mild wailing) Yes, it's true. I've just seen the election data. Of the 91% of precincts having tallied their ballots, James Preston has received 41% of the popular vote. Just moments ago I spoke with him to concede the election and (more wailing), and to congratulate him for not only his victory, but also for his honorably-run campaign. As hard as we worked, we simply didn't have the numbers. While James Preston and I have significant differences of political opinion, I do believe that he is a good man who will assemble a competent administration. The election is over and decided, so let us all work together in these difficult times. Good night, and thank you all again for your hard work and support."
As his supporters mill about in clumps of commiseration, Dowling smoothly makes his way through them, pausing here and there to share a personal word of thanks. There is nothing more doleful than a campaign HQ on the night of their losing, and Landers has no desire to wallow in the mood.
Wyomingans made a startlingly bold choice with Preston and his Laissez-Faire Party's agenda. A perilous gamble, if anyone asked Dowling. It's a goddamned four year blind date! They've unmade their bed; now let them lie in it! muses the defeated Republican candidate as he anticipated the night's drunken stupor awaiting him. He walks past his campaign manager without a word and leaves the building.
Stung and disgusted, Ted Swanson just shakes his head.
The final vote was 41% Preston, 35% Dowling, and 24% Landers. James Wayne Preston had beat Dowling by exactly 17,750 votes of the 295,833 cast. The irony is that 17,750 is ten times 1,775 — the year of Concord and Lexington which sparked the Revolution. Much talk is made about the "eerie coincidence."
A columnist would remind Wyoming of another: the deaths of Thomas Jefferson and John Adams within hours of each other on 4 July 1826 — on the Declaration of Independence 50th Anniversary.
A man may conduct himself well in both adversity and good fortune, but if you want to test his character, give him power.
— Abraham Lincoln
Cheyenne, Wyoming
11:16 PM
Laissez-Faire Party Headquarters
Governor-Elect James Wayne Preston and his stunning wife Juliette make their way hand-in-hand to the speaker's platform amidst deafening applause. Wyomingans are rejoicing this election night for the Prestons.
Seeing Juliette to her chair, Preston then softly waves the audience to a hush. Without notes, he begins in a clear, baritone voice.
"Good evening! I am honored that you have today chosen me as your new Governor, and I thank you for your trust in me. I will not let you down. Having never before been a politician, forgive me if that promise seems a bit shopworn, but, (interrupted by laughter) but, I just don't know any better. (more laughter)
"Many of you are quite new to Wyoming, however, the simple and rugged values of the Western Frontier were written on your hearts long before your move here. You escaped the less-free states in our American Union and got here as soon as you could! (laughter) I thank you for your support, and welcome you as productive and respectable Citizens.
"To those of you longer acquainted with our state's quality of life, I thank you for your many years of friendship. It was you who urged me to run for office, and here I am, so you've nobody to blame but yourselves. (laughter) First generation or fifth, we are all Wyomingites — and I shoulder our modern dilemmas with each of you.
"I don't have to tell you that the American West is a precious place, populated with the 'salt of the earth.' Here, life is not complicated with lawyerly evasions and bureaucratic nonsense. Here, a man's word is his bond. Here, our women and children are safe in their homes and on their streets. Here, we respect hard work and business accomplishment. We practice personal charity. Here, we raise our children by the family's values — not by the State's dictates. (strong applause) Here, we love and cherish our beautiful land and do not need Washington, D.C's 'help' on environmental issues. We know how to keep our water clean and our soil healthy. We live here! (strong applause)
"If the Potomac Parasites continue to try to run our lives, they may find out that we can do without them . . . entirely!" (even stronger applause)
"Here, in the American West, we believe in the sacred right of self-defense. Adults are presumed responsible enough to own and carry weapons until found otherwise by a jury of their peers. (great applause) We know that arms are the badge of free people, and that disarmament is the shame of slaves. I will see to it that your Wyoming government does everything it can to protect and support your right to keep and bear arms. Consequently, my friend Representative Margaret Haskins from Laramie will introduce a constitutional amendment protecting your right to own and carry guns without any possible infringement from any Wyoming official. (wild applause)
"Thank you. Thank you for that. By the way, my father-in-law gave me a new .338 Win Mag for elk season, and if any of you have a pet handload for it, please call my office. (laughter and applause)
"Here in Wyoming, we don't care where you came from. Nor do we care about your skin or your religion. Here in Wyoming, we have only these three questions: 'Will you keep your word, even to your own hurt?' (The Governor waits several seconds for an answer to his non-rhetorical question) I asked you, 'Will you keep your word, even to your own hurt?' (Yes!) 'Will you respect your neighbor's property and stay out of his way?' (Yes!) And finally, 'Will you pull your own weight?' (Yes!)
"A long time ago, America would have agreed with you, but no more. Beginning tonight, that America will live again — in Wyoming!"
Springing to their feet as one man, the crowd shakes the auditorium with a happy roar lasting minutes, waving the three-fingered "W-for-Wyoming" salute. Preston leisurely makes his way through the cheering throng, stopping often to shake hands and briefly converse with individuals.
"We're behind you, Gov!" a woman exclaims.
A leathery old rancher gets Preston's attention to recommend his favorite .338WM load of a 225 grain Barnes X bullet atop 71 grains of Viht N160, with Winchester case and primer.
"It's powerful and real accurate, Governor."
"Thanks a lot — I'll let you know how it shoots," replies Preston.
"Governor, you're welcome to hunt on my ranch any time!" gushes the old rancher.
Preston responds with an impish grin, "Are there enough elk for both of us?" They laughingly part, and Preston's aide writes down the rancher's phone number and handload information.
The Preston family is ushered outside by three state troopers, followed by a throng of supporters. Captain Mallory is waiting by a limo, holding open the door. "Congratulations, Governor. My men and I are looking forward to serving under you."
Preston smiles. "Thank you, Captain. I wish you all a placid term!"
The Prestons wave good-night one last time, are seated inside the limo, and driven away. During their short trip to the hotel, Juliette gently asks her pensive husband, "What are you thinking about, dear? Affairs of State?"
Chuckling, Preston gently squeezes his wife's hand and replies, "No, not exactly, Dove. I just never would have figured that old fellow for something as exotic as VihtaVuori powder.
It's from Finland, you know. Would've bet he was an IMR-4831 man."
"Yeah, me too," Juliette deadpans. Although the Prestons had been married for 18 years, it still takes the Governor-Elect a few seconds to decide that his lovely wife, an excellent rifle shot in her own right, was joshing him.
Exiting the limo several minutes later, they were still giggling about it.
The next day the election results were published. Seven new counties were added to the libertarian orbit : Platte, Campbell, Sheridan, Natrona, Fre-mont, Teton, and surprisingly Uinta. All but the southern Democratic counties of Sweetwater, Carbon, Albany, and Laramie are in Laissez-Faire hands.
The Senate is now 56.7% controlled by freedom-supporting delegates, having added SDs 5, 17, 21, 24, 25, and 29.
The House is 61.7% in the hands of Preston's people, having added HDs 14, 16, 19, 23, 33, 36, 37, 55, 56, and 57.
The Wyoming Supreme Court is also in the libertarian camp. Of the five justices, two are already pro-freedom. One is retiring early and another had died of lung cancer. Preston would nominate their replacements. The remaining justice, an intractable Democrat from Rock Springs, would be pretty much on his own.
Both houses of the legislature, the supreme court, and the entire executive branch are now controlled by liberty-loving men and women. The hard work of eleven years by thousands of people has finally paid off. All totaled, about 38,000 new folks have moved into Wyoming as organized relocators.
America was about to have its first free state since 1789.
Members and front organizations must continually embarrass, discredit and degrade our critics. When obstructionists become too irritating, label them as fascist, or Nazi or anti-Semitic... The [erroneous] association will, after enough repetition, become "fact" in the public mind.
— Moscow Central Committee, 1943
Washington, D.C.
The White House
Wednesday, 5 November 2014
"Well, shit, they did it!" Watching the taped speech after a Cabinet meeting, President Connor continues to the room, "Either Preston's the greatest orator since William Jennings Bryan, or he actually believes that crap!"
Secretary of State Julius Harquist respectfully offers, "Perhaps, Mr. President, both assessments are accurate." Most of those present nodded at the SecState's reasoning.
Chewing on that for a moment, the President then intercoms his appointment secretary and quietly says, "Doris, have FBI Director Klein and the Attorney General join me for a private breakfast tomorrow morning at 7:30. All may not be 'quiet on the Western Front.'"
Dismissing the room, Connor asks his Deputy Chief of Staff Phillip Miles to remain. The Chief of Staff, Robert Hackett, was undergoing chemotherapy for bone cancer at Walter Reed and was not expected to return to work for some time, if ever. Miles, a relative newcomer to Washington, was filling in.
After the office had cleared, Miles delicately inquires, "Is it not just a bit premature to release the dogs, Mr. President? It's only Wyoming."
"Ever held an acorn in your hand, Phil?" the President asks in reply. Seeing the blank look on Miles's face, the President elaborates, "What you can hold in your hand today grows too large to embrace with your arms tomorrow. This Wyoming thing will become a damned oak tree, with Montana and maybe Idaho following Preston's lead. You heard the man, Phil — he called us traitorous parasites, and all but advocated a western secession — and that was his victory speech! Who the hell knows what he'll be urging at his inauguration! A militia tractor assault on Washington, I'll bet. A year from now it'll be some Patriot redoubt in the Rockies. Jesus."
"I rather doubt that, Mr. President. Still, he does exude a remarkable populist charm. Case in point, asking for advice on his rifle was especially deft, I must admit," observes Miles.
"Yeah, wasn't it though?" the President savagely agrees. "Who ever heard of such a thing? Next, we'll see him having a beer with 'the people' at some truck stop on I-25. How any multimillionaire can be such a proletarian gun-nut is utterly beyond me!"
Pouring a deep Scotch, Connor warms further to the subject. "And that crowd! Waving that 3-fingered "W" like at some Bolivian political rally. They love him! What's with those people out west — is their ground water contaminated or something?
Miles is already familiar with Connor's well-known presidential rant, so he steels himself for a long evening.
"Oh, and how about his lawyer wife? Just our luck she's brilliant and beautiful. You remember how far that shrewd cow Hillary took her cokehead, whorebait husband. Well, Juliette Preston could pass for Gabrielle Anwar —plus, she's twice as bright as Hillary ever was. Hell, how many languages do they speak? They probably play Scrabble in Portuguese!"
"Nevertheless, Mr. President . . . ," as Miles tries to calm his mood.
"He doesn't play anything, does he?" asks Connor, not hearing.
"Play? Sir?"
"Musical instruments, Phil. Christ help us if he shows up on the Tonight Show playing blues with the band. Clinton practically got elected by that saxophone gig on Letterman, remember?"
"I believe it was Arsenio, sir," Miles offers.
"Right, Arsenio. Hell, he and Clinton are both gone, aren't they!"
Miles says, "Anyway, Preston is only the Governor-Elect of Wyoming; you're the President of the United States. He's not after your job, sir."
VP when President McBlane had died last July, Connor was eligible for his own first election in 2016. It would also have to be his only election according to the 22nd Amendment to the Constitution, which read, "and no person who has held the office of President, or acted as President, for more than two years of a term to which some other person was elected President shall be elected to the office of President more than once." The only thing more frustrating than a two-term presidency is a one-term presidency. Even though Connor would serve out nearly all of McBlane's second term, the fact that it was McBlane's term, not Connor's was most irksome of all as he was politically bound to his predecessor's agenda. Connor could not totally pursue his own policies unless and until he had been elected in his own right.
That was still two full years away, and it rankled Connor to no end.
"Yeah, well, 2016 is gonna be a goddamned free-for-all. You've seen the projections on probable third party strength, Phil. That pious coalition of Libertarians and Republicans and Conservative Christians could actually take 20% of the House. The Laissez-Faire Party — good God! A bunch of health-nut homeschoolers! Unless Preston steps on his dick, we could see him running for this office in 2020."
Miles counters, "Mr. President, that's then, and this is now. And I still think that putting the AG and Klein on Preston is prema — "
"'Premature' my ass, Phil. I've got a bad feeling about this. The West is a damned tinderbox just waiting for some spark like Preston. As if the water rights issue weren't bad enough, word's already out about the UN's 'rewilding' Biosphere plan to redistribute most of our rural population to the metros. You're from Topeka, Phil — you know what that means to Preston's ranching voters. Why those people can't be content in nice apartments, I just can't fathom. Oh, and you know that the western states in particular are going to absolutely shit when next spring's assault rifle confiscation bill is introduced. I can't have some modern-day Patrick Henry fanning the flames. Preston's got to go."
"Sir, what are you going to do?" asks Miles.
"I'm going to crush that acorn before we need the chainsaws. The AG's a vicious bitch — that's why I chose her. She'll have some ideas. And Klein —Klein's been her lapdog for years ever since she was a DC judge. We're having a 'power breakfast' tomorrow morning to hash out how to put that hick state back in its pissant place. We'll see who wins this thing, Phil — Jefferson or Machiavelli."
"You're absolutely right, Mr. President," answers Miles.
"Well, that's what they pay me for. Get some sleep, Phil. Tomorrow's a long day," says the President, wickedly flashing the "W" sign.
"Yes, sir. Good night, Mr. Pre
sident."
As Phillip Miles silently pads out, Connor returns to his desk, a gift to Rutherford B. Hayes from Her Majesty Queen Victoria in 1880. Hewn from oak timbers of the H.M.S. Resolute, the desk is actually smaller than one might suspect, though quite dense at 350 pounds. Relentlessly moved about since 1902 from the residence to the Broadcast Room to the Smithsonian, it had been returned to the Oval Office by Bill Clinton in 1993.
Connor chuckles at the debauchery likely performed on the desktop by "Zippy" — Clinton's nickname amongst the Presidential Protection Division of the Secret Service. The dumbshit's mistake was perjuring himself over it. Imagine getting impeached over a piece of tail! The whole Monica Lewinsky flap was like Dillinger getting caught for shoplifting.
Connor was smarter — much smarter than that.
2015
Sometimes it is said that man cannot be entrusted with the government of himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the government of others? Or have we found angels in the form of kings to govern him? Let history answer this question.
I know no safe depository of the ultimate powers of the society but the people themselves; and if we think them not enlightened enough to exercise their control with a wholesome discretion, the remedy is not to take it from them, but to inform their discretion.
— Thomas Jefferson
Liberty is always dangerous, but it is the safest thing we have.
— Harry Emerson Fosdick
Cheyenne, Wyoming
Monday, 6 January 2015
Hand in hand with Juliette, Preston steps up to the rostrum in front of the Corinthian columns of the sandstone capitol. Its 24k gold leaf dome gleams in the bleak winter sun. Their two children, James, Jr. and Hanna stand beside them, beaming. Although an icy, blustery day, 24,000 Wyomingans had enthusiastically assembled — nearly half of Cheyenne.
Chief Justice Pollard, an old friend of Benjamin Preston, smiles warmly at Ben's son as he prepared to lead Preston in the oath of office. In his sonorous voice, Preston intones the oath of 1889, with one wispy alteration.
Molon Labe! Page 33
