But it was narrowing.
CHAPTER 16
AFTER THE FIRST DEBATE, MARK RAMPED UP THE PERSONAL APPEARANCES. He knew Josiah’s appeal was strongest during one-on-one meet and greets and at town-hall meetings. When people saw the Amish man in person, away from the intrusive cameras, spotlights, and entrapping questions, when they heard his unfiltered comments, they loved him.
One of the most intensive events Mark planned, in terms of logistics, was the Josiah for President Whistle-Stop Tour, which stopped at twenty major railroad stations across America in half as many days. The decorated railcars and prearrival publicity drew crowds from all over the country. People traveled for miles to catch a glimpse of the Amish man who just might become the next president of the United States. They knew they were witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime event, and they wanted to be part of it.
While Josiah may have been uncomfortable in the limelight, Mark was used to working a crowd:
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s wonderful to be in the great city of Chicago!”
“Hello, Kansas City!”
“Greetings, Hoosiers!”
“Denver, we’re counting on you!”
And on it went. Oklahoma City, Grand Rapids, Provo, and beyond.
At every stop, Mark and Josiah got off the train, signed posters and bumper stickers (even though Josiah didn’t understand the attraction of such things), and then took turns stepping up onto a makeshift platform for short, impromptu greetings and some Q and A time.
Unlike Mark, Josiah rarely had a prepared speech. He simply talked off the top of his head and from his heart and then answered people’s questions. No monitor or cue cards were needed.
Words came easily to Josiah because he treated everyone he met like a neighbor or friend. To him, it was like standing on his front porch and having a conversation with one of the brethren from the church or with a tourist who happened to be visiting their community to see how and why the Amish lived the way they did. Josiah was already comfortable in his own skin, and now he was beginning to get more comfortable in his campaign too. At least he was getting comfortable with the curiosity and questions, but he was still uncomfortable with the praise. The Amish way was one of humility, and it felt awkward for others to be placing such hope in him. He was only human. And only one human at that.
What did everyone expect of him? It seemed they wanted a miracle.
Josiah valued his heritage and his faith. He knew the Amish lived a different lifestyle from most other Americans, some of whom considered the Amish downright peculiar. Many in the nation spent their money as quickly as they made it on fast cars, fancy clothes, and all the latest electronic gadgets. But all Josiah had ever known was the Plain life, and now it seemed that folks in the outside world wanted some of that simplicity for themselves.
Elizabeth had told Josiah that Bishop Miller had informed the community of Josiah’s willful disobedience in going against the Ordnung and entering a national election. The bishop had requested their prayers for wisdom and God’s direction in handling the matter. Thinking about that, Josiah wondered how Elizabeth and the children were getting along on the farm without him. He wished he could be in two places at once — on the campaign trail and at home with his family. Or better yet, three places, if he added in bed taking a nap. He was exhausted.
Most of the cities and towns that Josiah and Mark visited during the campaign tour looked the same to Josiah. Well, except for Las Vegas. In Vegas, Josiah had a hard time understanding why people would drop their hard-earned money into a machine that made a little noise and then kept it. He also didn’t understand why some of the people he saw walking around town dressed the way they dressed, especially the women. Why would they want to wear such skimpy outfits? Was cloth in such short supply in this Nevada town that women were forced to dress this way? He offered to send one lady some of Elizabeth’s handmade aprons to help her cover up, but she just looked at him strangely and walked away.
The train tour was draining.
“This is a lot harder than farming,” Josiah said to Mark after the whistle-stop in Denver. “As a farmer, at least you know if you plant corn, you’re going to reap corn. But harvesting a crop of votes is unpredictable. Even when you sow good seed, you can still reap a gust of wind that blows it right into the next guy’s camp.”
“By ‘gust of wind,’ are you referring to Harley Phillips?” Mark said.
Josiah laughed and then shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to personally call Harley a bluster of hot air, even though it fit.
Harley’s television attack ads against Josiah continued, and Mark gave Josiah an update on them along the train route.
One of the ads said “Let’s make America great again. Not Plain.”
Another one played off Josiah’s own ad about his name: “Gimme an S. Gimme a T. Gimme an O. Gimme a T. Gimme a Z. Gimme a break! Elect Harley Phillips! At least you can spell it!”
Josiah couldn’t understand why Harley was choosing to run such a negative campaign.
“It’s the only way he knows how to play the game,” Mark told Josiah over coffee one evening after a campaign stop.
“Why would he even think of it as a game? It’s more important than that, jah?” Josiah replied.
Life on the road, or rather the train, was getting lonely. Josiah missed Elizabeth and his children something fierce. Elizabeth had taken a bus to Philadelphia when they were campaigning there and had traveled to Washington several times to see him as well. Josiah also tried to go home whenever he was able.
Elizabeth and the children were taking care of the farm in Josiah’s absence. Others in the community helped out too. Some were clearly disappointed in Josiah and that he wasn’t taking care of matters at home, and they were more than happy to tell Elizabeth how they felt.
Elizabeth related some of their comments to Josiah.
“Josiah’s duty is to God first and then to his family,” one neighbor had said.
“You can’t run this farm by yourself, Elizabeth,” said another.
When Josiah asked Elizabeth how she responded, she’d said, “I told them, ‘Oh, can’t I now? I appreciate your help, but don’t mistake it as a sign of my helplessness. The children and I are quite capable of running this farm.’ “
Surprisingly, Elizabeth said the bishop helped whenever he could as well. And for the most part, he kept his disappointment with Josiah to himself.
Josiah loved hearing from Elizabeth, no matter how difficult the stories were. He faithfully borrowed Mark’s cell phone to place a call to her every evening. As long as it wasn’t their own phone, borrowing a cell phone was allowed in some Amish communities. Josiah and Elizabeth had a prearranged time set for her to be at the Mennonite neighbors’ house — 10:00 a.m. — and Elizabeth didn’t miss a single day.
“I sure miss you,” Josiah said on the eve of the last day of the tour.
“I miss you too, Josiah.”
“Guess we’ll both be glad when this is over, jah?”
“But what if you win? I fear this kind of schedule will only get worse.”
Josiah sighed at the thought but tried not to let her hear his weariness … or the doubt and frustration that suddenly and unexpectedly began to gnaw at him. For the first time since joining the campaign, he was beginning to wonder if maybe this had been a bad idea after all. Maybe the bishop had been right: an Amish man had no place in national politics according to the Ordnung by which Josiah ordered his life. How prideful of him to think that he could go against it in such a way and yet still hold on to his Amish beliefs.
It was becoming increasingly challenging for Josiah to remain separate from the world. He still managed it, but it was a difficult struggle. Josiah missed the peace and feeling of safety that came from the self-imposed boundaries of the Amish lifestyle. And he missed being home with his beloved Elizabeth, his children, and his community.
The final train stop of the campaign was in Minneapolis, where the crowds were even larger
and more enthusiastic than any of the previous stops. The Minnesotans loved Josiah’s plain-speaking ways and his stance on energy conservation (his carbon footprint was practically invisible).
Finally it was time to ride the rails back to D.C. Josiah was so drained from the grueling schedule that he fell asleep in the rear car as the train raced down the track in the middle of the night. He was so exhausted he didn’t wake up until the train rolled into the D.C. station the following morning. Josiah couldn’t remember ever sleeping in that late before. Or being that tired, even during harvest season.
THE TRAIN TOUR GAVE THE STOLTZFUS-STEDMAN TICKET another good bump in the polls. No matter how hard Harley Phillips tried to label their campaign a novelty and a joke, the novelty wasn’t wearing off. And no one was laughing.
“Don’t look back, Harley. We’re gaining on you!” Mark shouted enthusiastically upon their return from the train tour. He then led the roomful of staff and volunteers at their Washington headquarters in a “Josiah! Josiah! Josiah!” chant.
“We’re closing the gap,” Carl said, handing Mark the latest poll results. “We just might pull this off.”
Josiah was pleased but focused on borrowing Mark’s phone again to call Elizabeth and the children to tell them that he’d made it back to Washington safely.
“More reporters were in town today asking questions,” she said.
“Guess they have to get their stories.”
“I don’t feel comfortable with all of this,” Elizabeth said. “If they have questions, why don’t they ask you directly? That’s how you get the truth. Why all the secrecy?”
“Maybe the truth isn’t what they’re after,” Josiah said. “Is the bishop taking any interviews?”
“No.”
“Gut. Not that he’s hiding anything. I just wouldn’t want them bothering him. He has much to do.”
“I wish things were back to normal. We’re a tight community that protects our privacy.”
“I miss that too,” he told her before reluctantly ending the call.
All the mudslinging seemed especially unnecessary in Josiah’s eyes.
“If Harley doesn’t like a position we’ve taken, shouldn’t he give us a chance to explain? To attack me as a person is taking the low road,” he’d often comment to Mark.
Mark agreed with Josiah but explained that Harley Phillips was a politician whose moral GPS was permanently set to take the lowest road possible.
The more dirt Harley tried to throw in the direction of Josiah, however, the more voters the Amish man won over with his witty comebacks and gentle manner.
“Josiah Stoltzfus only has an eighth-grade education,” Harley spouted.
“I once read that three of our presidents — Andrew Jackson, Andrew Johnson, and Zachary Taylor — didn’t even graduate from grade school, sir,” Josiah countered. “The test of the office is more about depth of character and leadership than the number of diplomas, is it not?”
“My opponent hadn’t even been to Washington before this campaign, and now he wants to move into the White House?”
“It’s a big place, but I’m sure I can find my way around the rooms.”
Some news reporters compared Josiah’s quick and easy wit to Lincoln’s. Indeed, his appearance was Lincoln-like, as was his courage and heart. He didn’t have to fake sincerity with a furrowed brow or down-turned lips that were choreographed to memorized words. He truly did care about the people. Not that America’s former presidents hadn’t ever felt the people’s anguish, but Josiah’s concern was real and without an agenda. And apparently folks could tell. There was something about him that seemed to make them believe he could be trusted. And that trust had turned into campaign donations, which in turn helped buy more radio and television commercials.
The gap between the two front-running candidates continued to close.
The real thrust of Josiah’s campaign, though, was happening on the Internet, spontaneously and virtually free. With committed bloggers writing about the campaign, YouTube clips from Josiah’s rallies going viral, and Facebook posts being shared all over the country — all over the world, for that matter — this amazing and most unusual campaign was breaking all sorts of political records.
JOSIAH’S CAMPAIGN WAS ALSO BREAKING HARLEY’S POOR HEART.
Josiah’s continued climb in the polls frustrated Harley beyond measure. As he saw his lead eroding, he began asking Bart to release some YouTube videos featuring Harley. But his videos were obviously self-serving and lacked a certain creative eye as to what was viral-worthy: Harley on a visit to the site of his boyhood home; Harley interviewing his mother; Harley playing Frisbee with his dog. Titillating material all — at least for the less than fifty viewers who had checked them out to date.
The videos that were going viral, though, were some of Harley’s bloopers and previous debate gaffes.
“What are your feelings on the growing tensions in the Middle East, sir?” one debate moderator had asked Harley.
“Personally, I think everyone should lighten up and just go to Disneyland.”
It was Harley’s attempt at humor, but it backfired on him and made him look as though he was the one who should be wearing the buffoon label that he was so desperately trying to pin on Josiah. The question had required a serious answer from a would-be president, not an inappropriately timed diversion. Not that Disneyland wouldn’t have been a fun diversion for everyone involved in the elections.
Couple this with other clips of when Harley’s words raced out of his mouth ahead of his thoughts, when he randomly misquoted the Founding Fathers and the Constitution, and when he tripped stepping up to the microphone at a campaign rally in Louisville, and it was easy to see why his clifflike slide in the polls was becoming a concern.
STORMCLOUD44/BLOG
Are you watching? Are you seeing the clouds as they gather over us? The storm is coming. Who will take the reins and lead us through the valley of our affliction? Harley Phillips? Josiah? Ledbetter? Or one who is yet to come?
“BART!” HARLEY CALLED FROM HIS DESK AT THE ELECT HARLEY headquarters. “Get in here!”
Bart hurried into Harley’s office. “What is it, sir?” Bart said as he stood in the doorway.
“You sure you’ve turned over every rock on this guy?”
Harley was referring to Josiah, of course, and whatever dirty laundry the Amish candidate might have hidden in his past. Harley wanted his hands on that laundry more than anything else in the world, and he was convinced that Bart simply hadn’t searched deep enough. Harley would have done the investigating himself, but when did he have the time? He had an election to run, an election that — if he weren’t surrounded by nincompoops — he just might win.
Harley couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself. He was a good man. By his own estimation, a man worthy enough to be president. It wasn’t his fault his daughter had fallen in love with a man so inept and bungling, a man Harley now had to involve in his campaign. There wasn’t a thing Harley could do about it except keep reminding his daughter of her husband’s shortcomings, an assignment that came rather easily to Harley.
“You’re missing something, Bart,” he said, getting up from his desk and pacing around the room. “It’s there. You’re probably looking right at it and just not seeing it!”
“I’ve looked,” Bart said defensively. “There’s nothing of any significance. Trust me. He’s Amish, Harley. What do you think I’m gonna find? That he forgot to remove his hat one Sunday during church? I’m telling you, there’s nothing to go on.”
“Well, then, how else can we trip him up?”
“The only thing left is his faith, but you can’t go there.”
The thought lingered in the air.
“His faith? That’s perfect! Bart, you’re a genius!” Harley said, clapping his hands together and smiling that poster smile of his. “We make that the issue. Scare people into thinking he’ll turn the whole nation Amish. The power companies will go berserk!”
/> “But he won’t turn the country Amish, sir. The Amish don’t proselytize.”
“The average person wouldn’t know that.”
“You want me to lie, sir?”
“I want you to get me elected!”
Harley shot Bart a look that he knew would get his point across. It was Bart’s duty as Harley’s son-in-law and assistant to get Harley elected. Or else.
THE THIRD AND FINAL DEBATE WAS SCHEDULED A FEW WEEKS before the election. By most reports, Harley and Josiah had each won a debate now, and the results of the vice-presidential debate was almost a draw, with Stedman edging out his opponents by only a narrow margin.
This debate was crucial. It was much too close of a race to call, and Josiah still had an uphill battle if he wanted to win over the undecided voters. He was looking good in the polls, but polls had been wrong before.
Harley prepared day and night for this last debate. His staff asked him every conceivable question and prepped him with every possible answer. He even had his ad-libs and spontaneous comebacks memorized should anyone manage to get in an accusation that stuck. Harley was ready, willing, and determined to come out on top in this final debate and then slide on through to a win in November.
Governor Ledbetter had followed nearly the same course as Harley — studying and prepping — and had even undergone a somewhat extreme makeover (hair, makeup, and fashion) in an attempt to take ten years off her appearance and also replace the still-swirling accusations in the news.
“Give ‘em something else to talk about,” she had told her campaign staff.
On the eve of the big debate day, Harley was like a bull trapped in a pen, raring to get out and start the stampede. That same night, in a nearby hotel room, Josiah read his Bible and then turned in early to ensure he got a full night’s rest before the debate.
And he ate the mint on his pillow.
MARK WAS THRILLED THAT THE DEBATE WAS BEING HELD ON THE campus of Yale University, his alma mater. The stage was set with three lecterns. From his vantage point in the audience, Mark watched Harley Phillips enter and stand behind the lectern on the left side of the stage, then Governor Karen Ledbetter entered and stood behind the lectern on the right, and finally Josiah entered and stood behind the center lectern.
Josiah for President Page 18
