Читать книгу The Pinocchio Syndrome - David Zeman - Страница 20

The White House

November 28

A meeting was held Monday evening in the Oval Office.

Present were the president and his top aides, along with chief of staff Dick Livermore, who had been the president’s campaign manager in the general election two years ago. Also present were the party chairman and the majority leader.

The president greeted those present with an uncharacteristically grave face.

‘I know you’re all concerned first and foremost about Danny,’ he said. ‘I saw him this afternoon at Walter Reed, and I spoke at some length with Dr Isaacson. There isn’t any good news to report. Danny’s condition hasn’t improved. His vital signs are still okay, but mentally he’s nonfunctional.’

The president had taken off his suit jacket and was resting his muscular forearms on the table. He did not like jackets or long-sleeved shirts; they made him feel constrained. For nearly twenty years his campaign ads had shown him in short-sleeved shirts with his tie loosened. Though some thought it was a PR gimmick intended to make him look hardworking, the fact was he actually dressed that way.

In answer to the polite murmurs of inquiry from those present, the president shook his head.

‘I think we’d better look to the bottom line on this,’ he said. ‘There may be hope for Danny from a medical viewpoint, but even if he gets better, this episode will be too great a negative for us to overcome, given the polls and our other problems.’

The chief PR consultant raised a hand. ‘I’m afraid you’re right,’ he said. ‘The media are already on to the fact that Danny is catatonic. We couldn’t overcome that in a fight against Goss.’

The president nodded. ‘The first order of business, then, is for me to choose someone else as soon as decently possible. With Goss gaining in the polls we can’t let the grass grow under our feet.’

It was well known that the president loathed Colin Goss and would do anything in his power to keep Goss out of the White House. The president couldn’t say anything publicly about Goss at this sensitive time, but he had told more than one close associate that he believed Goss was a potential Hitler. ‘If he ever gets into the Oval Office,’ he once said, ‘he’ll make Nixon look like a wise king.’

A few moments were spent discussing when and how to announce the dropping of Dan Everhardt as vice president and the selection of a replacement. Then the real problem came to the fore. Who could replace Everhardt?

The president turned the floor over to Bob Corrigan, the party chairman.

‘I have a list here,’ Bob said. ‘We’ve gone over this with the president already, but I want your collective take on it. I give the names in no particular order.’ He cleared his throat a bit nervously. ‘The first is Kirk Stillman.’

‘Isn’t he too old?’ someone said.

There was a silence. Kirk Stillman was one of the most distinguished statesmen alive. A cabinet officer under three presidents and currently ambassador to the United Nations, Stillman was the Averell Harriman of his time. A specialist in foreign policy with superb contacts in all the major European governments, Stillman was all but indispensable to his party.

But Stillman was sixty-four years old, and looked it. With his silver hair and elder-statesman demeanor, he seemed more an icon of the past than a leader for the future.

‘He’s respected,’ someone said unenthusiastically.

‘But he’s a little too old.’ It was Bob Corrigan who said this. ‘It would send the wrong message.’

Heads nodded in agreement. Stillman was associated in the public mind with the policies of the past. Policies that had failed to anticipate or prevent the current crisis.

After a few minutes Stillman was ruled out. Though he would make a superb vice president and could, in a pinch, ably take over as an interim president, he would be a public relations liability. The president needed a nominee with a more aggressive image. Someone younger, stronger.

‘The next name,’ Corrigan said, ‘is Cary Hunsecker.’

There was a beat of silence.

‘He’s a good man,’ someone said.

‘Solid,’ echoed another voice.

Those present seemed troubled. There was good reason for this. Cary Hunsecker, serving his second term as governor of Rhode Island, had the image of strength and dash that a man like Kirk Stillman lacked. An avid sailboater who had competed in the Americas Cup and nearly won, Hunsecker was tanned and handsome.

But Hunsecker had sexual skeletons in his closet. His marriage to the daughter of a wealthy Rhode Island industrialist was emotionally barren. Hunsecker had had many affairs over the years, and showed a preference for younger females. A former campaign worker had threatened to file a paternity suit against him a decade ago, but had been talked out of it by influential Hunsecker friends.

So far the public knew nothing of this aspect of Hunsecker’s life. But it would be foolish to suppose Hunsecker could face the cruel spotlight of the media as a potential vice president without having his past exposed. The press was not as easy to manipulate today as it had been a generation ago. The experiences of Bill Clinton, Bob Livingston, and others left no doubt about this.

‘Too dangerous,’ said someone. Heads nodded in assent. Hunsecker was out.

‘Okay,’ Corrigan said. ‘Before I proceed to the next name, I wonder if any of you has a suggestion.’

‘What about Mike Campbell?’ one of the staffers threw in.

‘In eight years,’ someone replied immediately.

‘I’m not so sure,’ the staffer said. ‘He’s solid with the public, and he’s got so many positives …’

‘You mean the Olympics?’ someone asked. Michael Campbell’s heroism in winning two Olympic gold medals despite serious back problems was universally known.

‘And his wife,’ someone else added. Susan Campbell was the darling of American women. No other American politician had a wife whose own popularity could help as much at the polls.

‘She could detract just by being so visible,’ a third voice added. ‘And don’t forget, they’re childless. That could be a negative at this level.’

‘Yeah, but she’s kept her figure.’

‘I’ll take that negative any time.’ Laughter greeted this remark.

The president was shaking his head. ‘Goss would label him a punk,’ he said. ‘I don’t think we could get away with it.’

His comment brought general assent. Michael Campbell was simply too young to take over as vice president. His youth would be perceived as a weakness, and would be sold that way by the Goss forces. The nominee had to project strength, experience, and wisdom.

‘I like Mike,’ said the president, ‘but putting him up too early might be as bad for his future as for us. It’s too risky.’

Heads nodded in agreement. Campbell was out.

‘There is only one name left,’ Corrigan said tiredly. ‘Tom Palleschi.’

The others brightened. Tom Palleschi was the current secretary of the interior and former governor of Pennsylvania. Palleschi had been a cabinet officer under two presidents, one from each party. That was part of his appeal, the fact that he had served both parties successfully over the years. He got along with everybody, was a hard worker, and enjoyed excellent popularity with the public.

Another plus for Palleschi was that he was a self-made multimillionaire in business. He had built his father’s one-man metalworking business into a precision tool empire before selling it to a German consortium when he first went into politics. He could credibly compare his own business experience to that of Colin Goss. No one could accuse Palleschi of being a bleeding heart.

Palleschi was a strong man of fifty-two with lively salt-and-pepper hair, a thick wrestler’s body, and a winning smile. He could be seen jogging around Washington every morning from six to seven, sometimes with a friend or colleague but often alone. A few years ago he had endorsed an orthopedically advanced running shoe in a series of TV commercials, donating the money he made to a children’s hospital in his hometown of Scranton.

Had it not been for the great popularity of Dan Everhardt, Tom Palleschi might have been the president’s choice for his running mate five years ago. True, Palleschi was a bit too ethnic in his appeal. A Catholic, he was the father of six children and devoted a lot of his time to Italian-American causes. Not that this was a serious negative, but it did limit his performance in the demographic polls. He was a bit more popular with ethnic minorities than with WASPs. He knew little about terrorism and was not thought of as politically ‘tough.’ He was a peacemaker, appealing but not quite as forceful as the party would have liked.

Palleschi would make a fine choice to replace Dan Everhardt. He projected not only wisdom and experience, but also physical strength – a necessity at this moment when fear of illness was sweeping the nation.

‘I like this choice,’ said Corrigan.

‘So do I,’ the president agreed. ‘I’ve worked with Tom in the past, and he’s steady as a rock.’

These remarks brought general assent. Tom Palleschi was like another Dan Everhardt, but with a slightly different profile. He looked the part of a popular vice president. He also looked the part of president of the United States, if one added a brush stroke or two to his image.

Best of all, there was not a breath of scandal about Palleschi. His business career was spotless, and so was his personal life. He was faithful to his wife and devoted to his family.

For the next twenty minutes Palleschi’s strengths and weaknesses were weighed by those present. But the palpable air of relief in the room left little doubt he would be the president’s choice. A good choice.

‘Let’s float it around town,’ the president concluded. ‘Meanwhile I’ll call Tom and bring him in.’

On this note the meeting ended. The White House strategists were pleased. It was possible to chalk off Dan Everhardt’s illness as a medical emergency and a personal tragedy. But Everhardt’s loss need not cripple the administration. Palleschi made up for Everhardt.

That is, assuming Palleschi accepted the job.