Three
We’d heard rumors that men (and maybe women) with guns would show up that night to protest against the appearance of our congresswoman, who had apparently just returned from ‘Islamia’ where she’d learned how to implement Sharia law and had helped to plan the ultimate invasion of Islamists on the red, white and blue soil of the USA.
This was happening in all sections of the country; the gunslingers wanted to show off their hardware and their strange, perplexing views of our Constitution.
It was fully dark by six o’clock so the temperature was in the high thirties by the time the debate attendees showed up.
With my head still full of all the threatening emails I’d read, I stood outside the entrance of the university auditorium watching people come inside. The crowd was about what I expected.
In the old days the supporters of the other side would generally have been better dressed and more reserved. But such issues as abortion, gun rights, gay rights and education had changed the (if you’ll forgive the jargon) psychographics.
Driven mostly by women, the shift to our side had been in process since the first Bush administration. This left the male vote heavily in favor of people like Dorsey, and you could see that in his supporters. Blue-collar and white-collar merged and their behavior was boisterous as they filed into the building and then into the auditorium.
But they were no less boisterous than the women and men on our side, who were hoping for an outright knockout.
There were six uniformed police officers bundled up in winter jackets and caps. Security was always heavy for these events. Some directed traffic as parking spaces began to disappear, while others walked the perimeter military style.
I didn’t pay any particular attention to the old, tan-colored van. I saw it swing into the large parking lot and then be directed to a spot far down the line.
I went back to assessing the people walking inside the building. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of camaraderie, a lot of anticipation. A good old political debate, and it was encouraging to see that both sides had turned out so many people.
I heard the shouting before I was able to see, far down the wide central lane, what was going on. A pair of men toting AK-47s were walking fast toward the building. They were being pursued by another pair of men, these two happening to be police officers.
Let the drama begin.
The odds were greatly against the show-offs shooting anybody. What they wanted was to prove they had the right to bring guns of any kind anywhere they chose. This was the Second Amendment argument the gun nuts were always yapping about. They wanted attention and they would certainly get it. Within a few minutes some of the TV newspeople inside would hear about the confrontation outside and they would be out here with cameras and microphones making history. At least on the ten o’clock local news.
More officers joined in. Three of them stepped in front of the pair with the weapons and blocked their passage.
People were still parking and walking toward the door. But now they stopped and began to form a crowd. Not many of them looked happy about the weapons. They’d likely seen incidents like this on TV so pretty much knew the script — men and women with AK-47s were walking into chain restaurants. This had happened several times in our country lately. But seeing men with AK-47s on TV was different from seeing them only yards away. The TV people, maybe half a dozen of them, forced me to stand back as they bolted from the door as if the building was being engulfed in flames.
A gift from the gods.
An angry TV debate.
And guns!
The police had maneuvered the duo off to the side and even further down the wide lane. Three police officers dealt with them while the other three split up the crowd and waved it on to the building.
The conversation of those filing in had changed. It was no longer about their candidate or the debate. It was instead about the pair with the weapons. With one exception — a rather staid older man in a pinstriped suit and rimless eyeglasses — I didn’t hear anybody defend the show-offs. He was talking about the Founding Fathers and how they would have approved making stands like this one. Apparently he’d been beamed down from the mother ship just in time for the debate.
I wish I had an explosive ending for this little tale. Fortunately, I don’t. The cops, who handled it very well, quietly convinced the boys to save themselves and the taxpayers a lot of time and money by heading back to their van and going anywhere they chose — sans their weapons, which, even with the insane right-to-carry law in effect, were still illegal when displayed this way.
The duo complied. I was too far away to hear what was said but I knew there had been a few sharp words (‘Constitution’ could be heard several times). Then the tone started to sound downright civil.
The TV folks returning to the building moved much more slowly and looked much less alert than they had rushing out of the building. A few minutes of guys with big, frightening guns was all right but, hell, nobody had even pushed or shoved anyone. Damn. Maybe the anticlimactic ending made for bad TV, but as the night played out I would remember it as a portent.
Four
The modern TV debate requires the kind of schooling few candidates are prepared for. If it’s done properly, the staff spends all available time pounding facts into their employer’s head. Every possible issue, every useful piece of the opponent’s backstory and several useful attack lines — hopefully ones that at least sting if not wound. All of these are put on cards so they can be studied over and over. There is also time spent on anecdotes that will indicate how concerned the candidate is about the common welfare. Other anecdotes are used to demonstrate how unconcerned your opponent is about the plight of average people.
Finally the campaign manager and the staff settle on two or three points that the candidate will make again and again in the course of the debate. Catchwords and catchphrases. If the voters remember nothing else they will hopefully remember these words and points.
Then, usually for the campaign manager comes the showbiz side of the debate. What kind of clothing, what kind of makeup, what kind of lighting. You have your makeup person, your speech coach and your personal TV dude. You can spend as long as a full day working on the stage where the debate will be held. You use a stand-in to make sure that you get every aspect of appearance and angle the way you need it. Earlier arguments would have resolved which reporters would be asking the questions.
The real wild card that night would be the audience questions. Fifteen minutes had been reserved for that. I had planted three voters — hopefully at least one of them would get through — ready and eager to humiliate Dorsey. Of course, he’d have his own plants ready and eager to ask Jess humiliating questions. For us this would be the wildest of wild-card moments. What had their oppo research rattlesnakes turned up on us?
I walked backstage. Rain dripped from my Burberry, so I tore it off and parked it on a chair next to a security guard, reasoning he’d watch over it for me. I asked him where I’d find Congresswoman Bradshaw and he said room four.
Backstage was crowded. As I worked my way toward Jess’s room I saw two of Dorsey’s people talking to a collection of reporters. They’d be telling the same kind of lies I usually did. Just earning their paychecks.
When I got to the dressing room I knocked and heard the unmistakable sound of Ted in full lecture mode.
‘Honey, they want to see you warm. They want to see you maternal. That’s where Dev and Abby are wrong—’
My knock interrupted him. Dev and Abby dumb; Ted brilliant.