Chapter 8
President Lamden had taken extraordinary heat for selecting Morgan Taylor as his vice president. Not at first, but soon after. His own party leadership, though caught off-guard, publicly called him “bold and decisive.” Privately, however, Democrats were astonished at the choice. The opposition quietly embraced the spirit of bipartisanship, yet word on the street said it would not last.
Still, the Senate confirmed the president’s man — the former president. But what and whom did he represent? The American people who voted him out? Certainly not the Democratic majority. Even Vice President Morgan Taylor couldn’t say.
“You know, Billy, some days I wish I never left Billings,” he confessed to his chief of staff, Billy Gilmore. The president’s appointee was definitely a Billy, a don’t-call-me-Bill kind of Tennessean lawyer. He tried to keep the new president aware, alert, and proactive. But it was usually the other way around.
“Mr. President — what’s the expression — if it were easy, everyone would be doing it?” Gilmore got the desired response from his boss. He slid into a seat opposite the president’s austere desk and shuffled his papers — a handpicked collection of overnight press reports and MDBs (Morning Daily Briefings). Knowing what the public thought and what the press was telling them was just as important to the president as the facts.
“Australia SASR disarmed the bomb. They’re going over it now. Could be Abu Sayyaf, al-Qaeda. Don’t know yet. Both scary possibilities. The thing was just waiting for a signal to detonate.”
“Like having a sleeper spy running for president,” Lamden added. “Tell Evans and Mulligan that from now on all announced travel plans are on hold.”
“Got that.”
“What else?”
“Alerts in Indonesia. Terrorist activity. Police disarmed a bomb in a nightclub. No real interest from the news nets here. About a graph or two in the papers.” The chief of staff spoke in short bites. If the president wanted more, he’d ask for it. “Three dead in a suicide bombing in Baghdad. No Americans. Over in Israel, looks like Blanca is digging in. But she’s all but lost the Knesset. I say Israel gets a new leader by next winter.” Was the president listening? “And my Titans are going to kick butt this year.”
This brought the first response from the president. “No way. The Seahawks all the way.”
“Willing to put money on that, Mr. President?”
“So you add it to your memoirs that Henry Lamden bet in the White House?” he joked.
“I have to have something to sell my book.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you decided to work for a boring old president.”
Billy Gilmore shook off the comment. Lamden’s presidency was anything but boring. But the president was looking more exhausted by the week. His doctors had adjusted his blood pressure medication just days before the last trip. Though not widely known, the stress associated with the office necessitated constant medical monitoring. Leveling it out through treatments and medications was on the minds of presidents’ doctors since the formation of the Union.
George Washington’s physicians determined he was inclined to have “gloomy apprehensions.” John Adams and Andrew Jackson suffered recurring attacks of depression. President William Harrison was said to use stimulants to deal with the illnesses that ultimately killed him during his term.
Two months before Franklin Pierce’s inauguration in 1855, Pierce and his wife were in a terrible train accident. Although they only suffered minor injuries, their son was killed — practically decapitated in front of them. The president’s wife believed that God had taken their boy so that her husband would serve without distraction. Pierce maintained it was punishment for his sins. He buried his sorrows in alcohol.
Abraham Lincoln’s “melancholia” has been copiously documented, specifically his bouts of depression following the Union loss at Chancellorsville. Some historians noted that Lincoln even considered suicide.
Calvin Coolidge’s despondency went unchecked largely because he wouldn’t let anyone treat him. And Senator Joseph McCarthy’s vitriolic attacks on Harry Truman sent Truman and his wife to a retreat in Florida. Truman noted that the stress was so intense that he yearned for a simple life running a gas station and waiting for his “quiet grave.” And following a March 1992 physical examination, George Bush’s White House physicians prescribed a more relaxing schedule to combat the stress the president had been under.
For Lamden, pressure came with the political mayhem he brought on himself. After all, he chose to lead a coalition government. Some pundits mused that the nation had its strongest leadership ever. The one-two punch from a pair of decorated Navy warriors made the United States a more formidable force in the world. The administration was experienced, bold, and obviously decisive. Others, like much of the broadcast media, disagreed.
“Now what’s the great vox populi report today?” Lamden asked wanting to get beyond the MDB and into more fundamental “conventional wisdom.”
“Well,” Gilmore continued, almost as an afterthought, “no change from CNN, and about the same everywhere else.”
“It’s not CNN I’m concerned about, Billy. Not the big guys. What about the ducks?”
“The ducks?”
“Yeah, the ducks that are nibbling me to death.”
Gilmore knew exactly what the president meant, but dismissed it.
“They’re not important.”
“Then why do we pay attention to them?”
Gilmore couldn’t answer the question. Presidents did pay attention to polls, e-mails, write-in campaigns, editorials, and what was being said on the street.
“Billy, tell me who’s creating policy in America today?”
“We are,” he quickly offered.
“No. Try again.”
“Okay, officially, the House and Senate—”
“Wrong again,” Lamden interrupted.
“I don’t know. You are.”
Lamden laughed. “If only that were the case.”
Gilmore, Lamden’s strategist through the primaries, didn’t know where this was going, but it was obvious the president was intent on making his point.
“Look, my life’s an open book. CNN, Fox — they’ve all run specials. I’ve been on the cover of Newsweek or Time — what, six times since the inauguration?”
“Seven.”
“Sixty days after the election there was a pretty fair instant book out on me. O’Connell included a chapter in his book. Hell, A&E even did a Biography.”
“That’s all normal.”
“Yes it is, Billy. Taylor had the same.”
“Yeah, so have some key members of Congress, particularly those with over-the-top personalities like Newt and Tip.”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly what?”
“Our lives are open books.” The president paused to consider another thought. “Not a book. A fucking tabloid rag. We can’t take a piss without it showing up at the checkout stand or some cable news show that has thirty minutes to fill. Hell, they’ll spend one segment just trying to figure out if I’ve got a good stream or if I’m down to a trickle. Then the next segment is devoted to what that will mean to the market or a defense appropriations bill. The third segment is an instant Internet poll. And they wrap it up with an analysis of my declining numbers. And you think we make policy? Not on your life, Billy. We react to what’s being said. To polls in the news magazines, USA Today, the networks, and to people tuned in to the Elliott Strongs of the world.
“You’re overreacting, sir.”