“But we meant dead politically.”
“I’m not going to get into a fancy discussion of semantics with you fellas. All I’m saying is that whether these rumors are true or false is not going to affect our campaign plans by one iota. I’d even go so far as to say that if it turns out he actually is a corpse, our margin of victory in ‘72 will be greater by far than what it was in ‘68.”
“How do you figure that, Mr. Chairman?"
“Well, I for one just cannot imagine the press of this country, irresponsible and vicious as it may be, going after this man dead and buried with the same kind of virulence they used to go after him alive. Furthermore, as regards the voters themselves, it would seem to me that there is a certain sympathy, a certain warmth that a dead Dixon is going to be able to arouse in the people of this country that he never really was able to summon up when he was living and breathing and so on.”
“If he is dead then, you think it would be good for his image?”
“No doubt about it. I think that in terms of exposure he may have gone about as far as he can alive. This is probably just the shot in the arm we’ve been looking for, particularly if the Democrats run Teddy Charisma.”
“Can you explain what you mean, Mr. Chairman?”
“Well, assuming for the sake of argument that Trick E. Dixon is no more, that is going to cut strongly into the source of Charisma’s appeal. It’s one thing, you see, for a candidate for the Presidency to have two brothers who are dead — it’s something else when the incumbent himself is dead. I mean, if experience is any kind of criterion — and I think it is — I just don’t see how you can top the President now, where this whole death issue is concerned.”
“Mr. Chairman, is there any truth at all to the growing suspicion that you people are sending up a trial balloon with these rumors of the President’s death? To see just how much political mileage there is in it, if any? That is, on the one hand you yourself sound convinced that the President’s death would give a great boost to his waning popularity, while Vice President What’s-his-name asserts that the President is ‘fit as a fiddle’ and that these rumors have been propagated by ‘the lunatic left’.”
“Look, I have no intention of criticizing the alliteration of the Vice President of the United States of America. Under the Constitution he has a right to alliterate just as much as any other American citizen. I am speaking to you boys strictly as party chairman, and all I am saying, in language plain and simple, is that the President has absolutely no intention of withdrawing from the race for any reason whatsoever, including his own death. Anybody who counts him out be cause of something like that, just doesn’t know the kind of guy they are dealing with. This isn’t a Lyin B. Johnson, who tosses in the towel because the country hates his guts and doesn’t trust him as far as they can throw him. No, you’re not going to intimidate Trick E. Dixon just by hating him. Hell, he’s had that all his life; he’s used to it. And you’re not going to keep him off the ballot by killing him either. We’ve seen him rise from the ashes before, and I have every expectation that we are going to see precisely that again. If he has to address that convention from inside an urn, he’ll do it — that’s the kind of dedicated American we’re talking about.” The White House has now issued a statement denying — I repeat, denying — that the President entered Walter Reed Hospital yesterday for the removal of the sweat glands from his hip. There continues however to be a total news blackout from that source as to whether President Dixon is dead or alive.
We take you now to the National Weightlifters Convention, where Vice President What’s-his-name is in the midst of an impromptu ad dress on those who he claims have perpetrated upon the nation this “lachrymose lie”: “the nitwits, the namby-pambys, the neurasthenics, the neurotics, the necrophiliacs —”
We interrupt the Vice President’s alliteration to take you to Walter Reed Hospital for a special report:
“The mood here is somber, though it remains impossible to piece the story together in its entirety. It seems now that the President did enter the hospital late yesterday for a secret operation. First reports had it that the operation was to have been on his hip, for the surgical removal of sweat glands apparently lodged in that area. However, the White House, as you know, has flatly denied that story, and only a moment ago I learned the reason why. The operation was to have been not, on the Chief Executive’s hip, but on his lip, l-i-p. The sweat glands were, from all reports, to have been removed from the lip this morning. But now, according to the latest White House communique, surgery has been postponed for the time being because of, and I quote, ‘an unforeseen development.’ According to highly placed sources within the hospital itself, that unforeseen development is the death of the President of the United States. Now I see that the Secretary of Defense has just emerged from the hospital and is walking this way. Secretary Lard, have you just come from the President’s side?”
“Yes.”
“You seem quite despondent, sir. Can you tell us if he is dead or alive?”
“I’m not at liberty to answer that question.”
“Unconfirmed reports from various sources say he was found dead at seven A.M. this morning.”
“No comment.”
“Can you tell us then why you were visiting him?”
“To find out his secret timetable for ending the war.”
“Is there anybody other than the President who knows the secret timetable?”
“Of course not.”
“Then if he’s dead, he’s taken the secret time table with him to the grave?”
“No comment.”
“Secretary Lard, did the President have any other visitors aside from yourself?”
“Yes. The Joint Chiefs. And of course the Professor.”
“And they don’t know the secret timetable either?”
“I told you, nobody knows it but him. That’s what makes it secret.”
“Not even his wife?”
“Well, actually, she thought she had it, when we called her this morning. But it was just an old train schedule between Washington and New York. She found it in one of his suits.”
“There’s no other place he might have left it?”
“It doesn’t seem like it.”
“Cut open the mattresses, did you?”
“Oh, all of that. Ripped up floors. Tore out paneling. Turned the place inside out. No sign of anything resembling a secret timetable.”
“Mr. Secretary, everything you say seems to confirm the rumor that the President is dead. If that is the case, what were you and the joint Chiefs and the Professors doing sitting around a corpse, trying to find out vital information?”
“Well, we also had a medium with us.”
“A medium?”
“Oh, don’t worry. She’s worked for us before. Highest security clearance. Top-flight Gypsy.”
“And did she get through to the President?”
“I believe I can say she did.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, she got through to a voice who kept saying he was a Quaker.”
“And what about the secret timetable?”
“He says a secret is a secret, and he owes it to the American people, who have placed their confidence in him, not to betray a sacred trust. He said they can brand and skewer him in Hell, he’s never going to tell a soul.”
“Honest almost to a fault.”
“Well, he had to be, you know, with that sweating problem. Otherwise people tended not always to believe everything he said.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, that was the Secretary of Defense, speaking directly from the lawn outside of Walter Reed Hospital. As you saw, he was distraught and very near to tears throughout the interview, thus appearing to confirm the reports of the President’s death. We return you to the Vice President, who is now addressing the National Sword Swallowers Association.”