Q: “Mrs. Buckman, are you in favor of gun control laws?”
Marilyn: “Just because I’m a Democrat, it doesn’t mean I hate all guns. Carl has owned a gun since he was in the Army and I feel fine with it being in the house. Guns aren’t toys, and you have to store them and care for them properly, and both Carl and Charlie have been taught to do that. If you treat them properly, I don’t have a problem with people owning guns.”
I could see a few people looking at each other curiously. That line of inquiry was going nowhere.
Q: “Are you officially the President at the moment? I mean, the Vice President became the Acting President when you were unconscious.”
Me: (Nodding and smiling.) “That is true. This morning I signed a letter, witnessed by Doctor Tubb here, that stated that I am healthy enough to return to my duties as President. That letter was sent to both the President Pro Tempore of the Senate, Senator Stevens, and the Speaker of the House, Congressman DeLay. This is per the 25th Amendment. I had already talked this over with Vice President McCain. For what it’s worth, I am getting to be a bit of an expert on the 25th Amendment, since it’s how I ended up as the President. I really do want to thank John for stepping up like he did. It tells me that I picked the right guy.”
Q: “Are you endorsing the Vice President when he runs for your office?”
Me: “I wasn’t aware that John McCain has formally announced his candidacy. Until then I can’t endorse him. I can state that I think he would make a superb President, and that if he does officially throw his hat in the ring, I will enthusiastically support him. That’s two years from now, folks. Let’s worry about that a little later, okay?”
Q: “Do you remember what happened when you were shot?”
Me: (Frowning and shaking my head.) “Not really. It all happened so fast, I didn’t even know there had been an attack. I just remember being grabbed and dragged into a car, and while I was asking the agents what happened, they noticed I was leaking. After that things got real hazy, and I woke up in the hospital a few days later. Marilyn and I decided that, just like in the Billy Joel song, only the good die young, so I’ll be around for a long, long time.” (Marilyn laughed at that and took my hand.)
Q: “Mrs. Buckman, what did you feel when you learned your husband had been shot?” (What an idiot fucking question!)
Marilyn: “I was pretty scared, but I knew Carl is really tough. I spent some time calling the kids and other family members, and by the time that was done, they had the bullet out and Carl was sewed up again. The problem really was the infection he got. That was really serious. Now, I just want to get him home so he can get better.”
Me: (Laughing.) “The way it will work is that Doctor Tubb will tell Marilyn that I ain’t doing my physical therapy enough, and then he’s going to turn her loose on me, to nag me to death. Very unpleasant!” (Tubb laughed and Marilyn protested and slugged my left arm.)
That ended the press conference. I was a bit weak, but I kept up the fakery until we got out in the hallway, and they loaded me into a wheelchair and we hauled ass away from the cameras. I spent the next few days getting better. They started giving me some solid foods, cut back on the pain-killers, and had me doing physical therapy twice a day. By Sunday, Charlie, Molly, and Holly were able to spend some time, and we all managed to catch up. Suzie called, as did a number of my friends, and I talked to Marilyn’s mom, who promised to let everybody on that side of the family know how I was doing.
Over the weekend, Frank and some of the other senior staff made morning pilgrimages to the conference room at Bethesda, where they set up a mini-office for me. Thankfully the world was fairly quiet. I did have to return a whole bunch of calls from various heads of state and American politicians, either to thank them for their kind words and thoughts, or to let them know I was still alive and a pain in their ass. Sometimes it was both!
Monday morning I was deemed fit to leave the hospital, even if I still needed more therapy, and I was loaded into the limo and taken back to the White House. I glanced around and asked the agent with me if they had to clean the blood out of the car. He turned bright red, and began to stammer out an apology, but I just laughed and let him off the hook. Maybe it wasn’t that funny a joke. At the White House, it seemed like most of the West Wing and Residence staff was there to greet me and applaud when I got out of the car. I thanked them all, and said how much we appreciated it. By then I was able to actually move around well enough to not tire out completely or need a wheelchair. I am not one to be an invalid. I just hated it!
Chapter 166: Lame Duck
2006–2007
It took me the better part of a month to get to a point where I really felt back to my old self, and even then I knew I was lying. The therapists had me doing exercise and lifting some light weights to rebuild torn muscle tissue in my right side, and taking a lot of long walks and some laps in the pool to rebuild my stamina. Needless to say, with my shitty knee, long walks were a real problem! One of the things I did was talk to Doctor Tubb about getting a knee replacement. He wouldn’t do the work, but he could at least let me know the questions to ask a specialist. We brought one in, quietly, and had a long talk. The answer wasn’t a happy one, as far as my job was concerned. Yes, I was definitely a candidate, and the surgery and follow-up care were relatively straightforward. However, the big problem was going to be post-operative. I was in for at least several weeks of hospitalization followed by several more months of physical therapy. It would make the fun and games with getting shot seem simple. I decided to hold off. In just over two years I would be out of a job anyway. I could do it from the unemployment line.
Once I was up and around, we had a number of awards ceremonies. Most were for the heroes from the Kurdish War, and I awarded a lot of medals as I visited their home bases. Unlike television, where the President shows up five minutes after the battle and hands out a medal, in the real world there is a ton of paperwork and review. I gave the Presidential Unit Citation to the 82nd, the 101st, the 1st Brigade, and the 2nd Strykers. There were a shitload of Purple Hearts, a number of Bronze Stars, a few Silver Stars, several Distinguished Flying Crosses, one Distinguished Service Cross, and two Medals of Honor. Too many of the medals were awarded posthumously, including both Medals of Honor, which went to a corporal and a lieutenant in the 82nd for service in the Azwya Valley. Also awarded posthumously was the Presidential Medal of Freedom, which I gave to Bismarck Myrick, for his service leading up to the war. The most painful to me was when the mother of 1st Lieutenant Martin Stevens, one of the Medal of Honor recipients, told me that he had been one of the members of the West Point football team that I had eaten cold MREs with after that ridiculous bet, and she said he had been so proud to meet me and talk to me.
Afterwards I simply went into a private office and cried. Maybe I’m just not tough enough to be a general.
A different award ceremony was much happier. I gave the Secret Service’s Award of Valor to John McEnrole, the agent who got between me and the bullet which did a through-and-through on his arm, and a Baltimore City Police Medal of Honor to William Hopper, the police sergeant who grabbed Mooradian and took him down, while still taking two rounds to the chest. We did a very nice ceremony back at the Meyerhoff, under very high security.