“Thank you, Governor Thorn, Senator Busick.” The chief justice could still not legally call them “Mr. President” or “Mr. Vice President” yet, but he shook their hands and congratulated them nonetheless. “I wish you the best of luck and the prayers of a nation. Now, I think we should be on our way, or else the producers and directors choreographing the show today will all be very angry at us.”
“We’re not ready yet,” Thorn said.
The chief justice looked aghast. “Excuse me, Governor?”
“We’re not ready.” Thorn motioned to the seats arranged in front of the huge fireplace in the hotel suite, and quickly but quietly, Busick and his family and Thorn’s family sat down and joined hands. “We have one task to perform before we leave. You are welcome to join us, or you can observe, or you can make your way to the Capitol.” He led his wife to the love seat facing the fireplace, the White House visible across the street through the windows flanking it, then sat down and nodded to those around him. “Close the eyes, please.”
To Chief Justice Thompson’s great surprise, they all closed their eyes and fell silent, hands joined, heads bowed. He looked at his clerk, then at his watch, then at the amazing spectacle before him. “What … what are they doing?” he whispered to a Secret Service agent assigned to the family. “Are they praying?”
“I don’t think so, sir,” the agent replied quietly. “I think they’re meditating.”
“Meditating? Now? The man’s going to be sworn in as president of the United States in less than a half hour! How can he think about meditating at a time like this?”
“They do this twice a day, Your Honor, every day,” the agent said matter-of-factly. “Twenty minutes. Exactly twenty minutes. All of them.”
It was then that the chief justice realized that all the stories he had heard about Thomas Nathaniel Thorn were probably true. This was impossible … unacceptable! “Governor Thorn, please, we should be going.” No response. Thompson raised his voice in his most commanding courtroom tone: “Governor Thorn!”
One of the children opened her eyes, looked at the chief justice, then looked at her mother quizzically, but closed her eyes again when Amelia didn’t react. “You may join us, you can observe, or you may leave,” Thorn said in a very quiet but perturbed voice, keeping his eyes closed, “but you may not disturb us. Thank you.”
Chief Justice Thompson knew his presence was demanded at the Capitol, knew he had to be there — but he couldn’t make himself leave. He stood, transfixed, and watched in amazement as the minutes ticked by and the hour of transition approached. There were several urgent radio and phone calls, all answered by the Secret Service, but the Thorns and the Busicks, could not be disturbed.
Thompson considered saying something, perhaps even ordering them to get their asses in gear and get going because the nation was waiting for them, for God’s sake, but some unexplained force kept him from saying another word. He couldn’t believe the children — even the infant seemed to be resting, and the toddlers didn’t move a muscle. He had never before in his life seen toddlers sit still for so long — his own grandchildren, although very well behaved, seemed to have nanosecond attention spans.
Precisely twenty minutes later, the Thorns opened their eyes — it was as if a silent command had passed between them, because they all did it together. The Busicks, opened their eyes when they detected the Thorns stirring. None of them looked sleepy in the least — in fact, they looked energized, refreshed, ready to power ahead. The older children quickly leapt into action without being told to do so, checking the younger children’s diapers and helping Amelia Thorn pack up. Within moments, they were ready to leave.
“Governor, Senator, we … we’d better hurry,” Chief Justice Thompson stammered, still not believing what he had seen with his own eyes.
“No hurry, Mr. Chief Justice,” Thorn said. “We have lots of time.”
“But it’ll take at least ten minutes to get to the Capitol, even with an escort, and at least ten more minutes to get up to the—”
“We’re not going to the Capitol,” Thorn said. The Busicks and the Thorns were out the door, led by Secret Service agents scrambling to clear the way. They bypassed the elevator and headed right to the ancient stairway.
“You’re … you’re not going to the Capitol?” Thompson asked in shock. But he, too, had to hurry to keep up with the family.
“The ceremony there is to honor President Martindale and Vice President Whiting, Your Honor,” Thorn said. “The people elected me to work for them, not to give speeches or put myself on parade.”
“But … but the Congress, the other dignitaries, the invited guests, hundreds of thousands of citizens from all over the country — they’re all waiting for you at the Capitol. What are they going to say when you don’t show up?”
“Same thing as they would if I did show — maybe kindlier, since they won’t have an inaugural speech to pick apart,” Thorn said. “No matter, Your Honor.”
“You’re not giving an inaugural speech?” Thompson cried in stunned amazement. “You’re joking, of course.” He knew he wasn’t.
“I’ve got work to do. I’ve got a cabinet to get confirmed, several dozen federal judges to appoint, and a government to run. I promised the voters I’d get right to work, and so I shall.”
The Thorns and Busicks marched downstairs, across the ornate lobby of Blair House, and right across Pennsylvania Avenue past the barricades and the District of Columbia Police to the security gate at the White House. The crowds were thin, more than the usual number of tourists and passersby on the pedestrians-only street, but most of them were still along the parade route. In a few moments, however, a small crowd was gathered around them. Thomas Thorn shook a few hands, but he remained purposeful as he and his vice president — elect marched their families up to the security gate.
The Secret Service agents radioed ahead as fast as they could, but the group was still stopped by angry and confused Park Police. “What the hell is going on here?” the guard asked.
“I’m reporting for duty,” Thorn said confidently. “Open up.”
“What?” the guard shouted. “Who the hell are you, bub? Back the—” and his jaw dropped as recognition began to dawn.
The chief justice stepped up.
“I am Joseph Thompson, chief justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. I have just administered the oath of office to these two gentlemen. Governor Thorn and Senator Busick …” The chief justice looked at his watch — it was now twelve-oh-two. I mean, the President and Vice President of the United States wish to enter the White House and begin their work.”
By that time, the Secret Service Presidential Protection Detail had responded, moving the crowd back, clearing the way, and providing the proper authentication to the startled and shocked Park Police and uniformed Secret Service officers. The security guard couldn’t believe it was happening, but he buzzed open the gate and admitted the new President and Vice President of the United States and their families onto the grounds of their new home. “Mr. President, are you sure you want to do this?” Chief Justice Thompson asked again, as urgently as he possibly could. “This is … certainly unprecedented.”
“There is nothing in the Constitution that directs me to have an inauguration ceremony, give a speech, parade through the streets of Washington, or put ourselves or our families on display,” Thorn said. Thompson quickly scanned two decades’ worth of studying and teaching the U.S. Constitution, and he realized Thorn was right: there was no Constitutional mandate or public law that said there had to be any sort of ceremony.