by Rich Garon
“Is there anything else I can do?” Lee asked.
Sanford took off his glasses and looked at Lee. “I wish you could,” he said with a weight-of-the-world-on-my-shoulders sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been a big help Lee. I’ll have to do this myself, see I’m crashing right now on the briefing Andy wants on where we stand. But first thing tomorrow morning, if you could get here a little earlier than usual, we’re going to do a dress rehearsal. My list and schematic will be done and they’ll only be one thing outstanding. Afraid I’ve left the toughest for last and I’m going to need you to come with me when we select the ice cream. Night kid.”
Lee fingered the two twenty-dollar bills in his pocket. Tonight was shopping night just as any other time was when his father left the twenties on the kitchen table in the morning. But instead of thinking about Hungry Man dinners and other things he knew his father expected him to buy, especially unsalted peanuts, he thought about ice cream. As he walked into the store busy with shoppers on their way from work, he thought about the next morning. Suppose Sanford asked him a lot of questions about ice cream. Lee didn’t buy ice cream. It was too expensive and even if it were free, he wouldn’t be able to get home before the ice cream melted into mush. He realized he knew very little about ice cream. The ice cream was just on the other side of the aisle where the Hungry Man dinners were displayed. He looked at the rows and rows of ice cream; different flavors, different brands, low-fat, no sugar, frozen yogurt – he stared at the ice cream cases and tried to remember as much as he could. The freezer doors opened and closed as Lee moved from one side to the other until he realized he was in the way of those shoppers wishing only to get their ice cream and go home and have dinner.
The next morning, he sat nervously at the table as Sanford laid his papers in front of them. Lee had a small paper in his hand with some information about the ice cream he had seen the day before. He didn’t want Sanford to think he didn’t know anything about ice cream for the rally, but he knew also that he would be embarrassed if he had to look at the paper if Sanford asked him a tough question. A question that Sanford probably thought wouldn’t be difficult for most people.
“Here it is pal. The A-man signed off on it last night. This is my schematic; my blueprint for the rally. When I write my book on campaign strategy you can bet this baby will be in there,” Sanford said as he pulled his chair closer to Lee. There it was, the layout for the rally: podium, chairs, sound system, banners, balloons, trash cans, food tables drawn neatly in pencil. Sanford had even drawn in a little compass at the bottom of the paper. Lee looked at the other sheets before him, one telling who was going to do what and another with a column of times down the left side and corresponding things that were to occur precisely at that time. From noon till two, for example, opening of reception/sign-in table to policing the grounds/litter pick-up beginning precisely ten minutes after the rally ended. Names of staff were listed next to the functions to which they were assigned. For the next hour Sanford took Lee through the plan which was part Napoleonic vision and part board game instructions for ages 4 years and older. Lee’s eyes out ran Sanford’s finger which tapped senseless every item on the sheets. When Sanford got to the last item he stared and tapped and then gave one slap tap that landed triumphantly on the paper. He looked up. “This is what they pay me for.”
“Boy, Sanford that is great plan for the rally. Those are very neat boxes you drew and it is good that you drew that compass to show everyone that they will be looking into the sun at the end of the program so they can wear sun glasses.”
“What do you mean looking into the sun?”
“Oh, all I mean is that everyone knows the sun sets in the west and that is the direction the podium is facing.”
“Now listen here,” Sanford said in a voice reserved for the worst blasphemer. “That sun setting in the west isn’t always necessarily so, there are a lot of climatic and seasonal factors to consider concerning how the sun sets.” He was starting to panic. His head started to throb as he thought about having to move the podium, and draw up a new chart and then have to present it to Andy who would ask him why he was wasting his time with a new chart. No. Sanford couldn’t move the podium. If anyone asked he would tell them he heard it was going to be overcast on Saturday and thus he could place the podium in a more strategic position. “Didn’t you think I already thought about what you just said?” Sanford asked Lee.
“I am very sorry; I guess I am wrong about the sun.” Oh boy, he thought now Sanford is not going to be in a very good mood when he talks about ice cream.
“All right, forget it. We’re all under a lot of pressure and I can see where it might cloud your thinking. Now, the one remaining item: ice cream.” Lee gripped his paper tighter. “We’re not going to do this half-baked, and I confess this is one area where I’m going to need some help. Lee tried to remember the way the different ice cream was lined up in the display case. “So, we’re going to take a ride down to that Crample’s ice cream parlor and talk with the manager, tell him what we’re got in mind and get the ice cream that best suits the rally. I’m not going to spend a lot of time on the charts, but he’s got to understand that we can’t be taking any chances –we need the right ice cream! I know when I’ve got to consult the experts.”
The store had just opened and an elderly lady in a white bib apron was filling napkin holders on the empty tables. “This is why I wanted to come now, too early for anyone to be eating ice cream,” Sanford said in an aside to Lee. “Pardon me ma’am, I’m Sanford Black and I’m coordinating the rally on Saturday for Dan Calvert. Is the manager in?”
“Rally for who?” the woman said as she slammed a napkin holder shut.
“Dan Calvert.”
“Never heard of him. Hold on,” she said as she walked into the back.
“She obviously hasn’t reviewed our campaign literature. Lee, run out to the car and get me a few pieces.”
“Can I help you?” asked a man in a white shirt and white pants as he carried in an ice cream container from the back room.
“You the manager?” asked Sanford.
“That’s right,” said the man.
Hope this guy knows his ice cream, Sanford thought. “Good morning, sir. I’m Sanford Black. I’m coordinating the rally for Dan Calvert in the park on Saturday.”
“Who?” the man asked as he lowered the container into the display case.
“Dan Calvert, he’s running for council.”
“Dan Calvert?” The ice cream manager glared at the campaign manager. “Say, you guys weren’t out knocking on doors awhile back in the neighborhood up the street, were you?”
“No, why no. My associate and I work in the office; we’re assigned to the office we do office work. Here, please take this flyer and here’s one for you too ma’am.”
“Well, I wasn’t happy to hear that my father was getting disturbed by a couple of guys out knocking on doors. He’s still very upset about my mother dying and all.”
“And I can see why he and you would be upset. We’ll report this as soon as we get back to the office. You have my apologies and you can be sure your father won’t be bothered again.” Lee stared at the napkin holder and was wondering to whom Sanford would report this when they got back to work.
“All right, so how can I help you?”
“Ice cream, I need ice cream for about one hundred people for our rally.”
“Here’s the price list and flavors are listed on the back,” said the manager as he handed a white, business-envelope size paper to Sanford.
“Amazing, I mean, Lee look at all these flavors. This is going to be harder than I thought.” Sanford studied the names trying somehow to find in a mind trapped in vanilla a way to process nonsense ice cream flavors. He realized he was looking at the list way too long. “Okay, so you’re the expert, what type of ice cream would you recommend for our rally?”
“You want to go basic, go in vanilla and chocolate and maybe some Rocky Road or we got
a couple of other flavors the kids might like . . .”
“Whoa, you’re going to have containers of vanilla and chocolate next to each other. I mean, isn’t there a subliminal racist message there? And Rocky Road, I mean come on, is that the type of image we want to create? Do we want to associate Dan Calvert with going down a Rocky Road? We’re getting into risky territory. I mean ice cream makes a political statement. People start wondering about why we have selected a way-out flavor or some inappropriate combination and they’re going to start wondering about what is in Dan Calvert’s head.”
As the manager’s gaze shot to Lee, the door opened and the eyes of two elderly couples jumped to the beautiful poetry on the brightly-lighted board of ice cream flavors behind the counter.
“Look,” the manager said, “I know ice cream, I don’t know ice cream and politics, so why don’t you just stay with vanilla. I guess you can’t go wrong with all vanilla if that’s what will make you happy.”
“I thought right off you were an expert,” Sanford said. “Just testing you. But don’t underestimate yourself; you do know ice cream and politics. Lee do you have one of our flyers on the rally? Let’s give one to, it’s Mr. Snight?” Sanford asked as he read the name plate on the man’s shirt.
“Yes, Al Snight.”
“So, you’ll get everything there when we need it?
“It’ll be there; need payment the day before.”
“Good man, Al. Got yourself a deal. Let’s go Lee.”
“That’s how it’s done Lee, there’s no leaving things to chance, down the straight and narrow reduces the screw ups. Not that the old screw-up monster isn’t always out there waiting for you. Now I know you probably think that old beast hasn’t ever gotten a bite out of me, well, you’d be wrong, it did get me a couple of times, but that was a long time ago. Know what, we’re going to get some whipped cream in those spray cans. I’ve always liked that aerosol whipped cream on vanilla ice cream.”
Lee was glad Ellie and D.H. were coming to the rally. Reid was coming too and bringing Luis and Lope from the landscaping crew. Rev. Warren Taylor was going to be there also. That was Sanford’s idea. Can’t hurt to start one of these shindigs with a few words from a preacher, Sanford said. Lee wasn’t sure what Rev. Taylor would say, but probably something about the weather and nourishing our souls. Sanford had written a short speech that he had Lee give to Rev. Taylor. When Rev. Taylor started to read it, his eyebrows pushed so far up that his ears started to move. Maybe I can play around with this a bit, Rev. Taylor told Lee.
Lee paused that morning at the corner and realized right away that something was missing. It was the first time in the two weeks since Lee had stopped feeding him that the bobtail cat wasn’t sitting by the pile of landscape timbers. Lee had his answer about how long a cat would come to the same place thinking he would get food: around two weeks. After two weeks, Lee surmised, somehow the cat mind figured waiting that same time, same place was a waste of time. He wondered if some cats waited longer and some not as long. Maybe they saw in the person that fed them something that set off some kind of clock that told them how long they should wait before they tried a different place, a place where someone else had something to feed a cat. Lee tried to imagine what there was in him that had the bobtail’s clock set at two weeks. That bobtail was fat; he probably knew good places. He was probably eating better now than corn flakes and a bit of milk.
The office was busy. No one was canvassing; there was too much to do to get ready for the rally. “Less than twenty-four hours,” Sanford kept saying over the heads of volunteers making phones calls to invite people to the rally. Lee had been at the copier all morning. Whenever the copier tired and jammed, whoever was using it would yell for Lee. Lee didn’t take the bait from the copier’s hieroglyphics of red signals and curse the machine as everyone else did. Lee had followed the directions the first time the machine jammed; he hadn’t tried to rush to a quick interpretation of the red lights as others did. It became clear that if you rushed to interpret the squiggly lines in the red lights, the copier had you every time. But even when he followed all the directions in proper sequence, there were times that Lee couldn’t get the machine to work. Then the repairman would have to be called and it would be hours before he would be done fixing the copier.
The morning of the rally was a gift from the weatherman. It was as if someone had stabbed a pin into the big bag of humidity smothering the town for the past two days. Blue sky and a lightly-slapping breeze had been outside waiting all along.
Lewis Talley’s blue Ford 150 was beside the pavilion when Lee walked into the park. Lewis Talley was in his sixties, had gray hair and an athletic build. He was a Boy Scout troop leader, carried a pocket knife that was an orchestra of blades and snippers, and always knew the right knot for tying things down in his pick-up. He began volunteering for the campaign several weeks earlier and appreciated the way Lee listened.
“Lee, you’re just in time, lot to unload and get set up,” Lewis said standing in back of the pick-up among signs, a PA system, boxes of disposable picnic items, and cartons of campaign paraphernalia that he was handing to several other volunteers. “Thought Sanford would be here by now, but I guess as long as we have his diagrams and instructions we should be okay.”
“Yes, I think we will be okay. Sanford gave me his diagrams and instructions too, but he told me to hold them close,” Lee said.
“He told me the same thing,” Lewis said, as he put his knife back on the clip hanging from a belt loop on his corduroy pants. “Wouldn’t want this information to fall into enemy hands,” he joked.
“My friend Reid will be here soon with his work friends, Luis and Lope, and they will help also,” Lee said. “I see they are coming now. Let me go tell them what their jobs will be.”
“Lee, my man, here comes the rescue squad. Lee, meet Luis Camero and Lope Alvarez. Luis and Lope, my best friend ever since way back, Lee Fitts,” Reid said. “Now what do you want us to do to get this rally off the ground?”
“It is very nice to meet you, Luis and Lope. We are glad that you were able to come to our rally and help.”
“Thank you,” Luis said. Lope smiled and nodded.
“Lope don’t speak no English, Luis, knows some, he usually translates,” Reid said over Luis’ translation. Lope spoke back a few shots of Spanish.
“What he say?” Reid asked.
“Lope said he’s very happy to be at your big party,” Luis smiled.
“Okay,” Lee nodded. We should go help Lewis Talley.”
By 10 o’clock, the area surrounding the pavilion looked like Sanford’s diagram. Signs, banners, PA system, balloons, coolers of soda and water packed with ice, barbeque grills with coals heating up just the way Lewis’ scout book said they should.
“All, you did a good job,” Sanford said as he looked at the pavilion and then his diagram. “Yes, a really good job. Now, I need you to gather round. This won’t take long, that’s it, gather round. In less than two hours potential voters will begin streaming into this park and we have to make sure that when they leave they are rock-solid votes for Dan Calvert. We’ve got to make them feel welcome. We have to smile. We have to make sure that every one of their senses tells them that they’re glad they came and that Dan Calvert is their man. Once we get those hot dogs and hamburgers fired up, well that’s the All-American barbecue smell that puts everyone at one of these rallies in a good mood. And we’ve got ice cream too. Once they’ve had a chance to wash those dogs and burgers down with some of that ice-cold soda, then we open up the ice cream, then we’ve really got them. And I’ve seen Dan’s speech, and let me tell you this, it’s a doozy. I want everyone to be looking at Andy and when the boss starts clapping that’s our cue. And some cheering, we need some cheering at those pivotal points. When Dan comes in we’ll be playing the theme song from Rocky so we definitely need some whooping and hollering at that point.”
Sanford went on for another ten minutes as if he were addressing
the tattered peasants about to storm the Bastille. It was only when Lewis Talley said it was hot and everyone needed a drink that Sanford cut it off.
“Lee, come here,” Reid said. “Is that character for real or what’s the deal?”
“That is Sanford’s plan for the rally, Reid.”
“Damn, somebody better be assigned to watch that character. That guy’s head’s gonna explode.”
Luis had just finished his translation for Lope.
Lope shot out a few words.
“What he say?” Reid asked as the three landscapers walked towards the coolers.
Luis looked around. “Lope said ‘who is that asshole?’”
“Same in any lingo,” Reid said as he nodded at Lope.
“Good crowd,” Lewis said as he glanced at his watch. “It’s a good crowd, Lee.”
“Yes, it is a good crowd that has come to our rally. Thank you for helping me with this tape Lewis. Once we see Dan Calvert and Andy getting halfway down the walk to the pavilion we have to start the Rocky theme song.”
“If you ask me, I don’t know if I would be playing the Rocky theme song when they come walking in, but who am I to say?”
“It is a nice song, Lewis, and sometimes when I think about Rocky and the problems he had and how good he did, it makes it easier to go through the day with a better attitude.”
“Maybe so,” said Lewis. “Maybe so.”
Just then, Lee saw Ellie, D.H. and his dad. Ellie waved and as they got closer, Lee saw that his dad was wearing his security guard shirt without the badge and tie, and the worn, gray polyester pants that Lee hadn’t had time to iron. Ellie and D.H. knew how to dress for a rally.
“Lee, isn’t it nice that Dad was able to come to the rally? When he called this morning, I told him D.H. and I were going and he insisted on coming,” Ellie said as she held her arm around her father’s waist. Lee knew the helpless look in his sister’s eyes when their father’s actions left her only with a forced smile as a response.