Jack Canon's American Destiny

by Greg Sandora

  I stopped daydreaming and rejoined the conversation. “Isn’t this just 'follow the herd' mentality? When I was younger and Kathy and I would be on trips alone together, for fun I used to step off the curb before the walk signal, New York, Vegas, anywhere there were lots of people, you’d be surprised how many would just begin walking.”

  Lisa said, “Great, Jack, did you get anyone killed?”

  “I don’t do it anymore... but I’m making the point - people tend to follow the bandwagon.”

  The consultant said, “You’re right, they do and to the extent these graphs show, the number of people who jump off the curb early with you will quickly peak and just as fast fall off if they discover there's danger. Our research shows the quicker the rise, the faster the fall. The research we’ve done indicates the Canon campaign should….”

  The meeting went on into the morning, with intermediate staff being brought in at various times to hear how the consultant would fine tune individual components.

  The session was finishing up when the consultant told us, “We’ve taken a look at data on your media coverage and we've put together a proposal. Did you realize your highest positive numbers are when you’re with your wife and girls at home in Kentucky?”

  Our group listened and studied the graphs as Patch and Patch covered data on everything right down to what I should be wearing. No pin stripes—makes you look too slick. No red, they said—too aggressive.

  The recommendation was for me to wear blue ties with angled stripes for debates, a white shirt – no tie with a jacket on factory floors. They told me a man of the people shouldn't over dress.

  Bud said, “Well, thank you, people, this has been informative,” and he started to end the meeting, not finishing when one of the consultants added, “We didn’t know if we should bring this up, but.”

  “Go ahead,” Bud said. “What is it?”

  “Well, when Mr. Canon speaks about women in any capacity…” I, and everyone else in the room, had known what she was getting at—in the first run, I had a gaffe in one of the debates when the question was asked whether a Canon Cabinet would include women in key positions. I answered simply the truth—I thought women worked a lot harder than men did, but it had been my experience men are better figureheads. Then I had tried to make a joke – ‘If England had a king instead of a queen, they wouldn’t appear so weak on the world stage’…well you can imagine how we got roasted on that one.

  The consultant continued," Had we been managing that situation we would have steered the coverage toward a very fast rise and equally quick fall, remember the Starr Jones wedding disaster?"

  “So,” I said, “You would have us slowly begin our message raising the intensity over time, through a peak just before the election and then who cares after that.”

  “Exactly!” The consultant said, “It’s all intensity, Senator. Each facet of your message is treated as a piece of the whole and given time to build. To help with fund-raising, we have set a donation area on My Basket that should do really well.”

  “Call me Jack,” I said, “I have a feeling we are going to be calling you guys a lot over the next twelve months.”

  Everyone cracked up.

  “It’s a wrap then,” Bill said, “leave the data and we’ll pour through it and be in touch with any questions.” The last thing I said was directed to Lisa specifically and the group in general, “Hey Lisa, have your people look over this stuff and see how we can use it to fit in with your overall strategy.”

  As she was gathering her things Lisa said, “Will do Jack.”

  “Lisa I’ve had a lot of consultants walk through here thinking they have the answer. If they had the total formula, they’d be president and wouldn’t be coming in here peddling to us. We have to let some of the ideas breathe a little.”

  “What about the My Basket fund-raising button,” Lisa asked?

  “I want you to go ahead with that and push the ads in New Hampshire; I have a good feeling about their research. Work with Bud and get his input on both.”

  “Got it, Jack.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Thanksgiving Day came and we had invited Bill and his son Steve to join us at our home in Kentucky.

  I bent down to put the leash on our little one-year-old cocker spaniel, Sophie Mae, who was looking my way and standing by the front door. Speaking in a childlike tone I said, “Sophie’s got her leash - wanna go outside like a big girl?”

  Kathy had draped the dog’s leash on her back. Sophie was well trained to go to the door when she needed to go out. Kathy worked with her as a puppy - taking her out every two hours - even in the middle of the night. We loved that dog.

  As I fastened Sophie’s leash, Bill said, “I'll join you Jack.”

  We stepped out onto the porch, standing on its shiny gray boards before walking towards the yard. Sophie energetically bounced down the three steps, pulling to the end of her leash.

  “What a good girl... so smart.” I said in a playful tone reserved just for her.

  Bill and I moved toward the open yard of blue grass mowed twice for the occasion, to a stone patio area on the side of the house. The area had seating for eight and a fire pit in the center - we split our outdoor time between the patio and the nearby screened-porch, enjoying many nights just listening to the crickets chirping while talking about our plans for the White House.

  I attached Sophie’s leash to a hook I had placed in the ground a year ago when we bought her - then sat on one of the patio chairs. Bill was pulling up one of the ottomans to rest his feet. Kathy decorated the outdoor patio with fabric to coordinate with and flow out from the house. Everything was beautiful for the occasion.

  Our people had invited the usual press to show up on queue, and as an added bonus - leaked to the national press – that we would be announcing sometime over the Thanksgiving Holiday.

  Bill said, “Are you up for this Jack?”

  I pushed my hand to my eyes thumb on the left eye three fingers on the right eye and squeezed, rubbing then dropping my hand back to the armrest and rolling my neck for a crack.

  “We have to be,” I said. My bottom two fingers scratching my forehead, “We can't let this country continue on this path. Ready or not, here we go!”

  “You know, Jack, I’ve been thinking... I wanted to get this out there before you announce tomorrow. Believe me no one else would say this to you.”

  I interrupted, “Bill, don’t finish. There’s something you don’t know, and you'll be the first person outside my immediate family, for Pete sakes, even the kids don’t know this, Bill—my dad’s got Alzheimer’s. I’m fifty-three; if we wait, what could very well be eight more years, even as VP, which we definitely could have bought, nobody would vote for me then. Imagine a picture of my dad with Alzheimer’s juxtaposed against my hand on the button, insinuating the disease runs in the family.”

  Bill said, “I’m sorry, Jack, I didn’t know your dad was ill, he seems so vibrant lately.”

  “This run has got him excited. He's looking forward to my being president - sometimes I think more than I am. This is my one shot to help folks who are hurting. Our message will resonate that Americans need to take back the production side of the market. To make this more than an empty campaign promise, we have to produce enough of our own energy to control the market. Just ten percent will drop the world price of oil and help everyone on the planet. Once we get to our goal of twenty percent, we'll have control of energy. There'll be a hole[AMR7] in demand for Middle East Oil, forcing them to dump it anywhere they can. Bill, every person in this country should have a garden and grow this stuff; we're all in this together, like a victory garden in the war!”

  Sophie came over to me and I bent over her, kissing her face, saying in the voice, “Sophie’s such a good girl; what a nice girl.”

  Bill and I got up and walked back through the side entrance of the house.

  I was singing, “I kissed a dog and I liked it.”

  Martha called o
ut disgusted, “You’re so weird-ah Dad!”

  I called out, “Sophie - Martha such a good girl,” teasing her, adding her name to the dogs.

  “Quiet, Dad-dah!” She contorted her face shaking her head, “Mom!”

  Kathy chimed in gently, “Jack, you’re always teasing those girls. You really have to stop; sometimes they don’t get your humor.”

  “Honey,” she said to Martha, “Daddy’s only kidding, he actually thinks that’s funny.”

  “Well,” I said, “When you girls love me and give kisses and hugs whenever I want, I'll stop - until then, that’s how I feel about it.”

  Martha said, “Dad we love you a lot but you’re our dad-dah.” I always kissed and hugged the girls tons when they were small.

  I said, “I want it to be like it used to be when you were little.” I went over to Martha, gave her a big hug, and smothered her with kisses on the side of her head.

  “Too much, Daddy,” Kathy was saying. That was the standing joke whenever I over did the love with the girls and Kathy.

  “We love you, Dad, but you have to relax; I’m a grown up now and I’ll never be a little girl like that again.”

  “Oh my God,” I said, “Sweetheart, if you only knew, you’ll always be my little girl. Honey you’re just a baby, and Bethany is like a little infant.” I said in her direction, using my Sophie voice.

  Bethany called back, “I’m in fourth grade, Dad!” Saying it as if she were the leader of a small country.

  I walked over to Bethany, who was sitting, and gave her a long hug, counting 20 kisses on the top of her head.

  “Jack,” Kathy said. “Now you’ve got Sophie and you can pin her and she’ll never complain about it.” Kathy and the girls had done well the week before in New Hampshire and the press had eaten it up. Everything was primed for our announcement on Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year. The date was specially picked. If coverage was sub par, we could blame the media for paying too much attention to the trivial.

  We would awake for the rest of our stay in Kentucky to the sound of helicopters overhead and a media circus, the likes of which I had never seen. We were set to announce at 10 a.m. I would stand on the front porch between the glossy white pillars, each one outfitted with a flag holder and American Flag for the event. The morning started off like any other; I awoke at 7 a.m., my usual time, walked downstairs, gave Kathy a kiss on her forehead, and walked over to pour a cup of coffee.

  “Morning, Hon.” I poured some cream into my cup and took the first sip; there's nothing like the first cup of the day.

  “Would you like any eggs?” I asked.

  Kathy said, “A little, just some white for the protein.” She had been a vegetarian for years but now ate eggs and chicken. My routine was to make my breakfast and eggs for Kathy. I grabbed a carton from the fridge and started cracking, careful to keep the yokes from five of them, dropping one completely into the bowl. I took out a medium-sized frying pan, placed it on the right front burner, and turned the gas on medium, adding a small amount of margarine.

  As I was frying up the eggs, I heard Kathy walk out onto the screen side-porch and then down the stairs into the yard, saying, “Sophie good girl - Sophie bum-bum, good girl, smart.”

  I flipped the eggs hearing Kathy say, “Hey, Jack, come on out here.” She was cutting back some of the bushes that she kept in pots along the patio. I turned down the eggs to the lowest heat, and walked out onto the side porch through a sliding glass door, open from the unseasonably warm day we were having.

  I hugged her from behind and pressed against her, wondering what she had called me out to the yard for, “What, Honey?”

  She said, “Look in these pots, there’s little trees growing in them. What kind do you think they are? I think they’re apple trees.”

  “Apple? Kathy, do you remember the time we took the girls to the Smithsonian? You and the girls ran through a breeze filled with apple blossoms and they stuck in your hair.”

  She said, “Yes and you bought the girls their first roses, we have it on video.”

  I said, "Neither of them knows it was your idea.”

  Kathy said, “First roses mean more coming from their daddy.”

  I said, “Let’s go inside and have our eggs.”

  I remember that being one of the last normal mornings we’d have for a long time.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The trip to see the Saudis went well. Our group arrived at the airport just before midnight. We jumped out of the car and ascended the steps of a specially equipped Boeing 757 Cruise Liner outfitted with every imaginable luxury.

  “Welcome aboard, Senator,” the Pilot said as Bill, Tip, Lisa and I boarded. Kathy and the girls were in New Hampshire and Bud had stayed behind to keep an eye on the office to get everything ready for our upcoming announcement.

  Boarding, I counted seven smiling faces, two late-forties men, in pilot uniforms, another man dressed in a chef’s outfit, and four very attractive women, all in their early thirties. The ladies were dressed in light blue blazers, matching mid-thigh skirts, crisp-white shirts, and coordinating blue and white heels. Too high to wear working on a plane, especially for such a long flight. I was glad they looked American, worried we might have spent the evening with attendants draped in black garb, covering everything but their eyes. Not much fun, I thought, just as a lovely young woman took my arm. “Senator, please allow me to show you to your seats.”

  “Ladies first,” I said, motioning for Lisa to walk ahead of me. Bill and Tip followed. Turning to them, I said. Just low enough for them to hear, “You boys better behave yourselves.”

  Bill muttered under his breath, “Why the hell did we bring Lisa, again? These girls are gorgeous.” Once we were seated, the pilot quickly got under way, taxiing to the end of the runway. We could all hear the tower’s instructions playing over the intercom. The pilot was communicating in English. Moments later, we got clearance and were off. I remember thinking, this jet must be light with just seven crew and four passengers. I felt pressure pushing me back into my seat when the pilot hit the throttle. Climbing much faster than any airliner I’d ever been on, he quickly took us up to thirty-five thousand feet.

  He spoke to us on the still open intercom, letting us know if there was anything we needed, please let one of the crew know without delay. I sat back in the pale tan leather seat, sunk my arms into the armrests and adjusted myself, trying to get comfortable. Lisa said, “Hey, guys, look at this menu; it reminds me of a five-star restaurant, not an airliner.”

  Tip joked, “When I fly I’m lucky to get an ounce of peanuts and a half-size glass of orange juice over a little ice.”

  Bill said, tongue in cheek, "It’s going to be hard to get used to this.”

  We each had an attendant offering us a menu. “Would you like anything to drink?” mine asked.

  “Do you have Bud Light Lime?” I asked.

  She answered, “I'm so sorry, we don’t, but we have Bud Light and I can add some lime, if you like.”

  “Same difference,” I said. She disappeared through the galley door. The area was arranged sort of like a small living room, with our swivel chairs positioned at the four corners. Attached to the side of each was a table that turned with the chair. I noticed the exceptional quality of the wood, finely embossed, with the coat of arms of the Saudi Royal Family.

  My attendant came back with the beer, “Sir, have you thought of anything you might like to eat?”

  I said, “I don’t want to be rude, miss, what’s your name?”

  She answered, “Tina.”

  I said, “Well, Tina, I think I'll just drink this beer and then try to get some sleep. I'm usually in bed around ten o’clock and I’m feeling pretty tired.”

  “Sir, enjoy your drink and when you’re ready please call me over. I’ll make your recliner into a bed so you can get comfortable and relax.”

  “Okay, that sounds great. I thought I might have to sit up all night.”

 
“No,” she explained. “You’ll be able to lie down and go to sleep.” I finished the beer, and rolled my neck around, feeling the squishy back of the headrest against my head. I didn’t see any buttons along the armrests, where they normally would be and I wasn’t feeling any adjustments on the sides of the seat. Raising my chin, I motioned for Tina to come over.

  I would’ve preferred to adjust the seat myself and save her the trouble. Tina came back with a half-size down pillow softly covered in a light fabric matching the seat. She handed it to me along with a light blanket; I’ve never felt material so soft. Making a mental note, I’d ask her where I could pick up a couple of these.

  She pulled a small remote from her pocket and leaned over me, her long hair accidentally falling on my chest and face. I looked up through the tunnel of blonde loose curls as she was standing up.

  “Oops, I’m sorry,” pulling a hair clip from her pocket, she gathered her hair, pinning it up.

  Tina pressed a button and the chair started to recline, the armrests folded down, while simultaneously the sides of the lower chair began folding upward. Seconds later, I was lying down settling in for the night. I rocked my head from side to side a couple of times and shut my tired eyes, “Thanks.” The cabin lights were low.

  Tina moved her lips to my ear, “If you need anything during the night, press this button.” She was careful, turning my hand over, opening my fingers. Placing the small transmitter into my palm she gently closed them around it. Still holding my hand, she rubbed my forearm lightly and whispered, “Sweet dreams, Senator.”

  I must have slept soundly because when I awoke the next morning, we’d already landed. Tina and I were alone; she told me we’d arrived in Dubai a couple of hours ago. Everyone else was already at the hotel owned by the Royal Family.