Melissa, at one point said, “Stop complaining, or do something about it.” June took the remark in jest, but June still called to feel better about herself. Melissa, after all, was still a school teacher, and the only act she ever did that was worthy of noting was marrying Peter.
“Melissa?” June said into phone when she heard someone pick up.
“Hello,” Melissa answered.
“I’m going to a Cherry Hill school this morning.”
“They still make you do those activities on Saturdays?” Melissa said trying to start a pleasant conversation.
“Oh, that’s right, it’s Saturday. The days seem to blend.”
“How did you think you were going to get me if it was a weekday? I’m in school by this time.”
“I thought maybe you’d’ve quit by now.” Melissa became offended again when June dismissed her commitment to teaching. June resented that Melissa was doing something that Daniel took an unusual interest in, that is, for a President. That was the core of the special relationship that Melissa had with Daniel. June resented that also. The two friends became rivals. The reality that Melissa saved June from the tatters of a destructive marriage, and entered her into a world of excitement, has gone forgotten. Only long conversations between the President and Melissa in corners of banquet halls in the White House, which June considered a misdemeanor.
“Are you coming tonight for the Chinese visitors?”
“No, I don’t think so. I want to work on my class plans and take it easy.”
“Really? Peter shouldn’t come unaccompanied.”
“He doesn’t care if I come or not. And I’ve met these people before. You remember the Ambassador’s daughter?” Melissa said trying to get on the same side of an issue as June.
“The very one that screwed Terrence Bratton into the retirement home early?”
“That’s right. I’d just as soon stay away,” Melissa said.
“Oh, and trust Peter with her alone?”
“If he would want the slut, he can have her. He loves the game too much to fall into the same trap as Terrence Bratton. I guess she screwed her way to becoming the First Lady of China.” That characterization, putting this woman in the same category has her, angered June.
“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll see you there.” June hung up, and contemplated who else she could call. She realized she could wake anyone this early if she wanted. June consequently enjoyed the rest of the ride.
Every arrival was festive and full of excitement to the people June visited. Smiling, eager faces greeted her at the entrance of the school of the special children. June had given up her Saturday morning for these children, and they gave up the morning cartoons. Some of the children felt sorrier for themselves than for the First Lady.
A tour was always a good way to speak perfunctorily with the staff of a foundation, than a general meeting with staff or members, in this case residents, to talk and answer questions. The new school wing was state of the art. June noted the fantastic equipment for the children to exercise with and a research wing as well. She never awoke for the tour.
A student read her letter to June. A letter that a little girl took all week to write. The letter was long for the first grader, about fifteen words. The girl in pigtails and silver wire glasses stood out of her wheelchair with special crutches with arm-braces, while an aide held the letter in front of her. Her mother died in the shooting at the mall, but the girl survived. The message was ordinary, if deciphered only through its plain meaning. That was all June was capable of. Therefore, she did not understand that this child sweated when she stood because it was painful, not out of nerves. A few seconds after she began to read, her arms shook with strain. Persistent, she stood tall. June didn’t understand that this girl would someday have a hard time breathing because of her injuries.
June was not intimate with herself. She didn’t feel she reacted. She lived in survival mode. She has done all she has had to do to survive—June has escaped from the ghetto, a small town mentality, and an abusive husband. She sought nothing from her spirit. Success was her biggest failure. Her zestful spirit was given the command to rest, and in response, it died. June was more pitiful then the little first grader in pigtails. The girl’s goal was simple: stand and read for the First Lady. Tomorrow, her goal will be to stand and read for someone else. Every day that the little first grader could stand and breathe, was a good day. Each day was the same but a new challenge when you’ve lost both parents on the same day. The emotion the girl attached to standing was the same victory, the feeling of accomplishment never became jaded.
June thought the little first grader had tears in her eyes because she was nervous to meet the First Lady, and couldn’t control herself. But that’s how out of touch June was with her surroundings and with her own feelings. If she allowed herself to feel the joy of the little girl’s accomplishment, she could wake the next morning at 5 a.m. and not complain. But June didn’t know that the little girl felt special because she could stand for the television camera with a smile, and read her letter that took a week to write because her hands would not cooperate with her bursting wondrous first grade mind.
When the little first grader finished reading her letter, June was empty but the girl was full. Full of a lifetime of joy. The rules were different for this girl. She recruited the help of her friends by sharing the dream she had—to stand for the First Lady of the United States. If she could stand without falling, without anyone else’s help, she would win. She did. The applause in the room was loud. June triggered a wide grin. The girl hugged the aide who then helped her back into her chair.
June was given permission to talk about gun-control. She gave a short statement that guns in the hands of mentally disturbed people are at the root of this tragedy. Guns will not solve the problem of mass murder with guns.
Daniel always wanted to know what June learned at these events. Daniel implored her to be another set of eyes and ears for him. She asked herself what she had learned, and without effort, she answered to herself, nothing. Her thoughts transferred to the evening’s events.
June, as empty as she was, knew the importance of gun control. She said she made her statements as planned. Then June had her staff make sure that she had the proper dress, scheduled an afternoon nap and hair appointment.
The evening had arrived. The backdrop for this fiesta was again at the Anderson House. The building was preserved in the same manner as it was when Daniel and June first met. June admitted to herself that she felt the youthful excitement she once felt when she arranged parties for Senator Mathews. She remembered she met Daniel, the boy wonder, here. It was the place for romance. The leading tale rumored that Senator Bratton first met the then Chinese Ambassador’s wife, and pursued their defeating affair. It amazed June that the wife had the gall to come back to the United States. Hadn’t she ruined enough lives? June resented that the wife wasn’t politically assassinated and Senator Bratton was her victim. Her resentment reminded her of a comment Daniel made when he told June that the Premier’s wife would be coming to the United States.
June voiced her hostility for Cho, and again the President turned the negative around. “June,” he said, “If Cho did not come to America when she did, I would never have been President.” And he was right. Terrence Bratton would never have given up his seat. If he ran for President, Bratton never would’ve retired. While Daniel could turn a situation psychologically to his advantage, June didn’t. She chose to resent Cho anyway, and it would be difficult to be around her this night.
June’s first attack was to look good. June lightened her hair; there was no hint of gray. Her ears had carat diamond studs of an exquisite cut. A string of pearls supporting a five-carat diamond rock complemented her earrings. Her dress was black and silky. It was sexy, yet appropriate, not too low cut. June was daring, wearing red lipstick to match her nails. She emphasized her engagement
ring by wearing nothing else on her hands.
The second attack was to learn some Mandarin. When the applause of the President’s and her arrival subsided, she was formally introduced to the Premier and his wife. After shaking her hand, June said, in Mandarin, “I remember you.” At first, June feigned a mistake and said, that Cho “still looked like a child,” but then corrected herself by saying, “You’re still young looking.” The surrounding dignitaries smiled and grimaced at June’s try at the foreign language. The mistake was intentional, and Cho knew it. Cho covered her disdain with grace, but she didn’t forget. She just ran her two fingers over her top lip to send June a message.
June politely turned and walked away from Cho and her escorts. Only the shrewd eye and ear could detect the subtle cat scrap. Daniel had the ear, and he didn’t like what June did. June was just an alley cat, Daniel thought. June had to stamp her point. It was her Christian way—never leaving one to one’s own way.
President, with all his skill, attempted to turn the Prime Minister around to the importance of the trade issue, but he couldn’t be convinced. He was offended for his wife. The Minister wouldn’t think of the best interest for his people. The official word from the Chinese government was to delay signing an agreement because a certain faction of the government needed to discuss the agreement further. This effectively destroyed Daniel Carlson’s hopes of having the agreement signed in his first term. It was a painful loss, considering Daniel thought this agreement would’ve put America in the 3.5% unemployment range. Daniel Carlson didn’t even talk about June’s misconduct. He learned the same lesson again about her. His enemies just tripled, and June was too stupid to understand why. But the President was resolved never to let her narrow imposing disposition affect his life or his presidency again.
CHAPTER 23
A Son of Abraham
It was quiet around the White House this late morning. It was one of the few coveted lazy days around the West Wing. It was the Jewish Holiday of Yom Kippur, the day of Atonement. The President made sure that services for the Jewish staffers were available, for those who couldn’t go home for the holidays. Daniel Carlson was always interested in the whole idea of reflection. Reflection made perfection, if the person was willing to look at his own flaws, and try to correct them.
Rabbi Schniarson drove all the way from Brooklyn with an entourage, to be the spiritual leader of the service. He had to drive days before the holiday, because the Rabbi would not drive on the eve of the Holy day. The Rabbi was the leader of the most religious sect of Judaism, the Lubavitch. He was called, Rebbe. Daniel Carlson was President of the United States, but the Rebbe was the leader of the Jews in New York. Even the non-Lubavitch Jews accepted that the Rebbe set the standard for Jewish tradition and decision-making. In times of desperation, when one goes toward religion, Jews turned toward the edicts of a Rebbe. Because of the reputation of Schniarson, even some non-Jewish staffers did not leave the Beltway, in order to hear the Rebbe speak.
As President Carlson sat in the residence study in the White House, he reflected as he sat in his chair at his desk thousands of times before. He wondered if today was supposed to be a day of greater reflection. How do you make it a day of greater reflection? How much more critical do we have to be of oneself to meet the commitments of the Day of Atonement? It just isn’t good to be so critical. He risked undercutting his own self confidence, which was as important as good judgment. It’s part of good judgment.
The President’s thoughts went on to how well he knew his own life. The media and his detractors raked through his life, and even made one false supposition after another to make for a good story. Still, there was so much that was undiscovered and President Carlson was thankful. Every day he was thankful. Selfish? Deserving? Yes, he felt he was deserving. No one deserves such scrutiny, not even the President.
Daniel Carlson looked on his desk and began to thumb through a family photo album. Mostly pictures of his mother and her family. They were from Kiev. Her grandparents came to this country after World War I. Anti-Semitism in Kiev was strong at that point in history. Jews hid their identities, if they could. One day when Daniel was sixteen, his mother told him that her grandparents were Jewish. She asked that he keep it a secret, and that even his father didn’t know. Daniel wasn’t sure how his father would react. His wife really was a Jew. Daniel asked his mother if she knew anything about being a Jew. She said she knew very little about being Jewish. Deep inside she felt she was Jewish. Right after Daniel learned about his great-grandparents, it explained plenty about how lukewarm of a Christian was Daniel’s mother. Daniel’s mother was a Christian on Christmas and Easter. They seemed like more social events than religious events. It all made sense. Daniel’s mother felt she still needed to be a Jew in the closet, like her grandparents. Which made him wonder about secrets.
So many secrets in Daniel Carlson’s family. It was a wonder he ever spoke. A secret might fly out of his mouth. Daniel’s father had some secrets he needed to keep from his mother. His mother had secrets she had to keep from his father. It was good to keep confidences, but what is the need for secrets. There was usually no explanation of why a matter was even a secret. Why couldn’t his father know that his mother was Jewish? Was his father an anti-Semite? Daniel didn’t even care to think about it. My mother may have thought my father would have loved her less. Just a lot of pent up anger from the secrets. He closed the photo album. He noticed the phone ring on his desk. He picked it up and the voice announced: it was time.
President Carlson walked over to the West Wing. He went into the conference room that was designated and converted as the temple. The Rebbe was about to give his sermon for Yom Kippur. The President put a yarmulke on his head out of respect for his religious environment. The crowd of Jewish staffers were amazed the President showed up for this private event. He smiled and shook the hands of a few staffers as he made his way up the aisle. Then he shook hands with the Rebbe’s main assistant, and then the Rebbe. The President noticed the machitza—the barrier dividing the women and the men in the room. The barrier was supposed to force the men and the women to concentrate on God and not each other during this holy time. Daniel Carlson slipped from his political mindset, the one that makes him politically correct, and wondered if the machitza made the men and the women wonder what was going on over the other side, rather than concentrate on religion.
The Rebbe’s assistant was also a rabbi. He was slender, wore glasses, and had red hair parted to the side. The Rebbe was sitting and had a long gray beard. He was wearing all white for the solemn holiday. He shook the President’s hand and smiled, without standing up. The Rebbe was old and mostly got around by getting pushed around in a wheelchair. The President said a few words as an impromptu introduction before the sermon.
“The Rebbe needs no introduction. I’m so glad that he was able to make it to the White House this year. I want to welcome all of our friends from Brooklyn who escorted the Rebbe to Washington. The Rebbe is a man of peace. His words have always inspired values and caused to take time for reflection for all. Without judgment, his words offer guidance about how to be better. In our complex world of competing values and competing interests, the Rebbe explains a view on life that seems so simple, but based upon thousands of years of Judaic teachings. It is an honor that he is here, and I’m glad to be here to enjoy and learn from today’s message. Rabbi, please . . .” There was no applause, as is the custom in a temple. The Rebbe stood at the podium. The President took an empty seat on the podium next to where the Rebbe was sitting. Everyone in the room, except the Rebbe and his assistant rabbi, thought the President was just being his usual cordial and articulate self. He wasn’t. Daniel Carlson really meant it, and his words applied to him, specifically. The Rebbe spoke of kindness to animals, out of sake of pity, not animal rights. He explained the reason for kindness in the process for slaughtering animals for food. He explained the story of Jonah. The fear of the people wh
o threw him into the water, since Jonah told them that he was the cause for the great storm. He asked can we all strive to believe in God the way Jonah did? Perhaps never, but we should strive.
After the sermon, President Carlson went to the Oval Office. An hour later, he went into a private office outside the Oval Office. There he met the Rebbe with his assistant. The President still had his yarmulke atop his head since the sermon. This meeting was not on the official Presidential log. The meeting was planned with the Rebbe. This was the second time that the President and the Rebbe had met. The first time the President mentioned in passing that he had some Jewish distant relatives. Candidate Carlson was in Brooklyn. He needed to meet with the Rebbe to get the Jewish vote in Florida. This was a political reality in New York. The one promise that Daniel Carlson made to the Rebbe was that he would be a friend to the Jews. The Rebbe insisted that the friendship must extend to this country, which at first bewildered President Carlson. Then he realized that the Lubvitch view on Israel is not the same as the conservative Jews’ position. President Carlson assured the Rebbe that he would be a friend of the Jewish people. This was even before the Rebbe entered into a short and precise dialogue with the President. The precise dialogue is the trait that Daniel Carlson remembers most about the Rebbe. It was the Rebbe’s ability to get precisely to the hidden point.
By Silent Majority Page 25