Taft 2012

by Jason Heller

  “Anachronism or not, Kowalczyk, time traveler or not, I am indeed just another man. And don’t forget, I used to travel the country extensively while I was president. And not just in the course of campaigning! I snuck out of the White House every chance I could get, and for as long as I could get away with.”

  “Yeah,” Kowalczyk sighed, “you may have mentioned that a few dozen times while we were driving to Chicago. How in hell did you pull it off, anyway?”

  “It was a different time then. We had the Secret Service, of course, but even with a recent assassination on our minds—McKinley—security was far less overweening than it is now. Perhaps it was the very fact that we hadn’t yet invented all your new technological miracles, but it simply never occurred to us to even try to fortify every moment of our lives from harm. I’d accept invitations to anything and everything—commencement ceremonies, graduations, ribbon-cuttings, even the bar mitzvah of the son of an old colleague or college chum—just to get out of the that maddening, oppressive Oval Office.” He chuckled. “And I’d take my sweet time getting there and returning. My critics called me a tramp, and I always chalked it up to wanderlust. In actuality, though, I was running away from that damnable cage.”

  “But didn’t you get hassled constantly? Not just by random people, but by the press? I mean, we’ve had a recent president who spent way more time on vacation than he should have. But he was almost always hiding out at his ranch. The idea of a sitting president just up and roaming around America whenever he felt like it—it’s just a logistical nightmare.”

  “That’s the Secret Service man in you talking, not the Ira Kowalczyk who likes to flail his body around to the strains of banshees holding electrified guitars. Really, Kowalczyk, don’t be paranoid.”

  The agent blinked at him. “You are saying that to a man who just tackled a loonie who could have been pointing a gun at you from the middle of a crowd. Hell, what am I even talking about—you’re saying it to a man who shot you myself not six months ago, because you just suddenly turned up somewhere you had no business being.”

  Taft chuckled. “Yes, but neither of you actually meant to kill me, did you? Our friend today was merely making an ill-advised political statement with a child’s toy—and you, sir, were defending your president! I dare say, that nick in my leg notwithstanding, I’ve been as safe with you by my side these past months as anyone possibly can be in the world. The world today, or the world a hundred years ago, or the world ever. It is an unsafe life, Kowalczyk. Every damn one of us—president, schoolgirl, ditch digger—we could all breathe our last at any time, and hiding from death does not a damn thing to alter that fact.”

  Kowalczyk was quiet a moment. “You really are a pretty remarkable guy, Bill.”

  “And you, my friend, have a remarkable flying tackle. Come—let me take you to dinner.”

  Transcript, Raw Talk with Pauline Craig, broadcast March 12, 2012

  PAULINE CRAIG: And we’re back with more Raw Talk. In the wake of Thursday’s frightening threat on the life of Taft Party presidential candidate William Howard Taft, we’re speaking with several members of the Taft Party to find out how, if at all, this changes the game for America’s most unexpected dark-horse candidate. With me now via satellite is Professor Susan Weschler, chief aide to the candidate himself. Professor Weschler, first of all, let’s begin with the important question: how is Mr. Taft doing? Surely he must be shaken up after his brush with violence.

  SUSAN WESCHLER: Thank you, Pauline. You’re right, that is the most important question. Mr. Taft is doing very well. As you know, while we had a scare for a moment there last week, there was no actual violence, and Mr. Taft and his campaign are rolling ahead as planned. We’ll be holding Taft events tomorrow in Austin, Friday in Little Rock, and Tuesday in Miami.

  PAULINE CRAIG: Jack Channing, the alleged assailant—according to the police, he’s a classic fan turned-stalker case, a film buff who became obsessed with Orson Welles’s President Kane, collected all sorts of memorabilia from the movie, and developed an unhealthy level of interest in President Taft’s real life, to the point where his whole self-identity revolved around being the world’s most knowledgeable Taft fan.

  SUSAN WESCHLER: Uh, yes. That’s, that’s what they’re saying. Again, we shouldn’t forget that the man was harmless.

  PAULINE CRAIG: Maybe harmless—definitely disturbing. Channing made a Web site way back in 1998 to present several elaborately spun theories as to what might have caused the president’s disappearance in 1913. A freak horseback-riding accident on the bank of the Potomac River. Or an overblown conspiracy involving Taft’s late father, Alphonso, who’d founded the secret Skull and Bones society at Yale. Channing was used to being the Taft guy with an answer to everything—so when the real Taft returned to life, they say Channing became obsessed with the idea that it had to be a hoax, because otherwise it would mean he didn’t really know anything after all.

  SUSAN WESCHLER: Well, I suppose that’s the difference between a historian and a conspiracy nut. Those of us who really study history know that there’s always the possibility of a new discovery that will throw everything we thought we knew into a whole new light. Whereas the conspiracy theorists are just practicing pseudo-history—they let their, uh, their personal, ah, feelings and beliefs about the subject matter become more important than pursuing the questions of actual historical truth.

  PAULINE CRAIG: That’s all well and good, Professor, but there are certainly a lot of regular Americans today whose feelings and beliefs about William Howard Taft have built his campaign into the historic phenomenon it is. Some of them are your colleagues in the Taft Party! Let’s say hello to Matt Shelby, the Taft Party’s Northwest regional coordinator. Matt, Bill Taft dodged an imaginary bullet last week. What about the metaphorical bullets? Some critics in the D.C. establishment have suggested that the Taft campaign doesn’t have a cohesive political platform. How do you respond to that?

  MATT SHELBY: Pauline, William Howard Taft’s politics have been on record for a hundred years now. I’d have to say these critics are either too lazy to spend a few minutes looking them up, or they hold the American people in such contempt that they think they’re too lazy to look them up. Either way, they’re wrong. President Taft governed in the twentieth century with the same principled convictions he’ll govern with in the twenty-first. A determination to put the American people’s interests first. A commitment to absolute honesty and accountability at every level of his administration. And an absolute respect for governing by the precise letter of the law.

  PAULINE CRAIG: Victoria Freeman Eldridge, you’ve been responsible for the Taft Party’s agenda in New England. While Matt Shelby here was a Democrat before he joined the Taft cause, you were a Republican.

  VICTORIA FREEMAN ELDRIDGE: A Libertarian, actually, Pauline.

  PAULINE CRAIG: But a fiscal conservative, for sure.

  VICTORIA FREEMAN ELDRIDGE: Absolutely. I voted for Republican presidents most of my life because that was the closest I could get to a proper conservative candidate. That’s why I was so excited to join the Taft Party—Taft doesn’t just talk the conservative talk, he’s the real deal. Under Taft, for instance, corporate taxes were the merest fraction of what they are now, and the economy flourished. American industry was booming back then, with new jobs being created every day by the thousands. We can have that kind of prosperity again, if we return to the simple, streamlined tax code that the first Taft administration put into place. I think it goes without saying that Taft is the man to do it.

  SUSAN WESCHLER: Um—

  PAULINE CRAIG: Just a moment, Professor Weschler. We’d like to say hello to the Reverend Todd Osborne, organizer of the Southern Taft Party organization.

  REV. TODD OSBORNE: Thank you, Ms. Craig.

  PAULINE CRAIG: Reverend Osborne, what does Taft mean to you?

  REV. TODD OSBORNE: Well, now, I think we all recognize a good man when we see one. William Howard Taft was raised in a more decorou
s time, with a proper set of American values. We’ve all seen the culture in this nation fall to decadence and hedonism over the course of the past fifty years, and we all know the madness has got to stop if we don’t want our children to be citizens of the United States of Amexico, working for poverty wages in call centers for Chinese and Indian corporations.

  SUSAN WESCHLER: If I may—

  REV. TODD OSBORNE: In Taft’s day, Americans had pride and self-discipline—so much so that they banded together to form the great Prohibition movement and renounced self-indulgent living. Americans back then knew that having too much fun wasn’t a good thing! I think we can look at the candidates in front of us today and know which of them stands for a responsible, upright, moral lifestyle.

  PAULINE CRAIG: Professor Weschler, something to add?

  SUSAN WESCHLER: Ah—I just—just that I hope the voters will come out and listen to Mr. Taft speak for himself in person. Or, um, online at taft2012—uh, on Twitter, Facebook, or dot-com.

  PAULINE CRAIG: And we’ll be back after this.

  http://cgi.ebay.com/authentic-replica-Taft-assailants-fake-pistol/

  AUTHENTIC REPLICA—TAFT ASSAILANT’S FAKE PISTOL

  Item condition: New

  Quantity: 4 available

  Time left: 2 days 15 hours

  Buy It Now: U.S. $99.95

  Description: For a limited time only! You can own this perfectly crafted reproduction of the toy pistol used by political protester Jack Channing to threaten former president William Howard Taft in Albuquerque on March 8, 2012. Painstaking review of news footage has shown the gun was produced by splicing together two production model toy weapons from Whimco, the RP-7 and the RPX-91. I have not only replicated this custom modification, but have also weathered the plastic casing identically to the markings that can be seen from every angle in the television coverage. Don’t miss out on owning this practically unique piece of American history, a perfect reminder that Taft is the president who just cannot be kept down no matter what. Taft 2012!

  LOCAL 12 WKRC-TV

  The following message is paid for by the Friends of American Nutrition.

  For ten years, Rachel Taft and her husband, trial lawyer Trevor Collins, filed lawsuit after lawsuit after lawsuit against hardworking farm owners throughout the Ohio countryside—just because they think farmers don’t know the right way to raise food. Rachel Taft isn’t a farmer—she’s from downtown Cincinnati. And Trevor Collins isn’t even from Ohio—he’s from Detroit. What does an inner-city urban lawyer know about agriculture, anyway?

  Now Rachel Taft is in Congress, trying to slap regulations on farmers all across the country. And we’re supposed to believe that her running mate—her grandfather, William Howard Taft—is a “good old-fashioned real American”? Come on, Taft. Just because you were born a hundred fifty years ago doesn’t mean we were born yesterday.

  FROM THE DESK OF REP. RACHEL TAFT (Ind.–OH)

  Notes—Tues. 27th

  —Oh, fuck you, Augustus Fulsom. “Inner-city urban lawyer.” Fuck you in your turkey-mutilating ear.

  March 20, 2012

  Dear Mommy and Grandpa,

  I am glad you are coming home soon! It’s fun to see you on TV but I miss you anyway. Even though we talk on the phone before bed. Daddy is proud of you and says I should not listen to the angry farmer commercial and there’s nothing bad about being from the city. He says that man is not a real farmer and that you only get mad at companies who make their farmers do gross things to the food.

  I still want to bring Grandpa to show and tell!

  Love,

  Abby

  P.S. Daddy showed me how to spell commercial and companies.

  CLASSIFIED

  Secret Service Incidence Report

  BBR20120402.06

  Agent Ira Kowalczyk

  En route back to Ohio for week of speeches; have dispatched agents Pearsall and Horton to head advance sweep of venues in Cleveland, Columbus, Cincinnati. Note that Big Boy appears less concerned with security issues and more concerned about open access to chat with voters. Note also that Big Boy seems most concerned with making sure there’s time to visit Irene Kaye in Patterson Senior Village. More security around the perimeter this time, since the crazies and hoaxers online are getting louder. (Site diagrams attached.)

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The Rosewater smell had faded from Irene’s room in the nursing home and been replaced by something saccharine and sickly chemical. She lay in bed when Taft arrived, various machines hooked into her body, her veins visible through her skin like blue pen through vellum. “It’s about time,” she rasped, a rattle at the edge of her voice. “I haven’t got all day, you know. I might mean that quite literally.”

  Her laugh was weak, but there was no mockery to it. Even on her deathbed, Irene had more stoicism and spine than most of the twenty-first century combined.

  “Irene.” He took her fluttering hand. It felt as light as a parakeet. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. Things have been … difficult these recent days.”

  “Difficult? Oh, Taft, don’t let these times taint you. If there’s one thing this generation loves, it’s to make things more difficult than they have to be.”

  A blush rose to Taft’s cheeks. He sighed and sat next to her on the bed.

  “You’ve lost some paunch,” she noted. “Last time you planted yourself there, I almost slid off and onto the floor.”

  Taft patted her hand. “Well, yes. I’ve been trying to take better care of myself.”

  “Ah,” she said, “if only it were as easy as trying.” She coughed violently, but it passed before Taft could ring the bell for the nurse. “It’s all right,” she assured him, although her tone was anything but. “They pop in every few minutes to check on me anyway. I believe they’ve got someone waiting out in the hallway, eager to take over my room the instant it becomes vacant.”

  “They may take your room, but no one will be able to take your place.”

  “You’re a flatterer. And a maudlin one at that.” She wheezed. “But please, tell me, what’s on your mind? You seem twice as troubled as the last time you came to see me.”

  “Ah, well now, I.…” He cleared his throat. “Lord, Irene, this is hard to say. For as dedicated as I am to running this campaign fairly and honestly, I find that I’m still having to play these infuriating politician games. Again! I hated it in 1912, and it’s even worse in 2012. It’s not enough to be oneself. I start off trying to discuss the truth as I see it, but no matter how clear I try to be, people misunderstand something I say or they focus on one little thing that they don’t like at the expense of the greater point I wish to make. And then, as I try to get closer to their perspective so that I might figure out how to explain what I want to say in words they’ll grasp, what ends up happening is that I bend around, prevaricate, hedge, compromise, conceal. It’s inhuman. I feel the rot of it taking hold of my soul.”

  “Oh, Bill. Don’t be so melodramatic. Is it really that bad?”

  Taft glanced around as if some partisan or spy was ready to eavesdrop or simply pounce on him. “It’s these infernal Taft Party people. Not the voters—the tub-thumpers. They all think they can paint me as the champion of whatever sort of ‘old-timey goodness’ will make their specific patrons happy. Between them all, they’ve backed me into a corner. No, that’s not quite right. I must say, rather, that they’re all but backing me into four different corners at the same time!”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “The only thing I can do. I’ve been given a second chance to make the Taft name mean something that Americans can be proud of—something that’s a boon to my family, not a joke—and I think we all know that a third chance is quite unlikely. And time is in short supply. I can count the weeks to the Taft Party convention!”

  “You don’t have to tell me about the short supply of time.” Her breathing had settled down into a steady, shallow rustle of the lungs. “Bill, I want you to promise me someth
ing.”

  “Yes, of course. Anything.”

  “Don’t forget.”

  “I … I’ll never forget you, Irene.”

  “No, not me, you dear man. Don’t forget who you are. Don’t forget where you come from. Where we come from. That America still exists. It’s still here, underneath all this”—she waved her hand—“all this difficulty. Remember what made this a great nation, what made you a great man, in the first place.”

  “And what might that be?” asked Taft, a sad smile touching his face.

  “Being you. Being yourself. All of us, from 1776 on. Reach into your heart. Do what you have to do, but don’t let them turn you into someone else.” She lightly rattled the tubes and wires that connected her body to the devices that kept her alive. “Don’t let this century eat you up, President William Howard Taft. You eat it.”

  With that, she fell asleep. On his way out the door, Taft passed the incoming nurse. He glared at the man sternly, as if to reinforce the importance of the patient he was treating. But the only look he received in return was one of resignation and sympathy.

  FROM THE DESK OF REP. RACHEL TAFT (Ind.–OH)

  Notes—Wed. 25th

  —Plane lands at Reagan 7 a.m. Go straight to Capitol—full day of working the Hill to get more cosponsors for Int’l Foods Act.

  —Do not take calls from campaign office. Remember why you’re doing this. No point in forsaking the real work in order to boost ego delivering speeches to crowds.

  —Grandpa can handle the Tafties for the next few weeks. I’ll join back up at Taft Party National Convention in Cinci.