Taft 2012

by Jason Heller

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

  Notes—Sat. 16th

  —Well. Fun while it lasted.

  —Remember we were never going to win anyway.

  —Prepare for the shit to hit the fan.

  —Pray to all things holy that Wm Howard can announce this to the Tafties without getting crucified. Without getting us all crucified.

  —No whining. No whining. No whining. Back to work on Monday.

  “WE DO NOT KNOW what has become of our vanished friend, William Howard Taft. We pray that his soul has found peace. And I, myself, pray for forgiveness. Taft has been the kindest, gentlest, fairest man I have been privileged to know and work alongside in all my years serving these United States of America. In recent times, I have not echoed his goodness. During these past two years I have called him a weak president; I have called him a traitor to my own presidency; I sought to muscle my way back into the office I had left to him. I was behaving a brute, and I shall regret it for the rest of my days. William Taft has been my friend and my brother; yet, when I perceived that his actions and principles as president were diverging from my own, I permitted my righteous indignation to drive me against him—and that was the true betrayal. That was the true failure: my failure to support a devoted comrade, even as he struggled to act his own man. Sir, wherever you are today, know that I most bitterly curse myself for allowing our friendship, and your last days, to fall victim to my vanity. Could I now undo my folly, I would. William Howard Taft, the world deserved your presence longer.”

  —Former president Theodore Roosevelt, delivering his eulogy for William Howard Taft, 1913

  TWENTY-NINE

  William Howard Taft had been a boy playing ball on the streets of Cincinnati; a young man in love with a brilliant, heartbreakingly lovely woman; a judge and a governor charged daily with making decisions that would shape the lives of hardworking people, for better or worse; and, finally, the inhabitant of one of the most powerful offices in the world. And as he walked onto the stage to the relentless, booming wave of applause that struck him in the chest even as the blinding spotlights smote him in the eyes, what he thought was: well, it has all come to this.

  He raised his hand and, incredibly, the cheering surged louder. No, that wouldn’t do at all. He waved sharply, once, in the abrupt chopping motion he’d learned through years of necessity, and slowly the crowd quieted. Taft cleared his throat.

  “My friends,” he said. “My fellow Americans.”

  He paused.

  “They say that the cheerful loser is a sort of winner. I am well accustomed to this perspective!” There was widespread laughter. “Today … today I am a winner, indeed. For today I face the prospect of the greatest loss I could ever experience. And I find that I am possessed of the surest, most certain, and indeed the most cheerful peace of mind any man could possibly have.

  “I do not speak of the election. The election—and I will be blunt now, and I dare say you will be startled, but fear not, for this is a simple truth which at heart I know you all understand—the election is a small thing.” Now there was near-total silence. “Men and women win and lose elections every year, and they perform to the best of their abilities, or sometimes to the worst of their corruptions, and the nation goes about its business. It is true that some presidents, some congressmen, some judges are better than others; some are worse. It is true that some face unthinkably great challenges and rise to the occasion, while others manage to bungle affairs that should have been handled by a competent statesman with the simplest of ease. And yet the nation goes on, so long as every new election arrives and we resolve to do it again, and to do it right. To once more choose the finest candidate we can find. It is not any one election that matters. It is all the elections, together, in a continuum that ensures we will never rest upon our laurels but will strive anew for constant betterment.

  “I have been proud to serve this nation once as its president. As you know, my work in that office was difficult, and I cannot honestly say that I enjoyed it, but it was important work—work that, some days, meant fighting to make sure the right men were safeguarding our nation’s forests and, some days, meant fighting against those who would abuse their wealth to harm those less privileged than themselves and, other days, meant fighting against some of my dearest friends in all the world! Because I believed they had made decisions that were wrong for the American people. I lost those friends because of the work I did as president, and although it was, frankly, an awful time, I can say to you with a clear conscience that I would do it again. Because being president, above all, was work that I was called to do, and I have never been one to brush off a call from those who need me.”

  Applause burst out again, but Taft waved it down. “You have called me here, and I have answered. But today an even greater call has come, and I stand here now to deliver my answer.”

  For an instant he held his breath. And then, stroking his mustache, he thought, to hell with it, and took a bold step across the Rubicon. “Three hours ago, Rachel and I discovered that the largest donations to the Taft Party USA came from so-called citizens groups that are, in fact, no such thing but mere fronts for the largest food-production conglomerate in the Western hemisphere, Fulsom Foods International.”

  A buzz of murmuring and confused head-swiveling burst through the assemblage. Taft allowed it to propagate for a few moments before continuing. “As you know, during this campaign I have made no secret of my distaste for the supposedly edible products that Fulsom stamps out in its factories and foists upon the American marketplace under the guise of nutrition. Naturally, I was alarmed and dismayed—to say the very least!—to learn that I had been the benefactor of that very company’s largess.

  “At first, I pridefully believed that Fulsom had surreptitiously funded the Taft effort because he—Augustus Fulsom, the man at the top—wanted me to be president. My own self-love may not be as hugely robust as is my waistline, but a political campaign will make any man believe great things of himself. And thus I thought that Fulsom wanted to take advantage of my new popularity by placing a man in the White House who would be indebted to him. It occurred to me that a new Taft presidency particularly would serve Fulsom well in that regard, even should I continue to rail against his firm’s abominations, because, let us be honest: when it comes to food, I am known as a man who allows my appetite to overrule my self-discipline. And in this television-fueled, Internet-soaked era of 2012, no matter what healthy policies I might pursue, the very picture of my—well, my rotundity—seated behind the desk in the Oval Office would send a message to all that America is a nation of constant eating.

  “That, as I say, was my first thought. I believe it was the thought Fulsom wished me to have. But then I had another, and immediately cursed myself for a fool.

  “Moneyed interests such as Fulsom do not back third parties because they expect us to win. They do not expect us to win. Indeed, they and their fellows spend countless sums each year to ensure that the familiar sway of partisan politics will continue as always. And so I asked myself: why in heaven’s name should Fulsom fund the Taft Party, if not to put me back into the White House?

  “The answer, my dear friends, presented itself along with the question. For you all have called yourselves the Taft Party. Not the William Howard Taft Party, just the Taft Party. And there is a second Taft here to consider, is there not? My running mate, my granddaughter, the very fine representative from the state of Ohio, Rachel Taft.” He gestured to the side of the stage, letting the crowd look to where Rachel stood, hands clasped behind her back like a soldier at ease, the very picture of resolved dignity. “She is not the celebrity I have become since my strange rebirth. No, she is simply and utterly an honest, dedicated, patriotic, unimpeachable legislator who has devoted her life to doing good work for her country, for the future in which her daughter shall someday grow up.

  “And her chosen cause is not one that Fulsom finds acceptable.

  “Rachel T
aft—as you will know if you have been following our campaign this season—is the sponsor of the new International Foods Act currently winding its way through House committees and subcommittees. This bill, a thorough updating of the regulations that today guide the nation’s food industry, would hold corporations such as Fulsom responsible for the consequences of their practices, particularly the sorts of practices that had yet to be invented when the laws were last written.

  “My friends, when I arrived here in your time, I became a fast patron of the unthinkably vast and colorful array of meats, treats, and sweets I found in your kitchens and dining establishments.” That was a clever turn of phrase, he quietly congratulated himself, noting the rhyme for future reuse. “I enjoyed your Twinkies and your take-out, and I even enjoyed a flavorful Thanksgiving dinner … until the innards of my Fulsom TurkEase disagreed most profoundly with my own innards, which come from an age of simpler cuisine. I wholly understand the great achievements of the modern agricultural business; the food they produce is both endlessly bountiful and incredibly affordable for even the humblest of Americans, so that every family may enjoy a full stomach. Truly, this seems a divine blessing we enjoy today, living in a world of plenty that can satiate all our hungers.

  “And yet …

  “And yet at the base of it, it is a false bounty, a cornucopia that cannot endure happily. For there are lies mixed in at the bottom of the bowl, so to speak.

  “I do not even speak of the unsavory practices involved in the processing of these foodstuffs: the reconstitution of grains into approximations of meats, of meats into facsimiles of grains, of sugars into every other consumable that can possibly be imagined. Nor, by the same token, do I mean to belittle the individual Americans who work so hard every day to bring it to bear. Quite the opposite! The welfare of the farmer is vital to that of the whole country. Rather, it is the entire structure that surrounds the farmer and the grocer and the gourmet that gives me concern.

  “If there is a problem with America today—as I see it—it is that we look for self-worth in consumption, rather than in the pursuit of personal achievement. I may seem a hypocrite for pointing such a finger, for I have obviously engaged in quite a bit of overconsumption myself! Nonetheless, it is true. We cannot fill the void in our souls by stuffing ourselves with physical comforts; we can fill it only by striving to achieve excellence. That noble goal holds different specifics for each of us. Where one American may become an excellent doctor or lawyer or taxicab driver, another may become an excellent mother, and yet another an excellent golfer!

  “We all possess excellence within us from the start. For excellence is not a measure to be taken against others; it is a measure to be taken against oneself. The pursuit of achievement does not mean that one is a failure if he isn’t the acknowledged leader in his field; it is not a question of outperforming others. It is a matter of performing alongside others! Excellence is something we can all share as Americans and, more fundamentally still, as human beings.”

  Somewhere out in the sea of humanity that faced him, Taft heard an angry voice cry: “Socialism!”

  He harrumphed. “No, sir, it is most assuredly not the practice of socialism that I advocate. I must be so bold as to ask: are you quite certain you grasp what socialism truly is? I am talking about something quite different: simple self-respect.”

  Taft sighed. “These tremendous forces that crash against us from above, these monoliths of habit and government and industry and pure social momentum can make it difficult to afford oneself the respect that every person deserves. We cannot pretend not to know how small each of us seems compared to the colossus of a world-spanning corporation whose name is found in every corner market—compared to the juggernaut of an election whose every twist and turn is blared, all day long, every day, all year, from all the televisions and newspapers and Twitters and Googles!

  “These relentless, unstoppable institutions, larger than any one American yet lacking the basic human compassion that we, each of us, possess—that, my friends, that is the sort of thing I fought against when I was president. It is the sort of thing that Teddy Roosevelt, God rest his soul, looked so heroic fighting against, which indeed is why I agreed to run for president in 1908 in the first place. I thought I could continue pushing Teddy’s good fight forward. But I have discovered something about heroic struggles that many would-be heroes never grasp: acts of greatness are not singular acts. They are made up of many small acts that, taken one at a time over long years, do not look terribly heroic at all.

  “Just take Teddy himself. Theodore Roosevelt spent years achieving relatively small feats in an escalating series of steps forward as a leader of men—as an officer in the United States Army, as a participant in the conservation movement, even as governor of New York. Finally, he possessed the ability to take the ultimate reins of leadership as president. At which point, he was able to turn around and delegate to others so many of the small acts that he would add up to a great president. I know this truth firsthand, for I was one of those doers of Teddy’s small things! I left my judicial appointment to work in the Philippines under his direction; I went to Panama to get construction under way on the canal when a calm hand was required; I took responsibility of administering the War Department when a new man was called for. Were these great tasks? Certainly not; they were simply tasks that needed doing, and I was proud to do them for a man who knew how all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. Indeed, I was so proud to be one of Teddy’s extra limbs, as it were, and I so admired the work he did in marshaling us all that I allowed myself to be convinced I could take his place when his term was ended.”

  Taft caught his breath again. He had no idea how long he’d been standing there speaking. They were all still staring at him, rapt.

  “But that was Teddy’s excellence,” he said. “I, myself, am a different beast. The small acts of my own life, as I grew into a man, were not the acts of a commander but, rather, the acts of a judge. I was a good judge! Surely I heard thousands of cases, through all of which I listened to Americans of all sorts attest to the central facts and conflicts of their lives, and I strove mightily to return their testimony with fair, careful, thoughtful decisions. That, if I may say so, is my excellence. I am an excellent judge.

  “It did not,” he added slowly, articulating every word, “make me a great president.”

  In his peripheral vision, just behind Rachel at the platform’s edge, he saw Susan Weschler brush her hand across her eyes.

  “Teddy was a great president,” Taft said. “But here is my question. What about his daughter? Did you know that Teddy had a brilliant spitfire of a daughter, Alice? Oh, she was a force to be reckoned with, that one! All the genius and force of will that made Teddy a figure worth carving into the side of a mountain multiplied threefold and bursting from the seams of a scowling little girl! Yes, Alice spent her White House years in a constant tornado, bursting into Cabinet meetings to yell at her father, outsmarting her bodyguards on a daily basis, literally climbing the walls to spend the night on the roof doing heaven knows what. She was a Roosevelt to the very core, a hero waiting to happen, and you would think that—surely!—she would be the centerpiece of Teddy’s life, his prize possession. But do you know what he told a reporter one day when Alice flew through the office to interrupt their interview? ‘I can be the president of the United States,’ he said, ‘or I can attend to being Alice’s father, but I cannot possibly do both.’

  “I … I cannot be that great a president. It is not the people, in the abstract, who most move me; it is people. Real people. People like those I met in the courtroom, who looked me in the eye and told me their troubles. People like my great-great-granddaughter, Abby, who may be an Alice Roosevelt herself someday, searching for a way to find her own excellence, and whom I will surely attend to first and foremost when that day comes! And people like my … my great-granddaughter, Rachel, whose excellence stands manifest before the world already.

  “It is for Rachel�
��s excellence, above all, that I must assess all these matters and announce to you now the only decision that is fair and right, the decision I would make were I a judge listening to my own story, the decision that Rachel and I made together not long before I stepped out here before you: the Tafts must withdraw from our candidacy in this election.”

  Furious rumbling erupted all around, and once more Taft held up his hand. “We should not have entered the race in the first place, had we known that the good people of the Taft Party had been unknowingly propped up by the coffers of Fulsom Foods. Rachel Taft has a mission in Congress, and it is a noble one: to craft laws that will help safeguard and protect the well-being of the American people. If we were to remain in the race, she would be beholden to the business interest most deeply affected by her own legislation!—and had we not announced our discovery of this fact now, then, when it inevitably came to light in the months ahead, her credibility would be forever tainted. No, the true work of good, honest government is more important than any one presidential campaign, than any one old politician—more important even, though it pains me to say, than the name Taft itself.”