After the steward departed with their last used dish they were alone again, sitting across from each other at the small table with fresh mugs of coffee. “John, you’ve been at this a lot longer in Washington than I have. I wanted us to have this time completely alone. I hate to be a broken record, but I hope you can give me some ideas—be as candid as you wish—on how to deal with the other party, so we can move our legislation forward. And, please, this conversation is just between us.”
John Dempsey paused and looked out the window at the American countryside speeding past them far below. He sighed. “Is this really just between us, Mr. President?”
“Of course,” William said.
Dempsey turned back to face the president. “Well, let me tell you then—it wouldn’t bother me much if your package never did pass.”
“What?” William Harrison exclaimed, obviously stunned by the statement from his own party’s senior senator.
Dempsey didn’t answer immediately—he just looked at the chief executive. Slowly he began, “You’re what, about fifty? I’m almost half again as old, the oldest son of a Baptist preacher. When I got back home from World War II—I was alive by a miracle—and finished school, I went into politics because I believed God wanted us to make this world a better place. As a child of the Depression I joined our party and worked hard on legislation to right wrongs and to uplift the oppressed.
“I don’t know exactly how to say this, Mr. President, but somewhere, somehow in the last fifty years we’ve done too much, intervened too much, interfered too often. Now we create more problems than we fix. Oh, some of our programs are still okay—usually the ones where we give an incentive for someone in the private sector to do something right. But on balance, I’m afraid that we’re the problem. We tax too much and regulate too much. For me, what started as a righteous quest by a preacher’s son is now mired in bureaucracy and waste. So in my heart of hearts I privately agree with Warner Watts that your package is just too much government.”
William was speechless. Has he been quietly torpedoing our own legislation, all the while pretending to support it?
“You see, Mr. President, what looks good and seems to work in a single state isn’t the same in Washington. In your state you were taking programs from the federal government, trying to get your fair share of scarce resources. Here we make the resources, or try to. So it looks deceptively like these resources are no longer scarce. But that’s a lie. They are scarce. We can’t have it all. We try to play God, making programs to ‘improve’ this group or that. But we forgot to include values. And once a program gets started and the bureaucracy gets hired and the beneficiaries put on their pressure, it never ends.”
There was a long, awkward pause, and finally the president said. “I...I really can’t believe what I’m hearing, John. From you! I believe our programs will really help people, bring America to full employment and provide decent housing. And here I’ve been looking to you for help and support, and you’re against them?”
“I know it sounds strange. I’ve supported your package in our committees and will do so on the floor of the Senate. That’s my own problem I’ll have to answer for someday to the Creator. I haven’t much believed in these kinds of programs for ten years now, but I haven’t had the courage to come out against them in public. Sad, isn’t it, how things turn out sometimes? Maybe in this next election I’ll find the strength with God’s help to do so. But you asked for my personal opinion, and I gave it. I’ll firmly support you in public and in the legislative hearings, but I won’t go the extra mile and twist arms, because I think your program would be a disaster for our nation.”
The president blanched, his anger rising. “Then how do we create jobs and housing?”
“It’s funny, Mr. President. The more I see, the more I think my father was right. He told me that we’d never succeed in Washington because we were focused on making people better through programs. He said people only get better when they change their hearts, preferably with God’s help. He said people first had to recognize the most important thing—that God is in control—and then there was hope they could change themselves. He said programs could help, but people had to change first; and that the programs by themselves would fail—and he really worried about this, all those years ago—because they ignore the only source of real change in anyone’s life and instead bamboozle people into thinking that the government can fix them. Imagine his foresight! You know, Mr. President, he’d be a hundred years old this year, and he was right!”
The president of the United States was flabbergasted. He didn’t speak for almost a minute. “So this legislation—like what we’re doing today in your own hometown—you don’t believe in it?”
“Like I said, not for several years. I did, once. But we’ve taken it too far. We’ve torn up families, and now you want churches—at least some of them—to pay taxes. How was this country built, anyway? Families and churches. It all seemed to make sense when we started after the war. And then the Great Society. I fought hard for it. But somehow we lost—maybe we killed—the very values that we started with, the ones that held us all together. Just one generation ago fathers stayed with their families and taught their children values; people could walk and drive without fear of being shot or raped; children didn’t have to worry about being snatched or abused or killed in their schools; students respected their teachers and wanted to learn, to better themselves. But we weren’t watching, and we lost those values, given by God a long time ago. Little by little. Maybe we can get them back. But it won’t be by more government—I’m dead sure my father was right about that! In the meantime, this is what I do for a living,” the Senator touched the president’s knee, “so I’m glad to be with you today.”
I’m glad he’s staying in Ohio for the weekend so we don’t have to fly back together! How is this possible? Are there any more like him? No wonder nothing works for us!
“Well, I hope you realize how disappointed I am. I guess I feel betrayed, actually. I’m going to have a hard time keeping this to myself. My team ought to know how you really feel.”
Senator Dempsey frowned.
William continued, “But I’ll keep my word. I’ll just tell them to look elsewhere for help. Now I’ve got some foreign policy briefing papers I’ve got to read through.”
For the rest of the trip to Ohio the two men sat a few feet apart without speaking to each other.
NORFOLK—Hugh Harrison drove to the navy base that morning glad that Jennifer had tried a church near their home while he had been at sea. He had now been to the services himself, and the night before they had attended a small Bible study in their neighborhood built around church members. The group was halfway through the Gospel of John, which coincidentally he and Jennifer had been reading and studying themselves during the six weeks since Camp David. Maybe this church will be a good place for us, he thought. They seem so committed to their faith, so sure, and happy. Is that what Michael was talking about at Camp David? I wonder if I could ever feel that certain about my beliefs? Jennifer seems to enjoy both the church and the Bible study, but I think both of us still feel like we’re on the outside looking in. What is it these people have?
And then he couldn’t help thinking about Teri. It wasn’t that he tried to. It just seemed to happen in the mornings as he drove to work. He left one good woman whom he loved at home, and the thought of the other good woman with whom he worked usually made him happy to be going to the ship. It was strange; he didn’t mean to fantasize about her, but sometimes he did anyway. This morning he remembered how funny she had looked the day before. They had both spent an hour in the heat of the Virginia sun, drenching wet inside one of the fire control radar housings above the ship’s bridge, getting briefed on a change that the shipyard wanted to make during their next overhaul. Her face was dirty, her hands covered with grease, and her khaki uniform clung to her, but she had kept right up with the guy from the yard, matching him step for step. He enjoyed her positive attitu
de and her intelligence. What would it be like to be married to someone like her? he had caught himself thinking.
Four hours later he was again in the wardroom as a mid-morning department heads meeting was ending just in time for lunch. The executive officer was speaking.
“Our departure date for refresher training at Guantanamo Bay is July fifteenth, and we’ll be gone for almost three weeks. I don’t have to tell you how hot it’s going to be down there. Perry, let’s be sure the air conditioners are in top shape, so we don’t boil people or equipment. I think that’s about it for today, but Tom has an announcement on an upcoming event.”
“Thank you, XO,” said Lieutenant Commander Dobbs, sitting up straight in his chair and clearing his throat. “I’m pleased to let you know that we’re going to have our first Gay and Lesbian Awareness Week at the end of June, just before the Fourth of July. Every day we’ll have one or more events designed to heighten the awareness of the crew to gay issues and to increase the sensitivity to gay problems and to prejudice. Each night that week the crew’s movie will have a gay theme. For an hour each morning we’ll have a mandatory seminar for petty officers on homophobic disorders and how to overcome them. And that Friday night the gay members of the crew are inviting everyone to a GALA party at the BEQ Club Room. We’ll have a gay band, but of course everyone is invited, and we hope everyone will have a good time. We expect a good turnout from the local Norfolk area gay community to help celebrate this first event of its kind.
“Hopefully events such as GALA Week will help dispel any lingering doubts about the complete normalcy of the gay lifestyle and help stop the smattering of ill-will that still seems to exist on this ship.”
None of the other department heads spoke. They knew, just as Dobbs did, that the tension was there, only partially diluted by their return to the naval base. Hugh thought, Maybe this will work, but I don’t think Dobbs will let up until we all joyfully proclaim in unison, “It’s normal, Tom, it’s normal!” Right here in the wardroom—around this table. Wouldn’t that be great? Maybe that should be his new nickname: “Normal” Dobbs.
“Did I say something funny?” the operations officer, who had noticed Hugh grinning, asked.
“What? Oh, no,” Hugh said, forcing a serious expression. “Nothing at all.”
“Well, you may be the president’s brother, but I haven’t appreciated your earlier remarks or your implied defense of Petty Officer Higgins, who almost destroyed that young Seaman Tyson. Oh, one last thing, Hugh. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that during the week before GALA we’re going to have the same seminar on homophobic disorders for all officers, right here in the wardroom, around this table. You’ll have a chance to explore your prejudices and unconscious behavior patterns with a trained counsellor.” Dobbs looked around the table at the other department heads. “So please mark your calendars for those mornings, first thing. Commander Anglin has confirmed that this training
The department heads looked at the executive officer. He pursed his lips and nodded. “We’re going to try whatever it takes to make this experiment work, gentlemen. Thomas assures me that this training has been very successful on college campuses, so we’ll try it here. Please be present, and bring a positive attitude.”
“I still want to know what to tell my men who ask me about what the Bible teaches,” Perry Colangelo said.
“That’s irrelevant and will only cause hatred,” Thomas said.
“The Bible will cause hatred?” Colangelo asked.
“Perry, hold that question for the seminar. Maybe there’ll be an answer for you,” Anglin interjected. “Now, if that’s all, let’s clear out so they can set up for lunch.”
This is getting beyond belief, Hugh thought, standing up. Now I’ve got a disorder that has to be cured! I’ve got to write to William and tell him how crazy this is.
NEW YORK—“Leslie, the commentators are calling it Gridlock Three, and the other networks are starting to run it,” Ryan said, putting down his sandwich. “We can’t ignore the ineffectiveness of this administration any longer.”
Leslie took a sip from her iced tea and looked out through the large windows of the thirty-seventh story restaurant toward Central Park in the distance. She turned back to her colleague and answered. “I know, Ryan. I don’t plan to ignore it. But I’m working on the possibility of a personal interview with the president—the first for anyone since right after the inauguration—and I don’t want to blow that chance.”
“But how long will it have to wait?”
“I should know about the interview by Tuesday and finish it within two weeks, max.”
“Do you think they’ll do it? I’ve heard there’s a bunker mentality developing at the White House.”
“I’ve had several talks with Chris Wright, and I’m ready to help them blow the whistle on the real problem with their legislation: a do-nothing Congress, particularly the Senate. I certainly won’t ignore his problems, but I’ll ask questions with a spin that should allow the president to get in some licks on his congressional tormentors. So, yes, I think there’s a chance.”
“Well, try to make it happen as fast as you can.”
“I’ll be as fast as possible,” she said with a smile and a slight turn of her head.
Ryan paused, taking in the beautiful woman sitting across from him, and returned her look. Finally he said, “Listen, after this afternoon’s meeting, instead of that French restaurant why don’t we just go up to my place and I’ll cook you an Italian seafood dinner.”
Leslie blushed slightly and leaned forward on her elbows. “Only if it doesn’t take too long. This huge shoulder bag I’m lugging around today is really an overnight bag...I thought you’d never ask.”
Ryan’s smile broadened and his throat suddenly went dry. He reached for the water and said, “I hope they don’t want too much input on network promotion this afternoon. My mind may wander a bit.”
WASHINGTON—The president had scheduled a tennis game early Saturday morning with Trent Patterson, his party’s chief whip in the House of Representatives. Originally he had hoped to get a double-barreled shot of personal advice from his party’s two top legislators on how to break the congressional logjam; but the “advice” from Senator Dempsey had been so unexpectedly negative that he had hardly slept on Friday night. And his appearance in the mirror that morning worried even him.
Now he and Trent, who was about the president’s age, were sitting alone in new chairs at the White House tennis court after their first set, which the congressman had won easily.
“Good playing, Trent,” William complimented his guest.
“You hardly got going, Mr. President. Now that you’re warmed up I’m sure it’ll be closer.”
William smiled. “I’ll try to give you more of a run this set. But listen, before we play another game, I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Sure,” Trent said. “Go ahead.”
William wiped his face with his towel, then put it around his neck. “I’d like to know if you have any ideas on how we can get our legislative package unlocked before the next election?”
“It’s tough, Mr. President. You’ve put together a good set of programs, and I think we have the votes to deliver in the House. But as you heard from the opposition in the Senate a few weeks ago, it’s going to be tough sledding over there.”
“So what’s the answer, Trent? How do we get moving? You’ve been at this for years. I really need your advice and help—just between us.”
The congressman paused. “Between us? Well, you can always go back and study the masters.”
“You mean Washington and Lincoln?”
“Heavens, no. I mean someone like LBJ. Look what he got through Congress. They say he twisted arms. I hear he either knew exactly what every one of his potential opponents really wanted, or else he knew something they didn’t want known. And he used that knowledge as leverage to push his programs through.”
“A combination of pork barrel and bl
ackmail?”
“I’d call it carrot and stick.” Trent smiled at the chief executive.
“LBJ put in a lot of years to come by that information. I don’t have that much time.”
“Have your team make a list of exactly who’s standing in your way and then come to some of us who’ve been here awhile. I think we can point you into some productive areas. I suggest you plant that idea with someone on your team whom you can trust and then step back and let our staffs work together. And if you’ve got some friends in the press, have your staff make quiet inquiries among them, looking for pressure points—either good news or bad news—with those particular senators.”
William thought for a moment. “What if hypothetically some of those creating the problems are in our own party?”
“I doubt that’ll be the case, but if it is, let it rip. You’ve got a government to run, and obstructionists need to be rooted out.”
The president paused again. “Thanks, Trent. I appreciate the advice. I’ll think about it. Will you be in town during the June recess in case we need to talk again?”
“Except for a few days next week in Paris with some friends. With my new bachelor status I’ve got to make hay while the sun shines.”
“Sounds good to me! I’ll let you know about the staff thing.” The president stood. “And now let’s see if I can give you a set this time.”
A few hours later the three Harrisons were gathered in the dining room of their private quarters at the White House having a rare Saturday lunch together.
“I’ll have the package ready to go to your aunt Mary by Monday afternoon, Katherine, so you can take it on the plane on Tuesday morning. It has lots of pictures of all of us together at Camp David,” Carrie said to her daughter, as she finished her salad.
“Sure, Mom, no problem,” Katherine responded, mixing the last bit of her low-fat yogurt and fresh fruit together. “Don’t forget to call me just as soon as my grades arrive. Okay?”
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