We were arrested.81
The next day, our photos graced the front page of every major newspaper.
Unfortunately, they were mug shots.
The charges against Beth and me for trespassing at the Democratic National Convention had been dropped after much public outcry from the country’s teens. Kids were getting more vocal and organized, placing pressure on their representatives in Washington to approve the Twenty-eighth Amendment. Both the Democratic and Republican National Committees filed briefs with the U.S. Supreme Court decrying the illegitimacy of my campaign.82 None of the legal brouhaha interested me; as far as I was concerned, it had nothing to do with the issues at hand.
The media all but canonized the Democratic candidate after he won his party’s nomination, and although the president still enjoyed a favorable approval rating, the pundits forecasted a real fight between them.
During the hottest days of summer, Tim and I pretty much had headquarters to ourselves while the other staffers took the plum outside assignments. We’d work on the campaign, then cruise the Web for fun. (Tim’s favorite hobby? Hacking onto the waiting list for the new Sony Play Station, then adding his friends’ names to the top of the list.) I also used the time to catch up on my much-neglected ethology reading. The dog-eat-dog world of politics only fueled my interest in the animal kingdom.
One morning I was sitting alone reading and eating a bowl of raspberries when Beth shuffled into the office. The strap of her bathing suit peeked out from underneath her shirt. She held out the current People magazine announcing their “50 Most Beautiful People in the World.”
“I can almost empathize with the whole celebrity-worship thing you had going.” She turned to page fifty-seven—a full-color photo of Simon flashing a brilliant smile and six-pack abs.
“I knew they had talked to him,” she said, “but did he have to pose with no shirt on?”
I held the magazine up to the light, squinting at the rippled muscles on the page. “Did they airbrush this?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s all him.”
I had to admit, the guy looked good.
“This is everything we’re against,” Beth said. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“I know. Superficial and degrading.”83
She tossed it into the trash. “You want to go to the beach?”
I threw my book in my bag and headed to Crane’s with Beth.
I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d had a day to do absolutely nothing. The sand, the sun, and the waves seemed miraculous—here to be enjoyed with no fuss or fanfare. I’d been working such long hours I’d forgotten to schedule time for what connected me most to my life—nature. As Beth and I dove into the surf, I thought about my platform point suggesting every citizen spend a few hours a day outside. Was it dumb to think the world might have many fewer problems that way? Hey, it worked for Thoreau.
Tomorrow Peter, Simon, Beth, and I would fly to Michigan and Illinois for more campaigning, but for now I covered my face with my baseball cap—possession #57—and let myself fall asleep in the sunshine.
When we returned to our neighborhood that evening, the familiar sight of camera crew and reporters lined the street.
“What now?” I asked. “Can’t we take a day off?”
But as I looked more closely, I saw Simon posing on the front lawn of Beth’s parents’ house.
“Is that a cricket bat?” I asked.
Beth cradled her head in her hands. “He’s going to be unbearable.”
! told her she could stay at my house, and she looked like she was considering it.84
“No, I have to deal with this sooner or later.” She got out of the car and cut through my yard to avoid the masses.
During the campaign, I’d seen firsthand how much Beth and Simon cared for each other. But I knew Beth well enough to know the scale of the relationship was now tipping toward the negative.
The next morning, the four of us left for the airport before dawn. When I checked out Simon and Beth at the ticket counter, they looked pensive and subdued.
Three days, thirty stops. By the time we finished supporting a Peace Party candidate at a hospice in Ann Arbor, emotions were frayed. When our motel lost the reservation to Beth and Simon’s room, Simon launched into an embarrassing tirade. He and Beth eventually found a room at a bed and breakfast a few blocks away. While Peter ordered takeout, I checked our Web site.
Although the campaign’s momentum defied anyone’s expectations—especially most adults’—there were plenty of people eager to share their opposing views on our bulletin boards. I welcomed the chance to discuss the issues but was hurt when some people suggested that criticizing our country was unpatriotic. I remembered a Woody Guthrie tape my mother had played over and over in the car when I was young. “This land is your land. This land is my land … .” She used to sing it with gusto as I bounced in my car seat. I still couldn’t hear that song without getting a lump in my throat, and not just from the memories of my mom. I loved this country from the ground up—literally—and was disappointed others didn’t realize my actions and words were rooted in devotion.
When I checked the e-mail, I discovered that betagold had gotten ahold of my personal e-mail address.
WELL, LARRY, I WAS GETTING BORED WITH THE WEB SITE AND THOUGHT I’D CONTACT YOU DIRECTLY HOW’S IT GOING ON THE CAMPAIGN TRAIL? ARE PEOPLE IN THE MIDWEST AS NICE AS THEY SAY?
I scrolled down, in no mood for betagold’s chitchat.
THIS IS A WARNING, LARRY. PLEASE TAKE ME SERIOUSLY. YOU’RE IN OVER YOUR HEAD. WITHDRAW BEFORE YOU GET HURT I’M ONLY TRYING TO HELP YOU. YOUR PAL, BETAGOLD
The e-mail confused me. Was this a threat, or was she trying to warn me? Was she deflecting attention away from herself? And how did she get my new e-mail address? I called Tim back at headquarters.
“This is turning into a geek tragedy,” he said. “I have no idea how she’s doing this. But have no fear: Lord High Fixer is here.”
By the time I hung up, Tim assured me he’d get to the bottom of things.
Late that night, I was awakened by a key turning in the motel room door. Like an animal on alert, I jumped out of bed, full of the same fear I’d had that night in Boulder.
Peter bounded into the room instead.
“I’ve been in the restaurant watching the news,” he said. “You’ll never guess.”
I begged him just to tell me.
He shook his head no. “Come on, guess.”
“Okay, let’s see. The Enquirer just hit the stands and I’m a gay albino with ties to the Mafia?”
“Very funny. Are you ready?”
Please don’t let this be too mean-spirited. Please let it be something that won’t derail us permanently.
“The Greens and the Reform candidates are throwing in the towel. They’re telling their followers to support us instead.”
“What?!”
“They’ve been trailing us in the polls since the primaries. They’ve used up all their resources. Do you know what this means? Probably another three or four percentage points!”
I tried to process the information. Part of me felt bad these candidates were dropping out. I agreed with them on several issues, and let’s face it, we all were breaking new ground trying to dismantle the two-party system. I felt as if we were almost on the same team.
“They’ll have to let us into the debates now. You have more than 15 percent in the polls. We can finally have a national audience! This is the big leagues, buddy!”
We’d been fantasizing about the debates for months, but now the thought of standing on stage before an audience of forty million television viewers was intimidating, to say the least. I dialed Beth’s cell phone—busy Simon’s too. I threw on my clothes and told Peter I had to tell Beth. He offered to call me a cab, but I chose to walk. I headed into the darkness.
The presidential debates! No karaoke machines, no gimmicks, just three people and their ideas for a better country.85 My ini
tial nervousness began to transform into excitement. I wanted to hear the other candidates answer probing questions, wanted to hear them talk about their promises versus their records. As I walked the empty streets the few blocks to Beth’s, I tried to anticipate what her reaction would be.
When I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, I wondered if I should have taken Peter up on his offer for a cab. The bed and breakfast was nearby, but this was a city I didn’t know. My fugitive antennae kicked in, and my fear increased. I turned to look over my shoulder; sure enough, a car with dimmed lights was right behind me, cruising slowly.
I started to run, turning left toward the main road. Behind me, I heard the car speed up.
The last thing I remember when the car hit me was the beauty of the Ann Arbor sky.
When I woke up, the first face I saw was Beth’s. “You can’t do this to me again—you can’t!” Her face was ruddy and her eyes swollen.
Too groggy to answer, I swiveled my head to the other side of the bed in time to watch Peter shaking the doctor’s hand.
“You’ve got a fractured femur,” Peter said. “You’ll be here for another few days, then six weeks on crutches. You were lucky.”
“I don’t feel too lucky.”
“Janine hasn’t stopped calling. She’ll be here tomorrow first thing,” Peter said.
He handed me a plastic cup with a straw. After a few sips, I found enough of my voice to ask what happened.
“Hit and run,” Beth said.
The scene immediately came back to me. “It was a black sedan.” Then I rattled off the number of the license plate.
“Oh my God.” She ransacked her bag for a pen. “Did you see them?”
“Two men. They were following me with their lights off until I turned the corner. They hit the gas—then me.”
“The police wanted to talk to you after you woke up. I was hoping they were wrong about this.” When Peter hurried out of the room, I turned back to Beth.
“I knew this wasn’t an accident,” Beth said. “I just knew it.”
“Where’s Simon?”
She gathered the piles of used tissues from the bed. “We broke up.”
I tried to reach for her hand, but my arm felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. “What happened?”
“Oh, the groupies, People magazine, the way he yelled at that motel clerk last night.” She tossed the pile of tissues into the basket. “That and the fact that I’m in love with you.”86
I didn’t care how sore my muscles were, I willed my body toward her. We held each other amidst the tubes and bandages. Although my limbs pulsed with pain, what I felt in my body most strongly was happiness.
“I don’t want to get in the way of you and Janine,” she said. “I’d rather wait than fight with another woman over a guy I hate that. It’s degrading for everyone.”
Then silence. Lots of it.
“It’s not like I’m asking you to make a decision between us today.” Beth’s words said one thing, her expression another. The look on her face could only be called expectant.
“I can’t do this now,” I said. “I’m barely conscious.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I could see the tumblers click as she changed the subject. “Who would do this to you?” she finally asked.
“Oh, I don’t know—who have we pissed off in the past few months?”
“Let’s see.” Beth began to brighten. “The Republicans, the Democrats, greedy CEOs, every soccer mom who wants to keep driving an SUV, every politician who doesn’t want to change the campaign finance laws …”
I held myself back from adding to her list.
“You don’t think betagold had anything to do with this, do you?” she asked.
I told her about yesterday’s e-mail.
“I already gave her name to the police,” Beth said. “They’re checking her out now.”
“I don’t think betagold’s capable of attempted murder, do you?”
Beth’s cell rang; she moved to the corner of the room and took the call. I slipped back onto the pillow, exhausted.
“That was Simon. He wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
I nodded, feeling sleepy from the drugs.
When I woke up again, it was the next day. Peter sat in the chair beside me, his feet on my bed.
“Josh van Winkle, welcome back.”
If I didn’t get to the bathroom soon, I was going to explode. I made the trip of my own volition—if you don’t count the crutches—then dove back into bed.
“I’m starving,” I said.
“That’s a good sign.” He buzzed for the nurse.
“Did I miss anything?”
“Beth’s on a rampage to find out who did this. The license plate came back as a rental to a guy with a fake ID. Tracy Hawthorne’s totally clean. The police are on it, though.”
The thought that the hit-and-run was a deliberate attempt on my life made me feel like never getting out of bed again.
Peter leaned back in his chair and grinned.
“What are you so happy about?” I asked.
“Well, while you were sleeping, there was ONE thing that happened.”
“Please don’t make me guess, I’m begging you.”
He snapped open the newspaper folded on his lap. 28TH AMENDMENT PASSED 51 TO 49. 18-YEAR-OLDS CAN BE PRESIDENT!
I bolted upright. “That’s one of those fake newspapers, right? You had it made at a joke shop downtown?”
“Wrong!” Peter could barely contain himself. “The wheels were already in motion, but after the attempt on your life the outcry was so loud the amendment sailed right through the states too.”
“It’s impossible,” I said. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“The reporters are three blocks deep outside, waiting to talk to you.”
Beth entered the room quietly, followed by Janine. The two of them seemed as shocked as I was.
“Can you do this?” Beth asked. “Because now is the perfect time to back out if you want to.”
For a minute there, I couldn’t tell if she was talking about our relationship or the election.
“It’s now or never,” Janine added. “You have to decide.”
Backing out is something I have never been good at.87 But the idea that I could possibly WIN and become president filled me with such dread, I felt that a lifetime of bedsores and hospital food would actually be more enjoyable. Not because I didn’t believe in the issues but because the obstacles and resistance from others trying to protect the status quo seemed insurmountable. I mean, someone had just tried to kill me! Was there a traitor in our midst? Would he or she try to hurt me again? Could I bypass the press corps outside so I could pop home to Bloomingdale’s and run all this by Mom?
No one on the campaign knew the laundry list of doubts that kept me up most nights. Who was I to think I’d run the country any better than professional politicians? What skills did I have to offer? What finally got me to sleep in those early hours was thinking about Rosa Parks or Cesar Chavez, regular citizens who probably thought they had nothing to offer the world either—until one day when challenging the status quo suddenly seemed more important than upholding it. Their efforts may have seemed inconsequential at the time, but ended up shifting our society forever.
Did I have it in me to try? To risk everything for possibly a better way?
I stared at Beth’s and Janine’s optimistic faces but I knew the decision was ultimately my own. I ripped the I.V from my arm.
“We’re running,” I said. “And we’re going to win.”
PART FOUR
“It is we who have squandered the public trust. We who have, time and again, in full public view placed our personal and partisan interests before the national interest, earning the public’s contempt for our poll-driven policies, our phony posturing, the lies we call spin, and the damage control we substitute for progress. It is we who are the defenders of a campaign finance system that is nothing less than an elaborate
influence-peddling scheme in which both parties conspire to stay in office by selling the country to the highest bidder.”
Senator John McCain
ELECTION COUNTDOWN
SEPTEMBER: LEGAL AT LAST
If you took all the Larry frenzy after betagold outed me and multiplied it by a thousand, that’s the kind of pressure I felt now. I told myself it was no big deal if we lost—we had been planning on losing up until a few weeks ago. But thousands of kids were becoming politically involved every day, and I refused to let them down.
For nine months I’d been complaining that the mainstream media hadn’t covered our campaign, but the current attention felt more like a searchlight shining down on someone trying to escape from prison. We now had a press bus that followed us along the campaign trail. I used every opportunity to discuss the Peace Party platform, but even a stimulation junkie like me got tired of such a rigorous interview and travel schedule. (One thing I didn’t complain about was a guest appearance on Saturday Night Live in a political debate sketch. That was hilarious.)
The real presidential debates were next month; I tried not to obsess about them, but of course I did. And not having Simon around to strategize was a real letdown.
He’d gone back to Harvard for the fall semester, but I found myself calling him late at night with questions of strategy and policy.88 Judging by the variety of women answering his phone, he wasn’t wasting any time getting over Beth.
And for once, I found myself faced with two women who wanted me. Me! If my time weren’t being consumed by a presidential campaign, I might even have a chance to revel in such unexpected good fortune.
Of course, our entire campaign hinged on me being eighteen, an event that finally occurred in September. I spent the day outlining each year of my life, going back to age two and a half and analyzing all the things I’d learned.89 I plotted it all in a colorful Venn diagram that I tucked into my notebook.
Vote for Larry Page 10