They worked for about an hour. Suddenly George’s voice cracked completely on a high note. He tried to do a pickup on the segment and his voice wavered again. This time he tried to clear his throat and they started the song from the top. He sang two phrases and the famous George Potter voice began to sound fuzzy. The engineers came out to check the George’s mike. The musicians looked toward the solo booth. They could see George inside and he didn’t look too happy. He assured the engineer the equipment was fine. Someone offered some throat spray, but George declined.
“Guess we’d better call it a night, men,” he croaked. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings. It’s getting late anyway.”
Lydia and Paul came out of the engineering booth and Lydia hurried up to George. She looked very concerned, Perspiration had broken out on the singer’s forehead. She touched his face with here hand.
“George, I think you have a temperature. You’re going right home to bed.”
Paul said nothing, but registered his own concern as he gave Lydia and George goodnight hugs. Lydia got his coat and wrapped him in it. She barely gave him time to wish the musicians and engineers goodnight before she hustled him out of the studio and homeward bound, where she bundled him into bed . He seemed to be coming down with something. So much had happened: a rigorous world tour, this business with Paul, just plain hard work. S he had agreed with Paul, they should have taken a rest before launching into this album. Totally exhausted, he slept for twelve hours and when he awoke,the first thing he saw was his favorite sight...the face of his wife smiling down at him. He reached out his hand to her and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again. This time there was a faint cracking sound, but nothing that could be defined as speech.
Lydia touched his cheek and pushed him back into the pillows. “I’ve called the doctor, darling. You just rest,” she ordered trying to hide her concern.
Their doctor arrived within an hour and gave George a thorough examination.
“He’s very run down. I’m not surprised with his schedule. He has a mild virus which has, I’m afraid, settled on his larynx. It’s laryngitis,” the physician concluded as he deposited his instruments in his black bag and led Lydia out of the bedroom.
“He, and especially his voice will need complete rest for a couple of weeks. Here’s a prescription,” he said, handing Lydia a small piece of paper. “Antibiotics. That will take care of the infection, but he will have to be completely quiet for a couple of months. No singing--no speaking, not even a whisper, if he wants to keep that voice of his. I’ll want to see him at the clinic next week, but I’m sure we’ll find severe straining and irritation to the vocal folds. This can only be cured by complete silence. He'll have to write everything down or communicate with sign language, semaphore or what have you,” smiled the doctor. “But, he must not use his vocal chords. Further strain on them could cause permanent damage.’
After the doctor left, Lydia returned to George’s room. She thought for a few moments before she broke the news to him. He tried to answer her but she placed her fingers to his lips, gave him the doctor’s diagnosis, and brought him a pencil and note pad. He wrote:
“Call Tod. Cancel taping. Pay everyone a bonus and send them all home. The album will have to go as is. Vacation Time!”
They smiled at each other and she patted him lovingly on the head before she went to make the call. For a while at least, she would have her man all to herself.
For the next few days Lydia waited on him personally. Feeding him by hand and coddling him, enjoying his quiet gratitude. The whole episode served to reinforce their great love for one another. From time to time he’d look sad, and she knew he was thinking about their friend. Paul came in for a silent visit and talked at length with Lydia. “If this had to happen to our George, it couldn’t have come at a better time. You’re sure you don’t need my help with the details?” Paul offered.
“Paul,” she replied. I’ve watched you in action for a couple of years, and though it won’t be easy, I think I can manage.”
Paul gathered up the personal items from his suite and arranged to have them shipped to his New York apartment. Then he bid a fond farewell to his adopted family and moved across the bay and into the Potter Complex where he could oversee the final production of the album.
The infection and fever passed and George felt strong enough to get out of bed. He was a
model patient, however, and respected the role of silence imposed on him by the doctor. He and Lydia decided to take advantage of a generous standing invitation of some friends with the French ASCAP office, to recuperate at their chateau in the south of France.
TWENTY-FOUR
The warmth, quiet and beauty of the pastoral French countryside did much to bring back the old George Potter. He swam every morning in the heated pool in the chateau gardens. His tan deepened and he began to compose again. The sound of his guitar rang out for hours each day. Lydia and his hostess enthused over the excellence of the new melodies. George brought in a young man from Paris and they worked on a set of French lyrics which captured the nuances of the English.
A month of silence had gone by when George and Lydia left George Two in Liza’s capable care and made the journey to Paris to see the specialist recommended by their doctor. Examination showed the vocal chords were mending, but it would be a few more weeks before George could speak or sing again. They were disappointed, but resigned. George and Lydia were enjoying their quiet vacation and were in no hurry to return to recording sessions or a new movie that awaited George’s attention.
Love doesn’t required speech. This they discovered as they walked together through the woods and meadows, or communed with one another during the long, balmy nights in a great feather bed. One in which, they were told, a French king had once held a rendezvous with a highborn lady of the region.
They also enjoyed George Two’s progress. At age three, he was into everything, while
Liza kept him under control. He sat fascinated while George composed. He tried to touch the instrument and his dad let him pluck the strings every one in a while. Lydia laughed as little George even tried to sing some of the notes.
“George, when you’re over the hill, the crown prince can take over your throne.” she joked.
The weeks of silence were also weeks of growth. It gave George time to study. To prepare for the time when he would regain his voice, he honed his French. He had an ear for language and his minor in college had been the French language. It was still the international language in some circles, and his knowledge of French, English and more recently his few courses in Russian and Chinese broadened his multi-lingual talents. He concentrated on the French because he wanted to record his new songs in that language and would soon be able to practice on his host and hostess.
He used the Paris newspapers as his text and was proud he didn't have to consult his French-English dictionary often. Even though he knew the journals to be politically oriented, and many of them tinged with socialism and communist propaganda, he found in Europe he was able to get a better perspective on what was happening three thousand miles away at home. Most of the same problems still plagued the United States. Inflation, Unemployment, fuel shortages. The United states often appeared to be a perfect model of what a country should not be. He found his head filled not only with songs, but ideas based on his political and social studies.
****
One day, a bored and mute George Potter sat twiddling his thumbs. Lydia was helping George Two with his reading, and Liza Cooper was in Paris shopping for gifts for friends back home. With nothing to do, George Potter decided to take advantage of the ravishing French weather and go for a walk in the woods near the chateau. Though he was forbidden to use his voice, his whistler was OK, and he decided to work on a new tune. Ambling along through the beautiful fern filled forest he suddenly came to a small clearing. He stopped abruptly and
quit whistling. In the center of the open space stood a stump in a pool of dazzling sunshine. Standing on the stump was a familiar figure. Dressed in a smart forest green hiking ensemble, his red orange hair tucked under a green cap, was Oberon, the Good Fairy.
“Good morning, George! Long time no see!” greeted the leprechaun.
Startled, George’s mouth fell open, but he clamped it shut and pointed to his throat.
“Yes, George,” acknowledged the amazing little man. “We know all about your loss of voice, but no matter. I can read your mind and we can converse subconsciously.” Oberon closed his mouth and suddenly, in his head, George heard the Good Fairy say, “This is it, George, the moment we’ve all been waiting for! The time when I grant you the third and final wish. It’s why we chose you...for your political training and brilliant mind. You’ve had your fun in show biz. We enjoyed watching your frolic about and loved your wonderful songs. But all that’s over.” Oberon withdrew his collapsible wand from his back pack and waved it over George’s head. A great shower of glitter poured down and almost covered the political science Ph.D.
George coughed, grabbed for his throat, and screeched a high pitched note in the key of C. As a flood of euphoria flowed through him. Worried, he stared at the leprechaun.
“It’s okay, George. Your voice is fine. And hopefully this rest gave you time to think about your true calling. It’s time for you to get out of show business and change the world! Your mentor at the university, Dr. Whitman, will meet you on your return. Listen to him!” advised Oberon. “He had your doctorate thesis published and it’s moving up the best seller charts. The time is ripe once again for an entertainer to enter the field of politics!”
With that, the Good Fairy waved his wand over himself and sailed off through the trees and up into the sky.
George, finally convinced of the little man’s existence, pulled himself up, took a deep breath and opened his mouth. Out came a clear high note that echoed through the forest.
TWENTY-FIVE
As he thought about what Oberon had said, he wondered. Was it really his turn at the world’s helm? His natural modesty made him deny he had the ability to turn the tide of history. Yet perhaps this was his destiny. The world was in trouble and he was determined to help as much as possible. Humbly, he had to admit, because so many had stated it, perhaps he was the most well known person on earth. But an entertainer?? How could he turn that notoriety to his advantage as a leader? It all seemed far fetched, and maybe just a bit hard for his public to accept.
Now that his voice was back he discussed it with Lydia. She was a bit biased; sure he could do anything set his mind to. She suggested he send his old friend a telegram. Perhaps his mentor could give him an answer. George kept in touch with Dr. Bernard Whitman, his old professor at Berkeley. They’d visited each other often since George left school and discussed the problems that faced the U.S. and the world. After George achieved show biz fame, the retired professor once mentioned the U.S. could use a real leader--someone the people could look up to. The old man still admired his former star student. He could see Potter had all of the prerequisites: brilliance in Political science and related subjects, a vast following and a bonus...the charisma needed to achieve success in these days of instant video communications.
More than once during one of their quiet debates he had turned and looked directly at George, saying:
“Potter, when are you going to get out of this trivial show biz bullshit and get down to the serious work of politics?!”
George could see the old man clearly, puffing away slowly on his pipe, with one critical eye on his student. Was what he was doing just trivia, then? George began to see that perhaps the old professor was right, and he felt a small pang of guilt. He’d been so wrapped up in his own glittering, tinsel success, he’s lost perspective on the troubled world around him. Maybe his temporary loss of voice was an omen--the tuning point.
George took Lydia’s advice and wrote to his old friend:
“Ready to get out of show biz. World in trouble. Can I help?” -- George
The answer came immediately;
“It’s about time! U.S. Senate primary in eleven months. Hurry back. Let’s get to work!” -- Whitman
George smiled at Lydia as he handed her the telegram. She read it, laughed , put her arms around him and kissed him
****
The Potters returned to the United States was kept comparatively quiet. They told no one about their return. George had let his beard grow and was nearly unrecognizable. Flying business class they kept to themselves. Though their stewardess was suspicious, she kept it quiet and the plane landed at LaGuardia without fanfare. He and Lydia, George Two and Liza stepped into the waiting limousine and found a surprise waiting for them. Inside they found a familiar smiling face, wreathed in a white beard and hair; eyes that twinkled at them. He wasn’t a tall man and was what used to be called portly. He held the stump of a pipe in his teeth...and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. Dr. Bernard Whitman, Ph.D. dean emeritus of the U.C. Berkeley Sociology department.
Lydia gave the old man a big hug. “Dr. Whitman! How thoughtful of you to meet us.”
She gave him a kiss and a gentle tug at his beard. The old man giggled and shook George’s hand warmly. George introduced Liza and George Two. The two men smiled at each other for a moment before the older man spoke.
“Lydia, my dear, I’m afraid I had a selfish motive for meeting you. Retirement has been a drag and the prospect of launching George into the sea of politics was such a tantalizing project. I just couldn’t wait to get started.
As the limo moved through the city. George and Lydia listened with full attention to what the old man was saying.
“It’s a shame you’re too young for President. I took a little poll on my own and you’d be a cinch to win.
They all laughed at the prospect of thirty year old George as President of the United Starts, though it had been in the back of their minds all along. George considered the prospect with some trepidation and great respect while Lydia thought of George’s eventual presidency as the next logical step.
“But, first things first,” continued the venerable Dr. whitman. Six years as Senator will give you the seasoning and moxy you need to handle the big job. Let’s just hope the country lasts that long,” he smiled wryly. “The nation hasn’t been in such trouble since twenty nine. I’m not sure you can do much as senator. The country needs someone to hold it together. Someone to get to get it over this crisis. What we really need is a dictator. I hesitate to say that, and of course even the suggestion mustn’t go beyond this car, but the only salvation is a totalitarian government with a benevolent genius to run it.” He shifted his pipe to the other side of his mouth and gave the singer a grin. “I found your doctor’s thesis contained just the right amount of political smarts and glimmerings of brilliance in sociology and economics. With a little guidance, you’ll do just fine. Lord knows the county will be behind you and that’s the main thing.”
Though flattered by Whitman’s speech, George, interrupted. “Dr. Whitman, Thank you! That sounds great! However, I do have a couple of items to take care of. Show Biz leftovers--We can probably work on both. The projects shouldn’t take much more than a month and then I’m all yours.”
After making plans for professor to move in with them at their Marin county home when they returned, they dropped him at his hotel and went on to their planned meeting with Paul Connor.
****
They were immediately ushered into Paul’s well appointed office.
“Hey, Georgie! Lydia!” he exclaimed on seeing the two of them. He rose from the deck and went around to hug his friends. They both returned his affectionate greeting.
“Sit...sit...sit.” He grinned . “Well, how’s the old voice, your majesty?”
“Great, Paul. But I may not need to sing
for my supper much longer.
“Yes, I heard rumblings about the senate seat. That’ll be a change.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” George responded. “The country’s in a bit of trouble. Remember, before you pushed me into show-biz, I really wanted to do politics.”
“Listen, I read your thesis. Great stuff!...a lot of good ideas.” Paul chuckled “A best selling author! And our last album just went platinum. You really are riding the high wave, my man. We really ought to celebrate.”
Lydia interrupted the joyful reunion.
“Paul, what I want to celebrate is how well you look. The last time we saw you, you seemed pretty down.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, Since George tells you everything, I’m sure he told you why I decided to leave the comfy confines of Potter Inc.. All that love stuff, finally got to me and I couldn’t deal with it any longer”
“But, you’re only one of millions who love my Georgie. Lydia responded.
“Yes, that was the problem. He was Your Georgie, and I wanted him to be Mine! It was that Old love that dares not speak it’s name thing...if you know what I mean. I don’t think I ever fooled anybody.”
Lydia smiled, “Paul, you know it didn’t matter that you’re gay. We love you the way you are.”
“Well, none of that matters any more,” Paul laughed. “I found a replacement.”
George and Lydia looked at him questioningly.
“Well, if not a replacement, a damned good alternative Remember, George, when I told you I thought there might be someone else? There certainly is! My latest protégé’ He’s a country singer. Not a hick from the sticks. The kid’s smart. Has a master’s in physics from Texas Tech. and a lot of talent. We hit it off right away.” Paul paused to let this sink in. “I know what you’re thinking. He’s grateful for my help. It’s more than that. This is the kind of emotion one can’t fake. And wait 'til you hear his name. Arnold...uh... or Arnie Ardor. The name says it all. He’s full of passion all right. We both are!”
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