The Candidate

After I got back up off the floor, they sat me down and explained why they wanted me. It seems that they have been watching me the last few years and felt I had everything they needed.

They also felt I would not win this seat, after all it was held by a long term Democrat, but the experience I gained would be invaluable further down the road.

It seems they had plans for me.

I started to stutter the reasons why I couldn't accept, but these guys would not take "no" for an answer. There was no denying it; I'd been railroaded into accepting a place on the ticket. So my name was officially on the ballot.

"Scared shitless" was an excellent description for me!

Thus began my political career. I was sent all over the district, to meet and greet the voters. Now I really didn't have a clue how to give the "chicken in every pot" speeches politicos were famous for. So I just started by introducing myself and asking them if they had any questions for me and what they would want me to do.

I guess that defined my campaign style.

If I was talking from a stage, I'd grab the mike off the podium; sit down with my feet dangling off the edge, and say, "Here I am! Let's talk."

The voters loved it.

They would open up to me and discuss their problems, their dreams, and their hopes. I couldn't solve all their problems, but once a problem was voiced, suggestions popped up all over the audience.

There were usually some political activists sneaking into these meeting with the express purpose of disrupting everything. They didn't succeed. They were shouted down by the people who actually wanted to see the meeting succeed.

Sometimes I feared for these activists's safety and waded into the crowd to protect them.

Somewhere along the way, I was discovered by the press. And they liked me.

They started showing up at my rallies. At first they kept to the back, just took pictures and watched. Soon, however, they were asking questions and participating like all the other voters.

Needless to say, I usually got "good" press.

When that second Tuesday in November rolled around, I won. I'd like to say it was a landslide, but it wasn't. I won by under 1000 votes. (Hey, New York State was a Democratic stronghold, after all.)

The night of the election I was in my local party's ball room awaiting the election results, when they told me I had a phone call. It was from my opponent, conceding the election. He was a class act. We talked on the phone for the next hour and ended becoming fast friends.

As the years went on, I developed my style as a Politian. I represented my district. I saw to their needs, wants, and desires. I refused to play politics. I voted against my party as often as I voted with them.

I represented the people, not a political ideology.

I was elected to a second term, unopposed.

During my years in the State Senate, I became fast friends with John Bricker, my first opponent. When I was back in my district we'd meet for dinner, a cigar, and a little brandy at his home or his club.

And of course we'd talk politics. He missed the wheeling and dealing that happened behind closed doors in the senate. I'd bring him up to date on the goings on and he'd fill me in on all the players and how to "get around" them. He was my best friend, like a second father to me, as I took the place of the son he never had.

All these years and I never found a woman to love, a woman to marry and raise a family with. Oh there were plenty of women around. I was a man of power; I was a State Senator, in the news, and on TV. The women were there. I just used them for sexual relief. There was no emotional bonding. Some of them were just for one overnight, and some were longer affairs.

But they all ended up leaving me because I just wouldn't commit. Something was always missing in those relationships.

One night after a fine dinner with John, we were sitting on his deck discussing politics, smoking fine cigars and sipping brandy, when he changed the subject,

"Why haven't you found a woman yet?"

"What?" I was floored by his question.

He immediately went into the fine points of having a wife. Besides the cooking, cleaning, and family-raising, she would also be a great political asset. Nothing looks finer to the voters than a man and his family standing before them, reflecting their values.

I took another puff on my cigar, and chased it with a sip of brandy, and thought about what he said.

Then I remember the beautiful blond headed woman I saw many years ago at a political meeting and my heart skipped a beat. So I explained to him how I met Mary, her beauty, her wealthy background, and her being the standard I compared all my other dates too.

And I guessed I still loved her even after seeing her only once.

He questioned me about her, and the others that had attended that meeting so many years ago. He went on about an hour, and then his age got the best of him. We said goodnight, and he retired to bed as I showed myself out.

Over the next few weeks, I completely forgot about the conversation.

About a month later he invited me to dinner at his club. Since this was about the normal time span between our meetings, I didn't think anything about it. We were deeply into a discussion about a current piece of the budget, when I spotted my dream woman walking across the dining room in our general direction. She seemed to be looking for someone.

All of a suddenly John was on his feet, waving his arm and calling, "Mary!" She saw him and her smile lit up the room. She came over to our table and started apologizing for being late.

My mentor had set this meeting up, the sly old dog! I already loved him like a second father, and this kindness from him made me love him even more.

Somehow, I managed to remember my manners, and stood to hold her chair as she joined us at the table. A wave of John's hand summoned an attentive waiter to take Mary's drink order. By the time her cocktail reached our table, John was half-way through recounting my tale of having seen her all those years ago, and how I'd been so awe-struck by her beauty.

I was dead-certain that Mary could feel the heat of my blush, even across the table from me, and I was mentally evaluating the wisdom of pleading the need to visit the men's room so I could reclaim my cool, when she reached across the table and laid a soft hand on mine.

"I guess that's one more thing I owe you for, John," she told him. "I've never forgotten Tom's handsome, rugged face, either. And I've had ample time to regret that our respective situations, that night, denied us the chance to actually meet. Thank you for seeing to it that we have this second chance!"

At this point, the waiter cleared his throat to let us know that he was still standing by, waiting to take our dinner orders. We got that matter taken care of quickly, sending him on his way to the kitchen, and then settled into an easy three-way conversation.

Somewhere in the midst of that comfortable chat, our meals arrived. I ate mechanically, not really tasting the food. It was as if my body couldn't spare my tongue the necessary attention, my focus being solely on Mary. And it seemed to me -- hopefully, my opinion wasn't biased -- that Mary was experiencing similar sensations. It certainly seemed that her eyes were as glued to me as mine were, to her.

Eventually, we finished our dinner. Both Mary and I pleaded being too full for dessert, and settled for an after-dinner drink. John ordered brandies all around, and sent our waiter off to procure them. Moments later, he returned with three snifters, placed them in front of us, and then leaned down and whispered in John's ear.

"It seems that I have an urgent call from one of my clients," John sighed as the waiter departed. "I'm afraid that I have to leave. Will the two of you please forgive me?"

"Of course, John," Mary smiled sweetly at him. "Go take care of your client. Tom and I will be just fine."

"Do you have a way home?" He asked her.

"I took a cab to get here," she replied. "I'll get one to take me home, when I'm ready."

"Or I could give you a lift," I volunteered.

"That would be wonderful, Tom," she nodded. Her smile, however, told me that this was just what she was hoping would happen.

"Then I must be going," John smiled. "Have a pleasant evening, you two!"

With that, he turned and left the dining room.

"You do realize, don't you, that there's no client waiting for him?" I asked Mary, once John had passed beyond the doorway to the foyer.

"Of course!" she giggled. "The old dear brought us together, saw that we were getting along well enough, and then bowed out so as not to become an impediment to our getting to know each other better. I'll have to figure out some way to thank him."

"I'll be calling my tobacconist, in the morning," I nodded, "and have a box of his favorite cigars sent to his office with my sincere thanks."

"Then, you're a cigar smoker, as well?" she asked me.

"Guilty as charged," I shrugged, suddenly regretting my comment. "Does the discovery upset you?"

"God, no!" she shook her head vehemently. "I've been around cigar smoke since the day I was born! Politicians and cigars go together almost as well as coffee and cream!"

"That's good," I grinned at her, making a point of wiping my forehead in relief with an exaggerated gesture.

"To be perfectly honest, I've been known to enjoy a good cigar myself, on occasion," she revealed, leaning toward me and speaking in a low, conspiratorial tone. "Just not in public. For some reason, society seems to have a negative opinion of women who smoke cigars. I wonder what they would say, if they knew that the First Lady indulges..."

"You're kidding!" I gasped. "Pat Nixon...?"

"Oh, not the really big ones that most men favor," Mary shook her head. "They're only just a bit larger than one of those new one-hundred-millimeter cigarettes, but they're most definitely cigars!"

"How do you know this?" I asked.

"Dad and the president are old college fraternity brothers, and the president still picks Dad's brains about a few things. We've been invited to informal dinners at the White House a few times. After dinner, the men break out their cigars and head for one of the small drawing rooms, while the ladies are left to chat about more mundane topics. Among friends, the First Lady is a little more... relaxed."

I was in heaven. Mary was beautiful, charming, and a great conversationalist. She was smart, witty, and she seemed very much to like me.

And if our relationship went as far as I found myself hoping it would, I wouldn't even have to worry about being exiled to the garage or the patio to enjoy my occasional cigar!

Eventually, the evening grew late. I had an early appearance at the State House, the next day, and Mary also confessed to having a full agenda planned. Though, that wouldn't have been the guess of anyone who saw us standing on her front porch. A simple goodnight kiss turned into more, and it was fully half an hour before she stepped inside and closed the door gently between us.

Not, of course, before I had managed to secure her promise to have dinner with me again, two nights hence.

We started dating. I loved her. We were soon a couple.

Mary appeared everywhere I was. When the Senate was in session, some days she was in the gallery when I was speaking, some days she was in the lunch room. She was always there, and I was falling head over heels in love with her.

She would stop in my Senate office with lunch, lock the door and we'd have sex, never getting around to eating, lunch that is. My secretary claimed that we put rabbits to shame. (I always thought we were quiet?)

There were some days; I just about could walk back to the Senate chambers. Mary didn't leave my office on those days; she said she couldn't get her legs closed. When I returned to my office, I kissed her boo-boo. We were usually the last people in the building when we left.

We were married one year later. With her at my side, I now felt complete.

Mary became the perfect wife. She was everything I could ever want. Within two years she gave birth to our daughter Danielle, three years later Tom Jr. She was the perfect wife and mother, standing at my side at political events, the loving wife and mother.

The press loved her, almost as much as she loved the attention from them.

One day I got a phone call that my old friend and mentor, John, had died. He was the elder statesman of the state's Democratic Party. They were doing a tribute to him on prime time television. All the important Democrats were asked to speak.

The Republican Party was also asked to provide a speaker. They asked me.

The night of the tribute I was slated to speak at the end of all the Democratic speakers and just before the Governor. My party had some of their best speech writers draft a spectacular tribute to John.

All of which amounted to about 10% of my total speech. The rest was pure politics.

When my turn to speak came, I walked on stage and up to the podium; it was a very elaborate set up. It had multiple microphones and two state of the art projection systems, so that I could read "my" speech without my eyes ever leaving the television cameras.

I guess the powers to be had forgotten the deceased was my best friend, because they almost fainted when I walked up to the stand, removed one of the mikes, walked to the edge of the stage and sat down.

The spotlight guys were fast, they illuminated me as if it was all planned. The television guys were a little slower. The stage manager was pleading with me to stand up and get on the mark, but I refused.

I started the speech by introducing myself and said,

"John was my best friend. And I sure will miss him. I'm a Republican and he was a Democrat, but we never let that get in the way of us being friends".

The audience started applauding and didn't stop for the next few minutes. When they settled back down, I went on to explain our friendship. How he helped me be a better person, helped me to understand the political process, and most importantly how he introduced me to my beautiful wife.

My allotted 15 minutes stretched out to an hour, and the tears were running freely down my face toward the end.

I finally ended my eulogy by looking to the heavens and saying,

" John, when my time comes, I hope you will allow me to continue being your friend. And if they allow it up there, I'd like to continue our after dinner brandy and cigars".

I ended by saying, "I'm going to miss you a lot old friend".

At that point I lost it and broke down crying. My lovely wife ran on stage wrapped her arms around me and walked me off stage.

They told me later that there wasn't a dry eye in the house and even some of the hardnosed television anchors had lumps in their throats.

The Governor then spoke for his allotted time. It was your typical "Chicken in every Pot" speech. He wasn't exactly booed off stage, but it was deathly quiet as he walked off.

One year later I was elected Governor.

++++++

In 1992, I was just completing my first term and getting ready to run for re-election. My last four years in office was a real learning experience. I'd never thought I would ever get this high in the political process. And I had my work cut out for me. I pissed some people off, and moderately angered a few more, but generally succeeded in making the state a little better place in which to live.

I didn't let the power and glory go to my head. I tried to hold "Town Hall" style meetings every month. My style of sitting on the edge of the stage and just carrying on conversations with the folks still produced open dialog between us. Everyone attending loved the open conversation, the ability to walk up to me and talk. Everyone but my security detail that is. They had kittens every time someone hugged me or walk up and just shook hands.

About one month before Election Day, my re-election committee decided that my wife should hold a news conference extolling the virtues of one of her favorite charities. So there I stood behind her offering support for her first time behind the microphones. She read a prepared statement explaining the charity, its goals and achievements.

Then she made the biggest mistake of our lives. She opened the floor to any questions from the press.

The first few were soft ball questions asked by reporters who realized she was scared and nervous. Then came the reporter from one of the tabloids, he had a large manila envelope in his hand. I was expecting a hardball question and stepped up behind my wife.

Little did I know how hardball it would turn out to be.

Stepping up to the microphone he began by addressing my wife by her first name,

"Mary, does your husband, the Governor, know that neither one of your children are his? To be more precise, they both have different fathers? I have DNA tests proving this?"

I immediately stepped up to the podium to defend her, when I looked into her face. I could tell by the look of horror and shame on her face, it was all true.

She looked at me and mouthed," I'm sorry." Her eyes filled with tears, and then she turned and ran.

My world turned black and I could feel myself falling.

I awoke two weeks later in a hospital bed, my son and daughter by my side. It seemed I had been in a coma.

They were both college students by then, but looked like they had been through hell. I smiled at them.

My son jumped up ran to the door and yelled," He's awake". My daughter began crying.

For the next hour or so, I was poked, prodded, and examined by just about every professional in the hospital. Well maybe not the whole building, but at least on this floor. Finally they told me what happened.

I had had a stroke. It seems a small blood vessel in my brain had decided to spring a leak. It resulted in my left side being completely paralyzed.

I was assured that with hard work and physical therapy, I would regain most of the usage in my left side.

I was devastated.

When my children were allowed back in the room, I asked how their mother was holding up under all this stress since she wasn't in the room. They looked at each other and my daughter said,

"We don't know Dad. She ran off the stage when you collapsed and hasn't been seen since."

Then the memories flooded back from that moment two weeks ago. And I cried. The love of my life had gone leaving me, a hole in my heart that she had once occupied, and a nagging question, "Why?"

+++++

I'm sitting with my family around the breakfast table, surveying the remains of a very fancy meal. My mind wanders again.

I remember the months I spent in physical therapy; learning how to walk, to use my vocal cords, to use my left arm, and a host of other things. My therapy lasted almost one year before I was judged ready to return to work.

Oh yeah, my name was on the ballot again, and the people of the state reelected me governor. I was still in a coma when they did the deed. I'm just glad my running mate was a very smart woman. She stepped into the job as if she was born into it.

About 6 months into my rehab, someone decided that it would do my Lt Governor a lot of good if I appeared at a town hall meeting with her. So I was plopped in a wheelchair and off I went. When I arrived, the hall was already full and the reporters were lining the walls.

Somebody let it slip to the media that I would be here.

Sarah, my Lt Gov., was supposed to hold this meeting, and was the first to walk out on stage. The crowd gave her a very warm welcome. She put her speech on the podium and started reading. Well I wasn't going to let her read to these people, she need just to talk to them, so out on stage I rolled in my wheels.

The crowd went wild. I rolled up to Sarah, grabbed her carefully prepared speech and tossed it off the front of the stage. I then took her hand, told her to grab a mike and we marched/rolled to the front of the stage.