Lady Justice and the Candidate (9 page)

    When the door slid open, Ben and I traded places and Sully led the way to the ballroom.

    I stepped out onto the floor and was greeted with a round of applause. Eager attendees pushed and shoved to get a closer look and a handshake from the new candidate.

    Sully and his crew kept the surging crowd at bay and formed a barrier behind which I could walk and shake the extended hands.

    It reminded me somewhat of Jay Leno’s entrance on the
Tonight Show
, where he shakes hands with the audience before his monologue.

    As I shook each hand, one of the thoughts going through my mind was
Where have these hands been? Did that guy just pick his nose? Did that guy wash after taking a leak?

    I made a mental note to thoroughly disinfect immediately upon returning to my room.

    Even though my lines weren’t difficult, I had rehearsed them carefully.

    “That you for coming this evening.”

    “Thank you for your support.”

    “Thank you for your kind words.”

    I had it down pat.

    After I made the first pass, I turned around and retraced my steps, shaking the new hands that had appeared across the Secret Service barrier.

    Every once in a while, through my ear bud, I could hear short communications between the SS agents. “All clear in Sector B.” “All clear near the elevator.”

    It was comforting knowing that these guys had my back.

    When I reached the end of the line, I turned and waved to the audience and Sully guided me back to the elevator.

    I felt a great sense of relief. I had made it through my first performance without being shot.

    When we arrived at the elevator door, I could see immediately that something was wrong.

    The look on Mark’s face screamed 'disaster.'

    “We’ve got a big problem,” he said. “Ben is stuck on the elevator and he’s supposed to be going right back out onstage for the press conference.”

    I remembered the elevator’s shudder on my ride down.

    “So what are we going to do?” Sully asked.

    Mark raised his hand and listened intently on his cell phone.

    “Looks like Ben won’t be coming out anytime soon. Walt, you’re going to have to do the press interview.”

    I felt my body give a shudder of its own when I heard Mark’s words.

    “I --- I --- I can’t do a press interview! I’m not a politician! I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to say!”

    “Ben will look like a fool if he doesn’t show up for this press interview. We can’t say that he’s stuck on the elevator --- he wasn’t even supposed to be on the elevator.”

    “He may look like a fool anyway with me out there.”

    “Just do your best and answer a few questions, then announce that you hate to cut things short but you have a flight to catch. You’ve heard Ben several times now and you know what he stands for. You can do this.”

    Mark certainly had a lot more confidence in me that I had in myself.

    Sully led me back to the stage that had been set up much like the interview that I had seen a few days ago in K.C. with the news anchors onstage.

    There was a podium for me, and two reporters sat behind a table with microphones and wires.

    When the applause died down, the
Post
reporter spoke, “Mr. Foster ---”

    I cut her off immediately, “Please, call me Ben. No need for formality here.”

    I remembered Ben doing that and it was a very effective way to control the situation.

    “Uhh, yes, Ben. You were very hard on the FDA tonight. You mentioned studies on your website, but I’m wondering if you could give us a specific example of these alleged abuses?”

   
Oh crap
! I thought.

    Then I spotted a bowl of fruit sitting on the reporter’s table between two pitchers of water. I’m sure no one expected anyone to peel a banana in the middle of the conference. It was there for looks, but it gave me an idea.

    A year ago, I was involved in an undercover sting operation that uncovered collusion between Putnam Pharmaceuticals and the FDA.

    I had done a lot of research because of that operation and something that I had read popped into my mind.

    “Certainly,” I replied, “if you will let me borrow a piece of your fruit.”

    “Uhhh, sure,” she replied.

    I picked up a juicy orange and returned to the podium.

    “Do you remember earlier when I said that the FDA has the power to make laws and enforce them without congressional approval or debate?”

    “Yes,” she replied, “I remember.”

    “Then let me tell you about one of their 'laws,' ” I said, desperately trying to remember all of the details.

    “The FDA has decreed that only a drug can cure, prevent or treat a disease. They have taken this position because it protects the pharmaceutical companies from claims that natural remedies can provide the same relief as their wonder drugs, without any damaging side effects and at a fraction of the cost.

    “By taking this position, anyone claiming that a natural product can cure, treat or prevent a disease, is by definition, making that product a drug, and the person making the claim may be prosecuted for selling drugs without a license or FDA approval.”

    “So what does that have to do with the orange?” she asked.

    “I mentioned on the
Morning Show
that sometimes I like to use the absurd to make a point, hence the orange.

    “Are you familiar with the disease, scurvy?”

    She nodded.

    “We don’t hear much of it anymore, but it was a disease that was common among sailors who spent long months at sea without fresh fruits and vegetables.”

    I held the orange high above my head. “This piece of fruit contains vitamin C and if consumed, can cure, treat and prevent the disease of scurvy. According to the FDA, if I were to market this orange as such a treatment, it would be classified as a drug and I could be arrested and prosecuted.

    “Have I made my point?”

    She nodded again.

    “My website is full of actual examples of the FDA’s heavy handed attempts to squash anyone’s attempt to help people with natural, non-drug remedies.”

    Having never been on the website, I had no idea if this was true or not. I hoped that it was.

    The
Hill
reporter raised his hand, “Ben, in another interview, you said that the process by which we elect our congressmen and presidents should be reformed and you called for the abolishment of the Electoral College. Could you elaborate on that?”

    Actually, I couldn’t. I had never understood how the Electoral College worked or why it was ever done that way when the whole thing could be very simply decided by the direct vote of the people.

    I knew I had to say something and then I remembered reading an article in the
Kansas City Star
right after the Republican primary election.

    “Let me give you one very specific situation that speaks to the chaos that exists in our electoral process --- the Missouri Republican primary election.

    “This election cost the taxpayers of Missouri seven million dollars and it didn’t even count. The Republican candidate in Missouri is selected by caucus and not by primary election, and still, seven million dollars was spent on a totally worthless election.”

    I hoped that nobody would ask me about a caucus, because I never understood how that worked either.

    I forged ahead, “Seven million dollars! In Missouri, shelters for battered women are closing their doors and curriculum is being cut in Missouri classrooms because of lack of funding and they spend seven million on a useless election.

    “Do you know how many meals for the homeless that would buy?”

    Again, I hoped nobody would ask because I had no idea what the answer was.

    I looked at my watch, “I’d love to answer more of your questions, but I have a plane to catch. Thank you very much.”

    I tossed the orange into the outstretched hands of someone in the audience.

    As Sully escorted me off the stage, I thought,
Hey, that was kind of fun
!

CHAPTER 9

    The elevator repair people couldn’t very well find one Ben Foster stuck in the elevator at the same time that another one was holding a news conference, so the SS agents hoisted poor Ben through the trap door in the elevator roof and whisked him back to his room where he watched my first attempt in the political arena.

    When I arrived at his suite, cheers from the staff and a big smile from Ben greeted me.

    “Walt, my friend, you saved the day. I couldn’t have done it any better.”

    “Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good,” I replied. “If they had asked any other questions, you might have come across as a dumb ass.”

    “I rather doubt that, but we’ll take our luck where we can find it. Now, I think we should celebrate your debut and I have arraigned for a bottle of Arbor Mist, Peach Chardonnay. That is your favorite, isn’t it?”

    Ben Foster had certainly done his homework.

    I also noticed the big tray of pastries that seemed to always be present in Ben’s suite.

    I once quizzed him about the calorie-laden delights and his reply was pure Ben, “Walt, I’m seventy years old. I don’t smoke, gamble, drink heavily or run around with loose women, but I do have a sweet tooth. I figure that since I might get whacked at any moment, I might as well indulge this one vice. Here, have a long john --- it’s filled with vanilla crème.”

    I was just about to dive into the tasty pastry when Paul Ford entered with a big smile on his face.

    “I don’t know how your guys did it, but the video of Ben on the
Morning Show
has had over a half-million views, and the comments are about 90% positive. Looks like we got our money’s worth with Arnie and Nick.”

    That could have been taken several ways since they were working for free, but I figured that it was a compliment.

    “Hell of a team we’ve got going here!” Ben said, wiping the chocolate off of his chin.

    Precisely a half hour after the cap had been screwed off the bottle of Arbor Mist, Ben looked at his watch.

    “We’d better call it a day. We’ve got another plane to catch in the morning.”

    “Where to this time?” I asked.

    “Back to America’s heartland, Detroit, Michigan. We’re having a rally at a football stadium. I’m going to be addressing some issues that directly affect the pocketbooks of the voters.”

    The Secret Service had commandeered one of the locker rooms under the stadium for our operation.

    I had to accompany the entourage as my alter ego, Marvin Fitzwater. Once inside the locker room, I would be transformed to Ben #2, and then when my handshaking duties were over, back to Marvin.

    I was beginning to feel like a chameleon.

    This was my first outdoor event. All the others had been in confined auditoriums or ballrooms.

    I gathered from the SS agent’s conversations that security was a much greater issue at outside venues. There was just so much ground to cover.

    I also picked up from tidbits of conversation that I overheard, that Ben had really rattled the cages of the Washington bureaucracy.

    His speech vilifying the FDA had been tantamount to the old glove slap across the face. The battle was on.

    This too, was a cause for concern regarding Ben’s safety. The agents knew all too well to what lengths bureaucrats would go to protect their turf.

    I knew it too. During our sting operation investigating the collusion between Putnam Pharmaceuticals and the FDA, an assassin was sent to destroy damaging evidence. Before my old friend, Mary, took him down, seven persons had died at his hand. It would have been nine, including Maggie and me, if Mary hadn’t showed up with her baseball bat.

    By the time that Ben took the stage, the bleachers were packed full. His
Morning Show
appearance and his tirade against the FDA had stirred people’s interest in this feisty little guy who wasn’t afraid to tilt against windmills.

    He didn’t waste any time in getting down to brass tacks.

    “Ladies and gentlemen, my topic today is one that directly affects your pocketbooks.

    “I am seventy years old and, like many of you, for the last fifty years I have been giving a sizeable portion of my earnings to the Social Security Fund so that when I’m ready to retire, that money will be available to me so that I may enjoy my golden years in relative comfort and security.

    “Those dollars, that we have religiously surrendered, do not --- I repeat --- do not belong to the U.S. Government. They belong to you and to me.

    “But do you know what’s been done with our money? Previous administrations have raided our retirement fund and taken those dollars so that they can send $2.6 million dollars to China to teach their prostitutes how to drink responsibly, or $400,000 to fund a study to find out why gay men in Argentina engage in risky sexual behavior when they’re drunk.

    “They have taken our money and replaced it with worthless IOU’s, and now they’re telling us, ‘Sorry, there just isn’t enough money in the program to continue indefinitely.'

    “Of course there isn’t, because they have taken it to fund their pork-barrel politics and to buy votes.

    “Is this issue important to you, the voters of America?

    “Ask any person of retirement age how they would be getting along if their monthly Social Security check or their Medicare benefit were to suddenly disappear.

    “My pledge to you is that when I am elected president, I will NOT take your hard-earned dollars from your retirement account. It is wrong and it must stop!”

    The crowd rose to their feet and cheered.

    “Now I’m going to speak to a topic that may offend some, but it is an issue that must be addressed, welfare reform.

    “One of the things that has made America great is the fact that everyone deserves a chance and a helping hand during rough times.

    “There are those among us who simply cannot work and earn a living due to disabilities, age, or for other legitimate reasons, and those people deserve our help, but the system has been polluted by malingerers and con artists that are mentally and physically able to work but would rather work the system.

    “Hold that thought for just a moment while I address another issue, unemployment.

    “I realize that the past five years have taken a toll in our country. Businesses have downsized, laying off thousands, homes have been foreclosed on at a record pace and businesses and people are filing for bankruptcy in staggering numbers.

    “These people need help during these trying times.

    “Billions and billions of dollars are being spent each month on unemployment benefits and on welfare payments to able-bodied men and women and what has been the return on those billions spent? I’ll tell you --- absolutely nothing!

    “At the same time, whole blocks in our cities are filled with abandoned houses in need of repair, vacant lots are filled with chest-high weeds harboring rats and other vermin, and welfare agencies are understaffed for lack of funds.

    “Probably not many of you remember the WPA that was a product of the great depression.

    “The Works Progress Administration provided eight million jobs between 1935 and 1943.

    If you look closely, there are bridges and viaducts and other structures standing today that bear the inscription, ‘WPA 1939’.

    “Those billions of dollars being sent to capable individuals who are fruitlessly searching for jobs that are just not available or to the malingerers watching daytime TV could be spent putting them to work on projects that have fallen by the wayside.

    “Please don’t tell me that you’re not a construction worker. I’ve witnessed homes being built from scratch by volunteers in the Habitat For Humanity Program who had never picked up a hammer.

    “America was built with the sweat and labor of industrious citizens who were not afraid to work, but we have become a nation that is content to sit back and receive their 'entitlements.'

    “History has proven that a socialistic society breeds complacency and sloth. We must return to the work ethic that made our country great.

    “America, we have to get off our butts and get back to work, and when I’m your next
president, that’s exactly what we’ll do!

    “I’m going to take a quick break and be right back with you.”

    Ben headed to the locker room and we traded places.

    Sully and his crew lead me to the track between the field and the stadium where the crowd had gathered to shake the candidate’s hand.

    Through my ear bud, I could hear the chatter between the agents as they cleared the way before us.

    I really didn’t know what to expect from the crowd. Ben’s previous speeches had attacked the government, but this one was directed toward the man on the street.

    The first guy to grab my hand said, “I’ve been on unemployment for four months. I can’t find a job and just hanging around the house is driving my wife and me crazy. I’d go to work in your program immediately.”

    A woman told me, “There’s a vacant house two doors down from mine and the police are always there busting kids who have broken in to smoke pot. The neighbors have complained to the city, but we always get the same answer --- no money to either repair or tear the place down. I think you’re really onto something.”

    Another guy said, “There’s a family in our building on welfare. The husband is as strong and healthy as me. It gripes my butt when I go off to work every day knowing that my hard-earned dollars are paying him to sit on his lazy ass.”

    Ben was certainly gaining the respect of the middle class.

    We had progressed to about the fifty-yard line when my ear bud popped, “GUN!”

    Before I could react, Sully hit me like a Chiefs linebacker and I found myself flat on my back on the gritty track with all 230 pounds of Brian Sullivan spread-eagled on top of me.

    I heard the impact as a round splattered into the concrete wall of the bleachers.

    The impact had knocked the wind out of me and I was struggling to fill my lungs under his massive body.

    “Lay still! Don’t move!” he ordered.

    I really didn’t have much choice.

    As I lay there, I could hear the screams of the frantic crowd as they rushed for cover.

    I thought I might actually pass out under his weight, but in a few moments I heard, “Clear. Shooter’s gone.”

    Sully rolled off of me and I filled my lungs with air.

    The football stadium was total chaos. Police were trying to control the situation but there were just too many frightened people running for their lives.

    When Mark had first told me about the job, I had half-jokingly referred to myself as a sitting duck.

    Now I realized that I actually was.