Presidential Whispers

Michael Cantwell

Copyright © 2015 Michael O’Lone Cantwell

All rights reserved.

Presidential Whispers is fiction.

Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover graphic created by Suzy Bondy

KSM Publishing

www.ksmmike.com

This book is also available in print with most retailers

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To Joan and Dan

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A Beautiful Song

Three Long Days

Soul Intentions

Soul Directive

Fortunate Soul

Presidential Shadows

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Ninety-nine percent of all failures come from people who have the habit of making excuses.

George Washington

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Title

Dedication

Other Novel

Opening Quote

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Thoughts

Sneak Peak

CHAPTER ONE

In your face, Wendy Newman. I sure wanted to say those words and let her have it. However, I never did. President Lincoln would have scolded me had I flaunted my victory. He told me soon after Principal Smith announced the results, If you want to test a man’s character, give him power. Bruce Rivers, my best friend in the whole world, sat next to me in the auditorium. He shrugged before popping me on the shoulder. Wendy shoved aside her blonde locks and pressed her red nose into her light purple hankie. I felt bad for her, sorta.

It all began during the end of summer BBQ of 1993, while chowing down on a burger at Bruce’s house. Wendy double-dared me to run for freshman class president. While mooching some free food, she boasted about changing the school colors to purple and white with a splash of pink. Please, the girl couldn’t win at Monopoly unless she cheated. Why would she think she could get our new school to change their colors?

Anyway, I darn near barfed up my burger. Wendy bragged to Bruce and me about if she had her way, the girls would be first in line in the cafeteria and boys would have to wear purple and pink gym clothes. Bruce had been neighbors with Wendy his whole life. I guess he learned to ignore her because he continued chomping on his hot dog, while Wendy continued her rant, typical of many bratty fourteen-year-old girls. I’d known Wendy for years too. I shoulda have let her big mouth keep rambling on and enjoyed my juicy burger, but once she said I couldn’t win the election, I took it as a challenge.

It all sounds trivial, but when you’re fourteen, everything is a big deal. For my tenth birthday, Grandpa Frank presented me with a magical book. After reading those crinkly yellow pages, all the Presidents of the United States would come alive and have become my friends. Well, all except for Tommy Wilson. People called him Woodrow. The man still sits in the corner of my room staring at my piggy bank. He thinks my money belongs in his treasury. The other presidents and I still talk on occasion. They still show up reminding me that I’m an impressionable teen, but over the years, I sure have received a lot of good advice and lessons from them. Back to my story.

After Wendy boasted with a mouth full of chips how I wasn’t much of a candidate for anything, I gathered up my friends. Not many gave Harry Truman a chance to win reelection for president against Thomas Dewey. Truman won. Mr. Truman helped me with the election for class president. He advised me to find someone with a lot of influence and get him or her to support me. Harry told me it worked for him. I took his advice.

Greg Lewis’ IQ equaled the rocks he skipped across the pond at the park. He and I had our battles in middle school. Greg might not have been book smart, but he sure knew how to persuade kids his age. I convinced Greg the president of the freshman class could pick one player to be on the school basketball team. If Greg would help me become president, he would be my choice.

I’ll never be sure, but maybe Greg did convince several freshman boys to vote for me. Possibly, it was my speech. After all, Thomas Jefferson did help me write it. Did you also know Mr. Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence? President McKinley revealed to me that when he ran for President, he gave away small pieces of soap in the shape of babies. President Hoover told me to tell the class, I’ll put a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage. My friends don’t cook or drive cars. I decided to hand out Snickers bars during lunch break right before the election.

It did bug me how I misled Greg. I try hard not to lie. President Lincoln reminds me every time I tell the tiniest of fibs, No man has a good enough memory to be a successful liar. What should I have done? Wendy Newman had bragged all over school about how she was going to be the boss of all of the boys. Most kids never took her serious. They were more worried about their faces breaking out with acne. I believed Wendy. I had known about her master plan for years.

You guys are so dumb sometimes. Wendy yapped in my ear during lunch, two hours after the results were official. In middle school, most days, she and Bruce were my lunch partners. Because of our feud, we had been eating at opposite ends of the cafeteria since high school had begun. I knew if I told you that I wanted to change the school colors and be the boss, you would try to beat me in the election, she said with a wry smile. I’m happy you won.

I looked at Bruce. He shrugged. Give it up, Wendy. You wanted to win and you know it, I said. You’ve been spouting off for years how you wanted to be the queen bee and this was your chance.

Maybe, but you’re Mr. I-know-everything-about-history and talk with dead presidents. My grandmother told me women control the world, but from behind the scenes. Who wants to sit with teachers in silly meetings after school all day anyway? Can’t we go back to being friends?

I looked across the table at Bruce. He shrugged and scooped another bite of macaroni surprise. I guess, I said.

Good, Wendy said. It’s the best way I can test my grandmother’s theory.

After school, I rushed home to write a letter to my brother and his girlfriend Star. She and I had become good friends. We talked several times about my visits with the presidents. She told me she had a similar experience in speaking with Bob Marley. Star told me she felt positive vibes in my bedroom after a presidential encounter. It upset me when her and my brother left for Oregon. Star headed back to school to get her Masters degree. My brother started a job teaching computers.

While sitting on the front porch scribbling away, four men stood in the front yard arguing. I recognized them and walked over to see why all the fussing and cussing. Most of the time, Richard Nixon would be doing the cussing. He possessed a foul mouth. This time Andrew Johnson chattered using unmentionable words. The other two men were John Tyler and Lyndon Johnson. Lyndon told me he was a spiritual man, except around Republicans. Lyndon fought with Republicans more than I had fought with Greg.

I was the first to be elected to every national office, Mr. Nixon said. Don’t make me contemplate what you had to do to become president, Lyndon.

Don’t you go there, Nixon, Lyndon Johnson said. President Kennedy became a victim of the hate permeating in our country. I had nothing to do with his assassination on the streets of Dallas, Texas.

Texas? President Tyler said. I’m still fighting to make Texas a state.

The presidents knew nothing about history beyond the time they were alive. Despite Richard Nixon still being alive, he would appear like the other men who no longer walked the earth. I realized any president who had written in the book Grandpa Frank offered me could emerge. Besides, Star told me if Keith Richards was still alive, anything was possible.

What are you guys yacking about? I asked. And keep the noise down. I don’t want the neighbors calling the cops.

It’s not my fault, John Wilkes Booth assassinated President Lincoln, Andrew Johnson said. I never wanted to be president bad enough to kill one.

There are some who believe Booth wanted to kidnap Lincoln and exchange him for Confederate soldiers, Nixon said. However, the war ended before Booth could carry out his mission. Instead, Booth put together a quick plan to murder President Lincoln at Ford’s Theatre. You could have been in on the conspiracy, Andrew.

May I inquire as to whom you gentleman might be? John Tyler asked. Why have I never heard of President Lincoln or Kennedy?

Stop, all of you, I said. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about presidential history, it’s that you rarely agree on anything. Now please tell me. What’s with all the shouting?

The men looked at each other before glaring at me. We came to congratulate you on your big win today, Alex, Mr. Nixon said. We are the four men in American history to have been a member of the House of Representatives, the Senate, Vice President and later President. I needed to inform them, I am the sole member of the group elected President. The other three assumed the office because the President died while they served as Vice President.

Lyndon Johnson stuck out his chest. I was elected president after serving the remainder of Jack Kennedy’s term in office. I beat the tar out of Goldwater. Lyndon flashed an evil smile before making another statement. It appears the citizens preferred a Great Society over an average one.

We live in a great society, Mr. Tyler said. In fact, I believe we should keep pushing west and control more of our destiny. I call it our manifest destiny.

For goodness sake, Tyler, Nixon said. I was born in California. We already control from one ocean to the next and added Alaska and Hawaii for good measure. Count ‘em, fifty states. Well, until the crazies in California or New York try to break into more than one state.

My neighbor across the street, Mrs. Horne peeked out her window. I needed to break up the argument. Mr. Nixon, give these men some credit. It wasn’t President Tyler’s fault President Harrison died from pneumonia soon after becoming president.

I warned him not to give such a long speech in the cold, Mr. Tyler said.

As far as President Lincoln, you’re a history buff, Mr. Nixon. You know how war torn the nation had become after the Civil War. President Lincoln told me himself he knew he had enemies, but never mentioned his Vice President.

Nixon nodded. He started to speak when I cut him off. Oliver Stone did a whole movie about why President Kennedy was killed. Please don’t ask me to explain an Oliver Stone movie, but my mom saw it and said it made sense to her. Maybe you can ask Mr. Stone if Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. It doesn’t matter how it happened. Four men in American history served in the House, the Senate, and as Vice President and President. You four should be proud and not arguing with each other.

Mrs. Horne called from the curb across the street. Is everything alright, Alex? I hear you talking, but I don’t notice anyone with you.

Yes, Mrs. Horne, I’m fine. Thank-you. Go back inside and I’ll be over to walk your dog soon. I turned to say goodbye to the others. They had vanished.

Grandpa Frank and Grandma Marie came over for dinner. Grandma latched her frail fingers around my face and put one of her famous big wet kisses on my cheek. I reminded her teenagers were practically adults and no longer could be seen catching kisses from their grandmas.

Pfft, she said. Grandma’s kisses are the best kind and always allowed.

I walked into the kitchen and washed off the lipstick left on my right cheek. I proceeded into the dining room and sat at the table with the others.

I hear we’re eating with a big shot now, Grandpa said. Too big for a congratulations kiss from his grandmother.

I shook my head at Grandpa, however no way I would upset him. He and I always had fun together. He taught me how to throw a baseball and came to most of my little league games. Besides, he was sick. He had cancer when I was younger. It had returned. He tired fast when we tossed a ball around and took naps in the afternoon. Grandma claimed Grandpa had succeeded in beating it for a second time. I suspected she was telling a white lie.

Awe, Grandpa, I’m not a big shot. I’m freshman class president. No biggie.

The point is, you set a goal and succeeded, Grandpa said. We are all proud of you, my boy.

Thanks, Grandpa, but I only won by six votes. I think passing out Snickers bars right before my speech and the voting helped.

Grandpa smiled. Big deal, politicians hand out goodies all the time with our tax dollars. Over the last twenty years it was the Democrats who played that game, but I think some of the Republicans now buy votes too.

No more talk about politics tonight, Mom said. I read Alex’s speech. It was excellent. I encouraged him not to try to bribe the students with candy bars, but to run on his own merits. He’ll learn. Remember what President Washington said, ‘Few men have the virtue to withstand the highest bidder.’ Sad, but true.

I started to think about what I had to do to become president. Me, Alex Schuler, a shy fourteen-year old kid, handed out candy bars to become freshman class president at Ewing High School, in Trenton New Jersey. In addition, I had lied to Greg. I had almost lost one of my best friends in Wendy. I had argued with President Jefferson, while writing my speech, because he wanted me to use big words. Being president already had me wondering if it was all worth it. We finished dinner. I escaped to my bedroom.

The next morning after bouncing out of bed and throwing on my school clothes, I combed my short brown hair and brushed my pearly whites. Brushing my teeth had become a priority. Mom would drag me twice a year to see our dentist, Doc McCartney. The eerie drilling sound gave me the heebee-geebees. Ugh. I hated cavities. Brushing my teeth at least twice a day became routine.

Mom called me for breakfast. Dad sat in his usual seat at the kitchen table reading the morning paper and munching on some pancakes. Mom straightened the collar on my shirt and put a plate piled high with blueberry pancakes laced in syrup in front of me.

Sad, story about the Ryan Express, eh Alex? Dad said.

What are you talking about? I asked.

Nolan Ryan. He’s done. While pitching in the King Dome against the Mariners last night, he blew out his elbow pitching to Dave Magadan in the first inning. Poor Ryan had planned to retire at the end of the season. Too bad the man couldn’t go out the way he would have liked.

Wow, I didn’t hear that, Dad. I had hoped when we saw the Yanks play the Rangers last month, maybe Nolan would have pitched. One of the guys on our team with me and Bruce last summer, Billy Butler, lived in Texas. He’s a big time Nolan Ryan and Rangers fan. He told me Nolan threw seven no hitters and twelve one hitters. I didn’t believe Billy until I looked at the back of Nolan’s baseball card.

Dad flipped the paper back in front of his face and grumbled about an accountant caught stealing over $100,000 from a client. Isn’t there anyone left in Jersey with a shred of morals and decency? He said. I knew his rant became my cue to finish my pancakes and head off to the bus stop.

President James Polk stood waiting for me on the front porch. We had met before. The first time we spoke, Mr. Polk told me all about how he oversaw the opening of the United States Naval Academy, The Smithsonian Institution and the issuance of the first postage stamp. He was proud of those achievements and many others.

Good morning, young sir. Nice to meet you again.

Nice to see you too, Mr. President. I read more of your notes in my book after doing homework last night.

The President and I headed towards the street. Blue skies and a slight breeze filled the late summer morning walk.

Yes. I noticed you were reading about my past again, Alex. I understand you have a troubled mind with your campaign technics. Elections can offer surprising results. No one expected me to be the Democratic nominee when we headed to our convention in May of 1844.

Yeah, I was reading how it took several rounds of voting before you were chosen.

President Polk smiled. We proceeded towards the bus stop.

Texas was a prominent issue in the election, Polk said. While attending the convention, Martin Van Buren, who had already served one term as President four years before was seeking to become the Democratic nominee again. William Harrison had defeated Van Buren in his bid for reelection. Many assumed the Democrats would offer Van Buren a second chance to defeat Harrison.

I’m starting to think you Presidents are like Yankee managers. You keep trying to get your jobs back. Grandpa told me Mr. Steinbrenner kept firing and hiring Billy Martin so many times they made jokes about it.

Polk frowned. You do confuse me more than Congress, Alex.

It’s ok. Wendy tells me all the time about how stupid boys can be at times. I’m used to being misunderstood.

We stopped on the corner a block before the bus stop. I didn’t want the kids waiting for the bus to overhear my conversation with President Polk. My friends never believed I really spoke with the presidents. They assumed the presidents were only in my imagination from reading some much history.

As I was saying, Alex, Van Buren became the favorite to be the Democratic nominee. However, some saw Van Buren as an unpopular choice. After all, he did lose his bid for reelection. The younger generation in particular, saw him as a tired old man. They demanded a fresh candidate. Van Buren’s stance against the annexation of Texas hurt him with southern states.

What was the big deal about Texas?

Polk smirked. Texas represented a large swath of land. The northerners were afraid annexing Texas would expand slavery. Some were also afraid we would push our way into Mexico and claim their country as part of our nation.

I kept one eye on the bus stop. Bruce and Wendy waved at me. I remember you telling me how the United States went to war with Mexico and eventually bought Texas from Mexico, but how did you become President? I asked.

Van Buren couldn’t garner enough votes to become the nominee, because of his stance against annexing Texas. Lewis Cass, who was Andrew Jackson’s Secretary of War, eventually gathered enough votes to prove Van Buren would never be the Democrat’s choice. On the ninth ballot, my name was presented as a dark horse candidate. Because I supported the annexation of Texas, and was years younger than Van Buren, the southern states rallied around my nomination. So did Mr. Van Buren and his supporters. Van Buren threw his support behind me to spite Mr. Cass. Politics can be a dirty business. I became the Democratic nominee and defeated Henry Clay, who was the Whigs nominee, in the election for President.

Are you trying to tell me you never lied or handed out Snickers bars to become President?

President Polk shook his head. Be a principled person, Alex. Do not run from adversity and understand not everyone will support you and your efforts. I never imagined before the convention began, I would become President of the United States. I stood firm in my belief we should push west and annex Texas. Many believed my steadfastness was the deciding factor in the election.

The bus rolled towards the bus stop. I thanked President Polk for his lesson and advice before running to catch the bus.

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CHAPTER TWO

A couple of weeks after the election, life had returned to normal. Bruce and I never wavered from being best pals, but Wendy made it hard on Bruce, while she and I were on the outs. After Wendy and I made up, the three of us sat together during lunch and hung out again. Sometimes, Janet or Erin would have lunch with us, or come over on weekends.

One day Greg asked to sit with us. I knew instantly he wanted something. My mind raced, searching for clues. I wanted to turn him away, but he did twist several arms for me before the election. I sat high in my plastic black chair and did my best impression of Marlon Brando in the Godfather. Well, I imagined it. Mom still wouldn’t permit me to watch R rated movies. My brother Steve told me all about the Godfather movies.

Ciao, Gregory. What can the class president do for you? I felt a bit goofy asking the question as if I actually had any power, but I knew Greg would prefer the plague instead of asking me for a favor.

Why are you talking with a strange accent? Greg asked. Listen, the dog ate my homework. I need you to write Mr. Valley a note. I can’t fail his class. He told me if I didn’t start doing my homework, he would flunk me.

I looked at Bruce. He shrugged. I looked at Wendy. She laughed then said, Hey, don’t look at me, Mr. Hot Shot Class President.

Greg, I said, Class presidents can’t write notes to avoid doing work. Besides, you don’t own a dog. If you want, I’ll help you with your homework. You can have it done before the bell rings. It’s the ten questions from chapter five in the back of the book.

You might be president but you ain’t very smart, Greg said. Do you think I carry books around? Only brainiac nerds carry books to lunch. Come on, write me a note.

I looked at Bruce. His eyeballs were inspecting the freshman cheerleaders parading past our table. They were dressed in their uniforms for the upcoming pep rally. Few things in life would detract Bruce from food, but Stephanie Nicks in a short skirt made the list. Wendy gave me the stink eye after I peeked at the cheerleaders too.

Feeling uneasy about Greg’s request, I wrote a note anyway. I assumed a possible scolding from Mr. Valley would be easier than being gang tackled by Greg and his marauders in touch football during gym class. Greg delivered his best impression of a creepy Jack Nicolson smile, despite receiving a worthless note.

After English composition, the last class of the day, Mr. Valley asked to speak with me. Mr. Valley needed to buy an iron. Then man owned a collection of wrinkled shirts. Like Larry from The Three Stooges, Mr. Valley’s brown hair stuck straight up on the sides with a large bald spot in the middle of his head. Someone needed to take care of Mr. Valley. He shuffled papers on his desk for several minutes before offering me his attention. Did you write that note for Greg Lewis? You do understand how silly it made you look. Right, Alex? I expect Greg to try such antics, but not you.

He was right. I needed to use better judgment. Something President Washington once told me popped into my head. Associate yourself with men of good quality if you esteem your own reputation.

I’m sorry, Mr. Valley. I tried to get Greg to do his homework during lunch break. But he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Mr. Valley rolled his eyes. I’ll keep this misstep our secret. However, don’t let it happen again. Being the class president doesn’t allow you to excuse students from doing homework. Even Thomas Jefferson, while writing the Constitution, understood the separation of powers.

I should have walked away. My rumbling gut told me to go home and enjoy the weekend. Ugh. My gut lost. You mean James Madison, right?

Mr. Valley gave me a long stare through his dirty, black framed glasses. I peeked at the clock knowing I had three minutes to hop on the bus. Slowly back peddling towards the door, I hoped Mr. Valley would allow my comment to slide.

Mr. Valley threw out his chest. I meant what I said. Thomas Jefferson wrote the Constitution. In fact, write five hundred words on how President Jefferson wrote about the separation of powers to enlighten yourself on how presidents do not have the authority to make up laws or allow students to skip assignments.

I should have slipped out the door. I knew trouble brewed. However, both Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Madison were friends of mine. Leave it to an English teacher to screw up historical facts. If I did write the paper you suggest, I might pass English, but I would fail history. I grabbed the doorknob.

One foot entered the hallway. I glanced at the clock on the back wall. One minute before the bus pulled