AND THE NEXT PRESIDENT IS . . . . .: A Tale of Political Intrigue

DEDICATON

To the framers of the United States Constitution, and the drafters of the various amendments, without whose inventiveness the legal intricacies would not have existed to form the basis for this tale.

THE UNITED STATES CONSTITUTION

ARTICLE II, SECTION 1, CLAUSE 2 [AS AMENDED BY THE TWELFTH AMENDMENT]:

Each State shall appoint, in such Manner as the Legislature thereof may direct, a Number of Electors, equal to the whole Number of Senators and Representatives to which the State may be entitled in the Congress: . . . . The Electors shall meet in their respective states, and vote by ballot for President and Vice President, one of whom, at least, shall not be an inhabitant of the same state with themselves; they shall name in their ballots the person voted for as President, and in distinct ballots the person voted for as Vice-President, and they shall make distinct lists of all persons voted for as President, and of all persons voted for as Vice President, and of the number of votes for each, which lists they shall sign and certify, and transmit sealed to the seat of the government of the United States, directed to the President of the Senate;---The President of the Senate shall, in the presence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the certificates and the votes shall then be counted;---The person having the greatest number of votes for President, shall be the President, if such number be a majority of the whole number of Electors appointed; and if no person have such majority, then from the persons having the highest numbers not exceeding three on the list of those voted for as President, the House of Representatives shall choose immediately, by ballot, the President. But in choosing the President, the votes shall be taken by states, the representation from each state having one vote; a quorum for this purpose shall consist of a member or members from two-thirds of the states, and a majority of all the states shall be necessary to a choice. [Language omitted here, that is superseded by Section 3 of Amendment XX, printed below.] The person having the greatest number of votes as Vice-President, shall be the Vice-President, if such number be a majority of the whole number of Electors appointed, and if no person have a majority, then from the two highest numbers on the list, the Senate shall choose the Vice-President; a quorum for the purpose shall consist of two-thirds of the whole number of Senators, and a majority of the whole number shall be necessary to a choice. But no person constitutionally ineligible to the office of President shall be eligible to that of Vice-President of the United States.

The Congress may determine the Time of chusing the Electors, and the Day on which they shall give their Votes; which Day shall be the same throughout the United States.

AMENDMENT XX, CLAUSE 3:

If, at the time fixed for the beginning of the term of the President, the President elect shall have died, the Vice President elect shall become President. If a President shall not have been chosen before the time fixed for the beginning of his term, or if the President elect shall have failed to qualify, then the Vice President elect shall act as President until a President shall have qualified; and the Congress may by law provide for the case wherein neither a President elect nor a Vice President elect shall have qualified, declaring who shall then act as President, or the manner in which one who is to act shall be selected, and such person shall act accordingly until either a President or Vice President shall have qualified.

CHRONOLOGY

FOR 2016-17

FORWARD

Well into the twenty-first century the eighteenth century system of chusing our President and Vice President prevails. In each state each political party names a group of electors, equal to the number of the state's United States Senators and Representatives. Although the states may follow other methods in designating the electors, whichever group receives the largest number of votes at the November popular election becomes the state's electors. States may allocate electors to both parties, according to a formula, for example, according to popular votes in Congressional districts, but this has rarely been done.

Ballots that describe the vote for named candidates for President and Vice President are window dressing. Votes for the nominees are not votes for the candidates, but for the political party's electors. The electors of the party receiving the largest number of popular votes cast their ballots in their state capital in December.

After the electors' vote, the record of each state’s vote is sent to the nation's capital. The votes are counted by Congress, leading to the President and Vice President being inaugurated.

The country has gone through 57 of these exercises. No nominee for President or Vice President of the party which has secured a majority of electoral votes died before those electoral votes were cast. This is noteworthy, since many of the nominees have been in what might be called, their declining years, or, to avoid a charge of ageism, their golden years.

The Constitution is very explicit on what happens if a nominee dies after becoming a President elect or Vice President elect, but silent as to death before the vote of the electors. It is legally certain that a nominee becomes neither before the electoral votes are cast.

Thereon hangs a tale. It began very early on the morning of what is generally called election day, the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November, 73 days before the scheduled next inauguration of a President and a Vice-President.

CHAPTER ONE

Kevin Brogan, M.D., A.A.F.P., grabbed the land line phone after the first ring. Brogan here.

Kevin, John Waller.

You're reminding me to vote, right?

The owner of the city's largest auto parts store laughed. I know that's not necessary.

I voted absentee. To what do I owe this call so early on election day?

Could I see you with Carolyn Rogerson and Lou Carlucci before you leave home?

Before breakfast? Why not at the office later?

Please, this is urgent and can't wait.

Brogan had known Waller for many years and wasn't about to argue. Sure, come on.

Eleven minutes later the three of them were at Brogan's door, faces long. Without waiting to be invited Waller followed Brogan and led the other two visitors into the living room of Brogan's new house. They looked around as if seeing if anyone was in the vicinity to hear. You're alone? asked Waller.

Sure. What's going on?

You'll be at the office, right, this morning? asked Carlucci.

Yes, but what's this about?

Waller cleared his throat. I'll be quick. Governor Consodine is coming this way.

Nice, the next President, and on election day. He never rests. said Brogan.

He'll be at your office in about an hour, or less. He needs to be treated for a serious illness, and it must be kept quiet.

Say again?

It needs to be kept quiet for today, if word gets out it might change the outcome.

Brogan's mind raced. He couldn't think of anything unethical.

Six or seven tonight, you'll announce his illness. By that time most of the votes in the critical states will be in. We couldn't go to the hospital. You're politically active, it would make sense for the Governor to come to you, and there's no medical reason not to keep it quiet.

I suppose, said Brogan. For the moment he imagined his professional situation, his political inclinations and his sense of adventure coinciding. He had avoided the profession of architecture, his father's job, and agribusiness, his oldest uncle's occupation, in favor of medicine. Twelve years earlier he'd purchased a small medical clinic in this rural Ohio city. With hard work he'd managed it into a much larger operation with two assisting physicians and a dozen support personnel. It had not hurt when he early joined the local Republican organization. Loans from friendly bankers had come his way and approval for competing hospital expansions had been sidetracked for years. That justified growth in his clinic to fill the shortfall in community care. His mind quickly computed that the one hand of his medical practice was being called upon to wash the other hand of political necessity. I better get to the office.

One thing, said Rogerson. Be sure to not let anybody see the Governor, nobody except his handlers. Not even your assistants. And don't call the local or state Mounties.

If it will help the treatment.

Of course. But nothing must come out until at least seven tonight. It's essential.

Brogan nodded. I'll need to go.

The four of them milled around, and out the front door. The three visitors roared off in an SUV, and Brogan followed in his Audi toward his office. Brogan stopped at Krispy Kreme where he picked up two dozen mixed donuts: there would be good reason for treats today.

At the office he greeted his early morning staff and went about his usual morning chores, passing the donuts around. A little before seven Pam pushed open the private office door. Urgent call on one.

Brogan took the receiver. Brogan here.

This is Governor Consodine's car, he's ill, be there in ten minutes. The line went dead.

Brogan finished with notes from yesterday, and went into the brightly lighted driveway. He stood waiting, wondering what he would be doing in a little while, why the Governor, perhaps next President, didn't go to the hospital.

The lights flashed from the street. An SUV pulled to the wide doors that opened into the emergency examination room. Two men in dark suits popped out.

Brogan moved toward the van.

The man closest to Brogan spun and faced Brogan, his arms extended from his body. No, no, the man isn't well.

I'm Doctor Brogan.

A group clamored from the open side door of the vehicle, a man on each side supporting a limp figure in the middle. The three struggled across the few feet of pavement and into the examination room.

Secret Service, go into the office and we'll confirm your identity. The man did not approach Brogan, simply stood, feet and arms wide apart.

Another figure emerged from the SUV and darted into the examination room.

Please, it won't take a moment. We have our rules.

Brogan spun and walked swiftly back into the building. He confronted another man in a dark suit who blocked the door to the examination room. He heard a motor, the SUV probably moving into the parking lot. I'm Doctor Brogan, that man--- He pointed toward the examination room. I was told the Governor was coming, and if he's as ill as I'm told I need to get in there.

A face appeared from the cracked door of the examination room. He's right, Jerry, let him in.

Brogan strode to the door to the examination room, wondering how close he was to being a part of history. He entered the examination room, into the midst of dark suits, staring at the prostrate form before him, with a odors of feces and urine in the air.

CHAPTER TWO

The ringtone was on Angelina Herrera’s scrambled line. This was only the fourth time she had been contacted on it. The first time had been a test, on the day she was told she was being vetted for the Vice Presidential nomination. The second was when she was told of her selection. The third was to warn her that the New York Times was coming out with a hatchet job about her family, and urge her to prepare a pungent yet dignified response as soon as possible. Now, an hour before dawn on election day, she could only expect the call to mean something significant.

She activated the phone. Number Two, she said.

Bullfrog. Here's a late assignment. He needs you to leave in 45 minutes. You’ll be making personal appearances between here and Wheeling

She knew better than to quibble. I’ll be ready.

They’ll be at your door at 6:24. No knock. Open the door and we’ll be there. Time now is 5:39. I’m out. The line closed.

Herrera slid from under the covers and sprang to her feet. No time to lose. In fifteen hours she would be able to anticipate some rest, however the day’s election went. She was headed either back to South Florida and God knows what, probably a book deal of some sort, or to a term as Vice President, President of the Senate and occasional advisor to the new Chief Executive. She hauled her small valise always ready for instant travel out of the closet and to the door with her oversize purse and script book.

Forty-four minutes later she opened the room door.

Bob La Russa smiled at her. Angie, we’re to hit the road.

She padded after La Russa toward the elevators with her Secret Service people trailing behind.

La Russa was scanning a yellow legal pad. First stop, Lima, a rally, then Kenton to meet with Bill Larkin, a big contributor, at his factory, and to Marion, another rally. A one o’clock interview at a radio station and ‘impromptu’ rally, in Mansfield. Then on to Wooster. He scowled at the pad. No details, I’ll check with Mike en route. Then the TV station in Canton and a quick visit to the NFL Hall of Fame, a dozen members will be there to meet you, and some voters, we hope.

They were in the elevator. When did all this happen?

La Russa cleared his throat. The state GOP has a bug up its ass that the state is slipping away, late surveys over the weekend, and put this stuff together. Then off to Youngstown, more TV, and a chance to show your muscle, the local UAW folks will be there to challenge you, but there'll be a mob of our folks for support. You meet the boss at the airport for another rally, TV, and a flight back here for the polls closing.

The elevator door opened onto the lobby, very few people, most of them campaign staff and Secret Service.

Good thing I have my canned speeches ready.

Yes, said La Russa, leading the way through the front doors. But you need to be spontaneous and brief, most folks will see this as a sudden, last minute swing, unexpected. So a few simple comments will probably be the best.

They hustled into a white van that took off with a squeak and hurtled out of the driveway, with another trailing behind.

The Governor will be going? asked Herrera.

He’s covering the southern tier, through Columbus to Wheeling, a touchdown in West Virginia and meet you in Youngstown. He left at four AM. La Russa handed her a sheaf of papers. The litany for each stop, as far as we know it, you can wing the rest. There are some notes about football, you don’t follow it do you?

Not very much.

We know the names of most of the players who’ll be at the Hall of Fame, and somebody dug up something about them, quips are on page eight of your notes. Jerry Lester’s block of the field goal against the Raiders when he played for Kansas City is something he’s really proud of. It clinched the division. You have to mention that, he worked on rounding up the others..

As if I saw it.

Fake it.

She studied the notes for the first stop, then organized index cards with her reminders for what to say to the expected audience. At a little after eight the vans pulled into a parking lot next to a mall, crowded with cars and people, in what she assumed was Lima. In the fashion that she had become familiar with from a hundred other similar appearances she mingled with the crowd and climbed onto a wooden platform, spoke for three minutes about a couple of issues, pressed the flesh for a few minutes, remarked to a cluster of TV and radio station microphones that she was happy to be out early to meet so many good people, and worked her way back through the crowd to the van. By 8:30 they headed out of town on State Highway 309. She reviewed the information about William S. Larkin, and his small technology firm, and his contributions of almost a million dollars to Super PACs and candidates. They pulled into the parking lot behind the factory at 9:15, and for almost an hour milled about with the working folks and Larkin and his family.

You wouldn’t know he was a millionaire many times over, said the driver as the van headed east toward Marion. He mixes right in with the working stiffs.

The Marion event was stock flag waving and blasting the opposition for raising taxes, cut short when La Russa whispered in her ear that they were behind schedule for the radio interview in Mansfield. The vans took off and soon were passing a sign on Highway 288 recommending a visit to Blooming Grove, Birthplace of Warren Harding.

Sorry, we don’t have time to stop, muttered the driver. Can we have lunch?

Half stale sandwiches of varying pedigrees, chips and cans of soda were passed around while they hurtled along the highway.

Herrera reviewed the cheat sheet on the radio station and crew and the people who would appear outside the station when her interview ended. La Russa warned her against the moderator, ignorant, and liberal, but cunning in his methods.

She studied the gently rolling landscape and let her mind wander.

Her father left the record of the family’s departure from Cuba in an unpublished memoir composed shortly before his death, an organized array of anecdotes. The day after Christmas in 1958, Juan Herrera-Cardenas received a call, from someone he never identified, telling him that there was about to be a change in the Cuban government, and that it would be unfavorable for him and his family and clients. Over that weekend he and his wife packed up as much crucial material as possible, along with what money, precious metal and jewels they could round up, and dispatched it by plane to a cousin in Miami. On December 30, he, his wife, and their two young sons, Eduardo and Miguel, in humble attire and with very little luggage, departed Havana in a modest steamer. Their landing in Miami preceded by only a few hours news that a rag-tag band of ruffians led by Fidel Castro was approaching Havana, to become the island’s new masters.

The cargo from Herrera-Cardenas’ office represented documentary evidence of his clients’ financial and property interests in Cuba and elsewhere. As his clients arrived in Florida they found Herrera-Cardenas and the records waiting for them. His reward was the good will of his coterie of clients and commissions from future transactions.

The Herrera-Cardenas family settled into middle class South Florida respectability. He insisted on the Americanization of the name to simply Herrera. He quietly invested in real estate, Cuban restaurants and small local concerns. By his retirement from business he was accounted a moderately wealthy Cuban expatriate, whose non-business activities included support for semi-secret organizations dedicated to undermining the Castro gang, themselves getting long in the tooth. He was careful to thoroughly document the birth of another son, and a daughter, christened Angelina. She will amount to something, this one, he cried, holding the squealing, wriggling infant out to all within sight.

The youngest child's prospects were bright. She went through parochial grade and high schools with effortless ease. She did not date until third year of high school, perhaps a reflection of her being the object of teen age boys’ most feared five words: She has a great personality. Her nose was a little askew and oversize, her eyes were a bit too close together and she sported a touch of a lantern jaw, her overall appearance slightly salvaged by ears snug to the head. She was also what her mother charitably referred to as chunky, although not fat by any means.

At George Washington University, and thereafter, more than one tentative suitor’s overtures were rebuffed, their hopes dashed on the rocks of what she described as their insufficiently developed political and economic IQs. She spent many weekends visiting the Capital. She joked that she was probably the only George Washington student who had visited the Bureau of Engraving twice. On her graduation, cum laude, she showed no interest in either a career in Washington or pursuing a legal education. I want to be with the family, she said.

By the time the little caravan arrived at the back door of the station in Mansfield---to avoid a premature meeting with the gathering party faithful---Herrera had reviewed the usual hare-brained questions that she was used to fielding, parrying, mocking and even answering intelligently. Twenty minutes later she emerged from the building’s front door to an ocean of faces and shouts of Told him off, and the like. She gave two minutes of stock remarks, apologized for having to leave so soon and boarded the van that headed east on four lane US 30.

La Russa’s phone blared. Bullfrog here, he muttered into the gadget. He paused and frowned. When will you be able to reach him? After a short pause he said, Well let me know. Are we still on for the flight from Youngstown? A longer pause ended with him smirking. You don’t suppose it’s one of his old friends, do you? La Russa laughed. No, I don’t suppose he’d let that interfere with today. Okay, unless I hear from you, we’ll head for the airport, ETA about six. After a short pause he closed the phone. "The Chief is out of touch. He’s somewhere between