Noble Vision (36 page)

“These are my
real
friends,” Burrow once said, pointing to a wall of twenty monitors installed in his office. The electronic array glowed with television news broadcasts and public-opinion surveys. The first time Warren had seen the massive display, the governor had laughed at his surprise. “The media and the polls,” Burrow said reverently of his wall of videos, as leaders from another age might have uttered the words
truth and justice
.

Burrow employed a giant remote control to navigate the wall, muting the sound until his picture appeared on a particular screen, at which time he would engage the volume on it. On particularly stressful days, he was known to unleash the sound on all monitors simultaneously, creating a cacophony to rival a department store’s television showroom. “These screens are the secret to running the state,” the governor would say. Another menagerie of monitors existed in his bedroom. When the governor traveled, a team of technicians installed screens in his hotel rooms. He could not live without them.

Mack Burrow needed people, thought Warren, yet encounters with the state’s most powerful politician invariably ended in a soliloquy. At Burrow’s frequent dinner parties, he was always the center of attention. Warren, who held the seat beside the governor at the table, once declined an invitation in order to attend his grandson’s piano recital. At Burrow’s next dinner, Warren was relegated to a seat farthest from the governor. The secretary never declined an invitation from Burrow again.

If another person ventured to make conversation at the dinner table, it would invariably remind Burrow of a story that
he
liked to tell—of his ancestors, his childhood, his military service. He related to Warren how the first Burrow to reach America died fighting alongside George Washington in the Revolutionary War. Later Warren learned that the Burrow clan had not emigrated to America until a century after the War of Independence. Warren could understand, if not condone, the governor’s mendacity to gain political advantage. But why would Burrow lie when no practical result could be achieved?

“Political oratory is like storytelling,” Burrow once told Warren. “More important than truth is the response of the audience.” Burrow often omitted major sections of his prepared speeches to spend time shaking hands with the audience. “No idea is as powerful as a handshake,” he would say.

Burrow kept what he called his “stable of consultants,” the Ivy League professors who counseled him. Their presence provoked the cruder aspects of his nature—the swearing, the lewd jokes, and the biting nicknames that he coined for them, delivered in jest and expected to be taken as such. Professor Samuel Klink, who held the economics chair at a prestigious university, was called “Klunk.” Professor Tournkey was “Turkey.” Warren bristled at the thought of these academicians grinning obsequiously at Burrow’s nicknames. What did they need from him, and what did he want from them? Warren wondered.

Burrow read newspapers voraciously and devoured biographies of powerful men. Warren recalled the governor’s rage at reading a news story about a popular department store laying off fifty workers in a candy-making operation that it decided to farm out of state. “They call every day to check on the status of the permits they want for their new store,” Burrow pouted, “but when they fire fifty workers, you think they’d have the decency to let me know first!” Burrow looked personally offended, the way he did when someone declined his dinner invitation.

Warren glanced at his watch. Burrow’s secretary, catching his eye, gestured that he would be next. On her desk Warren saw the customary stack of presents kept within Burrow’s reach. In prior administrations, gift-giving had been relegated to a staff member. However, Burrow elevated this function to one rivaling the greeting of foreign dignitaries. The governor took a personal interest in giving gifts to the people he encountered. His favorite memento was a framed, autographed picture of himself. Such photos, like religious icons, decorated homes and offices throughout the state, where they seemed to beg for a candle to be lit before them.

Burrow also loved giving electric toothbrushes with his name inscribed on them. “Why toothbrushes?” Warren once had the temerity to ask. “I want people to think of me first thing in the morning and last thing at night,” Burrow replied. He would give a person the same gift repeatedly, each time expecting the receiver to display surprise and delight. Warren himself had received nine toothbrushes and a dozen photos.

The ritual of the gifts, Warren thought, went beyond mere generosity or even eccentricity to place people in a state of obligation and dependence. Was Warren himself in such a state? And was he, as David accused, placing millions of others in a state of dependence through the gifts bestowed by Carefree? A momentary fear gripped him, but he resisted its pull.
The idea is ridiculous
, he told himself.
No one but David would think so.
A shake of Warren’s great white hair dismissed the matter.

Warren disapproved of Burrow’s displays of power, ardently believing that
Governor Warren Lang
would rule better. He would be perfectly positioned to run for the state’s highest post after serving a term as lieutenant governor. But that would entail Burrow’s choosing him for a running mate. What price would Burrow demand for this greatest of gifts?

*
  
*
  
*
  
*
  
*

In the inner office beyond the closed mahogany door that Warren faced, the governor was having a meeting with his campaign manager, Casey Clark. The two watched a demonstration taking place outside the window. Several hundred victims of spinal cord injury held placards reading
Cure, Not Care
;
More Research on Nerve Repair
;
CareFree Must Cure Us.

“This could spell trouble,” said the governor, peering through the transparent curtain.

“The publicity could hurt us,” replied Clark, standing beside him. The double-breasted suit with padded shoulders that the tall, well-built young campaign manager wore gave him an almost military authority beyond his years.

“Since this David Lang thing began, my office has gotten calls from one hospital after another wanting us to approve a new scanner, a new pavilion, new beds, a remodeling,” the governor moaned, pacing nervously. “A heart surgeon called, asking to perform his experimental procedure. A cancer research group wants permission for its new treatment. And I received a petition from doctors trying to unionize.”

“This thing could blow up,” said Casey Clark, taking a seat on the arm of a sofa. “And the election is only thirteen weeks away.”

“Some of these groups don’t just want our funding for their pet causes,” said the governor. “They’re more brazen. They want to act outside of CareFree, collecting private fees from private patients, putting us back where we started! I thought this divisiveness was behind us. Now some hotshot reopens a can of worms that could harm CareFree!”

“And without CareFree, you have no big hook to reel in the voters in November, Governor.”

“And no platform for Washington in two years—or whenever I decide to make my bid.”

Because critics accused Burrow of seeking reelection in New York only as a springboard for the presidency in two years, the governor was promising to complete a full four-year term in Albany. His fervent ambitions for the next presidential race had to be kept secret, so inadvertent references to his running in two years were always amended.

“To compete on a national scale, Governor, you need a big new program to distinguish yourself,” said the authoritative Clark, who was seven years out of college. His impassioned support of Burrow in the latter’s first campaign for governor had landed the young devotee the job as campaign manager for the reelection.

“I
have
a program: CareFree National. We’re going nationwide with CareFree in two years—or whenever I run.”

“You’ll solve a problem that’s gripped the nation for decades. You’ll accomplish what other great presidents only dreamed of. Every time they tried to launch full-scale national health care, they got knocked down. You’ll be the one who succeeds. You’ll have the accomplishment of CareFree in New York to ride on. What a brilliant platform, Governor! That’s the ticket for our bid in two years—or whenever you decide to secure your rightful place in history.” An almost religious zeal flickered on Clark’s face.

“But the divisiveness has to stop. A dangerous anti-big-government sentiment gained ground with the kickback scandal. It could intensify with the case of Warren Lang’s son and rock the boat at the wrong time. What am I going to do, Case?” The loose skin on Burrow’s face was like wet concrete waiting to be shaped by a passing footprint.

“Let’s look at the opinion polls,” replied Clark.

Both men pulled chairs close to the oracle that they trusted to answer all questions: the wall. They sat before four rows of monitors that gave the quaint colonial office the look of an airport control tower.

“I had the opinion meters set up on screen sixteen,” Clark said, clicking buttons on the remote to produce the desired program.

Clark’s staff polled public opinion by playing videos of people in the news to a sampling of voters and measuring their reactions. The first video segment showed the lieutenant governor. The dial of the opinion meter, displayed below the speaker, swung into the red zone, indicating strong disapproval of the voters.

“That’s a no-brainer,” quipped the governor. “That’s why he’s history.”

The next video segment showed the secretary of medicine giving a speech. The dial swung into the green zone of the meter, indicating strong approval.

“Everybody likes Uncle Warren,” said Clark.

The governor nodded.

The next video segment showed the governor responding to a reporter’s question about David Lang’s surgery: “We support research as an initiative of CareFree. We have plans to fund medical research projects, which you’ll see unfolding in the weeks and months to come.”

“What plans?” interjected Clark.

“I don’t know,” said the governor, his eyes following the fickle little dial on the screen.

“Regarding David Lang’s unauthorized treatment,” the governor continued on the video, “we need to hear from all sides. There are dangers in listening only to one disgruntled doctor. Our first and foremost concern is with ensuring the patient’s safety.”

The dial settled in the middle of the meter, registering neither approval nor disapproval.

“They don’t know what to think,” said the governor.

Clark echoed his sentiment. “The people are sitting on the fence on this.”

In the next segment David Lang was talking to the press, his head high, his eyes guiltless and insolent: “It’s none of the governor’s business what I do in the OR. The only permission I need is from my patient.”

The dial swung into the green zone, indicating approval.

“The ingrates!” cried the governor. “After all I did for them, the people like the hotshot over me!”

“But
he
doesn’t know that, so let’s not tell him. Besides, there’s more.” Clark fast-forwarded the video. “We polled another test group on the same topic. Watch this.”

A loyal supporter of the governor was taped during a talk show: “David Lang has a history of fines, citations, and warnings from CareFree. His new treatment is unproven. Should he be allowed to disregard the proper channels and the body of medical opinion to do as he pleases?” said the attractive female.

The dial swayed into the green zone, indicating the voters’ approval of this speaker’s statement against David Lang.

“That’s better,” the governor said, sighing. “What’s your take on this, Case?”

“The public is swaying like driftwood, not anchored to any viewpoint,” said Clark, turning off the monitor. “You must pull them to your side.”

Burrow nodded. “But with the kickback scandal, the public’s trust for politicians is at a low. If
I
slam the hotshot, the people will look at me with raised eyebrows.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “There’s only one man who can stop him and have everyone accept it.”

The governor walked to his desk and signaled his secretary to admit the next visitor.

“Leave this to me,” Burrow added, winking at Clark.

The brass knob twisted and the mahogany door opened to admit Warren Lang.

As Clark left, the governor sat behind the desk with an air of renewed confidence, gesturing for Warren to sit before him.

“So what have you done, Warren?”

“About what, Mack?”

Burrow smiled wryly. “What topic do you suppose we’re here to discuss?”

“What about it?”

Burrow’s smile vanished. “Because you so grandly talk about not letting disloyal doctors break the rules, what are you doing to walk your talk and put a lid on your son?”

“He’ll have a hearing. He’s entitled to one.”

“And in the meantime, he’s suspended, right?”

“Well, yes, but I thought I might lift that.” His tone was tentative, as if testing the waters. “Only provisionally, of course, while the case is pending—”

“Are you crazy? If you even consider sending him back to work, I’ll have the Board of Medical Examiners pull his license. Because you have no control over the board, you’ll be powerless to stop that. You have some nerve defending him! What about all the doctors you punish for lesser crimes? The press would
cremate
you if you dared lift the suspension.”