Primary Colors (46 page)

I looked in the mirror and saw--the butler. I was, Susan had said, practically a member of the family, which was the most banal compliment one can pay a menial. (Then again, she hadn't said practically. Sh
e h
adn't qualified it at all.) And then, as I built up a doleful, self-pitying head of steam, I realized there was another, rather delicious, complicating factor here: Luther wasn't right, either. He had assumed my servility was a slavery atavism, a consequence of self-hatred, the absence of pride--a black thing. He had half convinced me of that. But all the qualities that made me good at what I did had come from the other side, from Mother: the calm and patience and acceptance, and the loyalty. Those were her things. The Burton blood--the Rev's and Father's--was too proud and angry to put up with walking half a step behind any candidate, perfect staff position, ready to serve: my most comfortable place in life. I laughed out loud. It was just too hilarious. I was a genius at servitude because I was half white.

Actually, David Adler did do a very good thing. He got us Geraldowithout Geraldo. (Actually, Geraldo did a very good thing by agreeing to the format.) Freddy Picker immediately accepted without conditions. It would be the one debate of the New York primary. And, of course, it became an impossibly silly media circus. There were more than 250 requests for credentials; CNN had more people there than either campaign did. "Who's doing spin for us?" Laurene asked. "No one, so far as I know," I said.

"Well, CNN wants someone for after the show"

"You do it," I said. "But I'll tell you what: no bullshit. When they ask how we think we did, either speak for yourself and tell the truth or tell them we'll let the debate speak for itself. In fact, I'd kind of prefer the latter."

"Are you speaking for David Adler?"

"Probably not," I said. "But I have a revised contract with the campaign: I only do what I can live with."

"So maybe I should ask him," she said.

"Suit yourself."

"C'mon, Henry, get the fuck off it," Laurene said. "I'm just a working girl. This ain't an adventure, it's a job."

"I'm telling you, as deputy campaign manager, I think we should let the debate speak for itself. I'll take the fall for this, if there's a fall to be taken."

As it happened, the Pickerites came with even fewer staff people than we did. A crisp-looking young blonde named Maura Donahue approached me in the hallway outside the studio and introduced herself. "How you guys handling CNN?" she asked.

"We're not," I said. "I instructed our press secretary to say the debate spoke for itself. 'Course David Adler works his own side of the street. He could declare war on Syria."

She laughed. "But you're not going on? None of the regulars?" I nodded. "Good," she said. "That's what we've been doing."

"I've noticed," I said. "We're learning from you. Who's we, by the way? Show me your army."

"There's me and that's Terry Fisk over there," she said, pointing to a stocky black guy carrying a sheaf of papers. "He does schedule. I do all else. We also got the two Picker boys along-serious studs, and I mean serious."

"And you get away with that?"

"No, we're a mess," she said. "But the candidate won't let it be a zoo. He's zoo-ophobic, or something. He's big into the calm thing. No entourage, no traveling press."

"No press?"

"We just tell them where we're gonna be-y'know, put the schedule out on AP-and let them find their own way."

"Where did you come from? Harris?"

"Yeah-Terry, too. But not very prominently. The governor told all the consultant types to go home. He kept the issues shop, interviewed some of the smurfs . . . and here we are."

And there we were. Freddy Picker came out of a doorway, nodded at me-I was, probably, someone vaguely recognizable to him-and headed down toward the studio. He was not a small man, but he seemed less substantial, stooped-and sort of dour-compared with Stanton. He seemed a little lost, too-out of place in the forced cheeriness of the Gerald() set. He was quiet; he wasn't a blabber. He and Stanton sat, just the two of them, at a small round table in front of a live audience. They each had coffee mugs-Stanton drank Diet Coke; Picker, iced tea. Geraldo was supposed to open the show, ask the first question, and then it would be all theirs. No ground rules. I sat in the control room with Susan and the two Picker boys. The
y w
ere tall, handsome, Hispanic and polite; they shook hands and didn't attempt any small talk; they sat down at the other end of the row of seats behind the director and his staff.

"Well, 0-Kay," Geraldo said, when the bright lights came on. "You gentlemen know the rules. No chair-tossing, no claw holds, three falls and I come in to stop the bout." Stanton smiled and nodded; Picker simply nodded. Stanton seemed more comfortable, more presidential, sitting there. "And I will now ask the first question--to you, Governor Stanton. We have heard reports this week that you may be the father of a child by a teenage girl in your hometown of Mammoth Falls. You have denied this, but the girl and her family have disappeared. What on earth is going on?"

"Well, Geraldo, first let me thank you for making this forum possible--and I do hope we eventually get around to discussing matters of substance. But I will answer your question. The family involved are good people, friends of mine. I spoke with the father just before he took them to their undisclosed location, to see if there was anything I could do to help. He apologized to me for causing so much trouble. He said he was taking his family away because of all the craziness. His daughter couldn't get any peace, he couldn't even operate his business. He said he wanted to wait till it all simmered down. And I'd make this plea: when these good people do return home, and start their lives again, I'd hope the media would give them some peace. Governor Picker has spoken eloquently to this point. We do need to all calm down. We've got important public business to deal with and unless, Fred, you've got something to add," he said, nodding toward Picker, who nodded back, no, "I'd like to move on and ask you a question. I know you supported Senator Harris and that you've come up with a modified version of his Virgin Uses fee--"

"Not Virgin Uses, but some sort of--" Picker said.

"Whatever," Stanton replied. "Have you given much thought to how that's going to affect the working people of America, even if you do a small energy tax of some sort--how do we work it so they don't get whomped?"

"I haven't worked out the details," Picker said. "You know, you negotiate most of this stuff out with the Congress."

"Right, and it's absolutely appropriate that you remind the folks that the sort of things we propose in these campaigns are best-case scenarios, and always subject to negotiation," Stanton said. "In fact, there are times when our own ideas are subject to change during a campaign." There was laughter. The director cut away to Geraldo, standing off to the side, chuckling. But this was now Jack Stanton's show: "Let me give you an example. Early on, I proposed a middle-class tax cut. Senator Harris disagreed with that. And, looking back, I think he was probably right. I've been thinking about this--and Governor Picker, I'd like to get your feeling about it--but maybe we should do something more targeted. Say we do a combination of your idea and mine. We do an energy tax of some sort and give a rebate to average folks, say incomes of fifty thousand dollars or less, maybe an increased tax deduction for each member of their family."

Picker thought for a moment. The politic thing would have been to ignore the proposal or brush it aside, find some way to take control of the show. But Picker said, "I would think you'd have to consider something like that, although--as I. said--I'm not too sure about the details. Wouldn't you be favoring the folks who had more children?"

"Yeah, I guess," Stanton said, amazed that Picker had just, in effect, bought his proposal. "We could have a deductions-per-family cutoff if you like."

"But can you bottom-line that?" Picker asked. "What would the net revenue gain be? We do need to reduce the deficit."

This was truly bizarre. Picker was ignoring the audience, and having a policy discussion with Jack Stanton. He didn't seem to care about the politics or television of it at all. Stanton was thrilled to go along; he was, in fact, ecstatic. "You're right--we do need to reduce the deficit--but when we bring it down, we can't take it out of average folks' hides," he said. "There are ways we can spend money more efficiently, ways we can spend less. But I think, ultimately, if you want to reduce the deficit, we're gonna have to raise taxes on the rich--are you with me on that one?"

"Depends on how you define rich," Picker said. "But yeah." "Larry--ahh, Senator Harris--wanted to cut capital gains," Stanton said. "You for that too?"

And so it went. Eventually, Geraldo--amazed that his hot ticket had turned into a meeting of the Senate Finance Committee--jumped in and said, "Hey, guys, you mind if we get some questions from the audience?"

A middle-aged woman stood and said, "I'm a teacher. We're on the front lines every day. Governor Picker, what would you do to help us do our job?"

"Well, education is very important," Picker said. "It's the most important thing. The federal government helps with student loans, and with extra money for poorer districts--and we should continue that but, I guess--Jack, education's mostly a state and local thing, isn't it?" "Yeah, it is. But the president has the bully pulpit," Stanton said. He seemed much more sure of himself than Picker. "He can go around the country and show what works. We can also--Fred, you forgot to mention--boost funds for Head Start." Picker nodded. "But ultimately, ma'am," Stanton continued, "I've got to say that you're right--you are on the front lines every day. I think an inspired teacher is more important than anything any ol' politician or bureaucrat can do." And Jack Stanton looked into the camera, raised an eyebrow and--quickly--winked at Susan. She inhaled sharply and grabbed hold of my wrist. "And so I think we should keep experimenting with programs that liberate teachers to be as creative as they want to be."

"Jack's absolutely right about that," Picker now jumped in, enthused. "I sent my boys to a magnet school--I was willing to put them on a bus, send them into Tallahassee. We live on a farm, just outside of town. I did that because they had a special math program for my older boy and a string program for my younger son, who's a pretty damn fine fiddler. Oh . . . uh, Felipe doesn't like it when I say that: he plays the viola. But you're right, ack, about education. You walk into a school that works, and you can feel it immediately. If we could only get the people--the teachers and the parents, especially--more excited and involved in the schools . . ."

"Trouble is, it's tough for the families where both mom and dad work," Stanton said. They were just chatting now "They don't have time for PTA and all the rest, like some of us do." Stanton stopped
,
and in a tone of voice that mocked himself, mocked all politicians, "That's why I favor the family tax credit."

"Okay, okay," Picker said, laughing.

"More questions?" Geraldo asked.

There were questions about Social Security, foreign aid, taxes again; and no great disagreements. Finally, an elderly black gentleman slowly pulled himself to his feet. "I think a lot of us are sick of all the bullshit in politics," he said. There were 000hs and cheers. "And while I can't follow all of what you fellahs are talkin"bout, I been sitting here listenin' to you, and it sure sounds a lot different from the usual. Even I can see you ain't trying to rip each other apart. Maybe you're even tryin' to work things out a little." He paused.

"Excuse me, sir, but do you have a question?" Geraldo asked. "Yeah, I guess it's this," the old man said. "Any way we can get you both?"

Susan, tears streaming, was out of the control room like a shot when it was over. I was right behind her. The audience had come down to the table; Stanton, Picker and Geraldo were shaking hands with the folks. Susan and I stood off to the side, in the doorway. David Adler suddenly appeared, looking for congratulations. "Thanks, David," Susan said. "Really."

"He dominated," Adler said.

Finally, ack and Picker began moving toward the hallway, Geraldo tagging along. Stanton thanked the host and said, "Geraldo, you think Freddy and I could have a moment?"

"Sure," he said. "You want a room?"

"No, here's fine." He leaned down into Picker, draped an arm over his shoulder. "Freddy, I just want you to know how much I admire the way you're running this campaign. It's good for the parry, it's good for the country. And I 'spect it'll pay off for you. And thanks for giving me a chance to regain a little of what I lost."

"No problem. And thank you, too, Jack." Picker put an arm around Stanton's back. "You sure do know every little nook and cranny of this policy stuff. I'm gonna have to study up. Uhh, Jack?"

"What?"

"Nothing," Picker said. "Thanks."

"I remember days like this one-vaguely, but I remember," Stanton said in the van heading downtown. "When was it? When did this used to be fun, Henry?"

"New Hampshire," I said. "Last year. But this was good. You think it'll have any impact?"

"Nawww," Stanton said. "No one was watching. And no one cares. I mean, who gives a rat's ass that I knew more about the fucking budget than he does? Hell, 'f I didn't know me, I'd probably vote for him. But it's weird. It's like he's been transformed-different guy from when he was governor. I never saw anything like it. It's like he's not, like he never was, a politician. He doesn't have the instincts anymore, the little things we do to cut in on each other. You saw that, right? He isn't playing the game at all, not in any way. It's absolutely strange." Stanton laughed, and then seemed to have a thought: "Henry, you know what? He's not going to be able to sustain it. It's a great concept, but it's too radical. The stuff we do, the craft of it, has developed very slowly and logically over time. You ever think about the fact that the riffs we do started with George Washington? Andrew Jackson massaged it some, and Lincoln-and then Boss Murphy here in New York, and FDR, Bilbo and George Wallace in the South. All of them, the giants and the shitheels, have massaged it, moved it, pushed it ahead." He stared out the window at the vibrant chaos of New York. "And Freddy's doing that, too. He's moving it in a way that's probably appropriate for these fucked-up times. The game got too ornate and bullshitt-y. That's for sure. And he's a corrective. But you don't wrench the art of politics away from its roots so drastically without paying some sort of price. All the bullshit we do is there for a reason. Fuck with it too much and it'll come back and bite your ass."