Sons of Fortune (9 page)

“But
my mother doesn’t,” said Fletcher.

“Why
not?” asked Jimmy.

“She
thinks I should spend my final year concentrating on getting a place at Yale.”

“But
if you become student president, it will only assist your application. It’s me
who’s going to find it a struggle.”

“I’m
sure your father has several markers to call in,” said Fletcher with a grin.

“What
does Annie think?” asked Jimmy, ignoring the comment.

“She’s
happy to go along with whatever I decide.”

“Then
perhaps I should be the deciding factor.”

“What
do you have in mind?”

“If
you hope to win, you’ll have to appoint me as your campaign manager.”

“That
should certainly lengthen the odds,” said Fletcher. Jimmy picked up a cushion
from the sofa and threw it at his friend. “In fact, if you really want to
guarantee my victory,” added Fletcher as he caught it, “you should volunteer
your services as campaign manager for my closest rival.”

Their
sparring was interrupted when Jimmy’s father walked into the room. “Fletcher,
could you spare me a moment?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Perhaps
we could have a chat in my study.”

Fletcher
quickly rose and followed the senator out of the room. He looked back at Jimmy,
but his friend just shrugged his shoulders. He wondered if he had done
something wrong.

“Have
a seat,” said Harry Gates as he took his place behind the desk. He paused
before he added, “Fletcher, I need a favor.”

“Anything, sir.
I’ll
never be able to repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

“You’ve
more than honored our agreement,” said the senator. “For the past three years,
Jimmy has somehow kept his place in the top stream, and he wouldn’t have had a
prayer without your continued vigilance.”

“That’s
kind of you to say so, but
..”

“It’s
no more than the truth, but all I want for the boy now is to see that he has a
fair shot at getting into Yale.”

“But
how can I help when I’m not even certain of a place myself?”

The
senator ignored the comment.
“Pork barrel politics, my boy.”

“I’m
not sure I understand, sir.”

“If
you become student government president, as I’m confident you will
,
the first thing you’ll have to do is appoint a
vice-president.” Fletcher nodded.

“And
that could just tip the balance for Jimmy when the admissions office at Yale
decides who gets those last few places.”

“And
it’s just tipped the balance for me, sir.”

“Thank
you, Fletcher, I appreciate that, but please don’t let Jimmy know that we’ve
had this conversation.”

As
soon as he woke the following morning, Fletcher went next door and sat on the
end of Jimmy’s bed. “This had better be good,” said Jimmy, “because I was
dreaming about Daisy Hollingsworth.”

“Dream
on,” said Fletcher, “half the football
team are
in
love with her.”

“So
why did you wake me?”

“I’ve
decided to run for president, and I don’t need a campaign manager who lies in
bed all morning.”

“Was
it something my father said?”

“Indirectly.”
He
paused. “So who do you think will be my main rival?”

“Steve
Rodgers,” said Jimmy without hesitation.

“Why Steve?”

“He’s
a three-letter man, so they’ll try to run him as the popular jock up against
the austere academic. You know, Kennedy against Stevenson.”

“I
had no idea you knew what the word austere meant.”

“No
more jokes, Fletcher,” said Jimmy as he rolled
off
the
bed. “If you’re going to beat Rodgers, you’ll have to be prepared for anything
and everything they throw at you. I think we ought to begin by having a
breakfast meeting with Dad; he always has breakfast meetings before he starts a
campaign.”

“I
lost my first campaign,” said Senator Gates, when he heard Fletcher’s news, “so
let’s be sure that you don’t make the same mistakes. For a start, who’s your
campaign manager?”

“Jimmy, of course.”

“Never
“of course”; only select someone who you are convinced can do the job, even if
you’re not close friends.”

“I’m
convinced he can do the job,” said Fletcher.

“Good.
Now, Jimmy, you will be of no value to the candidate”- it was the first time
Fletcher thought of himself as the candidate- “unless you’re always open and
frank with Fletcher, however unpleasant it might be.”

Jimmy
nodded. “Who’s your main rival?”

“Steve
Rodgers.”

“What
do we know about him?”

“A
nice enough guy, but not a lot between his ears,” said Jimmy.

“Except
a good-looking face,” said Fletcher.

“And
several touchdowns last season, if I remember correctly,” added the senator.
“So now we know who the enemy is, let’s start working on our friends. First,
you must pick an inner circle-six, eight at most. They only need two qualities,
energy and loyalty- if they’ve got brains as well, that’s a bonus. How long is
the campaign?”

“Just over a week.
School reassembles at nine o’clock on Mon-61 day, and the vote takes place on
the Tuesday morning of the following week.”

“Don’t
think week,” said the senator, “think hours, 192 of them, because every hour
will count.”

Jimmy
began making notes.

“So
who’s allowed to vote?” was the senator’s next question.

“Every student.”

“Then
make sure you spend as much time with the boys in the lower grades as with your
contemporaries.

They’ll
be flattered that you’re taking so much interest in them. And, Jimmy, get your
hands on an up-to-date list of the voters, so that you can be certain to make
contact with every one of them before
election day
.
And don’t forget, new boys will vote for the last person who speaks to them.”

“There
are 380 students,” said Jimmy, unfolding a large sheet of paper on the floor,
“I’ve marked the ones we already know in red, everyone I feel confident will
support Fletcher in blue, new boys in yellow and left the rest blank.”

“And
if you’re in any doubt,” said the senator, “leave them blank, and don’t forget
younger brothers.”

“Younger
brothers?” said Fletcher.

“I’ve
marked them in green,” said Jimmy. “Every one of our supporters who has a brother
in a lower grade will be appointed a rep. Their only job will be signing up
support in their class and reporting back to their brothers.”

Fletcher
looked on with admiration. “I’m not sure it shouldn’t be you who’s running for
president,” he said. “You’re a natural.”

“No,
I’m a natural campaign manager,” said Jimmy, “it’s you who should be
president.”

Although
the senator agreed with his son’s assessment, he didn’t offer an opinion.

“How
do you think
it’s
going?” asked Fletcher as they
walked around the lake.

“Can’t
be sure,” Jimmy replied. “A lot of the upper-
mids
are
telling both camps that they’ll be supporting their candidate, sim-62

ply
because they
want to be seen backing the winner.

Just
be thankful that the vote isn’t on Saturday evening,” Jimmy added.

“Why?”
asked Fletcher.

“Because
we play Kent on Saturday afternoon, and if Steve Rodgers scores the winning
touchdown, we could kiss goodbye to any chance of you becoming president. It’s
just a pity it’s a home game.

If
you’d been born a year earlier or a year later, it would have been an away
match, and the impact would have been negligible. But as it is, every voter
will be in the stadium watching the encounter, so pray we lose, or at least
that Rodgers has a bad game.”

By
two o’clock on Saturday, Fletcher was seated in the stand, prepared for four
quarters that would make up the longest hour of his life. But even he couldn’t
have predicted the outcome.

“I’m
not sure how it will affect the vote,” said Jimmy, as the two of them ran
toward the exit to join up with the rest of the team. “At least Steve Rodgers
can’t shake hands with everyone as they leave the stadium.”

“I
wonder how long he’ll be in the hospital.” Fletcher said.

“Three
days is all we need,” said Jimmy.

Fletcher
laughed.

Fletcher
was delighted to find that his
team were
already well
spread out by the time he joined them, and several boys came up to say they
would be supporting him, although it still felt close. He never moved beyond
the main exit as he continued to shake hands with any boy over the age of
fourteen and under the age of eighteen, including, he suspected, a few
supporters from the visiting team. Fletcher and Jimmy didn’t leave until they
were sure the stadium was empty of everyone except the
groundsmen
.

As
they walked back to their rooms, Jimmy admitted that no one could have
predicted a tie, or that Rodgers would have been on his way to the local
hospital before the end of the first quarter. “If the vote was tonight he’d win
on sympathy. If no one sees him again before Tuesday at nine o’clock, you’ll be
the president.”

“Doesn’t
ability to do the job come into the equation?”

“Of
course not, you fool,” said Jimmy. “This is politics.”

Fletcher
was invited to read the lesson in chapel that Sunday morning making it
abundantly clear who the principal would have voted for. During lunch, he and
Jimmy visited every dorm, to ask the boys how they felt about the food. “A sure
vote winner,” the senator had assured them, “even if you can’t do anything
about it.” That evening, they climbed into bed exhausted. Jimmy set the alarm
for five thirty.

Fletcher
groaned.

“A
master stroke,” said Jimmy as they stood outside assembly the following morning
waiting for the boys to go off to their classrooms.

“Brilliant,”
admitted Fletcher.

“I’m
afraid so,” said Jimmy. “Not that I can complain, because I would have
recommended that you do exactly the same thing, given the circumstances.”

The
two of them stared across at Steve Rodgers, who was standing on crutches by the
exit to the hall allowing the boys to sign their autographs on his plastered
leg.

“A
master stroke,” repeated Jimmy. “It brings a new meaning to the sympathy vote.
Perhaps we should ask the question, do you want a cripple for president?”

“One
of the greatest Presidents in the history of this country was a cripple.”
Fletcher reminded his campaign manager.

“Then
there’s only one thing for it,” said Jimmy, “you’ll have to spend the next
twenty-four hours in a wheelchair.”

Although
everyone knew the result wouldn’t be announced until nine o’clock, the assembly
hall was packed long before the principal made his entrance.

Fletcher
sat in the back row, with his head bowed, while Jimmy stared directly in front
of him.

“I
should have got up earlier every morning” said Fletcher.

“I
should have broken your leg,” Jimmy responded.

The
principal, accompanied by the chaplain, marched down the aisle as if to show
God was somehow involved in who became president of student government at
Hotchkiss. The principal Walked to the front of the stage and cleared his
throat.

“The
result of the election for student government president,” said Mr.
Fleming,
“is Fletcher Davenport 207 votes, Steve Rodgers 173
votes. I therefore declare Fletcher Davenport to be the new president.”

Fletcher
immediately walked across and shook hands with Steve, who smiled warmly,
looking almost relieved. Fletcher turned around to see Harry Gates standing by
the door. The senator bowed respectfully to the new president.

“You
never forget your first election victory,” was all he said.

They
both ignored Jimmy, who was leaping up and down, unable to contain himself.

“I
believe you know my vice-president, sir,” Fletcher replied.

“Will
anyone bother to stand against you?” asked Diane Coulter.

“No
one I can’t beat.”

“What
about Nat Cartwright?”

“Not
while it’s known that he’s the principal’s favorite, and if elected will simply
carry out his wishes; at least that’s what my supporters are telling everyone.”

“And
don’t let’s forget the way he treated my sister.”

“I
thought it was you who dumped him? I didn’t even realize he knew your sister.”