Harry
sat back in his chair. “Next question,” he said.
“In
your CV, Mr. Davenport, which I must say was most
impressive,
you claim you resigned from Alexander
Dupont
and Bell
in order to run in this election.”
“That
is correct,” said Fletcher.
“Did
a colleague of yours, a Mr. Logan Fitzgerald, also resign around that time?”
“Yes,
he did.”
“Is
there any connection between his resignation and yours?”
“None
whatsoever,” said Fletcher firmly.
“What
are you getting at?” asked Harry.
“Just
a call from our New York office which they asked me to follow up,” replied the
journalist.
“Anonymous,
no doubt,” said Harry.
“I’m
not at liberty to reveal my sources,” the journalist replied, trying hard not
to smirk.
“Just
in case your New York office didn’t tell you who that informant was, I’ll let
you know his name just as soon as this press conference is over,” snapped
Fletcher.
“Well,
I think that just about wraps it up,” said Harry, before anyone could ask a
supplementary question.
“Thank
you all for joining us. You’ll get a regular shot at the candidate in his
weekly campaign
press conferences-which is
more than I
ever gave you.”
“That
was awful,” said Fletcher as they walked off the stage. “I must learn to
control my temper.”
“You
did just fine, my boy,” said Harry, “and by the time I’ve finished with the
bastards, the only thing they will remember about this morning was your answer
on the Kendrick Amendment to the finance bill. And frankly, the
press are
the least of our problems.”
Harry
paused ominously. “The real battle will begin when we discover who the
Republican candidate is.”
“
what
do you know about her?” asked Fletcher as they walked
down the street together.
There
wasn’t a lot Harry didn’t know about Barbara Hunter, as she had been his
opponent for the past two elections, and a perpetual thorn in his flesh during
the intervening years.
“She’s
forty-eight, born in Hartford, daughter of a farmer, educated in the local
school system, and then at the University of Connecticut, married to a successful
advertising executive, with three children, all living in the state, and she’s
currently a member of the State Congress.”
“Any
bad news?” asked Fletcher.
“Yes,
she doesn’t drink and is a vegetarian, so you’ll be visiting every bar and
butcher in the constituency. And like anyone who has spent a lifetime in local
politics, she’s made her fair share of enemies on the way, and as she barely
won the Republican nomination this time around, you can be sure that several
party activists didn’t want her in the first place. But more important, she
lost the last two elections, so we paint her as a loser.”
Harry
and Fletcher entered the Democratic headquarters on Park Street to find the
front window covered in posters and photos of the candidate, something Fletcher
still hadn’t become used to.
The Right Man for the Job.
He
hadn’t thought a lot of the slogan until the media experts explained that it
was good to have the words “right” and “man” in the message when your opponent
was a Republican woman. Subliminal, they had explained.
Harry
walked up the stairs to the conference room on the first floor, and took his
seat at the head of the table.
Fletcher
yawned as he sat down, although they had only been campaigning for seven days;
and there were still twenty-six to go. The mistakes you make today are history
tomorrow morning, your triumphs forgotten by the early evening news. Pace
yourself
, was one of Harry’s most repeated maxims.
Fletcher
looked around at the assembled group, a combination of pros and seasoned amateurs,
with Harry no longer their candidate, but instead pressed into being campaign
chairman. It was the only concession Martha had allowed, but she had told
Fletcher to send him home the moment he showed the slightest sign of fatigue.
As each day passed, it became harder to keep to Martha’s instructions, as it
was Harry who always set the pace.
“Anything new or devastating?”
Harry asked as he looked around the team, one or two of whom had played a role
in all seven of his election victories. In the last encounter, he’d beaten
Barbara Hunter by over five thousand votes, but with the polls now running neck
and neck, they were about to find out just how much of that vote had been
personal.
“Yes,”
said a voice from the other end of the table.
Harry
smiled down at Dan Mason, who had been with him for six of his seven campaigns.
Dan had started by working the copier, and was now in charge of press and
public relations.
“The
floor’s all yours, Dan.”
“Barbara
Hunter has just issued a press release challenging Fletcher to a debate.
Presumably
I tell her to get lost, and add that it’s a sign of someone who is desperate
and knows they are going to lose. That’s what you always did.”
Harry
was silent for a moment. “You’re right, Dan, I did,” he eventually said, “but only
because I was the incumbent and treated her as an upstart. In any case, I had
nothing to gain from a debate, but that situation has changed now that we’re
fielding an unknown candidate, so I think we need to discuss the idea more
fully before we come to any conclusion. What are the advantages and
disadvantages?
Opinions?”
he said. Voices all started speaking at once.
“Gives our man more exposure.”
II
I
“Gives her the center stage.”
“Proves we have the outstanding debater, which
because of his youth will come as a surprise.”
“She
knows the local problems-we could look inexperienced and ill-informed.”
“We
look young, dynamic, and energetic.”
“She
looks experienced, canny and seasoned.”
“We
represent the youth of tomorrow.”
“She
represents the women of today.”
“Fletcher
could wipe the floor with her.”
“She
wins the debate, and we lose the election.”
“Well,
now we’ve heard the committee’s views, perhaps it’s time to consider the
candidate’s,” said Harry.
“I’m
quite happy to debate with Mrs. Hunter,” said Fletcher. “People will assume
she’s more impressive simply because of her past record and my lack of
experience, so I must try and turn that to our advantage.”
“But
if she outshines you on local issues, and makes it look as if you’re just not
ready to do the job,” said Dan, “then the election will be over in one evening.
Don’t think of it as a thousand people in a hall. Try to remember that the
whole event would be covered by local radio and television, and is certain to
be plastered over the front page of the Hartford Courant the following
morning.”
“But
that could work to our advantage as well,” said Harry.
“I
agree,” said Dan, “but
it’s
one hell of a risk to
take.”
“How
long have I got to think about it?” asked
Fletcher.
“Five
minutes,” said Harry, “perhaps ten, because if she’s issued a press statement,
they’ll want to know our immediate response.”
“Can’t
we say we need a little time to think about it?”
“Certainly not,” said Harry, “that would look as if
we’re debating the debate, and in the end you’d have to give in, so she then
wins both ways.
We either turn it down firmly,
or accept it with enthusiasm. Perhaps we should take a vote on it,” he added,
looking around the table.
“Those in favor?”
Eleven
hands shot up.
“Against?”
Fourteen hands were raised.
“Well, that’s the end of that.”
“No,
it isn’t,” said Fletcher. Everyone seated around the table stopped talking and
looked at the candidate. “I am grateful for your opinions, but I do not intend
to spend my political career being run by a committee, especially when the vote
is that close. Dan, you will issue a statement saying I’m delighted to accept
Mrs. Hunter’s challenge, and look forward to debating the real issues with her,
rather than the political posturing that the Republicans seem to have
specialized in from the start of this campaign.” There was a moment’s silence,
before the room broke into spontaneous applause.
Harry
smiled.
“Those in favor of a debate?”
Every
hand shot up.
“Those against?”
None.
“I declare the motion carried unanimously.”
“Why
did we have a second vote?” Fletcher asked Harry as they left the room.
“So
that we can tell the press that the decision was unanimous.”
Fletcher
smiled as they headed toward the station.
Another
lesson learned.
A
team of twelve canvassed the station every morning, most of them handing out
leaflets, while the candidate shook hands with the early commuters leaving the
city. Harry had told him to concentrate on those going into the station,
because they almost certainly lived in Hartford, whereas those coming off the
trains probably didn’t have a vote in the constituency.
“Hi,
I’m Fletcher Davenport
..”
At
eight thirty they crossed the road to Ma’s and grabbed an egg and bacon
sandwich. Once Ma had given her opinion on how the election was going, they
headed off for the city’s insurance district to shake hands with “the suits” as
they arrived at their offices. In the car, Fletcher put on a Yale tie, which he
knew many of the executives would identify with.
“Hi,
I’m Fletcher Davenport
..”
At
nine thirty, they returned to campaign HQ for the early morning press
conference. Barbara Hunter had already held hers an hour earlier, so Fletcher
knew that there would only be one subject on the agenda that morning. On the
way back, he replaced the Yale tie with something more neutral as he listened
to the headlines on the morning news update, to make sure he couldn’t be
surprised by a piece of breaking news. War had broken out in the Middle East.
He would leave that to President Ford, because it wasn’t going to end up on the
front page of the Hartford Courant.
“Hi,
I’m Fletcher Davenport...”
When
Harry opened the morning press conference, he told the assembled journalists
even before they could ask the question that it had been a unanimous decision
to take on Mrs. Hunter head to head. Harry never referred to her as Barbara.
When questioned about the debate-venue, time, format-Harry said this was yet to
be decided, as they had only received the challenge earlier that morning, but
he added, “I don’t foresee any problems.” Harry knew only too well that the
debate would throw up nothing but problems.
Fletcher
was surprised by Harry’s reply when asked what he thought of the candidate’s
chances. He had expected the senator to talk about his debating skills, his
legal experience and his political acumen, but instead Harry said, “Well of
course, Mrs. Hunter starts off with a built-in advantage. We all know that
she’s a seasoned debater, with a great deal of experience on local issues, but
I consider it typical of Fletcher’s honest, open approach to this election that
he’s agreed to take her on.”
“Doesn’t
that make it a tremendous risk, Senator?” asked another journalist.
“Sure
does,” admitted Harry, “but as the candidate has pointed out, if he wasn’t man
enough to face Mrs. Hunter, how could the public expect him to take on the
bigger challenge of representing them?” Fletcher couldn’t remember saying
anything like that, although he didn’t disagree with the sentiment.
Once
the press conference was over, and the last journalist had departed, Fletcher
said, “I thought you told me Barbara Hunter was a poor debater, and took
forever answering questions?”
“Yep,
that’s exactly what I said,” admitted Harry.
“Then
why did you tell the journalists that...”
“It’s
all about expectations, my boy. Now they think you’re not up to it,” Harry
replied, “and that she’ll wipe the floor with you, so even if you only manage a
draw they’ll declare you the winner.”
“Hi,
I’m Fletcher Davenport...” kept repeating itself over and over like some hit
song he just couldn’t get out of his mind.
Nat
was delighted when Tom popped his head around the door and asked, “Can I bring
a guest to dinner tonight?”
“Sure,
business or pleasure?” Nat asked, looking up from his desk.
Tom
hesitated, “I’m rather hoping that it might be both.”
“Female?”
said Nat, now more interested.
“Decidedly female.”
“Name?”