The Real Deal by Miriam N. Kotzin

Author:Miriam N. Kotzin [Kotzin, Miriam N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Non-Classifiable
Publisher: BrickHouse Books, Inc.

Chapter 10

Hail to the Chief

Featherman had lost count of the number of times he’d been ushered into a room or stadium with a rendition of “Hail to the Chief.” He’d heard military bands, high-school bands, symphony orchestras, recordings of the United States Marine Band, and a men’s a cappella choir taking the part of musical instruments. Aware of the great responsibility he had shouldered, he felt humbled—and lonely.

The first time he walked into a room listening to “Hail to the Chief” being played for him, he thought about all the times he’d heard it over the decades, watching the presidents, some good, some better, some impeachable if not actually impeached. Although Featherman didn’t believe he was impeachable, even in his own eyes he wasn’t a successful president. The country was in shambles, with the likelihood of its getting worse. He was powerless to fix it, as he would have liked, unable to modify the agenda he had been given. He thought it ironic that he’d smiled at Sonia’s phrasing of her warning, yet here he was, dancing faster and faster to the tune he was whistling on command. And the tune sure wasn’t “Hail to the Chief.”

Chief? Featherman signed whatever bills landed on his desk. What was the point of doing otherwise? The composition of Congress made the legislation veto-proof. And legislation was only a small part of the administration’s accomplishments. Featherman now thought of it as “the” administration: It certainly wasn’t his. In spite of the imposing halls of Congress, much of the power resided in the less posh offices of political appointees, bureaucrats, whose regulations touched the lives of every American, shaping daily life, code by code, regulation by regulation. And as for the courts who would be called upon to rule on points of law, challenging legislation and regulation, hit or miss? Federal judges were appointed for life if they wanted to stay. All the federal court nominees were handed to Featherman, and this Congress would have approved Mickey Mouse if they’d been told to do so. Featherman’s election promise of transparency had become a rotting carcass: The stench sickened him.

Nonetheless, he wouldn’t have said that he was the best president that money could buy. He wasn’t actually doing anything wrong, but he was powerless to stop what he didn’t like. He understood the insult of “empty suit.” With each negative editorial, each unflattering photograph (though he knew enough not to eat a corn dog at a state fair), and each article about the billboards saying, “Where’s the Card?” he felt more vulnerable. What had happened to his mojo?

Such were his cheerless thoughts as he listened to “Hail to the Chief.” Weeks had passed since the meeting with Villiers and Franklin. He’d never gone this long without hearing from Franklin, and he was puzzled by his absence.

The first few times he left the White House he anticipated the bullet. This was one headline with his name in it that he wanted to read. FAILED ASSASSINATION or NEAR MISS.

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