The 45th, page 12
Rachel Good had never seen anything quite like it. Every eye was on Julian Drake, everyone seemingly mesmerized by what he said. Whichever candidate for the nomination they had come to support, they were, all of them. convinced that government was at best a necessary evil and that taxes, if they could not be eliminated altogether, could always be reduced, and yet, here they were, not just listening with tolerance, but, to judge by the intensity of their expression, eager to do what Julian Drake was asking them to do. Suddenly, her gaze moved from the crowd to the back of the stage. Louis Matson was sitting straight up on the edge of his chair with no sign of illness, nothing to suggest a recent collapse, watching Julian Drake, smiling to himself at the way that this speech Julian had written and that, as he had confessed to her, he knew he could not give, had made everyone forget everything except what they were hearing. Then she noticed the other reason Louis was smiling. Julian Drake was not reading the speech. He had shoved the text to the side, pushed it away. He was speaking from memory, the speech so much a part of him that he did not need the written word to remind him what he wanted to say or how to say it.
“We call ourselves conservatives, and those who more than anyone ought to be conservative, those entrusted with the sacred obligation to preserve the constitution of the United States, those with the main responsibility for pulling us back when we start to go off in a different direction from where the founders of the nation, the framers of our constitution, the constitution that for more than two hundred years has kept us on the steady path of freedom and greatness, those who sit on the Supreme Court pledged to conserve the institutions that are the very foundation of everything the generations have built, those who , as I say, more than anyone else ought to be conservative, have forgotten what it means.”
Rachel Good scribbled in her reporter’s notebook a brief note about Louis Matson, a question whether he had feigned his collapse; whether he had known from the beginning that somehow Julian Drake would give this speech. But why, what was his motive, what was he after? The question, however important, vanished from her mind as Julian Drake began what seemed an attack on the court.
“It is a loss of all standards, a failure of the understanding and a contempt for all the wisdom of the past, an arrogance born of ignorance. There is no other way to describe a decision that for the first time in our history has turned what has always and everywhere been thought a private vice into a public virtue. By deciding that members of the same sex may marry in the same way as members of the opposite sex, the court has shown an utter failure to understand what marriage laws are all about. The laws about marriage have, until now, always been considered the most important laws there are. Marriage has only one serious purpose: to ensure that there will always be a new generation to take the place of the old, to ensure that the next generation will be raised, and educated, in a way that they will carry on the work that has been started, to ensure that our way of life, the way of life that for generations has been fought for, will be continued. Why else did Lincoln insist that the Declaration of Independence be our civic religion, that the principles of freedom and equality be the first thing taught to our children? But now, we are told, everyone has the right to live with whomever they choose. Let them! But that scarcely requires that what some do in private should be seen as no different, as something to be equally honored, as those whose marriage produces the generation that make up the life of the country.
“All of us desire immortality; it is our nature as human beings. Some seek to live forever in the memory of men, famous for something they have done; many believe in the immortality of the soul, and believe that after death another, eternal, life awaits us. Most of us, whatever else we believe, hope to live forever in our children and our children’s children. And what do we as conservatives believe if not that what binds us together, what makes us one people, is the great chain of being that connects one generation with the next, that by honoring what our parents and our grandparents, by honoring the past - the past we inherit in ourselves - we gain guidance for the future. That is why marriage has always been considered sacred: the responsibility it bears for what will happen in our future. And that is why….”
But he had to stop, the noise in the hall, which had begun to rise as he spoke, had reached a crescendo, deafening, unstoppable, coming now in waves, sweeping everything before it. Julian Drake stood still, he did not move, his gaze piercing, intense, ready the moment the crowd, which was now on its feet, let him go on.
“…And that is why, despite what the court has done, we must, all of us, do everything we can to bring back, to restore, to its rightful place, marriage and what it really means. It is one thing to obey the law - we can and should always do that - but that does not require that we stop doing everything we can to give whatever help they need to the men and women who are trying to raise children in a way most in keeping with our most honored traditions.”
There was a long pause. Julian Drake stepped back and looked from one side of the vast arena to the other. A slight smile creased the corners of his mouth. His eyes sparkled as if at some sudden thought. He stood at an angle to the lectern, raised his head in the way of someone about to give a friendly warning, held up his index finger and slowly waved it back and forth. The arena fell silent.
“We all say we are in favor of the second amendment, but we have forgotten what it means. We claim it is the right to bear arms and, some of us, insist there can be no restriction, that the right is absolute. We say, some of us, that the right can never be infringed because we have, all of us, the right to defend ourselves. The Declaration of Independence, the Declaration Lincoln thought our civic religion, tells us that we have, all of us, the right to ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’ And so, some of us seem to think that there is nothing wrong when some teenager, deeply disturbed, or some want to be gangster, takes possession of an AK-15 and murders as many people as he can find to shoot.
“Every right has a limit, because every right has sometimes to give way to another right. We have, all of us, the right to defend ourselves. That is what the second amendment guarantees. Not just the right, the obligation. That is what no one seems to understand, that the second amendment was drawn up to make sure that we would, as a people, have the ability to defend ourselves, not just against each other, but together, against invasion and attack. Thomas Jefferson - and you would hope our Democratic friends would understand this - insisted when he was governor of Virginia that every citizen between the age of sixteen and sixty be required to be a member of the state militia and that they be required to have a rifle, and, if they could not afford one, they be furnished with one at public expense. A militia was necessary, an armed citizenry was necessary, to defend against Indian attack because in those days it might be weeks before the regular army could get there.
“We have a right to bear arms, and, as citizens, an obligation to do so, when it is required by reason of national defense. That obligation is, if you will allow me to put it this way, also a right - the right to participate fully as a citizen, the right to help defend the freedom we enjoy. It is - or it should be - the right of every citizen to do this. No one should be given this party’s nomination who is not willing to support this. No one should be given the nomination who is not willing to propose to the Congress legislation under which citizens between the age of eighteen and twenty-five can, as he or she chooses, join the armed forces of the United States; legislation that in exchange for four years of service will provide at public expense four years of college. This is nothing more than the obligation of one generation to provide the education and training for the next generation of Americans, the education and training that will restore what we have come dangerously close to losing: a sense of honor, a willingness to sacrifice, a love of country, scorn for the mindless pleasures which have always accompanied the downfall of nations.”
He was speaking rapidly now, faster with every breath, hammering home the conviction that everything he said was right. It was powerful, irresistible, carrying everyone with him. They would, as some of them would later recall, have agreed with anything he said, the only thought they had the words they heard.
“Again some will say it will cost too much if too many wish to join. Is your country worth so little that your only worry is about your money? Some will say that the sons and daughters of the wealthy won’t have the same incentive to join as the sons and daughters of the poor. Is this the prize of wealth in America, that your children think patriotism only for fools and honor something you can buy and sell? The price of freedom is paid with blood and sweat, it is paid with effort and hard work, it is paid, it can only be paid, by those for whom honor, duty, country are things they would rather die than live without. Remember what made this country great. Remember those who gave their lives in this nation’s wars. Remember what the dream, the great American dream, was all about, not how rich we could become, not how many houses, how many cars, we could acquire, but what kind of people we could be, free to live our lives in the pursuit of human excellence, free to do everything we can to make the lives of those around us better, free to answer of our own volition our country’s call. Remember what made us great, remember that we, and we alone, have the chance to make us great again. Remember those ‘mystic chords of memory’ that, as Lincoln taught us, bind together all the generations; remember, while there is still time, that greatness can only come to those who remember what it means; remember, while there is still time, the dangers that we face; remember, while there is still time, that without discipline and sacrifice no danger was ever overcome. Remember that it was the American example, not American power, that once made us the inspiration of the world. Remember, if you remember nothing else, that it is not too late, we can still light the way and show the world, and ourselves, that freedom is not freedom from our obligations, but freedom to meet them in the way we should, with strength and courage, generosity and goodwill, with a sense of honor and high purpose. Remember, in other words, that if we have been made by our history, we can make some history of our own, that we can pass on to the next generation an even better country than the one we inherited. That is our challenge, that is the great adventure on which, if you are willing, we start on tonight, the great endeavor that will determine whether we were worth all the effort, all the sacrifice made by all those who came before us. On your decision rests the fate, not just of this party, but of the country. Choose wisely, choose well, choose someone who holds within himself a promise of the greatness we as a country so desperately need, someone who can make us once again the envy of the world.”
The crowd was on its feet, cheering, before he had even finished, the last words barely audible, buried under an avalanche of deafening, heart-stopping noise. And it kept coming, as if the crowd were competing with itself to see how loud it could be. People clapped until their hands began to ache and shouted until their throats grew hoarse. A reporter standing next to Rachel Good started to say something, realized that nothing he said could be heard, and laughed at the futility of the attempt. Julian Drake stood there, taking it all in, but, it seemed to Rachel Good as she watched him, somehow almost detached, as if what he were witnessing, a crowd of twenty-thousand giving him all the approval anyone could ever ask for, had little, if anything, to do with him. She had seen the same thing on the face of an actor, one of the great ones, acknowledging the plaudits of an audience after a performance; she had never seen it on the face of a man or women in public life, certain, as all of them seemed to be, that far from playing a role what they did was real. Julian stood there a moment longer, and then, with one last wave of his hand, a gesture of gratitude for the kindness of their response, he turned and walked back across the stage and took his seat next to where, twenty minutes earlier, he had left Louis Matson in a state of near collapse. Louis Matson was not there.
Rising with the crowd as Julian came to the climax of his speech, Matson had moved to the far side of the stage where he waited until Julian turned to go back. Then, as the applause finally died down, he seized the microphone and in a few brief sentences changed history.
“What you just heard was the speech I wish I could have given, and knew I never could. Only Julian Drake could give that speech; only Julian Drake could have written it. He served in the House; he would have been elected to the senate had not a personal tragedy stopped him from doing so. And if he had been in the senate, the nomination for the presidency would have been his for the asking. We face too many challenges, we have too many problems, we have wasted too much time with second-rate politicians and their third-rate minds. We have a chance to do something that we can proud of for the rest of our lives. Ladies and gentlemen, I nominate as our candidate for the office of president of the United States Julian Drake. As chairman of the convention I am suspending the rules and ask that you make the nomination unanimous!”
Chapter Ten
Julian Drake stared out the window, listening to the voices on television jubilant in their confusion about what had just transpired. Louis Matson sat in an easy chair, a scotch and soda in his hand, enjoying the moment. Ismael Cooper occupied the end of the sofa, shaking his head at his failure to see what he he should have seen from the very beginning.
“Listen to that,” remarked Matson, slapping his knee, as one of the most conservative commentators on television launched a vicious attack on what had just been done.
“He had no business, no right,” insisted Ian Flannery, in a strident voice. “Nothing like this has ever happened. Someone should do something about it; someone should demand that the convention reconvene and start all over. Let the other candidates have their chance. All the primaries, all the debates - Louis Matson thinks that counts for nothing, that they don’t even get to have their names placed in nomination! Why they let this guy chair the convention, why they thought they had to have him - I mean, he isn’t what anyone would call a real conservative - give the keynote speech…!”
With a jaundiced grin, Matson leaned toward Ismael Cooper.
“He right; he’s an idiot, but he’s right - I’m not anything close to what he thinks a conservative. And he is right - I had no right to do what I did.” The look on his face changed into one of the utmost seriousness. “I had a duty.” He glanced at Julian who was still looking out the window, silent, withdrawn, pondering some thought of his own. “Sometimes you have to break the rules to save what is essential. I meant what I said, Julian: you’re the only hope we have.”
His hands shoved deep in his pockets, Julian turned around and looked at Matson with something Ismael Cooper thought close to anger.
“When?” he asked. “When did you decide to do this?”
There was no point pretending that had it not been for a temporary loss of balance, a brief collapse, it would not have happened at all. Louis Matson only lied to people who lied to him.
“The first time I read the speech.” A distant smile worked its way along the sagging corners of his mouth. For a brief moment his tired eyes drew back on themselves. “No, probably a long time before that. When you were still in Congress, when you were running for the senate. “ He shook his head, and drew back from the past. “When did I decide to do what I did tonight, when did I know it was what I had to do? When you spoke to the delegation, when I saw the effect it had. And if I ever had any doubt about what I did, I don’t anymore. All these plastic politicians, all they can think about is the presidency - and you don’t want it! Well, goddamn it, Julian, if you had wanted it like all the others, I wouldn’t have bothered!”
Ismael switched channels, going back and forth to get the best cross-section of opinion he could. The networks were coming in with the early polling. The results surprised even Louis Matson.
“Almost eighty percent approval. That’s unheard of. Eighty percent think you’re the best candidate we could have nominated.” He glanced at Cooper. “What do you think he’s saying now?” he asked, referring to the outraged Ian Flannery who, a few minutes earlier, had been insisting that the convention should disavow what in a moment of false enthusiasm the delegates had been tricked into doing. “No one is going to question what happened. Watch! They’ll be lining up to tell everyone it was the best thing that could have happened. They’ll all be writing - all those reporters who have to be the first to tell everyone what things really mean - that ‘Julian Drake took the Republican convention by storm. After the speech he gave, there was never any question who was going to be the nominee!’”
