Authors: Janet Tashjian
Vote for Larry (7 page)
“She's sick,” Beth said. “I told Charlene to delete the message off the board.”
“It was just a matter of time before she started up again,” I said.
Janine shoved her hand toward Beth. “I'm Janine. Congratulations.”
“On?”
Janine looked puzzled. “On running for vice president, on being the first teenage girl to have a voice in a national election.”
“Oh, is that what I am now? Some kind of national voice?”
I pulled Beth aside. “Stop being such a bitchâdon't you think we have bigger problems right now? She's on our side.”
“She? I thought her name was Janine.” Beth headed toward the kitchen without looking back.
Janine put on her fake fur jacket.
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“I hope I didn't cause anyâ”
53
“I hope I didn't cause anyâ”
“No, it's nothing. She's just worried about betagold. Last time she saw her, it was an ugly scene.” Visions of Tracy Hawthorne in my living room, Beth screaming, and whirring cameras flooded back to me.
“I know. I went to the library and did some research on your past life. You two have been through a lot together.”
Janine looked so sweet and uncomplicated, I suddenly felt stupid for comparing her to Beth while we were going out. I gave her my key and address and told her I'd meet her back at the house later.
I took a long walk through town to shake off the stench of betagold.
What was her problem? Why couldn't some people let others voice their opinions without getting so bent out of shape? Why couldn't we agree to disagree? I didn't know what to doâset up a meeting with betagold and defuse the situation or just ignore her and continue to run an honest and respectful campaign. I had to fight the urge to bike over to Bloomingdale's and seek my mother's counsel. Instead, I met with our logistics and security teams. I couldn't obsess about betagold; there were too many other things that needed my attention.
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Lisa had convinced me that we needed to bring in an outside media consultant to meet with us. I nixed his ideas for phone canvassing, polls, and direct mail in favor of old-fashioned rallies. I wanted to spread the word without bothering people. He called me naive and left in a huff.
Simon stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Personal appearances are great, but it's a damn big country.”
I'd just spent the past two years traveling the back roads coast to coast. Did Simon think he was telling me something I didn't know?
“Look,” I said. “It's the only way I'm going to do thisâmeet people, listen to them, look them in the eye. I mean, it's not like we're going to
win
. I just want to get people to vote.”
win
. I just want to get people to vote.”
I could tell by his face this disappointed Simon. He had garnered every activist accolade there was; he didn't like to lose.
Lisa couldn't wait to introduce me to an MIT freshman she'd found to run our Internet operations. His name was Tim, and he could code HTML and Java faster than most people could boot their computers.
“I'm warning you, thoughâhe's Mr. Techspeak,” Lisa whispered.
My second language. I followed Lisa to the computer room and shook Tim's hand.
He buzzed around the room with so much energy, it was as if he were the one plugged into the wall, not the computer.
“I grok the vibes here,” he said.
“Yeah, but can you grep the system by the end of the week?” I asked.
When he told me no sweat, I welcomed him aboard.
Beth dragged me outside and said Peter wanted to see us.
We exited the theater, but couldn't find him until a bright yellow school bus pulled up to the curb and opened its doors, revealing Peter in the driver's seat.
I couldn't stop laughing.
“Katherine found it on eBay for two thousand dollars,” he said. “I had Billy drive me out to Andover to pick it up.”
“So much of our platform is education,” I said. “This is perfect.”
High in the driver's seat, Peter looked like a five-year-old eating chocolate for the first time. “Katherine really wanted to help. She wishes you the best.”
I nodded, still unsure of the people I'd grown up with playing new roles in my life. Had everyone else changed or was it me?
I went back in and called the volunteers over for a quick ride. They ran to the back of the bus as if they were still in junior high.
54
We hooted and hollered our way through town, the first real blowing-off-steam session of our fledgling campaign. I tried not to dwell on the political consultant's words. Was my head buried in the sand on this one? Was I wasting the time and energy of these chanting volunteers who filled the bus beside me?
54
We hooted and hollered our way through town, the first real blowing-off-steam session of our fledgling campaign. I tried not to dwell on the political consultant's words. Was my head buried in the sand on this one? Was I wasting the time and energy of these chanting volunteers who filled the bus beside me?
It was a fine line to walk between being idealistic and practical; I hoped I was smart enough to balance the two this time.
FEBRUARY:
ON THE ROAD
ON THE ROAD
The experience of traveling cross-country now was diametrically opposed to my last trip. First off, this one was voluntary. Secondly, I was surrounded by friends, and as much as I am someone who is happiest alone, I enjoyed having people around for a change.
Every consultant we had talked to said the real clout was in fund-raisers and photo ops. But rallies still seemed like the best way to get in close with people, the country's real natural resource.
We tried to make our rallies as original as possible. At one bowling alley in Baltimore, we staged an opera with Beth and me wearing Viking helmets and singing.
55
We did a whole game show spoof in Ohio giving answers to questions shouted out from the audience. All this gave our opponents more ammunition, of course. If we got any press at all, it was to vilify us. I was crucified for not taking the role of president seriously.
55
We did a whole game show spoof in Ohio giving answers to questions shouted out from the audience. All this gave our opponents more ammunition, of course. If we got any press at all, it was to vilify us. I was crucified for not taking the role of president seriously.
This criticism kept me staring at the ceiling into the wee hours; I didn't care what anyone said, I was not being cynical
about the office of the president. On the contrary, I was so optimistic that things could be better in this country that I was willing to work around the clock to contribute to such a goal. Americans were generous and open and ambitious; I believed that in my bones. But how could you justify such goodness with the rising climate of inequality and fear?
about the office of the president. On the contrary, I was so optimistic that things could be better in this country that I was willing to work around the clock to contribute to such a goal. Americans were generous and open and ambitious; I believed that in my bones. But how could you justify such goodness with the rising climate of inequality and fear?
In every part of the country, I began our sessions not by talking but by listening. I spent hours at each campaign stop hearing the stories of people who had lost their jobs or couldn't pay their bills. I listened to their ideas for solutions instead of spewing forth my own canned answers. Their suggestions fueled us with an urgency that kept our campaign vital.
On the bus, we listened to music and sang. The girls on the staff would howl with laughter at Simon's mangled lyrics.
“âShe's got a chicken to ride'?” Susie, our travel coordinator, asked. “Talk about butchering a Beatles song ⦠.”
At each rest area, Simon surrounded himself with a crowd of admirers while Beth and I edited speeches. But as each night rolled around and some people paired off, Simon and Beth continued to be together. Unfortunately, I was always odd man out.
56
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In every town we hit, our first stop was usually a school. And what Beth brought to these rallies was invaluable. When she went into a classroom, it wasn't just to pose for pictures, reading
books to a group of kindergarteners while the cameras clicked away. Instead she set up assemblies with seniors and registered them to vote. She ran mock debates in the middle schools, discussing such topics as gun legislation and human rights.
57
books to a group of kindergarteners while the cameras clicked away. Instead she set up assemblies with seniors and registered them to vote. She ran mock debates in the middle schools, discussing such topics as gun legislation and human rights.
57
Only I could tell the grip of exhaustion that began to take hold. After weeks of speeches, meetings, and little sleep, Beth started to snap at things that never before would've dented her consciousness. I kept trying to talk her into joining me for yoga, but she wouldn't. Simon tried to get her to slow down, bringing her miso soup between meetings, urging her to eat. She often responded with increasing annoyance and impatience. I almost felt bad for the guy, his love for her so obvious to anyone who saw them together.
Not that I intervened on his behalf; I let him suffer.
I wondered if some of her annoyance hinged on the fact that our next stop was Boulder. But as usual, my telepathic connection with Beth ended at trying to figure out how she felt about me.
The first thing I did when we got to Boulder was run up Mount Sanitas full-out. I'd missed the view and the crisp air slapping my lungs as the altitude changed. I stood on the ledge overlooking the town for almost an hour. I caught sight of a deer, which only made me feel worse about neglecting my animal studies. But the quick jaunt into nature temporarily quenched my desire to connect with the earth.
Janine had assembled almost seven hundred people for the rally at the university and another nine hundred at Red Rocks Amphitheatre. She wore pants with leather patches that looked like the inside of a Mustang convertible. Her hair was braided on the top of her head; tiny rubber monkeys adorned her earrings. Beth rolled her eyes when she saw her, but I thought Janine looked great.
“I know you didn't want to do the whole one-thousand-dollars-a-plate fund-raiser thing, so I thought of something better.” Janine held up a poster. BAKED BEAN SUPPER WITH LARRY, PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATEâTHREE DOLLARS A PLATE.
Simon looked as if he'd collapse in laughter. “Well, that should cover our gas money for getting out here.”
Janine looked him dead-on. She no longer seemed the same carefree girl from a few months before. “We've got almost twenty-five thousand people coming,” she said. “Seventy-five thousand dollars.”
“That's almost a third of the people in Boulder!” I was shocked at Janine's transformation.
“Lots of them are from Denver,” Janine answered. “I was actually aiming for more, but I'm happy with this.”
The logistics were staggering. How do you feed twenty-five thousand people, let alone meet some of them and get your message across? But Janine had every angle covered, taking advantage of local arenas and theaters. Using a staggered schedule, Beth and I would be able to have several rallies throughout the day. Even Beth had to admit Janine had organized something on a whole different scale than the other
state organizers had.
58
The CD compilation Janine had put together had the young crowd stomping its feet before I took the stage.
state organizers had.
58
The CD compilation Janine had put together had the young crowd stomping its feet before I took the stage.
Be RadicalâVote!
Watch TV.
Consume.
Don't make waves.
Work.
Die
.
.
Is this the American Dream?
No, but it's the way most of us live our lives these days.
Notice that voting is not on this list. That's because only a minority of people vote in this country. The media love to use such words as landslide and trend when they describe elections, but when you break it down, it's only a small percentage of the population that decides the fate of our country.
Only 39 percent of all registered voters bothered to vote in the 2002 midterm elections; about halfâ17 percentâvoted Republican. The media called the event a mandate of the people. Since when is 17 percent a mandate of anything? This small percentage of the American
population decided who now controls our House and Senate.
population decided who now controls our House and Senate.
You want to know government's dirty little secret? It's more outrageous than any other conspiracy in our history, more telling than the Pentagon Papers or Watergate.
POLITICIANS DON'T WANT YOU TO VOTE. Voting means you're passionate about the issues, enough to get out and do something about it. Voting challenges the status quo. But the politicians in Washington don't
want
you to do that. They want you to sit back and enjoy the ride while they drive our country down the path of Big-Business handouts, which in turn, increases their own campaign war chests. They love low voter turnout; it means the stalwarts will be the only ones out there carrying the party torches while the rest of us scratch our heads and wonder why our voices aren't being heard.
want
you to do that. They want you to sit back and enjoy the ride while they drive our country down the path of Big-Business handouts, which in turn, increases their own campaign war chests. They love low voter turnout; it means the stalwarts will be the only ones out there carrying the party torches while the rest of us scratch our heads and wonder why our voices aren't being heard.
People think by not voting they're casting a vote against the system. WRONG! By not voting you're letting a small minority determine the policy for the rest of us. WE CAN'T SIT BACK ANYMORE! The most radical thing we can do is actually something as pedestrian as voting.
News flashâdecisions are made by the people who show up!
If 90 percent of the people in this country actually cast their ballots on election day, the Administration would head for the hills! How about this for a crazy idea? Instead
of sitting at home on your couch watching reality TV, you invest in your OWN reality and vote. I don't even care who you vote for! Whatever we do, we have to stop the hijacking of our government; it's OURS; let's take it back.
of sitting at home on your couch watching reality TV, you invest in your OWN reality and vote. I don't even care who you vote for! Whatever we do, we have to stop the hijacking of our government; it's OURS; let's take it back.
We don't need to bomb a country halfway around the world in the name of democracy.
We can fight for it right here.
That's how important your ballot is in November.
Be a rebel, be a radicalâvote!
The country needs YOUR input.
ARE YOU LETTING YOUR VOICE BE HEARD?
When I walked off the stage, the students were applauding in a slow, steady beat. I actually felt the energy shift in the room. We were making a difference. That is, until Beth pulled me into the hall.
“What's the matter?”
She sucked on a strand of her hair. “I'm not sure. I think that was too much information.”
“People need information to make an informed decision.”
“Just because you're an information junkie doesn't mean the rest of us are. Anyway, it seemed like you were losing a few of them, that's all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The campaign is supposed to be geared toward kids who are voting for the first time and you're spewing statistics and percentages. Let's face itâthose numbers are boring.”
“What, you think most people are too focused on their own lives to care about any of this?”
“It's just that I was watching these kids up front. They were smiling; they were cheering. Then I saw you lose them. Saw the passion drain from their eyes right in front of me.”
“Maybe it's me,” I said. “Maybe I'm a bad speaker. I probably should have stayed in my basement, grinding out sermons anonymously.”
“It's hard. How do you take what we care about and make it palatable for everyone?”
I tried to control the edginess in my voice. “It isn't palatable, most of it sucks. And no one will be motivated to change things unless they hear about it!”
She leaned against the wall again, this time sliding down till she was sitting on the floor. “It just sounds so dry. I don't know if there's any way around it.”
Janine found us in the hall and jumped into my arms. “You were great. There are over four hundred kids registering to vote right now.”
Beth smiled and bounded down the hall. “But then again I could be wrong.”
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Peter called to say he was now making three bank trips a week to deposit the rolls of pennies from the barrels we'd set up at the mom-and-pop stores across New England. We discussed our strategy for going nationwide with our fund-raising.
“We might even have enough to run a local ad or two,” he said.
“Really? That would make up for the fact that most people in America still don't even know we're running.” (Christina Aguilera's new video was getting more media attention than our presidential campaign.)
“Have you seen the Web site?” Peter asked. “Some kid came up with the idea of your supporters spending a dollar on a lottery ticket and sending it to campaign headquarters for you to scratch. If it's a winner, you keep the money for your campaign, no strings attached.”
“I'm
against
lottery tickets,” I said. “They're just another way to keep poor people hoping their luck will change. The government sells gambling instead of putting effective programs into place.”
against
lottery tickets,” I said. “They're just another way to keep poor people hoping their luck will change. The government sells gambling instead of putting effective programs into place.”
“Well this kid started a trend, and it's spreading like wildfire. I scratched thirty-nine tickets today.”
I put my hands over my ears to block them. “Don't tell me! I don't want to know.”
I had to care about money; we needed it to get our message out. All the fund-raisers we'd had and pennies we'd collected added up to more than thirty thousand dollars, which we'd stretched as far as we could. It was a far cry from the billion dollars the Democrats and Republicans had spent last election, but I still felt guilty about it.
That night back in Janine's apartment as I sat on the floor playing with Brady, waves of doubt kept me from sleeping.
Who was I to be hawking a better way? I did a great job of listing our government's faults, but could I do any better? One day of tough decision-making might send me racing for the Oval Exit. Was I in too deep this time, even for me? The tug-of-war I played with Brady couldn't compare to the one going on inside my head.
Over the next few weeks, my “opponents” turned up the volume on disparaging my candidacy. President Bush said I was wasting my time, as well as the time of the voters. Senator Kerry said he admired my environmental stand, but my lack of political experience made me woefully inadequate for the job. Howard Dean agreed that campaign finance reform was one of the biggest issues facing us today, but he thought my ideas on the subject were naive. Ralph Nader called me to brainstorm about grassroots fund-raising, then wished me luck.
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