Read Vote for Larry Online

Authors: Janet Tashjian

Vote for Larry (9 page)

 
“A patriot must always be ready to defend his country against his government.”
 
Edward Abbey
APRIL:
FINALIZING A PLATFORM
Along with the daffodils and crocuses, the campaign began to bloom.
Our impressive showing in the Massachusetts primary was followed by surprising primary results in Maryland, Louisiana, and Wisconsin. It seemed the campaign was gaining momentum solely by challenging the status quo.
The most important item on our agenda was coming up with a cohesive platform. We'd been raising important issues for almost four months, but now we needed to offer real solutions. Education, diversity, human rights, the environment, crime, the economy … I was up to my eyeballs in sticky notes.
Beth looked over my shoulder as I compiled a first draft.
“I don't see anything here about women's rights,” Beth said. “We still earn seventy-five cents for every dollar a man earns.”
64
I handed her my pen and told her to go for it. She wrote for several minutes, then stopped.
“It's much easier coming up with everything that's wrong with the system,” she said. “Putting together effective programs is more difficult.”
“That's why it's a work in progress.” I tucked my notebook into my pack, knowing I'd be up all night obsessing.
“I just left Tony,” Beth said. “He and I hired that investigator I used in Denver to run security clearance checks on the entire staff. Lisa, Tim, Susie, Janine. Everybody checks out.”
“Simon too?”
“Simon, Peter—everyone but you.”
“Very funny. I'll say it again—you're in the wrong business.”
“I'm just trying to protect us,” Beth said. “We can't afford another episode like last time.”
The campaign still hadn't recovered from the computer virus, but Tim had cobbled together a new database system that was finally up and running. We kept our fingers crossed.
 
 
Bloggers were another alternative news source Beth and I constantly reviewed for feedback. These people posted their opinions and thoughts on their Web logs, thereby increasing the amount of exposure and discourse on the issues we raised. Most politicians decried the bloggers as “amateur journalists,” but Beth and I found many of the sites informative and refreshing.
The blogger sites I returned to often were the ones with views opposite my own. My thoughts about the state of the
country were opinions, obviously, and I enjoyed debating other passionate citizens point for point on the best solutions. Beth usually had to drag me away from the computer kicking and screaming.
“What's this person ranting about now?” she asked. “What picture in the
Post
?” I immediately went to the Denver Post Web site.
I had expected to take several hits because of my inexperience and age, but I didn't expect to see a photo of me from my Boulder days wearing a POLO sweater on the front page of a major newspaper. The accompanying expose slammed me for not living up to my anti-materialistic beliefs. Letters on the op-ed pages of several other papers decried my hypocrisy about consumerism and workers' rights. My own Web site logged thousands of angry responses from betrayed supporters.
When we told Peter, he kicked into spin-control mode and set up several interviews. I answered every reporter's question as honestly as possible. Yes, the photos were actually of me. Yes, there was a period of several months last year when my strict philosophy and discipline had slipped. No, I didn't feel like a hypocrite running on an anti-consumerism platform; everyone makes mistakes. Yes, I'd been back to seventy-five possessions since January. The media milked the story to death.
“They say any publicity is good publicity,” Simon offered.
“Well, they're wrong,” I replied.
Janine took it hard.
“This is all my fault,” she stammered. “If I hadn't dragged you shopping with me—”
“All the crimes against democracy people commit every day, and the press wants to hang me for buying some clothes with logos? Come on.”
“I have no idea how they got that photo, I swear,” Janine said.
I didn't tell her that Beth and I had spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out that very question. The photo had been taken at Chautauqua, where Janine and I had gone several times. I was standing next to a scenic overlook; anyone could've found me in the background of a photo and sent it in to the paper. But Beth was doubtful; even with Janine's security clearance, Beth thought she had to be involved. She called Greg, the western coordinator, and told him to keep his eyes open.
65
The mudslinging didn't stop there.
Tabloids ran photos of me with Beth, me with Janine, me with every female volunteer they could find, trying to portray me as a political playboy—which would almost be flattering if it weren't such a joke.
66
They said I was following in President Clinton's footsteps, that any guy my age would have other things on his mind besides politics. The whole discussion was so tawdry I had to poke myself in the leg with my pen to stay awake during the reporters' questions.
 
 
I took our fledgling platform for a test drive at Lexington High School. Because my suggestions for a better country had zero chance of being implemented, I decided to have some fun.
Peace Party Ideas for a Better Planet
•
SUVs are now considered buses; people driving them must pull over to bus stops and give others a ride.
•
All assault weapons are hereby banned; the waiting period for a handgun is now a lifetime.
•
Standardized testing, including SATs, will no longer be used in schools. Instead, students will be graded on critical thinking and innovative ideas.
•
The tax on junk food will be 100 percent, with the proceeds funding universal health care.
•
If the company you work for doesn't pay you enough to live, it must supply you with free housing to make up for it.
The audience's expressions were priceless.
67
The reporters from the Globe and Herald raced out the door.
When I finished, Simon and Beth pounced.
“We were supposed to agree on the platform, remember?” Beth said.
“How do you expect to be taken seriously?” Simon added. “We look like amateurs.”
“Good! There are too many lawyers and lobbyists involved in the process. We need a more homespun approach,” I answered.
“This isn't
The Beverly Hillbillies,
” Beth said. “Our ideas have to hold up.”
“To say nothing of messing with personal freedom,” Simon said. “People can eat crap if they want to. Not everyone chooses to live their lives the way you do.”
“I know that. But I'm trying to set us apart from the other candidates.”
“Mission accomplished,” Beth said.
“Admit it,” I continued. “Every one of those suggestions would make this country a better place.”
“According to you,” Simon added.
A group of students waited by the bleachers. A kid with braces and a NO LOGO T-shirt gave me a high five.
“I've got one,” he said. “No new golf courses. Instead, developers have to use the land for affordable housing.”
“How about this?” a girl added. “Every tabloid and celebrity magazine has to be sold in a brown-paper wrapper so we don't get assaulted by JLo or Ashton Kutcher every time we leave the house.”
I grabbed my book and jotted down notes. Simon shook his head and left for the bus. Beth stared at the scene in disbelief.
We thanked all the students for their thoughts and headed to the parking lot.
“Stop gloating,” Beth said.
“Isn't this why you went to the trouble of bringing me back?” I teased. “For my ideas?”
She hip-checked me into a Jeep. “We'll get our butts kicked in the press tomorrow.”
“Oh, come on.” I pulled her behind a row of cars, out of Simon's view. “We're running a campaign that's honest, respectful, and original. Isn't that enough?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Every family with a three-car garage has to let a homeless family live there for free.”
“Now you're talking.”
She pulled me close, kissed me, then spun toward the bus.
I called after her. “Any girl going out with a British subject has to ditch him for the guy she grew up with.”
She didn't turn around, but I could tell she was laughing. “Any guy who pretended he was dead and still has a girlfriend back in Colorado should keep his big, fat mouth shut.”
I caught up and tackled her as she climbed the bus stairs. She slid into the seat with Simon anyway.
I don't care what other items stay on the platform, but this one's a definite: Any guy doing something as monumental as running for president shouldn't end up alone listening to a bus driver intern babble about a Red Sox losing streak while the girl he loves is sitting three seats back with someone else.
All the other programs can go, but that one's a keeper.
MAY:
LARRYFEST2
It was Bono's interest in my message that had first catapulted me into the stratosphere. This time around, it wasn't one person who jumpstarted the campaign; hundreds of people were intrigued by our non-traditional platform and contributed to the cause.
Matt Groening and his staff wrote Beth and me into a
Simpsons
episode seen by millions.
68
Jon Stewart and I had a spirited conversation on
The Daily Show.
Historian Howard Zinn met us at several locations and spoke to the crowds about third-party candidates throughout history.
That's not to say Bono wasn't crucial to our campaign. When he suggested Larryfest2, I jumped at the chance.
Normally a project that size would take several months or years to plan, but with our posse of volunteers and Bono's clout, we set it up in the same field in Maine, this time Memorial Day weekend instead of Fourth of July.
Janine was in heaven. She lined up the perfect mix of artists, running the spectrum from alternative to mainstream.
And it wasn't only the acts she brought her creativity to; her ideas for the campsites and food stalls were equally inventive. In the spirit of the original Larryfest, we would charge no admission but would take donations and set up voter registration booths throughout the site. Even Bono suggested we charge
something
—it was a fund-raiser, after all—but the spirit of Larryfest was a force I didn't want to mess with, even for a cause as important as effecting social change.
There were a few other differences. This time around, Beth knew I was Larry.
Of course the rest of the world did too.
Whereas last time I had walked through the crowds anonymously, I now stopped to shake hands often and talk with the people who'd traveled to Maine to join in the festivities. As much as I wanted to make contact with the citizenry, I felt let down that I couldn't re-create the awe and camaraderie Beth and I had shared before. When the fireworks went off at midnight, all I could think about was the missed opportunity to consummate our relationship the last time.
As medallions of purple and green filled the sky, I heard a voice behind me.
“Remember that night?”
“What do you think I'm sitting here thinking about?”
Beth sat down beside me. “I wanted you so much.”
“You did?” God, could I buy a clue?
“I was so mad you didn't make a move.”
“Yeah, since
you're
so shy.”
She asked if I was nervous about tomorrow. I told her that Simon, Janine, and Susie had it under control.
“I'm asking because Bono's not here yet. Neither is Dashboard Confessional or No Doubt.”
I shrugged. “Maybe they're flying in early tomorrow. Did you ask Simon?”
“I would, but we're not speaking.”
Now,
this
was interesting. “Is it because of …” I motioned to the space between us.
“God, Josh, everything is not about you, okay?”
“Yeah, I'm sure he wants to run through tomorrow's schedule when he's wondering if his girlfriend is going to cheat on him or not.”
She looked at me as if I'd said something as grotesque as a racial slur. “I can't believe I came out here to remember that night with you and you're acting like such a jerk.” She stood up and hurried back to her tent. When I called out to her, she didn't turn around, just flipped me the bird over her head.
Hopefully, no paparazzi were huddled in a nearby tent looking for exclusives.
 
 
The next morning's sunrise trumpeted a crystal-clear day. A perfect day to hang outside and listen to music.
If anyone were there to play it.
Janine pulled me away from a group of kids discussing their activist programs back in Nevada.
“You're not going to believe this,” she said. “No one's here.”
I pointed to the crowd of 400,000 just waking up.
“John Mayer, Foo Fighters, The White Stripes—none of them are coming.”
“What?”
“I talked to Sheryl Crow this morning. They all got faxes from campaign headquarters saying the festival was canceled.”
“From
our
campaign headquarters?”
“That's what I'm trying to tell you!” She handed me a piece of paper. “I had her fax me what she received. She was bummed. She really wanted to play.”
Sure enough, the note was from our office, printed on official letterhead. And signed by me.
“Who—”
“The fax went out yesterday morning. There were tons of people going in and out of the office. It could have been anyone.”
“What did Simon say?”
“I can't believe how well he's taking it. I'm a wreck. What are we going to do?” She moved nervously back and forth, like a four-year-old who had to use the bathroom.
“Who is here?”
“A few people who came in eariy—Norah Jones and Sting. I called Bono. He's leaving now.”
“Why don't we start at nine as scheduled, see if they'll do longer sets?”
“That'll buy us an hour or two—then what? We don't want a Woodstock '99 on our hands.”
I looked around at the peaceful crowd. “I doubt we're going to have looting and rioting here.” Still, the thought of an atmosphere of chaos ratcheted up my fear twentyfold.
Simon ran over waving his clipboard. “It's a total and complete snafu.”
I pulled my shirt over my head. “I refuse to believe that—refuse!”
Janine kicked into gear. “How about New York artists? Can't we fly people in?”
“Yeah, like we have Air Force One at our disposal,” Simon answered.
“I'm trying to make the best of a bad situation here,” Janine said. “Avril Lavigne played in Nashua last night. That's just a few hours away.”
I stopped pacing. “Call Stacy in Manchester. Tell her to stand by.”
Simon began punching numbers into his cell. “That's a start, but this crowd is expecting more than just a few acts.”
Janine looked up from her laptop. “Coldplay is in Worcester, Badly Drawn Boy's in Portland—a!! we can do is ask, then make a relay with volunteers driving them up here.”
“We can get drivers from the Web site too,” Simon said. “Let's go.”
Before Janine left to make her calls, I lifted her a foot off the ground and thanked her.
“Nobody's here yet. Let's see what we can do.” As she ran to the tent, she yelled back over her shoulder. “Stall!”
What?
“Go up there,” she said. “Do something!”
Was she serious?
But an hour later, the crowd was getting antsy. When I spotted some guy knocking over trash cans, I bit back the fear and headed to the stage.
“Thanks for coming out today,” I said into the mike. “There have been lots of changes to the schedule—you'll have to work with us on this one. But hey, we're all about being spontaneous, right?”
No reaction at all. Me trying to act cool? Big mistake.
I decided to get right to it.
Bill of “Yeah, Rights”
Forget about the Bill of Rights!
(A collective gasp from the crowd.)
We the People have been sold a Bill of Goods!
The government and the media have been trying to scare the crap out of us for years, and guess what? It's working! We check the color-coded alert system and duct-tape our windows, assuming an atmosphere of fear and violence is the de facto state of the world. It doesn't make any sense.
And I swear, if I have to listen to another politician say our country's greatest natural resource is our children, I'm going to PUKE. “Leave no child behind”? Has anyone
taken that lame political jingle and compared it to the statistics on education, child poverty, and gun violence? Hel-lo?
If you listen to politicians' words, kids are important; if you pay attention to their ACTIONS, we're not. Why can't they just admit the only resource they're concerned with is the amount of money our corporations rake in or our never-ending quest for world domination? I wish they'd just SAY it so we can finally stop hoping they're going to DO something about it.
Better
yet—what
are you doing about it? Are you
going to peace marches? Calling your congressperson and senators? Are you working for campaign finance reform so we can stop this nonsense from the ground up?
You want things to be different—you make them different.
You want things to be better—you make them better.
I certainly don't have all the answers, but here are some things I'd do if I could get elected:
•
Not one soldier goes to war unless every senator and congressperson sends a family member to the front lines first.
•
For every sky-is-falling, world-is-going-to-end story on the news, the next story must be life-affirming and positive.
Real
balanced reporting.
•
For every dollar spent on punishing criminals, another dollar will be spent on preventing crime with youth programs, education, and training.
There's plenty more where these came from. Stop by one of the many Peace Party tables to get more information. Vote for me, vote for somebody else, but just vote! And enjoy the concert!
The applause was explosive, thunderous. People were responding to my message in a big way. Maybe I did have something to offer this country after all.
Being bathed in the crowd's roar was one of the greatest moments of my life.
Until I realized the adulation was directed at Bono, who was walking toward me from across the stage. He shook my hand and hugged me; I waved to the not-paying-attention-to-me-at-all crowd and hurried off.
Bono started out by discussing the organization he'd founded called DATA.
69
Then he motioned for Norah Jones to join him, Sting too. As the performers trickled in, they sat in with this hodgepodge of a band. Aerosmith hopped on the Boston/Portland shuttle and were there by noon. Moby set up a techno booth where kids got to use synthesizers and cut demo tapes. Eve ran a hip-hop karaoke station that was mobbed all day. Chris Rock flew in from New York to host. By the end of the day, the band on stage consisted of the most eclectic, imaginative group of musicians ever assembled in one place. And the best part? Watching Janine backstage with
a look of sheer joy. There wasn't another person loving the music more than she was.
As if it were possible to top that, Bono led the crowd in a chant of “202-456-1414!”—the phone number of the White House. He urged everyone at the festival to call and make their feelings known on everything from world debt to war. The all-star band wrapped up the night with a version of Neil Young's “Keep on Rocking in the Free World” that blew the roof off the place.
70
The crowd was a sea of signs—LARRY/BETH, peace symbols, and doves with branches. A day of music and sun transformed itself into a raucous peace rally,
71
which Janine caught on video.
In the end, Larryfest2 was a giant success.
When I found Beth slumped against one of the makeshift rooms backstage, she looked fried.
“We have to talk about what happened today,” she said. “It could've been a disaster. We were lucky.”
“The question is, who sent the fax?”
Beth looked as if she were about to cry. “It wouldn't be hard for either the Democrats or the Republicans to infiltrate our operation. Hell, a little bribe money would go a long way around here. Most of our staff is broke.”
“You're not giving our volunteers and interns enough credit. They're all working their butts off just because they believe in our cause. I can't believe you're being so cynical.”
“I don't want to be,” Beth said. “But we have to admit someone is out to get us.”
It was hard not to think about another memory in this field last Larryfest. Waiting in line, toothbrush in hand, having a conversation with a friendly grandmother-type who would eventually destroy my life as I knew it. I scanned the crowd. Was betagold here again? Watching me at this very moment? Had she snuck into our headquarters early one morning and sent those faxes? Did she have people to help her—maybe a team? Were our opponents more threatened by our campaign than we thought? How far would members of the Establishment go to keep their giant slice of the Gross National Pie?

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