The People's Party: Senator Stennis and the Professor

By Richard L. Flowers

Are you one of the 80,000,000 non-voters who are fed up and don't feel it's worth their effort to vote for politicians who say the right things to get elected and once in office do the wrong things (or do nothing)? Do you feel they just keep kicking the same old can of greed and self interest down the same old political road? If so, then this story will interest you. It about what could happen if that can they keep kicking hits a solid brick wall composed of the will of all of the fed up voters.
Marc Maillett is a well traveled young professor in the Political Science Department at Stanton University. He has undertaken an a-political project of researching the causes of, and possible cures for, the deterioration of the electoral system. In the course of the project he became alarmed that in the last presidential election more than 52% of citizens who registered to vote did not do so because they were either disgusted, disillusioned or disappointed with our political system and its politicians. To conclude the project he seeks and is given a grant to conduct a study of the upcoming presidential election by directly participating in the campaigns of the major candidates. He hopes to see and define how the special interest groups trade big money and/or votes for legislative commitments - most of which are counter to the voter’s best interest.

Harry Stennis is a fourth generation Texan who has twice been elected one of its U.S. Senators. Harry is using his substantial family fortune to self-fund a unique presidential campaign as an independent and thereby avoid having to sell his soul for campaign
money. He is driven by his consuming desire to form a government
“of the people, by the people and for the people”. His slim chance of winning hangs on his ability to motivate those disillusioned citizens to go to the polls and vote.

'The People's Party' is a timely novel which factually portrays how we arrived at today’s broken electoral system which serves the special interests groups rather than the will of the people. It demonstrates what could happen if the disillusioned and or the disenfranchised voters found someone they could believe in and trust. It is factual enough to be believed and entertaining enough to be enjoyed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9780989730709

Book preview

Flowers

CHAPTER ONE

THE PROFESSOR

Walt, if lightning should strike and I became a hot candidate for the office of President of the United States, would you vote for me, Professor Marc Maillett, asked, maintaining a straight face as he peered through the rain splattered windshield of his somewhat battered, eight year old Volvo. Marc was referring to the proposal he had made to the Chancellor of Stanton University for completing his research of the presidential electoral system. The proposal included his entering the New Hampshire state Presidential Primary as an independent candidate for the office of President of the United States.

Marc, I'd vote for you because a new car comes with that job. I think that's about the only way you’re ever going to give up this old rust bucket, Dean Walter Hammon answered as he shifted uncomfortably in the passenger side seat. Then he added, When are you going to get new blades in those windshield wipers - or do they still make parts for this antique?

Ignoring the insults, Marc persisted, If I can't get your vote for president, I'll settle for a 'yes' vote from you at the meeting tomorrow. If we can get past the Review Committee, I’ll get my research completed, publish the book and win the Pulitzer Prize. Enough money comes with that to get my car re-painted and new windshield wiper blades. OK? Marc glanced questioningly at his passenger as he slowed the faithful old car to a stop and waited for the traffic light to change.

All he got for an answer was an exasperated sigh. But he knew his friend was unswervingly on his side and the question had been just a way of easing Walt into discussing tomorrow's Review Committee meeting. At that meeting Marc had to convince the three deans who comprised the committee of the merits of his work and if he was successful they would vote to recommend that Chancellor McDonald petition the Board for the funding which would allow him to complete The Project. (In the last year he had come to think of The Project almost as his child and in his mind it seemed to need to have capital letters.)

Until her death a little more than a year ago he and his wife, Helen, had spent most of their free time and a lot of their energy doing historical background research regarding the modern evolution of the system by which this country selects Presidential candidates and then elects one of them to that office. She had been his assistant, confidant, critic, rooting section and constant supporter. He never understood how much of a part of his life she was and how great was his need for her support and encouragement, until her sudden departure left a gaping hole in his life. And in that hellish year since Helen's death The Project had become his only protection against the twin demons of self blame and guilt. Demons which were ever present and waiting on the edge of his consciousness for the chance to pull him into their pit full of the snakes of hopeless despair. It was only the efforts of his friends, particularly Walt and Jean Hammon, his Saudi Arabian friend Raschid Ibn Bin Saud , and his parents that had kept him from falling into that pit.

And Walter Hammon, Dean of the Stanton's School of Business, continued to be worried about the well being of his good friend. For the past year he had kept watch over Marc. In those twelve months Walt had watched him roller coaster down from the heights of a highly energetic, self-motivated, achiever to the depths of a lethargic, insecure self- pityier, then about half way back up to a functioning, semi-active college professor. Walt wanted to get the old Marc back. And he was working behind the scenes to accomplish that. Most recently, he had called in a favor from Chancellor McDonald by asking to be named as one of the three Deans who comprised the Review Committee for Marc‘s project . Walt's continued interest and support stemmed from two sources. The first was a genuine admiration and affection for an unusually gifted and capable man. The second was what had later turned out to be a sort of death bed promise he had made to Marc's wife, Helen. Walt knew that until Marc could find closure he would find no peace of mind.

As they drove through the rain-sheened, birch tree lined streets toward Ernesto's , the best Italian restaurant in the picturesque college town of Brompton, Connecticut, Walt was watching Marc's body language and trying to gauge the effect of the added stress this impending meeting had put on him. He knew Marc was in pretty good physical shape thanks in part to the twice-a-week handball games Walt had instigated. Walt was pleased to see Marc had begun to regain the fifteen pounds that had seemed to melt off his body immediately after Helen's death. He had never had fifteen pounds to lose and the loss made his six foot frame go from a healthy, lean athletic build to that of a scare crow. His boyishly handsome face was beginning to fill out again and his black full hair was now accentuated by the recent graying of his sideburns. He was an appealingly, mannish forty two year old with a heavy emotional burden. As he watched, he saw Marc grimace as he rolled his shoulders in a stretching motion.

What's wrong, Marc? Did you get a back cramp trying to return my supersonic, two-wall, handball serve yesterday?

Which serve was that, Walt? All I remember about that game was the final score. I think I won, Marc answered with a smile. No. Every now and then I get a twinge from and old back injury. It happened when I was a kid.

Since you don't wear a shirt when we play handball, I've seen that big half moon scar below your left shoulder blade. How'd you do that?

It’s kind of a long story and starts with my Dad. I think I've told you a little about my Dad's career, haven't I ?, Mark asked.

"You told me he was born and raised in South Louisiana. I remember that he graduated from Louisiana State University with a master’s in geology and went to work for an oil company and you and your family lived overseas for most of your childhood. I remember being impressed that you're fluent in three different foreign languages.

Mark laughed. "Great memory. The first foreign language I learned was Arabic - picked it up as only children can do - naturally and easily from my Arabian playmates, the other two I learned in self defense as I attended schools were that was all that was spoken. And you're right, my Dad, Maurice Joseph Maillett, Senior, was born on the bayous of Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. In fact, his nickname was 'Cajun Joe'. Right out of Louisiana State University, he went to work for what was then, a little independent oil company - Creole Production Company. Turns out he was a hell of an oil finder. He found one of the largest oil fields in the United States on a big ranch out in West Texas and made the family that owned it multi-billionaires. That also made Creole Production a big player in the oil business. On the strength of that find the company started an international subsidiary, named Dad president, and sent him to Saudi Arabia. After he got settled, my Mother and I joined him. I was four years old and spent the next six years there. Because of Dad's position, I went to the best Arabian school and got to be friends with the two of the sons of the Saudi ruler, Emir Abdulla Ibn Saud. My best friend there was, and still is, his son, Raschid.

"One day Raschid, his older and much bigger half brother Acmid, myself, and a few other boys were playing a pick-up game of soccer. Achmid and Raschid were always hot competitors. So Achmid was on one team and Raschid and I were on the other. Raschid was bringing the ball toward the goal net which was being guarded by Achmid. As he got close to the net, Raschid pretended to stumble and lose control of the ball. Achmid took the fake and started to point and wave and laugh at Raschid. With that Raschid took two steps to his left and drove the ball into the net.

Well, Achmid couldn't stand being outwitted by his younger and smaller half brother so he declared that Raschid's trick was a foul and therefore the goal didn't count. Raschid lost it. He attacked his half brother with fists, feet and an acid tongue. They went down and Achmid ended up on top with a choke hold on Raschid. I wasn't sure if he was just trying to stop the flow of Arabic curses or if he was going to kill my friend, so I jumped on his back and grabbed two handfuls of hair and pulled as hard as I could. Achmid got to his feet with Raschid hanging down in front and me hanging down behind. Our feet got tangled and the whole pile fell backwards with me on bottom. I fell on the end of the iron pipe that held up the net and it cut a half circle in my back. It wasn't as serious an injury as it looks and healed quickly - but I do get a twinge every now and then, when I turn wrong or too quick.

That's quite a story. Was that Raschid the same one I met recently when you were showing him around the campus? Walt asked with real interest in his voice.

One and the same, Walt. He and I are like brothers. He keeps telling me that the half moon scar makes me a Muslim because, as you probably know, a half moon and a star are holy symbols of that religion. We see each other once or twice a year - generally on one of our birthdays. Did you know that he has set up a grant through Chancellor McDonald that will fund half the cost of The Project if the Board approves it?

Now that ought to make it a little easier on McDonald and the Board. I wonder if anyone else on the Review Committee knows that, Walt commented thoughtfully.

The discussion was interrupted by their arrival at Ernesto's restaurant. They found an isolated booth and ordered draft beers and a pizza to split. After the waitress brought the frosted mugs of beer, Walt got down to business, Why don't you bring me up to date on what went on in your meetings with Chancellor McDonald. I mean the meetings that led to his setting up the Review committee.

Marc took a swallow of beer. I organized the preliminary results of my research into an outline of a proposed Political Science text book. I presented that outline to Chancellor McDonald, along with a plan for finishing the research and a discussion of the need for and the potential impact of such a book. Chancellor McDonald seemed very interested in my work and asked a lot of sharp questions. In fact, I got the feeling he had some background in government service or politics.

He does. His first degree was in International Relations and he served in the State Department for a few years before returning to academia. But I interrupted. Go on.

That explains a lot. We had three meetings. In the second meeting, I told him that, in order to assure the accuracy of the book I felt it was necessary to get as far as I could into the real, day-to-day workings of the modern political system. I proposed to do that by monitoring the state primary election campaigns of the leading Presidential contenders and then follow the Republican and Democratic Party's presidential nominees throughout their national campaigns. At the end of that meeting I gave him an estimate of the amount of funding and the length of the sabbatical leave of absence I would need from the University.

Sampling his pizza, Walt asked, How'd he take that?

O.K., it was then that the Chancellor told me that Raschid had sent him a written commitment to establish a grant for half The Project cost, if it was approved by the Board. The Chancellor then wanted to get some background on Raschid and his interest in The Project. After we discussed that for awhile he suggested I write the Republican and Democratic National Party headquarters and see if I could get their endorsement of my participation in their campaigns. He even agreed to write an accompanying letter confirming the University’s support of the research effort.

And did you do that?

I did, and he did. And I got an affirmative response from both political parties. I sent him copies of those letters with a note setting out the reasons I needed to enter the first presidential primary, in New Hampshire, Marc said with a wry smile.

Walt whistled appreciatively and said, Did that heavy straw break the Chancellor's back?

No, but it did result in a third meeting. It took a little talking to get him to accept the idea that by officially entering the primary I would be able to experience some of the direct and indirect outside forces which shape all candidates' outlooks and opinions. He did agree that being a registered candidate, but not a real competitor, might allow me better access to the actual candidates, their staffs and to the workings of the media covering the elections. At the end of this meeting the Chancellor told me he was going to have a Review Committee evaluate the merits of The Project and if they made a favorable recommendation he would take it to the Board and he felt approval would be automatic.

So that brings us to the Review Committee meeting and a plan to get that favorable recommendation. The meeting will be at 7:00 tomorrow evening in the conference room of the Admin building. The committee chairman will be our esteemed Dean of the Engineering School, Oscar Walters; Dean Juliette Emerson of the English Lit Department and yours truly. Walt paused to think then continued, Oscar always likes to have his ego massaged so we need an angle that will do that.

As he rubbed his chin thoughtfully Marc said, I will be generating a lot of statistical data which will have to be massaged by a computer and then manipulated to generate min-max trend curves for say the last twenty or thirty years and a scad of statistically based probability curves for the next fifteen to twenty years. It will be a pretty big job and will take some knowledgeable programmers to get it done right and on time. We could ask Oscar if he would like to have his engineering students take a crack at that .

Now you’re cooking. Let’s package that part of The Project up into a deal Oscar can't refuse, and I think I know just how to do that. Let's pump up The Project budget to include some upgrading of the Engineering School's computer capability and throw in an allowance for paying Oscar's graduate students for part time work handling and programming your data.

Walt filled Marc's glass with beer, looked carefully at the tables within earshot of theirs, and said, I happen to know that Oscar has already floated a trial balloon with Dean McDonald for an allocation of capital to upgrade his computers and got a 'let me think about it' answer. The participation of the Engineering School in this Project could push it over the edge for him with McDonald. What do you think of that approach?

Marc did not relish the idea of involving Oscar Walters in The Project. Oscar was overly ambitious, pompous and needed to be in charge. But one glimmer of light was his friendship with Dave Moleski, a graduate student instructor in the Computer Engineering Department of the Engineering School, whom Marc had met several times at faculty shindigs. Dave was an easy outgoing, unpretentious, computer science whiz with a growing reputation for his knowledge and skills.

Did I blow you away with the brilliance of that package? You seem to be in deep thought, Walt asked. Or are you having trouble swallowing the idea of working with good ol' Oscar? Now you know he's got a good side - which he mostly uses to sit on.

I was thinking that what you suggested might be a 'win-win' deal, if I could find a way to get Oscar to assign one of his grad student instructors as a sort of project manager. The guy's name is Dave Moleski and I think he could really contribute something if we could get him on board,. Mark responded, then hopefully asked, Think we could get that into the package?

The price could be high. But let’s put it into the package and get it onto the table. Walt said with obvious pride in the concept he had created. He then continued, As for your friend Juliette, I've never felt that she was motivated by personal ambition. My guess is that she evaluates situations like this on the merits. If the Lit Department could play a role which would contribute to the success of a project she believed in, she'd probably volunteer their support. She's a pretty honest cookie, and a pretty good looking one at that. Is the problem between you two serious - or is that any of my business?

I created a personal problem about two months ago. I owe her an explanation but I'm damned if I can find the words or say them out loud. She invited me to dinner and things when fine until it got too serious, then thoughts of Helen hit me like a ton of bricks and I walked out without an explanation, Marc said hesitantly. It was the first time he had spoken her name since her death. These few words about Helen cost him dearly and he felt the old, creeping, demon tentacles pulling at him again.

Walt saw and felt his friend’s pain and for the millionth time he remembered his promise to Helen.

For the last year or so since about two weeks before Helen's death Walt Hammon had been carrying the heavy burden she had placed on him. Apparently when Helen had made up her mind to end both the burden she believed she had become to Marc and her own suffering she had also devised a plan to help Marc cope with her absence. She had understood that Marc would probably have a sense of guilt and would blame himself and she had been afraid he would give up and drift off into an aimless life of remorse, guilt and self pity. Helen had desperately wanted Marc to reach the heights of the potential she knew was within him. She had believed completing The Project was a key to that. She had found a way that she hoped would give Marc the comfort and relief that would allow him to understand and accept her death. Helen had asked Walt and his wife, Jean, to deliver it after she was gone.

Walt took this obligation very seriously and, had attempted as often as he could to gauge Marc’s grief-coping progress and his readiness to accept and use Helen's message. Hearing Marc speak her name for the first time, Walt sensed that the ice had been broken. He decided that the combination of the stresses Marc must be feeling about the coming meeting and his need to find a way to resolve the emotional conflicts of his feelings about Juliette's obvious attraction to him would make him receptive to Helen's message. Maybe those stresses together with his strong desire to get on with The Project were a combination of forces which could put Marc in the right psychological mood-a mood which would allow him, not only to hear the message, but to grab onto it as a lifeline to safety. He decided it was now or never. And with a silent prayer to Helen for guidance he began.

Marc, Jean and I know Helen wants you to get back to running full tilt at life using all of your considerable abilities and intelligence. I've been waiting for the right moment to give you a message that Helen asked me to deliver. I think you are ready for it now. Want to hear it?

It took Marc a minute to process what Walt had said. When he had it sorted out he had to fight to control his suddenly churning stomach and rising emotions. He looked closely at his friend hoping that he was trying to be funny, but the tense concern on his usually smiling face told him that this was a painful topic for Walt. When did Helen give you a massage that I wasn't around to hear? He finally stammered out - half to delay hearing something he might not be able to handle and half out of real wonder.

Do you remember Helen's last birthday? Remember how insistent she was that you and she and Jean and I go out to dinner to celebrate that birthday, in spite of the fact that she dreaded appearing in public in her wheelchair? Do you remember that, about dessert time, Helen said she was cold and asked you to get her wrap out of the car? Well, she had planned all that because when you were out of ear shot, she told us that she didn't think she was going to live much longer and wanted me to swear that, if she died, I would give you a message when I felt you needed to hear it. She said she couldn't write well enough anymore and needed someone she trusted to deliver the message. She gave Jean a little note pad and pen and asked her to write it down so we wouldn't forget. I've been carrying that message around for quite a while. I think now's the time for you to hear it, what do you think? Walt took a swallow of beer to wet his suddenly dry mouth. He was beginning to feel like they were both caught in a quick-sand situation and he was not sure there was a safe way out.

Marc was near panic. He felt the pain of losing her, the guilt of not being able to prevent it and his anger at the unfairness of her death, rolling over him, crushing him. Why did so much suffering and an early death need to happen to someone as kind and loving as Helen? He must have done some terribly wrong to someone somewhere along the way that caused God - if there was one - to punish Helen so severely. Was she trying to tell him, through Walt, what he had done? Why had Walt waited so long to tell him anything Helen had wanted him to hear? Could he stand to hear anything from her without breaking into tears in front of Walt? All of these emotions rolled over Marc at once. They left him flattened and numb. All of his protective, self pity defenses had been breached.

Walt was watching Marc closely and saw his face go blank and his body slump down into the booth. He looked like someone had hit him over the head with a baseball bat. Alarmed that he was losing his friend, Walt decided that the quicker he got Helen's message to Marc, the sooner Marc could grab on to it and pull himself to safety.

Helen's message isn't long and I believe she understood how best to help you accept her death. She said, 'Tell Marc that in our four years together he gave me everything I could have asked for in a lifetime. Tell him that because of the soul deep love and compassionate friendship we shared, I will go happily into the next life. And tell him that I want him to achieve his dreams. Tell him that I believe he can overcome any obstacle if he remains true to himself and his beliefs. When things look darkest to him, tell him, as sure as there is a God in heaven, I'll be there to help. Finally tell him that I want him to find a special person and share that same wonderful love that we had with her. Marc and I will always love each other, but I am going to share that love with God and I want him to share that love with another human being. Tell him I'll be watching and if he is selfish and doesn't share, I'll see that he breaks a leg every time he gets on a set of skis.'

Walt paused, and when Marc made no response, handed Marc the worn copy of Helen's message which he had faithfully carried in his wallet for the last year.

Without waiting for Marc to speak, Walt began to delivered the follow-up that he and Jean had discussed many times in preparation for this day, Look Marc, I don't pretend to know or understand the depth of love and respect that you and Helen had for each other, so what I'm about to say is based only on what Jean and I saw and felt about you two. We truly believe that Helen knew exactly what you would need to hear from her to deal with your loss. When she gave us that message for you she seemed composed, at peace, and very anxious that we understand both the words and her inner feelings about what those words meant to her - and should mean to you. Jean and I believe that Helen would be completely unhappy and very sad if she thought that your memory of her and the love you two shared would act as a negative force on your life. We think she was trying very hard to tell you that your years together were as perfect as she expected and she wanted you to find that same kind of life after she was gone. What she has told you is certainly not a bad thing and, if you respect her intelligence and capacity for understanding life, then that message ought to bring you a lot of peace and a final closure.

Walt hoped that Marc would understand that this hurt was necessary to burn away the germs which kept the wound of his friend's loss from healing. He anxiously searched Marc's face for some reaction - good or bad.

Walt, I'm too .....I feel like I'm in the middle of a wind storm and just got hit with about 2000 volts of electricity. I need to circle this a few times until my mind starts to focus again. I do remember that last dinner with you and Jean. Helen told me on the way home what true friends you were and said I should strengthen my relationship with you. She said she would trust either or both of you with her life. Maybe she was trying to tell me that she had entrusted that message to you and that she was sure that she had chosen the right people for that trust. I want you to know that I feel indebted to you and Jean for all you have done for me - and what you both did for Helen - and for playing the role that Helen wanted. It must have given her a lot of peace to know that she had found a way to tell me what neither of us could bring ourselves to talk about while she was sick.

His next words came unbidden like the tears which were running down his cheeks, Neither of us could bear to talk about a life without the other so we just played like it would go on forever. Helen was wiser than I for she found a way to talk about it without forcing me to face it at the time. Marc had to choke out the last few words and felt the tears that were dropping on his tensely entwined fingers.

Thanks for going above and beyond being a friend. As he slowly came back into control Marc was conscious that every muscle in his body had tensed and that his shirt was soaked with sweat. And with that realization he also felt a tremendous sense of relief and release. For the first time he found himself able to think objectively about Helen and her death.

Walt finished his beer and ordered two more. He sensed that his friend was going to come out the other side of this conversation in better shape than he entered it. Over the last year Walt had come to genuinely treasured Marc's friendship and had a sense of elation and satisfaction that he had gotten Helen's message across - both in her words and as best he could understand it in the terms of what Helen had wanted to accomplish for Marc. He decided that it would be best to give Marc a few minutes alone to gather himself and then try to bring Marc back to the reason they were there.

I've got to get rid of some of this beer. Be back in a minute. Don't drink up my beer while I'm gone. Walt said as he rose and left the table.

Marc was hardly conscious of Walt's leaving. Memories and feelings were unraveling and recombining too fast in his head. Marc was reliving the last few days before he found Helen's lifeless body and felt that tremendous sense of failure and guilt. He now began to understand some of the things Helen had told him and what she meant by them. During those last few days Helen had seemed to be pushing Marc to think of other women. She wanted to talk of Marc's old girl friends, single women they both knew and even wanted Marc to tell her about women he had known in the foreign countries where he had lived when he was growing up. Marc had resisted these discussions feeling that Helen was unhappy with him or possibly their marriage. He had tried to compensate for that feeling by doubling his attention to her every need and by more frequent reassurances that her illness and the results it might have on her physically were not a factor in his love and need for her. Now Marc understood why these demonstrations had seemed to frustrate Helen. She had made up her mind to remove the burden of her illness from them both and had known that if she told Marc of her plan he would not have been able to handle the finality of it and would have stopped at nothing to prevent her from taking her own life. Helen had been trying to help Marc get past her death and to tell him he should go on with his life after she was gone.

Walt had retreated to a part of the restaurant where he could watch Marc but not be seen by him. By watching Marc's face and hands Walt could see him pass through several emotional phases. As he watched Marc straightened up in his seat wiped his face and eyes and took a swallow of beer. Walt judged that for better or worse Marc was now in control of himself and he headed back to the table.

Let's get back to work, Walt said matter-of-factly as he sat down, " My recap of what we have decided so far is that you will include in your presentation the need for a comprehensive and detailed computer-based study and I will subtly give our engineering friend, Dean Oscar Walters, a boost into believing his School can get a new computer upgrade package out of supporting your project. I'll butter him up and into believing he's a key player in The Project and you need to assure the committee that The Project probably won't work without his support. Now, what about