Wriggly Rex: Amoral Leader

By Lew Dodgson

Ambitious young aide Ernst Funck thinks working to elect a conservative senator is a dream jobuntil he meets his boss, Wriggly Rex. Rex Wrigley is an alcoholic lecher or a lecherous alcoholic, depending on his company and the time of day. When he holds a drunken press conference to roast his supporters and the press, hopeful Ernst realizes he cant win the election without putting a stop to Rexs destructive behavior.

In the privacy of the Wrigley office, things are no better. The Texas millionaire who funded Rexs campaign wants his money back. One of Ernsts co-workers wants a deeper relationship. Bunny, the office manager, is an equal-opportunity destroyer. Even Porky, Rexs own campaign strategist, makes Ernst a rival. As if Ernst needed another problem, Rexs wife Blanche and girlfriend Angel both work in the office, too.

It seems there is nary a safe corner in which to hide. Ernst wants to win this campaign and show the competitive political world what hes capable of doingbut Rex and his supporting staff are making victory impossible. Rex is quite capable of ruining Ernsts career before it has even begun. Will Ernst pull out a win in spite of Rex? Or will he have to find the embarrassing witness protection program for failed campaign staffers?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 10, 2009
• ISBN: 9781440185847

Lew Dodgson

Lew Dodgson’s writing background includes newspaper reporting and editorials for a political blog. This experience gave him an in-depth understanding of a political process riddled with comedy, mostly unintentional. He also founded and operated two small technology businesses for twenty years. He lives in the mountains of Arizona and imagines a funnier world.

Book preview

First Chapter          The Job Interview

Two minutes into Ernst Funck’s job interview, Rex Wrigley dropped the hammer: I didn’t know the Des Moines Beacon ever fired a reporter, Ernst. Why did they make an exception in your case?

Well-ell, Ernst stammered. After 18 months, I guess you could say we had philosophical differences. The Beacon had been Ernst’s first job after college.

"They disagreed with your interpretation of Plato’s Republic?" Rex was assembling a campaign team to run for the U. S. Senate. He looked like a senator, mid-forties, six feet tall, well-brushed gray hair, and a slow sincere manner.

Ernst hesitated for a heartbeat, then blurted out the truth: No. They disagreed with me sneaking phrases like ‘lifelong liberal pacifist’ into obituaries. And once, I even called the departed ‘a follower of Mao’s little red book.’ They said it disrespected the dead and pissed off the living.

Was that all? Rex asked.

My funny little story about a brass monkey being treated for frostbite in the emergency ward was the last straw. The editor missed it and it ran as straight news.

And? Rex prompted.

And I probably made it worse by arguing that it was the editor’s job to protect readers from offensive content. I said that if he had just done his job, we wouldn’t be having the conversation. That seemed to annoy him.

I’m not surprised, Rex said. There was bulk around his shoulders and a slight hunch to his back, like a retired weightlifter. He made cryptic notes on a yellow legal pad with a big tortoise-shell fountain pen now and then. They were meeting in a quiet corner of the lobby in the Des Moines Marriott.

"Mike Henry at the Beacon told me that politically you were to the right of Attila the Hun, and you obviously thought that the paper was a nest of liberal pinko appeasers. In your defense, he admitted that you were above average for a Midwestern State U. graduate."

Ernst snorted, Mike thinks the average MSU grad is retarded.

Ernst sat back, tried not to look retarded, and above all, not like an irresponsible jerk fired from his first real job for insubordination.

*      *      *

While Ernst worried about looking reliable, Rex was actually thinking about the spectacular muscular development of a young woman undulating up the staircase to the Grand Ballroom a few yards away, remembering that the blind jazz pianist George Shearing was said to interview female singers by touch. If he closed his eyes, Rex could almost feel the hills and valleys—but back to business.

The editor who fired Ernst told Rex that he was hard-working, hard-headed, and intelligent, all good qualities for a reporter. But he’d swallowed the free market conservative malarkey hook, line and sinker. It infected every story he touched, even obituaries for God’s sake.

Rex’s wife Blanche, who knew Ernst’s family, thought they were tedious and self-important. Rex’s son Mark, two years behind Ernst in high school, said he was a real brainiac, whatever that was, and depressingly serious. There were rumors of strong drink in the family. Ernst was known to indulge, but nobody ever saw him falling-down drunk.

Privately, Rex thought Ernst’s male parent was a tiresome busybody who would have to be excluded from his own private affairs at all cost.

Suddenly Rex was bored, or wanted a drink, or had an urge for feminine companionship. Or maybe it was all three. The Marriott had facilities to satisfy any of Rex’s immediate needs. Angel was waiting in their room now.

*      *      *

Ernst, my target voters think that Attila the Hun was too liberal, and that any right-thinking American would have philosophical differences with a nest of liberal pinko appeasers like the Beacon. Why would you want to work for me? He set the trap.

I called you because my dad has been following your political career since you opened a law office in our home town, Ernst said. He even donated money to your campaign—that’s like giving blood to Dad. He says you are a practicing Christian with solid conservative values. That’s what our country needs, and I want a chance to help make a difference.

You and your Dad don’t get along, do you?

Ernst said No, folding his arms.

Ernst, I have a question. Why did you monkey with the obituaries after Mike told you not to?

Well, he stalled, liberal thinking is a danger to our country. People need to understand what these people were, even after they passed away. I got satisfaction from sorting them out and I liked branding them. Besides, Mike edited them before they were printed anyway. Ernst thought for a minute. Does that make sense?

Rex laughed. Probably not, but it’s not an automatic pass to the state mental hospital either. He paused. I like to have folks from my home town around me. Everyone has quirks, but they don’t tell you what they are; you have to figure it out for yourself. In Euphoria, I can find out everything I need to know in an afternoon. I definitely won’t ask you to write obituaries, they both chuckled.

Mike Henry thought there was nothing wrong with you that time wouldn’t fix.

*      *      *

Rex fidgeted, thinking about Angel again, glancing at his watch, noticing that Ernst wasn’t bad-looking either—medium height, light brown hair, lean athletic build. But that would be another conversation.

Editor Mike had fired Ernst because he turned into a stubborn right wing zealot, but a problem in the newsroom of a non-partisan newspaper was an asset for Rex’s campaign. No previous political experience meant no expectations and no limits. Rex turned thumbs up on Ernst.

Addressing Ernst again, This is a critical election. We have to reverse the liberal direction in our country. I have to establish a Christian conservative seat in the United States Senate for this state. Would you like to help me? He waited for Ernst’s nod before he continued.

"I need a high-quality personal aide for the campaign, to write speeches and news releases, deal with the press, talk to supporters, meet with special interest groups, work with the national party, help work out strategy. Someone to know everything and make sure it all gets done.

You have never worked for someone like me. I work hard and I relax hard and I blur the boundaries between them. You may have to protect me from myself. I will never ask you to lower your standards, but you will definitely have to broaden your sense of appreciation.Every campaign needs an earnest young man. Can you be in my office at the capitol Saturday morning?

Rex left a short time after Ernst said yes, saying that he and a staffer were lining up support in Des Moines today and tomorrow. Then Rex was going on to Chicago for a GOP strategy meeting Thursday and back home late Friday night.

Ernst was to meet Rex in his office Saturday morning. He printed Bunny on the back of his card for Ernst with his big fountain pen. Bunny, he said, would book the flight, have a ticket at the gate, and reserve a room and rental car for Friday. For the first few weeks, Ernst would stay in an apartment they kept near the office. Starting pay would be about the same as the newspaper, but they would be rolling in money when they won.

*      *      *

Ernst left the meeting with his pulse racing in fear and excitement. He never even considered saying no. He could only guess how the campaign would change him; but it would be exciting! Helping win a campaign for the Senate would be something you could brag about to your grandkids.

Rex was easy to be around, Ernst thought he even seemed respectful when he was asking hard questions. His ponderous sense of humor was relaxing, almost charming. He sure took his time when he was thinking. Rex seemed concerned about his ability to follow instructions. Ernst thought he would have to prove his reliability.

Next, Ernst needed to thank Mike Henry for not shafting him and apologize for being so stubborn. Ernst was young, but he had learned not to agonize over difficult conversations. Rather than worrying about what to say, he just dialed the call. Mike accepted the thanks and the apology brusquely and said there were no hard feelings.

I was responsible for the copy and I wasn’t about to get fired so you could indulge your sense of humor or your political slant, Mike said. Good luck with your new job. Be careful with Wrigley, he has some real crazy backers. Mike refused to elaborate and excused himself to get back to his deadlines.

When Ernst called to follow up on his travel arrangements, Bunny was civil, rather loud, and very precise, as if giving directions to a sixth grader with a learning disability who was slightly hard of hearing. Ernst suspected that she enjoyed making him repeat the instructions out loud.

*      *      *

Friday afternoon, Ernst shuttled to the airport, picked up his tickets, checked two bags, and found the departure gate for his flight. A trim blonde, his own age and a few inches shorter in medium heels, was the most engaging sight in the boarding area. Her short, tousled, hair style was exotic without being fussy, and she topped well-fitting gray slacks with a warm blue sweater. She was a dish.

On an impulse, Ernst dropped into line behind her as they queued up for boarding. When she found her window seat, he parked himself on the same aisle and opened his briefcase to take out a clutch of papers.

A stocky matron showed up a few minutes later, asking diffidently if he could have taken her seat by mistake. Ernst examined his boarding pass, acted embarrassed, apologized profusely. Gesturing vaguely at his nest of papers, he pointed out a vacant seat on the half-empty plane and asked if she would mind saving him the trouble of packing up and moving.

He insisted on helping arrange her luggage in the overhead bin. She shrugged and allowed herself to be redirected. Ernst regained his hard-won vantage point, feeling as righteous as Mark Twain’s Christian holding four aces.

The blonde had been watching his little play with suppressed amusement. She can have my seat if it’s too much trouble for you to move, she said, smiling at his answering frown of protest. It looks like you’re going to work all the way to KC anyway.

Not if I can get you to talk, Ernst said.

Usually the problem is getting me to stop, she laughed. "By the way, watching you switch that poor lady out of her seat was like watching the three-shell trick at the carnival. I bet you were a terror at musical chairs in kindergarten.

You’re way better than the pompous dimwit who tried to grab a girl’s seat on a United Air flight last summer. He was still broadcasting that the poor fuzzy thing didn’t know how to read her boarding pass when they escorted him off for being on the wrong plane.

Within a few minutes they discovered that Angel Lindquist, for that was the maiden’s name, My parents christened me Angela Mary, but everyone else calls me Angel. She had attended college with Ernst’s younger sister. Susie talked about her big brother Ernst, but she didn’t say he was attractive and had her high cheekbones. Ernst’s blush flushed away any hard feelings being compared to a pompous dimwit might have created.

Angel had been in Des Moines on unspecified personal business Tuesday and Wednesday, staying an extra few days to cheer up an Auntie in poor health.

Ernst asked for her number after they had landed and filed off the plane into the boarding area. Angel made a face and said that she wasn’t exactly free. The two shook hands and wished each other well as if they really meant it before she hurried off.

As Ernst headed toward the baggage area to retrieve his luggage and find his rental car, he reflected that the flight had been all too short.

Angel had transported him out of his world into a much more intriguing universe.

*      *      *

A few minutes before eleven o’clock on a quiet Saturday morning, the hydraulic elevator came to a squishy stop and deposited Ernst gently on the third floor of a deserted brick office building. He found Rex’s office behind a dark cherry door embellished with a brass plaque inscribed Hornblower, Wrigley and Associates, P.C. Ernst wondered whether polishing the name plate would be part of his duties and if custodial work was a step up from journalism.

Ernst found the door was unlocked and entered a well-appointed waiting room with plush, dark-red carpet. There did not appear to be anyone around on a Saturday. He circled warily around a reception desk, half expecting to find a troll lying in ambush. Moving slowly down a hallway with cream-colored linen walls, Ernst arranged what he hoped was a winning smile on his face and wished that he had worn a tie.

The first door on the left was open. He approached and rapped softly on the molding. Ernst, is that you? a baritone voice demanded. Come on in!

Ernst overcame a second of doubt, and then advanced to meet his new boss in his lair. Rex was sitting behind a rich mahogany desk smoking an odoriferous cigar. An accent of bourbon lurked in the background. Rex rose from the depths of a high-back cordovan chair: Ernst, you SOB! he blared. You tried to pick up my girlfriend last night!

Chapter Two          Meeting the Team

Rex laughed at the shocked look on Ernst’s face, "Angel said you

Reviews for Wriggly Rex

[whoizme8 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Though I consider myself a political conservative I really enjoyed this book. A political satire or comedy on the political process or what could be the political process. A candidate who loves alcohol more than most things, a mistress, a dirty tricks duo, and a lilly white Democratic competitor, and a hew helper round out the cast of characters in this book. It would be interesting to see what the author or another author could do with a Democratic candidate following the same theme.J. Robert Ewbank author "John Wesley, Natural Man, and the Isms" "Wesley's Wars" "To Whom It May Concern" and "Tell Me About the United Methodist Church"