Rudi for President

By David Kerr Chivers

Rudi Markovi is running for President - and he has the press clippings to prove it.

Accompanied by his campaign manager, Slater Thompson, Rudi tours the country in his old, green van in search of votes and free publicity. But it's what he finds instead that makes life interesting.

He finds Angela Cartwright, a cake froster who needs a life change. Joining a Presidential campaign is all the change she could hope for, especially since she's fallen in love with the candidate.

He finds Phil Nixon, a talk radio DJ whose afternoon show is going down the tubes. Having Rudi on the air is a good way of killing time until the management kills his contract.

He finds Leon Trotsky Butler, a would-be revolutionary who wants to change the world, if he could only get the world to pay attention. In Rudi, Leon sees someone he thinks could capture that attention - with the right plan.

Politics, love, and revolutionary fervor prove an explosive mix as Rudi tries to change the world, and ends up changing a few lives instead.

Political satire at its finest!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 5, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469767253

David Kerr Chivers

David Kerr Chivers grew up in the hills of Berkshire County and still lives in western Massachusetts with his wife and two sons. He graduated from Boston University with a degree in Journalism and from Boston College Law School. He is the author of two previous novels; "Alien World" - a science fiction satire, and "Rudi for President" - a political satire, which are pubished under the name David Kerr.

Book preview

Rudi for President

David Kerr

Writers Club Press

San Jose New York Lincoln Shanghai

Rudi for President

All Rights Reserved

© 2001 by David Kerr Chivers

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Writers Club Press

an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse, Inc.

5220 S. 16th St., Suite 200

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the events, places, and characters portrayed and any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 0-595-20508-9

ISBN: 978-1-4697-6725-3 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

Twenty Five

Twenty Six

Twenty Seven

Twenty Eight

Twenty Nine

Thirty

Thirty One

Thirty Two

Thirty Three

Thirty Four

About the Author

For Marie,

and for Nate and Adam

Other Books by David Kerr:

An Alien World

One

Slater Thompson tried to roll over, but the sleeping bag twisted round him like a straightjacket. He opened his eyes, squinting into the sunlight streaming through the van’s side window. Up front, he made out the familiar figure sitting upright in the passenger seat, the sun forming a halo behind his long, straggly hair.

Morning Slater, chirped Rudi Markovi, owner of the van and candidate for President. Slater grunted, blinked, and finally succeeded in parting his eyelids wide enough to see Rudi clearly. Rudi’s lap cradled a pile of leaflets touting his candidacy.

"Isn’t it a little early to be handing out that stuff?’ Slater asked, counter-twisting his body to release himself from the clutches of the sleeping bag. He noticed Rudi’s red sleeping bag with the cowboys printed on it already rolled up in the van’s corner.

Not at all early for these mill towns. Factory gates open at six-thirty. By seven the rush is over. If we don’t get out there now, we’ll miss the whole chance. Can’t win an election without union support.

Man, I don’t think we’re gonna get any endorsement from them, Slater complained. He was having trouble untangling his feet. Somehow his sock had gotten caught in the zipper, he broke a few well-worn strands pulling it free.

Not from the union’s leaders. Of course not. They’re afraid to take a chance, or what they see as a chance. They don’t care what’s best for the workers, just what’s safest for them. By doing what’s expected, no one can blame them for being wrong. That’s the problem with America today, too many people take the safe way instead of the right way…

Save the speeches for the working stiffs. I am already converted. Slater jammed on a tweed driver’s cap, laced up his Converse All-Stars, and grabbed the old blue trench coats he wore on cold mornings. If we’re gonna do it, let’s go get it over with.

Right. Rudi swung around in his seat, popped open the door, and hopped to the ground, shifting his pamphlets to his left hand like a running back. Slater pulled the carefully lettered sign from behind Rudi’s sleeping bag by its long, wooden handle. He groaned as he straightened his body to its full, six foot, five-inch frame.

Which way?

Rudi looked around thoughtfully. They had parked in the employee’s lot. The factory was in front of them, but it took a minute to locate the gate.

Over there, he pointed and trotted across the parking lot. Slater kept up with long, quick strides, dragging the sign handle behind him.

The gate security guard eyed them suspiciously. He liked reading his paper and drinking his coffee in the morning. He didn’t like trouble, and to his way of thinking, a bearded, longhaired tramp and a tall, skinny Negro meant trouble.

Rudi took up a position on the sidewalk corner.

Just what do you think you’re doing? the guard yelled from the safety of his brick and bar cage, thoughtfully provided to him by the management.

Why officer, I’m doing a little early morning campaigning.

Campaigning? For what?

Like the sign says, Slater said as he came up behind Rudi, For President.

President of what?

Unusually dense, Rudi whispered, then spoke out The United States, of course.

I don’t think so, buddy. Why don’t you just move along. Your friend too.

I’m sorry, no. We came to campaign, and that’s what we’re going to do. Don’t worry, we won’t get in the way. We’ll pass out some literature, shake some hands, then we’ll be gone.

Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but you can’t campaign here.

Isn’t this sidewalk public property?

Yeah? So?

So I can. It’s the law. First Amendment.

The guard considered this for a moment. You really running for President?

Yes. Here, read this. Rudi slipped a pamphlet through the bars. The guard unrolled it and stared at the front. Rudi Markovi for PRESIDENT! it read, with a picture underneath so grainy it could well be the man standing in front of him.

I don’t know, the guard stalled. Printed material seemed more official. The presidential election is still a couple of three years off. And I never heard of you before.

Precisely why I’ve started campaigning now, sir.

The guard stared back down at the pamphlet, then back at Rudi.

All right. Go ahead, for all the good it’ll do you. But the first hint of trouble and you’re gone, First Amendment or no.

Perfectly reasonable, officer. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I see a voter. Slater turned to where Rudi was looking and watched a man get out of a jeep in the lot across the street. Both of them stared as the man crossed the highway, still unaware of the two. As he stepped up on the curb Rudi stuck a pamphlet under his nose.

Good morning sir. I’m Rudi Markovi. I hope you’ll vote for me for President. The man looked up without breaking stride or taking the pamphlet. He looked over at Slater. Slater grinned a big, toothy grin as the man shuffled on through the gate.

Who are those two nuts? the man asked the guard as he passed through, flipping his I.D. card. The guard shrugged.

Several cars and trucks now pulled into the lot, and a stream of workers filed across the crosswalk to the gate. Slater took the pile of literature from Rudi, handing them out while cradling the sign in the crook of his elbow, allowing Rudi to shake hands. Most people tried to avoid them, but when a small line formed at the security gate, a few were forced to take a pamphlet and shake Rudi’s hand, just so he’d leave them alone. Most deposited the leaflet in the big, metal trash barrel the guard had thoughtfully rolled out to the other side of the gate.

Slater didn’t mind these morning standouts. Usually the people were too tired to do much more than grunt and take what was being offered. The quicker they got by the better. And at two minutes after seven the workers were all gone.

That’s the last of them, the guard said, coming out to shut the gate. You might as well be moving along.

Certainly officer, if you’d extend me just one more courtesy. Rudi slipped through the gate before the guard could close it, and he tensed, wondering what Rudi was up to. But all Rudi did was lean over the trash barrel.

Most of these are still perfectly good, Rudi said, lifting out a scrambled pile of pamphlets. He tucked them under his arm and strode back out the gate. We’re still a low budget campaign, despite the recent gains we’ve been making with the voters, he explained. Have a good morning."

I will now, mumbled the guard, closing the gate and locking the padlock, something he rarely bothered doing. But Rudi and Slater were already crossing the street and getting into the van.

***

The coffee felt good going down. It hadn’t been particularly cold outside the factory, but standing around after sleeping on the floor of the van always made Slater feel colder than he was. He had grown up in the deep South, where the only time you got weather as cold as this New England morning was in the coldest parts of winter. Across from him Rudi still hadn’t touched his coffee. Instead he huddled over a road map of Massachusetts.

It looks like we can head right out Route 2 and hit a lot of small cities. Factory cities. A couple of days in each should get us some good results. In a week should be in Boston. He looked up with a triumphant smile.

What’s so great about Boston? Slater asked. The waitress refilled his coffee cup.

Boston is the perfect symbol for our campaign. It’s where it all started.

Where what all started?

Really, Slater. When this campaign is over we have to get you back into college. Haven’t you ever heard of the Boston Tea Party?

I thought that’s what they do in England.

Rudi sighed and sipped his coffee. Slater drank his too, hiding a mischievous smile.

Well, we have a busy day ahead of us. Better get a start on it. Rudi put down his coffee, barely lowered in the cup.

Hey, slow down man. I’m not through with mine yet. You got to learn to take things slower, Rudi. Pace yourself. It’s a long campaign ahead of you.

I suppose you’re right.

Course I’m right.

That’s why I took you on as my campaign manager, Slater. You may not have the book knowledge I have, but you have street sense. It will carry you far.

It already has, Slater said, thinking back longingly to Georgia’s sunshine.

But do hurry a bit, Rudi added. We have to get to the newspaper and to a bank.

Slater’s ears perked up. The bank? Don’t tell me it’s the sixth already. We still got nearly $35 left.

I know. But we need more gas. Besides, we could probably use some new leaflets.

Maybe a big meal, too. You know, roast beef and spaghetti and stuff for a change.

We’ll think about it after we go to the newspaper. See to the bill, will you Slater? Rudi rose, pushed his long hair back over his shoulders, and headed out. Slater settled up the bill, leaving no tip. As the official campaign treasurer he had to watch the funds closely. Five hundred a month didn’t go very far. Not for two.

***

The newspaper office was situated just off the main street. Slater pulled into the parking lot while Rudi rummaged into the trunk in back, pulling out a beat up, red scrapbook.

This the one with the latest clippings? he asked Slater. Slater nodded. Good. And here’s the campaign bio. He pulled a copied sheet from beneath a few other scrapbooks. Let’s go.

The inside of the North Adams Transcript’s offices were open all the way across the front. To the right was a counter over which a sign hung saying CIRCULATION. A tall, middle-aged woman with glasses hanging from a chain around her neck stood busily rifling through a card file.

Ahem, Rudi coughed, and failing to get her attention said Excuse me, Madam. The woman looked up, squinting without her glasses. Could you tell me where I could find the political editor?

Down the hallway and to the right.

Thank you. A good day to you. Rudi trotted down he hallway with Slater loping behind. At the end of a long hallway, on the right, was a large conference table with a computer terminal plopped on it. Behind the terminal sat a balding man with glasses and a bow tie.

Excuse me, Rudi said, abandoning his cough. Could you tell me where I might find the political editor for the paper?

Might find him right here, the man said without looking up.

Excellent. You’re the man I was looking for.

My wife says the same thing.

Does she really? Isn’t that interesting. Of course the relationship between myself and you could hardly be put in similar terms with that between you and your wife, however the parallel is remarkable.

Who are you? the editor said, now staring at Rudi. Slater still marveled at Rudi’s ability to get people’s attention.

My name’s Rudi Markovi, and I’m running for President. Here’s a copy of my biography. He slipped one of the copied papers in front of the computer screen. The editor glanced over it quickly.

President, huh? Aren’t you a little early Mr…Markovi?

Was Jimmy Carter too early when he started two years before the election? Was Ronald Reagan too early when he started campaigning back in ’64, even though he didn’t get elected until 1980?

Just what party’s nomination are you running for?

The people’s party.

The People’s Party, repeated the editor, now scribbling notes on a pad next to his terminal.

No, Rudi said, reading upside. The people’s party. Small p’s. It’s not an organized thing.

That doesn’t surprise me, the editor smirked.

It shouldn’t. That’s why I’m running. Organized parties do nothing for people. They can’t, by their very nature. Society isn’t an organized social group. There’s too many varied interests and too many varied needs. An organized political party is therefore not reflective of society at large.

And you are?

No. Of course not. No man can embody this nation. But I’m willing to admit it.

What would you do differently? Slater noticed how Rudi had a knack for getting reporters interested in his views, interested enough to run a story and usually Rudi’s picture. Of course, the stories always pictured Rudi as a bit of a kook, but like Rudi always said, the only thing worse than bad publicity was no publicity at all.

Eliminate middle-management government, Rudi was answering. Too many people in government are just there to tell the people below them what the people above them want done.

Slater tuned out of the discussion. He’d heard Rudi’s views before. Slater was not political. He really wasn’t much of anything, he told himself. But it didn’t bother him. He might never be a huge success, but he never cheated anybody to become one, either. He had never cheated Rudi. Sure he shared Rudi’s money, but he also helped Rudi campaign. And he never took more of Rudi’s money that he needed to live, despite the fact that Rudi gave him complete control, and he could easily pocket some of it. But of all the things Slater wasn’t in life, including a success, he also wasn’t a crook. He figured that put him one up on at least one former president. He was just Slater Thompson, campaign manager.

***

The editor headed back inside after taking a picture of Rudi and Slater standing in front of the van, which had Markovi for President painted in block letters on the side. Rudi tucked away his clippings book with a satisfied smile. Slater took advantage of Rudi’s feeling of accomplishment.

Lunchtime?

Yes. I think so. We deserve a break after that bit of work. I think we passed a McDonald’s on our way in.

Slater hopped in the van and fired up the engine. The one concrete contribution Slater made to this whole operation was his skill with engines. The van ran quietly and smoothly, even with over 120,000 miles on it now.

He drove down the street and pulled into a Burger King, which was what Rudi had seen. Rudi called all fast food places McDonald’s. He also always ordered a Big Mac, angering some of the more franchise-loyal employees who would try to convince him he could only get a Whopper. It was Slater’s job to get Rudi through these parts of life successfully. Rudi was a brainy guy, Slater admitted, but if you left him alone for more than two minutes, he’d end up with his coat on backwards.

After lunch we’ll go to a bank, Rudi announced through a mouthful of golden fries.

Maybe with the extra money we saved this month we can get a good meal tonight, Slater suggested again. You could never repeat things too often with Rudi.

Maybe. It’s probably time for a motel, too. About once a week Rudi and Slater checked into a cheap motel, mainly to shower. The rest of the time they washed up in restaurant rest rooms.

I think we can afford both.

You’re the treasurer, Slater. If you think so, it must be true.

Slater sipped his Coke contentedly, thinking of a good dinner and a soft bed with clean sheets, both on the same day. Finding Rudi had definitely been a lucky break.

Two

Angela Wicker pushed her finger into the bottom of the frosting covered bowl, sending it around and around the bottom, finding every last possible crystal before lifting it back up

Reviews for Rudi for President

[fidchivers · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I wrote this - so here's more of a jacket summary. Rudi Markovi is running for President, from the back of his beat up van. Armed only with a campaign manager, a small monthly allowance accessed by his ATM card and shrewdly managed by that same camapaign manager, and his own style of political rhetoric, he takes his campaign "to the people." A few of the people listen, although usually not for long. But Angela sees in Rudi's campaign a way out of her humdrum life that seems all too fixed, and joins the campaign. And then so does Leon, a dedicated anarchist, who sees in Rudi the charasmatic leader he yearns to be, if only he can bend Rudi to his way of thinking. And then let's just say events have a way of getting out of control. Available through Amazon and Barnes and Noble websites.