The Better Man

By Richard H. Casebier

Man's greatest desires are love, acceptance and power. Like a fast pace story keeping you in suspense, your nerves on end. The Better Man weaves a tangled tale of love, intrigue and murder all revolving around the US Presidency. Can a President run for a third term? The US Constitution says no but one of our characters feels otherwise. How low can a man fall an yet find redemption, love? Will a once big time Chicago attorney stop the hi-jacking of the Presidency and save himself from his own private hell? Who will live, who will die? Who is The Better Man?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 18, 2008
• ISBN: 9781469101309

Richard H. Casebier

Born in the days of the last forty acre farmer, Richard Casebier wondered the hills of Arkansas’s Crowley’s Ridge using imagination and nature around him for entertainment. Time moved slow and deliberate without the hindrance of television, cell phones or video games. After a long week of hard work, Saturdays were filled with sounds of Nashville’s Grand Ole Opry and a late afternoon trip to town teeming with people. Conversation filled the sidewalks along main street spilling out into the street. People visited with friends, purchased goods for the coming week or maybe a new pair of jeans from the local dry goods store. Automobile doors stood un-locked with grocery sacks open unmolested in the back of trucks. Kids ran free among the adults without supervision as none was needed. Respect, community and order were understood and expected. Going from this microcosm to the big metropolis Richard observed life in all it’s simplicity and complications. The Vietnam war, the shooting of Martin Luther King, the Kennedy assassination, President Nixon’s resignation and the downfall of the Soviet Union among other momentous events charged fifty something years with wonder and amazement at the greatness and stupidity of humanity. This author has been fascinated by politics and the collisions in history of people and events. Our times are rich in opportunities for the imagination to create fictional worlds and events to entertain our selves and others. From a short story in high school to dreams of writing a best seller, this book, The Better Man represents a first attempt at telling the story in print. Make no mistake, it is all about telling the story, toying with the reader and in the end giving satisfaction for time well spent with a tale well spun.

Book preview

Chapter I

Tom’s eyes soaked up the images from the television screen. The man on the screen looked tired beyond his years. Two deep lines divided his now-graying eyebrows, and crow’s feet perched on the edge of both eyes. Square shoulders of youth sagged and were beginning to round with the weight of hard decisions.

President Thomas had been in office three and one half years. Three and one half years on the peaks of success and in the low valleys of frustration. Tom had never met President Thomas but sensed a kinship. The president’s speeches and public actions seemed to mirror his own thoughts. Maybe somehow their spirits were connected. No, he thought, the president was a professed Christian, a man of stony resolution. Tom was a man of clay and existed only for today. Tomorrows for Tom had been destroyed by his own weakness, his wondering eye.

The president’s shoulders squared as his body arose slowly marching onto the podium to the marine band’s Hail to the Chief and the crowds deafening cheers. These were not the movements of a beaten man, but the movements of a man on a quest, a mission for God and country. The rounding shoulders, the deep facial lines were badges of courage, scars of battle.

As the cheers lulled down, both hands grasped the podium as his words formed slowly, intently. Tom studied his movements, felt the words. President Thomas was not a spellbinding speaker, but his words were not plastic. Sincerity was his trademark, his nature. His voice was not gravelly or scratchy but clear, a little higher pitched than most but not mousey or feminine. The first words dripped from his lips but soon began to flow in a steady stream of confidence and meaning.

Confidence and meaning were words that had a different implication just four short years ago. Ex-President Clement was a man who had all the confidence in himself, but his words were plastic, molded for the moment. Tom, watching President Thomas, was glad Clement couldn’t run again; but his sister, Senator Clement, was another story. She was just as devious as her brother, Tom thought. The people of New York bought her socialist bilge and elected her senator of the great state just as Washington was getting rid of the dubious pair. The ex-president couldn’t challenge President Thomas, but Tom feared Senator Clement might step into the race. Sad thing was so many people seemed fooled by the Clements. What would happen if Senator Clement decided to run against President Thomas? Tom didn’t want to go there. Not now when things seemed to be going so well for President Thomas.

The words of President Thomas were gathering steam as he continued, Friends, citizens, and supporters, I stand before you today in humble appreciation of America. America, the very word defines freedom and greatness in a world confused by violence and oppression. For the last three years, my presidency has had the distinct honor to serve our America. My opponents have been steady in their criticisms, but I have determined to honor my principles, keep my promises, and let you, the citizens of this great country, judge me for who I am and what I have accomplished for America. Tough decisions have been made, hardships overcome, and today, I ask for another four years to finish the job we started just three and one half short years ago. The crowd rose to their feet with wild applause as the First Lady joined her husband and waved to the crowd in grateful appreciation.

The intense eyes, the unwavering jaw, the steady movements spoke volumes in sincerity, Tom thought to himself. President Thomas was elected to the presidency at the end of an incredible business cycle, the end of peak economic times. He and his advisors were aware of the danger he faced, but the time was right for him to run. The future president felt right would win out if given a chance. He would make his case to the American people. They would decide his fate based on the merits of truth and honesty.

The people of America elected him the first time in a major landslide. Truth and honesty had won the day. But truth and honesty wear thin when unemployment begins to rise. All too often, people prefer a good lie that sounds good as to truth that hurts. President Thomas was always truthful, perhaps too truthful for his own political health!

The first year of his presidency, the stock market had taken a left turn south. Interest rates began to rise. Bankruptcies began to increase. People quickly began to look for someone to blame. There stood President Thomas. He and his party were the victims of the business cycle and a national media with their agenda of doom, especially if they could blame the problems on President Thomas.

At first in a low whisper, his opposition began placing the economic problems at the president’s feet. Then as the downturn began to deepen, the whispers turned into howls. The opposition began talking of the better times when they were in control of the presidency. At first, the honeymoon with the voters gave him time. Then time ran out as people’s bank accounts began to shrink. Two years later at the midterm elections, the people saddled him with a Congress of political opponents.

For almost two long hard years, the president had bitten his tongue, taken the criticism in stride, and tried to compromise with his opponents. He did not like who they were or what they stood for, but for the good of the country, he stood toe-to-toe. Only his training as a trial lawyer and natural ability as a debater allowed him to give only on minor points while gaining major points that would allow the economy to gain ground. He had not won, but he had not lost. He needed four more years and a friendly Congress to complete the job.

The president continued, For the last two years, I have worked with the Congress to address our economic difficulties. I stand here today to tell you we have turned the corner. Interest rates have leveled off, the stock market is turning north again. Our great country is at peace, and our grandchildren will have a great inheritance. The crowd at the president’s hometown where he chose to make his reelection announcement jumped to their feet with wild applause. His speech was going well. He was connecting like he did on his first run for the presidency. Pride welled up in Tom’s eyes, and he had to squint to hold back the tears. This was truly a good man, Tom thought.

President Thomas was in most people’s minds a moral man. He was the husband of one wife and the father of two children, a boy and a girl, the perfect family in many eyes. The children were both married and very stable citizens. The president’s children were good models of their mother and father, following in their parents’ footsteps, as they say.

President Thomas grew up in Kenton, Missouri, as John Matthew Thomas. He was the only child of a Church of Christ preacher. He was born on the first day of January in the year nineteen forty-two, not quite one month after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. His father, even though eligible for deferment as a preacher, volunteered for the navy as a chaplain. For that reason, little John only knew his mother for the first three years of his life.

His upbringing had been strict yet fair, even handed and steady. His father after his stint in the service had come home to preach in the local congregations. Life had been good for John Matthew. Not necessarily in the material sense but in the family sense. His mother was always there, and his father was there to teach him the true meaning of fairness, ethics, and morals. Most important, John Matthew saw his father’s sermons lived out daily in the lives of both his parents.

From his father’s sermons on right and wrong, John Matthew began to decide that the law was where life would lead him. His father had hoped to see his son in the pulpit one day, yet he found great joy in seeing his son pursue a field that needed the kind of heart and soul he knew was within his son.

The cost of college and law school had to come from John Matthew’s own pocket. His father’s small minister’s salary found little leftover for the kind of expense college would bring, yet again John Matthew found fate good to him. The son of one his father’s congregation had a law practice near the college. John would work there as a clerk and general flunky for several years. Then upon his graduation from law school, he would be asked to join the firm.

After several successful years as a criminal lawyer, John Matthew ran for and was elected as a judge, then state representative, federal senator, and, three and one half years ago, president of the United States.

During President Thomas’s first election, the press and his opponents had spent lots of time looking for dirt on either the candidate or his family. Much to their disappointment, they did not even find dust. In the eyes of some, they were a little too perfect, yet they were who they were. No one needed to guess or speculate on ethical or moral directions regarding this man or his family. Right was always the only path.

President Thomas’s wife Jennifer, or Jenny to those who knew her, was now in her early fifties, yet her blond hair looked so natural. Her girlish figure could only be described as hourglass. In contrast to her husband, Jenny’s face showed little of the wear and tear of the last three years. Her blond locks frequently fell down across her face in a sixties style, yet it suited her. She did not come off as a grandmother trying to look like her granddaughter. It was Jenny. Her good looks and style charmed America, and they loved her.

She did not try to be a great crusader; she just wanted to be the First Lady and stand proudly by her husband. No feminist was she. Just an old-fashioned girl who liked doors opened for her and enjoyed the compliments of her husband’s friends as well.

The first family was the kind of people conservative America could idealize. They were near perfect. In contrast to his predecessor, they were role models and people to emulate.

For these reasons, many in the press seemed at times to writhe in agony. They longed for some nasty story from the past or present to soil the Rembrandt image portrayed by the first family. Oh, they had roasted him over the economy and his troubles with the Congress. Yet to their dismay, that silky white image was just too much. Many of the lives of the president’s opponents were in shambles. Why was this president the exception? After all, he was a conservative, a man and a family of the old ways, a throwback to the fifties. People even mentioned the Cleavers. It was just too much for the many among the media to accept.

Tom watched President Thomas as he began to sum up his speech. The friendly crowd, being at home, had invigorated the president. He looked somehow taller. His shoulders seemed squarer. This was good, Tom thought, maybe he had really turned the corner.

As the president now stepped away from the podium to wave to the crowd, Jenny joined him. What a picture, Tom thought, the first family looking good and being cheered by a friendly crowd. No way the press could make a bad light of this picture.

Tom Moore turned off the television. He felt good. For months, he had been afraid that the president would choose not to run. The country needed this man, he reasoned. Now he had announced and with a good speech and a great reception.

Tom now made up his mind to go see the president in person. He knew he could not speak with him personally, but to be there in person, feel the atmosphere, he knew it would be exciting, invigorating.

Tom Moore had turned fifty-five years old this year. Times had gone from worse to awful. As a lawyer, his life ten years ago had been perfect, much like President Thomas. But then that slip, that awful fall from grace. He did not want to think about it today. To see the president making progress must be savored.

The image in the mirror looked back with disdain. The eyes were swollen-looking, the beard rough, adding a sinister look. Who was this guy? Tom had to clean up his act. Days on end at his little dingy office had taken its toll on him. His law practice consisted of mostly low-income people with little other recourse than a cheap lawyer like Tom. Divorce filings, wills, and petty lawsuits were Tom’s bread of life.

Cheap lawyer, once upon a time, Tom was anything but an inexpensive lawyer. The days of life in downtown Chicago were a far-off image. The big corner office with leather couch, the big mahogany desk. He could still envision his secretary sitting outside his office at her desk in her very hi-fashion attire. She was good-looking and a sharp dresser, and with her low sexy voice, she could make anyone believe he really was in a meeting.

In those days, people had to call for an appointment; but only the important people got in, the ones who could pay the five-hundred-an-hour fee or the big number yearly retainers. Two-thousand-dollar suits, every Wednesday and Saturday on the golf course, and the Mercedes. His favorite toy was the red Mercedes sports car. A hundred-dollar cigar and a drive down Michigan Avenue at high noon with the top down, that was living. People took notice. He had been on top of the world.

Tom began to shake his head in disbelief. What idiot would give up that life for the East Side of Chicago? How could it have happened? I was there, yet I don’t know what happened, he thought to himself. Ah! he knew what happened. He just could not make himself believe his own actions. How had he let such a stupid situation develop? He was smarter than that.

As he looked again at the sorry image in the mirror, he just wanted to end it all. Yet something kept him going. No particular reason he could put his finger on; there was just something he had to do, maybe a purpose not yet known. Maybe something good could still come of him.

He had to clean up his act. Maybe buy a new suit. The meager amounts he was able to collect from his clients did not allow for a thousand-dollar suit, yet he did have clothes in storage from his day’s downtown. He had packed them away, not wanting to remind himself of those times. And then, in his current neighborhood, dressing too well could invite trouble.

Tom knew times would get better, they could not get much worse, and he just needed a new reason to go on. President Thomas had played the bad hand dealt him and seemed to be turning the corner. Tom needed purpose, meaning to drag himself out of this rut he had settled into.

President Thomas had started his election bid from his hometown of Kenton, Missouri. His election committee had suggested he do a train trip across America. His first stop would be Chicago, Illinois, hometown and current residence of Tom Moore.

Chapter II

Tall, lean, and sharp, that was Bill Clement. At least that was his image of himself. Well, maybe a few million Americans shared that view with him. He was elected to the highest office in the land, twice!

His eyes were a deep blue. The kind of eyes women loved to stare into and men would like to trust. He stood a tall six foot three but, with his slim build, seemed taller. His broad shoulders and narrow hips gave him a towering appearance. The kind of appearance that made people look up and take notice when he entered a room. His personality was that of a shiny gold piece, very rich in appearance, but you just wanted to bite into it to make sure it was real. People really liked Bill, even his enemies. He could talk most people into doing most anything he wanted; yet they always wondered why.

Bill’s presidency was more like his personality, a lot of shine and not much substance. President Clement entertained, traveled, and talked more than most presidents, but most of the conversation was about himself. The country seemed to be more the vehicle than the destination. His only real plan was to gain more power, more influence over people’s lives, and a strong need to be loved. Yet his presidency was marked by scandal after scandal, constant denigration of the very country he commanded. But for all the dirt and dust that President Clement seemed to stir up, none seemed to stick to him.

The country was at peace, the economy good. President Clement just had to steer the country like a big truck going down a ten-lane highway. He could swerve a little, sometimes a lot, but the road was so wide no one noticed. He became president right at the beginning of an eight-year upswing in the business cycle. He could do nothing wrong. It was a sweet ride.

Bill Clement had plotted every day since leaving office to work his way back to being the number one passenger on Air Force One. And now Clement desperately wanted to go back to the big house on the hill.

Philosophically speaking, Clement had many allies in the television and print media. Some had to hold their sensitive noses at some of the tactics of their so-called hero. However, they were content to walk in the sewer to get to the seat of power with their own ideas.

Former president Clement had been the master con man. And more importantly, he was an incredibly lucky man. His opponents always seemed to help him gain the advantage no matter how much he lied to or cheated them.

The big question, could a former president serve two terms, then stay out of office one term and then run again? Maybe an amendment to the Constitution would be too much to try. A man has to know just how far to go, and Clement had a distinct way of conning the American people. There was an avenue, and he had a powerful friend in the Senate to pave the way.

His sister, Kathleen, had just been elected to the Senate from New York, and her older brother Bill was her idol. Kathleen was good-looking and a charmer just like Bill. She had those same penetrating blue eyes and the kind of hourglass shape that made men stop and whistle at always. Her face was a perfect oval in which all features were a perfect fit. She was a dish.

Kathleen had been Bill’s closest advisor. She was the only person he trusted.

In fact, Bill wondered at times if he should just back Kathleen for president. After all, she was a good-looking woman with the charm of both Clements. She certainly idolized Bill, and he could control her. No, they played Hail to the Chief for only one person.

Kathleen was the idealist of the two. Bill just loved power, but Kathleen was a dedicated Socialist and a closet Marxist, but to the world, she was just a good liberal. She fought for the children even though she never had any and never intended to have any. Children seemed so pedestrian, so-fifties-Mrs.-Cleaver-type thing. She was the new woman. She fought for the poor. Even though she had been poor in her youth, she had no intention of returning to her roots. She and Bill both found the downtrodden very receptive to their message, and most middle and upper class people were very easily manipulated to feel guilty about not doing more for these groups. Marx knew, use the poor, the children, and elderly, but live like the rich.

Her one blind spot was Bill Clement, her brother. Maybe the only man she really loved not in any sick way, but as one sibling loves and has devotion to another.

For the last long three years, Bill awoke every morning thinking he was still in the White House, only to realize that the only one in his attendance was his dog, Mac. And he rarely did what Bill commanded. Oh, there were plenty of speeches, dinners, and meetings with the rich and powerful, but it wasn’t the same. The press would come anytime he called, but he had little to say. What could he say; he was retired, out of power.

Maybe soon he would have a reason to call them in, an announcement—a big announcement—the first president to run again after already serving two terms. Roosevelt did four terms in succession, but maybe Bill would be the first to come out of retirement and serve an entirely new term. Now that kind of news would get the media hounds back in attendance.

There was one big problem, the Twenty-second Amendment to the Constitution of the United States. However, Bill always saw laws, rules, and regulations as guidelines to be bent, twisted, or just plain broken if he found them a hindrance to his own purposes.

Kat was the master of details. Bill knew if they put their heads together, that petty amendment could be dealt with. Bill was the front man with the con and Kat pulled the strings in the background to make things happen. They were a dangerous duo.

Chapter III

Tom opened his eyes slowly. His arm felt detached, numb. He felt something warm up against his body. No, had he drank that much. Woo! That birdcage bottom taste in his mouth told him he had.

Tom loved wine, even cheap wine, but the things it did to him—the headache, the bad taste in his mouth, the total lack of self-control. Yup! The sour grape had done it to him again.

He did not even like her looks, but it was late, and he was horny. Now what was he to do? If he woke her, he had to have a conversation with her. What had they done last night? Don’t even want to think about it.

This was Saturday, and it was to be a big day. President Thomas was coming into town. He was doing his train tour and had a scheduled stop at the McCormick Center at noon. Tom was compelled to go down to see the president in person.

The president would never find himself in such a miserable position as Tom, he thought to himself. Why am I so weak and the president so strong? No answer came to mind.

Slowly, Tom tried to move off the bed without waking his lover. Lover! A slight smile worked its way across Tom’s face as the old coyote ugly joke came to mind. No, he needed both arms.

She awoke with a snarl! Man, he had to start drinking better liquor. You bum, why can’t you let me sleep? It’s only nine o’clock.

Tom really wished he could remember her name. The latent smell of wine, the cheap perfume fouled his nose. Maybe it was best he didn’t.

Tom arose from his bed and headed for the shower. Maybe a little hot water and soap would clean a little of last night’s memory from body and mind. For a long time, Tom let the hot water beat feeling back into his body. His mind became clearer. What was to come of him?

Upon returning to his bedroom, the girl was gone. First thought, what did she steal? Second thought, guess we were really in love! She felt the same about him as he about her, nothing!

Tom had heard the term lost soul, but it never really had any meaning before now. Religion was never any consideration. A man made his own luck. But the lack of feeling for the woman, not even remembering her name, had to be bad sign! There would be other women, but not another opportunity like today.

The president would be at the McCormick Center for a big speech. Maybe his own times were rough, but so were the president’s, but the president was a master of his own destiny. Tom had to be there. The rush of the crowd, the emotion, the energy, Tom needed that infusion of energy. If the president could overcome his problems, so could he.

The train station was a short walk from his apartment. The late November air felt cool, crisp and began clearing his head of the grape-induced cobwebs. This kind of weather made a man walk a little faster, more upright, maybe more dignified. Yes, more dignified. Tom certainly needed that.

As he approached the entrance to the train station, he could see lots of people. Almost like a workday. Could it be that all these people were going to see the president too? That would be great.

Tom could not stop himself from admiring the president. His first big stop here in Chicago, right here in the middle of a Democratic bastion. Gutsy man! The monumental McCormick Center would hold a lot of people. There would be lots of rich important people there and plenty of room for the many little people like himself.

The train was one of Tom’s most favorite places. Lots of people made the trip downtown noisy but exciting. He glanced at their faces, their clothing. He loved to guess what their station in life might be like. What were their thoughts?

Great morning to be alive, he offered to the snarly-faced, gray-haired lady sitting next to him.

If you think so, she returned with some effort.

Going down to see the president? Tom inquired.

No, don’t like the man much, she replied with a smirk. He’s never done anything for me.

She must be a Democrat, Tom thought. He would not let her sour demeanor ruin his day. He thought of moving to another seat but thought why not stay here and smile all the way. That was sure to cause her some concern.

The train was coming into the heart of the city. The sight of the stately buildings, the feel of the city, made one’s pulse quicken. Thoughts of better days filled his mind. East Side of Chicago was nothing like this.

Tom had not ventured into the city for months. Little money and no friends left any reason to venture back among the great statues of wealth and commerce. He just began to realize how much he still missed those prosperous times.

As the train neared downtown, the stops became more frequent. More people began to crowd onto the car. Tom always sat near the doors. He hated pushing through the people to the doors. Some new arrivals looked at him strangely. Was something horrible hanging from his nose? Then he remembered he had put on his best suit for today and his camel hair overcoat. Maybe a little overdressed for the train. Oh well, let them stare, he thought. He felt good, and he had to dress for the occasion.

The Jackson Street station was next. He stood and moved among the bodies toward the exit. A shapely young woman in a short dress standing near the doors smiled at him. She seemed different from all the rest. Nice hair, fresh smell, very nice legs, expensive shoes. Maybe he needed to wear this suit more often. Any other day would have required a change of plans to explore this possibility, but today must be on my way.

The train braked to a squeaky stop. The door opened, and off he went up the stairs into the morning air. Even the air in the city seemed richer. It was a long walk to the McEwen and Michigan Street train station, the connection to the McCormick Center. No mind, he was in a different world today.

The walk among the tall towers of power, the sounds of the city, each step seemed to give Tom more energy. Briskly, the blocks disappeared behind him. As he neared Michigan Avenue, the crowds began to build. Shoppers making their way to stores and people going to the train that would stop at the McCormick Center peopled the sidewalks.

To get into the McCormick Center, you were required to have a ticket. The Republican Party had passed out several thousand tickets to party members and their friends. They needed several thousand people for the speech, and since the campaign had a train theme, many were encouraged to come to the center via the train. There were to be several special trains between the hours of 9:00 a.m. and 11:15 a.m. to take people to the center. This allowed for a good screening of the people when they entered the center as well as good crowd control for the president’s security team.

Typical, Tom would just make the last train. Better late than never.

The old train station at Van Buren Street was crowded with lots of expensive suits and well-dressed women. Good-looking women dressed in fashionable dresses but donning their tennis shoes. Their perfume was very intoxicating. Usually, the women on trains had a more worldly scent.

The blonde in the black dress seemed to stare at Tom. He again wondered if something were wrong with his attire, his looks. Been so long since women of her type would give him the eye. Expensive-looking woman with style, dare his eyes meet hers? No, he had no time for such—more important things to attend to now.

The train slowly rocked into the station. People from all corners of the area began to crowd toward the doors as the train drew to a stop.

Funny thing, the crowd in his part of town would run all over you, shove you out of the way. This group kept their distance and yet moved in an orderly fashion to the doors. Tom began to feel at home here. He knew no one but felt like he should. Maybe some of the guys from the old days might be here. What would he say? Times had changed for Tom, and maybe he should not get to comfortable.

The conductor opened the doors and announced the station and the next stop. Tom always was impressed with the uniforms of the conductors, especially the watch and chain. They looked so official. How did they keep the creases so sharp?

Tom walked aboard and found his way to one of the seats in the top section. Loved the top section. Could look down on the rest of the train. Good sightseeing up here too. Nothing to see, but if there was something, he would see it. He scanned his fellow travelers. Smiles all around. Could they be that happy, content? There she was again. Setting next to the older gentleman with the hat. This time their eyes met. No long stare, just a glance. Then he saw the smile. She had a nice face. The smile seemed to make her whole face shine. Tom thought of the girl from last night; there was a world of difference. The blonde had class. She was no common blonde, and the color might even be real.

What was he to do? He had come here to see the president, and now he was getting distracted. Then he realized the world between him and her was miles apart. Was she just friendly or a little lonely? After all, what was a good-looking woman like her doing on this train by herself?

Must think of his purpose for coming here. His fall from grace had begun just like this with an enticing smile from a classy woman. That fall had been long and hard. Was he stupid or just still vain? No, he had no time for this. He was here to see the president, not to meet a woman.

The train was stopping at the next station, more of the pretty people going to the McCormick. Going to be a big crowd. Tom could feel the excitement building. Everyone was talking in hushed polite tones, yet you could just imagine the discussions, the talk of the president’s chances of winning a second term. Maybe some of these people could even be considering political appointments. Had to be lots of lawyers in this group. Once Tom could have been one of those in consideration. Now he was just lucky to get a ticket to hear the speech.

The conductor announced the McCormick stop coming up next. All passengers were to leave the train at the McCormick. Tom began to rise from his seat and work his way to the door. He suddenly realized he was the only one arising. Forgot his manners. This crowd would be orderly. Everyone near the doors first, then in order as they sat in the train. Been in the jungle too long. He sat back down, relieved in a way. The blonde was near the door. He would not have to make a decision as to conversation with her. She would be long gone by the time he reached the door.

The top section began to move forward to the door to depart the train. Tom observed from the train the military helicopter with all the escorts at the airport next to the McCormick. That had to be the president. In just a matter of minutes, he would be seeing in person the most powerful man in the world. And this man was the object of Tom’s adoration. Maybe adoration was too strong? No, if Tom had the opportunity to win the lottery or be able to work with the president personally, he would easily choose the latter.

Tom now followed his fellow passengers down the stairs leading to the doors of the train. The gentleman ahead of him was very well dressed with just a dash of gray in his hair. He looked very distinguished and intelligent. Tom noted the very expensive Rush Limbaugh tie. Not flashy but colorful in a distinguished way.

Expecting a good speech today from the president? Tom ventured.

The man turned to Tom in