Casing the Colors© -- Week 2

CASING THE COLORS : THE NEW AMERICAN REPUBLIC © by Casey Pops • • • CHAPTER 3 • Stuart Wellford was forced to the political sidelines after his appointment to the United States Supreme Court. He had been a New York Senator, elected after serving as the United States Solicitor General who had made a popular household name for himself by successfully representing before the Supreme Court major federal criminal cases against drug kingpins and international terrorists. Empire State Republicans, divided between the Albany conservative caucus and the New York City liberals run by a few wealthy patrons, had one thing in common. They all loved Stu Wellford, or pretended to. He was just what they needed to soothe their consciences, an acceptably temperate civil rights spokesman and a hugely successful lawyer with the right political touch and credentials to match. Stuart Wellford was alert to the nuances in the alliance between moderate and conservative GOP politicians, and he knew how to use his blackness, the color most lacking in GOP press photos. Stu could also move brilliantly through cocktail fundraisers and state committee meetings as a favorite son no one dared oppose. Some Republicans really adored him, others simply feared the repercussions of challenging him. When a seat on the Supreme Court became vacant, he was New York's unanimous candidate, displaying restrained concern in the criticism emanating from southern and western conservative Republicans, who complained as loudly as their political survival instincts allowed about Stu Wellford's suspected pro-abortion position. But with the images of the Senate fiascoes caused by attacking prior minority Supreme Court nominees burnt into their political memories, Republicans of stature were unwilling to risk their reputations in the confirmation hearing. It was so easy. Stuart Wellford, a member of the Senate club with American Bar Association backing, was a shrewd choice and a sure thing for Senate approval. •  As Kate had agreed at dinner the prior evening, she called Justice Wellford's private portable phone number and left a message. He returned her call several hours later. "Stu, I'm at Dad's for the weekend," she said. "Could you possibly find a few hours for a visit in the country?" "Sure, Sweetie," Stu said, relishing the opportunity to be with her. "What's the problem?" "Do you always have to read my mind?" she laughed. "I need to talk to you without media coverage, and here in Washington that's not easy." "Okay, what about tomorrow for lunch." "Great, and bring Sheila, please," Kate added. "Sorry, she's in Los Angeles. You'll have to make do with me," Stu answered, picking up the framed photo of his wife that always sat on his desk. Sheila Wellford was twenty years older than Kate and the only other woman Stu had ever known who had the same combination of beauty and sharpe-edged wit, but never unintentionally hurtful. No indeed, he chuckled to himself, when either Sheila or Kate let go a verbal punch, it was always with deliberation and precise ferocity. He exhaled slowly, admitting to himself that he would lead a much calmer life if either of these women, both of whom he loved with a devotion that often bewildered him, could have been just a little less strong, just a little more pliable and soft. Later in the day, while Scott grilled steaks and Jim Gordon prepared the rest of dinner, Kate asked her father what he wanted her to say to Stu when he came to lunch the next day. "What about telling him the unvarnished truth?" he asked, his question a command rather than a request. "I know it's old-fashioned, but we soldier types still prefer the direct approach." His daughter laughed mirthlessly, her shoulders sagging at the prospect of the mission in front of her and the small help she could expect from her father or Scott. "Sorry, Kate," he said, tousling her blond curls, "but looking for a President is way out of my line of work. Just convince the Justice. If he wants to talk to me, too, that's fine with me." The steaks were juicy and delicious in the hot June evening, hazy and quiet over the rolling hills of the Potomac Valley. It was the season when most people tried to escape Washington's oppressive heat and humidity, but Kate always found Capitol summers invigorating. As they ate, she basked in the warm evening and thought about her trips to Tunisia and Egypt for two special clients whose investments were delicate enough to demand all the massaging of the military and government officials she could legally deliver, even in these dangerous times. The heat in North Africa was dry and the horizons undulating and beige, but the sensual comfort of the desert was similar to what she felt tonight, sitting on her father's terrace overlooking the Maryland countryside. She had suggested to Scott several times that he go with her on one of her business trips to North Africa, so they could enjoy the special desert beauty together, but he was always too busy with his Pentagon duties or flying around the world inspecting troops. Besides, he always asked with some reason, how would she hide him from the media? Kate watched Scott, relaxed and attentive as her father described the President's distress about continuing in office. Scott was handsome and she knew he was vain enough to be aware of it. She wondered if that was one of the reasons he was a soldier, to use the effect of being in military uniform. That's unfair, she told herself, because tonight Scott was wearing a polo shirt and slacks and he was still seductive. "You know, the President's not all wrong. We've got a hell of a problem to deal with," she heard her father say. "But, he's not making it any easier," Scott replied, "and Stuart Wellford is sure as hell not the answer to America's prayers. He'll have a real problem standing up to the Black lobby after he's in the White House. Supreme Court Justices just aren't used to the same heat Presidents get. Thank God, government regulations forbid me to wear a 'Stu Wellford for President' button. I think we'd do better with a tough white candidate who could court all the special interests without being married to any of them." Scott paused to consider the puzzling events confronting America. "What the hell should we do? I don't know," he said, exasperated. "But I know we don't need another President who could decide the job's too tough for him." Scott turned the possibilities over in his mind for the thousandth time. He actually knew just what to do. Take a damned tight hold on the country, swing through the ghettos and keep going till every last insurrectionist is dead or in a federal prison. But he knew as well as the two Gordons that the right thing and the politically possible agenda were miles apart. That was the goddamned trouble. Somewhere, somehow the country had compromised itself into this present sickness and he had no real hope that it would survive as the country the Founding Fathers had fought to create. "I couldn't agree more about the qualities the next President needs," General Gordon said, "and we'll get our chance to test Stuart Wellford. But let's get him through basic training first. Okay, soldier?" Her father motioned toward Kate as she got up to avoid the tension building between the two men and started moving toward the kitchen. She knew her father's gesture well. It was his way of saying, I want you to stay because this is important. "Scott," the General began, "Kate was a baby when her mother was killed, and I made up my mind that day that Kate would never have to live through anything I could protect her from." Scott realized that he had unintentionally offended Jim. "Jim, I didn't mean to infer anything negative about tomorrow's agenda," he said. "I know, Scott, but if you disagree with me, for Christ's sake, tell me straight, because if you just shadow box, someone else might get in front of the troops." "You're right, Jim," Scott said soothingly, "but we can't afford another flop in the White House. Stu Wellford has to know what the game is and what his chances are. The sooner, the better. America can't wait another four years to find a leader. We've got to get our act together now, while we still have enough popular support left to win. Tell that to Stu Wellford, Kate." Kate finally eased away from the table and went into the kitchen. As she arranged the ice cream and strawberries for dessert, her thoughts focused on Scott and his opinion of Stu, so at odds with her own view of the man she loved with more intensity than Scott could ever accept in their own relationship, and more than she could probably ever give him for that matter. Hell, she chuckled, it's not so easy to sleep when the whole damned Army's in bed with you. Stu was different. He focused on her, on them, and he never brought the Supreme Court to bed with him. But, Scott always fascinated Kate, even when he frustrated her with what she considered to be his rather naive but rock solid belief in American values and his certitude that there was still a substantial American majority eager to defend them. • • • CHAPTER 4 • Kate Gordon was used to unusual political assignments, but this was the first time she had been asked to interview a potential President and give him the job description. As she waited on her father's terrace, listening for the sound of tires on the driveway, she turned over in her mind the possible ways to begin. When she realized that she was preparing an opening statement for a jury, she made herself stop. Her father came out with two Bloody Marys. "Let's walk out to the vegetable garden. You'll be surprised at the progress since your last visit." They strolled along the mid-summer rows of perfect tomato plants and green bean stalks climbing up stakes and across thin nylon filaments. They stopped to admire square patches of pale green leaf lettuce and scallions. She listened as her dad tried once more to fill her head with everything he knew about gardening. She was used to his garden lore and enjoyed the time they spent together walking and digging in the garden earth to rearrange plants. It was a passion for him, something he did not so much for the produce it yielded, she thought, but because it was his way of staying close to the fundamental values of life, the common thread that bound human beings together and made them part of the earth they inhabited, and she knew it was a value he wanted to pass on to her. Occasionally, he would show her a young fruit tree or a new shrub and say, this will be here long after I'm gone and that's the way it ought to be, we need to leave something behind to replace what we've destroyed. In those moments, she also realized that gardening was in part her father's way of making restitution for the damage caused by his life's work. Scott, who had been jogging, came around to the garden to tell them that Stu's car was turning into the driveway. Kate hurried to the front door. Stu Wellford always excited her with his unique mix of elegance and affability. It put people off stride the first time they met him, but it was completely natural and he soon charmed anyone near him. He was dressed casually but with the conservatism that speaks of money and position. Stuart Wellford had both, his success coming not only from his application of a superior intelligence, but also from his family's fortune. The Wellford family ancestors had fled north after the Civil War, settling in New York City's Harlem and climbing out of poverty by opening a used furniture store that became, in several generations, a chain of up-scale department stores, far removed from the grinding poverty that had spawned them. The Wellfords educated their children, supplying doctors, teachers and merchants for their community. As Harlem began to deteriorate after the Second World War, the family settled in an affluent Manhattan neighborhood, using its money and education to buy the level of social acceptance denied to most Black Americans. By the time Stu was four, his parents had enrolled him in an elite private academy, where he repaid their confidence with an almost perfect academic record, combined with an uncanny ability to make both white and Black people feel at ease with him. He went from the academy to Harvard. He graduated magna cum laude from both Harvard College and Law School and only then faced the shocking reality of being black in a profession that prided itself on its male whiteness.  •    Kate and Stu had become friends and then lovers, in part because they experienced the same attitudes as members of the legal profession. They also shared a devotion to its mental and emotional discipline and its constant, if unevenly achieved, promise of a better, or at least more fair, world. Kate reached up to kiss Stu and he gave her a bear hug, his six-foot three-inch frame lifting her off her feet. "How are you, Sweetie?" he asked, his voice gentle and light-hearted as he stroked her hair. "Tell me the world isn't going to end if you and I don't save every last suffering citizen before lunch." "No," she laughed returning his embrace, "but when Dad sounds the lunch call, we'd better be ready. Let's go into his study and get at it. If we're good kids, he might fix us a Bloody Mary. I've already had one and I can vouch for their therapeutic value." General Gordon brought a tray with a pitcher of Bloody Marys into the study and chatted with the Justice for a few seconds. Then he said, "you two have a lot to talk about and I'm working on lunch. I'll call you when it's ready. Just whistle if you need a refill." "Stu," Kate began, closing the library door, "you've always told me the best way to start is to get the hard part out first. The President has decided not to run for re-election in 2024. The job has become too much for him and he wants out. He's looking for a hand-picked successor to offer in his place. Not the vice president -- President Harper thinks he's too tarred with divisive policies to be electable. He thinks we need someone whose credibility reaches way beyond party politics, someone who has a shot at pulling America together to heal itself, counter the Progressives and defeat the terrorists." Kate stopped to breathe, standing in front of Stu, who had settled into the plush featherbed of a couch. He looked up at her, a faint smile mingled with concern on his face. She seemed to him the student he still remembered, eager to please her professor. But she was also an exciting woman full of passion for life, searching for the best way to savor it. He finished her thought. "And the President suggested me. Is that right?" "Yes, he thinks you have the best chance of succeeding. But, there's more." "There always is," Stu sighed. "But, I must say I'm honored to be on the list." "You are the entire list, my dear," she said, falling onto the couch beside him. "There's a new FBI-CIA Report about a well-financed but largely uncontrolled islamic fundamentalist group operating in American urban ghettos. They're the allies of ISIS -- financed by them and Iran. They intend to destroy the United States, using the Progressives to reach out to poor, center-city Blacks and Hispanics to be their front line. They're dedicated to creating a fundamentalist state, exterminating any of us who resist. The President hasn't got the nerves for an urban war. He wants a credible, powerful successor who can build popular support for a tough response to the crisis, then be elected and move right away. You know, Stu," she suddenly realized, "it may be the best decision of his presidency." Stu offered a word of advice about being more circumspect, given their need to work with President Harper. "If you will agree to run for the presidency," she continued over his mild protest of loyalty to the President, "you could be the catalyst for the war against the terrorists, the strong leader, de facto before the election, visible and carrying forward every tough decision President Harper has to make. It could work. I may not always be the soul of measured wisdom, but I know how the GOP thinks." As Kate and Stu paced around the furniture in the library-den full of books arranged on mahogany shelves, they sketched in the details, becoming increasingly excited. Like all political animals, they smelled opportunity. "What we really need," he said turning to her, "is a coalition that pulls together every sector, every faction, to rebuild America. If the damned Republicans and Democrats can't do anything but blame each other, we'll use the gridlock as our call to action. Maybe things are finally so bad that America will support a new party with a new agenda." "Patriots," Kate murmured to herself, "patriots with a new agenda for America, to recreate its original image and give it a chance to survive." Stu rubbed his hands together and took her by the shoulders, almost shaking her. "That's it, Kate. American Agenda. That's what we'll call the coalition. It's uncluttered, brings in everybody." They looked at each other sheepishly, knowing it was premature to be naming the coalition before it existed. "Does the President have any specific plan?" Stu asked, breaking into their awkward exuberance. "I don't really know," Kate replied. "Dad 's the one who's talked to him. He can fill us in at lunch. Scott is here, too. He has some interesting things to tell you about his Ranger units and their work in major urban trouble areas." The pair walked to the back of the house arm-in-arm, to get another Bloody Mary and check out General Gordon's final touches for lunch. They helped carry platters out to the terrace. Scott appeared, showered and shaved, to greet the Justice. Leaving them to talk about their golf swings, Kate went back into the kitchen to give her father a quick summary of her discussion with Stu. "He's definitely interested. He's already talking about a coalition to replace the Republicans and Democrats. He wants to hear your ideas about the terrorist problem and the military plans for dealing with it. I told him Scott would brief him on the Rangers. I think we've got a deal," she added, as they left the kitchen. General Gordon had prepared a superb meal of baked trout and freshly picked salad, along with green beans and sauteed new potatoes. As they ate, Kate realized she couldn't remember a time when her father hadn't been interested in cooking. His breads and breakfast cakes were staples in her memories of home. In the Army, her father was recognized for his big casual parties, something he did with care and genuine affection, knowing that his wealth gave him a special opportunity to provide a bonding social face to the often wearying military routine. When Kate was still a teenager, her father, then at the Pentagon, became even more involved in the kitchen, taking up canning and preserving and freezing the garden's bounty, providing her a real home that she always returned to as often as possible. She knew that her indifference to marriage was at least in part a reflection of the home her father had made for her. It was a hot, sunny afternoon but the terrace awnings protected them from the heat as they ate and listened to Scott talk about the Rangers. "They're really private police forces," he told Stu. "The idea took hold in the 1980s when President Reagan's federalism made it increasingly difficult for local governments to adequately fund necessary community services." "I remember well," Stu said. "Fire departments and then prisons and police forces were supported through the combined financial resources of community groups and private industry. I've always had doubts about the wisdom of turning essential government services over to the private sector, but I think we've moved past the time for public debate on the issue." Scott was encouraged by Justice Wellford's response. "What I find is that white communities in urban areas feel safer if they have Ranger units patrolling. They're frightened, terrified is the better word, and having their own private cops helps them stay calm," he said, deliberately emphasizing 'private cops' and watching Stu's face for a reaction. "What exactly is your role?" Stu asked, wearing the exterior mask of impassivity he had developed long before becoming a Supreme Court Justice. He knew the feel of the mask, and he also knew that every successful Black American had a personal version of it, pinched into place daily to bridge the gap between required acquiescence to white conceptions of equality and the reality of being non-white. Warming to his story, Scott responded, "I got involved when I read an article about an established Ranger unit in Chicago. It was the first private force to use the name. I began a dialogue with their commander and the community they worked for. They patrol the streets at night. They protect businesses and keep muggers and drug dealers out of their neighborhoods. They teach civil obedience and good citizenship in local schools. When they make arrests, they turn them over to the police for prosecution. I've put together a group in the Pentagon to help train Ranger units. We supply weapons and equipment, give them courses in crowd control, and help with recruitment. We've started a program to integrate their capability into our regional military planning at the National Guard level. Their rapid response at ground zero can make the difference when urban trouble starts. Since many of them are former police, military or gang members, the liaison works well. Of course, some Rangers are para-military types, but I think we can control them better, and even use them to our advantage, if we work with them instead of hunting them down." "How do local police react to Ranger intervention in their community role?" Stu asked, testing Scott. "Do they feel threatened?" "Mostly," Scott replied, "the police feel relieved. A community with a Ranger unit is a community with little need of time-consuming neighborhood police patrols. The police have their hands full and the Rangers give them a breather and a path into the neighborhoods." "I've arranged for General Bennett to use the Pennsylvania National Guard as a model," General Gordon said. "We're integrating Ranger units into NG and regular Army urban response teams. It'll give each group more punch and a wider range of response capabilities in riot situations. When I retire at the end of the year, I'm going to work full-time on the project with General Bennett."    "Retire? I thought you'd stay on to support the new President's efforts. We don't have the luxury of enough time to build a new link with the Joint Chiefs like the one you've created," Stu said, genuinely concerned about an immediate future without Jim Gordon. "I think it's time for me to let someone else take over," General Gordon answered. "We need new ideas. Anyway, this Ranger project is a real challenge. We're aiming at a unified civilian and military combat-ready force in every state. My background in guerrilla warfare and counter-insurgency tactics makes it especially interesting to me. The key is that we desperately need this kind of force if we're going to fight an urban guerrilla war in the United States." "Guerrilla war?" Stu repeated, pushing his chair back slightly and turning toward General Gordon. Scott knew it was now a two-person conversation that didn't include him, so he opened another bottle of wine and refilled everyone's glass, anxious to see what would unfold. "Yes," the General responded. "We've confirmed the presence of islamic fundamentalist cells in more than a dozen cities. They're infiltrating systematically, using money and drugs as softeners for their anti-American propaganda. We believe they're planning to use this fall's election as a launching pad to escalate their attack. Our private surveys suggest we're looking at a potential conflagration if the fundamentalists actually succeed in mobilizing urban minorities against white communities. The President is too weak politically and emotionally to deal with it." The General stood up, giving his information time to be assimilated, satisfied that he had delivered the essentials of the bad news without getting an immediately unfavorable reaction from Justice Wellford. In the slight pause that followed, General Gordon sensed success. "It's much cooler in the living room," he offered. "Why don't you take your wine inside and I'll get the dessert." Everyone settled in the chairs and sofa around the coffee table, a massive slab of teak that General Gordon had shipped back home while he was visiting Thailand. Jim went to the kitchen and reappeared with fresh raspberries and tiny sponge cakes. "General Gordon," Stu said, helping himself to a second cake, "maybe you've got the wrong job. You should own a restaurant." Jim laughed. "No thanks. This is strictly for pleasure. I don't need customers complaining about my cooking. If Kate enjoys it, that's all I care about," he said, handing her a cup of their favorite Darjeeling as he picked up the threads of their conversation. "Military public opinion surveys show extensive confusion and frustration among voters. They're extremely worried about their economic security and the crumbling civil order. They want action and they're fed up with politicians who give them nothing but talk and indecision." "So the Ranger units are their response to a government they've completely lost confidence in," Stu suggested. "GOP private surveys show the same thing," Kate added. "Nobody in middle class America is willing to share their piece of a pie that's harder and harder to come by. White collar communities don't want to be victimized by what they see as an underclass out of control. Blue collar communities need jobs and protection from ghetto violence that's come far too close to their daily lives. They tell our pollsters they want walls and guns. Black communities are trapped in the worst situation. They live with the daily violence and they're frightened and disgusted. But, they're ambivalent about using force and they can't afford to run, so they're condemned to watching while drugs and killers stalk their communities." "It's time to pay the bill," General Gordon said, "but it's too late to pay it with empty election promises. Our only salvation may be someone free of party politics who can act independently." Stu Wellford could feel the old fervor stirring. Get the job done, he thought, finish what began a lifetime ago in the small towns of Alabama and Mississippi. Kate added, "The next presidential race could be the fuse that detonates America. Only one thing is certain," she said, deliberately looking around the room for emphasis, "whoever wins this fall, we'll have another conservative Congress confronting Black and Hispanic Americans more angry than they have ever been. Traditional values may look great on campaign posters aimed at white communities but they spell racism in inner cities, especially when they're combined with Ranger units and a paralyzed government." "It may have been trivialized and buried by the media, but middle class America still believes in traditional values," Stu said. "They expect to live in safe neighborhoods, send their kids to college and live their lives without being bombarded by crisis after crisis. The old Protestant work ethic and the Constitution still dictate their response to ghetto problems. Get out and work and everything will be better. Don't expect a free ride. On the other side, minority Americans are still being fed worn-out liberal promises about legislating and buying our way to social justice. We've got to pull those opposing ideas together, forge a coalition that brings everyone onboard. Everyone, not just the upper end of society." Stu sat back, shaking his head. He knew what he was saying was all but impossible. Did he sound like a fool? He hoped not. Scott walked around to lean on the back of a chair across from Stu, so he could look directly at him. "Do you really believe what you just said?" he asked, "or are you trotting out a speech left over from your Senate campaign?" Kate watched the two men, uneasy friends brought together by her to provide an excuse for her to be with Stu socially. "Christ, yes, I believe it," Stu sputtered, forgetting his normal reserve, "but I don't have much confidence in our chances. The message always gets buried under prejudice and fear." "If," Scott emphasized, "if we succeed, there's going to be a lot of blood left behind. American blood on American streets. The terrorists will make sure of that. I don't have a better guess than anyone else about our chances, but I'm willing to try if you are." Stu answered quietly. "We've tried just about everything else. If we can build the coalition, I'll be the candidate." "I'll tell President Harper," General Gordon said, wanting to end the discussion before it unraveled into second thoughts and endless political brainstorming. He was pleased his mission had turned out to be relatively straightforward and brief. Late that evening, as Scott and Kate sat talking with her father, they began to flesh out a list of people to contact. Kate, being the civilian in the group, had the job of convincing them. The General paced along the edge of the terrace, a shadow in the summer darkness beyond the house lights, wondering what the President would say when he understood that they not only had a candidate but probably a new party as well. "Kate," he said turning toward the pair who had been watching his silent deliberation, "can Stu make a difference in the mid-term congressional elections? We need to get out in front with him as soon as possible, to get a handle on his support with white voters." "We don't have enough time to move slowly," Kate replied, thinking about the planning and money required for phone banks and complex private polls and TV ads. "We'll begin the ground work for American Agenda and just the fact of Stu's presence will have some effect." Scott chuckled. "That's what I keep telling her, General, just the fact of my presence helps. Don't you agree?" "I get the message. Let's call it a day, kids."