“Kenneth—Todd. I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad that real estate deal worked out for you. We all did pretty well, didn’t we? By the way, I think we ought to have a little talk about Slater. He’s weak. He’s a loser. We can’t afford to back a loser, can we?…”
And so it went, until practically the only viable candidate left to the party was Governor Oliver Russell.
The nomination process went smoothly. On the first ballot, Oliver Russell had seven hundred votes: more than two hundred from six northeastern industrial states, one hundred and fifty from six New England states, forty from four southern states, another one hundred and eighty from two farm states, and the balance from three Pacific states.
Peter Tager was working frantically to make sure the publicity train kept rolling. When the final tally was counted, Oliver Russell was the winner. And with the excitement of the circus atmosphere that had carefully been created, Oliver Russell was nominated by acclamation.
The next step was to choose a vice president. Melvin Wicks was a perfect choice. He was a politically correct Californian, a wealthy entrepreneur, and a personable congressman.
“They’ll complement each other,” Tager said. “Now the real work begins. We’re going after the magic number—two hundred and seventy.” The number of electoral votes needed to win the presidency.
Tager told Oliver, “The people want a young leader… Good-looking, a little humor and a vision… They want you to tell them how great they are—and they want to believe it… Let them know you’re smart, but don’t be too smart… If you attack your opponent, keep it impersonal… Never look down on a reporter. Treat them as friends, and they’ll be your friends… Try to avoid any show of pettiness. Remember—you’re a statesman.”
The campaign was nonstop. Senator Davis’s jet carried Oliver to Texas for three days, California for a day, Michigan for half a day, Massachusetts for six hours. Every minute was accounted for. Some days Oliver would visit as many as ten towns and deliver ten speeches. There was a different hotel every night, the Drake in Chicago, the St. Regis in Detroit, the Carlyle in New York City, the Place d’Armes in New Orleans, until, finally, they all seemed to blend into one. Wherever Oliver went, there were police cars leading the procession, large crowds, and cheering voters.
Jan accompanied Oliver on most of the trips, and he had to admit that she was a great asset. She was attractive and intelligent, and the reporters liked her. From time to time, Oliver read about Leslie’s latest acquisitions: a newspaper in Madrid, a television station in Mexico, a radio station in Kansas. He was happy for her success. It made him feel less guilty about what he had done to her.
Everywhere Oliver went, the reporters photographed him, interviewed him, and quoted him. There were more than a hundred correspondents covering his campaign, some of them from countries at the far ends of the earth. As the campaign neared its climax, the polls showed that Oliver Russell was the front-runner. But unexpectedly, his opponent, Vice President Cannon, began overtaking him.
Peter Tager became worried. “Cannon’s moving up in the polls. We’ve got to stop him.”
Two television debates between Vice President Cannon and Oliver had been agreed upon.
“Cannon is going to discuss the economy,” Tager told Oliver, “and he’ll do a good job. We have to fake him out. Here’s my plan…”
The night of the first debate, in front of the television cameras, Vice President Cannon talked about the economy. “America has never been more economically sound. Business is flourishing.” He spent the next ten minutes elaborating on his theme, proving his points with facts and figures.
When it was Oliver Russell’s turn at the microphone, he said, “That was very impressive. I’m sure we’re all pleased that big business is doing so well and that corporate profits have never been higher.”
He turned to his opponent. “But you forgot to mention that one of the reasons corporations are doing so well is because of what is euphemistically termed ‘down-sizing.’ To put it bluntly, downsizing simply means that people are being fired to make way for machines. More people are out of work than ever before. It’s the human side of the picture we should be examining. I don’t happen to share your view that corporate financial success is more important than people…” And so it went.