TLIAW: Last Man Standing
- Thread starter AnywhereButOTL
- Start date
You may be right on both fronts.
I actually didn't think of that, which is sort of odd seeing as how the first thing I did when writing Wallace's third party bid in the Icarusverse was make a nod to Turtledove and name Wallace's creation the Freedom Party.
I think that Helms may just end up running under the fairly bland 'Conservative Party' banner.
But could a jar of peanut butter defund social security and abolish the minimum wage? I thought not.
Helms poked the bear. Also, Deep Space Nine references? Hell yes, I approve!
"Jerry, they're conservatives...when aren't they pissed off about something?" Ford looked off to one side.
"Right now, because it's Saturday Night!" Anderson hopped up.
"Welcome to Saturday Night Live!"
So that's how John Connolly gets his Treasury post back. Huh.
Not many, unfortunately for Helms. There's the knowledge in the back of everyone's minds that Carter stands to benefit from a split GOP far more than anyone else. Laxalt, Reagan and the party leadership are also sharpening their knives, getting ready to skin alive those who dare defect.
The real quandary might be, not who breaks the mold in 1980, but just what happens in 1984 when there's no longer the danger of a continued Carter presidency to contend with.
Rumsfeld is in a unique position right now, where no matter who wins he loses. If Ford wins then he's exiled from Washington for the next four years. If Carter wins then the same happens, but with Democratic economic policies (which Rumsfeld hates, especially now that's in banking) added on top of his other problems. And if Helms wins...which will never happen, then Rumsfeld would probably hop the border to Canada and wait out the madness there.
Basically he's just waiting the whole thing out and seeing what happens so that he can make plans for 1984.
Ooh, I really like that.
12:00 P.M. Sacramento California, July 23, 1980
Reagan was pleased to be back in front of the cameras. There were two of them, manned by professional men in suits, and below them, out of sight of the broad lenses, there was a little teleprompter, loaded with the announcement that Reagan had written the day before.
With Helms running and the contest fractured to hell and back, Reagan had decided that it would be a good idea to formally endorse Ford and quietly condemn Helms. The doctors, though nervous that he might be straining himself, had given the thumbs up after some cajoling from Reagan, and now he was sitting at the table, head swathed in bandages, smiling as the last of his makeup was applied by a young Hispanic woman.
“No shine?” He asked, and the woman shook her head.
“Nope, you’re all ready to go.” He smiled.
“Wonderful, thank you.” The makeup artist retreated and Reagan sat back in his chair, glancing over at the first camera operator, who was beginning to count down.
“Five, four, three…” He counted the last two numbers down on his fingers and Reagan spread a smile onto his face as the cameras began to roll.
“My fellow Americans,” he began, “this is my first time appearing on film since my accident, and I am pleased to say that I have suffered no lasting damage from my injuries and am now well on the road to recovery. It has been nine days since my sudden absence at the convention threw our party into chaos, and nine days since Gerald Ford was nominated in my stead.
I have said before that Gerald Ford is a worthy nominee, in 1976 when he took the nomination away from me for the first time,” Reagan chuckled, “and I shall say it again now, in 1980. While some will say that what he did at the convention was tantamount to treason, the fact remains that it was not my nomination to win, I had suffered a serious head injury and as of the first ballot was in a medically induced coma and undergoing surgery to remove shards of bone from my brain. Ford did his duty, broke the deadlock and reached a deal that resulted in conservative politicians and policies being well represented in his administration.
I will be serving as Gerald Ford’s Chief of Staff after he wins the election this fall, and will help him in shaping policy and guiding this nation along the path towards the boundless prosperity and plenty that I know every American deserves. And in that capacity I will do my absolute best to promote the conservative policies that I believe would best serve the United States. But ultimately I will serve at the pleasure of the President, a man who I trust to successfully and capably carry out the job which he has been nominated by his party to do.
In conclusion, I endorse Gerald Ford to serve as our President, and do this not because I am being coerced by the promise of employment in Washington or anything that the separatists in our party might say, but because I have thought long and hard and come to the conclusion that Gerald Ford really is the right man for the job. Thank you very much and I hope to see every last one of you at the voting booth this November.” The cameras clicked off and Reagan grinned at the camera crews. It wasn’t a very long speech, but it would do the job, he knew that much.
“That was great,” one of the cameramen said, “you did very well sir.” Reagan smiled.
“Glad to hear that,” Reagan always enjoyed it when he could accomplish something on the first take, it felt like good luck, “and thank you for coming on such short notice.” He yawned and then sat back in his chair as the makeup artist came back, this time with a damp cloth. Doing stuff like this still tired him out, much more than it had ever used to, but that was par for the course he supposed. His doctors had told him that he would need to rest quite a bit, and he didn’t doubt them. It was a pity that the campaign was so chaotic, he wanted to rush and help Ford in any way that he could, but being confined to bed for most of the day made that difficult.
Short little speeches like this would have to do for the time being. But as soon as he was able Reagan intended to go out and do battle. His political future depended on it.
2:30 P.M. Washington D.C., July 23, 1980
“Underpowered.” Carter said, feeling vaguely disappointed by the report that Lockheed Martin had provided.
“Quite badly,” General Jones said, “we’re going to need somewhere around thirty rockets in order to have enough thrust to both take off and land in the tiny amount of space that we’ll have available.” Carter wondered how exactly that many rockets would be packed onto a C-130, but then supposed that that would the job of the Lockheed Martin engineers to figure out.
“When will the initial tests be able to be carried out?” He asked, and Jones smiled, correctly interpreting this as permission to go ahead with the project.
“Late September, early October at the latest. We’ll need to draw up mission parameters and figure out how to insert our Delta operatives.” Carter raised an eyebrow.
“Will there be a Godzilla option in these new parameters of yours?” Jones smiled.
“Mr. President,” he said, “there’s always a Godzilla option.”
3:00 P.M. New York City New York, July 23, 1980
“Gentlemen, I’d like you to say hello to our newest board member, former White House Chief of Staff and Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld.”
Wriston had his hand on Rumsfeld’s shoulder and was speaking to a collection of businessmen, all of whom were studying Rumsfeld intently. Rumsfeld had seen that sort of look before, it always came on when people were trying to figure out if the new person they were meeting was a threat or not. He could almost see the wheels in their head turning, deducing whether or not he was going to be the guy who took their job or did something unforgivable in the near future.
“Welcome to the company Don, I’m Hector Bryce.” The nearest man to Rumsfeld said, standing up and extending a hand. He smiled broadly, and Rumsfeld noticed that he was finished sizing him up, evidently he had decided that the newcomer wasn’t a problem. At least not yet.
“Pleasure to meet you Hector.” Rumsfeld said politely, filing Bryce’s name away in his mind. He had never heard of the man before, but that wasn’t surprising, he didn’t know who half of these people were. He had some reading to do.
The resulting board meeting wasn’t anything special, just a rundown on how the company was doing, followed by a series of votes where Rumsfeld carefully followed the company line. Everybody seemed to get along alright and there weren’t any schisms or divides immediately apparent. Wriston managed his board with an ease that Rumsfeld admired, and it was apparent that he was supremely popular amongst the members.
Glancing around the room, Rumsfeld decided that he was going to have to get to know these people, befriend them, and then figure out exactly how the board worked. Not as an organization, he already knew that, but as a collection of individuals. There had to be some way he could rise through the ranks and stop being the new guy. That wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he didn’t want to just be present for the next four years until there was another opportunity for regime change in Washington. He needed to establish himself a power base, and a big one.
1:00 P.M. Raleigh North Carolina, July 24, 1980
“Oh goddamnit.” Helms said, the color draining from his face as he realized just who was staring him in the eyes from the nearest television screen.
“My fellow Americans,” Ronald Reagan began, and from there his message got a hell of a lot worse for poor Jesse Helms.
2:00 P.M. Sacramento California, July 24, 1980
“I really cant thank you enough for doing this Ron, you’ve been a tremendous help for me.” Reagan smiled at Ford’s words, he enjoyed that Ford unfailingly showed his gratitude whenever people helped him out, it made the man a joy to deal with.
“No problem whatsoever Jerry, now get out there and win us an election.” Ford promised that he would and Reagan hung up. Outside the sun was shining and breeze ruffled the curtains of his hospital room. His head still ached in a dull and persistent way, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been when he first woke up. The doctors were telling him that within anther few days it would stop hurting entirely. That was welcome news.
He lay back and shut his eyes, enjoying the afternoon and feeling happy about having made a difference.
3:08 P.M. Grand Rapids Michigan, July 24, 1980
An hour removed from speaking to Reagan, Ford was out on a stage, Betty next to him, kicking off the first major campaign rally of the election. Reagan’s people, now his people, had done an admirable job at putting it together in about half the time that they would have normally done so, and now Ford was speaking before a crowd of nearly two thousand locals, all of whom seemed very glad to see him.
“Thank you all for coming to see me on this wonderful sunny afternoon,” Ford said, smiling, “I am so glad to be out here today with all of you fine people, kicking off my campaign to take the White House. It’s been a rough road to get here, and while certain people have seen fit to abandon the party entirely and threaten to reelect Jimmy Carter by proxy, I can rest easy knowing that you fine people will work with me in order to guarantee that the nation will be put on a better, more responsible path this November.” That earned Ford a wave of applause, intense enough that he had to wait for it to dissipate before he could continue speaking.
“I am joined in my efforts by such diverse figures as Ronald Reagan, Paul Laxalt and Pete McCloskey, all Republicans, and all great Americans who know that the key to success lies not in pointless factionalism, but diversity and compromise; both of which allowed me to keep my party together during the tough times that it has been subjected to in the past weeks.
You may have recently heard the announcement that Ronald Reagan made this afternoon, announcing his endorsement for me. That may seem unsurprising to many of you, but Governor Reagan’s endorsement is important, for it shows a willingness to compromise that many in Washington, on both sides of the aisle lack. I aim to fix that when I am elected, and seek to foster an atmosphere of bipartisan debate which will allow good ideas that both parties hold dear to be fairly debated and codified into law, making this nation a stronger, safer, flat out better place to live.
We will end the malaise that has gripped this nation and even now holds our innovation and economic prosperity hostage, strangling our future in smog, crime and economic mismanagement which has seen inflation skyrocket and wages crash. And we will do this together, for no great effort can be won alone. And for that reason I call upon you all, not just in this audience, but all across the nation to listen up and take action. Rise up against the status quo and demand better, because you deserve it! Donate, volunteer, take charge of your future and remember that a vote for Gerald Ford and Howard Baker this November is a vote for progress and prosperity in America. Thank you all very much, God bless you and God bless the United States and America.”
6:00 P.M. Grand Rapids Michigan, July 24, 1980
“Well…we can’t use the same old campaign slogan again,” Ford concluded, “and now that we’re actually campaigning, we’re going to have to come up with a new one.” The men in the room, Reagan campaign executives who had survived the post-convention purges, and Ford loyalists alike, nodded vigorously.
“I was working on a concept for Ron,” one of the Reagan men said, “but I think it would apply for your campaign as well.” Ford nodded.
“Go ahead.” The executive cleared his throat.
“Are you better off now than than you were four years ago? A simple question, but one easily answered by the millions who’ve been put out of work by Carter’s policies.” Ford glanced over at Baker, who was smiling.
“I like that,” he said happily, “I like that a lot. I want posters and stickers with that question on them…and maybe recycle a few of the old ’76 campaign slogans and designs.” One of Ford’s people checked his clipboard.
“Ford: my favorite four letter word.” He said, and Ford chuckled.
“That one was always my favorite. A pity your name isn’t shorter Howard, or we could have reused that one in its entirety.” Baker shrugged.
“Well…I’m sure that there’ll be new ones. Truman got one of his slogans from a guy at a train station after all, anything can happen.”
“That’s true.” Ford wrote down a few notes, issued a half dozen orders and then went back to examining his campaign route. Early polling was showing that virtually everything west of Texas was safely Republican, but the east was very much in play. That’s where he would be going, and he expected a hard slog.
9:10 A.M. Raleigh North Carolina, July 25, 1980
Even though he was sitting in an air conditioned diner, Jesse Helms was sweating, clearly agitated as reporters fired off question after question at him. Larry McDonald was more composed, but he still looked nervous and fidgety, glancing around him at the people who had congregated to watch the independent presidential hopefuls be grilled by the press.
“Senator Helms, were you aware that Governor Reagan would denounce your presidential run?” Helms forced himself to smile.
“No, I cant say that I was. I knew that he was planning on supporting Gerald Ford, which wounded me personally, but I would have thought that a man who viewed self determination as highly as Ronald Reagan would have been more sympathetic to my cause.” There was a chatter of excitement from the assembled journalists, the booth that Helms and McDonald had chosen to situate their damage control press conference at (Atwater had suggested the location, saying that it would appear more folksy and grassroots) suddenly seeming like the most public place in the world.
“Are you saying that Governor Reagan should have supported you instead of Gerald Ford?” Helms nodded.
“Any good conservative ought to recognize that Gerald Ford does not have the leadership potential to do any good for this country. In an election that will have us choose between the man who pardoned Richard Nixon and lost South Vietnam and the man who hiked taxes up to unseen highs and lost Iran to Islamic aggression, it would be a sin not to provide a third choice.” That got a little buzz of excited talk from a few of the people at the back of the crowd, regular people who were eager to see what he had to say. That made Helms feel a bit calmer, his base…some of it at least, was still there for him. He could make it out of this yet.
“Early polls have shown some of your support being lost to the Ford campaign in the aftermath of Governor Reagan’s endorsement. How damaging is this going to be to your campaign, and do you have any plans to withdraw?” Helms laughed derisively.
“In the words of brave American naval captain John Paul Jones, ‘I have not yet begun to fight.’ I’m not going anywhere so long as conservatism in America is under threat.” That got an active cheer from the little crowd gathering at the back of the diner and Helms stood up, moving through the journalists. His political instincts were firing now, and he knew that he would be safer if he were surrounded by supporters…at very least it would make him look more well liked. McDonald followed him, answering a question about tax cuts with a von Mises quotation that made Helms smile.
“Are you concerned about the refusal of most conservative Republicans in congress to support your candidacy?” A young reporter for a local paper asked. Helms raised his eyebrows.
“Concerned? No. Angry? Yes. The party bosses have no business effectively forcing people to step into line and support Gerald Ford and Howard Baker. Self determination is a basic human instinct, and by suppressing it, the party establishment is not only selling themselves to the liberals, but turning the Republican party into a totalitarian establishment along the way.”
“I know exactly what Senator Helms means,” McDonald piped up, “because I have already seen this happen with the Democratic party. Our conservatives were crushed by the tax and spend liberals you see in the White House today, and now the entire party is an echo chamber of creeping socialism and ever growing Marxist influence. With the Soviet Union ascendent in the world today, it is a very dangerous time to try and discard conservatism.”
By the time that the two men walked out of the diner, having aired their frustrations with the two party system, denounced the conservative leadership in congress and promised to obliterate communism they were drawing wild cheers and copious amounts of applause from the crowd of supporters which had gradually come to fill the diner.
But even though their press conference had been a success, Helms knew that he had burned some bridges, and now there was no going back.
Reagan was pleased to be back in front of the cameras. There were two of them, manned by professional men in suits, and below them, out of sight of the broad lenses, there was a little teleprompter, loaded with the announcement that Reagan had written the day before.
With Helms running and the contest fractured to hell and back, Reagan had decided that it would be a good idea to formally endorse Ford and quietly condemn Helms. The doctors, though nervous that he might be straining himself, had given the thumbs up after some cajoling from Reagan, and now he was sitting at the table, head swathed in bandages, smiling as the last of his makeup was applied by a young Hispanic woman.
“No shine?” He asked, and the woman shook her head.
“Nope, you’re all ready to go.” He smiled.
“Wonderful, thank you.” The makeup artist retreated and Reagan sat back in his chair, glancing over at the first camera operator, who was beginning to count down.
“Five, four, three…” He counted the last two numbers down on his fingers and Reagan spread a smile onto his face as the cameras began to roll.
“My fellow Americans,” he began, “this is my first time appearing on film since my accident, and I am pleased to say that I have suffered no lasting damage from my injuries and am now well on the road to recovery. It has been nine days since my sudden absence at the convention threw our party into chaos, and nine days since Gerald Ford was nominated in my stead.
I have said before that Gerald Ford is a worthy nominee, in 1976 when he took the nomination away from me for the first time,” Reagan chuckled, “and I shall say it again now, in 1980. While some will say that what he did at the convention was tantamount to treason, the fact remains that it was not my nomination to win, I had suffered a serious head injury and as of the first ballot was in a medically induced coma and undergoing surgery to remove shards of bone from my brain. Ford did his duty, broke the deadlock and reached a deal that resulted in conservative politicians and policies being well represented in his administration.
I will be serving as Gerald Ford’s Chief of Staff after he wins the election this fall, and will help him in shaping policy and guiding this nation along the path towards the boundless prosperity and plenty that I know every American deserves. And in that capacity I will do my absolute best to promote the conservative policies that I believe would best serve the United States. But ultimately I will serve at the pleasure of the President, a man who I trust to successfully and capably carry out the job which he has been nominated by his party to do.
In conclusion, I endorse Gerald Ford to serve as our President, and do this not because I am being coerced by the promise of employment in Washington or anything that the separatists in our party might say, but because I have thought long and hard and come to the conclusion that Gerald Ford really is the right man for the job. Thank you very much and I hope to see every last one of you at the voting booth this November.” The cameras clicked off and Reagan grinned at the camera crews. It wasn’t a very long speech, but it would do the job, he knew that much.
“That was great,” one of the cameramen said, “you did very well sir.” Reagan smiled.
“Glad to hear that,” Reagan always enjoyed it when he could accomplish something on the first take, it felt like good luck, “and thank you for coming on such short notice.” He yawned and then sat back in his chair as the makeup artist came back, this time with a damp cloth. Doing stuff like this still tired him out, much more than it had ever used to, but that was par for the course he supposed. His doctors had told him that he would need to rest quite a bit, and he didn’t doubt them. It was a pity that the campaign was so chaotic, he wanted to rush and help Ford in any way that he could, but being confined to bed for most of the day made that difficult.
Short little speeches like this would have to do for the time being. But as soon as he was able Reagan intended to go out and do battle. His political future depended on it.
2:30 P.M. Washington D.C., July 23, 1980
“Underpowered.” Carter said, feeling vaguely disappointed by the report that Lockheed Martin had provided.
“Quite badly,” General Jones said, “we’re going to need somewhere around thirty rockets in order to have enough thrust to both take off and land in the tiny amount of space that we’ll have available.” Carter wondered how exactly that many rockets would be packed onto a C-130, but then supposed that that would the job of the Lockheed Martin engineers to figure out.
“When will the initial tests be able to be carried out?” He asked, and Jones smiled, correctly interpreting this as permission to go ahead with the project.
“Late September, early October at the latest. We’ll need to draw up mission parameters and figure out how to insert our Delta operatives.” Carter raised an eyebrow.
“Will there be a Godzilla option in these new parameters of yours?” Jones smiled.
“Mr. President,” he said, “there’s always a Godzilla option.”
3:00 P.M. New York City New York, July 23, 1980
“Gentlemen, I’d like you to say hello to our newest board member, former White House Chief of Staff and Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld.”
Wriston had his hand on Rumsfeld’s shoulder and was speaking to a collection of businessmen, all of whom were studying Rumsfeld intently. Rumsfeld had seen that sort of look before, it always came on when people were trying to figure out if the new person they were meeting was a threat or not. He could almost see the wheels in their head turning, deducing whether or not he was going to be the guy who took their job or did something unforgivable in the near future.
“Welcome to the company Don, I’m Hector Bryce.” The nearest man to Rumsfeld said, standing up and extending a hand. He smiled broadly, and Rumsfeld noticed that he was finished sizing him up, evidently he had decided that the newcomer wasn’t a problem. At least not yet.
“Pleasure to meet you Hector.” Rumsfeld said politely, filing Bryce’s name away in his mind. He had never heard of the man before, but that wasn’t surprising, he didn’t know who half of these people were. He had some reading to do.
The resulting board meeting wasn’t anything special, just a rundown on how the company was doing, followed by a series of votes where Rumsfeld carefully followed the company line. Everybody seemed to get along alright and there weren’t any schisms or divides immediately apparent. Wriston managed his board with an ease that Rumsfeld admired, and it was apparent that he was supremely popular amongst the members.
Glancing around the room, Rumsfeld decided that he was going to have to get to know these people, befriend them, and then figure out exactly how the board worked. Not as an organization, he already knew that, but as a collection of individuals. There had to be some way he could rise through the ranks and stop being the new guy. That wouldn’t get him anywhere, and he didn’t want to just be present for the next four years until there was another opportunity for regime change in Washington. He needed to establish himself a power base, and a big one.
1:00 P.M. Raleigh North Carolina, July 24, 1980
“Oh goddamnit.” Helms said, the color draining from his face as he realized just who was staring him in the eyes from the nearest television screen.
“My fellow Americans,” Ronald Reagan began, and from there his message got a hell of a lot worse for poor Jesse Helms.
2:00 P.M. Sacramento California, July 24, 1980
“I really cant thank you enough for doing this Ron, you’ve been a tremendous help for me.” Reagan smiled at Ford’s words, he enjoyed that Ford unfailingly showed his gratitude whenever people helped him out, it made the man a joy to deal with.
“No problem whatsoever Jerry, now get out there and win us an election.” Ford promised that he would and Reagan hung up. Outside the sun was shining and breeze ruffled the curtains of his hospital room. His head still ached in a dull and persistent way, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been when he first woke up. The doctors were telling him that within anther few days it would stop hurting entirely. That was welcome news.
He lay back and shut his eyes, enjoying the afternoon and feeling happy about having made a difference.
3:08 P.M. Grand Rapids Michigan, July 24, 1980
An hour removed from speaking to Reagan, Ford was out on a stage, Betty next to him, kicking off the first major campaign rally of the election. Reagan’s people, now his people, had done an admirable job at putting it together in about half the time that they would have normally done so, and now Ford was speaking before a crowd of nearly two thousand locals, all of whom seemed very glad to see him.
“Thank you all for coming to see me on this wonderful sunny afternoon,” Ford said, smiling, “I am so glad to be out here today with all of you fine people, kicking off my campaign to take the White House. It’s been a rough road to get here, and while certain people have seen fit to abandon the party entirely and threaten to reelect Jimmy Carter by proxy, I can rest easy knowing that you fine people will work with me in order to guarantee that the nation will be put on a better, more responsible path this November.” That earned Ford a wave of applause, intense enough that he had to wait for it to dissipate before he could continue speaking.
“I am joined in my efforts by such diverse figures as Ronald Reagan, Paul Laxalt and Pete McCloskey, all Republicans, and all great Americans who know that the key to success lies not in pointless factionalism, but diversity and compromise; both of which allowed me to keep my party together during the tough times that it has been subjected to in the past weeks.
You may have recently heard the announcement that Ronald Reagan made this afternoon, announcing his endorsement for me. That may seem unsurprising to many of you, but Governor Reagan’s endorsement is important, for it shows a willingness to compromise that many in Washington, on both sides of the aisle lack. I aim to fix that when I am elected, and seek to foster an atmosphere of bipartisan debate which will allow good ideas that both parties hold dear to be fairly debated and codified into law, making this nation a stronger, safer, flat out better place to live.
We will end the malaise that has gripped this nation and even now holds our innovation and economic prosperity hostage, strangling our future in smog, crime and economic mismanagement which has seen inflation skyrocket and wages crash. And we will do this together, for no great effort can be won alone. And for that reason I call upon you all, not just in this audience, but all across the nation to listen up and take action. Rise up against the status quo and demand better, because you deserve it! Donate, volunteer, take charge of your future and remember that a vote for Gerald Ford and Howard Baker this November is a vote for progress and prosperity in America. Thank you all very much, God bless you and God bless the United States and America.”
6:00 P.M. Grand Rapids Michigan, July 24, 1980
“Well…we can’t use the same old campaign slogan again,” Ford concluded, “and now that we’re actually campaigning, we’re going to have to come up with a new one.” The men in the room, Reagan campaign executives who had survived the post-convention purges, and Ford loyalists alike, nodded vigorously.
“I was working on a concept for Ron,” one of the Reagan men said, “but I think it would apply for your campaign as well.” Ford nodded.
“Go ahead.” The executive cleared his throat.
“Are you better off now than than you were four years ago? A simple question, but one easily answered by the millions who’ve been put out of work by Carter’s policies.” Ford glanced over at Baker, who was smiling.
“I like that,” he said happily, “I like that a lot. I want posters and stickers with that question on them…and maybe recycle a few of the old ’76 campaign slogans and designs.” One of Ford’s people checked his clipboard.
“Ford: my favorite four letter word.” He said, and Ford chuckled.
“That one was always my favorite. A pity your name isn’t shorter Howard, or we could have reused that one in its entirety.” Baker shrugged.
“Well…I’m sure that there’ll be new ones. Truman got one of his slogans from a guy at a train station after all, anything can happen.”
“That’s true.” Ford wrote down a few notes, issued a half dozen orders and then went back to examining his campaign route. Early polling was showing that virtually everything west of Texas was safely Republican, but the east was very much in play. That’s where he would be going, and he expected a hard slog.
9:10 A.M. Raleigh North Carolina, July 25, 1980
Even though he was sitting in an air conditioned diner, Jesse Helms was sweating, clearly agitated as reporters fired off question after question at him. Larry McDonald was more composed, but he still looked nervous and fidgety, glancing around him at the people who had congregated to watch the independent presidential hopefuls be grilled by the press.
“Senator Helms, were you aware that Governor Reagan would denounce your presidential run?” Helms forced himself to smile.
“No, I cant say that I was. I knew that he was planning on supporting Gerald Ford, which wounded me personally, but I would have thought that a man who viewed self determination as highly as Ronald Reagan would have been more sympathetic to my cause.” There was a chatter of excitement from the assembled journalists, the booth that Helms and McDonald had chosen to situate their damage control press conference at (Atwater had suggested the location, saying that it would appear more folksy and grassroots) suddenly seeming like the most public place in the world.
“Are you saying that Governor Reagan should have supported you instead of Gerald Ford?” Helms nodded.
“Any good conservative ought to recognize that Gerald Ford does not have the leadership potential to do any good for this country. In an election that will have us choose between the man who pardoned Richard Nixon and lost South Vietnam and the man who hiked taxes up to unseen highs and lost Iran to Islamic aggression, it would be a sin not to provide a third choice.” That got a little buzz of excited talk from a few of the people at the back of the crowd, regular people who were eager to see what he had to say. That made Helms feel a bit calmer, his base…some of it at least, was still there for him. He could make it out of this yet.
“Early polls have shown some of your support being lost to the Ford campaign in the aftermath of Governor Reagan’s endorsement. How damaging is this going to be to your campaign, and do you have any plans to withdraw?” Helms laughed derisively.
“In the words of brave American naval captain John Paul Jones, ‘I have not yet begun to fight.’ I’m not going anywhere so long as conservatism in America is under threat.” That got an active cheer from the little crowd gathering at the back of the diner and Helms stood up, moving through the journalists. His political instincts were firing now, and he knew that he would be safer if he were surrounded by supporters…at very least it would make him look more well liked. McDonald followed him, answering a question about tax cuts with a von Mises quotation that made Helms smile.
“Are you concerned about the refusal of most conservative Republicans in congress to support your candidacy?” A young reporter for a local paper asked. Helms raised his eyebrows.
“Concerned? No. Angry? Yes. The party bosses have no business effectively forcing people to step into line and support Gerald Ford and Howard Baker. Self determination is a basic human instinct, and by suppressing it, the party establishment is not only selling themselves to the liberals, but turning the Republican party into a totalitarian establishment along the way.”
“I know exactly what Senator Helms means,” McDonald piped up, “because I have already seen this happen with the Democratic party. Our conservatives were crushed by the tax and spend liberals you see in the White House today, and now the entire party is an echo chamber of creeping socialism and ever growing Marxist influence. With the Soviet Union ascendent in the world today, it is a very dangerous time to try and discard conservatism.”
By the time that the two men walked out of the diner, having aired their frustrations with the two party system, denounced the conservative leadership in congress and promised to obliterate communism they were drawing wild cheers and copious amounts of applause from the crowd of supporters which had gradually come to fill the diner.
But even though their press conference had been a success, Helms knew that he had burned some bridges, and now there was no going back.
Yeah, I'm not sure how far Helms can really go. Jerry Falwell and the Moral Majority really helped Reagan, but I doubt they would lend their hand to Helms since he has no chance of winning and Ford doesn't represent their interests either. I just hope that Carter doesn't win. He is perhaps one of the most boring Presidents in modern history with Ford at a close second place (although at least Ford has the decency to have an interesting Cabinet).
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Me too. Whoever wins, there will be no Reagan presidency - especially as we have no idea what the additional medical supervision on him will mean for his eventual diagnosis with Alzheimer's. And we really don't know when he first started showing symptoms (which is kind of terrifying).
A good timeline, and it's prequel as well, I'm interested in seeing whether Ford can beat Carter or not.
http://voteview.com/Is_John_Kerry_A_Liberal.htm
By one standard, McDonald was the second most conservative person in either house of Congress between 1937 and 2003, behind only Ron Paul alone:
http://voteview.com/Is_John_Kerry_A_Liberal.htm
Ron Paul?? Really?? From what I know of his consistent albeit sometimes cranky libertarianism, he would not have been such a doctrinaire right winger.
And I think a rating scale from 1937 to 2004 is going to be pretty unreliable. Issues change a lot over time. Someone may be 100% conservative based on votes taken in a single term, but that doesn't meant the person can be considered the "most conservative" over such a long time span. A "conservative" vote in 1940 might have been to oppose federal anti-lynching legislation; a "conservative" vote in 2004 might be to restrict abortion funding.
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Falwell and Robertson show up later in this TLIAW, and I think you've gotten their attitudes down pretty well. They aren't excited that Ford is the nominee, but they aren't about to burn bridges and support Helms...if only because Carter would win if they did that.
We shall have to see what happens.
Me too. Whoever wins, there will be no Reagan presidency - especially as we have no idea what the additional medical supervision on him will mean for his eventual diagnosis with Alzheimer's. And we really don't know when he first started showing symptoms (which is kind of terrifying).
Thanks. When I got the idea in my head about crashing a convention I was originally going to have Bill Clinton slip and fall, but when I learned that Reagan hadn't selected a running mate until well into the first day of the convention I just knew that I had to mess with him.
Even if I don't especially like the man's politics I do like writing him in a much more positive light than his previous incarnation in my work.
As for Reagan's Alzheimers, I have read that Alzheimers can be aggravated by head injuries/concussions. Poor Ronald Reagan may start to show symptoms within a few years, regardless of whether he gets his Chief of Staff gig or not.
Thank you.
That's a good point, the goal posts are always changing and conservatism (especially social conservatism) tends to have a ten year expiration date. That being said, Ron Paul really is a lot more conservative than his libertarian exterior suggests. He may not be the sort of 'small government in name only' conservative that the GOP embraces these days, but he caucuses with the party rather than the Libertarians for a reason.
10:00 A.M. Sacramento California, August 1, 1980
“You’re doing very well Ron, don’t forget that. You just have to keep practicing, keep working away at this and soon it’ll all be behind you.” Reagan was panting for breath, his head throbbing, having just completed a walk around the hospital. It was the first time that he had been on his feet for any extended period time in more than two weeks and he was stunned by how weak he felt.
His doctors had told him that this was normal, but it still scared him. How was he supposed to help Ford win a presidential election when he could barely manage to walk around a hospital ward. The walk had revealed some good things though, like the fact that he was still steady on his feet, and that his balance hadn’t been negatively affected by his head injury.
Sometimes Reagan swore that he could feel strange sensations playing across his hands, usually at night, but the doctors assured him that the phantom sensations would fade away as he healed. Even now his hands felt prickly, like he was being gently prodded by a hundred thousand toothpicks. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but waking up to it in the middle of the night was definitely an unnerving experience.
“I know,” he told the nurse who had walked with him, “could I have some water please?” The nurse fetched a plastic cup for him (plastic because Reagan had accidentally broken a glass one earlier in the week) and Reagan clasped it in both hands, thanking the nurse. He sipped, and thought, and sipped again.
He was going to need to work hard to get better, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to be Ford’s Chief of Staff, not because he wouldn’t be allowed to, but because he wouldn’t allow himself to go into the job at less than his full capacity. He had a duty to safeguard the nation after all, and Ford could only do so much before real conservatism was necessary to finish the job.
11:00 A.M. Jackson Mississippi, August 2, 1980
“Our polling is still dropping, but it seems to have stabilized now that we’re actually fighting back. We’ve lost a lot of support, but the bleeding isn’t fatal…I think we’ll be able to pull through this without having to shutter our exploratory offices out west.” Helms heaved a sigh of relief, not even bothering to hide it. He was really hoping that he wouldn’t have to do that, especially since he was doing so unexpectedly well out west. Something about the libertarian nature of the states really made them a breeding ground for his type of people…or at least the type of people that his new campaign message was trying to reach.
He would be heading out there next, not really wasting any time going up to the windy desolate wastes of Wyoming and Montana, but rather sticking to Utah, Colorado and Nebraska. Those places had enough of a population to justify it, if only barely.
Deep down though, underneath the relief, Helms was still pissed at Reagan. Not angry; that word didn’t even come close to describing the intermingled rage and terror that he felt whenever he thought of the betrayal that his former friend had foisted upon him. No, he was pissed, and wouldn’t stop being that way for a good long time. Or until Ford was out on his ass right alongside Carter, where both of those jerks belonged.
“That’s great. How’s our ballot access going?” A lot of the more conservative states had been happy to allow Helms room on the ballot, after all, there was already one independent ticket with national attention on it, why not add another?
“We should be able to get just about everywhere but D.C. and a few of the northeastern states.” Helms shrugged.
“Aint nothing but niggers and liberals up there anyways. No big loss.” The staffer he was speaking to nodded in agreement, though Helms had noticed him wince when he mentioned the niggers. He tried not to roll his eyes but it was quite difficult. Jesus…the youth were so soft these days.
12:30 P.M. Washington D.C., August 4, 1980
“Thank you all for coming, and welcome.” John Anderson had been in Washington for the past four days, and though most of the reporters in the room already had a notion of what he had called this press conference to announce, it was still big news.
“To cut to the chase,” he said, looking very tired and marginally unhappy, “I am ending my independent candidacy and instead endorsing Gerald Ford.” He sat patiently as the press erupted into noise, cameras flashing and an entire sea of questions crashing down upon Anderson’s head.
“This does not mean that I am abandoning my principles,” he continued, speaking over the clamor until it faded back into expectant silence, “indeed, I have spoken with Gerald Ford about this decision and plan on working with him closely to guarantee that the party can remain united this election cycle. We have nothing to fear from each other, besides the obvious fact that Jimmy Carter may be able to weasel his way to another term if we end up foiling each other’s attempts to gain the White House. I may be unhappy with some of the alliances that Jerry has made in the process of becoming the nominee, but the thought of a second term of Jimmy Carter is enough to make me put those apprehensions aside and throw my lot in with the man who I know can take care of this nation. Thank you, God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.” The only sound for a few moments was the clicking of camera shutters, then the questioning started once again.
“Representative Anderson, is this latest move being made in response to Jesse Helms’ independent campaign?” Anderson looked unsure of how to answer for a moment.
“I believe in self determination and political freedom, but what Senator Helms is doing is purely vindictive and counterproductive. I urge Senator Helms to join me in dropping out of this contest…all he’s doing is making it easer for Jimmy Carter to win a second term this November.” A little buzz of discussion among the reporters, then a further clamor of questioning. Anderson answered a few more questions and then ended the conference, making a clean exit from the election as a whole.
Somewhere in the midwest, Gerald Ford turned of the television in his campaign office and smiled. Anderson had done well, now all that was left was to see just what sort of effect this would have on his polling.
1:45 P.M. Dallas Texas, August 5, 1980
Jesse Helms had been watching the news as well, and as was becoming depressingly frequent these days, he had been left completely speechless by what had happened.
Well…that wasn’t entirely true, he still had a rather extensive library of profanities, and had been using them quite intensively over the past hour, but aside from that his mind had been blanked.
This was bad. Completely and absolutely bad. Reagan denouncing him had been one thing, but Ford convincing Anderson to stand down was another. Anderson had locked up nearly ten percent of the vote, moderates who would probably now run off to Ford and Carter now…anyone who wasn’t Jesse Helms.
Helms picked up his phone and stabbed at the buttons with one furious finger, punching in a number that he now knew very well.
“Lee,” he said, “we need to step up our game. Go full throttle on Ford and Carter. Can you do that?” It was a rhetorical question, he already knew what his campaign executive was going to say.
“I have a few ideas in mind. And some rumors that our unaffiliated associates could run with.” That perked Helms up. A little.
“Tell me.”
“Jimmy Carter has a brother named Billy, you’re familiar with him, right?”
“Billy Beer.” Atwater chuckled.
“Soon to be Billygate. Remember his trips to Libya last year?”
“Of course. He registered as a foreign agent, and accepted a $200,000 loan.” Atwater chuckled.
“He probably took more than $200,000. A lot more. And in the service of a brutal dictator too…not exactly the sort of thing that Jimmy Carter would appreciate being brought to his doorstep.” Helms nodded slowly, he had railed against Billy Carter’s visit to Libya back when it had first happened, but hadn’t had much of an idea that the buffoon had actually been dumb enough to take illegal money from Colonel Gaddafi of all people.
“That’s good. What else?” He asked, almost greedily.
“Patti Reagan has some issues. And so does Betty Ford.” The mention of Ford’s name made Helms perk up.
“Their addiction problems? Low hanging fruit Lee…”
“But not low enough for us. Besides, we’re running this through unaffiliated channels, it’s not like our names will be attached.” Helms sighed.
“Still…there is such a thing as over-saturation when it comes to mudslinging in political contests. We want things that get people angry and polarized, if we end up tiring our base out before the election then we might as well just go ahead and join Anderson in calling it quits.” Helms swore that he could practically hear Atwater wince over the phone.
“Then we’d be better off focusing on Billy Carter and Patti Reagan…attacking a popular First Lady has the highest chance of backfiring…I guess.” He sounded disappointed.
“Don’t worry Lee,” Helms said, “there’s enough shit on Ford as it is. No Soviet domination in Eastern Europe…the fall of Saigon…hell, him falling down the goddamn stairs can be spun in a negative way if we want to do that.” That made Helms laugh. Gerald Ford, the star college athlete, being perceived as a bumbler had always cracked him up.
“I’ll start working on some stuff. The Ford and Billy Carter stuff can go through us directly, the rest of it’ll be unassociated. Get ready to see some seriously pissed of liberals.”
“I’m looking forward to that.” He hung up, feeling marginally better about what had just happened, then called up McDonald.
“Hello?” McDonald asked, his voice slightly hoarse. He was out somewhere in the sticks, yelling at people and urging them to fight against the emerging global government that Ford and Carter were fighting to establish. He still sounded keyed up.
“Anderson just dropped out.”
“I saw that. Ford and Carter are gonna bounce in the polls.”
“Yup,” Helms sighed, “and we’re going to be even further behind. We need to go on the offensive. I’ve spoken to Lee about some potential routes that we could take on this, but I want to see what you think before setting anything in stone.”
“Okay.”
“Billy Carter went to Iran not too long ago, accepted money from Gaddafi and is now about to be in some serious shit over it.” McDonald laughed.
“I heard about that. Sure…that’s a good thing to bring up…the Carter family palling around with dictators isn’t gonna play too well with the pinkos.” That gave Helms an idea.
“Dictators…hmm. Come to think of it, I seem to remember Jimmy Carter saying some awfully sympathetic things about the fucking Khmer Rouge back when they were first taking over Cambodia. McGovern too. Hell, all of those goddamn closet socialists were tenting their shorts at the idea of another country falling to communism.”
“I like where you’re going Jesse,” McDonald said enthusiastically, “though that might have to be a back channel sort of thing. I’m not sure that having our name attached to accusations of that sort would be a good idea.” Helms nodded to himself.
“Of course. I’ll talk to Lee. But the other idea is, I think, promising.”
“Oh?” McDonald sounded intrigued.
“Reagan’s daughter Patti has a history of addiction, diet pills, reefer, you name it.”
“You’re going after Ronald Reagan’s daughter?” McDonald asked, suddenly sounding a lot less sure about this course of action.
“Do you have a better idea of how to get to the man? He betrayed me Larry, betrayed conservatism as a whole. He deserves this.”
“Do what you want Jesse,” McDonald said, a trace of unhappiness in his voice, “just leave me out of this particular plan. Something about attacking a young woman just doesn’t sit right with me.” Helms had nothing to say to that.
“Alright Larry. See you in Little Rock.” Helms hung up and sat back in his char, feeling unexpectedly conflicted. McDonald was at least partially right…it was sort of a shitty thing to attack a young woman with problems of her own. At the same time…ugh. Why did this have to be so complicated all of the sudden?
He would have to talk to Atwater again, and collect some information on Patti Reagan. He had to get back at Reagan somehow.
1:00 P.M. New York City New York, August 7, 1980
Rumsfeld was sitting in the midst of the cluster of middle aged men at some fabulously expensive restaurant that he had never heard of before. It was the type of place that served squid ravioli, foie gras and crystalized yam and had waiters with genuine French accents and perfect posture.
The clientele seemed almost entirely corporate, and Rumsfeld supposed that that made sense, they were likely the only people who could afford to frequent the place. Though the prices had stunned him at first, the food was quite good and he knew that he had enough money tucked away to blend in with his decadent corporatist fellows without having to worry about immediate bankruptcy.
The men he was sitting with, a mixture of fellow CitiCorp board members and their friends from various firms across the city, were intent on learning about him. His background as a politician intrigued them, and though he wanted more to learn about their work, he indulged their queries all the same.
“What was Nixon like?” A tweedy young lawyer asked, pushing black rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose with one thin finger.
“Complicated,” Rumsfeld said after a moment of thought, “he was a step or two away from being a truly great President…but his paranoia got the better of him.” This was a suitably neutral answer and his audience nodded, almost in unison.
“And Ford?” Someone else, Rumsfeld didn’t know his name, asked, “I’m undecided about him. He seems like a nice guy but I wish Reagan had gotten the nomination instead of him.” He paused, then hurriedly added, “Ronald Reagan, I mean.” So do I. Rumsfeld almost said, but managed to bite back that thought.
“He’s a nice guy, very principled and dedicated to doing what’s right…even if it’s not, well, you know, right.” Rumsfeld emphasized this by physically pointing to the right.
“He’s not conservative enough,” grumbled one of his fellow board members, “but I don’t like Jesse Helms and I sure as shit aint voting for Jimmy Carter, so Ford it is I suppose.” That seemed to be the general opinion of everyone at the table…to a certain extent.
“I don’t know,” Hector Bryce said, sipping away at a hideously expensive drink that looked somewhat like a tie dye shirt in liquid form, “I like Ford. I just wish he’d have let the conservatives cut taxes more.” That got a little rumble of approval from the table.
“Not regulations?” Rumsfeld asked. Bryce shrugged.
“What regulations? When a company gets as big as CityCorp then you can pretty much just hurdle them at will.”
“Amen.” The tweedy little lawyer said, hefting a crystal glass of bourbon. Rumsfeld joined in, smiling now. He liked the sound of that quite a bit.
“You’re doing very well Ron, don’t forget that. You just have to keep practicing, keep working away at this and soon it’ll all be behind you.” Reagan was panting for breath, his head throbbing, having just completed a walk around the hospital. It was the first time that he had been on his feet for any extended period time in more than two weeks and he was stunned by how weak he felt.
His doctors had told him that this was normal, but it still scared him. How was he supposed to help Ford win a presidential election when he could barely manage to walk around a hospital ward. The walk had revealed some good things though, like the fact that he was still steady on his feet, and that his balance hadn’t been negatively affected by his head injury.
Sometimes Reagan swore that he could feel strange sensations playing across his hands, usually at night, but the doctors assured him that the phantom sensations would fade away as he healed. Even now his hands felt prickly, like he was being gently prodded by a hundred thousand toothpicks. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but waking up to it in the middle of the night was definitely an unnerving experience.
“I know,” he told the nurse who had walked with him, “could I have some water please?” The nurse fetched a plastic cup for him (plastic because Reagan had accidentally broken a glass one earlier in the week) and Reagan clasped it in both hands, thanking the nurse. He sipped, and thought, and sipped again.
He was going to need to work hard to get better, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to be Ford’s Chief of Staff, not because he wouldn’t be allowed to, but because he wouldn’t allow himself to go into the job at less than his full capacity. He had a duty to safeguard the nation after all, and Ford could only do so much before real conservatism was necessary to finish the job.
11:00 A.M. Jackson Mississippi, August 2, 1980
“Our polling is still dropping, but it seems to have stabilized now that we’re actually fighting back. We’ve lost a lot of support, but the bleeding isn’t fatal…I think we’ll be able to pull through this without having to shutter our exploratory offices out west.” Helms heaved a sigh of relief, not even bothering to hide it. He was really hoping that he wouldn’t have to do that, especially since he was doing so unexpectedly well out west. Something about the libertarian nature of the states really made them a breeding ground for his type of people…or at least the type of people that his new campaign message was trying to reach.
He would be heading out there next, not really wasting any time going up to the windy desolate wastes of Wyoming and Montana, but rather sticking to Utah, Colorado and Nebraska. Those places had enough of a population to justify it, if only barely.
Deep down though, underneath the relief, Helms was still pissed at Reagan. Not angry; that word didn’t even come close to describing the intermingled rage and terror that he felt whenever he thought of the betrayal that his former friend had foisted upon him. No, he was pissed, and wouldn’t stop being that way for a good long time. Or until Ford was out on his ass right alongside Carter, where both of those jerks belonged.
“That’s great. How’s our ballot access going?” A lot of the more conservative states had been happy to allow Helms room on the ballot, after all, there was already one independent ticket with national attention on it, why not add another?
“We should be able to get just about everywhere but D.C. and a few of the northeastern states.” Helms shrugged.
“Aint nothing but niggers and liberals up there anyways. No big loss.” The staffer he was speaking to nodded in agreement, though Helms had noticed him wince when he mentioned the niggers. He tried not to roll his eyes but it was quite difficult. Jesus…the youth were so soft these days.
12:30 P.M. Washington D.C., August 4, 1980
“Thank you all for coming, and welcome.” John Anderson had been in Washington for the past four days, and though most of the reporters in the room already had a notion of what he had called this press conference to announce, it was still big news.
“To cut to the chase,” he said, looking very tired and marginally unhappy, “I am ending my independent candidacy and instead endorsing Gerald Ford.” He sat patiently as the press erupted into noise, cameras flashing and an entire sea of questions crashing down upon Anderson’s head.
“This does not mean that I am abandoning my principles,” he continued, speaking over the clamor until it faded back into expectant silence, “indeed, I have spoken with Gerald Ford about this decision and plan on working with him closely to guarantee that the party can remain united this election cycle. We have nothing to fear from each other, besides the obvious fact that Jimmy Carter may be able to weasel his way to another term if we end up foiling each other’s attempts to gain the White House. I may be unhappy with some of the alliances that Jerry has made in the process of becoming the nominee, but the thought of a second term of Jimmy Carter is enough to make me put those apprehensions aside and throw my lot in with the man who I know can take care of this nation. Thank you, God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.” The only sound for a few moments was the clicking of camera shutters, then the questioning started once again.
“Representative Anderson, is this latest move being made in response to Jesse Helms’ independent campaign?” Anderson looked unsure of how to answer for a moment.
“I believe in self determination and political freedom, but what Senator Helms is doing is purely vindictive and counterproductive. I urge Senator Helms to join me in dropping out of this contest…all he’s doing is making it easer for Jimmy Carter to win a second term this November.” A little buzz of discussion among the reporters, then a further clamor of questioning. Anderson answered a few more questions and then ended the conference, making a clean exit from the election as a whole.
Somewhere in the midwest, Gerald Ford turned of the television in his campaign office and smiled. Anderson had done well, now all that was left was to see just what sort of effect this would have on his polling.
1:45 P.M. Dallas Texas, August 5, 1980
Jesse Helms had been watching the news as well, and as was becoming depressingly frequent these days, he had been left completely speechless by what had happened.
Well…that wasn’t entirely true, he still had a rather extensive library of profanities, and had been using them quite intensively over the past hour, but aside from that his mind had been blanked.
This was bad. Completely and absolutely bad. Reagan denouncing him had been one thing, but Ford convincing Anderson to stand down was another. Anderson had locked up nearly ten percent of the vote, moderates who would probably now run off to Ford and Carter now…anyone who wasn’t Jesse Helms.
Helms picked up his phone and stabbed at the buttons with one furious finger, punching in a number that he now knew very well.
“Lee,” he said, “we need to step up our game. Go full throttle on Ford and Carter. Can you do that?” It was a rhetorical question, he already knew what his campaign executive was going to say.
“I have a few ideas in mind. And some rumors that our unaffiliated associates could run with.” That perked Helms up. A little.
“Tell me.”
“Jimmy Carter has a brother named Billy, you’re familiar with him, right?”
“Billy Beer.” Atwater chuckled.
“Soon to be Billygate. Remember his trips to Libya last year?”
“Of course. He registered as a foreign agent, and accepted a $200,000 loan.” Atwater chuckled.
“He probably took more than $200,000. A lot more. And in the service of a brutal dictator too…not exactly the sort of thing that Jimmy Carter would appreciate being brought to his doorstep.” Helms nodded slowly, he had railed against Billy Carter’s visit to Libya back when it had first happened, but hadn’t had much of an idea that the buffoon had actually been dumb enough to take illegal money from Colonel Gaddafi of all people.
“That’s good. What else?” He asked, almost greedily.
“Patti Reagan has some issues. And so does Betty Ford.” The mention of Ford’s name made Helms perk up.
“Their addiction problems? Low hanging fruit Lee…”
“But not low enough for us. Besides, we’re running this through unaffiliated channels, it’s not like our names will be attached.” Helms sighed.
“Still…there is such a thing as over-saturation when it comes to mudslinging in political contests. We want things that get people angry and polarized, if we end up tiring our base out before the election then we might as well just go ahead and join Anderson in calling it quits.” Helms swore that he could practically hear Atwater wince over the phone.
“Then we’d be better off focusing on Billy Carter and Patti Reagan…attacking a popular First Lady has the highest chance of backfiring…I guess.” He sounded disappointed.
“Don’t worry Lee,” Helms said, “there’s enough shit on Ford as it is. No Soviet domination in Eastern Europe…the fall of Saigon…hell, him falling down the goddamn stairs can be spun in a negative way if we want to do that.” That made Helms laugh. Gerald Ford, the star college athlete, being perceived as a bumbler had always cracked him up.
“I’ll start working on some stuff. The Ford and Billy Carter stuff can go through us directly, the rest of it’ll be unassociated. Get ready to see some seriously pissed of liberals.”
“I’m looking forward to that.” He hung up, feeling marginally better about what had just happened, then called up McDonald.
“Hello?” McDonald asked, his voice slightly hoarse. He was out somewhere in the sticks, yelling at people and urging them to fight against the emerging global government that Ford and Carter were fighting to establish. He still sounded keyed up.
“Anderson just dropped out.”
“I saw that. Ford and Carter are gonna bounce in the polls.”
“Yup,” Helms sighed, “and we’re going to be even further behind. We need to go on the offensive. I’ve spoken to Lee about some potential routes that we could take on this, but I want to see what you think before setting anything in stone.”
“Okay.”
“Billy Carter went to Iran not too long ago, accepted money from Gaddafi and is now about to be in some serious shit over it.” McDonald laughed.
“I heard about that. Sure…that’s a good thing to bring up…the Carter family palling around with dictators isn’t gonna play too well with the pinkos.” That gave Helms an idea.
“Dictators…hmm. Come to think of it, I seem to remember Jimmy Carter saying some awfully sympathetic things about the fucking Khmer Rouge back when they were first taking over Cambodia. McGovern too. Hell, all of those goddamn closet socialists were tenting their shorts at the idea of another country falling to communism.”
“I like where you’re going Jesse,” McDonald said enthusiastically, “though that might have to be a back channel sort of thing. I’m not sure that having our name attached to accusations of that sort would be a good idea.” Helms nodded to himself.
“Of course. I’ll talk to Lee. But the other idea is, I think, promising.”
“Oh?” McDonald sounded intrigued.
“Reagan’s daughter Patti has a history of addiction, diet pills, reefer, you name it.”
“You’re going after Ronald Reagan’s daughter?” McDonald asked, suddenly sounding a lot less sure about this course of action.
“Do you have a better idea of how to get to the man? He betrayed me Larry, betrayed conservatism as a whole. He deserves this.”
“Do what you want Jesse,” McDonald said, a trace of unhappiness in his voice, “just leave me out of this particular plan. Something about attacking a young woman just doesn’t sit right with me.” Helms had nothing to say to that.
“Alright Larry. See you in Little Rock.” Helms hung up and sat back in his char, feeling unexpectedly conflicted. McDonald was at least partially right…it was sort of a shitty thing to attack a young woman with problems of her own. At the same time…ugh. Why did this have to be so complicated all of the sudden?
He would have to talk to Atwater again, and collect some information on Patti Reagan. He had to get back at Reagan somehow.
1:00 P.M. New York City New York, August 7, 1980
Rumsfeld was sitting in the midst of the cluster of middle aged men at some fabulously expensive restaurant that he had never heard of before. It was the type of place that served squid ravioli, foie gras and crystalized yam and had waiters with genuine French accents and perfect posture.
The clientele seemed almost entirely corporate, and Rumsfeld supposed that that made sense, they were likely the only people who could afford to frequent the place. Though the prices had stunned him at first, the food was quite good and he knew that he had enough money tucked away to blend in with his decadent corporatist fellows without having to worry about immediate bankruptcy.
The men he was sitting with, a mixture of fellow CitiCorp board members and their friends from various firms across the city, were intent on learning about him. His background as a politician intrigued them, and though he wanted more to learn about their work, he indulged their queries all the same.
“What was Nixon like?” A tweedy young lawyer asked, pushing black rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose with one thin finger.
“Complicated,” Rumsfeld said after a moment of thought, “he was a step or two away from being a truly great President…but his paranoia got the better of him.” This was a suitably neutral answer and his audience nodded, almost in unison.
“And Ford?” Someone else, Rumsfeld didn’t know his name, asked, “I’m undecided about him. He seems like a nice guy but I wish Reagan had gotten the nomination instead of him.” He paused, then hurriedly added, “Ronald Reagan, I mean.” So do I. Rumsfeld almost said, but managed to bite back that thought.
“He’s a nice guy, very principled and dedicated to doing what’s right…even if it’s not, well, you know, right.” Rumsfeld emphasized this by physically pointing to the right.
“He’s not conservative enough,” grumbled one of his fellow board members, “but I don’t like Jesse Helms and I sure as shit aint voting for Jimmy Carter, so Ford it is I suppose.” That seemed to be the general opinion of everyone at the table…to a certain extent.
“I don’t know,” Hector Bryce said, sipping away at a hideously expensive drink that looked somewhat like a tie dye shirt in liquid form, “I like Ford. I just wish he’d have let the conservatives cut taxes more.” That got a little rumble of approval from the table.
“Not regulations?” Rumsfeld asked. Bryce shrugged.
“What regulations? When a company gets as big as CityCorp then you can pretty much just hurdle them at will.”
“Amen.” The tweedy little lawyer said, hefting a crystal glass of bourbon. Rumsfeld joined in, smiling now. He liked the sound of that quite a bit.
A good new update. I don't know who will win at this point, Ford or Carter.
That scale is solely on economic issues, sorry, I should have clarified. That website has a second scale for "wedge issues" which changes depending on the time period (bimetallism, Prohibition, civil rights, etc.)
Whoever wins, America loses! Of course, AnywhereButOTL might not have known either. He flipped a coin to determine who won the election in Icarus Falls. In hindsight, I wish Johnson had won just so we could see him royally fuck up everything foreign policy related in a good ol' LBJ deconstruction.
Back on topic, is there any room for a strong liberal peace third party on the Democrat side? I doubt Ted Kennedy would do it, but surely there must be some angry flaming liberal Congressman who would be emboldened by Helms's rebellion against the establishment.
Without a ground war like Vietnam, I don't think "peace" would be the rallying cry. Maybe McCarthy could run again like he did in 76? Although by this point he was fairly firmly libertarian, no longer left-wing.
What's it looking like? Are there enough conservatives in the House that Helms would have the clout to make demands from Ford?
I think corporate America is going to do just fine.
Pretty much no matter who wins, corporate America will be a-okay. Ford will deregulate, Carter will deregulate. Helms...well...he doesn't have any concept of what regulations are supposed to be.
Good, I'm doing my job then.
Yeah, Ron Paul definitely is far right when it comes to economics.
I actually know who's going to win this time around. Last Man Standing is a lot more tightly scripted than Slippery When Wet, I spent one of the three weeks plotting out the election so that things would be sufficiently exciting before the endgame.
I've had some time to think about what might have happened if Johnson had won, so here's the result of my musings:
Johnson wins extremely narrowly against Reagan and Wallace, banishing the radical right to another period in the wilderness. Congress attempts to impeach him for his surveillance abuses during the election but fails because of partisan reasons. The Soviets don't nuke the Chinese because Johnson knows better than to accept a bad deal from the Soviets.
Johnson is very unpopular (he only wins the election because Reagan was so, so much worse) and doesn't get much done besides a moderately ambitious national healthcare program, probably similar to Medicare For All.
The US probably gets involved more heavily someplace in Africa because there's no Vietnam sucking resources anymore. The space program goes more or less the same as OTL, but probably enjoys more funding.
McGovern isn't nominated in 1972 since the counter-culture movement isn't quite as strong as OTL, but neither is Humphrey because he's even more connected to Johnson than IOTL. Instead Udall or someone like that is nominated but loses to whoever the Republicans nominate, who will be a moderate because the party leadership is pissed at the extremists. That Republican might end up being Romney (if the party wants to give him another chance), Jim Rhodes or even Agnew if his corruption scandals don't sink him first.
Thus we go into 1973 with a Republican President and stabler but more boring world.
The left doesn't have a very good track record for mounting quixotic third party runs against their 'official' candidate. McCarthy was, as you've said, pretty conservative by 1980. Losing in 1968 did some seriously weird things to him.
There are a few, but ultimately it depends on if they want to stick their necks out for him. If they all did so then it could seriously hurt Ford, but if they decided to turtle, which is more likely, then Ford might be able to glide past without having to deal with them. And that's assuming that Helms manages to throw the election to the House in the first place.
8:55 P.M. Washington D.C., August 9, 1980
“Gentlemen, the President of the United States.” Carter loved that introduction, so much power conveyed in only a few words. If it could make the Joint Chief of Staff stand up in respect, men who commanded the most powerful military that had ever existed, then you knew that it had some weight behind it.
“At ease gentlemen,” Carter said, walking briskly into the Situation Room and dropping into his chair, “we have a long day ahead of us. I understand that we have new Iranian asset?” To Carter’s left a grey haired man in a navy blue suit shifted uncomfortably.
“That remains to be seen sir…” Central Intelligence Director Stansfield Turner had a notorious mistrust of HUMINT (human intelligence, meaning espionage carried out by people, often locals hired by the agency), preferring TECHINT (technical intelligence, meaning intelligence focused primarily on weapons and possible enemy capabilities) and SIGINT (signals intelligence, meaning electronic intelligence gathering in every medium from spy satellites to phone taps) over it. Part of it was a mistrust of non-Americans working with the CIA, the rest a rather forwards thinking effort to put more resources into electronic surveillance.
“Hassan has been checked out sir,” the man on Carter’s right said, “and has demonstrated valuable knowledge of the Iranian regime, as well as an admirable amount of knowledge about Tehran.” This was Zbigniew Brzezinski, Carter’s National Security Advisor, speaking. Brzezinski was a Polish-American policy specialist and advocated a more Nixon like foreign policy than many in Carter’s administration. Carter trusted him deeply and always listened to what he had to say.
“So he’s been checked out?” Carter asked. General Jones nodded.
“Yes sir. Our background checks on him didn’t turn up anything outside of what he told us. Low level clerk in the Shah’s government, remained neutral during the revolution, avoided being executed during the purges that the Ayatollah ordered, but was disillusioned enough that he fled the country with his family and got picked up by us a few weeks ago.” It was succinct enough summary of what Hassan (this wasn’t the asset’s real name) had been up to before he had fled into Iraq and managed to eventually find the ear of the American government.
“In the report you gave me yesterday,” Carter said, referring to a slim little packet of information on Hassan that he had been given, “you mentioned that he was part of anti-regime talk groups. What exactly does that mean?” Jones cleared his throat.
“He would meet with a collection of dissidents and they would vent their frustrations in private. Hassan says that nobody is really happy with the regime, but people are too scared of the militia to stand against them.”
“Okay. Is this related to Eagle Claw in any way?” Jones shrugged.
“Not entirely. The Iranians seem to think that Eagle Claw was an attempt to aid Afghan militants in the countryside. They also think that there’s no way that we’d ever try a second incursion into the country.” That made Carter smile.
“If only they knew…” Brzezinski said, “that’d wipe the grin off of the Ayatollah’s face.”
“But anyways,” Jones said, forging ahead, “though Mr. Turner is hesitant to add more human elements to this operation, we are prepared to make use of Hassan if you feel that he would be useful.” It didn’t take long for Carter to make his decision.
“Go ahead, it’s always useful to have an inside view of what’s going on in Iran. Especially the security around the embassy.” That had been one of the unexpected benefits of Hassan’s testimony. He had been in charge of tabulating the logistical aspects of the embassy security and as a result had gotten to know the whole network of defenses quite well.
Though security had been beefed up somewhat after Eagle Claw, it was still shockingly shoddy. There were radar installations, but due to widespread brownouts and power shortages they only ran for two or three hours a day. The militiamen garrisoning the surrounding streets were also poorly trained and demoralized, more concerned with pushing people around and trying to fight boredom than with defending the embassy from any sort of attack.
There were also a few anti-aircraft batteries, but they were affected by fuel shortages and brownouts just as much as their radar compliments and would be firing blind roughly eighty percent of the time. Hassan had never been inside of the embassy itself, but knew that the men guarding the hostages themselves were regular soldiers, more highly trained and motivated than the militiamen outside. By American standards they were still pushovers, but the men storming the embassy would still have to be careful, otherwise heads of the wrong nationality would roll.
“Yes sir.” Jones said crisply, and made a checkmark next to a name on his sheet. Turner’s expression remained neutral but Carter could see a little spark of hurt in the man’s eyes. Whatever. HUMINT was useful a lot of the time, Turner would simply have to accept this.
9:50 A.M. Harrisburg Pennsylvania, August 10, 1980
“We’re finally making up some of our lost ground,” Baker said, satisfaction brightening his voice, “and we’re leading with independents as well.” Ford and Baker were sitting in the backroom of a campaign headquarters that was being put together by a small group of volunteers, fresh from speaking to a crowd of blue collar workers about the need for lower taxes and fiscal conservatism in general.
“That’s good…the polls are still pretty volatile though, Anderson’s voters are taking a while to settle down and pick a second option.” This was true, immediately after Anderson’s surprising (well, to anyone who wasn’t in the Ford Campaign’s inner circle) announcement, the number of undecided voters in the polls had spiked sharply. Enough had gone to Ford though to make him feel quite good about offering Anderson a position in his cabinet.
That decision had been controversial, and Ford could tell that he had probably hurt some feelings by doing that, but knew that the endorsement that Anderson had given was more than worth the trouble.
Carter still led in nearly every poll, and Helms’ run was draining a disconcertingly large amount of conservative support from the campaign. Nobody would go ahead and openly admit that they supported him (at least not where Paul Laxalt could find them) but it was fairly easy to spot his sympathizers.
“If we keep making progress like this then we’ll be ahead in the polls by October.” Ford winced. That was too close, it reminded him of 1976 in all the wrong ways.
“Our audiences have responded very well to the inclusion and togetherness messages that we’ve been giving. Carter has alienated a lot of these people by going hard left instead of populist like he promised…I think that we can break off a pretty big chunk of Carter’s support if we keep going on this path.” Baker nodded.
“That’s a good path to take. Especially since Carter hasn’t started campaigning in earnest yet. I think he’s waiting until he’s been renominated.” Ford sighed.
“I sort of wish that Ted Kennedy would take the nomination,” he said, almost wistfully, “it would be a hell of a lot easier to beat him than Jimmy.” Baker shrugged.
“Indeed. But Kennedy isn’t gonna win, I think even he knows that by now. He’s just there to remind the world that the McGovern doves still exist…even after 1972.” Ford nodded slowly and set down the polling papers he had been reading.
“Yup. If he gets close then he might be able to drag the party platform to the left. That would be good for us.” Baker grinned.
“We’re going to win this,” he said firmly, like he was giving a promise, “it might be close…well, it’ll definitely be close. But we’ll win this.” Baker’s determination warmed Ford’s heart.
“Thanks Howard.” He said, and felt better about their chances already.
2:00 P.M. New York City New York, August 11, 1980
Seventeen hours removed from his last major briefing by the Joint Chiefs, President Jimmy Carter was sitting in a side room of the main hall of the 1980 Democratic National Convention, dozing as the ballots were cast. He had just given a speech and used what he absolutely knew was the last of his energy for the day.
It had been a long day, shaking hands, speaking to countless people, slapping down Kennedy’s people wherever he could find them, and keeping his own delegates in line. He would win, he already knew that, the only question now was whether or not he could achieve an acceptably lopsided victory. If Kennedy managed to win more than…say, eight hundred ballots then he would probably be able to push Carter to make changes to the party platform, which Carter didn’t want to do. The platform had been moderated a little bit in response to the robustly positive public response the GOP platform was getting, but Kennedy wanted to keep going further to the left.
“Mr. President.” Someone was gently shaking him. Carter sat bolt upright from where he’d been sagging in his chair and blinked owlishly in the sudden light.
“Yes?” He asked.
“The results for the first ballot are in sir. You’ve been renominated with twenty five hundred delegate votes.” That was wonderful news, and meant that Kennedy hadn’t been able to take nearly as many delegates as Carter had feared. He ran the math quickly in his head. If he had twenty five hundred delegates then that would leave Kennedy with a maximum of eight hundred, and Carter was sure that Ted hadn’t managed to take every last opposition delegate.
“That’s great,” he said, standing up and smoothing the wrinkles from his suit, “absolutely fantastic.” He meant it too. Now he could go and unleash another wave of pro-administration speakers to complete his victory.
“Ted Kennedy wishes to speak with you sir, about the platform.” Carter winced, he had known that this was coming. Even after being resoundingly defeated, Kennedy still wanted his pound of flesh.
“Alright. Bring him in.” A few minutes passed, then Kennedy, looking somewhat dejected, walked in and sat down heavily opposite Carter.
“I’ll admit,” the Massachusetts senator said, “I didn’t expect not to break a thousand.” Carter eyed Kennedy and noticed that his eyes were slightly bloodshot, evidently he had enjoyed a few drinks before the balloting had begun. That didn’t surprise him.
“You can probably thank Ford for that. He’s no Ronald Reagan.” Kennedy nodded slowly.
“I was a little disappointed that Ford won at the convention. I like him, despite everything that he did when he was in office.” Carter wasn’t sure how long this smalltalk would last before Kennedy started breaking into specifics, but he would take indulge the man for as long as it lasted. He really didn’t want to talk about the platform right now, not so soon after being renominated.
“That makes two of us,” Carter said, “but it won’t stop me from beating him again this November.”
“Of course,” Kennedy said, a little sniffily, “but the election is closer this time around. I think that the party would have benefited from a fresh face, but alas, that time is past.” Carter wanted to say something about the Kennedy name not exactly being ‘fresh’, but decided not to. He didn’t want to open up that can of worms.
“You lost Ted,” he said flatly, “badly. Whatever freshness you think you might have brought to this election, the party clearly didn’t want it.” Kennedy’s face went stony, his eyes glinting dangerously.
“I suppose not,” he said finally, clearly having bitten back something far more venomous, “but whatever fault the party has with the man, they still like my policies. Which is why I’m asking you to include them in the platform.” Carter sighed.
“We’ve had this discussion before Ted,” he said tiredly, “and in times where you had a hell of a lot more leverage than you do now. So you should know that my answer remains the same. No. I’m interested in being reelected, not following McGovern down the road to defeat.” There was no response from Kennedy for a very long time.
“Very well,” Kennedy said finally, “I suppose I shall have to remain in opposition.” He left, and Carter sat back in his chair, feeling oddly drained. He hated confrontations with his own party. It was one thing to fight with the Republicans, another entirely to have to deal with his own party. If only Humphrey had taken the nomination back in ’72…perhaps then this whole neo-McGovern movement would have been snipped in the bud.
For now though, he would have to deal with Kennedy and his clique. Somehow.
12:01 P.M. Baltimore Maryland, August 12, 1980
Ford glanced down from the newspaper, which was reporting that Vice President Mondale had been renominated by voice vote, and saw that his lunch had been served. He was sitting in a diner booth with a wealthy man, an industrialist whose money he wanted very badly. Though campaign donations were at acceptable levels and bankruptcy wasn’t an immediate concern, the campaign had developed a prodigious appetite; to the point where Ford’s campaign executives had begun accelerating fundraising efforts even more. His schedule was ambitious after all, calling upon multimedia resources beyond anything that had ever been seen before. Overcoming a polling deficit as large as the one he was operating from would take a lot of effort.
“You see that?” The industrialist asked through a mouthful of eggs Benedict. Ford fought back the urge to flinch away from the unpleasantly wet sounding words and instead nodded.
“Yes. Carter was renominated by a solid margin, no doubt because of how far ahead of me is is.” The industrialist nodded, swallowed and nodded again, almost as if he was reminding himself to agree with what Ford was saying.
“Six points aint too far,” he grunted, “Truman got over worse, and hell, he was a fucking Democrat.” Ford chuckled and sipped his coffee, trying to relax into the meeting. He hated fundraising, it was probably his least favorite part of the democratic process, but he did it all the same. You couldn’t run a campaign for free.
“True. And it used to be eight. Of course, Carter’s gonna get a post-convention bounce if he doesn’t alienate the liberals too badly, so don’t be concerned if he pulls ahead of us again.”
“I aint worried about that,” the industrialist said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I know that you can win,” he said this with absolute certainty, as if Democratic victories didn’t exist in the world that he inhabited, “I just want to make sure that you don’t keep going with all this hippy environmentalist crap that Carter’s obsessing over.” Ford finished his coffee and nodded evenly.
“It is important that we keep our environment safe through prudent regulations, that’s what the EPA is for after all, but I agree with you, the economy shouldn’t be sacrificed for the sake of a few trees.” That seemed to please the industrialist, even if Ford was internally wincing at the bluntness of his last few words. Of course, if it secured him the industrialist’s support then it would go a long way towards making him feel better about pandering to these people.
“I had my doubts about you at first,” the industrialist said, “but I think that you’re gonna be alright as President.” It wasn’t much of an endorsement, but the thought of the monetary support that he would soon be receiving made it easier for Ford to smile. Cash didn’t have to be eloquent.
“Welcome aboard.” He shook hands and chatted amiably for a few more minutes before departing. Even if the industrialist hadn’t especially impressed him, he had liked that the man preferred meeting in an inner city Denny’s rather than a sterile boardroom somewhere. It felt more human.
Of course, that had also made his security anxious, but Ford never felt unsafe. Nobody had even recognized him, partially due to the casual clothes he was wearing (the industrialist, wearing jeans and a nondescript shirt, had insisted upon informal attire), and partially due to the unexpected location. Who expected to see a presidential candidate sitting at a diner booth, having brunch?
Stepping back into the black sedan that was waiting for him out front felt vaguely constricting. Ford was still getting used to the constraints of political life, though it felt oddly comfortable at the same time. Like an old shirt that he hadn’t worn for a long time. It still fit quite nicely, and he supposed that he liked it.
“Gentlemen, the President of the United States.” Carter loved that introduction, so much power conveyed in only a few words. If it could make the Joint Chief of Staff stand up in respect, men who commanded the most powerful military that had ever existed, then you knew that it had some weight behind it.
“At ease gentlemen,” Carter said, walking briskly into the Situation Room and dropping into his chair, “we have a long day ahead of us. I understand that we have new Iranian asset?” To Carter’s left a grey haired man in a navy blue suit shifted uncomfortably.
“That remains to be seen sir…” Central Intelligence Director Stansfield Turner had a notorious mistrust of HUMINT (human intelligence, meaning espionage carried out by people, often locals hired by the agency), preferring TECHINT (technical intelligence, meaning intelligence focused primarily on weapons and possible enemy capabilities) and SIGINT (signals intelligence, meaning electronic intelligence gathering in every medium from spy satellites to phone taps) over it. Part of it was a mistrust of non-Americans working with the CIA, the rest a rather forwards thinking effort to put more resources into electronic surveillance.
“Hassan has been checked out sir,” the man on Carter’s right said, “and has demonstrated valuable knowledge of the Iranian regime, as well as an admirable amount of knowledge about Tehran.” This was Zbigniew Brzezinski, Carter’s National Security Advisor, speaking. Brzezinski was a Polish-American policy specialist and advocated a more Nixon like foreign policy than many in Carter’s administration. Carter trusted him deeply and always listened to what he had to say.
“So he’s been checked out?” Carter asked. General Jones nodded.
“Yes sir. Our background checks on him didn’t turn up anything outside of what he told us. Low level clerk in the Shah’s government, remained neutral during the revolution, avoided being executed during the purges that the Ayatollah ordered, but was disillusioned enough that he fled the country with his family and got picked up by us a few weeks ago.” It was succinct enough summary of what Hassan (this wasn’t the asset’s real name) had been up to before he had fled into Iraq and managed to eventually find the ear of the American government.
“In the report you gave me yesterday,” Carter said, referring to a slim little packet of information on Hassan that he had been given, “you mentioned that he was part of anti-regime talk groups. What exactly does that mean?” Jones cleared his throat.
“He would meet with a collection of dissidents and they would vent their frustrations in private. Hassan says that nobody is really happy with the regime, but people are too scared of the militia to stand against them.”
“Okay. Is this related to Eagle Claw in any way?” Jones shrugged.
“Not entirely. The Iranians seem to think that Eagle Claw was an attempt to aid Afghan militants in the countryside. They also think that there’s no way that we’d ever try a second incursion into the country.” That made Carter smile.
“If only they knew…” Brzezinski said, “that’d wipe the grin off of the Ayatollah’s face.”
“But anyways,” Jones said, forging ahead, “though Mr. Turner is hesitant to add more human elements to this operation, we are prepared to make use of Hassan if you feel that he would be useful.” It didn’t take long for Carter to make his decision.
“Go ahead, it’s always useful to have an inside view of what’s going on in Iran. Especially the security around the embassy.” That had been one of the unexpected benefits of Hassan’s testimony. He had been in charge of tabulating the logistical aspects of the embassy security and as a result had gotten to know the whole network of defenses quite well.
Though security had been beefed up somewhat after Eagle Claw, it was still shockingly shoddy. There were radar installations, but due to widespread brownouts and power shortages they only ran for two or three hours a day. The militiamen garrisoning the surrounding streets were also poorly trained and demoralized, more concerned with pushing people around and trying to fight boredom than with defending the embassy from any sort of attack.
There were also a few anti-aircraft batteries, but they were affected by fuel shortages and brownouts just as much as their radar compliments and would be firing blind roughly eighty percent of the time. Hassan had never been inside of the embassy itself, but knew that the men guarding the hostages themselves were regular soldiers, more highly trained and motivated than the militiamen outside. By American standards they were still pushovers, but the men storming the embassy would still have to be careful, otherwise heads of the wrong nationality would roll.
“Yes sir.” Jones said crisply, and made a checkmark next to a name on his sheet. Turner’s expression remained neutral but Carter could see a little spark of hurt in the man’s eyes. Whatever. HUMINT was useful a lot of the time, Turner would simply have to accept this.
9:50 A.M. Harrisburg Pennsylvania, August 10, 1980
“We’re finally making up some of our lost ground,” Baker said, satisfaction brightening his voice, “and we’re leading with independents as well.” Ford and Baker were sitting in the backroom of a campaign headquarters that was being put together by a small group of volunteers, fresh from speaking to a crowd of blue collar workers about the need for lower taxes and fiscal conservatism in general.
“That’s good…the polls are still pretty volatile though, Anderson’s voters are taking a while to settle down and pick a second option.” This was true, immediately after Anderson’s surprising (well, to anyone who wasn’t in the Ford Campaign’s inner circle) announcement, the number of undecided voters in the polls had spiked sharply. Enough had gone to Ford though to make him feel quite good about offering Anderson a position in his cabinet.
That decision had been controversial, and Ford could tell that he had probably hurt some feelings by doing that, but knew that the endorsement that Anderson had given was more than worth the trouble.
Carter still led in nearly every poll, and Helms’ run was draining a disconcertingly large amount of conservative support from the campaign. Nobody would go ahead and openly admit that they supported him (at least not where Paul Laxalt could find them) but it was fairly easy to spot his sympathizers.
“If we keep making progress like this then we’ll be ahead in the polls by October.” Ford winced. That was too close, it reminded him of 1976 in all the wrong ways.
“Our audiences have responded very well to the inclusion and togetherness messages that we’ve been giving. Carter has alienated a lot of these people by going hard left instead of populist like he promised…I think that we can break off a pretty big chunk of Carter’s support if we keep going on this path.” Baker nodded.
“That’s a good path to take. Especially since Carter hasn’t started campaigning in earnest yet. I think he’s waiting until he’s been renominated.” Ford sighed.
“I sort of wish that Ted Kennedy would take the nomination,” he said, almost wistfully, “it would be a hell of a lot easier to beat him than Jimmy.” Baker shrugged.
“Indeed. But Kennedy isn’t gonna win, I think even he knows that by now. He’s just there to remind the world that the McGovern doves still exist…even after 1972.” Ford nodded slowly and set down the polling papers he had been reading.
“Yup. If he gets close then he might be able to drag the party platform to the left. That would be good for us.” Baker grinned.
“We’re going to win this,” he said firmly, like he was giving a promise, “it might be close…well, it’ll definitely be close. But we’ll win this.” Baker’s determination warmed Ford’s heart.
“Thanks Howard.” He said, and felt better about their chances already.
2:00 P.M. New York City New York, August 11, 1980
Seventeen hours removed from his last major briefing by the Joint Chiefs, President Jimmy Carter was sitting in a side room of the main hall of the 1980 Democratic National Convention, dozing as the ballots were cast. He had just given a speech and used what he absolutely knew was the last of his energy for the day.
It had been a long day, shaking hands, speaking to countless people, slapping down Kennedy’s people wherever he could find them, and keeping his own delegates in line. He would win, he already knew that, the only question now was whether or not he could achieve an acceptably lopsided victory. If Kennedy managed to win more than…say, eight hundred ballots then he would probably be able to push Carter to make changes to the party platform, which Carter didn’t want to do. The platform had been moderated a little bit in response to the robustly positive public response the GOP platform was getting, but Kennedy wanted to keep going further to the left.
“Mr. President.” Someone was gently shaking him. Carter sat bolt upright from where he’d been sagging in his chair and blinked owlishly in the sudden light.
“Yes?” He asked.
“The results for the first ballot are in sir. You’ve been renominated with twenty five hundred delegate votes.” That was wonderful news, and meant that Kennedy hadn’t been able to take nearly as many delegates as Carter had feared. He ran the math quickly in his head. If he had twenty five hundred delegates then that would leave Kennedy with a maximum of eight hundred, and Carter was sure that Ted hadn’t managed to take every last opposition delegate.
“That’s great,” he said, standing up and smoothing the wrinkles from his suit, “absolutely fantastic.” He meant it too. Now he could go and unleash another wave of pro-administration speakers to complete his victory.
“Ted Kennedy wishes to speak with you sir, about the platform.” Carter winced, he had known that this was coming. Even after being resoundingly defeated, Kennedy still wanted his pound of flesh.
“Alright. Bring him in.” A few minutes passed, then Kennedy, looking somewhat dejected, walked in and sat down heavily opposite Carter.
“I’ll admit,” the Massachusetts senator said, “I didn’t expect not to break a thousand.” Carter eyed Kennedy and noticed that his eyes were slightly bloodshot, evidently he had enjoyed a few drinks before the balloting had begun. That didn’t surprise him.
“You can probably thank Ford for that. He’s no Ronald Reagan.” Kennedy nodded slowly.
“I was a little disappointed that Ford won at the convention. I like him, despite everything that he did when he was in office.” Carter wasn’t sure how long this smalltalk would last before Kennedy started breaking into specifics, but he would take indulge the man for as long as it lasted. He really didn’t want to talk about the platform right now, not so soon after being renominated.
“That makes two of us,” Carter said, “but it won’t stop me from beating him again this November.”
“Of course,” Kennedy said, a little sniffily, “but the election is closer this time around. I think that the party would have benefited from a fresh face, but alas, that time is past.” Carter wanted to say something about the Kennedy name not exactly being ‘fresh’, but decided not to. He didn’t want to open up that can of worms.
“You lost Ted,” he said flatly, “badly. Whatever freshness you think you might have brought to this election, the party clearly didn’t want it.” Kennedy’s face went stony, his eyes glinting dangerously.
“I suppose not,” he said finally, clearly having bitten back something far more venomous, “but whatever fault the party has with the man, they still like my policies. Which is why I’m asking you to include them in the platform.” Carter sighed.
“We’ve had this discussion before Ted,” he said tiredly, “and in times where you had a hell of a lot more leverage than you do now. So you should know that my answer remains the same. No. I’m interested in being reelected, not following McGovern down the road to defeat.” There was no response from Kennedy for a very long time.
“Very well,” Kennedy said finally, “I suppose I shall have to remain in opposition.” He left, and Carter sat back in his chair, feeling oddly drained. He hated confrontations with his own party. It was one thing to fight with the Republicans, another entirely to have to deal with his own party. If only Humphrey had taken the nomination back in ’72…perhaps then this whole neo-McGovern movement would have been snipped in the bud.
For now though, he would have to deal with Kennedy and his clique. Somehow.
12:01 P.M. Baltimore Maryland, August 12, 1980
Ford glanced down from the newspaper, which was reporting that Vice President Mondale had been renominated by voice vote, and saw that his lunch had been served. He was sitting in a diner booth with a wealthy man, an industrialist whose money he wanted very badly. Though campaign donations were at acceptable levels and bankruptcy wasn’t an immediate concern, the campaign had developed a prodigious appetite; to the point where Ford’s campaign executives had begun accelerating fundraising efforts even more. His schedule was ambitious after all, calling upon multimedia resources beyond anything that had ever been seen before. Overcoming a polling deficit as large as the one he was operating from would take a lot of effort.
“You see that?” The industrialist asked through a mouthful of eggs Benedict. Ford fought back the urge to flinch away from the unpleasantly wet sounding words and instead nodded.
“Yes. Carter was renominated by a solid margin, no doubt because of how far ahead of me is is.” The industrialist nodded, swallowed and nodded again, almost as if he was reminding himself to agree with what Ford was saying.
“Six points aint too far,” he grunted, “Truman got over worse, and hell, he was a fucking Democrat.” Ford chuckled and sipped his coffee, trying to relax into the meeting. He hated fundraising, it was probably his least favorite part of the democratic process, but he did it all the same. You couldn’t run a campaign for free.
“True. And it used to be eight. Of course, Carter’s gonna get a post-convention bounce if he doesn’t alienate the liberals too badly, so don’t be concerned if he pulls ahead of us again.”
“I aint worried about that,” the industrialist said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I know that you can win,” he said this with absolute certainty, as if Democratic victories didn’t exist in the world that he inhabited, “I just want to make sure that you don’t keep going with all this hippy environmentalist crap that Carter’s obsessing over.” Ford finished his coffee and nodded evenly.
“It is important that we keep our environment safe through prudent regulations, that’s what the EPA is for after all, but I agree with you, the economy shouldn’t be sacrificed for the sake of a few trees.” That seemed to please the industrialist, even if Ford was internally wincing at the bluntness of his last few words. Of course, if it secured him the industrialist’s support then it would go a long way towards making him feel better about pandering to these people.
“I had my doubts about you at first,” the industrialist said, “but I think that you’re gonna be alright as President.” It wasn’t much of an endorsement, but the thought of the monetary support that he would soon be receiving made it easier for Ford to smile. Cash didn’t have to be eloquent.
“Welcome aboard.” He shook hands and chatted amiably for a few more minutes before departing. Even if the industrialist hadn’t especially impressed him, he had liked that the man preferred meeting in an inner city Denny’s rather than a sterile boardroom somewhere. It felt more human.
Of course, that had also made his security anxious, but Ford never felt unsafe. Nobody had even recognized him, partially due to the casual clothes he was wearing (the industrialist, wearing jeans and a nondescript shirt, had insisted upon informal attire), and partially due to the unexpected location. Who expected to see a presidential candidate sitting at a diner booth, having brunch?
Stepping back into the black sedan that was waiting for him out front felt vaguely constricting. Ford was still getting used to the constraints of political life, though it felt oddly comfortable at the same time. Like an old shirt that he hadn’t worn for a long time. It still fit quite nicely, and he supposed that he liked it.
Really interesting TL, AnywhereButOTL. I'm enjoying it, even though it lacks a certain someone.