Something To Placate The Masses
March 4, 1837
White House
Washington D.C., United States of America
"I, William Ambroise* Drayton, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the constitution of the United States."
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"Your inaugural speech was excellent, sir," said President Drayton's advisor. They were walking through their new home, getting a feel for the place and getting away from the hussle of the inaugural reception party. "I believe you sent a very clear message to those damn Nats**. Hopefully that will encourage them to keep those absurd 'abolitionists' away from the public discourse."
"They damn well better," the President muttered in response. He was distracted; his mind was filled with his visions of the country's future. "It is astounding how these men have no respect for the basic right of property enshrined in our Constitution. How could they possibility think the Negro has the mental capacity to govern himself? Insanity, if you ask me."
"Most definitely, sir. I hope you will be able to curb their excesses...?"
"Oh, but of course. If they make a single utterance about abolishing slavery, I will do to them what that brute Jackson did to my beloved home..."
As if on cue, (former) President Jackson bumped into the both of them while they were walking down the hall. Jackson had not taken to leaving the White House kindly, and he had intended to linger for as long as he could, mostly out of petty jealousy and anger.
"Beg your pardon, Mr. Jackson," Drayton said to him with an antagonizing tone of me. "Might I ask what you are still doing here? This is my residence now."
Jackson glared at the President with barely disguised contempt. "I'm merely collecting my things," he said. "Surely you wouldn't deny me my property?"
"Of course not. Then again, you seem to refuse to pay me the same respect."
Jackson took a step forward. "Excuse me, Mr. President?" He said those last two words with a hostile and condescending tone.
"You heard me. Your little raid in my state showed your true colors. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were in the pocket of those goddamn abolitionists!"
Jackson moved closer to Drayton; he was now only inches away from his face. "If protecting the Union against traitors and deserters makes me an abolitionist, then so be it," he growled. "I have no sympathy for those who defy the law of the land and embark on grandoise vanity projects to the detriment of our Union."
"And yet," Drayton said, his voice heating up, "You seem to have no problem with high-and-mighty factory owners
strangling our economy and encouraging the theft of our property! You are a brute, no better than a common Negro, a..."
That was all the President could get out before Andrew Jackson punched him squarely in the jaw.
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*Fictional middle name. Consider it author's license; the great thing about obscure historical figures is that you can make them dance to your tune

**Derogatory term for the National Republicans.