June 10th, 1987
An excerpt from an article appearing in the New York Times
Iacocca Fires Back at Biden
It did not take long for the race for the Democratic nomination to heat to a boiling point.
At a campaign rally in New Hampshire yesterday, Lee Iacocca responded to Joe Biden’s comments that “name calling and insults are not welcome in the Democratic Party in 1987”, and he did not hold back.
Iacocca started by reading the quote, which was met by boos from the assembled crowd. This was when the former head of Chrysler attacked Biden’s work on the Senate Judiciary Committee and his fighting spirit.
“Senator Biden, no offense, but a fighter like me will not take an attack from a quitter like you. Senator Biden sits on the Senate Judiciary Committee, and guess what he’s done for you? Nothing.”
Iacocca wrapped up the attack with his strongest words, saying, “You know what, Biden? Attack me when you actually join the race instead of hiding behind your constituents.”
No word has come from any of the other candidates in their appearances regarding Iacocca’s remarks, but one would have to guess that someone will look to punch back at the centrist soon.
It is a highly unusual strategy to blatantly attack members of his own party, but by doing so Iacocca may be able to appear as the no-nonsense businessman in a policy that for the last decade has been regarded by conservatives and independents as weak and ineffective.
So far, the tact seems to have mixed results, as some have shunned Iacocca for harming the party while others have thrown their weight behind the man they see as the savior of the Democratic Party.
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June 13th, 1987
The Vice President was sitting in his office, reading a newspaper article set before him, his brow creasing as the ugly story unfolded before him.
Across the desk sat Howard Baker, who had first seen the story. He eyed Vice President Bush, curious as to how he would react.
The article read as follows.
White House Divided Over Reagan’s Trip to West Germany
An insider source close to the President has told the Washington Post that tensions were high about the text of President Reagan’s speech in West Germany yesterday.
The source, who is in immediate contact with the White House, says that a specific phrase, ‘Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall’, that appeared in the final copy of the speech that President Reagan delivered before a crowd in West Germany split the top officials in the White House nearly in two.
According to the source, Chief of Staff Howard Baker, who has been a trusted official in Reagan’s administration since it’s beginning, said the statement was “extreme”. Also fighting against the use of the phrase was National Security Advisor Colin Powell.
Despite the opposition by key members of the administration, the phrase remained in the speech, and was delivered as written.
This split in the administration could spell trouble for Vice President Bush’s quest for the White House in Nov--”
That was as far as Vice President Bush got before tossing the paper in the trash next to his desk.
“Howard,” he began, “there was less than twenty people in on this decision. It can’t be that too difficult to figure out who sent this to the press.”
“How should we proceed, sir?” Baker asked, sure that Bush had already come to a conclusion in his mind. Bush shook his head.
“That’s not important. What is important,” he said, “is to go out and bring me a list of those twenty people who were in on the speech. Get that list and then we can know for sure.”
Baker stood, his orders clear. He was still curious, however.
“Sir?” he asked. Bush raised an eyebrow, and Baker continued, “Off the record, who do you think it was?”
“Well, let’s just say that Ronny isn’t going to be happy when he finds out his best friend is a leaker.”
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June 14th, 1987
An excerpt from an article appearing in Rolling Stone Magazine
Days of Panic: Fear and Loathing on Both Sides of the Aisle
Well, here we go again. You all may be thinking, who dug up this old bastard and put his shriveled corpse in front of a typewriter - the answer to that is Jann Wenner, who I can only assume managed to gamble away all his cash riverboat gambling and needed to make some quick money with another sideshow horror. And I am happy to be of assistance.
But, what I said about digging up corpses applies to this race that has snuck upon me like those damn rumors ruined Ed Muskie in ‘72… Who started those again? Ah, those were the days where a slick journalist could slip a story into the first print and voila! The Post had picked it up.
Where were the editors? The watchers? The overseers of justice and the good in this damned country. Off on a swing through some far off desert, some place where the words of giants were buried amongst the dunes, where a man could live.
But, here I go on a tangent, the kind I promised I wouldn’t this time. I’m too old to fall down these mental caverns, I’m not as able to crawl back out as I used to. Leave the Gonzo to the young, that’s what those bastards on the other end of the line have been telling me for hours now.
O Ghost, O Lost, Lost and Gone, O Ghost, come back again.
Back to where the story is, back to the money, back to the rush. Corpses, corpses everywhere. Ghosts of elections past leap into frame every day on the news.
And the reader is thinking, Hunter, you old fool, this is a young election, with that old bastard Reagan out the world is left to the young. No, no, no. They may be new faces but they’re old spirits, old demons possessing senators of today.
Look at Quayle. If you put a blindfold over my eyes, or at least loaded me up on enough acid, you could take me to one of his rallies and I’d think Ronny was running for a third term. That’s not to say that he has half the moxie that our esteemed President has, but the words are the same.
Who knows why. Some people are just too weird to figure, aren’t they?
I think I could hang with this guy… Only way he can actually believe he can take Bush in the primaries is if he’s on as much coke as I am on the usual Tuesday. Seeing this guy makes me think I should run for sheriff again, but after all the broken mailboxes I’ve caused, either accidently or very much on purpose, I don’t think I’d have much of a chance.
In fact, those same armed goons I kept around the Owl Farm on election night all those moons ago are probably the same guys guarding Quayle whenever he appears in White Town, Iowa or White City, New Hampshire. Only the most desperate vagabonds would work for someone so radical and dangerous to the rights of the average man.
And the Democrats, oh, the lovable losers of this storybook, what a divide.
I came awake all of a sudden, jabbering and laughing at my television recently, upon seeing the ghost that had somehow operated and manipulated the wavelengths so he could make his apparition known to me… Gary Hart… my senator, my ‘sort of’ pal.
I had seen that figure long ago, in fact he had been in my car, shooting down State Highway 82, top down, wind blowing. Different times, younger times, faster times. We knew each other… hell, we trusted each other. It was a different time, like I said. Senators could afford to get mixed up with a degenerate junkie and not fear expulsion from his seat.
Then Nixon came along and blew up the whole dynamic.
But I digress. I remember he was talking, talking and talking, seemingly without end. Usually when people rant at me from the passenger seat, it’s me ranting at me, and when it’s not it’s some poor editor begging me to slow down. But this time it was Hart, and he wasn’t telling me to slow down. In fact, he was telling me about his beliefs.
As he spoke more and more, I felt myself nodding along with the rhythm of his speech, more and more in balance with his words. Everything he said was making sense. I couldn’t tell you a thing of it, but what he said made complete sense at the time.
I like the guy, I really do. But I really like Jackson too. He reminds me of the past, and it’s the past I actually dig, not the ironic side of it. Or is it? Damn if I know.
So, here’s the deal. I’m supporting one of these guys, as I don’t have anything better to do and I look forward to yelling at my fellow citizens, now for a reason.
But I’m not set on either side yet. So, Senator Hart, Reverend Jackson, you want an endorsement? You want me to bring all of my esteemed freaks and burnouts with me? Come to Aspen, spend a few hours at Owl Farm, shoot some guns. If I don’t kill you, well, you’ve either gotten me drunk enough to be a crappy shot or I like what you have to say.
What do you say? Come on down, candidates. Woo me like Ed Muskie did all those years ago.