Introduction
As much as we love our children, the
cold, hard fact is that we frequently lie to them in order to give them hope,
which, in this world, is often in short supply. As far as I’m concerned, that’s
totally ne. Adults recognize the harshness of a world that seems determined to
discourage the next generation, so we manufacture comforting fiction to soften
the blow and keep them in line (at least somewhat). How else do you explain
countless fantastical tales throughout history, from stories of Greek gods to
the annual appearance of Santa Claus to certain beliefs about what will cause
hair to grow on your palms?
Most of these stories are innocent and
well-intentioned. They tend to achieve the desired e ect of keeping our kids
believing in the unbelievable and living the good lives we want them to live.
There is, however, one complete and total lie we have spun for years that may
be doing far more harm than good. It has wreaked havoc on our entire democratic
system. We tell America’s future leaders that if they work and study hard, any
of them, no matter where they came from, can one day be President of the United
States.
Presidential candidates want you to
believe in this fiction because it humanizes them. They spend huge chunks of
their day trying to portray themselves as men and women “from Main Street and
not from Wall Street,” each one attempting to out- ordinary the next by sharing
everything from stories of immigrant parents to childhood newspaper routes to their
favorite barbecue recipes.
However, claiming they truly feel the
plight of average Americans is like hearing them say they’re connoisseurs of
Mexican cuisine because they’ve sampled the late night menu at Taco Bell. It’s
pretty hollow reasoning and produces nothing but a lot of hot air. I’m
reasonably certain this was not quite what the Founding Fathers had in mind when
they set this whole democracy thing in motion.
In fact, they took great pains to keep
the requirements for leading this nation as minimal as possible. It’s more
complicated to get a Costco membership card than it is to make a run at the
presidency. Article II, Section 1 of the Constitution specifically states: “No
Person except a natural born Citizen, or a Citizen of the United States at the
time of the Adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the Office of
President; neither shall any Person be eligible to that Office who shall not
have attained to the Age of thirty five Years, and been fourteen Years a
Resident within the United States.”
And that’s it. Turn 21 and you can drink.
Turn 25 and you get a better rate on your auto insurance. Turn 35 and you can
be the Commander in Chief. It all seems so simple. Which is may- be why we
constantly remind our kids that someday it could be them. It really does seem
that almost no one is ruled out of this race. At least that’s how it feels if
you spend three minutes viewing any cable news outlet once the election cycle
starts spinning. I could swear that at one point, the only person not running
for the Republican presidential nomination was that crazy old guy you see
arguing with cashiers at the grocery store. And even he would have led if he
weren’t so busy watching Clint Eastwood movies and telling the neighborhood
kids to get off his lawn.
So
what are voters to do? We’re stuck between a rock and some head cases. On one
hand, we all say we want a leader who can personally relate to the struggles of
low- and middle-income Americans. On the other hand, we don’t want to waste our
votes on candidates who can’t win. I’m not gullible enough to fall for the
aforementioned lie that any of us can grow up to be president. Still, wouldn’t
it be nice to at least find some candidates you’d enjoy having a beer and
burger with? There has to be somebody out there running for president with the
compassion of FDR, the folksiness of Harry Truman, the intellect of Stephen
Hawking and the straight talk of your college roommate.
********************************************************
I knew that none of these people would ever get
elected. But that wasn’t the point. The point was just to try. If we’re also
going to stick with that other great political lie — that every vote is
important — I was really just doing what we all fantasize we’d do if we could.
I was going to find the best person to hand my vote over to, regardless of what
the outcome might be. Somebody has to, right? It’s fun to complain about our
broken political system. Yet if the final answer is to vote for the most likely
winner, that’s not the best path toward any change. The only way to make a
difference is to search for somebody capable of making a difference, regardless
of what school they went to or how much money they have or what kind of fast
food they order. We need candidates who are told they can’t do this.
********************************************************
HARLEY BROWN
He also had a duty that,
in looking at this gruff, bearded, 6’ 4” wall of a man, was hard to imagine
ever being assigned to him. His Hell's Angel demeanor made him seem like the
last guy you’d want knocking on your door to tell you your loved one had just
been killed in the line of duty. And yet, Harley Brown did just that for nearly
two years.
“It loosened a few screws in me,” he admitted. “How
could it not? If you don’t have a heart, you could do that job. But I was
supposed to say this blurb: ‘The Secretary of the Navy said…’ Fuck that shit! I
wasn’t gonna say that. I’d walk up to the door and they’d see my uniform and
start thinking about their son. Then they look into your eyes and see the
expression on your face and say, ‘Oh, Jesus!’ You have to confirm their worst
fear. I had a lady who had a heart attack on the stoop of her home. I didn’t
know what the fuck to do.”
For one of the very few moments in the evening,
Brown sat silent. “That fucked me up in the head. It just changed my whole
attitude. It completely stripped me of a façade of political correctness. After
doing that shit, you don’t care.”
*
* *
“Business was lousy and I was depressed. [So I]
cried out to God, ‘What the hell am I doing driving a taxi? You didn’t make me
the youngest fleet commander in the Navy for nothing. How about putting me back
on active duty and make me a battalion commander of 1,000 men to fulfill my
wildest ambitions?’ I think I was 40 years old at the time.
“And then God talked to me. Not audibly, but to my
heart. He said, ‘Harley, I have a much higher rank in mind for you. Being an Irishman,
I said, ‘What? Secretary of War? Being in charge of all the troops and planes
and tanks?’ He said, 'No, son, I’m gonna make you Commander in Chief!’ I said,
‘Wow!' Then it hit me and I thought, ‘That’s the president of the United
States. What the hell do I know about politics and protocols?’”
Not much, clearly. “I said, ‘Besides that, Heavenly
Father, you give someone like me that kinda power and I’m gonna have to take
over the whole goddamn world! Because that’s all those assholes can understand.’
I was thinking about Iran. And then the answer comes back, ‘I know what I’m
doing, son.’ I was like, holy shit! The next day I went out and got the
Presidential Seal tattoo on my arm!”
********************************************************
JOSH USERA
Nate sat outside the door getting jacked up on
candy and soda from the courthouse vending machine while his father and I went
into an office. Clearly I wasn’t the only one surprised by this meeting. So was
Usera's probation officer, who seemed shocked that a) he had a writer following
him around for the day to document his presidential campaign and b) that he
even had a presidential campaign.
Upon hearing this news, she feverishly typed
something into her computer and then announced, “Josh, you do realize that
there’s a warrant out for your arrest, right?” As it turns out, he was not. She
explained the he’d neglected to pay a speeding ticket and therefore, he was
headed for jail again unless he took care of the ticket ASAP.
We rushed downstairs and across the parking lot to
the sheriff’s station, making it inside just before they closed for the day.
Old Horse had left for home, so Nate entertained me with a failed magic trick
involving a disappearing quarter. After a couple minutes, Josh motioned for me
to come over. I reached into my wallet for my credit card, certain it was going
to be up to me to bail him out of this. Instead, he had already taken care of
the payment and just wanted to introduce the clerk behind the counter to the
writer that was covering his presidential campaign.
******************************************************
BARTHOLOMEW JAMES LOWER
“Look around,” Lower
instructed as we walked, constantly pointing at one empty structure after another
with the same sighing recognition one uses when seeing high school yearbook
pictures of friends who’ve died since graduation.
“See the signs — ‘For Rent,’ ‘Available.’ That
building’s empty. That one’s for sale. That one just switched hands again. See
that green building? That used to be my in-laws, and it was a bar they ended up
closing because of the economy. This whole corner building has been vacant for
a decade. That one on the corner that kind of looks like a bank? That’s been
vacant for a decade too. That one there? Empty. That one? Empty.” He stopped on
a corner for a moment to take it all in. “Truck through downtown Ionia, and
this is the rest of the country. The big cities are the big cities, but what
you see here is the rest of the country.”
Lower has a very personal relationship with one of
the town's drug abusers. When Nicole’s son was 16, she and Lower learned he
wasn’t just using drugs. He was starting to deal them as well. A line had been
crossed and Lower truly believed that “if you can’t hold people accountable in
your own family, how can you expect to do it on a national or global level?”
So, they turned their own child over to police custody.
I had no idea how to respond. We’re so conditioned
as parents to protect our children no matter what. The idea of handing them
over to someone else for punishment seems unnatural. We preach tough love
because it sounds good, especially when it’s about someone else’s children. I
like to think that everything I’ve ever done for my son, this current journey
of mine in particular, has been done to inspire him to do the right
things—rather than scare him into avoiding the wrong things. And here was a man
who felt the same way, yet still handed his oldest child over to the authorities.
He had his reasons. The way Lower saw it, “when
kids are under 17, you have a window where you’re trying to make a change that
doesn’t end up hurting them the rest of their lives. He couldn’t follow the
probation, so I finally looked at the judge and said, ‘He needs real
consequences.’”
Candidates talk all the time about their
willingness to make tough decisions. Well, they don’t come any tougher than
this one and Lower made it. He let his son go to a detention center for 90 days
in order to start weaning himself off drugs. The decision definitely strained
his relationship with the now 18-year-old. But I didn’t sense an ounce of
regret from Lower.
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