"Little" Sister Pt. 07

Author's note: We have come to the final verse of this song. It ends with a wedding, mostly. Sex is not the point, but what else do newly-weds do? I hope you have enjoyed Siobhan's story. She is very dear to me.

Chapter 32 – Primary School

New Hampshire has two Congressional Districts. The smaller 1st District covered Manchester and the thickly populated coastal region between Massachusetts and Maine, plus some rural upstate areas. My apartment in Hooksett would have filled the residence requirements. The 2nd District covered the Capital and Nashua, but also large thinly, populated areas toward Vermont, including Hanover and Dartmouth, and up to Canada. This was my district. My official residence was the apartment in Nashua, but the district also contained Cloudrest.

It took a long time to come to terms with the state's Republican establishment, largely because Richard Webber, the Chairman of the State Committee, did not like me. It was pure bigotry, nothing personal. He didn't like Ivy Leaguers, social sciences or anyone born out of state. After years of being discriminated for my looks, my sexual preferences and my sex, he was almost refreshing.

His problem was threefold. First, the party was in a bind for a candidate in the 2nd District. Longtime Representative Howard Bass was defeated during the Presidential election. He declined to try again. Second, Mr. Webber was honest enough to know when he was being irrational. Third, he was feeling heat about not already having a good candidate.

Eventually, he agreed to meet me in a public place. We literally settled our differences over a pool table. From that point on, it was a matter of whether I would have the amount of freedom I required. In the end, the party caved for lack of viable alternatives. To say I was their last hope would only exaggerate a little. So, I enlisted to take on a family politician in the mold of the Bush's.

Everyone knows that President George W. Bush is the son of President George H.W. Bush. What is forgotten is that he is the grandson of US Senator Prescott Bush. There is a third George Bush following him in Texas politics. In New Hampshire, the incumbent was Anne Custler, daughter of Concord Mayor John Custler and State Senator Susan McLaine. Her grandfather was Governor Joseph McLaine. Several uncles and cousins were also in politics. She was a Dartmouth graduate, though she went to law school in Virginia.

First, I needed to win the primary. There were two opponents. One was a former Concord Mayor and State Representative. I should not say I dismissed him out of hand, but I did. Morgan Robertson's comment, "John Adams. Named after a President. Next." The other opponent was also a former State Representative, but with a better reputation. He was a self-made millionaire named Roscoe Anderson. He was the type of person I would want on my Congressional staff, if I ever had one.

When I decided to enter the race, time was short. I had been not-running (as opposed to not running) for a couple of months. The distinction has to do with posture. I was holding myself as a potential candidate, without declaring. There are a lot of legalities about funding and communication with Political Action Committees that change when a candidate files the formal paperwork. To the extent I could manage, my name stayed in the news and the political conversation.

After declaring, I invited both candidates to a semi-private (no press) meeting in a Concord restaurant. Both candidates confirmed my first impressions, Mr. Adams by drinking and Mr. Anderson by nursing one drink. I asked them what they would do if the expected happened—they lost the general election to Anne Custler.

I posed the question to assume that each of them won the primary. Only Mr. Anderson picked up on it. He and I exchanged a knowing glance while I explained this to Mr. Adams. He had no plan. Mr. Anderson had business interests that he would pursue. I asked him if he could see himself backing my campaign in the fall. Glancing at Mr. Adams—who had clearly lost the thread of the conversation—Mr. Anderson allowed that it was a possibility. I said, "Good." and nodded. Though it was never formalized, we had agreed to fight fair and support the winner.

I stated earlier that New Hampshire's Republican party was desperate for a good candidate. Mr. Anderson was not a good candidate because he had a speech impediment. You have only to watch The King's Speech to understand how difficult this made things. I undertook the campaign with misgivings, because of this basic unfairness. It quieted my mind when Mr. Anderson and I reached our understanding. We are friends to this day.

Concerning the actual campaign, I was in luck in one regard. Cloudrest had become an event. Knowing that any broadcast of related programming would not be allowed during the campaign, three networks rushed their coverage to air between the holidays. The luck had to do with a regional show wanting a follow-up interview. Thus, I was on New England Today just hours before my formal announcement. It was the perfect opportunity to mention my part in Sheila's wedding. Concord's ABC station ran the clip as part of their coverage of my announcement.

After the New Year, we had a debate. This is unusual for Congressional campaigns, and very unusual during the primaries. Television ratings would not justify the expense. I proposed an online debate, with text responses rather than verbal. Mr. Anderson jumped at the chance. Mr. Adams came along rather than be left out. He might have been better off if he had passed.

Nothing in the questions was really unexpected. I had the usual questions about my family and childhood in New Jersey, my sexual preferences and general lack of experience. I had answers prepared. Mr. Anderson had questions about his speech impediment and lack of education. In my rebuttal time, I mentioned that Sheila and Francine both had high school educations. Uneducated did not mean stupid any more than a degree meant smart.

Mr. Adams immediately proved the second half when he considered a college degree the minimum. Mr. Anderson asked if more was better. Mr. Adams answered that it was, only to be reminded of the letters after my name. New Hampshire is proud of having an Ivy League University. A better man might have recovered, but Mr. Adams essentially quit at that point.

The rest of the debate was almost enjoyable in a kaffeeklatch sense. At a keyboard, Mr. Anderson was quite witty. I particularly liked when he asked if I was suited to take office, or only for a wedding. I answered with a comment about make-overs and their impact on self-perception. When he did not fire back a response, I knew I had him.

The immediate impact of the debate was mixed. I told my people to wait it out. Sure enough, both Mr. Adams and Mr. Anderson soon reduced campaign spending. I had another dinner meeting with Roscoe Anderson. He thanked me for not taking cheap shots at his disability. I told him I felt the same about my own limitations. We shared a laugh and all was forgotten. I still consult his opinion.

The press would have it otherwise, which it is why press coverage should be suspect. If one believed the coverage, Mr. Adams was my principal rival and Mr. Anderson was implacably hostile. I suppose it would make the reporting easier if these things were true. It is sufficient to say they were not.

I won the primary with a comfortable 51-37-10 edge. That meant I would face Anne Custler in November. On one hand, Mrs. Custler was doing a reasonable job in her first term. On the other hand, she had been elected on the coattails of a Democratic President, who was increasingly unpopular.

Chapter 33 – And They're Off

For the first few months, nothing would have mattered. I gave speeches and interviews, attended rallies, fairs, livestock shows and anything else with a stage. I could not really attack Mrs. Custler's record because she did not have one. On several normally controversial issues, e.g. gay and lesbian rights, we had the same position. I tried to pick at her few public statements and get her to poke her head out in the open. Time and money spent talking to Thomas Riley produced nothing better.

Through the late spring and summer, it was very tedious. I had little money coming in and only my own time as a resource. Though the national picture was looking good for the Republican party, I was not their fair-haired girl. Their money went to more promising situations. We made jokes about trying to spin straw into video cable, but only managing an elephant's tail.

As a sidelight, we played word games with my opponent's name. There were many unfortunate possibilities, "Custler Fuck" being the most obvious. I gave strict orders to never use the phrase, even in-house. However, using "CF" in a graphic was fair game, as were any rhyming words (can you believe there was a professional hockey team called the Ducks?). We had contests to see who could come up with the wittiest play on Mrs. Custler's name. My personal favorite was, "No AC to DC", which I had printed on bumper stickers.

If it seems childish, it was. Through most of the spring and summer, I was down at least 20% in polling. Since my personal money was also tight, I spent almost as much time in Concord on business as I had the year before. That is why I was in Concord when the raw sewage encountered the rotating ventilation blade. My part was was being sandbagged by a scandal on live local news. The bit would later win an award.

As scandals go, it was small change. Mrs. Custler's son was pulled over for running a stop sign. The moving violation escalated to driving under the influence of narcotics and marijuana possession. Candace Williams was Concord's alternative to 60 Minutes. She liked to surprise politicians and attorneys on live television, typically using closely held information. I was getting my morning coffee when she accosted me. Like the day I did my orals at Dartmouth, poor poker faces gave me a heads up.

ABC local reporter: This is Candace Williams. I am with Republican candidate Jo Richards. Ms. Richards, what is your reaction to Conrad Parsons' arrest early this morning?

Me: I assume you are asking me because you think it has some bearing on the campaign. Why do you think that?

CW: You do not think it is important that your opponent's son was arrested for possession of narcotics?

Me: I take it you are referring to a small amount of marijuana as 'narcotics'. While I do not condone his actions, Mr. Parsons is an adult. He will deal with the justice system as an adult, not as his mother's son. Other than as a distraction for Mrs. Custler, I do not see it as having a bearing on her campaign. I plan to make no mention of it.

CW: So you have no comment?

Me: No. I made my comment. Other than as a distraction to Mrs. Custler, I do not see Mr. Parson's arrest as having an impact. Was there anything important?

As it played, it was fun. I picked up the bit about marijuana from one of the camera crew. After I handled the question smoothly, he asked his buddy, "I wonder who tipped her off." The question came up repeatedly. My stock answer was that I read my response off the teleprompter.

Candace Wilson was good at constructing traps. Most had at least two jaws. She would ambush the person of interest while someone else did the person's business or family. My offices were staked out. The lack of activity was a story in itself. When a reporter floated the question, my staff looked baffled because they knew nothing. By the time I arrived, the question was who had leaked what to whom?

The story of the day became the story that got away. Since my interview ran live, there was no way to retract it. It was out there and we had a copy. After I won the election, it was submitted for an award, which probably embarrassed Ms. Williams. Still, if you look at the news coverage—print, blog or video—it was a blip. My short comment was well received. I even had a thank you call from Mrs. Custler.

Behind the scenes it was an earthquake, with aftershocks that kept coming. Thomas Riley was over the top in love with the way I handled the question. He told me he could stir the pot, but it was probably better to leave it alone. My opponent's judgment was called into question. The less I was involved the better.

After the first cycle of commentary, observers started to wonder why I had not made hay. My spot decision to downplay everything was called into question. From the start, Tommy disagreed with that view. Slowly, the public view turned, as Tommy predicted. Among arraignment, hearings, pleading and sentencing, the story took over a month to wind down. Mrs. Custler took significant damage, while I stayed very publicly hands off. By the sentencing, I polled within five points and was closing. The spread was down to two percent the day before voting. The last bit of the margin was outside my control.

You know what happened that year. The midterm elections were a disaster for the Democrats. Republicans voted, while Democrats stayed home. The big story was the Republican's failure to take control of the US Senate. That would wait til the next midterm. One of the side stories was the that the Republicans did take control of the House. I was one of the sixty-nine freshman Representatives. Huzzah.

It was not particularly close. The polling had narrowed to two percent, but I still trailed. Tommy told me to have hope, because unpublished numbers were looking good. This proved an understatement. For my race, I knew early that I would likely win. The writing was on the wall when I took a couple of Democrat-leaning precincts in Concord and Nashua. Mrs. Custler called about eleven PM. When she conceded, she thanked me for being gracious and fair.

I put the machine on record and went to bed. The only call I took was from the President, because I had a special ringtone set up for the White House. This was not ego. It is traditional for the President to congratulate every new member of Congress. I felt for the guy. He had to congratulate sixty-six new Republican Representatives, versus only three new Democrats. That had to suck rocks.

Chapter 34 – Opening, Presents

As with being elected Alderman, it did not feel quite real the next morning. The media felt quite convinced. I was still in a bathrobe at the first knock on my door. Rather than put up a fuss, I told them I would have a small news conference on my patio. The rules were no more than six, including a blogger from each side, a local reporter, and both print and video. They could share feed and headlines. I unwound to allow two cameramen.

In this, I had an ulterior motive. Most of them were freelance, likely from out of state. It was November in New Hampshire. I could keep it short without complaints. It was the first day I really appreciated having a penthouse apartment. Rather than a small porch, I had a rooftop patio. Six floors above the street, there was a stiff breeze blowing. Slowing things down, the cameras needed care and tending. I was comfortable in my trademark sealskin coat and a wool cap. Most of the reporters had light coats or jackets.

I started by thanking Mrs. Custler for running a clean campaign. The two New Hampshire reporters snorted at that, but it was true. The rest was the standard Academy Award speech, thanking everyone in sight. I expressed hope for a productive term in office and commented that the President had called with congratulations. By the time I finished my opening remarks, most of them were ready to leave. They asked just two questions, neither worth mentioning.

Back inside, I gave everyone a stiff shot of Irish whiskey before sending them out. One remarked to another that he thought I was supposed to be new at the political game. I had to bite my tongue. Woodrow Wilson learned politics at the University of Virginia, not in Washington.

The lone woman in the cluster lagged behind and caught my eye. I figured I could loosen up enough to talk to her. I glanced at my watch and held up five fingers. She nodded and followed the crowd out. When she returned, I told her I was not giving an interview. Instead, I would return a favor by giving her contacts.

Starting with my hometown political reporter, Frank Costello, I covered how I came be standing where I was. I highlighted Mimi, Drs. Gupta, Steele, Kerlinov, Morgan and Veronica. Along the way, I mentioned Beacon Light Project, Francine, MBC&L, Paroles and Pardons and the Manchester bridge project. I also warned that Elspeth handled most of my personal correspondence. I hoped she was recording, because I had no intention of repeating myself. As she left, she said she always wanted to meet someone important on their way up. Years later I remembered the line, but not her name.

The rest of the day was about my businesses. When my election was confirmed, the shit hit the wall. I may have been thinking about possible futures, where I was not around, but no one else had been. When I said that I had planned ahead, you would not believe their level of relief. Truth be told, most of my de facto Board of Directors assumed I would always be there to second guess their decisions. Surprise! I would not even be at Board Meetings. Sean calls it the stress test.

It took a while, but everyone started to cope. Veronica was the slowest. Eventually, she understood she had even footing with a career politician like Morgan Robertson and career military like Harold Richards. That had to be eye opening. Veronica was much more in tune with manipulating the system than with running it. It made her one of my most effective brakes. She could see all the potential abuse before we had to endure it. If Veronica vetted a project, it stayed vetted.

The social dynamics of my company would be a publishable paper, if I ever chose to write it. Initially, Morgan Robertson and Richard Harold formed an uneasy alliance. Between them, they would shape an idea to float past Veronica. If Veronica got on board, Vivian would crunch the numbers. If those made sense, the thing worked. Otherwise, chaos. I could not have planned it better, even given a year and a dozen graduate assistants to run data.

It came as a bit of a rush when I realized my approval was still the bottom line. As a Representative, my involvement was strongly curtailed by law. Yet, everything was structured to gain my approval. "What would Jo do?", was the fundamental question behind every decision. Vivian may have started the phrase, because it was common during the wedding preparations. That said, it could not last. In practice, Morgan Robertson eventually emerged as the CEO, in all but name. I always wondered if this was what she had in mind from the start.

I spent the holidays in New Jersey, where things were simpler. After eleven years at the top, Sean was very secure in his CEO chops. He could relax and spend some time with family. Just like during our school years, Sean supported me above and below the line. One small part was to sublet me an apartment that Richards Enterprises kept in Alexandria, Virginia. I moved there between Christmas and New Year.

Representative Leonard was a Godsend. He walked me through the complex orientation process and helped with much of the housekeeping. His staff went a long way toward forming my own. One of his deputies, Vincent Jackson, became my new office manager. Between the two of them, I claimed a decent place in the pecking order.

When the shakeout was finished, I had one of the better offices in the middle ranked office building. My committee was Small Business, but I also had a sub-committee of the important Ways and Means committee. That was Human Resources, chaired by Chuck Boustany of Louisiana. Representative Leonard told me that Mr. Boustany was not long for Congress. As freshmen Representatives go, I did well in my assignments.