Part 1 (1/2)
Hail to the Chief.
by Gordon Randall Garrett.
The tumult in Convention Hall was a hurricane of sound that lashed at a sea of human beings that surged and eddied around the broad floor. Men and women, delegates and spectators, aged party wheelhorses and youngsters who would vote for the first time that November, all lost their ident.i.ties to merge with that swirling tide. Over their heads, like agitated bits of flotsam, pennants fluttered and placards rose and dipped. Beneath their feet, discarded metal b.u.t.tons that bore the names of two or three ”favorite sons” and those that had touted the only serious contender against the party's new candidate were trodden flat.
None of them had ever really had a chance.
The b.u.t.tons that were now pinned on every lapel said: ”Blast 'em With Cannon!” or ”Cannon Can Do!” The placards and the box-shaped signs, with a trifle more dignity, said: WIN WITH CANNON and CANNON FOR PRESIDENT and simply JAMES H. CANNON.
Occasionally, in the roar of noise, there were shouts of ”Cannon!
Cannon! Rah! Rah! Rah! Cannon! Cannon! Sis-boom-bah!” and s.n.a.t.c.hes of old popular tunes hurriedly set with new words:
_On with Cannon, on with Cannon!
White House, here we come!
He's a winner, no beginner; He can get things done!
(Rah! Rah! Rah!)_
And, over in one corner, a group of college girls were enthusiastically chanting:
_He is handsome! He is s.e.xy!
We want J. H. C. for Prexy!_
It was a demonstration that lasted nearly three times as long as the eighty-five-minute demonstration that had occurred when Representative Matson had first proposed his name for the party's nomination.
Spatially, Senator James Harrington Cannon was four blocks away from Convention Hall, in a suite at the Statler-Hilton, but electronically, he was no farther away than the television camera that watched the cheering mult.i.tude from above the floor of the hall.
The hotel room was tastefully and expensively decorated, but neither the senator nor any of the other men in the room were looking at anything else except the big thirty-six-inch screen that glowed and danced with color. The network announcer's words were almost inaudible, since the volume had been turned way down, but his voice sounded almost as excited as those from the convention floor.
Senator Cannon's broad, handsome face showed a smile that indicated pleasure, happiness, and a touch of triumph. His dark, slightly wavy hair, with the broad swathes of silver at the temples, was a little disarrayed, and there was a splash of cigarette ash on one trouser leg, but otherwise, even sitting there in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves, he looked well-dressed. His wide shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist and lean hips, and he looked a good ten years younger than his actual fifty-two.
He lit another cigarette, but a careful scrutiny of his face would have revealed that, though his eyes were on the screen, his thoughts were not in Convention Hall.
Representative Matson, looking like an amazed bulldog, managed to chew and puff on his cigar simultaneously and still speak understandable English. ”Never saw anything like it. Never. First ballot and you had it, Jim. I know Texas was going to put up Perez as a favorite son on the first ballot, but they couldn't do anything except jump on the bandwagon by the time the vote reached them. Unanimous on the first ballot.”
Governor Spanding, a lantern-jawed, lean man sitting on the other side of Senator Cannon, gave a short chuckle and said, ”Came close not t'
being unanimous. The delegate from Alabama looked as though he was going to stick to his 'One vote for Byron Beauregarde Cadwallader' until Cadwallader himself went over to make him change his vote before the first ballot was complete.”
The door opened, and a man came in from the other room. He bounced in on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet, clapped his hands together, and dry-washed them briskly. ”We're in!” he said, with businesslike glee. ”Image, gentlemen!
That's what does it: Image!” He was a tall, rather bony-faced man in his early forties, and his manner was that of the self-satisfied businessman who is quite certain that he knows all of the answers and all of the questions. ”Create an image that the public goes for, and you're in!”
Senator Cannon turned his head around and grinned. ”Thanks, Horvin, but let's remember that we still have an election to win.”
”We'll win it,” Horvin said confidently. ”A properly projected image attracts the public--”
”Oh, crud,” said Representative Matson in a growly voice. ”The opposition has just as good a staff of PR men as we do. If we beat 'em, it'll be because we've got a better man, not because we've got better public relations.”