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Hail To The Chief
by
A more detailed analysis would have shown that this calmness was of two types. The first, by far in the majority, was the calmness of the complacent knowledge of victory. The second was the resignation to loss manifested by those who knew they were backing the wrong man, but who, because of party loyalty or intellectual conviction or just plain stubbornness, would back him.
When Senator Cannon’s brother, Dr. Frank Hewlitt Cannon, took a short leave of absence from Mayo Clinic to fly to the senator’s campaign headquarters, there was a flurry of speculation about the possibility of his being appointed Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare, but the flurry didn’t amount to much. If President Cannon wanted to appoint his brother, that was all right with the voters.
After a tirade by the Soviet Premier, charging that the UN Police troops in Victorian Kenya were “tools of Yankee aggressionists,” Americans smiled grimly and said, in effect: “Just wait ’til Cannon gets in–he’ll show ’em.”
Election Day came with the inevitability of death and taxes. The polling booths opened first on the East Coast, and people began filing in to take their turns at the machines. By the time the polls opened in Nome, Alaska, six hours later, the trend was obvious. All but two of the New England states were strongly for Cannon. New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, West Virginia, and Ohio dropped into his pocket like ripe apples. Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida did the same. Alabama wavered at first, but tagged weakly along. Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, and Michigan trooped in like trained seals.
In Mississippi, things looked bad. Arkansas and Louisiana were uncertain. But the pro-Cannon vote in Missouri, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, and Minnesota left no doubt about the outcome in those states. North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas–all Cannon by vast majorities.
And so the returns came in, following the sun across the continent. By the time California had reported three-fourths of its votes, it was all over but the jubilation. Nothing but an honest-to-God, genuine, Joshua-stopping-the-sun type of miracle could have saved the opposition. And such was not forthcoming.
* * * * *
At Cannon’s campaign headquarters, a television screen was blaring to unhearing ears, merely adding to the din that was going on in the meeting hall. The party workhorses and the volunteers who had drummed for Cannon since the convention were repeating the scene that had taken place after Cannon’s nomination in the summer, with an even greater note of triumph.
In Cannon’s suite, six floors above, there was less noise, but only because there were fewer people.
“Hey!” Cannon yelled good-naturedly. “Lay off! Any more slaps on my back, and I’m going to be the first President since Franklin Roosevelt to go to my Inauguration in a wheelchair! Lay off, will you?”
“A drink, a drink, we got to have a drink,” chanted Representative Edwin Matson, his bulldog face spread wide in a happy grin while he did things with bottles, ice, and glasses. “A drink, a drink–“
Governor Harold Spanding’s lantern-jawed face looked as idiotically happy as Matson’s, but he was quieter about it. Verbally, that is. It was he who had been pounding Cannon on the back, and now he was pounding Matthew Fisher almost as hard.
Matt Fisher finally managed to grab his hand, and he started pumping it. “What about you, Harry? I’m only a poor, simple Vice President. You got re-elected governor!”
Dr. Frank Cannon, looking like an older, balder edition of his brother, was smiling, too, but there was a troubled look in his eyes even as he congratulated the senator. Congressman Matson, passing out the drinks, handed the first one to the senator.
“Have a drink, Mr. President! You’re going to have to make a speech pretty soon; you’ll need a bracer!” He handed the second one to the physician. “Here you go, Doc! Congratulations! It isn’t everyone who’s got a President in the family!” Then his perceptive brain noticed something in the doctor’s expression. “Hey,” he said, more softly, “what’s the trouble? You look as though you expected sickness in the family.”