Taft 2012 (4 page)
Authors: Jason Heller
Tags: #Fiction, #Satire, #Alternative History, #Political
“President Taft?” A woman’s voice. Taft gripped the guardrail lest he launch himself over the thing.
“Ah, Miss Weschler.” He spoke but didn’t turn to face her. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me so. I had quite forgotten you were on the premises.” He felt a pang of guilt. The woman had been so kind to him, but, heavens, she needed to stop following him around like a little lost puppy.
“I, ah, I apologize. You were just so lost in thought out here, I was wondering if you might want to talk.”
He snorted and wiggled his mustache. “Talk. That seems to be the major preoccupation of you people of the twenty-first century.” He paused to let one of those violently loud mini-aircraft—what had Kowalczyk called it, a hell-copter? Appropriate name, given the infernal racket—shoot past overhead. “Ahem. Speaking of which. I started reading the notes you left me, Miss Weschler. On the twentieth century.” He closed his eyes. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, madam: Scarcely five minutes after I left office, the entire world burst into war. Woodrow Wilson led America to victory. And then it happened again twenty years later, and Teddy Roosevelt’s
cousin
led America to victory.” Taft pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. “The atom has been split. Men have traveled to the
Moon
. Only one president has been assassinated since McKinley—not bad, I suppose, statistically speaking. Palestine is a Jewish state and the Arabs would like it back. China is now the United States’ largest debt-holder. China! And a singer named—what was it, Michael Jackman?—was the greatest artist of the twentieth century?”
“Well, that last one is open to debate.”
“Indeed. It seems only yesterday the newspapers were falling over themselves to bestow the title upon that boy Al Jolson.”
“Mr. Taft,” she said quietly. “What do you think of all that? All those changes in the world?”
Finally, he turned to stare at her. “What would you have me say?”
“I don’t mean to be pushy. It’s just that … sometimes it feels better to talk. You know, about your feelings.”
He snorted through his mustache. “I feel quite better shutting up, fine, thank you. In any case, I need to conserve my breath. Have you noticed how dreadful the air tastes? What do you people burn for fuel? Old shoes? In any case, besides an itch to play nine rounds
at Chevy Chase and a tickle in my belly where my dinner isn’t, I’m afraid I don’t have any feelings to report.”
She stepped forward and leaned against the rail next to him. “I mean your emotions.”
He had to laugh at that. “Emotions? If you want emoting, Miss Weschler, I’ll take you to a fine night at the theater.”
It must have been the glare of the city—he could have sworn she blushed. “No, Mr. Taft, that’s not what I meant exactly. I was just thinking you might be feeling scared. Or confused. Or maybe … alone.”
“Oho!” Why hadn’t he seen it coming? “I understand now,
Professor
Weschler. You have an ulterior motive here, don’t you? You are a historian, are you not? Of the presidential persuasion? And picking my brain of its contents is surely a way for you to better your handicap among your peers, perhaps even secure a more auspicious post within the academy? Well, I won’t be the butt of your ambition, Miss Weschler. I assure you, I’m not anybody’s subject to be prodded, poked, and dissected. Since that first day in the White House, your doctors have gotten me medicated to the point that I’m sleepy and out of sorts half the day. I’ve had quite enough of that, I assure you, quite enough!”
He stormed back into the apartment and slammed the sliding glass door behind him.
A moment later, much more gently, he reopened it. “Oh, Miss Weschler, sorry to bother you. Just one more thing. Is there still a golf course nearby?”
From
Taft: A Tremendous Man
,
by Susan Weschler:
I’ve been asked countless times: Why Taft? Why did I choose for my life’s work to study this most hapless of one-term presidents? Was I just looking for an easy path to being the foremost expert in something, by picking a field that no one else cared about?
People are obsessed with greatness. Washington led the Revolution and founded the presidency. Lincoln brought us to victory over slavery and separatism. FDR reinvented the institutions of civic life with the New Deal. Kennedy stood up for civil rights and led us into space. Yes, these are all defining moments in our nation’s history, in our human history. But the “great man” approach to history misses a much larger point: small moments also define us. In fact, aren’t the small moments what
really
define us? It’s the quiet little decisions we make every day that add up to who we are, from how we treat a homeless panhandler to whether we call our mothers and tell them we love them.
Taft didn’t set out to leave his stamp on America, as Teddy Roosevelt did. But he understood that Roosevelt’s crusade against corporate monopolies was a valiant one, and he kept on fighting the good fight, even after Teddy complained that he was doing it wrong.
Taft didn’t win any wars. He also didn’t start any. Interesting, isn’t it, how the presidents with proper military experience are so often the ones most committed to maintaining peace?
Taft didn’t champion any sweeping social legislation like the other politicians who called themselves progressives. But the laws that already existed? He never, ever, ever exempted himself from them. Never made the argument that the president gets to be special. Because he didn’t think of himself as special. He thought of himself as an American—one among many.
We should all be such “great men.”
washington, DC craigslist > district of columbia > personals > rants & raves
Re: HERE’S WHAT I THINK ABOUT TAFT. (Foggy Bottom)
Date: 2011-11-15 9:42PM EST
I think Taft is the bomb diggity. I think Taft is dead fucking sexy. I think Taft ought to play Santa Claus in every mall in America. I think Taft would take down Chuck Norris in four seconds flat. I think Taft is one bad mutha (SHUT YO MOUTH). I think Taft is going to stick around for a while. I think Taft was long overdue.
Basically, I think Taft rocks my world. And really rocks that mustache. What do YOU think?
• Location: Foggy Bottom
“The first thing I noticed about my great-grandfather was his eyes. Well, no, I have to be honest, that was the second thing. The first thing I noticed was his size. Wow. You know, my whole family has a slight tendency toward being big boned—I’ve always been on the curvy side, and proudly so—but this was something else entirely. This wasn’t healthy. All I could think was, you’d think that hibernating for a hundred years would have used up all that fat. But
then
I saw his eyes, and that made me forget about the other thing. The kindness, the pain, the empathy, the hopefulness—I just felt immediately at home with him. Here was my family. Any lingering doubts that I’d had vanished—not only about his identity, but about whether he’d deserved the sort of derision and scorn that had hounded him out of office and then kept hanging around his legacy after he disappeared. Meeting William Howard, I knew right away that, whether or not he was a great president, he was definitely an excellent man.”
—
Congresswoman Rachel Taft
,
interview with NPR
A
t this moment, Taft was sure he’d never felt so perfectly full. Not his belly—he wasn’t even thinking about that. But his heart was full to bursting with warmth, even as his arms were full of the best hug he could remember.
He stepped back from the entryway of his apartment and held this woman at arm’s length—this woman whose father’s father had been his son Robert. He couldn’t quite convince himself that he recognized his son in either her solid frame or her sturdy, kind features, but he also couldn’t quite convince himself that he could speak without a lump forming in his throat.
Finally, she chuckled nervously. “I feel silly for asking, but—what should I call you?”
“Why,” he said, wondrously, “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose Grandpa should do nicely.”
At last he let her go and harrumphed deeply. “Would you like to sit down? Or, rather, I should say, I think I need to sit down.” He motioned her toward the couch.
“Sorry, I’m a little overwhelmed, too.” Rachel cleared her own throat, her eyes glittering. “Grandpa.”
“So,” he said. “I hear you’ve taken up the Taft banner and been tilting at windmills here in Washington.”
“Oh, you have no idea. Or maybe you do.” Taft nodded vigorously but said nothing; he’d picked up a bowl of candy from the coffee table and began rummaging through it, absent-mindedly popping pieces into his mouth, as she spoke. “It’s business as usual, I guess. The Republicans won control of the House in the last midterms—that’s when I was elected. The president’s taking his cue from Clinton in ’96 and hedging his agenda so that he can get some basic budget-balancing done. The polls aren’t looking good for him, and the presidential election is only twelve months away. Primaries start soon. And the economy is still more or less a mess.” She sighed. “At least we managed to avoid a second Great Depression.”
“Second Great Depression? I’m assuming that means there was a first?”
“Um, yes. You just missed that back in your day. And the First World War.”
“And the second one of those wasn’t avoided.” He gestured toward the computer on the desk in the corner of the room. “I’ve read a bit about them on this Internet of Susan’s, but I’ve been a bit befuddled of late. And I type as if I have sausages instead of fingers.”
Rachel smiled and suddenly stood. “Grandpa, I hate to reunite and run, but I’m due at the Capitol for a vote.” She reached for her coat. “What are you doing for dinner, say, next Thursday?”
He blinked. “Next Thursday? I must say, I have no idea what I’ll be doing tomorrow, let alone next Thursday.”
“It’s Thanksgiving,” she said, walking to the door. “And I’ll tell you exactly what you’ll be doing: coming to Cincinnati to have Thanksgiving dinner with my family. With
your
family. I’ve
already made the arrangements. You’ll be flown out the day after tomorrow.” She patted his belly. “You think you can save some room in there for turkey?”
Even beneath his mustache, Taft was fairly certain that the quiver in his lip as he pondered a holiday with family was visible. “Thanksgiving. Of course. That had quite slipped my mind. I … I’d like that very much, Rachel. I have a few pieces of correspondence to answer before then, but, yes, I think I’d quite like that.”
“Then it’s a deal, Mr. President.” She hugged him, planted a quick kiss on his cheek, and shut the door behind her.
Transcript
,
Raw Talk with Pauline Craig
,
broadcast Nov. 16, 2011
PAULINE CRAIG: With us today on
Raw Talk
: Jo L. Johnson, senior analyst at the Center for Right Ideas. Jo, talk to me about William Howard Taft, the Republican.
JO L. JOHNSON: Thank you, Pauline, it’s good to be here. You know, Republicans usually remember President Taft, if at all, as something of a failure, a man who lost his reelection bid horribly—horribly!—to the Democrat Woodrow Wilson. Taft took only two states—it was a total embarrassment. But the thing is, when we look back at that 1912 election now from the right perspective, we realize that the only reason Taft lost is that Teddy Roosevelt decided he wanted to be president again, and when the Republican Party refused to kick Taft to the curb and welcome Roosevelt as their returning hero, he abandoned the GOP, started his own new third party, the Bull Moose Progressives, and jumped into the race anyway.
PAULINE CRAIG: So, basically, Roosevelt betrayed the sitting Republican president and the Republican Party and lost them the election. But because liberals write all the history books, Roosevelt still gets to be considered a hero for all time.
JO L. JOHNSON: That’s right. If the conservative vote hadn’t split, Taft might have won his second term. You know, he wasn’t the sort of loud, crazy maverick that Roosevelt was.
PAULINE CRAIG: Well, today’s Republican Party seems to have come to its senses after the last election and decided it’s time to take a break from so-called progressive Republican mavericks and focus on good old-fashioned conservatives.
JO L. JOHNSON: That’s right. There are definitely no RINOs hiding among the frontrunners right now—unless you count that former Massachusetts governor, but that’s open to debate.
PAULINE CRAIG: A debate we’ll save for another show. Now that Mr. Taft is back on the scene, what do you say: will he endorse one of the Republican candidates?
JO L. JOHNSON: Right now it’s tricky to say for sure, but I would imagine that Mr. Taft will endorse one of them eventually. He was always a loyal Republican, and I’m sure once he has a chance to see the state of America today, he’ll be eager to help put the party of common sense and American values back in charge.
PAULINE CRAIG: To right the ship of state, you might say.
JO L. JOHNSON: That’s right.
M
oments after waking, Taft was up and busy. He laid out the only suitable set of outdoor clothes his caretakers had given him. Curious things, they were: the fabrics were softer and flimsier than what he was used to, and, although they fit him passably, their cut was far more accommodating than he’d ever experienced. What really surprised him, though, was how little fashion appeared to have changed since his time—at least when it came to men. What women wore these days, he shuddered, was enough to send a man to a monastery. Or a cathouse.
Then he bathed, dressed, trimmed his mustache, made himself a quick snack of bacon and coffee and buttered toast, and prepared to convince his handlers that it was time to let him venture into the streets of Washington. Future or no, he wasn’t doing anyone any good hiding in this damned apartment.
A knock came at the bedroom door. “Bill! It’s me. I’ve got a little surprise for you. You decent?”
Taft hurried to pull on his pants. “I’ll be right there, Kowalczyk!” He grabbed his coffee and marched out to the living room, where
the agent was carrying a largish box under his arm.
