(I dug his name out of the sign in sheets the next day and called him and thanked him and asked him to work for the campaign. He turned out to be a very useful queen bee.)
Sometimes it bombed. Somebody got up on his high horse at a meeting at the Westminster High School and demanded to know if I believed in evolution. After I said yes, I was denounced as a godless heathen who was going to burn in the fires of hell and damnation. School security had to drag him out. That made the evening news the next day. Joy!
Chapter 101: Getting Ugly
I had predicted that the race would get ugly and it did, in a hurry. Andy Stewart had a tough fight with Bill Worley, and he spent far more money than he planned to. In April he eked out a narrow 52-48 percent win, and then immediately turned his sights on me. He had neither the record to run on nor the inclination to do so. He went negative immediately.
Every political campaign has both positive and negative aspects to it. Every candidate promises to run only a positive campaign, a campaign that focuses on his or her accomplishments, and the wonders they will perform. Only their opponent will run a negative campaign, because, of course, that's just the type of person they are! Right off the bat you are going negative! Negative campaigns focus on your opponent's faults, either real, perceived, or made up. The theory is that if you can't make the public love you, then you can at least get them to hate the other guy!
I tried to stay positive, but McRiley immediately began preparing ads to go after Stewart. In this we were helped by the nasty campaign between Worley and Stewart. We saw what had worked for both men and what hadn't, and could move on from that.
Andy started low key but slimy. For Memorial Day, Andy claimed I wasn't patriotic enough! He was one of those guys who always wears a flag lapel pin, and I wasn't. We both went to various Memorial Day parades in the area, and we heard from some people that Andy was loudly claiming that I was disrespecting our nation by not wearing a flag pin. Brewster immediately came to me and handed me a bag of flag pins, large ones, and told me to always have one on me.
"You don't think this is going to look like we're reacting to him? I put one of these things on, and the next thing you're going to hear is that I'm only doing it because I'm scared of him.", I told him.
"In this case we are scared of him." He pushed the bag towards me.
I pushed it back. "No we're not." What I couldn't figure out was why Stewart was attempting this. He must have known I was a decorated veteran by now.
"Carl, you are speaking to the American Legion in Parkton this Friday night. You don't wear one of the flag pins, you might as well write off their votes."
I put the bag in my pocket, just to humor Brewster. "You worry too much, Brew. Come with me to the Post Friday night. It will be fine."
We got a babysitter for the kids that night, and Marilyn and I both went to the Legion Post in Parkton, where Brewster was to meet us. I had on a nice blue blazer and white shirt, with pressed khakis, and the only thing patriotic was a red, white, and blue striped tie. Marilyn was wearing a very pretty knee length dress, also in red, white, and blue, though it was a flowered print. I didn't have a flag pin.
Brewster took one look at me and immediately pulled a pin from his pocket. I noticed he already had one in his own lapel. "Did you forget, or were you just planning to piss these guys off?"
I stopped him. "Behave Brewster. I know what I'm doing. Now, knock it off and watch."
Before I was called up to speak, I met with several people, many of whom were wearing a flag pin on their lapels. By now I knew Andy's whispering campaign was in full stride, since almost everyone was glancing at my bare lapel. That was fine by me. When I was introduced, I decided to grab the bull by the horns.
I picked up the microphone and spoke into it. "Thank you all for inviting me here to the Post. It's a pleasure to meet you all, and I can say that I already know a few of you. Right there in the second row is my neighbor, John Caples, who owns the farm across the road from me. My wife Marilyn and I have bought a lot of sweet corn from him over the years. I also saw Bill Elliott and Barry Henderson; didn't know you guys were in the Legion. Thanks for inviting me." It was a typical American Legion crowd, with some old timers going back to World War II and Korea, and others from Viet Nam and more recent conflicts.
"Anyway, before I get too much further along, let's get something taken care of. I would bet that everyone here has now heard the complaints that I don't wear an American flag pin in my lapel. Is that true? Have you all heard that?", I asked. I looked around and smiled. "Go ahead! Raise your hands!"
There was a fair bit of surprise at my bringing this up, and several voices spoke up in agreement. Slowly a few hands were raised, and then eventually most of the room raised their hands. In the back I saw a couple of reporters jotting in notepads. I wondered whether they had been invited by Brewster, or more likely, by Andy Stewart.
"I've certainly heard the stories. Where better to address the issue than here at the American Legion. My answer is this. I think we've all been taught that actions speak louder than words, right?" I looked out over the room and smiled at the number of people murmuring to each other and nodding their heads. "Okay, then. I'm just not the kind of guy who really wears much in the way of jewelry or pins. I don't wear much more than my wedding band, my college ring, or my watch." In each case I held up the appropriate hand. "Well, there is something else I wear." I moved my spare hand under my tie and unbuttoned my shirt. I reached inside and pulled out my dogs tags. "I still wear my old dog tags." I tucked them away, and then reached in my left pants pocket. "And here's one last piece of jewelry I could wear if I wanted."
This was the reason I wasn't worried about the lapel pin. Let them all stare at my lapel. It was pretty obvious to me by now that Andy still didn't really know who the hell I was. He must have researched me beyond the fact that I was a billionaire murderer. I pulled out the oblong metal case that military decorations are presented in and set it on the podium. There was a loud murmur as people saw me lift the top up. I hadn't opened this since I had gotten it years ago, except for earlier in the day, when I dug it out of my desk drawer. I pulled out my Bronze Star and held it up for the audience. "I'm not one to wave around my medals, but I think you all know what a Bronze Star is." I pinned it to my lapel.
"Now, in case anybody here thinks I went down to Sunny's Surplus this morning and picked this up, here's something to read. Marilyn?" I gestured to my wife, and she stood up and came over, and opened up this gigantic purse she had. "Folks, this is my wife Marilyn. Now, to be honest, she earned this even more than I did, because while I was deployed overseas, she was back home in Fayetteville having our son. Anyway, she had this plaque made up for me. We'll pass it around for you to look at. The photo is from my retirement parade. You've seen my cane; it was from my last jump, when I earned that. Back then I was known as Captain Buckman, Bravo Battery, 1st Battalion, 319th Airborne Field Artillery Regiment, 82nd Airborne Division." I motioned Marilyn to hand the plaque to somebody in the audience.