I looked around the table to the other professionals. "Any thoughts on this? Have any of you been thinking on this?"
Macy commented, "Don't take this the wrong way, Carl, but I figured you never had a chance for the VP slot. I couldn't even figure out how you got on the short list. No offense meant."
"None taken. I was as surprised as you were."
Millie asked, "Carl, are you planning on running for both offices? It's too late to run somebody else. They would have had to register months ago."
"I don't have a choice, not if we want a chance to keep the Maryland Ninth in the Party. I have to run as hard here as we had already planned, as well as spend my every waking moment campaigning for Bush. What else can I do? I am going to have to rely on you guys to help me win an absentee campaign."
"And that's why you needed me here.", added McRiley.
"And that's why I needed you.", I agreed. "I don't know what you would be able to do with the Bush campaign, but I am going to need the help here. I have to win this election here. If I win as VP and lose in the Maryland Ninth, I become a national joke. We are going to have to do this full bore."
"And afterwards?"
"I work just as hard for my hand-picked successor, whoever that ends up as. Likewise, we'll be able to crank up all the resources we can from the RNC. So the question really arises, who am I hand-picking as my successor? Marty and I vote for Cheryl. Any other candidates you guys have been thinking of?"
Nobody else had any names, but nobody had any issues with Cheryl. This wasn't going to be decided tonight, but we'd come up with a name by the convention. Marty and I explained how he would be leaving after the inauguration, though he agreed to hang around long enough to help the next Republican victor find a replacement. It was late when we finally broke up and everybody went home. We gave Brewster and Marty guest rooms for the night. Marty took Charlie's room. Charlie was at sea in the Indian Ocean and had just deployed; he wouldn't be back until around Christmas. He would get to miss the circus this was about to become. I almost envied him. Then I called my sister in Rochester, swore her to secrecy, and let her know what was happening.
By Saturday lunchtime somebody talked. I began getting phone calls on the unlisted number from reporters asking for comments. I just referred everybody to the Bush-Cheney team. I did accept the call from Joe Allbaugh with the itinerary for the announcement. We were to fly to Houston on Sunday afternoon. There would be a suite for us at the Four Seasons. The announcement would be made right after lunch from the deck of the USS Texas, docked as a museum ship in Houston. Would we be able to make the travel arrangements? I assured him it wouldn't be a problem, and then called and made sure the G-IV was ready. We began packing our bags. By Saturday afternoon reporters and camera crews began camping out by the driveway and parking on the side of Mount Carmel Road. I called the head of our security detail in and gave him the good word. He would need reinforcements!
Sunday morning, the political talk shows were all over the rumor. My bet was that somebody from the Cheney-Rove camp had leaked it, for good or for bad, perhaps in a desire to get me to say something stupid and premature, and thus derail the whole thing. The most amusing segment came on ABC's This Week, with Sam Donaldson interviewing my old buddy Fletcher Donaldson (no relation.) Fletcher had discovered that, almost by default, he was now the go-to guy on all matters Buckman. He had been covering me for the Sun for ten years now, and was probably the only reporter who had ever been inside the house. I had talked to him the other day, but only to tell him to call the Bush campaign, and that he knew me well enough to know I wasn't going to say anything else to him.
"So, Fletcher, you've known Carl Buckman the longest of any reporter I know of. What's he really like?", asked Donaldson.
Fletcher looked like he had bought a new suit for the occasion, and gotten a haircut, to boot. He said, "He's a very plain person, for one thing. He truly and honestly thinks he's a really boring guy and lives a really boring life. He's been married to his college sweetheart for over twenty years. Both he and his wife Marilyn were middle class kids. They live in the same house they built when he left the Army, a rancher out in the outer Baltimore suburbs. His kids go to the local public school. His son went into the Marines. Marilyn spends her time either being a stay-at-home mom or helping out as an intern at the Congressman's Westminster office. On fall weekends, they make jam..."
"They make jam?", asked an incredulous Donaldson. "As in jam and jelly?"
Fletcher nodded. "I've had some. It's pretty good stuff, too. They always make extras and he takes it down to this office and lets his staff and visitors have some. They also make pies together. Marilyn's a pretty good baker, but Carl says he's the better cook. It gives them something to argue about, their son once told me."
Cokie Roberts butted in at that point and said, "How does he reconcile the difference between being what he thinks is normal and boring with all the other things he is involved in?"
"That one is tougher to explain. I mean, I'll grant you, his resume is beyond belief. He's one of the richest men in America. In eight years he rose to the third most powerful position in the Republican Congress. He's written three books, earned a doctorate in mathematics, and been a decorated soldier. And he's also one of the most down-to-earth and grounded individuals I've ever met. He still thinks of himself as a kid from the suburbs who just got lucky. Really, really lucky!"
"He also killed his own brother.", commented Roberts.
"Ah, yes, and that's actually Carl's weak spot. Not his brother, no. That was actually totally legitimate. His brother was insane and broke into their house and tried to kill him. No, Carl's weak spot is his family."
"How so?", pressed Sam Donaldson.
"Carl Buckman's personal family when he was growing up was an absolute disaster. His brother and mother were simply nuts, and his father refused to handle the problem. When Carl was 16 he moved out, into an apartment near where he was going to school and which he had to pay for personally, and he's been taking care of himself ever since. His parents actually disowned him after he married Marilyn. Maybe it's overcompensating, but Carl is just incredibly protective of his wife and kids. You want to see some fireworks on this campaign, just wait until somebody starts heckling and insulting Marilyn Buckman or his daughters!"
Fletcher was right in that, and I would have to behave myself, because somebody was going to try it, just to start some fireworks. They continued batting it around until the commercial break, at which point they segued into whatever message the Bush campaign was trying to send with this nomination – which still hadn't been confirmed. After that, we turned off the television. The LongRanger landed and flew us to Westminster, which wasn't something the reporters had been expecting. They had been planning on chasing us down the road in their cars, the idiots! From Westminster we flew to a small airport outside of Houston, where a limo was waiting for us. We went direct to the Four Seasons, and then were whisked straight to the suite, without ever checking in.
Karl Rove was waiting for us. He was polite enough, but I could tell he was unhappy. He was a favorite of the Bush family, both father and son, and close to Dick Cheney. He had been in the political game since college, and he liked it, and he liked it dirty. I was a major upset to the apple cart. Still, he was professional enough to go with the flow. He laid out the following program: