Peter Prasad's Blog: Expletives Deleted - Posts Tagged "satire"

A 5-star review of The Reluctant Jesus by Duncan Whitehead.

Okay, so you’re Jesus returned, but you don’t know it until you’re 33. And the Second Coming plays out in NYC with a talking cat that steals the show. God love it. The human condition requires humor. People take their religions so seriously these days and God has been laughing at us for a while now.

Whitehead shines in his epic tale well-told, almost a hero’s journey of funny stuff: dialog, scenes, settings, plus sparkling wit. Trust the British; they invented divorce and Episcopalians. Duncan gets it right in this Swiftian devotional: some parts subtle, sarcastic, ironic, and satirical.

Hold onto your rosary, mama, our Duncan is writing for the big guy in the sky, the grand audience of ONE. He puts a giggle in the hellfire and damnation that others are slinging hereabouts. The angels will gawp in wonder as I do a reading on Cloud Five at twilight tonight.

Tea & Crackers Campaign, Chapter 8: Flag Day parade, Saturday, June 14th

The trick to living in Florida is to stay out of the noon day sun, especially if you’re a red-headed pale face with freckles. Even better is to hide inside in air conditioned comfort until sunset. But Aunt Veda’s old cracker house didn’t have air conditioning. Instead the house was sheltered in the shade of a tall banyan tree and we lived with the ceiling fans constantly turning.

Veda had me up early and dressed in my hibiscus dress. I insisted on wearing practical volleyball shoes. It was Flag Day, June 14th, and that meant we were walking in a parade. I looked forward to the day when we’d ride in a convertible with the top down, sitting high up on the back edge and waving at folks, but that day hadn’t come yet.

Flag Day is a pretty big to-do in the patriotic Florida panhandle. It commemorates that day in 1777 when the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia adopted the national flag. Now two hundred and forty years later, we parade with floats and marching bands. At least that’s how we do it in Micanopy, a four-block town of art galleries and cafes south of Gainesville. It was important for Veda to attend, so I put the word out to my email network to come join in the fun. It was the first test of the power of my email list and I had no idea what to expect. Because it was so hot, I didn’t expect much except a shaved ice cone to beat the heat.

I felt wilted by the time we arrived in Micanopy as Veda’s rattletrap Jeep didn’t have air conditioning either. We parked in the parade staging area behind the general store. The mayor of Micanopy, Arthur Danforth, approached with a clipboard and shook Veda’s hand. He was dressed in a frock coat and Ben Franklin glasses, with a white ponytail wig over his bald head, so he was in the spirit of the event. He welcomed us and said our group would march third, after Tugg and his Republican primary challenger, an unknown candidate named Bobby DuPry.

Just as were standing there, feeling alone and forsaken, two cars of Veda’s supporters arrived from Gainesville. Dr. Spector pulled up in his Volvo station wagon with Indian John. Marge Spector climbed out from the backseat and displayed a hand-painted banner: Veda Rabadel, Your Democratic Candidate for U.S. House 28. That made us a group of about ten, and I was standing around wondering what to do.

A loud claxton horn made us all jump back out of the center of the parking lot when Tugg’s crew pulled in. They were driving four new white pick-up trucks, dripping water from blocks of ice and tubs of ice cubes. I went over to investigate and saw that Tugg’s people were planning to hand out frozen juice pops in red, white and blue. They were the long, cylindrical kind that you push up from the bottom and suck on from a hole ripped in the plastic. Dang, why hadn’t I thought of that.

One of Tugg’s trucks hauled a flatbed trailer which was decorated with hay bales and American flags to make a parade float. A professionally-lettered canvas banner ran down the center of the float: Earl Tugg – Your US Congressman. Well, Tugg’s banner was bigger than ours, and with all those new white trucks it looked like he was preparing for an invasion.

I got worried and started texting my volleyball network with an invitation to join us and march with Aunt Veda in the parade. I also texted Jeeter and said we were about to get run over on this parade – was there anything he and Dante could think to do. I never heard back but when he showed up I was happy with the result.

Members of the Micanopy High School marching band wandered over, carrying drums, trumpets, trombones and tubas, all in blue denim uniforms with gold braid around the neck and down the sleeves. The marching band formed up on the side street and Tugg’s trucks lined up behind them. Then more cars arrived with a group of University of Florida cheerleaders. They bounced out and climbed up on Tugg’s float in their jaunty short blue and white uniforms, waving orange and blue pom-poms.

Dr. Spector said it looked like Tugg had some kind of endorsement from the university. He went over to investigate and one of the cheerleaders told him that Mrs. Tugg had hired them for fifty dollars each for two hours work.

I panicked and send out a bunch more texts calling for members of the Steinhatchee volleyball team to come to my aid, and to wear their uniforms. Aunt Veda desperately needed a show of solidarity. Veda came over and could tell by the frown on my face that I was panicked. She squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry about it. We’re here to learn and see who we’re up against. We’ll lead from behind. We’re a walking tour, a people’s movement. We don’t need cheerleaders and a float.”

“The hell we don’t,” I replied. “We only get one chance to make a first impression. We have to start fighting Tugg from behind every tree stump down here in south district. It’s our home base.” Anyway, that was my logic and Veda just smiled at me. I knew she’d march on no matter who turned out to support her.

I looked at Indian John standing behind Veda and he gave me a sheepish grin. Dr. Spector and Marge stood behind him, with their banner unfurled. We were a sorry sight and I didn’t like this at all; we were about to get run over in this parade. I fired off more texts and wondered how I could poison Tugg’s popsicles. Then the Gator cheerleaders began their chant. “Re-elect Earl Tugg, he’s our Washington rep…yep, yep, yep.” I could have spit bile.

We stood around for ten more minutes, sweating in the noon-day sun, waiting for folks to find seats along the curb of the parade route. I watched the ice water drip off the back of one of Tugg’s trucks and puddle on the street. He was glad-handing folks that stopped by, singling out the men and acting like they were Clan members in some kind of political brotherhood. Mrs. Tugg and the cheerleaders were handing out small American flags on sticks to the kids, and passing out popsicles. The mothers seemed so appreciative that their kids had something to do, and something cold to hold, though I saw one little boy wipe his blue mouth on his mother’s white shorts.

Finally the band got tuned up in marching order. The mayor pulled out a starting pistol and fired a blank shot into the air. That made Indian John jump. The Micanopy High School band started a jazzy rendition of Suwanee River and kicked into a high-stepping march. It took them a few minutes to wheel around the corner to where the parade started. They stopped and lined up again. Tugg’s float started up and moved out to fall in behind them. Mr. and Mrs. Tugg took seats at the back of his float in white lawn chairs and began waving at everyone. The Gator cheerleaders started up on their campaign cheer, waving pom-poms. No doubt about it, Tugg had slam-dunked his presentation for maximum impact. He was riding on that float, like General Robert E. Lee on his white horse, proud for all to see.

Behind Tugg in a cream-white Lincoln convertible came Mr. and Mrs. Bobby DuPry. DuPry’s dark-haired young wife was dressed in Spandex gear like she was queen of the gym. DuPry fancied linen slacks and a blue floral Hawaiian shirt, already sweat-stained under the arms. He brushed his brown hair straight back. His eyes were too close together, which made me think of a ferret.

Small banners on the sides of his Lincoln read: Bobby DuPry – Take Back America. I had no idea where he was going with that campaign slogan. But he didn’t seem to mind, being happy to show his face and generate some name recognition. Maybe like me he hoped Tugg would fall down dead, and if the district voted Republican then he might win the election.

The back door of the general store swung wide and banged against the brick wall. Out marched a troop of military veterans in uniforms from Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, and Afghanistan. The group was led by two geriatrics on three-wheeled battery-powered scooters in World War Two uniforms. They wheeled right and fell in behind Bobby DuPry's Lincoln. They set a leisurely walking pace, so I began to think we wouldn’t look like the poorest participants in the parade. Truly, the veterans deserved to be honored on Flag Day.

Dr. Spector and Indian John grabbed Veda’s banner and formed up behind the veterans. Aunt Veda and I walked six feet behind the banner. We lined up in the street and waited for the veterans to turn the corner. Veda held my hand until we rounded the corner and then she began waving at folks along the route. Veda’s contingent now numbered about twenty people. It was a sad turn-out but the best we could muster as political novices.

Someone shouted my name and I spun around. There was Thorny and the rest of my Steinhatchee Bobcats tumbling out of her uncle’s sports utility vehicle, in sport bras and shorts with two volleyballs. I never felt so proud in my entire life. I had to wipe away tears. They formed up behind us in a loose circle and began bouncing the volleyballs high in the air. They were setting each other, playing “bump” and making it fun.

Thorny led them in a chant, louder than the Gator cheerleaders. “Hey, hey, hey…we’re the Steinhatchee Bobcats and we’ll kick your ass.” I looked over at Veda. She smiled and reached out to hold my hand. She must have seen me tear up, and I knew it meant a lot to her too.

Clear out of nowhere, I heard the deep throaty rumble of Harley Davidson motorcycles bounce off the bricks of the general store. From out of an alley came Dante wearing a rainbow striped shirt unbuttoned down to his belly, driving a Harley hog and grinning like a madman. Behind him came six more Harleys driven by the Gainesville Dykes in full black leathers. Behind them sat six cute lipstick lesbians in bikinis and biker boots, one of them almost entirely covered with orchid tattoos.

My jaw must have dropped and I felt Veda’s hand squeeze mine. I looked over at her. She was smiling. “It takes all kinds to win and election,” she said, “and my campaign makes room for everyone.” I squeezed her hand and suddenly felt more hope than I had since the Bobcats won the volleyball championship.

On that note we set off marching down the short main street of Micanopy. Behind me the Bobcats were setting volleyballs high in the air, racing to the curb to bounce a ball back to the center of the street, and spinning balls in the air when we stopped. Behind them came Dante and his Harley babes. Once we got in front of the crowds that lined both sides of the street, people started hooting, clapping or staring at us like we were the circus come to town.

Ahead, the parade route stretched an extra few blocks past downtown and ended in a tree-lined park. Tugg and his float had passed the end of the parade and swung around to pull into the grassy area. He was busy doing more politicking. A Gainesville news truck was parked at the end of the route, giving the camera crew a long shot view down the entire length of the parade. When the Gainesville Dykes saw the TV crew, they revved their engines to a ripping roar. All six of the bikini-clad passengers jumped up to stand on the back of their bikes. They broke out into their own chant: “Go Veda, Go Veda, Go Veda.” A few voices in the crowd picked it up and we made a nice clatter.

With the parade at a crescendo, I could feel the TV cameras on us. Then the gal with the orchid tattoos peeled off her bikini top and shook her ta-tas in the sunshine. She waved her arms over her head and pumped her fists into the air. Then she bellowed: “Long live democracy, the spirit of America.”

It was a stunning finish. I saw a mother in the crowd cover her daughter’s eyes, and the little girl pried her fingers away to peek at the topless gal. Both mother and daughter were smiling. I saw every man in the audience stare and most of them grinned. And I saw a young woman peel off her T-shirt to flash her pink sports bra underneath and shimmy her shoulders. Her boyfriend lifted her up on his shoulders and she led the crowd in “Go Veda, Go Veda.” The TV crew captured it all.

Well, the shiny chrome Harleys out-drew Tugg’s flag-decked float in the park at the end of the parade. Most of the men hung around to gawk at the Harleys and I saw Veda shaking hands with their wives and talking to their kids. The bikini gals posed for ‘selfies’ with the veterans, who wanted to hug on those girls like they were a petting zoo. And the camera crew stayed to shoot some of it and interview Veda.

Tugg and his fleet of white trucks didn’t stick around. I saw Mrs. Tugg pay off the Gator cheerleaders and they left too. Bobby DuPry and his Lincoln followed Tugg’s trucks out of town. I never got a chance to say hello and size him up. As it turned out, that would come later.

I looked around at families socializing and Veda making friends and I felt like Chief Micanopy, having won the field, in his first battle of the second Seminole Indian War. Of course, it wasn’t much to brag about as he and his warriors got deported to Oklahoma later in the war, but for a first skirmish I felt we had done well.

On the evening news, the Micanopy Flag Day parade was the lead story, probably because the video footage was so racy. The topless girl was shown, covered by a black band across her chest, and you could hear her “Go Veda” chant and the proclamation “long live democracy, the spirit of America.” Aunt Veda got in her first sound bite on local TV. She was recorded in close-up saying: “I’m running an inclusive campaign so that all the voices of District 28 can be heard. My name is Veda Rabadel and I want to be your new representative in Washington DC next year.”

Tea & Crackers Campaign: Chapter 9

Earl Tugg must have driven the forty miles straight up Highway 75 to Live Oak to do a radio interview that afternoon, because the talk show host had lots of material and quotes to start slamming Veda on Monday morning. Of course, I never listen to that AM station, but it can be heard clear to Jacksonville and Tallahassee. Even so I didn’t get the details for a few days, but it pretty much became Tugg’s declaration of war on Veda.

From what I pieced together from snippets and what others tell me, Tugg and his wife spent an hour speaking to radio host Barney Cricket with high moral indignation. Cricket, a prune-faced man with a shock of white hair, is an old ham radio operator in his sixties. He’s lived in Live Oak all his life and owns orange groves. He runs an evening call-in talk show with a sizable late-night audience, Chawing on the Florida-Georgia Line . In the early morning, the station covers farm reports and crop prices for truck vegetables and melons, wholesale landing prices for oranges and other tree fruit, and plays a mix of country music and Grand Old Opry selections. It has the ear of the Florida panhandle farmer.

The interview went something like this: “So Democratic candidate Veda Rabadel, a fifty year old woman, bared her breasts at the Micanopy Flag Day Parade? And the Gainesville news station has video proof of this outrage? I can’t wait to see that. Sounds like an interesting campaign for District 28. I’m sitting here with incumbent Earl Tugg, and his lovely wife, Barbara. So tell me what happened,” Cricket began.

“No, it wasn’t Veda Rabadel, herself, it was one of her supporters on the back of a Harley Davidson motorcycle, riding in the parade in a bikini. She pulled off her top and stood up and exposed her breasts for every God-fearing small child and innocent young girl to witness. It was disgusting, on a blessed day dedicated to our flag and American patriots no less,” explained Barbara Tugg.

“That’s right. I was ashamed for the people of Micanopy, and the people in District 28, that my opponent could so disrespect all the God-fearing good folks of District 28, which I was elected to represent and which I have fought for in Washington, DC, which is a cesspool of government waste and big spending. And now she dares to bring that kind of behavior back home,” Earl Tugg elaborated.

Well, Barney Cricket demanded a detailed explanation; in fact, he harped on it. Was it one breast or two? Was she flaunting her chest? Was she paid to do it? Or was it a costume malfunction like for Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl halftime show?
“It was clearly a planned event for the television cameras, a disgusting and vulgar display of public nudity that took all eyes away from our sacred flag and the dedication and sacrifice of our wounded warriors,” Barbara Tugg explained.

“I intend to run a clean and fair campaign and I respect a candidate like Veda Rabadel until her people go and do something like this. It’s a shameful stunt that insults ever God-fearing voter in District 28 and I think the young woman who bared her breasts should be arrested. And I intend to call the Florida state attorney general to look into it,” Tugg said.

“Clearly, we question whether Veda Rabadel has the patriotism required to love our country if she allows this kind of behavior to represent her campaign,” Barbara Tugg said.

“I wanted to bring this disgraceful act to the attention of the God-fearing and good farmers of the Florida panhandle so we know what a vote for Earl Tugg means. The alternative is to disrespect our flag,” Tugg said.

“Well now these are strong charges and the brazen behavior of a harlot, whether Veda Rabadel approved of it or not. It makes you wonder about her capacity to represent the district in Washington, DC,” Cricket summarized.

“That’s my point exactly,” Tugg said. “If she can’t control her people, and allows them to act out and throw their breasts in our faces, then I question her leadership skills. She’s not like me, I’ll tell you that,” Tugg said.

“Throwing their breasts in our faces, that’s a new low in campaign electioneering here in District 28. Now you’re absolutely confident we’ll see proof of this on the evening news out of Gainesville? I’ll be watching for visual proof. I hope they run it again at ten o’clock,” Cricket said. “While I take your word for it Earl, as gospel, I have to see this myself, and I‘m sure our listeners will want to tune into the TV news this evening. Might this be the beginning of a woman’s movement come to District 28 to unseat you?”

“There’s no woman’s movement against Earl,” Barbara Tugg said. “Women have no reason to complain about my Earl. He’s a God-fearing man that always looks out for his family, his community and his country.”

“Yes I have. Yes, I do. And Yes, I always will,” Tugg assured Cricket and his radio audience.

The interview ran on for Tugg to make all his points about his voting record in Washington, DC and how highly he was rated by the Constitution PAC, the American Patriots PAC, the Compassionate Conservatives and the tea party. Tugg made it sound like he was ready to be the next President. Barbara Tugg chimed in: “And filled with moral fiber. Earl served his country in the reserves, and now he serves his country by being a voice of farmers and conservatives in our nation’s capital. It’s a job he’s earned, a job he does well, and a job he should keep.”

“Well, you’ve got my vote,” Cricket replied, “but you don’t need it. All the polls predict you’ll win this race by a wide margin. Despite Veda Rabadel’s actions to get some skin in the game.”

Cricket laughed at his own joke and had a coughing fit. Earl Tugg probably chuckled some but was then heard to say, “Why thank you, Mr. Cricket. Your support is much appreciated.” Barbara Tugg didn’t say anything at all.

With that kind of Sunday evening radio promotion, folks throughout the district tuned into the Gainesville news station at ten o’clock to see the video footage of the parade for themselves. The station did not disappoint, and showed the bare-chested woman with a black bar across her breasts two more times. And they included Veda’s sound bite again, so I was happy with it.

For the ten o’clock news, someone thought to call the mayor of Micanopy, Arthur Danforth, for a comment. He said: “Micanopy is an artist community with books shops, art galleries and a few buildings on the historical register. We believe in the freedom of expression here. If that orchid-tattooed girl came back as an artist’s model, I think she’d make a fortune. So we hope you all will come back to do some vacation shopping here in Micanopy soon.”

A few days later, a history professor at the university commented on bare breasts. “It used to be quite common in the early Bronze Age, especially on the island of Crete. You can see it in their murals. It was only after the Athenians colonized the island that a stricter form of dress and temperance was imposed.” I trusted the professor because I never bothered to look it up.

Despite quoting the professor on his radio show, Cricket didn’t let up for a few weeks. He kept piling fire and brimstone damnation on the Flag Day event. I didn’t see what damage it did, as it kept Veda’s campaign in the news and made it a discussion topic on the late-night call-in show. I think it was some students in Gainesville that got the last laugh. They started wearing simple white t-shirts with a black bar stenciled across their chests.

Chapter 10: Sunday, Father’s Day

Sunday was Father’s Day and Veda opened a bottle of vodka and cried all morning because she missed Uncle Leland so bad. It made for a miserable start to the day. Gramm had me down in the basement harvesting her magic mushrooms and stuffing them into a honey jar. I made a few peanut butter and honey sandwiches for her, then drank a sugar-free Red Bull and went upstairs to outline a campaign schedule. Some generations have to carry other generations – read history, it’s always been that way, like all those old hippies from the Sixties. Gramm was that generation. Where would we be without them? Probably at a sex rehabilitation camp quoting Bible verse and slapping away raunchy paws, afraid to do anything but Twitter like silly fools.

Indian John came by, looked in on us and fired up the barbecue grill. John had brought fresh gator tail steaks. He had a reputation as a gator man, the person to call if a gator got into your swimming pool. He must be a good butcher too, because he plunked a ten pound tail of gator meat on the barbecue. Soon after the Askaloosa brothers roared up to the house in one of their big four-wheelers, raising a dust storm off the road. I’d sent Jeeter a text, and an email, so they were invited to the picnic.

Jeeter and Dante helped Indian John spread the hot charcoals under the barbecue. Branch went off by himself and leaned up against the banyan tree with a six-pack of beers. I went over to welcome him but Jeeter waved me off. “He’s having one of his bad days. They come and go, based on what dreams he’s having about fighting in Afghanistan, or maybe Iraq,” Jeter said. I believed it might be something worse than that, but then we all have our ghosts. Branch would mutter and curse under his breath, then burst into tears. He had unspeakable issues no one wanted to penetrate.

Dante pulled out a set of magic markers with a notepad and tried his hand at drawing campaign slogans. He had an artistic streak and a natural talent for designs. After our success at the Micanopy Flag Day parade, the T-shirt design we settled on read ‘Go Veda.’ My favorite was ‘Tit for Tat Democrat’ but Aunt Veda vetoed that.

The whole time sitting there under the shade of the banyan, smelling those gator steaks sizzle up, Jeeter never took his eyes off me. He’d look at me until I had goose bumps, then I’d look up at him and he’d look away. We did that all afternoon until I was worse off than heat lightening with not a drop of rain in sight.

Veda came out to welcome everyone. I guess she’d gotten sleepy from the vodka and taken a nap. Now she was bright and chipper. I hoped her grieving was done for the day. She went back inside and helped Gramm make salad dishes in the kitchen. They brought them to the picnic table under the old banyan tree by the barbecue pit. Gramm had baked a heaping plate of her bacon-fat cornbread biscuits. Indian John thin sliced the barbecued gator tail and covered it with a ginger-garlic sauce that he’d learned to make in Thailand. I wondered if he was old enough to have served in Vietnam. I still didn’t know enough about him yet, and when I asked Veda she said he was an old friend of Uncle Leland’s and provided security for her campaign. It never dawned on me that we might need it.

Indian John sat with Branch for a while and sipped a beer, but he was unable to reach Branch either. He was deep into one of his impenetrable moods. Jeeter and Dante ignored him. They were used to his behavior. I sat beside Jeeter, nudged him with my elbow and nodded toward Branch. “He gets like that, then comes out of it in a day or two,” Jeeter explained with a sad smile. I knew the feeling, having seen Aunt Veda disappear into her sadness earlier that morning, and many a time over the last nine months.

As we sat down to eat, a car came honking up on us. It was Thorny and her uncle bouncing down our road, followed by a sleek silver Jaguar and another four-wheel drive SUV. Gramm smiled; she welcomed company. Veda went inside to check her make-up and Indian John went to greet the guests. With the new arrivals parked, Indian John led them to the picnic table.

Veda came out of the house looking better and was introduced to an elder from the Seminole tribe, Dr. Heath Baudry. He was a tall, thin man with a dignified nature who wore his grey hair in long Indian braids. His wife, Marlene, was an attractive woman ten years younger who wore her black hair in similar braids. We got to talking and she said she worked as an attorney and Indian rights advocate.

Out of the silver Jaguar stepped the sugar baron I’d seen at Veda’s first event in Gainesville. He wore a dark suit and orange tie, with his black hair slicked back and trimmed nicely. He spoke English with a Cuban accent and had wonderful, gracious manners. John introduced him as Senor Marcel Cutie, pronounced Cu-tea-a, a high-society sugar baron from Kissimmee by Lake Okeechobee. I wondered why he was coming all this way to meet Veda, but instead I went into the kitchen to fetch more plates, glasses and silverware.

Jeeter followed me in and brought out cold beers for everyone. He was behaving himself except for the one time he stood too close to me and we brushed arms. I didn’t yell at him though, and told him where he could find a tray to serve drinks like a proper gentlemen. I even got him to tuck in his shirt, but he refused to wear an apron. I didn’t want our guests to think we were country crackers living out of plastic grocery bags from Publix. Jeeter cooperated and served the beers. He even helped Mrs. Cutie pop open her pop-top can.

John hoisted up a big platter of grilled gator tail that smelled divine and went around serving folks, and ladling out his Thai ginger-garlic sauce. We passed the salads and cornbread. I sat beside Mrs. Cutie, who wore her black hair in a bun with dark Spanish combs. She was dressed in an elegant tan pants suit with an orange silk blouse that matched her husband’s tie, plus a pearl necklace and pearl earrings. She seemed so calm and elegant. I asked if she liked politics, saying I was rather new to it myself.

“Henna, I’ve been helping my husband for years since we came from Cuba. We had sugar cane estates there and lost it all to Fidel Castro. When we got to Miami, we started all over again. Now we work with politicians from both parties to look out for the interests of Cuban-Americans. My husband loves the freedoms of his adopted nation.”

Thorny sat at the other end of the table with her uncle. She had on a little too much make-up but looked cute in sandals, cut-off jeans and a Mexican peasant shirt. She ignored my looks all afternoon and we never got a chance to sneak away and gossip. I was surprised she sat so quietly. Neither she nor her uncle said much; he was an odd duck anyway, either talking too fast about farm equipment or going quiet for long periods. I could tell he and Dante didn’t get along. Maybe Dante was the better salesman. But Thorny’s uncle gave Veda a hundred dollar campaign donation before they left.

I watched Thorny walk to her uncle’s car. He had her by the elbow, like he had more important places to be. She gave me an odd look over her shoulder, then she scrunched up her face and grimaced. I gathered she would have liked to stay. I held my hand to my ear and pantomimed ‘call me.’ She nodded and smiled.

At sundown and with a good meal in her, Veda moved over to sit with Indian John, Dr. Baudry and Senor Cutie. I got up to help Gramm clear the table but Veda called me over to join her, so Jeeter stepped in to help Gramm. Veda liked me there to witness campaign business, I guessed.

Indian John began by saying that Dr. Baudry spoke for the tribe’s management committee and that Senor Cutie was a long-time supporter of the tribe, and of Democratic causes, and an important business partner. “Veda, we’re excited by your campaign and the opportunity you represent to get out voice heard in Washington. The Seminoles need friends in Washington and I think you’d be a fine friend for us and an excellent representative for the district,” Baudry began. He spoke in a deep bass voice with significant authority and crisp diction. I could tell he was a well-educated man, with hardly any cracker accent and the slow, dignified drawl of a native Floridian.

“Well, thank you, Doctor, but we both know I’m a novice when it comes to national politics. And as I remember in the last campaign you supported Earl Tugg.” Veda smiled at him but her eyes stayed sharp and keen.

“Yes, we did support him, but we’re unhappy with that decision,” Baudry explained. “We’re here on a fact-finding mission and to get a measure of your metal. This is going to be a tough race. You’re up against a tea party favorite. You have a wide range of disparate groups to corral if you’re going to win. And Tugg is not going to play fair. He has plenty of outside money and the power of incumbency. But his record leaves little to run on, except that he hates Obama and Obamacare. He wants to cut education, cut assistance for poor people and ignore our nation’s international responsibilities. The sad fact is, he went to Washington and stopped listening to the local people that put him there. Now he thinks he’s a tea party champion and all he had to do is vote no on everything. That’s no way to advance our nation or look after the interests of rural Florida.”

“I agree with you, Dr. Baudry,” Veda said. “Tugg isn’t interested in helping students, or young families, or the elderly. He doesn’t understand the expansion of human rights. He doesn’t care about immigrants or the poor. He’s not any kind of an environmentalist.” Dr. Baudry and Senor Cutie nodded in agreement.

“So what’s it going to take to win your support?” Veda asked next. She got right to the meat of the matter with that question and both men leaned back and paused to give themselves time to answer her. I looked at Senor Cutie. He sat quietly, allowing Dr. Baudry to speak for him. I guess they’d decided to play it that way in advance.

“I’m glad you asked that, Veda. We have two business strategies that we hope you will consider and see your way to support. The tribe believes that gaming casinos are an important potential revenue source for the state and for job creation. Florida is already a leader in tourism. Gaming casinos are a natural extension in that area of entertainment. As you know, Indian tribes in California and several other states are thriving with successful gaming enterprises. This allows us to grow jobs, create a stronger tax base for the state in poorer areas and contribute to like-minded political friends.”

“Providing some of the casino tax revenue is earmarked for local schools and education, I could support that,” Veda said. “What’s your other business strategy for the state?” Jeeter sat down beside me and got excited when he heard Dr. Baudry’s response.

“We look at the revenue generated by medical marijuana in California, Colorado, Oregon and Washington. More than twenty states are enacting some kind of medical marijuana legislation and we want Florida to join them. In California alone, the taxable revenue from medical marijuana is running to several hundred million dollars per year. And according to opinion polls, Floridians support legalization of marijuana by almost sixty percent.”

Instead of responding to Dr. Baudry, Veda turned to Senor Cutie. “And what’s big sugar’s interest in medical marijuana?”

Cutie cleared his throat. “As an investor.”

“Medical marijuana is grown in a controlled environment with significant banking, infrastructure and regulatory concerns, plus security, quality control and supporting laboratory services. It takes a lot of money to deliver the service and meet all the government requirements,” Baudry explained.

“As a medical initiative for cancer patients, those afflicted with chronic seizures and other related illnesses, you have my support,” Veda said. “However, as a medicine, marijuana must be carefully regulated, with education and licensing, especially for care-givers. As to a more general legalization, I’m not yet convinced it serves the people of Florida.”

“Of course,” Baudry said, “there are many regulatory concerns to work out, but it’s a beginning.”

“Some twenty-five percent of our state prisoners are incarcerated for drug offenses. So if we can reduce prison populations and get these kids a decent education, I’ll feel like I’ve done some good,” Veda added.

“Exactly,” Senor Cutie chimed in. I looked over at him and say the fire behind his eyes. I think he genuinely meant it.

“So tell me gentlemen, what did Earl Tugg say about your two strategies when you mentioned them to him?” Veda asked Baudry.

Baudry smiled. “Well, at the beginning of our conversation, Tugg claimed to be a Libertarian. But at the conversation progressed, he began to refer to our initiatives as being part of the sin business. I’m afraid he’s more Born-Again than Libertarian.”

“He’s afraid God is going to close the door to him,” Veda said, “but I can see his point. In some of the rural portions of the district, folks might be smoking pot behind the barn on Friday night but they’d never admit to it in church on Sunday morning.” Senor Cutie smiled at that.

“For lots of cracker farmers, myself included, all that some of us have is our sense of place -- our love and dedication to Florida, family and community -- and a spirit of pride of place that goes back generations to our grandfathers and deeper.” Veda gently tilted her head sideways, watching to see who understood her.

“In this election, you can’t monkey with that. All the voters need to be honored for where they are, rich or poor, urban or rural; they’re all Americans. They all pay their taxes and they contribute.” An easy smile began to spread across Dr. Baudry’s face.

“Lots of Tugg’s base feel run over by the pace of this country. They want to opt out for a simpler time, but the pace of the world won’t give it to them. So they react by saying no to everything,” Veda said.

I saw Jeeter stare at Aunt Veda when she said that. “This is our piece of earth that we want to cultivate and preserve for our next generation of family. It’s our responsibility as human beings and native Floridians,” Veda said and her voice shifted into a huskier tone, like she was a little girl whispering into Uncle Leland’s ear.

“It’s our sense of place, our place on earth. And I’ve decided that in this race I’ll show my own roots to my earth, and make this a campaign about Cracker Pride. But when I say cracker, I mean Cincinnatus, the spirit of the founding fathers in the 1780’s, the educated, self-read gentleman farmer that put down his weapons at the earliest opportunity and celebrated the land’s fertility and renewal.”

Veda plucked on my heartstring when she said that. Even I had to wipe away a tear. Veda was warmed up and rolling, and sounded like Betsy Ross telling George Washington how best to cut a star for the new American flag. Dante slipped me a piece of notepaper with an illustration of a t-shirt that read, ‘Cracker Pride, like Cincinnatus’.

“I intend to win this race and show my own roots of Cracker Pride.” Veda said, finishing up with a beatific smile. I looked over at Dr. Baudry and saw his jaw was hanging loose. Aunt Veda had found her voice. She’d be ripe and ready when it was time to get in front of folks and be ‘on message’ as the DC campaign advisory types like to say.

Veda paused and looked at Baudry, and her voice soften down a peg. “But don’t expect me to lead with your economic initiatives. You have my qualified support, but I have to get elected first.”

“Yes, we understand that and we agree with you,” Baudry said. “We’ll do what we can to get you elected first, and count on your support for these initiatives when the opportunity presents itself. We’re thinking long-term and we want a candidate that can look forward with us.”

On that note Baudry rose from the table, followed by his wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Cutie. Veda shook their hands and walked with them to their cars. Indian John trailed behind and gave her a shoulder squeeze as she waved good-by.

Jeeter reached into his pocket and pulled out a marijuana spliff and started to light it. “We can seal the deal,” he said with a wicked grin that I adored. I slapped the match from his hand and grabbed the joint from his mouth, and put it in my pocket, and winked at him.
“But I want to be a ganja entrepreneur,” Jeeter argued. “Now that’s a business ripe with a future.”

I smiled; my Jeeter, has a lot to learn about politics. Veda and Indian John wandered back to the picnic table to discuss what had happened. Jeeter and I didn’t stay for that. We snuck off to smoke that joint and do some kissing. Politics makes for strange bed fellows – I’m not sure what that means, entirely, but I like to say it.

The insane antics of a Florida election, 2014.

Chapter 11: The Barney Cricket Right Wing Radio Interview

Once past the reception area, Barney Cricket’s radio studio had a plate glass window that looked out onto the main street of Live Oak. I noticed passers-by would stop and watch his broadcast for a while, some giving him a thumbs up, and one or two giving him a thumbs down. Even with air conditioning, it was a small, cramped space and hot from all the radio equipment, panels with dials and audio boards and such.

Cricket made Indian John stay in the lobby but invited me into the studio to sit next to Veda at her microphone. She sat facing him across from his desk and held her deck of crib cards in her lap. I noticed Indian John wouldn’t stay put and wondered outside to peer through the glass to watch. I could tell he wanted to protect Veda and we had no idea what Cricket would ask her. All I had to defend her with was a bottle of lukewarm spring water. We didn’t expect much from Cricket in the way of journalism, more a rant and a pander to the moral majority and the religious right.

He oriented us to the microphones and pointed to the On Air light on the wall and a blinking green light on top of the microphone which indicated it was live. The equipment was controlled by his producer, a young man sitting in an even smaller glass front control room behind us. Veda settled into her chair and asked about Cricket’s son, who was going to graduate from the university in a year with a degree in journalism. Cricket asked me about the Steinhatchee Bobcats, while he eyed my legs and my chest. I looked for a place to spit, but didn’t. “Undefeated,” I said. He smiled at that.

The clock on the wall buzzed at eight o’clock. Cricket held up a hand and counted down on his fingers, then launched into the introduction of his show. “Good evening Gator Nation and the panhandle farm community. Welcome to Chawing on the Florida-Georgia Line. This is your host, Barney Cricket. With me tonight is Democratic candidate Veda Rabadel who wants to be our US House representative in Washington DC. She thinks she can beat Earl Tugg, our elected Republican representative who won his seat two years ago by fifty thousand votes. I hope most of you were listening in the other night when I had Earl and his lovely wife Barbara as my guests. He said some nasty things about Veda and the moral integrity of her campaign, flaunting naked skin and all. Now maybe Veda will clear the air for us. So, Veda, what do you have to say about turning the Micanopy Flag Day parade into a bare naked event?”

Veda reached out and tapped her microphone twice and pulled it closer to her mouth. “Is that really what you care about, Barney? Or are you pandering to your audience? I feel like I caught you behind a bush with binoculars at the nudist beach.”

Barney gulped and I laughed out loud. Indian John, standing at the window, flashed Veda a thumbs-up sign. “I’m sure your audience has seen that TV news video by now, maybe even two or three times. It was a beautiful day in Micanopy and a grand day for a parade. My group followed the American veterans from foreign wars. My campaign believes in standing behind our veterans.

“Now, Barney, it’s a fact of life, women have breasts. And the younger they are, the better looking their breasts tend to be. And men gawp, and that’s about all there is to it. But, Barney, if anyone in your audience feels offended, let me be the first to apologize, sincerely.

“I was looking forward, not backward, so I didn’t see her. But if you want me to explain it, maybe its best understood as a spontaneous example of one woman’s excitement over my campaign. I want to run a campaign that people can get excited about. And I want my campaign to be a voice for all the people of District 28, no matter how much of their bikini they happen to be wearing. It’s important to get people excited, Barney, if we’re going to beat Earl Tugg and change the course of District 28 politics.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Cricket responded. “I’ve seen that TV news story and I was embarrassed for you. That was a public display of nudity, or half nudity, plain and simple.”

“Yes, it sure was, and again if that young woman’s excitement offended any of your listeners, then I hope you will accept my apology.”

“So are you planning any more bare naked campaign events?”

“Now, Barney, there you go, pandering again. That young woman’s excitement was not anything I planned. It was spontaneous. And I encourage all my supporters to keep their shirts on. In the next few weeks, I’m organizing a series of open house meetings at local high schools in Alachua, High Springs, Maitland, Live Oak and Lake City. At these events, I’m confident folks will keep their clothes on. At these events, voters can get to know me and we can discuss the issues that concern our district.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t instigate that young woman into taking off her bikini top for the TV cameras?”

“Yes, that’s correct, Barney. But now that a pair of breasts have your attention, let me tell you what my campaign is really about. District 28 has a large suburban population of voters on the outskirts of Jacksonville, Ocala and Gainesville, and a large rural agricultural base of voters from Dunellen to the Georgia line. My job is to weave them together into a unified whole, and represents both sides equally. If the voters slow down long enough to look at it, these two groups already have a working relationship. One side feeds the other. The other side helps educate the other, and provide jobs and opportunity for their children migrating off the farms. It’s that simple.”

“So then you’re saying these naked shenanigans will stop and you’re running a serious race?” Cricket asked in a softer voice.

“You bet I am,” Veda responded. “My job is to represent both sides of the district in a fair and principled democratic tradition. Tugg is going to stand on his tea party principles, no matter what, and he’d prepared to shut down government. The fault in his stars is that he puts principles ahead of the people he was elected to serve. I’m going to work hard to make government work for the people, and put the needs of the people first.”

Cricket wanted details and Veda said she’d discuss specific positions on the issues at her town hall meetings and in the debates. She encouraged Cricket to stay tuned and watch how her campaign developed. So he asked if she supported Obama and Obamacare, which he made sound like the Ebola plague.

“I believe in supporting the President, whomever he or she is. He is the choice of the American people. You may not always agree with his decisions, but let’s try them out and see how we can make them work for us. The government has a responsibility to make the nation work, and grow, and move forward. It has a responsibility to protect us with a strong national defense, and a strong economy. Decent healthcare is part of that,” Veda said.

Cricket started wiggling on that and tried to get Veda to support something he knew was unpopular in the district. “So you support government-funded abortion?”
“I always counsel non-violent forms of birth control, but that doesn’t always work. I believe a woman has the right to choose. Ultimately, it’s her body and she has to live with her decisions. Having children is a God-given gift, but no government or political party should force motherhood on anyone. Again, this is an example of forcing your religious beliefs onto others.

“I believe in family planning. I believe children need thirty-five years of guidance and healthcare to grow strong and get educated. Most importantly, children need to be loved and wanted for their entire lives. People are too focused on the act of conception and don’t look ahead at the parental love, and care and services and opportunity needed to raise strong families. The government can help with decent healthcare and loans for a college education, and a strong economy that provides jobs.”

“How can you say that?” Cricket challenged her. “Obama has screwed up the economy.”

“It sure is convenient to blame him for everything, isn’t it?” Veda fired back. “But in doing so, we’re avoiding our responsibility as citizens. This is our district, our state, our country. The only way to make it better is to participate in the debate, in the election, and at the grassroots level.

“On my way up here from Steinhatchee today, we took the smaller country roads past orchards and groves, greenhouses, melon patches and gardens. This is a beautiful, productive and abundant part of the panhandle. I think we should be proud of that. I call it Cracker Pride, and that’s a theme for my campaign. Let’s look at what we do well and keep doing it better.”

“Cracker Pride?” Cricket sounded genuinely interested. “What’s that mean?”

“Voters have soaked up a noggin full of negativity over the last twenty years, with an economy we had to bring back from collapse, plus terrorist attacks and wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I don’t want to belabor these points, but your listeners know what I’m talking about. I think the antidote is to appreciate what we have, enjoy where we live, and make a positive contribution to our communities. My Cracker Pride campaign is balanced by the spirit of Cincinnatus. He was a farmer and Roman general who was twice made dictator. And he had the forbearance to resign as dictator as soon as he had vanquished Rome’s enemies. He became a civic ideal for good leadership. That’s the spirit I want in my district and in my campaign.”

“Cincinnatus, I never heard of him?” Cricket said.

“Look it up, Barney. He represents the farmer, the husband of the land, the people that make the earth produce abundantly. And on my drive up to have our conversation today, that looked to me like the people of the heartland of District 28.

“General George Washington was compared to Cincinnatus by the Founding Fathers, when he resigned after two terms as President. Cincinnatus represents the spirit of government service where we work to improve our communities and our country. It’s the opposite of running for office to gain power and then beat other people over the head with your principles. That’s a bullying tactic that we don’t even allow in our schools. So why would we allow our elected leaders to act that way?”

“Are you talking about Earl Tugg?”

“You brought his name up. But if the shoe fits, I guess he’ll have to wear it,” Veda said with a hint of a smile.

“Does that mean you’re taking on the tea party too?”

“I’m not taking on anyone other than Earl Tugg. The tea party folks don’t feel represented by our government. And as I said, my goal is to represent all the people of District 28. And to begin to do that, I have to dialog and listen. So that’s my immediate goal,” Veda explained.

Veda then asked Cricket if he understood Cincinnatus as a symbol for her campaign. He said he did but wondered if this model of civil governance circa 1780 would work in 2014. “If I can give voters a new model and a new example, then we might be willing to work with each other more cooperatively,” she said.

As I listened, I began to see the wisdom of Veda’s strategy with Cincinnatus. He might engage the tea party Constitutionalists, who worshiped that document like it was gold-plated. Veda emphasized that she encouraged pride of place, the willingness to make your place shine, inner-city, farm, garden patch or rural pastureland. I could see how people might respond to the idea; farmers were trying to do that already as best they could.

Veda explained that Cincinnatus represented a renewed sense of duty. I wondered if he could get the tea partiers to lighten up, to talk and share their passions, instead of hiding behind the flag, being nose-in-the-air smug and feeling put-upon. Then Veda wrapped up with a bang.

“If you want to work for something bigger than yourself and if you want to see that Florida has a future that includes you, I hope you’ll support me. My campaign is about Cracker Pride, cracker pride of place. It’s time we had our rural voices heard, and that’d the job I want to do for you,” she said. Then she mentioned her series of meet-and-greets at local schools, and invited people to learn more at her website.

Cricket nodded his approval and asked if Veda would take a few call-ins. She said she would. The first caller was from Gainesville, and Cricket got him to identify himself as David, a first time caller. He sounded middle-aged, but educated, at least that’s what I told the police. Well, David got on the line and said: “No law abiding citizen and stalwart member of the Tea Party is going to allow Veda Rabadel to turn this campaign into a smut parade with tawdry nakedness.”

Veda shook her head. Cricket asked him to explain himself. David said, “It won’t fly. I want her to run, to run scared, because I’ll kill her.” Then he hung up.

Cricket made a joke about the call and went to commercial. He asked the technician if he had a phone number for David. The number was given to the police. It turned out to be a pay phone at a truck stop off the freeway outside Gainesville.

After the commercial, the next two callers said David’s comment sure sounded like a death threat to them and there was no room or that kind of talk in Florida politics. Veda said, “With the anonymity of the Internet and call-in radio shows these days, there’s a lot of anger out there. It just goes to show how important some of these issues are, and how divided the electorate is. And I intend to be a candidate that can mend that by representing all my constituents.”

Cricket apologized for David’s call and dismissed it as “hot air.” He said he wished her well and that he’d enjoy watching how her campaign develops. He also invited her back for another interview closer to Election Day. Veda thanks him for that and said she’s enjoyed speaking with him about her campaign.

I saw that David’s call spooked Indian John. He was extra vigilant walking Veda to his car. “We have armed security,” Veda said to me. “Indian John has a carry permit. I feel safe around him.” But Indian John changed the protocol and made Veda ride in the back seat next to me. I held her hand.

On our way toward the freeway, three fellows in a white pick-up truck followed us out of town. It made Indian John nervous. He watched them in the rearview mirror, but never said anything to Veda. She thought the interview with Cricket went well. I agreed with her. I guess a mud sling and a cat fight is not always the best way to work with the media. She dismissed the death threat. “Goes with the territory,” she said.

Tea & Crackers Campaign: chap. 14-15, The Debate. Insane antics in a Florida election, 2014.

Chapter 14

Veda was working the campaign from her kitchen table. She hung up the phone and announced, “We just won a point in our favor. The League of Women Voters has decided to invite me in to the candidate’s debate in Chiefland tomorrow evening. The League’s district board voted to expand the format to include all the candidates, not just the Republicans.” Then Veda asked me what could I do with her hair.

The event was originally scheduled as a debate between Earl Tugg and the other Republican, Bobby DuPry. Veda wanted to go all out on this important campaign appearance, probably because she was unexpected and we might catch Tugg off-guard. She let me trim her hair and touch up a little bit of her gray showing. Gramm helped me, favoring toxic chemicals as she did. She did the dying part; I did the dry-blow and brushing, and was steadier with scissors so I did the trimming too.

Veda looked great and went to bed early to present the face of a rested candidate for the next day’s event. I sent out email to a select group that included Dante and his trouble-makers. Aubrey wanted to escort me so he came by the house the next day. Indian John would be driving. I dusted off my hibiscus dress and went to bed by midnight.

After a lazy morning, with Veda mostly on the telephone, I helped Gramm make sandwiches and we had a big lunch feed for Indian John and Aubrey. He showed up wearing slacks, a white shirt and a neck-tie. I was stunned; he looked so Republican and quite handsome with clean-shaven cheeks, where I kissed him a few times.

Indian John cranked up the air conditioning and drove at a sedate rate for the thirty minute trip to the Chiefland High School auditorium. I mostly stared out the window as the passing grassland and citrus groves. Aubrey worked Veda’s crib cards calling out questions to her. Her replies were steady and calming and she had mastery of the issues now. As we entered the parking lot, I studied the license plates. We had attendees from all the small farm towns in the south district. The lot was full.

Chiefland is another small burg of a cracker farm town, with a Walmart and a mall of high-end stores, serving what the Chamber of Commerce calls the Tri-Valley area. The site was once a native Indian village but they’d been wiped out by Spanish colonial diseases. The biggest industry in Chiefland are the three prisons and work camps that employ almost a thousand people. There’s talk of building a junior college there. And the power company has selected it as an ideal site for two nuclear power plants. Unbeknown to us, we were walking into a storm of environmental proportions.

I saw a TV broadcast van parked in the corner of the lot with its satellite dish pointed toward Gainesville. Veda must have gotten a heads-up of what to expect. She wore a gray pants suit and green silk top, with practical black flats, and no pearls. With her hair clipped and trimmed and colored, she looked presidential as far as I was concerned. Her white streak made her look experienced and caring. This was going to be her first live TV performance, and I was worried something would go wrong.

The auditorium stage was bare except for three podiums and a League of Women Voters banner as a backdrop. TV cameras were set up to cover the podiums and get a close-up of the moderator, Bree Benvenue, president of the League. Bree was the local librarian, a tall, tanned, white-haired woman in a black skirt and jacket outfit, with a cream-colored blouse. She had a habit of sticking a new pencil in her hair, and she’s reach for it to tap on her desk or wave it around when she was orchestrating the debate rules. She also had the commanding voice of a drill sergeant, which cut through the noise and blather and demanded order and quiet. I liked her immediately.

Tugg had the most supports, mostly Young Republicans in blue t-shirts that read Re-elect Tugg, and several rows of farmers and small business owners. Barbara Tugg surrounded herself with twenty women in the front rows that acted like a cheer section, preening and showing off with their beehive hairdos.
DuPry’s ultra-conservatives sat to the right of Tugg’s group. I didn’t know much about DuPry as a candidate. His group looked strong on blue collar tradesmen and prison guards in uniform. He also had a few rows of folks I knew to be active in the tea party on the local level. I wondered if it meant trouble for Tugg.

Veda’s people sat on the left. In her group were a large contingent of Gainesville students, environmentalists and solar advocates, and a few Seminole Indian elders. Democrat clubs and senior’s groups from Ocala and Jacksonville had come down for the event. They filled the back rows of Veda’s section. I was amazed at the turnout. Our group of supporters was about the same size as Tugg’s group. Aubrey and I took seats with Indian John in the front row.

Indian John walked up on the stage with a bottle of spring water and Veda’s stack of crib cards. She look the water and waved off the cards. Bree Benvenue called for order and tapped on her desk. John skedaddled off the stage. The camera lights turned on and Bree spun around to address the crowd while looking into the camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen and District 28 voters, may I welcome you to the candidate debate for House District 28, sponsored by the League of Women Voters. I’m Bree Benvenue, president of the League, and I’ll be your moderator. We welcome the TV audience and those watching at home. Tonight we’ll focus on three issues, the state of the nation, the state of the district, and the environment. Each candidate will get two minutes for opening and closing statements. Each candidate will address each topic, and the candidates may question each other in their rebuttal,” Benvenue said.

Standing tall behind his podium, Tugg folded his hands together and said a prayer. Veda nodded at Benvenue, smiled at the camera and sipped from her water. DuPry folded his arms across his chest and scowled. I watched a camera zoom in on his face. He looked sweaty under the camera lights.

“Now let me introduce the candidates,” Benvenue began. “The incumbent is Earl Tugg, a one-term representative seeking reelection. Two years ago he surprised everyone by winning the seat and beating out a long-term Democratic representative, Hardy Favorall. Mr. Tugg has won appointment to the farm committee, the Middle East advisory committee, and become a leader of the tea party wing of the Republican Party.” At the mention of tea party, Mrs. Tugg’s group began loud applause.

Bree Benvenue spun around and looked down on Mrs. Tugg in the first row. “I must insist that for the sake of civility, for the sake of time and broadcast professionalism, you refrain from loud cheers and voicing opinions about what is said here tonight.” She gave Barbara Tugg a withering stare.

Earl Tugg adjusted his tie, looked at his wife and smiled. “We agree to that,” he said to Benvenue.

“May I also introduce Mr. Bobby DuPry, the Republican challenger. Mr. DuPry has a successful financial services business in Live Oak and is garnering significant tea party support from local groups in the District. He is joined here tonight by his lovely wife, Charlotte DuPry.” Benvenue extended her hand toward a dark-haired woman in a blue business suit in the front row of DuPry’s section. The camera swung around to get her in the frame. She smiled and waved. DuPry waved back at her.

The camera turned back on Benvenue then swung around to focus on Veda. “May I also introduce the Democratic candidate to challenge Earl Tugg in the upcoming election. Veda Rabadel comes from Steinhatchee. She has been a school teacher and junior college counselor, and is recently the widowed wife of an illustrious Florida state parks warden killed in the line of duty. Veda is a noted environmentalist and native daughter of District 28.”

Veda nodded and smiled. “Thank you, madam moderator, I’m pleased to be welcomed here tonight.” Several people began clapping for Veda, which caused some of DuPry’s people to hiss like rattlesnakes.

Benvenue looked over her shoulder at the audience and spoke in a stern voice. “May I remind you there will be no applause, cheers, crowd noise or comments from the audience.” Veda’s crowd offered up a collective moan.

“Now while I have your attention, let’s take a moment for the cameras to pan across the audience. We have a full house, a good sign of how important this election is for the future of our District,” Benvenue said. The cameras followed her lead and the crowd clapped in unison, which got Benvenue and the candidates to clap for the crowd. It was a good moment, recognizing the importance of participation in local elections.

Aubrey clapped the loudest and stood up, which got our section up on its feet, followed by the other sections. The cameras panned back and forth, offering everyone in the audience a few moments to have their faces on local TV.

“Now let’s get on with the debate,” Benvenue said. “I offer each candidate two minutes for opening statements, beginning with Earl Tugg, then Mr. DuPry followed by Ms. Rabadel.” She made a show of starting a boxy metal sweep-hand timer at her desk.

“Thank you, madam moderator,” Tugg said. “I am your elected leader and House representative. I was elected on the principles of ending Obamacare, expanding the protections of the farm bill, and preserving the Constitution. I have worked hard to legislate based on the principles of our forefathers and support for the Republican leadership. Both Ted Cruz and Rand Paul endorsed my campaign and I enjoy their endorsements in my run for re-election.

“Washington is a cesspit of deal-making, broken promises and obfuscation. I stand as your elected leader with the moral principles of Lord Jesus Christ to shine light on this abomination. I enjoy tea party support because all the government we need is outlined in the Constitution. We don’t need runaway Presidential executive action to get things done. We need to rein in spending and stand by our principles. That my promise to you.

“Now I have a challenger from the far right, Mr. Bobby DuPry,” Tugg said. I could hear the scorn in his voice. “But no one knows anything about Mr. DuPry. He is not a man of faith; he has not found our savior, Lord Jesus Christ. He runs a string of three Payday loan companies, earning ungodly interest of more than one thousand percent a year off the backs of the working poor. He’s not a man of principled leadership we want representing our God-fearing farm district in Washington.” Tugg paused and turned to stare at DuPry. “So how do you explain yourself, Mr. DuPry?”

Dr. Spector was sitting on my right. He gripped my hand and whispered, “Jesus, right between the eyes. This is going to be a cat fight.”


Chapter 15

DuPry rocked back like he’d been hit, sucking air. He gathered himself, leaned forward and began. “My opponent Earl Tugg does not support entrepreneurship and the small businesses on our Main Streets. That’s where the vitality of our district lives. We gave him two years in Washington at the taxpayer’s expense and he’s become a leader of the Do-Nothings. He can’t stop Obamacare or runaway government, wasting our tax dollars. He can’t stop government meddling into the affairs of common folk. He comes from family money made in the liquor business, which he inherited, then got divorced, found a pretty new wife and found Jesus. Earl Tugg hides behind the Bible and lies to the good folks of District 28. Earl Tugg has become part of the disease we sent him to Washington to clean out.

“Now I stand by the principles of the tea party and I support the Constitution. I enjoy the support of several tea party groups in the district. You can see those endorsements on my website. When you vote for me, you’re voting for a man who will never forget where he came from and what he was elected to do for his District. I promise you I do not intend to go to Washington just so I can go to parties with Ted Cruz and Rand Paul. While they may be good fellows, they have their own agenda to run for higher office. That’s not in the best interest of District 28,” DuPry said.

He leaned back and smirked at Tugg. Then he raised his hand. With that sign, a dozen people in his section stood up holding banners. They read: Tea Party Live Oak, Tea Party Chiefland, Tea Party Alachua and three other cities.

Dr. Spector leaned toward me and said, “This is great. Tugg is being challenged by his base. He’s going to have to fight hard to secure his support to get through the primary. This buys Veda more time and gives her a better chance. These two guys are going to be ripping at each other for another month before the winner can focus on Veda.” I nodded but didn’t really understand it, not yet.

Tugg looked out at the raised signs. He tried to smile, but his voice betrayed that he was pleading. “You folks know me. You know what kind of leader I am. You know my principles and where I stand. I intend to sit down with each of your groups and win back your support.”

Benvenue interrupted him. “Thank you, Mr. Tugg, but the floor goes to candidate Veda Rabadel. Veda, two minutes for your opening comments.”

“Thank you, madam moderator,” Veda said. Then she paused and looked at Tugg and DuPry, and then into the camera. “I think you’re both crazy, attacking each other like that. It’s like neither of you have a civil bone in your bodies, certainly no backbone. If you can’t get along here, how can you hope to get along in Washington? You gentlemen have some things to work out. I wish you well. And I don’t care which of you I run against. You both are on the same side of the fence, but standing in different parts of the yard.

“What you forget is that while the Constitution is a wonderful, living document, it is tempered by the Bill of Rights. The Constitution was the best we could do at that point in time. But as our nation grew and the needs of the electorate changed, the Bill of Rights was added and amended and expanded. That tells me government must remain a vibrant, living thing sensitive to the needs of people today. It’s no good to dig in your heels and stand behind principles. It’s like trying to be a seawall in the face of a hurricane. You’ll get flooded when the people speak and their needs change.

“Gentlemen, I suggest you both go back to your base of supporters and patch up your relationships. And I’ll happily debate you again. But for my money, it’s not the standing behind principles we need. It’s learning to stand with the people, today, and learning how to serve them. Learning how government can provide services that build a strong future for families and children. Kids today need access to quality education, starting with early education programs that lead to decent schools and get them into colleges with affordable loans. And every family needs affordable health care for which I say thank you to President Obama.

“You’re not elected to high office to do the bidding of your supporters. You’re there to represent the people of your district, even those that don’t agree with you. That’s why the theme of my campaign is ‘all the people, all the time.’ If you want to work for that, then please come join me.”

I could see Aunt Veda was wound up pretty good. She had fire in her eyes and her words were flowing like a rainbow of light. Dr. Spector nodded his head and made a cut gesture at his neck. Veda had made her point and he wanted her to wrap up. She saw the signal, looked into the camera and added, “My name is Veda Rabadel and I hope you’ll vote for me.”

Dr. Spector gripped my arm. His body language said Aunt Veda had nailed it. It might sound like pie in the sky tomorrow morning, but for tonight it was steaming hot strawberry pie, and Veda’s audience wanted a second helping.

The rest of the debate meandered into meaninglessness. Tugg and DuPry kept snarling at each other, egging each other to get out from under the TV lights and take it outside. Veda sailed above them both, calm and serene. On the issues, Tugg and DuPry supported the nuclear power plants. Veda said we needed to rehabilitate the old ones we had, not build new ones. She championed combined solar and natural gas plants instead. That strengthened her approval with the environmentalists, who stood and waived their signs and banners for her.

On the prison workers union, Tugg supported it and DuPry didn’t, which caused some of the uniform guards to move seats. Neither Tugg nor DuPry supported a new junior college for Chiefland, while Veda said she did. She reminded the prison guards that they needed ongoing training and certifications if they wanted secure, long-term careers. I saw that carried some weight with the keenest among them. The older ones tended to shrug their shoulders and stay put on DuPry’s side of the aisle.

In the wrap-up, Tugg and DuPry got into another argument about who was the more conservative and who had a better understanding of the Constitution. Both quoted from the Preamble, and both corrected the other. In her wrap-up, Veda reminded folks that her job was to serve all the people of District 28, not hide behind principles.

The TV cameras closed up for the night and the lights dimmed. Veda was first to thank the moderator. As she left the stage and walked up her side of the aisle, people reached out to shake her hand or pose for a ‘selfie’ with her. She took her time doing it, led by Dr. Spector. Marge was busy working the crowd and getting sign-ups for committee work. I followed along with the email sign-up sheet on a clipboard and must have gotten two hundred new names. Indian John kept his head up scanning the crowd, looking out for any threat or danger. Aubrey brought up the rear, selling Go Veda t-shirts out of his backpack. He’d raised the price to twenty five dollars and he sold out.