Tea & Crackers Campaign: Chapter Three

Tea & Crackers Campaign: Chapter 3

It was nine months after Unc’s funeral that Aunt Veda and I drove to G-string Gainesville. She was coming out of her mourning. It was rough watching her work it out. There had been an inquiry, a funeral, an awards ceremony in Tallahassee for her to receive Unc’s distinguished service award in recognition of being killed in the line of duty. It was an open case when we drove to Gainesville.

It took forever for her insurance money to come through, but on the day it did, Aunt Veda stopped drinking vodka, filed for leave of absence from her job as a counselor at the junior college and began making plans to run as a Democrat in gerrymandered U.S. House of Representatives Florida district 28. The district was some bastard concoction from a pointy-head Republican in Tallahassee, where the politicians play with a marked deck that favors Republicans 60-40%. A hundred and fifty years earlier, our habit was to shoot Republicans at the Mason-Dixon line, but times have changed. I never knew Aunt Veda had so much martyr in her, and I doubted her campaign would ever get out of the quagmire with only fifty thousand dollars in financing. But that’s my aunt Veda, a do-gooder with no quit in her.

Her biggest advantage was that she was running against a first term tea party Republican named Earl Tugg. Tugg was a tall, boisterous man that always had a Bible quote chambered and ready to fire. He’d inherited a chain of liquor stores in north Florida, then found Jesus and a new wife. He sold off his holdings and became a tea-totaler with rental incomes. You might say he was a mouthpiece looking for a mantra because he memorized the tea party message lock, stock and barrel. He equated Washington with Hell and Obama with the devil, and he testified for a year in every neighborhood church that would have him, and he won. Then he got to Washington and did nothing at all except broadcast the message of Ted Cruz and Rand Paul.

My introduction to Tugg was a YouTube video of him working a tea party crowd in a tent at a north Florida fair. He squeezed out a tea bag and put it in his top pocket, where it left a dark stain on his sweaty blue shirt. He fired a fiendish grin at the camera and claimed his heart bled for America and would everyone join his fight to protect the Constitution. I thought it was a cheap stunt, but the crowd loved it. Tugg went back stage and changed his shirt. His campaign manager then auctioned off his tea-stained short for five hundred dollars. I suspect he had a shill in the audience that bid up the price.

The rain let up and the road dried off as we wheeled into Gainesville, a college town overflowing with students, gawkers and God-knows what, all young and excitable. Veda parked at the curb in front of one of those fancy buildings with a brick portico and Greek Ionic columns that made portions of the campus look a white-bread reform school. Two gawkers protected a parking spot for her beside a palm tree. Both had bad acne. I took them to be freshmen, and they didn’t disappoint me. Who else wore khaki slacks and yellow polo shirts? All my friends are the blue jeans and t-shirt crowd.

One of the pimply-faced college kids opened the door for me and eyed me hard as I straightened out my red hibiscus dress. He smirked, so I leaned forward and landed a tobacco juice goober right on the top of his yellow canvas shoe. My goober was nasty brown. He jumped back so fast he tripped on the curb and landed on his butt. I must have had extra juice that night; it’s rare I can knock a guy off his feet.

Once we got past the wrought-iron security gate and the brick portico, Dr. Thetis Spector and his wife Marge welcomed us into their stately Colonial door. Dr. Spector towered over his wife, a tall, gangly man with spidery long fingers and curly nut-brown hair bunched like a halo around his mostly bald dome. He had huge hands, a firm handshake, a red face and a rich, warm voice. I guessed he was in his sixties, and saw he needed to trim his nose hairs. Veda said he headed up the university’s political science department, and chaired the local Democratic Party. Marge was dressed in Birkenstocks, casual stretch jeans, a red silk blouse with a string of misshapen pearls and gold hoop earrings. Her hair was the same color, pecan-brown with lots more curls.

Their spacious living room vibrated with a mix of passionate beliefs, loud conversation and Dave Brubeck jazz. Eager young couples crowded onto three orange couches around a coffee table covered with paper cups and bowls of pretzels. Behind them a few rows of folding chairs were mostly taken by keen young Democrats. Standing by a wall of glass windows were a group of senior men in suits. The air conditioning was turned up high and kept the room habitable. Outside, patio lights illuminated ferns and rose bushes, damp from the rain.

Aunt Veda followed Dr. Spector around the room, shaking hands and making small talk. She projected a calm concern and interest in everyone. Dr. Spector leaned in to give her background on each person she met. Dr. Spector acted like Veda’s advisor and mentor, which made me a little jealous. I began to worry about securing a safe position on Veda’s campaign. I was too young to vote and was afraid I’d get skipped over entirely.

Veda worked the room, rubbing elbows and getting the lay of the political landscape. I was surprised how many people she seemed to know. I’d forgotten about Veda’s years of working on steering committees, environmental groups and educational outreach, plus all the counseling she’d done. Now I could see her years of political activity were steering her toward trying to win the lottery. I guessed that most of the couples were university faculty, and all the singles were students representing various interest groups and campus clubs. I wandered over to the self-serve bar stocked with beer and jug wine.

This was my first proper political meet-and-greet. What galled me most was I felt over-dressed. In fact, Veda and I were the only women in dresses. I fetched Veda a bottle of spring water off the bar and poured myself a cup of beer.

Marge snuck up behind me and took it away. She didn’t say anything rude; instead she smiled at me. “I understand you’re quite the volleyball star,” she said.

I grunted and eyed a diet cola can. “Undefeated last year. I was co-captain of the Steinhatchee Bobcats.” I watched her hand my beer to another student who didn’t look much older than me. I wondered if Marge could remember back to when she had a teen-aged obsession for free beer.

“And you’ve got a couple of local colleges talking scholarship?”

“Yep, University of Florida and Florida State in Tallahassee, but I haven’t decided yet. I have to pass a physical exam scheduled for next week,” I said.

“That would be so wonderful for you,” Marge said, smiling brightly. “The University of Florida would be lucky to have you on their team.” When she said that, I decided I liked her. “You know we’re very fond of your aunt Veda. I think she’ll be a fine candidate for us.”

“Have you known Veda for long?”

“More than five years. I consider her and your uncle friends. Thetis was planning to run Leland in the race, but then with the accident, Veda stepped in.”

I gave her a sharp look. “It weren’t no accident. He was murdered. And one of my duties will be to catch the guy that did it.”

Marge took a step back, then reached out and touched my arm. “I am truly sorry for your loss. Your Uncle Leland was a wonderful man.”

“Yes, he was. We all miss him something terrible,” I said and looked down at my shoes. Marge squeezed my elbow again and let her hand linger there. I looked up and asked her point-blank, “So, do you think Veda can win?”

“It’ll be a tough race and lots has to go right, like not having a young member of Veda’s family get in trouble for under-age drinking,” Marge said. That’s when I looked at her and smiled and reached for the diet soda can.

“You know, Florida is changing, and the District is changing with it,” Marge said. “We have lots of retirees now, and young urban families that haven’t been represented by the old crackers in the boonies. If we can get those folks to vote for the future instead of for a party or a principle, we have a good chance. I believe Veda Rabadel can represent that spirit of change and made a solid run against Tugg.”

“My Aunt Veda is going to work her ass off,” I said.

“It’s nice to see a qualified woman elbowing her way to the table,” Marge replied. These political folks speak in metaphors that I’d have to learn. And if Veda needed someone to do some elbowing for her, I decided I wanted to do that too. Marge wandered off, with a fresh glass of white wine, and I watched Aunt Veda hop from one special interest group to another. She favored the women over the men, but was polite and interested in everyone.

Three gals in black leather jackets cornered Veda for a few minutes. One of them went off on her, rising her voice, saying her human rights were being violated. Veda nodded and asked her to be patient, reminding her that change takes time. Having met the candidate, the black leather jackets returned to the bar and finished the red wine. One of them smiled at me and looked me over pretty good. I saw too much hunger in her eyes, so I wandered back into the crowd. Later, each of the leather jacket gals dropped a twenty dollar bill into the ice bucket when Dr. Spector passed the hat.

I circulated among the Gator Nation t-shirts and met representatives from Open Internet, Environmental Gainesville, Save the Suwanee, and the medical marijuana initiative. Each ranted at me about their issue. “It’s critical to the voters and the District,” I was told. Each group wanted to know Veda’s position. I escaped each time by saying, “You’ll want to ask her yourself, but I’ll let her know you were here.”

The college crowd liked Aunt Veda. She didn’t go school-marmish on them and stuck to her positions: family, jobs, education and the environment. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my red dress, though three wives chatted with me and commented on how exciting politics can be. Each wanted a woman in the campaign and said they’d give Veda their support. No one offered me a drink, so I circled back for a bottle of spring water and managed to ditch my chaw by spitting into an empty cup when no one was looking.

Perhaps I was feeling some regret, so I walked up to the pimply kid that had saved a parking place for us. I handed him a napkin and pointed out that what was on his shoe didn’t belong inside the house. He mumbled, looked down, blushed and grew more red bumps on his face. I guessed he was a freshman there for brownie points with his professor. He didn’t have the good looks of a politician and had no charisma, being all Adam’s apple.

I handed him my email sign-up sheet. His name was Rusty, a political science major, so he was older than a freshman. Dr. Spector was his favorite professor, and giving extra credit for students that worked on Veda’s campaign. Rusty volunteered to build a website for Veda, and wanted to help me with the email list. I circulated for a while and collected fifty three names.

After small talk and mingling, Dr. Spector hushed everyone up, cleared his throat and asked for attention. As a professor, he couldn’t help but profess himself. He launched into a short lecture on the roots of America, the importance of the two party system, the need to represent all voices, and to create a government that represented all kinds of people. Most importantly, he stressed the value of a good education if you wanted a decent job, and he said the University of Florida was a great place to do that. Then he got around to introducing Veda.

“Many of you have taken time to meet Veda Rabadel by now, but let me introduce her to you again. Veda is a native daughter of District 28. She hails from down on the coast there at Steinhatchee. In fact her family go back several generations.”

“Aw hell, further back than that. She’s got Seminole blood. Plus some swamp skunk. You can tell by the white stripe in her auburn hair. So she’s ready to stomp that tea party carpet-bagger who’s making a laughing stock of our state.” The comment came from a tall, walnut-faced man leaning on the bar. He wore his black hair in a ponytail, and shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable speaking in public. His dark jacket, hand-stitched with a bright pattern of horizontal stripes in a narrow zigzags, identified him as a Seminole Indian. Dr. Specter smiled at the interruption; Veda nodded at him and absent-mindedly patted her hair. I made a mental note to remember to ask her who he was.

“Veda Rabadel is an honored member of our community,” Dr. Spector said, back on track. “She’s been a school teacher, a junior college counselor, and is the widowed wife of a Florida state park ranger. She is a humanitarian, a people person, a true Democrat concerned with the well-bring of all Americans. And she is an environmentalist, having grown up in pristine swamp country. Tonight, Veda Courtney Rabadel is pleased to announce her candidacy for District 28’s US House of Representatives seat. With your help, and we need all of you, we can unseat incumbent Republican, Earl 'room-temperature IQ' Tugg.” Most of the crowd snickered at that. “If any of you have met Earl, then I know Veda Rabadel can count on your support.”

The gathering clapped, several hooted and Dr. Spector sat down. I nudged Aunt Veda forward and she sipped from her spring water. If she didn’t burst into tears, I knew she’d be all right.

“Firstly, let me thank you all for coming out tonight.” Veda took her time and made lots of eye contact. “While I may be new to politics, and some of you may wish it was my husband Leland standing here, I’m willing to take his place and be your candidate, and be your representative in Washington. I’ve been looking after Florida, her land and her people, all my life. I know the issues and I grew up in District 28. As a school teacher, I believe in the power of homework, and I’ve been done my homework. And, yes, I hope you’ll vote for me.”

I watched my aunt blink a few times, then I saw her face harden. In a stronger voice, she began again. “Our freshman representative, Republican Earl Tugg, is an embarrassment to us all. He doesn’t represent the interests of anyone in this room. He represents the do-nothing Republicans and the always-say-no tea party faction that has no platform and no agenda. He represents the special interests of a few billionaires that finance his campaign. He votes “no” on everything. Even worse, his tea party is holding the Republican Party hostage, and so we have gridlock in Washington. That’s unconscionable. When you elect a person to go do a job, they’re supposed to do it, not grandstand, make lunatic statements, and try to shut down government.

“Now many of you know politics is all about money. To date, Earl has half a million dollars in campaign funds from tea party PACs. Those PACs are funded by libertarian billionaires. He gets to keep it as long as he wins reelection and does what Karl Rove tells him to do.” I watched an elegant, dark complexioned man with brushed back black hair in a cream colored suit adjust his necktie and look uncomfortable. He sat next to the best dressed woman in the room. I squinted; she might have been wearing a diamond choker. I wasn’t sure; I’d never seen one before.

Veda continued: “Shut down government. Throw his weight around. Hold the middle-of-the-road Republicans hostage. Take no prisoners. Disrespect the President. That’s no way to represent the state of Florida. Earl Tugg wants to bankrupt social service programs, cancel your medical coverage, restrict the right to vote to property owners, and keep your head buried in the sand.”

Veda shook her head and sized up the room. I sensed she was getting ready to really let loose. This was more fire in her than I’d seen for months. “Earl Tugg is the absence of leadership. He thinks the Rapture is coming for him before his term expires. Well, I’d like to see him gone that quickly.”

People laughed at that. One of the gals in a black leather jacket folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. I saw her mouth the words, “Ain’t going.”

“I ache for our Florida. We’ve become the laughing stock of the nation by hanging chad, disenfranchising voters, gerrymandering districts, and running candidates with a ‘do-nothing’ agenda from the tea party. And now we find some of our local policemen are closet members of the Ku Klux Klan.” Veda stared at her audience and shook her head.

“That’s not public service. That’s not what we elect these people to go to Washington to do for us. And this has got to stop. So I want you to join me, get angry as all hell and tell your friends to vote for me.” The room burst into applause.