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Authors: William Bernhardt
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row, next to the nine members of the Supreme Court and the president’s cabinet. Ben did a quick count and realized that one of the cabinet members was missing—the secretary of commerce, if he wasn’t mistaken. He was the designated survivor, the man who would ensure continuity in government in the event that some tragedy should take out everyone above him in the constitutional line of succession. Ever since 9/11, Ben knew a few members of Congress also were quietly asked to view the proceedings from another location by closed-circuit monitor, for exactly the same reason.
“Virtually everyone we know in Washington is here,” Ben commented.
“Yes, and about a thousand people we don’t know,” Christina said wryly. “It’s a veritable ‘Who’s That’ of politics.”
“Well, if the list had been more exclusive, we wouldn’t be here.”
Behind him, Ben saw the sergeant at arms making his way down the central carpeted aisle to perform his ceremonial function. Traditionally, since the president was not a member of Congress, he was not allowed to enter the chamber, much less address it, without requesting permission. In response to the request, the Speaker of the House issues a formal invitation.
The sergeant at arms stopped midway down the aisle and spoke in his deepest stentorian tones, “Mr. Speaker, the President of the United States.”
Behind him, President Blake entered, a somber, if not grave expression on his face. Everyone in the room rose instantly to their feet and delivered a spontaneous standing ovation. Ben knew it was traditional, during the State of the Union addresses, for the president’s walk down the carpet to take several minutes, as he stopped to glad-hand and exchange smiles with a select and predetermined few members of his own party. There was none of that today, however. The applause was strong, but also respectful. Everyone was cognizant that they had been assembled in the face of a national tragedy, at the request of a man who was not only the leader of the free world, but who had just lost his wife.
President Blake reached the front of the gallery without interruption and proceeded directly to the podium. Ben spotted creased foreheads on the faces of several of the bigwigs sitting up front. Traditionally, the president would present written copies of his speech to both the vice-president, fulfilling his constitutional role as president of the Senate, and the Speaker of the House. It was a token of respect; in exchange for the invitation to speak in their house, he let them hold the text in their hands. Today, however, no scripts were provided.
“This is very strange,” Christina whispered into Ben’s ear, just above the continued tumult. “Does this mean he still doesn’t know what he’s going to say?”
“Or perhaps,” Ben suggested, “he doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s going to say until he says it.”
After a few more moments, the applause faded and those in attendance reclaimed their seats. The Speaker of the House pounded his gavel and announced, “Members of Congress, I have the high privilege and distinct honor of presenting to you the President of the United States.”
Once again the crowd rose and applauded. This, too, was a long-standing tradition, but Ben noted that the applause faded much more quickly than it would during a typical presidential address. Perhaps that was out of respect for the solemnity of the occasion, but Ben suspected it was more because everyone was increasingly anxious to hear what the man had to tell them.
The president squared himself behind the rostrum. “Members of Congress, staff, cabinet members, members of the Supreme Court, and honored guests. Thank you for joining me tonight.”
Ben craned his neck to check out the two transparent TelePrompTers that were traditionally located just below the president’s eye level to the left and right of the podium, so he could look into either camera and still give the home
“Virtually everyone we know in Washington is here,” Ben commented.
“Yes, and about a thousand people we don’t know,” Christina said wryly. “It’s a veritable ‘Who’s That’ of politics.”
“Well, if the list had been more exclusive, we wouldn’t be here.”
Behind him, Ben saw the sergeant at arms making his way down the central carpeted aisle to perform his ceremonial function. Traditionally, since the president was not a member of Congress, he was not allowed to enter the chamber, much less address it, without requesting permission. In response to the request, the Speaker of the House issues a formal invitation.
The sergeant at arms stopped midway down the aisle and spoke in his deepest stentorian tones, “Mr. Speaker, the President of the United States.”
Behind him, President Blake entered, a somber, if not grave expression on his face. Everyone in the room rose instantly to their feet and delivered a spontaneous standing ovation. Ben knew it was traditional, during the State of the Union addresses, for the president’s walk down the carpet to take several minutes, as he stopped to glad-hand and exchange smiles with a select and predetermined few members of his own party. There was none of that today, however. The applause was strong, but also respectful. Everyone was cognizant that they had been assembled in the face of a national tragedy, at the request of a man who was not only the leader of the free world, but who had just lost his wife.
President Blake reached the front of the gallery without interruption and proceeded directly to the podium. Ben spotted creased foreheads on the faces of several of the bigwigs sitting up front. Traditionally, the president would present written copies of his speech to both the vice-president, fulfilling his constitutional role as president of the Senate, and the Speaker of the House. It was a token of respect; in exchange for the invitation to speak in their house, he let them hold the text in their hands. Today, however, no scripts were provided.
“This is very strange,” Christina whispered into Ben’s ear, just above the continued tumult. “Does this mean he still doesn’t know what he’s going to say?”
“Or perhaps,” Ben suggested, “he doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s going to say until he says it.”
After a few more moments, the applause faded and those in attendance reclaimed their seats. The Speaker of the House pounded his gavel and announced, “Members of Congress, I have the high privilege and distinct honor of presenting to you the President of the United States.”
Once again the crowd rose and applauded. This, too, was a long-standing tradition, but Ben noted that the applause faded much more quickly than it would during a typical presidential address. Perhaps that was out of respect for the solemnity of the occasion, but Ben suspected it was more because everyone was increasingly anxious to hear what the man had to tell them.
The president squared himself behind the rostrum. “Members of Congress, staff, cabinet members, members of the Supreme Court, and honored guests. Thank you for joining me tonight.”
Ben craned his neck to check out the two transparent TelePrompTers that were traditionally located just below the president’s eye level to the left and right of the podium, so he could look into either camera and still give the home
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