Read Online Primary Colors by Joe Klein - Free Book Online
Authors: Joe Klein
Tags: Fiction, General, Political, Presidents, Political Fiction, Political campaigns, Election, Presidents - Election
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father, his mother. The store. Brooklyn. It was impersonal, a recitation. Nothing much was happening, so far as I could see. Then: "How many people you got in your state, ack?" Ozio asked. "We've got two point three million in Brooklyn alone."
"Brooklyn is pretty remarkable--you've got a little bit of everything there," Stanton said, vacantly. Then, hoping to ingratiate, he began to talk about a jobs program we had visited in Bed-Stuy, and how much he admired it.
"You've been there?" Ozio asked, surprised and a little disturbed. "You should tell us when you're planning to come and see these things--we'll arrange it for you."
Stanton nodded, not quite agreeing to have Ozio control his movements in the state, and went off on a little discourse about jobs programs. He talked about one of his proposals--a national computer system, a way of linking everything together, a way to determine which jobs were available, which training programs got results. "We did that already," Ozio said abruptly. "We've got that in this state. Armand, get the governor in touch with Herman Gonzalez--he'll tell you all about how we did it here."
"You've done it statewide?" Stanton asked. "I knew you had that pilot program up in Buffalo."
"That's what I mean," Ozio said. "Buffalo. . ." Then, "So, how do you see this campaign, Jack?"
Stanton was beginning to feel more confident. He talked about the campaign: The president was riding high, but something was happening out there--the people felt neglected, worried. "The world's getting to be a pretty scary place for them," he said.
"You don't want to play to those fears," Ozio said. "Any jackass can knock down a barn."
"But you do have to acknowledge them," Stanton said. "I think we have to understand why we've been losing elections."
"And why is that?" Ozio asked. He could have had Jack Stanton for dinner then, but he didn't wait for an answer. He barged: "I'll tell you why--because we get defensive. We're ashamed of who we are. We try to be like the other guys--and the people know that. They get a choice between a pale copy and the real thing, they'll choose the real thing." It was boilerplate. It went on. Ozio gave a stump speech. He was a powerful big-hall speaker; the histrionics didn't work so well in a small room. Stanton sat through it politely. Finally, Ozio said, "Well. That's it. Gotta go downstairs. Thanks for stopping by. I think you've got somethingjack. A nice quality. People like you. I think you have a big future. I wrote that in my diary the other day, after I saw you on C-SPAN. Talking to kids somewhere. You're smart, you cut a nice figure. I can see you on the ticket--maybe even this year. I want you to keep in touch. I can help you. Sometimes I think I should quit this business and open a consulting shop with Jimmy--most of these consultants are ice-skaters, right? They charge an arm and a leg, and then take thirty percent of production costs on top of that. Can you imagine? Highway robbery."
He was moving us toward the larger, lighted outer room. He grew smaller in the light; he seemed older. "You come by again, I'll take you to the old neighborhood. We'll go to Gargiulo's in Coney Island. You call in advance, they'll cook a whole baby pig. I understand you enjoy a good meal."
So that was it? Had anything happened?
Apparently so. We found out two days later, on Thursday, in New Hampshire. We were in the Stanton Van, heading from Lebanon toward Hanover--a chill, slate-gray day, dead leaves roiling the highway. I got beeped, the press-urgent line from Mammoth Falls. "Dick Lawrence from the WSJ says you better get in touch right now," Jennifer Rogers said. "They want to go with something in 'Washington Wire' tomorrow."
I called Lawrence. "Hi," I said.
"You meet with Ozio?" He asked.
"Why?"
The call broke up. Before I called back, I told Stanton: "Governor, it's the Journal. They know we met with Ozio . . ."
"So?" he asked, perturbed. He was riding up front, working a stack
"Brooklyn is pretty remarkable--you've got a little bit of everything there," Stanton said, vacantly. Then, hoping to ingratiate, he began to talk about a jobs program we had visited in Bed-Stuy, and how much he admired it.
"You've been there?" Ozio asked, surprised and a little disturbed. "You should tell us when you're planning to come and see these things--we'll arrange it for you."
Stanton nodded, not quite agreeing to have Ozio control his movements in the state, and went off on a little discourse about jobs programs. He talked about one of his proposals--a national computer system, a way of linking everything together, a way to determine which jobs were available, which training programs got results. "We did that already," Ozio said abruptly. "We've got that in this state. Armand, get the governor in touch with Herman Gonzalez--he'll tell you all about how we did it here."
"You've done it statewide?" Stanton asked. "I knew you had that pilot program up in Buffalo."
"That's what I mean," Ozio said. "Buffalo. . ." Then, "So, how do you see this campaign, Jack?"
Stanton was beginning to feel more confident. He talked about the campaign: The president was riding high, but something was happening out there--the people felt neglected, worried. "The world's getting to be a pretty scary place for them," he said.
"You don't want to play to those fears," Ozio said. "Any jackass can knock down a barn."
"But you do have to acknowledge them," Stanton said. "I think we have to understand why we've been losing elections."
"And why is that?" Ozio asked. He could have had Jack Stanton for dinner then, but he didn't wait for an answer. He barged: "I'll tell you why--because we get defensive. We're ashamed of who we are. We try to be like the other guys--and the people know that. They get a choice between a pale copy and the real thing, they'll choose the real thing." It was boilerplate. It went on. Ozio gave a stump speech. He was a powerful big-hall speaker; the histrionics didn't work so well in a small room. Stanton sat through it politely. Finally, Ozio said, "Well. That's it. Gotta go downstairs. Thanks for stopping by. I think you've got somethingjack. A nice quality. People like you. I think you have a big future. I wrote that in my diary the other day, after I saw you on C-SPAN. Talking to kids somewhere. You're smart, you cut a nice figure. I can see you on the ticket--maybe even this year. I want you to keep in touch. I can help you. Sometimes I think I should quit this business and open a consulting shop with Jimmy--most of these consultants are ice-skaters, right? They charge an arm and a leg, and then take thirty percent of production costs on top of that. Can you imagine? Highway robbery."
He was moving us toward the larger, lighted outer room. He grew smaller in the light; he seemed older. "You come by again, I'll take you to the old neighborhood. We'll go to Gargiulo's in Coney Island. You call in advance, they'll cook a whole baby pig. I understand you enjoy a good meal."
So that was it? Had anything happened?
Apparently so. We found out two days later, on Thursday, in New Hampshire. We were in the Stanton Van, heading from Lebanon toward Hanover--a chill, slate-gray day, dead leaves roiling the highway. I got beeped, the press-urgent line from Mammoth Falls. "Dick Lawrence from the WSJ says you better get in touch right now," Jennifer Rogers said. "They want to go with something in 'Washington Wire' tomorrow."
I called Lawrence. "Hi," I said.
"You meet with Ozio?" He asked.
"Why?"
The call broke up. Before I called back, I told Stanton: "Governor, it's the Journal. They know we met with Ozio . . ."
"So?" he asked, perturbed. He was riding up front, working a stack
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