received and filed. But now, how did I do? Did my message get through?”
Dad answered quietly and firmly, “Son, I heard you. And I’ll give the matter serious thought. Just you do the same with what I gave you.”
Well , John thought. What did I expect? “All right. So long as we understand each other.”
Dad sighed and looked out the window. “I guess I’ve said all I need to say.”
John rose from the chair. “Yeah, I’ve got to get going.”
“Take your sandwich.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You bring a coat?” Dad was looking out the window, and it was raining hard.
“Oh, brother. Well, I’ll make a dash for it.” Dad went to the coatrack and grabbed his old overcoat.
“Here. The weather’s changing. You’re going to need this.”
“No, come on, I don’t need—”
Dad shoved the coat at him. “Go on, take it. Humor your religious old man.”
John resigned himself to wearing the coat and slipped it on over his suit. “Don’t know if it’ll fit me.”
“You’ll grow into it.”
“Well, thanks. I’ll get it back to you.”
“No, it’s yours now. You keep it.”
John was about to protest again, but there just wasn’t time for more discussion. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, son.”
It was close to 1 o’clock. John rushed out of there.
AUDIO: LOW, RUMBLING music, rising in intensity. Video: The sunjust on the horizon, burning a window of fire through the dusty red haze of dawn.
Low voice, heavy on the glottal flutter: “A new day, a new dawning, broke upon our state four years ago. Now that rising sun is approaching its zenith, and we, the people, have the power to keep it there.”
Cut to head and shoulders of Governor Hiram Slater just turning his face toward the camera. Coat off, tie loosened, his face earnest, full of business.
Voice: “Governor Hiram Slater, a pioneer who will not be turned back, is working for you!”
Quick-cutting, rapid-fire shots of Hiram Slater, shirtsleeves rolled up, brow furrowed, shuffling papers, consulting with VIPs, talking on the phone.
Voice: “A growing economy and new jobs. A bold new approach to education for the twentieth century. Environmental awareness. These are the Slater legacy.”
Shot of the state capitol dome silhouetted against a massive rising sun, the whole picture rippling with heat waves.
Voice: “The new dawn lives on.” Hiram Slater’s face appears to the left of the capitol dome in stark relief against the sun.
Voice: “Governor Hiram Slater—for Governor!”
Small title across bottom of screen: “Paid for by the Committee to Reelect Governor Slater, Wilma Benthoff, Chairperson.”
THE GOVERNOR, MARTIN Devin, and Wilma Benthoff were seated at one end of a massive conference table, watching the towering, powerful images assaulting their senses from a deluxe, 50-inch television screen in the corner of the room. Wilma Benthoff, the harried organizer from the rally, was looking much better today, decked out in a tailored black suit, her spine straight, her billowing, blonde curls perfectly behaved. All three sat in calm, objective, critical-eyed judgment on the presentation as Rowen and Hartly, their hired media consultants, unveiled the television spots that would persuade the populace to keep Slater in office.
WAVES PLAYFULLY LAPPING against the round stones and mussel shells. The cry of sea gulls. Seals on a rock, barking, sleeping, clapping. Killer whales sporting and spouting. A blue heron skimming just above the water in slow motion. Windswept, outdoorsy music.
Voice: “The Bay, for millennia a showcase of nature, a playground for sea life. A precious treasure.”
Shots of black oil swirling around the rocks, dying birds, limping otters. The music becomes dark and ominous.
“Governor Hiram Slater has determined that what has happened elsewhere will not happen here.”
Shot of The Bay. Blue water, blue sky. Hiram Slater’s face appears superimposed over the scene, the guardian of these
Dad answered quietly and firmly, “Son, I heard you. And I’ll give the matter serious thought. Just you do the same with what I gave you.”
Well , John thought. What did I expect? “All right. So long as we understand each other.”
Dad sighed and looked out the window. “I guess I’ve said all I need to say.”
John rose from the chair. “Yeah, I’ve got to get going.”
“Take your sandwich.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You bring a coat?” Dad was looking out the window, and it was raining hard.
“Oh, brother. Well, I’ll make a dash for it.” Dad went to the coatrack and grabbed his old overcoat.
“Here. The weather’s changing. You’re going to need this.”
“No, come on, I don’t need—”
Dad shoved the coat at him. “Go on, take it. Humor your religious old man.”
John resigned himself to wearing the coat and slipped it on over his suit. “Don’t know if it’ll fit me.”
“You’ll grow into it.”
“Well, thanks. I’ll get it back to you.”
“No, it’s yours now. You keep it.”
John was about to protest again, but there just wasn’t time for more discussion. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, son.”
It was close to 1 o’clock. John rushed out of there.
AUDIO: LOW, RUMBLING music, rising in intensity. Video: The sunjust on the horizon, burning a window of fire through the dusty red haze of dawn.
Low voice, heavy on the glottal flutter: “A new day, a new dawning, broke upon our state four years ago. Now that rising sun is approaching its zenith, and we, the people, have the power to keep it there.”
Cut to head and shoulders of Governor Hiram Slater just turning his face toward the camera. Coat off, tie loosened, his face earnest, full of business.
Voice: “Governor Hiram Slater, a pioneer who will not be turned back, is working for you!”
Quick-cutting, rapid-fire shots of Hiram Slater, shirtsleeves rolled up, brow furrowed, shuffling papers, consulting with VIPs, talking on the phone.
Voice: “A growing economy and new jobs. A bold new approach to education for the twentieth century. Environmental awareness. These are the Slater legacy.”
Shot of the state capitol dome silhouetted against a massive rising sun, the whole picture rippling with heat waves.
Voice: “The new dawn lives on.” Hiram Slater’s face appears to the left of the capitol dome in stark relief against the sun.
Voice: “Governor Hiram Slater—for Governor!”
Small title across bottom of screen: “Paid for by the Committee to Reelect Governor Slater, Wilma Benthoff, Chairperson.”
THE GOVERNOR, MARTIN Devin, and Wilma Benthoff were seated at one end of a massive conference table, watching the towering, powerful images assaulting their senses from a deluxe, 50-inch television screen in the corner of the room. Wilma Benthoff, the harried organizer from the rally, was looking much better today, decked out in a tailored black suit, her spine straight, her billowing, blonde curls perfectly behaved. All three sat in calm, objective, critical-eyed judgment on the presentation as Rowen and Hartly, their hired media consultants, unveiled the television spots that would persuade the populace to keep Slater in office.
WAVES PLAYFULLY LAPPING against the round stones and mussel shells. The cry of sea gulls. Seals on a rock, barking, sleeping, clapping. Killer whales sporting and spouting. A blue heron skimming just above the water in slow motion. Windswept, outdoorsy music.
Voice: “The Bay, for millennia a showcase of nature, a playground for sea life. A precious treasure.”
Shots of black oil swirling around the rocks, dying birds, limping otters. The music becomes dark and ominous.
“Governor Hiram Slater has determined that what has happened elsewhere will not happen here.”
Shot of The Bay. Blue water, blue sky. Hiram Slater’s face appears superimposed over the scene, the guardian of these
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