Ken Arnold Books || Samuel Jospeh Xcerpt

An Excerpt from
Samuel Joseph for President
by Malcolm Boyd

The presidential jet was flying from Washington, D.C. to Los Angeles. Inside it, his coat off and sleeves rolled up, the president of the United States was in conference with a group of key advisers.
"It looks far worse than I had any idea it could, Ron," the president said to one of his intimate aides. "What can we do?"
"I don't know, Mr. President," Ron Dixon replied. "It looks very bad indeed. I'm stumped. If I could have a day or so to think about it, I might be able to come up with something."
"Unfortunately, I've got to know exactly what to do the minute I get off the plane in Los Angeles," the president said. "I'll be riding with Anderson in the car from the airport to my hotel. That's when I've got to talk with him about it."
The presidential advisers looked at one another uneasily. Two of them put out their cigarettes, two others lit cigarettes, and one stoked his pipe. Fresh coffee was poured.
One of the younger aides in the group spoke up.
"Mr. President, it's no secret now that Anderson is losing the election." He pulled out sheafs of paper. "Look. Here are breakdowns on all the latest polls. You've seen them. Unless something drastic can be done in the next three weeks, he hasn't got a chance."
This direct confrontation with the commonly known, but forbidden subject, took the lid off a growing and unbearable tension.
"If that's true, then my eight years as president will be repudiated when my party goes down to defeat with Anderson in November." The president shifted in his chair. He brought down his fist on the table. "I'll fight. I'm willing to fight, do anything, to prevent that from happening."
The young aide persisted in his line of reasoning, looking the president squarely in the eye.
"We've checked and rechecked every conceivable angle in this election, sir," he continued. "There doesn't seem to be any area of flexibility where we can safely introduce a new angle or exploit an old one. We're stalemated on peace, race, poverty, health, urban development, air pollution, the space program." He held up a finger of his hand to emphasize each item he was ticking off. "Mr. President, we're in the worst possible trouble."
Blocked by frustration, the president was visibly growing angry.
"I think I've got an idea," Ron Dixon said.
He leaned forward in his chair, holding in check his excitement.
"There's one area we might be able to maneuver in. I'm not saying it would be easy. It's difficult and explosive. But religion could make the difference and throw the election to Anderson if we handle it right and keep our heads."
The president was displeased.
"Damn it, Ron, you never mix religion and politics. Rule one. Have you lost your mind? This situation is serious. Can't we be serious too?"
Ron Dixon smiled.
"You mix oil and water if you have to, to survive, Mr. President." He was cool and seemed quite confident of himself. "Religion is an untapped political resource in this election. The church is unpopular but God isn't. Nobody knows how to define God but most people believe in a God. Now, as to this election. Anderson is running against a Jew. The first Jew to run for president. Samuel Joseph."
A sudden interest gripped everybody seated around the table.
"Anti-Semitism seems to be over, at least on the surface. Nobody in his right mind would dig it up. In fact, you have to appear liberal about a Jew running for president. Anderson has been very good about that. So have you, Mr. President. And America is saying we've-had-our-Catholic, now-let's-have-our-Jew. Okay. But now I come to my point. Samuel Joseph isn't mentioning religion. He's a Jew, and that's that, but Jewishness is not being brought up by anybody. This leaves a vacuum in the election for religion. Why doesn't Anderson bring up religion? Not negatively. Not in any sense against, or related to, Joseph. But positively. Positively for Anderson."
The others could tell the president was excited by the power of this new idea. "You may have something, Dixon," he said, leaning back and lighting his pipe. "You may really have something. What you seem to be saying is, Anderson should get religion. God is not dead, he's in conference with Philip Anderson."
Everybody laughed.
"All right. How do we implement this? You tell me we've got three weeks at the most to change the course of this election. Wouldn't you think we should get started on it today?"
Ideas were shot back and forth across the table.
"I think it might work," one adviser said. "But the public must be told Anderson isn't discovering religion three weeks before the election. He's had it all along. He didn't want to exploit it. That cut against the grain of his integrity and humility. But something must happen to force him to open up on religion. You know, he must do this according to the dictates of his conscience."
"Couldn't Anderson have prayed about this for a long time?" Dixon asked. "Now he believes it is God's will for him to speak about religion because of the immorality of the nation."
"Man cannot cope with the problem by himself," another aide suggested. "Phil Anderson suddenly realizes the peril in which the nation stands. Only God can make the difference. You know, between disaster and what might be called a new morality."
"I like it," said the president. "Put your heads together. Come up with some kind of a definite program. I can give it to Anderson when I'm riding in the car with him from the airport. There's just no time to lose."
At the airport, the president spoke briefly to an army of TV, radio, and press correspondents. Anderson, bareheaded and smiling, stood next to the president. Then the two men got into a limousine and a police escort started them on their way to the gigantic political rally.
"I'm worried," Anderson told the president. "I seem to have hit a slump and can't pull myself up again."
"Don't worry, Phil." The president laughed. Anderson sensed his confidence. "I've got an idea. If you agree, I think it might just do the job."
That night Ron Dixon put in a long-distance call to Ellsworth Pinkney, who agreed to meet Anderson and Dixon the next day in Kansas City. Pinkney was one of the most influential magazine editors in the country, an elder statesman of contemporary Protestantism, and a party stalwart. He would be told nothing about political strategy, only that Anderson's conscience made it necessary for him to speak out boldly concerning the state of the nation's morality and how God must be given the reins of action.
At noon the next day, Pinkney had lunch with Anderson and Dixon in Kansas City where Anderson was to speak in the evening at a political rally. "Of course, I'm delighted, even, I must say, quite thrilled, Mr. Anderson, to find out your real feelings," Pinkney said. "But I also must confess that I'm puzzled by your previous silence on the subject of religion. You haven't, to my knowledge, said anything at all about it. Nor have I been aware that you even attended church services on Sundays during the campaign."
"You see, Dr. Pinkney, I feel very strongly about the separation of church and state," Anderson replied. "And, too, I've leaned over backward, I can tell you confidentially, not to raise the subject of religion because I thought it might prove to be politically embarrassing for Mr. Joseph."
Pinkney sipped his glass of milk.
"I see," he commented. "I see. Well, Mr. Anderson, I certainly respect you deeply for what you have done."
Anderson folded his hands together on the table.
"But I can't keep religion out anymore," Anderson announced. "I can't try to keep God out of the election anymore, Dr. Pinkney. And, frankly, I just don't care if it hurts me or not, even if it should cost me the election, because the issue is basic now for our very survival as a Christian nation. I suppose I should say as a religious nation."
"No, I see nothing wrong with acknowledging our destiny under God as a Christian nation, Mr. Anderson." Pinkney paused. "How can I be of immediate help to you? I'm quite aware that our time is fast running out."