JULY 21, 2024 – Soon after I heard word that Biden was out of the race, I imagined that the cellular phone networks were pressed to the breaking point managing all the conference calls among Democratic operatives at all levels. Inside my head the perceived hee-hawing of a corral of donkeys sounded like the old New York Stock Exchange floor immediately following the opening bell.
I then imagined what I’d do if I were one of those “Democratic operatives,” or more precisely, if I were the former titular head of the Democratic Party.
My first call would be to my good buddy Bill. “Bill,” I’d say, “time for you and me to swing into action.”
And Bill would say, “Gollee. I was about to call you, Barack. I got James on the line. He’s got fire in his belly, as usual. Let me patch him in.”
“James,” I’d say. “How things doin’ down there in New Orleans?”
And James Carville would say, “Doin’ jess fahn, now that we’re goin’ to win this sucker—that is if we don’t keep doin’ stupid stuff, which is what we Democrats seem always to have a penchant for doin’.”
“Well,” I’d say, “can’t argue with you there,” and Bill would chime in, “You includin’ me on that one James? I mean, didn’t I get smart after you told me it was the economy, stupid?”
The three of us would laugh together before James—as usual—made us focus. “This is now the opportunity we’ve been waitin’ for. We let this train out of the station without jumpin’ on it, the history books ain’t never gonna forgive us.”
“So, what do you suggest James?” I’d say.
“Well, Barack, Bill, you guys’ve read my recent piece in The Times, right?”
“The one about holdin’ town halls?” Bill would ask.
“Yeah, somethin’ like that. Only now things’ve changed. It’s not Kamala vs. Wes vs. Gavin vs. Gretchen. I say ‘not,’ but what I mean is it shouldn’t be a contest. We all got to get behind Kamala. We gotta get behind her like there’s no tomorrah, because tomorrah’s too late. It’s gotta be as of yesterday. We gotta pull the whole damn party behind her and run the ball all the way to the end zone. She can do it, but only if we manage not to make complete donkeys of ourselves turning next month’s convention into a free-for-all. There’s no time for that. We have one mission and one mission alone, and that’s to defeat Trump, and to do that we gotta hit the ground running now. You two guys’ve gotta take the lead here and start makin’ calls to every damn Democrat who will listen to ya.”
At this juncture in the call, I’d say, “I’m comin’ around to your thinking, James. But what about the rest of the ticket?”
“You mean who’s gonna run for veep?” Carville would ask.
“Yeah,” Bill would say.
“First of all, Harris is gonna announce at the convention. She should be the one who makes the choice and who announces it, but I’d wait counsel her to hold off on the announcement until the convention. Build suspense; keep speculation at the head of every news cycle—is it gonna be Gretchen? Is it gonna be Tester? Is it gonna be Doug Jones? Is it gonna be Manchin? Is it gonna be that guy up in Minnesota—you know who I’m talkin’ ‘bout—Walz? Each makes a trip to D.C. Everyone’s kept guessing—most of all, the Republicans. Meanwhile, we keep close tabs on polling in all the battleground states, calibrating the best we can the correlation between the perceived leader of the veepstakes and changes in Harris’s polling. We keep the Harris team closely apprised and steer them toward the best choice.”
“If you were to make your own recommendation, James,” I’d say, “who would it be?”
“Shapiro of Pennsylvania. He’s a governor, balancing out the Senate representation—Harris on our ticket; Vance on the Republican side. Also, Shapiro’s a winner—and whomever is chosen has to be a proven winner—in a large battleground state. Plus, he’s a smart guy with a great record. Together, Harris and Shapiro can carry the day. But it’s up to you two guys and everyone else in the party to convince Harris’s team.”
“Thanks, James,” Bill would say.
“When do you wanna make the calls, Bill?” I’d say. “First to Joe, then to Kamala, then Shapiro?”
“How ‘bout our next call,” I’d say. “Either of you guys have Harris on speed dial?”
“Nope,” Bill would say.
“I do,” I’d say. “I’ll call her right now. Don’t go away; I’ll call her and patch you guys in.”
“Know what?” James would say, “I think we can actually steal victory from the jaws of the Duly Defeated.”
And Bill Clinton would join him, saying, “I know we can win—and by a lot.”
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
