Presidential Shadows

Presidential

  Shadows

  Michael Cantwell

  Copyright © 2014

  Michael O’Lone Cantwell

  All rights reserved.

  Presidential Shadows is fiction.

  Names, characters and incidents are

  either the product of the author’s imagination

  or used fictitiously.

  KSM Publishing

  Cover graphic by Suzy Bondy

  https://www.michaelcantwellbooks.com

  ISBN- 13:978-0-9908274-1-2

  ~~~*~~~

  To my beautiful wife Anne

  ~~~*~~~

  Please enjoy more titles

  A Beautiful Song

  Three Long Days

  Soul Intentions

  Soul Directive

  Fortunate Soul

  Presidential Shadows

  Presidential Whispers

  Presidential Blues

  https://www.michaelcantwellbooks.com

  For another free gift from the author

  CLICK HERE

  ~~~*~~~

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Other Novels

  Opening Quote

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Thoughts

  ~~~*~~~

  Those who say that we are in a time when there are no heroes,

  they just don’t know where to look.

  Ronald Reagan

  Chapter One

  My fingernails are bitten to the nub. I am still chewing nervously as the results are announced. Mom believes I am lost in my own mind. Reality has never been an issue for me. My friends are real and important men. If other’s don’t see them, that’s their problem. If all goes as planned, my friends’ experiences will not only guide my future, but the future of my fellow citizens and people around the globe.

  Alexander Schuler was the name given to me at birth. Mom claims she named me after Alexander the Great. She told me she knew the moment she laid eyes on me I was destined for greatness. Dad has his own version. He says he named me after my Uncle Alex, his little brother. When I was eight, Uncle Alex stopped showing up at family gatherings. Dad explained to me that Uncle Alex is being detained because, “he asked for money at gunpoint from the local bank.” The family no longer mentions Uncle Alex. Come to think about it, the day after my uncle’s trial was when Mom told me her Alexander the Great story. They have their version of who I am. This is mine.

  I was born November 4th, 1979. It was one year to the day before Ronald Reagan defeated Jimmy Carter to become the 40th President of the United States. Dad told me years later I never had a birthday party when I turned one because everyone was voting that night. If he never told me, how would I have known? Mom wanted to throw a party because as she told me, “Reagan didn’t need your father’s help to get elected.”

  Ewing Township, on the outskirts of Trenton, New Jersey is still my home. Dad works as a plumber and Mom works as a substitute teacher. Sometimes Mom would show up as the substitute for my class. When she yelled at certain classmates for talking too much, I would take my lumps during lunch breaks. No sense in telling Mom. It would only lead too extra sneak attacks to the kidneys. I tried to fight back against the bullies. When I was ten, not only was I shy, but also smaller than most kids in my class.

  My brother Steve promised to teach me how to defend myself. He moved far away before he could teach me. Steve is ten years older than I am and was a football hero in high school. Back then, Steve loved two things, girls and touchdowns. When he was around, he would smell of Dad’s aftershave and rub my head as if I was his personal puppy. I was seven when Steve moved to California to play football in college. When he does come home, it’s only for a few days. One summer break, Steve came out of his bedroom smelling funky. Something I never smelled before that day. Mom and Dad were ticked off big time. Steve didn’t even come for Christmas for a couple of years after that summer.

  Dad watched the Oakland Raider games during one particular football season to see if he could spot Steve. Steve was never good enough to play in the pros but went to the games. One season, Steve dressed up in black and silver and sat in the end zone during Raider home games. Some people think I’m insane. I’ll never be crazy enough to sit with that bunch of loonies.

  My life changed on my tenth birthday. Greg Lewis looked like he had chickenpox from the cupcakes Mom brought to school to celebrate my big day. Was it my fault Greg’s mother didn’t send a note warning Greg was allergic to chocolate?

  I discovered cupcakes will never ensure friendships, only sticky fingers, and for one classmate, hives. Greg made sure, when they picked Wiffle Ball teams during lunch recess, I wasn’t picked. I wished all my classmates had broken out in hives. Disappointment ran through me as I sat and watched the game, imagining how it should have been a special day. I wanted to punch the light outs of kids, who moments earlier pretended to be my friends, after they munched down a second cup cake.

  I decided to read the book Grandpa Frank gave me the night before. Grandpa told me the book had magical powers. He warned me not to be scared when I met the men who personally handwrote in my book. I flipped open almost half way into the book. I met Andrew Johnson. He introduced himself as he sat with me on the bench in the school yard. Andrew wore a big black coat with a vest and a strange looking bow tie. We both sat watching my ex-friends play ball, until Andrew spoke. He had an accent like the country singers on the radio. I listened closely to his story.

  “I realize ya think people are being cruel to ya, Alex. But I suffered many a disagreement with men who were my colleagues, like you are now. I knew a fine man Abe Lincoln, who was shot and killed while sitting in a theatre. A different fella was supposed to shoot me too, but he never went through with his attempt. After President Lincoln died, I took over his job. I did what I could to bring people together, but as you will find in your life too, you can’t please everyone.”

  It was an unusually hot day for that time of year. The dress coat Andrew was wearing must have made him warm because he started to sweat. His jacket smelled like Grandpa’s pipe. I watched Andrew as he watched my classmates take whacks at the ball and run the bases.

  “What do you call this game of yours?” Andrew asked. “I don’t reckon I’ve ever seen a game played like this in my day.”

  Did this old man live under a rock? “You’ve never seen kids play baseball?” I said. “Baseball is supposed to be played with a hard ball and players wear gloves, but someone broke a window with the hardball. Now we can only play with a Wiffle Ball on school grounds.”

  “I had no time for such foolishness while a boy your age,” Andrew stated. “Although I do remember a story about a fella by the name of Doubleday inventing a new game. I did see youngsters playing something similar in my later years. I ran away from home when I was a boy about your age and learned how to make suits. Like the one, I’m wearing now. By glancing at the garment you’re wearing, maybe your mamma could use some lessons in tailoring.”

  I laughed at Andrew. At l
east I wasn’t sweating. But he did upset me. “Don’t pick on my mom,” I said. I had to be polite to Andrew. I wanted to know more about Abe. “So why did they kill your friend President Lincoln while he was at the movies?”

  Andrew offered a quizzical look. “Movies? I don’t know what you mean. No my dear boy, I said he was at the theatre. You know, watching a play on a stage.”

  “I saw Big Bird and Baby Elmo on stage one time. Do you mean like that?”

  Andrew smirked. “Big Bird and Elmo? I cannot imagine what that might be. No, I dare say Mr. Lincoln was not viewing a big bird. Our country had gone through a terrible time. The states were divided. Some citizens believed it was suitable to own Negroes while others didn’t approve. The war between our states was fought for that reason and others.”

  “So they killed President Lincoln during the war?”

  “No, five days after the war concluded. There were still many from the south upset over the war’s outcome. Mr. Lincoln was shot by a Confederate sympathizer by the name of Booth.”

  “Dad yells at the president every time he come on television, but I don’t think he’s mad at the president enough to want to shoot him.”

  “Alex, I don’t know what television is or why a president would be on it, but do you want to hear the rest of my story?”

  I would have still preferred to play Wiffle Ball, but I nodded and listened as Andrew continued.

  “During my career, I was a Senator from the great state of Tennessee and later Vice President under President Lincoln. I had my disagreements with ole Honest Abe. However, I would like to believe we shared respect for one another. After Mr. Lincoln was assassinated, I became the 17th President of the United States of America. I debated with members of Congress to allow the Confederate states that fought against the Union during the Civil War to return. Many of the Confederate representatives didn’t like that the slaves were freed after the Union won the war. The representatives from the southern states tried to pass their own laws to repress the now free men and women.”

  The recess bell rang. I asked Andrew to hurry up and finish his story. Detention on my birthday would have been bad. He followed me to the school door while finishing his tale.

  “I vetoed legislation that would have protected the Negroes as free men. Despite my pleas, Congress passed the 14th Amendment allowing all men equal protection under the law. I urged many states from the south not to ratify the amendment. That set off a firestorm with the Republicans from the north, who wanted the former slaves granted citizenship.”

  “Hold on, Andrew. What’s a Negro?”

  Andrew looked around the schoolyard. “Over there, the dark skinned fella. He’s a Negro.”

  I warned Andrew Johnson not to call Kenny a Negro. “Us kids don’t like to be called names. Why, did the Republicans not like you? Did you call them names too?”

  Andrew frowned. “The Republicans were furious with me and my fellow Democrats. Because of our disagreement, the House of Representatives impeached me. The Senate voted to keep me in office by one vote. I finished my term. Do you know what, Alex? I got my revenge. I was voted back into office as a senator, years after being president.”

  It was an interesting story, but I was ten years old. I didn’t fully understand. “So what happened then, Andrew?”

  Andrew crossed his arms and stood firm as my classmates charged passed him. “My colleagues turned their backs on me. Like your friends did you. The Republicans nominated General Grant who had won the war for the Union. He became president once my time had ended.”

  “Thanks for the story and for taking my mind off the Wiffle Ball game, Mr. Johnson. I guess you lost your fight because I’m pretty sure Kenny is a citizen, like me.”

  Andrew smiled and was gone.

  After school, I went home and did what most young boys do when they’re upset. I became a major pain to my mother. She tried to cheer me up but even she’d had enough of my grumpiness and sent me to my room. I was told to do my homework or read a book.

  I discovered Martin Van Buren in my magical book. There was a picture of Martin. His clothes were similar to Andrews. Martin could have used a day at the beach. He had pale skin and his bushy white hair sprung straight out from both sides of his head. The only time I saw hair stick out that way was when Dad watched the crazies in the stands during football games.

  Dad still tells me, “A lot of us hard working slobs, who make a living under sinks, or in offices, don’t have much time for the outdoors, until we retire and move to Florida. Be happy we get our week at the Jersey shore every year, Alex.” From looking at Martin, I figured he was a hard worker and didn’t live in Florida or vacation at the Jersey shore.

  Martin appeared in my room. I was scared but remembered Grandpa Frank told me to be strong when the men showed up.

  “I am not one who will tolerate people of any age wanting to sulk the day away,” Martin said. “Why a boy your age needs to be tending to the farm and doing his school work. I don’t see many books on our country’s history in this room.”

  “I’m ten years old,” I told Martin. “Mom told me I’m an advanced reader because I read Adventures of Tom Sawyer when I was nine. She’s a teacher and makes me read a lot of really hard books. So shut your pie hole, old man.”

  Martin mumbled something.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I said with an apologetic tone. “Birthdays are supposed to be happy days but mine hasn’t been so great.”

  “Apology accepted. Truth be told, young Alex, I get grumpy too. I get that way if I don’t see books filling shelves in a boy’s room. I loved to read as a young man. As I got older, my father couldn’t afford to send me to a fancy higher learning school. Instead, he arranged for me to work for a lawyer. That helped me become the man I was years later.”

  “What did you do, sir?”

  “I worked long hours and had many jobs. In my career, I was a lawyer, a Senator, Minister to Great Britain, Secretary of State, Governor of New York as well as Vice President and President of the United States. I did all of that while raising my four children after my wife died.”

  “Sounds like you moved around a lot. My dad’s a plumber. We’ve lived in this house all my life. The longest trip I ever took was last year. Dad took me on the train to Yankee Stadium for Old Timer’s Day. He wanted to see Mickey Mantle and Yogi Berra. They’re his favorite players.”

  “I have little doubt your parents love you, Alex. I know my parents loved me. My father owned a tavern. I spent many an hour there listening to my father’s associates discuss politics. I learned much from listening. Once I became a superior reader, I read about the Coliseum in Rome but never about Yankee Stadium or this Yogi person.”

  I was starting to wonder about old men who wore bow ties and ugly suits. “You’re the second guy I met today who didn’t know about baseball.”

  “You’re confusing me with this talk about baseball, Alex. I was only interested in politics. That is what intrigued me. The federal government was growing too large in the early 1800’s. My friend Andrew Jackson and I were deeply concerned. We decided to create a new political party, called the Democrats. We fought for a limited federal government. We believed the citizens should keep their power closer to home, in their states.”

  Dad and his friends don’t talk about politics around me. They tell dirty stories on the back porch and drink beer. Mom won’t let me sit outside when they’re out there. I guess she doesn’t want me learning from Dad’s friends. I’d like to spend more time with Dad but he’s a busy guy.”

  Mom barged into my bedroom. “Wash up, it’s time for dinner, dear.”

  Martin vanished. I wandered down the upstairs hallway to the bathroom two doors from my room and washed my face and hands. I could hear several voices coming from below. I recognized them. I knew my birthday was about to get better.

  Grandma Marie met me at the bottom of the steps with one of her famous big wet kisses. Her kisses were always in the exact same spot on my ch
eek. They always left a lipstick mark that Mom cleaned off when Grandma wasn’t watching.

  “Happy Birthday, Alex,” she said. “Let me look at you. Why you’re almost a grown man now.”

  Grandma Marie had short gray hair, wore old lady dresses with flowers on them and walked with a cane. She was Dad’s mother. Grandpa Frank would yell at her, “Stop slobbering all over the boy.” She would yell back and tell him to mind his own business. I guess he didn’t like her wet kisses either.

  Grandmother Helen lived far away. After Grandfather Jack died, she would visit with us for two weeks every summer. Even though I only saw her two weeks a year, I could count on her to send me a card with money in it for birthdays and Christmas. Sometimes, I would even read the cards.

  We were all ushered into the dining room for dinner. My favorite meal of corned beef and cabbage was served. At first, there wasn’t much talk around the table while everyone was eating. That was until Dad, who was still in his dirty dark green shirt that he always wore to work, the one with the “Mighty Max Plumbing” logo on the front, asked me about school. He did that most nights at dinner.

  “I got an A on my math quiz and Mom brought cupcakes. Greg Lewis got red marks all over his arms and face then blamed it on Mom’s baking. He’s a real jerk.”

  “Be nice, Alex,” Mom said.

  “Well it’s true. After lunch he made sure I wasn’t picked to play in the ball game. I guess it was ok though, because I talked with Andrew. He told me all about Abe getting shot.”

  “Oh my goodness,” Grandma Marie said. “The gun violence in this country has gotten so out of control. I wish they would destroy all the guns in this country. You know it works very well in some countries in Europe.”

  Grandpa Frank jumped into the conversation. “Enough, Marie. We have a second amendment for a reason. Besides, you never complained when I brought home a nice slab of venison. How did you think that happened? Did you think I snuck up behind the deer and scared him to death?”

  I kept eating dinner as my parents and grandparents gave dirty stares to each other across the long rectangular table. After dinner, they sang happy birthday. I blew out the ten blue candles on top and gobbled up a large piece of Carvel ice cream cake.

  As Mom was tucking me in bed a couple hours later, she asked me about our earlier conversation.

  “I didn’t hear about anyone being shot, Alex. When did this happen?”

  “Abe wasn’t from around here. Andrew told me it happened a long time ago.”

  “Well, I’m going to ask the other mothers and teachers if they know anything about it. I don’t like anyone making up stories about people being shot. You better not be fibbing to me. I’ve warned you about making up stories at the dinner table.”

  “Go ahead, Mom, ask around. I’m guessing the teachers know the story. Good night.”

  ~~~*~~~

  Chapter Two