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A Gathering of Herds, p. 2 Several months previously this man had secured the presidency through the actions of a mob of congressional aides who had routed ballot counters away from their task, his selection thereafter being confirmed in the blatantly partisan rulings of a coterie of politically motivated justices. A former alcoholic and sometime cocaine user, he was said to be a man who cared little for reading reports, mastering details or acquainting himself with the intricacy of issues. When shortly after his inauguration a gunman was apprehended on the White House lawn, a floor plan showed him exercising in the salon, with the vice-president busily at work in his office attending to the affairs of the nation. On the day of the bombings, with the vice-president once again occupied in his office, he was in Florida, preparing to make an appearance. Appearances here and there, before this group and that, on one occasion or another, pretty much summed up his discharge of presidential duties. Ignoring affairs of state and a seriously faltering economy, not long before the bombing he treated himself to a two-week vacation on his ranch in Texas. Golfing, fishing, riding around on horseback. People shrugged. He was a man of little consequence, chosen for the presidency by the political power-brokers who represented the richest of America's corporations, selected for the role he was to play in emulation of a previous actor who had served their interests so well. With a boyish grin and an amiable personality, he would be their man, a president of public relations. Now he was being cheered by many of the same people who had earlier rejected him for what they saw him to be. How is one to penetrate the irony of his exaltation and their adulation? In truth, his ceremonial buildup had begun much earlier, almost as soon as he was sworn into office. One had but to listen to national public radio. The morning newscast regularly began with a report of where President Bush was to be that day. Talking at a girl-scout jamboree, addressing a veterans luncheon, visiting a home for the aged, dropping in on the kiddies in a school room, attending church. With little else to recommend him, a place at the top of the news was his. The media were promoting him into a prominence that made eventual adulation all the easier. Now the adulation was his. Well on his way to being remembered as having contributed little other than down-home redundancy during a rather trying period in American history, his fortunes had turned abruptly around. The country had been smitten as never before with an impelling need to draw together, sharing grief and pooling a resolve to dig out and rebuild. It was the pivotal moment in a gathering of the herd. He would not miss it for anything. Climbing atop a mound of rubble and grabbing a bullhorn, he assures the assembled crowd of fatigued and despairing rescuers that he the president has everything under control. If they can't hear him, he can hear them. In response to their hopes and fears and anger, he offers the largesse of his office. He will act on their behalf. Make no mistake about it, as he was impelled often to reiterate, the perpetrators of this brutal outrage will get theirs. This great country will not be defeated. He declares War on Terrorism. Cheers! Waving of hats and hands and flags. He had become a great leader,with virtually an entire country for a following. Six days later his ascension is ratified by the assembled legates of the land, applauding as strenuously as a gathering of hard-hats or the party faithful. The First Lady gives him a forced smile; clapping mechanically, Hilary Clinton looks about the congressional chambers with a pained expression. No matter. By universal acclaim, he will wear the antlers. He, George W. Bush was now all-American alpha male. It had happened in little more than a historical instant. In the wink of an eye. |
