Page 25 of Primary Season
Oliver’s Diner was the kind of place that only got attention during election years. It sat just off Interstate 26, next to a small gas station and across from a Cracker Barrel restaurant. The sign said it had been in business since 1949; it looked as if it hadn’t been renovated since then. Still, the parking lot had enough space for our campaign bus, and the owner liked the attention.
So there we were.
“Who wants more grits?” asked Judith, the diner’s assistant manager. She held up a small white plate. “They’ve got plenty of cheese on ‘em.”
Heather took the plate and placed it in front of Patrick, who chewed his second bite of an overstuffed, pulled-pork sandwich. The diner staff seemed intent on making sure he tried something of everything on the menu, and around him, a small tableau of reporters, voters, supporters, and curious South Carolinians also enjoyed the huge spread the restaurant provided to welcome Patrick to the state’s northwest corridor.
“Mr. Blanco, what do you think about Governor Sayer’s plan to provide free college tuition to America’s high school students?” called a blonde reporter from CNN. “Do you have a response?”
I glared at her. We’d told the media not to ask questions until after lunch, so I signaled one of our interns, who moved in with official-looking credentials and a loud voice.
“Mr. Blanco will be taking questions after he’s enjoyed the diner’s wonderful hospitality,” the intern said to the reporters before turning to the rest of the media. “Please, hold your questions until then.”
“It’s all right. I’ll answer.”
Patrick wiped his mouth with a red napkin and stood from the lunch counter stool he’d occupied for the previous twenty minutes. “I think Governor Sayers has some good ideas, but unfortunately they aren’t sustainable. We all agree that education after high school is critical for today’s students, but we need to understand that a four-year state university is not for everyone. We need to nurture job skill and vocational training, too. That’s why I’m proposing universal vocational school and community college availability, as well as a tiered-out system for high school students who want to continue on, or are ready for a four-year university.”
As Patrick spoke, he made eye contact with the voters, assuring he drove home every word. “We need to reward those students who do well in high school, but also make sure that we provide opportunities for everyone.”
I glanced around the crowd, measuring reactions. A few nodded, one took notes, and a few more remained stone-faced. Man, the voters in South Carolina could be tough.
“Does anyone else have questions?” Patrick smiled as a few people laughed in the crowd. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”
No one responded.
He turned back to the cooks and servers standing on the other side of the counter. “You know, during a campaign as grueling as this one, I’m only happy that we’ve been given the chance to enjoy this wonderful restaurant in the middle of it all.” He tapped the counter twice. “All the reviews are right. This is, by far, the best pulled pork and brisket in the state.”
I raised an eyebrow, pretty sure Patrick hadn’t eaten any other barbeque in South Carolina in his whole life. Still, he had a way of making everything sound so sincere. If Patrick said something was great, it had to be. If he liked it, you’d like it, too. Simple as that.
“Any other questions?” he asked, turning back to the crowd.
A few shouted some, and my stomach twisted. This impromptu press conference wasn’t part of the schedule, and if there was one thing I disliked about Patrick, it was his willingness to deviate from our plan. He always insisted it sounded more authentic and real that way, as if he was a man of the people instead of an elected official.
“How are we going to do this rollout?” Doug whispered in my ear. “Dwight is waiting in the back, and this lighting is terrible in here.”
“We’re supposed to be outside; it will look better out there,” I said through gritted teeth. “But as you can see…”
“Let Patrick be Patrick. I’ll handle this.” Doug shot me a half-hearted grin. He raised his hand as Patrick answered the final question. “Everyone, if we could move outside for a moment, we’ll be taking press questions there, and our campaign has a major announcement. We also have some wonderful items for anyone to take home to show their support for the coalition Patrick is building.”
“Actually,” Patrick said. “I believe I’d rather stay inside. It’s a little chilly, so Doug, let’s do this here.”
Patrick gave us both a polite nod and turned on his heel, strode behind the lunch counter, and then disappeared through the kitchen door. A murmur tore through the crowd, and when Patrick reemerged, he walked next to Dwight, a hand on his shoulder. A few people gasped, and more than one of the reporters in the crowd perked up at the sight of South Carolina’s most famous lawmaker.
“One of the people who raved about Oliver’s Diner is my friend, Senator Dwight Jameson.” Patrick commanded the crowd once again. “He told me that a tour of the Palmetto state wasn’t complete without a stop here. I knew I had to visit, but that I didn’t want to visit without him. And I’m happy to say that Senator Jameson and I have a deep, deep friendship, one that goes beyond the halls of Congress.”
Patrick gestured to Dwight, who cleared his throat.
“As you know, I don’t make many endorsements,” Dwight said in his slow southern accent. “I pride myself on being a gentleman, and I like to let the people decide for themselves.” He clapped Patrick on his shoulder. “But this is a fight I cannot ignore, because this election is too important for the people of South Carolina and the rest of our nation. We must have real, hopeful leadership to get through these hard times.”
This was going well. Very well. Even the most stoic journalists in the room seemed moved by the seeming sincerity of Dwight’s words.
“That’s why I am proud to support Senator Blanco’s campaign for president, and I am prepared to throw the full weight of my support behind him. Senator Blanco is our future, and we all need to step forward.”
“I’m honored to have your support,” Patrick said, and shook Dwight’s hand as the gathering burst into spontaneous applause. The crowd was with him, the national media seemed pleased, and Oliver’s Diner had its moment. Hell, if Patrick won the presidency, the joint might even claim a spot in election lore.
I tugged on Doug’s suit jacket and he turned to me. “Howard Sayers who?” I whispered.
“Exactly,” Doug said. “Just what we want.”
