several fresh, young faces filed out of the governor’s office, papers and briefcases in hand. Mrs. Hansen stood and moved to the governor’s door, smiling at General Del Valle. “General, you may see the governor now.”
Del Valle stood, picked up his briefcase, and started for the office, commenting as he passed, “Were we ever that young, Mrs. Hansen?” gesturing toward the departing staff.
She looked toward them as they disappeared down the hall. “Not that I can recall, General, but if memory serves, we, too, once thought we could change the world.”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Del Valle allowed. Entering the office suite, Del Valle turned his attention to the governor, who was moving from a conference table toward his desk and who paused to greet Del Valle.
“Good morning, Bob. I see you’re climbing the ladder on Rancho Murietta’s match play golf tournament,” Governor Dewhirst said.
Del Valle smiled and shook the governor’s hand, both men beginning the ritual golf banter.
“Just luck, Governor, and an occasional ‘membership bounce.’ Your side of the ladder seems full of serious players, though. Tough competition, eh?”
California Governor Walter Dewhirst, in his second term, motioned for Del Valle to take a seat and moved to pour fresh coffee before taking a seat opposite. “Some good players, I’ll admit, but we won’t see any real competition until our ladders cross, Bob,” he said with a smile. “I did take the time to check your current handicap. There’s a discrepancy, I think,” he said with a straight face.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Someone seems to have left off the plus sign in front of your three.”
A big grin lit up Del Valle’s face. “I’ll check into it right away, Governor. Actually, I agree with you that it’s an erroneous posting. By the time our ladders cross, I’ll see what I can do to change it to a six. A minus six, that is.”
“You do that,” Dewhirst smiled in return, “and I’ll keep my eight and cross your name off the list anyway.”
Del Valle laughed out loud and picked up his briefcase, retrieving a folder and replacing the case on the floor. “You probably will, Walt. You probably will.”
“So,” the governor began, “got some good news for me, I hope. My peers in nearly every other state have been pressing to know what’s going to happen and how serious we are about this secession nonsense. They know, of course, that citizen support for referendum issues comes and goes in California, but this one doesn’t seem to want to go away.”
“Precisely,” Del Valle responded. “Still, the legislature is going to have to address it more seriously. Since the last election, nearly every legislator has avoided the subject like the plague, speaking in generalities, claiming they’re only doing
“Well, it’s gonna come back and bite ’em. There’s no escape. We’re gonna have to address it on the floor in open session.”
“And the Speaker?”
“Sheesh, if I only knew. He’s a very private man.”
“Maybe a direct approach, Governor.”
“Our erstwhile Speaker has kept all comers at bay since you were a shave-tail lieutenant. I don’t think this issue, despite the severity, will cause him to change his habits.”
“Can’t you just call him in and see how he stands?”
“He usually doesn’t work that way, but this secession mania is certainly out of the norm.”
“That’s putting it mildly. How about the direct approach: ‘Yea or nay, speaker? Time to ante up.’ Surely this issue’s too big to wait and see where the masses stand, and then get out front and pretend to lead. You know, politics as usual,” Del Valle said.
Governor Dewhirst looked at Del Valle for a moment, a smile forming on his face. Del Valle realized he had inadvertently lumped the governor in with the charge. “Governor, I-”
“No, you’re right. We’ve got to approach this differently. In fact, you’re dead right. It’s time I quit tap- dancing. What’s the thrust of your main subject today?”
Assuming a formal tone, Del Valle opened his folder. “I have some intelligence on the attack on the ATF and we need to discuss how to handle some of the spin-off. If we don’t take a stand and establish some policy on the issue, the Feds will. They’re already moving on several fronts, and we’re not getting much cooperation from the FBI.”
“Anything the Speaker couldn’t hear?”
Del Valle thought momentarily. “I suppose not, Governor. I could shield my sources.”
Governor Dewhirst stood, walked to his desk, and pushed his intercom. “Mrs. Hansen, would you see if the Speaker might have a few moments to join us, please?”
“Certainly, Governor,” she replied.
Dewhirst resumed his seat. “Bob, when he arrives, just shoot straight. It’s time we formed an alliance on this one. My gut tells me he’s as much opposed to this foolish idea of secession as we are. It’s time to get his brain on our team and develop a strategy to keep this state on keel.”
“Governor,” General Del Valle said, continuing his formal tone, “my sources within military circles tell me that the joint chiefs have instructed certain California military units to prepare a contingency plan for federal intervention, should the legislature formalize the secession movement. There’s no equivocation out there. If we march down this path, you’ll find yourself as unpopular in Washington as Jefferson Davis was the last time this was tried.”
Dewhirst reflected on that for a moment then stood as Mrs. Hansen buzzed to announce the arrival of the Speaker.
“Let’s do all we can, General Del Valle,” he responded, “to assure you don’t have to assume Lee’s role. Put it straight to Speaker Huntington, and let’s see where this crafty fox stands.”
Del Valle stood, prepared to greet the Speaker, and replied to the governor, “Yes, sir.”
Speaker of the California Assembly, James Huntington, a tall, silver-haired, distinguished black man who had been the mayor of Fresno thirty-eight years earlier before entering the California legislature, entered the room. Mrs. Hansen closed the door behind him.
“Ah, Mr. Speaker. Thank you for joining us this morning. General Del Valle wanted to brief me on matters of import. I felt it appropriate that you participate. Some coffee, James?”
“If the ladies would please come to order.”
Matilda Westegaard lightly rapped her gavel, the banter throughout the room slowly faded, and attention was turned toward the rostrum.
“Thank you, thank you, ladies. As you all know, today we are privileged to hear from Mr. Daniel Rawlings, republican candidate for Yolo County’s Eighth Legislative District. Until recently, Mr. Rawlings was our county administrator. He has now announced his candidacy for the seat vacated by the tragic and unfortunate death of our most able representative, Arnold Fister. Only last year, Mr. Fister spoke from this very lectern, and we all miss him dearly.”
Murmurs of assent rippled through the room. Arnold Fister had been a handsome and charismatic man. Many of the ladies in the room had voted for him for no other reason than his perfectly coifed silver hair.
“It was my pleasure to have instructed Mr. Rawlings as a student,” she began, only to be interrupted by one of the ladies in the back, “For hell’s sake, Matilda, you had
“That’s true, Jackie Healy, and you haven’t changed one bit since those days. You’re still interrupting the class.” This was followed by more laughter from the room. “Now, if I could please get on with the introduction-as I was saying, Mr. Rawlings, having served as our county administrator until two weeks ago, is familiar with local issues, and it appears, having picked up some of his grandfather’s traits, is not afraid to go against the tide when he feels it necessary. I, for one, support him in his opposition to this secession nonsense.”
She glanced down at her notes again, and added, “In addition to being Yolo County’s newest author with his first novel,
