A prime-time face stands in front of his cameraman, waiting, begins to read his phone when he gets the alert.
“Just in: General Edward Montgomery has been nominated as secretary of defense.… This is unprecedented.” LIVE! In the back of the room, several television screens show the president at a rally: “… I have decided to nominate General Edward Montgomery as secretary of defense!” The crowd somewhere in the Midwest roars on the television screen. The volume goes dead.
Another prime-time face: “Let’s go, you rolling?”
“They’ll be here in three minutes, they have entered the building, three minutes!” a PA yells to the back of the room.
Billy turns, searching for a reaction from his mother. Carol just sits with her hands folded in her lap; she turns her head slightly and smiles at him, a closed-mouth smile. Carol isn’t comfortable in the spotlight. She swallows. She waits. The room gets quiet, and the president of the National Press Club steps over to the podium.
“Good morning. Just a few minutes ago the president announced that General Edward Montgomery will be nominated as secretary of defense. General Montgomery is certainly no stranger to this administration and to the Senate Armed Services Committee. We’ve known him as the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, as a commander in Afghanistan, and in many posts before that. He is a warrior and a leader of the highest quality of our great nation, with twenty-five years of distinguished service, and we are grateful to have him here with us today. General…”
Billy watches his father walk through the doors and around the PAs strapped with wires and walkie-talkies, earbuds and clipboards; it feels more like a production set in Hollywood than a political press conference. His father wears his decorated costume: his four stars pinned to the large shoulder pads of his uniform, his jump wings, his colorful badges of honor and courage. Assistants and bodyguards trail behind him.
Billy sits with his ankles crossed, his knees spread, his arms in his lap, stiff posture, his head slightly cocked back, aware that people are watching him. He knows he will never live up to who his father is and who, in this moment, he has just become. His eyes trail his father’s as he makes his way to the podium; Billy hopes he will make eye contact, smile in his direction even, just for being there. The general is poised, proud, confident, his head held high. He walks past Billy without any acknowledgment, climbs the towering podium, and looks straight in the direction of the cameras that are surely entering the living rooms and offices of millions upon millions of Americans, and perhaps countries all over the world.
“Good morning, and thank you for the opportunity for me to be here before you today. I am truly honored by the nomination as the United States secretary of defense. Our department—the strongest military department in the world—stands as the guardian of this great country, and I want to thank the president for his confidence in me. I look forward to my confirmation hearing and continuing to serve our nation. Thank you, and God bless America.”
Billy doesn’t realize that his jaw is clenched and his right hand is curled into a fist. He feels a sense of conscious pride, and yet the kind of guilt that isn’t available to feel at such a young age, the kind of guilt that insidiously bleeds into resentment and, later, raw and violent misplaced rage—that his father will always, no matter what, put country before family; that the world only sees a sacrificial warrior, whose family is constantly thanked for their support, they’re so supportive. And yet, were they ever given a choice?
But Billy isn’t thinking about this at all; in fact, Billy isn’t fazed, the same way a kid in the Midwest isn’t fazed by his orthopedic surgeon father’s conference at the Courtyard Marriott. He’s more conscious of how he is being perceived than anything else. It’s only in quiet moments, or obliterated drunken moments, when he feels it.
The general steps off the stage, swarmed by security detail and a White House aide. Billy doesn’t yet understand the new level of scrutiny his family is about to endure from the media. He watches. He forces a half-smile for the cameras when his phone buzzes. A text message from Bunny:
Did you hear the news? Audrey Banks is fucking dead.
Washington National Cathedral
The construction of the National Cathedral began under President Theodore Roosevelt in 1907. It was modeled after many of the eighteenth-century Gothic cathedrals with pointed arches, flying buttresses, and stained glass windows (there’s also a Darth Vader gargoyle). Located on the highest hill in Washington, it’s where many of the political and social elite often pray, marry, and are laid to rest. President Woodrow Wilson, Helen Keller, and Matthew Shepard are among those interred here. In 1953, the United Daughters of the Confederacy lobbied for two stained glass windows commemorating Generals Stonewall Jackson and Robert E. Lee, commanders of the Confederate Army. They prevailed and the windows were installed.I A recent task force report states, “The windows provide a catalyst for honest discussions about race and the legacy of slavery and for addressing the uncomfortable and too often avoided issues of race in America. Moreover, the windows serve as a profound witness to the cathedral’s own complex history in relationship to race.”II One window depicts Jackson kneeling with a Bible in his hands; the other is of Lee, his back to us, arms spread like an eagle, with the words: “So he passed over and all the trumpets sounded for him.” In 2017, the stained glass windows were removed; however, they have yet to be replaced, as
