Stephen Cannell - The Plan

Nine small tape recorders came out and got turned on. Ryan wished he'd brought one.

"Okay, let's start with introductions. We're going to have a name and job test tonight at six. Everybody has to know everybody else, what they do and their phone numbers. If any of you thinks this is stupid, you haven't worked a campaign where people don't know each other. I've made out my fact sheet with my job definition and phone numbers-it's on the long table outside. Let's go around the room. . To my right is our campaign chairman, Albert James Teagarden, A. J."

A. J. waved. "I'm going to be working on strategy, message, and polling with Ken Venable and Guy Vandergot. Anybody has any ideas, I want to hear them. I'll have more to say in a minute. My fact sheet is on the table."

Then a pretty woman sitting next to Teagarden stood. Her ash-brown hair was silky and her figure showed the hours she'd spent in the gym.

"I'm Susan Winter, the body woman."

Ryan had never heard the term before and wondered what it meant.

Malcolm caught his look of surprise. "A body woman or man, for those who don't know, is someone who is with the candidate constantly. She will handle hotel rooms, extra phones in the suite, making sure the hotel refrigerator has the right stuff. She's also in charge of minute-to-minute scheduling. If the governor needs to be out of a press conference and on a six o'clock plane, she's the one who tugs his sleeve."

Ryan was scribbling it all down on a yellow pad. "Vidal," Malcolm said.

Vidal Brown stood up. He was striking looking. Half-French and half-Paiute Indian, he'd been educated at Colgate. Ryan recognized him; he'd run press conferences for other Democratic campaigns.

Brown said, "I'm press secretary. I'm a twenty-four-hour commando-type Injun. No time is the wrong time. I love suggestions. Fact sheet, same table."

Next to him was a blonde with a bunch of rubber bands around her wrists, under which she had stuffed phone messages.

"Carol Wakano, and yes boys, I've heard all the Wacko Wakano jokes. I'm campaign finance. You hear of anybody with money for Haze Richards, I want the name. By the way, all mailed campaign pledges over five hundred need to be cataloged for the election review process. Anything less is exempted from that restriction."

"Rick and Cindy Rouchard," Rick said as he and his wife stood. They were Mr. and Mrs. Middle America. "We're Iowa Advance. We're going to be setting up the funders and booking the local TV in Iowa. I don't need to tell you that the Register-Guard Convention Center debate Tuesday is going to be critical to our news coverage, so I hope the candidate is ready for it."

"When we get to Iowa, Haze isn't going to stay in the Savoy Hotel with the rest of the candidates," Rasher said.

"He's going to be at a farm someplace." He turned to the Rouchards. "Find an Iowa farmer who's about to go broke. Some guy with a sad story. Haze is going to sleep there."

"Great idea," Rick said.

Then it was Ryan's turn. "I'm here to make a documentary. I don't have a fact sheet but I'll get one on the table immediately." He sat down, not knowing what else to say.

"I want you, with a crew, filming the news conference in Providence when Haze announces," Malcolm said. "I'm gonna get the local blow-dries and live-at-fives from here and Providence." Ryan knew he was talking about local TV field reporters. "Get blanket footage on the press conference. What're you going to call this documentary?"

"I don't know. . I hadn't thought"

"We need a flashy title like. . like. ."

"Blizzard in Iowa?" Van said from the end of the room. "Yeah, that's the right idea," A. J. said. "But blizzards are cold, our guy is hot. Haze is on fire."

"Prairie Fire," Ryan heard himself saying.

"Perfect. 'Prairie Fire.' " A. J. grinned. "That's the documentary. We're gonna be the only ones with good Haze Richards footage and the networks will be forced to use our stuff. If they want it, I'll make 'em use it uncut."

Then Ven and Van stood up and said they were the pollsters. "You know what we do," they said and sat down. Ryan didn't know, but made a note to find out.

The two other people were staff and media relations, Ryan scribbled on his pad, making notes about their appearance so he could keep them straight for the six o'clock quiz.

Malcolm leaned back in his chair. "The candidate is Governor Haze Richards. All of you here are professional campaign workers being paid for your services. Some of you have only a marginal understanding of what the candidate represents. Our campaign chairman, A. J. Teagarden, will be able to fill you in on 'the message.' A. J. has known Haze since childhood. . AJ."

Teagarden lumbered up out of his chair. Most of these people he knew; some he'd worked with before and hired for this campaign.

"When I was a little boy," he started, a smile on his face, "Every Christmas I asked my parents for a pony. . "

Some in the room had heard the story before and started to smile.

"Christmas morning, I'd look under the tree, but no pony. I'd look in the kitchen, maybe he'd be in there. . After all, ponies got hungry. No pony. I'd look in the garage-everybody knows ponies need room. . but no pony. I looked and looked. I wanted to ride him to school. . feed him, pet him. But what I got was roller skates. So I'd put on the roller skates and you know what would happen. .?"

"Would you get a blister, A. J.?" Vidal asked, grinning.

"Bet your ass, Vidal, I'd get a flicking blister. And you know why I got the blister? Because I was so upset I didn't find my pony, I would skate and skate to get rid of my disappointment. Now what does this tale of my youth have to do with this campaign?" He grinned at them, stroking his bushy beard. "I'm still looking for ponies. A pony is anything good. A blister is anything bad. We need to avoid getting blisters.

"I did a survey ten years ago. I asked focus groups all over the country a bunch of questions, and then, last year, I asked the same questions to other groups made up of the same social and demographic cross sections. Ten years ago, when I asked people if national politicians cared about them, ninety percent said yes. Even if they didn't always agree with the result, they felt elected officials had their best interests at heart. Just ten years later, astonishingly, eighty-five percent said no-a complete reversal. Eighty-five percent of this country doesn't believe in the system anymore. They don't think politicians give a shit. The y d on't perceive any difference between the twoparties.

They're fed up and, hear me on this. . angry. . They're angry as hell, yet in the face of this groundswell of anger, isn't sn't one voice out there saying, 'I can fix that. I can make the system work.' The press doesn't write about this frustration. It's not a story because everybody accepts it." He looked around the table. "This massive opinion shift has gone virtually unnoticed, unreported, and unresolved. We are in the midst of the second great American revolution and nobody's talking about it. Well, people, this is about to change. We have the strongest, most potent message imaginable. We're going to tap into that anger, tap into that frustration. We're going to be the candidacy of change. Haze has never run for national office, but every single one of these other candidates has been sucking on the national tit for years. They're a part of the system that the American public is furious with. We're gonna lump all these guys together and we're going to make them wear the clothes of that discontent. So. . what's the message? It's simple, and it's gonna be as clear and beautiful as an Iowa sunrise."

He looked around the room, taking a minute for the dramatic impact.

"Haze Richards is going to make America work again for you."

They were scribbling it down on pads.