New Project Backwards Story # 3

FDR a rich snob?

By Mike Stevens

 

     “Steve, write me a speech in which I praise high wage people for getting ahead, and goad struggling people to get off their asses and find a job.”

 

     Steve tried to shake out the cobwebs from his groggy mind, and focused in on the speaker; he saw an instantly recognizable face, with the trademark cigarette in a holder pointed jauntily skyward; and his wheelchair glinted in the overhead lights; Franklin Roosevelt.  But what was this crap out of the mouth of this hero of the common man? 

 

     “Don’t just sit there blinking like a moron; start writing the speech.  I’m running for president, damn it, and I’ll need a pro-business platform if I want to have any chance in ’32.”

 

     “Ah, sir, don’t you mean a strong message for the common man?”

 

     “What are you smoking?  Of course I don’t mean a message for the common man, good lord, man, what good can somebody with no job do for me?”

 

     “You could make them feel like they have a voice, sir.”

 

     “And what that voice would be saying is, “Give me something free!”

 

     Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing; this man, whom he had long admired for looking out for the little guy, was saying the exact opposite.  “Sir, millions of Americans have been thrown out of work by the depression; they’re looking for a president who understands their plight.  You could be that man.”

 

     “Steve, if I thought it would get me elected president, I’d run down the highway naked--well, you know what I mean; but if you think a few lowlife’s can help me get elected, I’ve got a new deal for you; it’s called ‘Fantasy of the Moronic!’.  Hey, ‘New Deal’ sounds pretty good.  Make sure you work that phrase into a speech sometime, will you Steve?”

 

     Steve thought, Okay, so I’m a speechwriter for FDR, but instead of ‘The New Deal’,  he’s acting more like the What’s the Big F*****g Deal? candidate.  Yes sir, I will do that.”

 

 

     The campaign train rolled into Atlanta, Georgia.  Before the train had even stopped moving, hungry-looking people had lined up several deep to see FDR.  Steve could see the desperation etched upon every face.  These people were looking for a life preserver in the storm-tossed sea of uncertainty and doubt.  Before heading out to talk to the hopeful faces surrounding the caboose, FDR told Steve,

 

     “Since you’re brand new here, I’ll give my standard stump speech written by your predecessor, but I hope you’re a fast learner, and come to quickly understand the message I am trying to project.”

 

       He struggled to his feet, plastered a politician’s grin on his face, and, struggled to the car’s railing.  Amid wild cheering and pennants proclaiming, “FDR in ‘32”, he addressed the suddenly-silent crowd. 

 

     “My friends, so good to see you out here to hear what I, a humble share cropper from just up the way, have to say about the terrible trouble America finds herself in.”

 

     Steve thought, share cropper from just up the way?  B.S.

 

     “My friends, I believe the only thing we have to fear, is poor people expecting a handout from the government.  I mean, take yourselves for instance.  Here you are on a perfectly good Wednesday, looking for someone to give you free stuff, instead of going out and looking for work.  Look at me; I was born a poor share cropper, but did that make me give up and say, “Oh well, them’s the cards I was dealt?”  No sir, I used my brain to figure out a way to become rich, so I wouldn’t become a sponge, soaking up free money from the governm...”   

 

     If anyone heard the rest, they had better ears than Steve, for the air was suddenly filled with jeering and flying projectiles and FDR lunged himself back inside, and, with a panicked look yelled, “Get this train moving!”

 

     After the train had moved 500 feet or so down the line, Steve watched as angry voters swarmed onto the tracks behind the fast-disappearing train.

 

     “Man, are they upset or what?” said FDR. 

 

     “Sir, I can see why they’re upset.  You all but called them freeloaders.  And, a share cropper from just up the way?  I suppose if you consider New York State as being ‘just up the way’, and your picking your own tomatoes for your chef salad, that is course # 1 of about 5 or 6 courses for dinner as ‘share cropping’, then I can see it.”

 

     “Well, what would you suggest, smart-a*s?”

 

     “I would suggest extending an olive branch, instead of a hammer.  Be honest with them.  Those people, every last one a potential vote, are scared about the future, and are looking to vote for a man who they feel understands them.  A man who gives them a reason to get up in the morning.  What they want is hope, not fear.”

 

     “Oh, here, let me help you down off your soapbox.  Nice monolog, there Steve, but I suppose I should give your way a try.  I’ve got to start getting traction with some type of message; I haven’t made a dent in the polls, and I’m running out of time.”

 

     “I think you’ll start seeing a rise in your popularity if you connect with John Q. Public, instead of blaming them.”

 

     “Well, by God, I hope you’re right; now, I’ll leave you alone so you can get to work on a speech that will at least start to repair my image with the common man.”

 

     “Yes sir, I’ll get busy as soon as that stateroom door closes behind you.”

 

 

     Steve looked over the speech he had written, and would leave on the desk, and thought, who would have thought FDR could be this way?   “So in conclusion, my friends, the only this we have to fear, is fear itself!”  The speech continued for a bit, but Steve said, “Get me out of here!” and after a few seconds, his world faded out.

 

The End