A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [156]
…good trip, fine…
“You know,” Darnell said, “every campaign plays hide-and-seek on the debate, maneuvering for an edge. In the end there is always a debate. I hope we can hash it out.”
“We know you are ready to shotgun the country with ads saying Quinn was the one refusing to debate,” Greer said.
“Our attitude here, now, is that you really don’t want the debate,” Mal said.
“I refer to one debate,” Darnell said, “because two simply can’t be fit in. Here is our proposal for site and rules.”
“And here is ours,” Greer said.
Darnell’s paper ruled out university campuses. Universities were too volatile and apt to be too liberal. The cities suggested were San Diego, Portland, San Antonio, St. Paul, Baltimore, and Montgomery.
The debate would last ninety minutes, and there would be alternative moderators.
Three minutes on each new subject. Three-minute rebuttal. The last fifteen minutes, questions from the audience.
Rae came in from the adjoining office and laid a half dozen notes before Greer. She scribbled on two of them and set two aside. “This should excite you, Darnell. We have just qualified for federal matching funds for the balance of the campaign.”
“The proposal?”
“Bullshit,” Mal said characteristically. “Montgomery, St. Paul, Portland. Why don’t we hold it in the middle of the Amazon? Besides, your October 11 date could well be during a World Series game. Otherwise, there is absolutely nothing we agree with in the balance of this proposal.”
Darnell held his hand up to be able to read the counterproposal. Rae came in with a half dozen more notes, two for Mal.
Darnell set their proposal down. “Are you serious?” he asked.
“Well, your proposal was pretty sanitized.”
“And yours, revolutionary.”
“All we are trying to do,” Mal said, “is bring the art of debate up to where it was a hundred and fifty years ago.”
“Those kind of debates are won by artful dodgers,” Darnell said.
“I’d say both of the candidates qualify,” Greer said.
Darnell glared down at the paper on the desk. They would vie for a single three-hour debate with a twenty-minute break in the middle. Only one venue was proposed, the Celeste Bartos Forum Hall in the New York Public Library.
It would be an open debate. Either candidate could bring up any issue and argue it. Either candidate could rebut. The deadline would be five minutes. If a candidate ran under five minutes, he would be given credit for the time; if he ran over it, it would be deducted from his total speaking time.
One moderator.
“This is a prelude to a shouting match,” Darnell said strongly. “It’s a street brawl.”
“No,” Mal said, “we’re talking about getting truth to the people.”
“Truth is what we all seek,” Darnell thought, but declined to say it. They weren’t budging. Perhaps, he thought, they believed they had an edge. But wait! They have more to gain than we have. We’re out to neutralize this debate by cluttering.
Rae returned with an urgent message. Greer studied it, contemplated, then arose. “I have to take care of something,” she said. “It will take a few minutes, maybe more. You guys keep going and I’ll catch up.”
Mal faced Darnell, Darnell faced Mal. Darnell wondered if they were setting him up.
Knowing the Republicans were about to inundate the airways with nasty advertisements, Mal had formed a “Truth Squad” which had obtained copies of about half of the ads. Quinn would be ready to react instantly. Yet President Tomtree was still the power and owned the machinery to maul and grind under his opponent by sheer weight of numbers of dollars and had little appetite to be bound to the truth.
“I don’t think you get it,” Mal said.
“I think you’ve made preposterous demands. I won’t even show these to the President.”
“You intend to go through the motions of a debate reduced to no consequence and unleash your media barrage and turn the rest of the campaign into a fuck fest. Just skip the gutter and go straight down to the sewer. Okay, let’s play some sewer games.