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growled at the sight of it. He sighed. “Ah, yes, and then there’s that, eh, my fellow Tafts? You two don’t have to worry about it. The stuff you’re each made of isn’t elastic like this.” He patted his belly, almost wistfully missing its insulating heft. “It seems the world today is full of this, this Fulsom-type garbage. We had candy and fatty foods in our day. And for a man of my admittedly secure if unostentatious means, I had access to as much of it as I could cram down my gullet. And cram I did. Oh, how they used to hound me about it! Everyone, from my family to the press to the common Cincinnatian. People, I daresay, are larger on average now than then. And yet, far more people diet and pay attention to nutrition today than in my time. I don’t understand it. It’s as if all these food products are designed specifically to addict folks to them. Why, as soon as I vowed to stop eating anything with the word Fulsom on it, among other things, it’s as if my weight dropped magically. But what of the rest of the nation? Rachel is right. As loath as I am to grind government against commerce, some things just have to be regulated for the common good. It’s not a trust, as we had to contend with back in our day, but it nonetheless needs busting. Or at least curbing.

“But enough about me! What do you think, fellows?” He wiggled the little Taft and then knocked a knuckle on the larger, which rang hollowly. “Speak up! Don’t just go along with what I say. Let’s argue the case like a good panel of judges, shall we? After all, haven’t we aspired to the Supreme Court all our lives? Here we stand, before a school of law, inside of which is taught the history and rulings of that most august judicial body. How did we get so sidetracked, old boys? Weren’t we on the fast track to appointment? Weren’t we promised on more than one occasion that we’d get to that bench someday, if only we’d do just this one little task and that other little duty? The ultimate irony was the day I, as president, had to appoint my first Supreme Court judge. Me! Choosing the nominee and then handing over that honor to someone else. Not that Horace Lurton didn’t wholly deserve it back in 1910. But then there was Hughes. And Van Devanter. And Lamar. And Pitney. Five! All said, I had to put five other men on that court. I would’ve given everything I owned, everything I’d ever accomplished, for the privilege of taking any one of their places. And yet, here is where I wind up. Running once more, for the third time, for an office I never aspired to in the first place. If ever there was proof that the Creator sneaks around behind our backs, hanging over our shoulders, pulling the strings of our fate for his own amusement.…”

Just then, Taft heard the soft fall of footsteps behind him. Then the clearing of a throat. He turned around to find what looked like a professor leaning toward him, as hesitantly as if approaching the last known specimen of a species thought to be extinct. “Sorry to interrupt you, sir, but … someone’s been trying to call you on your cell phone.” The woman took out a piece of paper from her pocket and read it. “Your, uh, granddaughter, Rachel. She contacted our office and asked that you call her immediately.” Then she closed the paper and looked at him as directly as she was able. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Mr. Taft, but it seems a friend of yours has passed away. Irene Kaye? I’m so sorry.”

With the action figure dangling between his fingers, Taft just stood there, as cold and immobile as the useless metal simulacrum above him.

The Cincinnati Journal

Obituaries

June 1, 2012

Irene Margaret Kaye Lived Through 19 Presidents, But Her Allegiance Belonged To One

Irene Margaret Kaye was a quiet woman with a kind smile. Her fellow residents at Patterson Senior Village will attest to that. She was by far the oldest resident of Patterson, and also one of the oldest residents of Ohio.

Mrs. Kaye died Monday, June 4, at Patterson Senior Village from complications arising from heart disease. She was 106.

Born Irene Margaret O’Malley