Taft 2012 - Jason Heller [72]
Applause burst out again, but Taft waved it down. “You have called me here, and I have answered. But today an even greater call has come, and I stand here now to deliver my answer.”
For an instant he held his breath. And then, stroking his mustache, he thought, to hell with it, and took a bold step across the Rubicon. “Three hours ago, Rachel and I discovered that the largest donations to the Taft Party USA came from so-called citizens groups that are, in fact, no such thing but mere fronts for the largest food-production conglomerate in the Western hemisphere, Fulsom Foods International.”
A buzz of murmuring and confused head-swiveling burst through the assemblage. Taft allowed it to propagate for a few moments before continuing. “As you know, during this campaign I have made no secret of my distaste for the supposedly edible products that Fulsom stamps out in its factories and foists upon the American marketplace under the guise of nutrition. Naturally, I was alarmed and dismayed—to say the very least!—to learn that I had been the benefactor of that very company’s largess.
“At first, I pridefully believed that Fulsom had surreptitiously funded the Taft effort because he—Augustus Fulsom, the man at the top—wanted me to be president. My own self-love may not be as hugely robust as is my waistline, but a political campaign will make any man believe great things of himself. And thus I thought that Fulsom wanted to take advantage of my new popularity by placing a man in the White House who would be indebted to him. It occurred to me that a new Taft presidency particularly would serve Fulsom well in that regard, even should I continue to rail against his firm’s abominations, because, let us be honest: when it comes to food, I am known as a man who allows my appetite to overrule my self-discipline. And in this television-fueled, Internet-soaked era of 2012, no matter what healthy policies I might pursue, the very picture of my—well, my rotundity—seated behind the desk in the Oval Office would send a message to all that America is a nation of constant eating.
“That, as I say, was my first thought. I believe it was the thought Fulsom wished me to have. But then I had another, and immediately cursed myself for a fool.
“Moneyed interests such as Fulsom do not back third parties because they expect us to win. They do not expect us to win. Indeed, they and their fellows spend countless sums each year to ensure that the familiar sway of partisan politics will continue as always. And so I asked myself: why in heaven’s name should Fulsom fund the Taft Party, if not to put me back into the White House?
“The answer, my dear friends, presented itself along with the question. For you all have called yourselves the Taft Party. Not the William Howard Taft Party, just the Taft Party. And there is a second Taft here to consider, is there not? My running mate, my granddaughter, the very fine representative from the state of Ohio, Rachel Taft.” He gestured to the side of the stage, letting the crowd look to where Rachel stood, hands clasped behind her back like a soldier at ease, the very picture of resolved dignity. “She is not the celebrity I have become since my strange rebirth. No, she is simply and utterly an honest, dedicated, patriotic, unimpeachable legislator who has devoted her life to doing good work for her country, for the future in which her daughter shall someday grow up.
“And her chosen cause is not one that Fulsom finds acceptable.
“Rachel Taft—as you will know if you have been following our campaign this season—is the sponsor of the new International Foods Act currently winding its way through House committees and subcommittees. This bill, a thorough updating of the regulations that today guide the nation’s food industry, would hold corporations