BLACK PRESIDENT, Chapter 67. An assassination attempt wakes up the Little family to the risks. And oil prices mess with all costs of living.

https://www.annualreviews.org/content/journals/10.1146/annurev-resource-083013-114701

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

At 6AM the alarm rang on the President’s side of the bed. He caught it quickly so as not to wake his wife, who was happily curled toward her pillow. After a visit to the bathroom he climbed in the shower, washed off, dried, dressed and headed over to the second floor dining area of the White House. As was his custom, he ordered house coffee, 2 eggs scrambled soft, crispy bacon, and toast. The meal was as delicious as he’d come to expect from Chef Jim Dovovan of the White House staff. The hash browns had the exact right snap of freshness, while the eggs – fresh from a nearby organic farm – had yolks so orange that the scrambles seemed to resemble something from the citrus family. The toast – homemade bread baked early each morning – was so dense that slicing it to a mere 1/4" thick was easily achieved, without it crumbling to pieces. This high-protein/high-cholesterol breakfast, which he occasionally defended when the First Lady questioned the health benefits, gave Little the positive state of mind he said he needed, to deal with complex affairs of state. On this particular day, he’d need every ounce of that buoyancy, just to survive.

Following the usual schedule, Jackson descended to the first floor, traversed the three rooms and four hallways necessary to arrive at the Oval Office. The clock on his desk showed 9:12 while his wristwatch hands pointed to 9:14. While he liked to run his personal time a couple minutes ahead, the precise time was smack in the middle; 9:13 AM Eastern Standard Time. It would be the interplay of these three differing numbers that would ultimately help the President of the United States view another sunrise.

At 9:00 AM, four highly trained snipers had gathered with their Barrett 50s, stretched out on mats two miles from the White House. Two of the rifles were loaded with ten explosive rounds, while the remaining rifles each contained ten armor-piercing loads. The theory was that the inch-thick glass of the Oval Office windows would be shattered by explosions, while the armored bullets would take out the subject. If President Little sat in his usual position at the Resolute Desk, back to the window, then he would be eviscerated by the rain of lead speeding his way, not living an instant past 9:12 AM. Like a sky full of arrows as seen in movies like “Hero” and “Alexander,” the barrage would be almost impossible to survive.

After sitting on the Oval Office couch to receive his daily briefing from the National Security Administration, President Little bid the chief goodbye and saw him to the door. At that moment, 9:12 AM, he was set to return to his desk to sign some laws and letters, but something from breakfast hadn't agreed with him. Instead, he continued past the door, heading for the bathroom across the hall. Just after he entered the small room, closed and locked the door and ran some water over his hands, it seemed like the wall exploded next to the toilet, knocking him past the sink while throwing debris against his left shoulder and legs. For what seemed like an eternity, the explosions and flying objects continued. Jackson Little kept to the ground, cradling his head with his arms to shield himself from the onslaught. Ten long seconds dragged by as the horror continued. Finally, at 9:13 AM, with all the bullets spent, silence returned.

It took another half-minute for the dust to settle before Jackson could dig himself out from the rubble. Thoughts of the safety of others – his staff workers, security guards, family members that included his brother – jumped to mind. Hoping that the attack had actually ended, the President dusted himself off and pushed his way past the splintered door to the hallway. The wall connected to the Oval Office looked like a half-finished construction project after a hurricane. There were holes everywhere, along with wires and nails poking out from various inner-wall supports. He could see right through it into the Oval Office – upturned furniture, dust-covered carpet, shredded window panes beyond. Anyone in the office would have surely been killed by the attack.

While President Little had been spared, two White House workers, secretaries Dorothy Newman and Ester Daniels had been killed as they transcribed documents in the adjacent office. Three security guards had also been seriously injured as the inner walls of the White House crumbled. When security forces converged and found President Little alive they gave him a quick medical once-over, then rushed him to a secure underground portion of the building. All across Washington, DC, national and international media outlets congregated at the White House sidewalk, training their cameras on the upward-spiraling column of dense smoke.

At home, Sarah and Rudy were crying and clutching each other as the media began speculating on the state of health of the President. Could this be the end of her son’s life? There was no immediate word from Jackson, as the coverage of the attack continued to fill every channel. They had already talked with John – he and his family were equally shaken by the incident. All phone lines to Cissy and the kids had been blocked, including cell phone communications. It would be fifteen minutes before Jackson’s call arrived, confirmed that all of the family was safe and currently protected.

Secret Service agents agreed that if the President hadn’t taken a bathroom break he would have been killed. Where was the protection? A good portion of the Oval Office had been blown away with the latest assault. Was it time to consider constructing a more aggressive defense, a resin-based, bullet-retarding high-tech shield of some kind, strong enough to repel any missile or load directed at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?

As American media outlets ran the assassination attempt as their number one story, a secondary news-break announced oil at $400 per barrel. While those in Europe were used to their $9 per gallon for gas, had lived with such high prices for years, the projected $11 per gallon price at U.S. pumps brought instant turmoil. Soon the fuel shortages resulted in loss or delay of durable goods.

Suddenly trucking firms couldn’t make their shipments to the marketplace without out-of-pocket losses. And Safeway outlets located in out-of-the-way spots like the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State quickly fell to unreliable deliveries, shelves suddenly empty of fruits and vegetables traditionally imported from the South. Dry goods – cereal and flour - processed meat and beverages became scarce. Within days, the large metropolitan areas experienced similar disruptions. Shoppers who used the experience of buying groceries to reinforce the “plenty” feeling of their daily lives were now confronted by a deepening depression.

Few, except “end of the world is here” proselytizers, could have predicted how widely the hike of oil prices would affect various aspects of modern life. Need toothpaste? Dental flos, Saran Wrap or tinfoil for food storage? Car parts? Engine oil, windshield washing fluid? Spark plugs? Glue? What wasn’t affected? Once again, people looked toward President Little for answers. As Jackson conferred with his brother, the only solutions seemed like quite radical ones.

“Can we force Americans to walk instead of drive – that’s the question,” asked John, in reference to Jackson’s plan to turn the emergency on its ear. Jackson wondered if the oil shortage could foster a slower lifestyle, and bring back more humanistic values to daily life. Under the topic of “stop to smell the roses,” he continued.

“Do you remember the images of food lines in the 1930s, people waiting around the block to purchase a loaf of bread? My advisors say that I should expect to see that on my TV before month’s end. That's why we must offer some definite solutions in my State of the Union speech. In a culture where people have become more and more isolated, can Americans interact in the most basic ways? For years now we’ve been accelerating our schedules, racing around as if there’s no tomorrow. Well, in the old way of thinking, there isn’t. We need another approach to current time management. Can we slow ourselves down, and tolerate the kind of 19th or 20th century pace it will require?

“People will need patience to survive. And, I must say, I’m quite concerned about the number of guns and other armaments that exist out there. Will people use such weapons against their neighbors? The biggest question in all this is – and I know it's a trite saying, but – can we get along? ”

Looking up from his tablet, Jackson waited for a response from his brother. Given that John represented an artistic temperament and was someone who could solve problems creatively, the President braced himself for some pretty radical solutions.

“Yes, ” agreed John, “there will be shortages. And yes, it will take extra time to get groceries and other essential items. Mail, medicine, shipping – it will all take longer. But once a priority rating is set in place – those with medical conditions will be a Priority-One, for instance – everyone should at least know what to expect. Within that parameter, things will calm down.”

"Don’t quite understand what you're suggesting, John. Can you describe exactly what you think the US government should do to implement some control factors?”

While used to his brother's abstract speaking style, ideas flying in various directions, Jackson needed a more detailed plan, something that could be communicated clearly to Americans of varying degrees of education. The plan had to be simple to understand, and effective from day-one.

“I guess my model is one from the Amish playbook,” said John, aware that he had gained his brother’s attention. “Remember the movie “Witness?”

“Yeah, I do. Harrison Ford...”

“Right. When the Amish community built that barn in a day without nails?”

“OK, so...?”

“Well, let’s dissect that whole operation. First, one day to build something that would normally take a month. Second, not using metal to nail things together. Wooden pegs are good enough. Thirdly, everyone helped out, the whole community gave their day to an individual, believing that later, when they needed assistance, their day would come. Fourth, women and children who weren’t suited to the particular labor of construction could help in other ways; fixing meals, supplying drinking water, and so on. It all represented a very successful group effort. And you might have noticed the joy in the undertaking. No morose faces around the lunch table. Of course, this was a Hollywood movie.”

Jackson gave a laugh in response, but then quickly settled down to test the example.

“So, you’re saying that anything is possible...with cooperation. And that miracles can happen, when people with like-minded goals get together?”

“Something like that.”

John was happy with his sketch of Amish life, giving himself a temporary respite from all the modern “city” problems on that particular day.

“Just came to mind. Not sure how realistic it is, but it felt good presenting it,” said John with a laugh, adding, “It just needs your magnificent, analytical brainpower to become something workable, I’m afraid.”

Jackson found himself staring at one of the historical paintings on the White House Blue Room’s wall. In the frame he saw several distinguished old men in white wigs, leaning over a man at a desk who was signing the Declaration of Independence. Getting men to agree on a radical concept and giving honor to themselves at the moment of inception was what they needed to do in the new millennium.

“Well, bro, I've suddenly got some pretty wild ideas on how to curb energy and straighten out this mess,” said Jackson, with a new authority in his voice. “And you've given me inspiration! I realize we've got to redesign our lifestyles from the ground up. See what you think. I’ll number my thoughts off the top.” As Jackson began extemporizing his list, he jotted down what he heard himself say:

“One: No more single-person commuting. Three-per-car minimum when commuting, with all lanes functioning as the diamond lanes of old. No more wasting fuel to be a solo commuter.

Two: No more fees for construction of new housing. Time to remove government interference. Local governments must raise revenue from other sources. And no more fees or requirements for construction of a flower box outside a window. No more taking a big bite out of its citizens who simply want to improve their present conditions.

Three: Victory gardens. The country needs to get back to planting crops again. Let’s encourage folks to grow vegetables in their back yard. Or front yards, for that matter. Locally produced food is the only solution to beating the costs of out-of-state transportation. And local barter systems must be encouraged. If someone can supply eggs, trade them for pears and apples from nearby orchards – fresh fish for meat, poultry – then each family will get the nutrients they need. We need to access craigslist dot org or some other website, to get these systems of trade and barter better organized. Maybe the government could...”

“Jackson. Before this list gets too long...”

John interrupted his twin, realizing that with each numbered change in American lifestyle there was going to be some major difficulty. Mainly, how did his brother, an American President, get away with issuing orders, when “rugged individualism” had been a catchphrase to live by since the beginning of the Republic. John asked his twin to prepare for a debate.

“Think you'd like some critical feedback, dear Brother?”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world. Give me your best shot!” Jackson gave a laugh as he sat back in his chair.

. “Three people to a car, everywhere they go, whether work or play? Really? Some serious questions pop to mind regarding the cars that sit idle. Such as, do the people who buddy-up for rides still pay individual car insurance? Or if they opt for a lesser level of insurance, how are insurance companies’ revenue affected? Most likely they’ll lose money, maybe even go bust.”

“Hmmm, ” said Jackson, half-enjoying the brain-twister.

“I’m just playing devil’s advocate here,” admitted John, breaking into a grin, “but everything is so inter-connected that I think we have to examine all the ramifications. In other words, we have to look at things from all sides.”

Jackson gave a quick nod, to encourage his creative ‘arty’ brother onward. He loved to see John’s mind at work. He never knew what wacky stuff he’d come up with!

“And I’m including social as well as economic results here. To begin with, people can usually avoid each other at the workplace, so real problems can arise when people are thrown together in a commuter car."

“OK, OK,” said the President, Good start. I get it.”

John continued. “Starting with carpooling. Say I – the government – makes the proclamation that no car may commute with less than three riders. How do we handle violations? What size fine will we impose? And how will we spot the offenders? How many extra highway patrolmen or speed traps will we need to enforce this new law?

“We already have video cameras set up at the toll plazas, correct? We could certainly spot a car with less than three riders and issue that vehicle a ticket, sent to the registered address for that license plate. I guess the point is not slowing down commuter traffic and trying to avoid issuing tickets, if possible.”

“And remember the Swine flu epidemic of 2009? People still showed up at work, coughing and burning up with fever. No one wanted to miss even one day of wages. Can the government guarantee that sick-days will be reimbursed?”

Jackson watched almost with glee as his ADD brother jumped track, shifted to a completely different line of thought..

“...that way we'd insure that for the next outbreak folks will stay home, a hot toddy in hand, feet propped up, book in hand or TV blaring. So commuter cars wouldn't infect the entire bunch!”

After writing down some notes, the President checked his watch, then winked at his twin. “Got some meetings in fifteen, but can we do this again? Together we might just be able to sort out this mess! Thanks again, bro.”

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