BLACK PRESIDENT, Chapter 71. Some secret "family life" chitchat, Presidential-style, that was recorded in the White House. Sarah fights her cancer, wondering if she deserved it for her JFK affair.

https://www.jfkpresidentsdesk.org/secret-recording-room/

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

As Sarah’s cancer grew, it became more and more difficult for her to deal with everyday chores. Her life had become a vicious cycle of chemotherapy, recovery, and taking pills the size of Buicks. The biopsy of her endometrial cancer had revealed damage not only to the walls of the uterus, but also the lymph nodes. Was cancer her punishment for the Kennedy affair, she wondered? Yes, she knew her sons were God’s gift to her and the world. But perhaps there was additional price tag for being a less-than-virtuous wife. Did all women respond in this manner, if there was a questionable transgression in their past? Probably. It was hard being a 1960s woman, much less a new millennium one. But in the end, she figured that there were no acceptable excuses, when a person violated their own good sense.

Money wasn’t a problem any more, a development she never imagined. With both her sons becoming successful politicians and making great amounts of money, anything Rudy or she needed was readily available. The twins had even posed the question; “Do you have any dream that we can help you fulfill now?” Did Sarah ever wish she’d lived in Hawaii? Or did she want to visit Italy, or France? Germany? But nothing they mentioned was as important to her as being close to them and her grandkids. That was where her happiness lay.

Still, old memories invaded her consciousness. She relived decisions made years back. Had she been right in not telling her sons about the JFK connection? And she knew she had mistreated Leon. He had tried to be supportive, without a clue of the demons she was battling.

After various old ghosts were exorcised, new ones cropped up. She was continually angered by attacks from Republican factions, on every decision the Little Administration made. The parties disagreed on approaches to national security, homeland security, laws on abortion, rights to bankruptcy, everything. They still operated with a dog-eat-dog mentality, refusing to help the common man survive the rigors of a Capitalistic society.

Since the news broke of her Kennedy connection, she had felt like a woman scorned. It had shocked her that some of the tabloids had actually blamed her for the indiscretion, as if she’d been the seducer. Of course the papers were owned by the sworn enemies of the Democrats, factions happy to undercut her son’s administration at every turn. With his fighter mentality, Rudy had tried, quixotically, to battle the sources of media annoyance. Any story that wasn’t fully complimentary to his wife had been like a red flag to a bull. He wrote e-mails, complained to his stepsons, did everything but stand in from of buildings with a picket sign. But it was Sarah’s cancer that really embittered him, as he watched his loved one deteriorate and descend into a daze of final illness. It was breaking his heart.

***

Right after the second attempt on President Little’s life, extraordinary measures had been enacted around the perimeter of the White House to insure that no more missiles could ever penetrate the airspace. Twelve laser systems, all independent of each other, were installed at the corners of each building and along the edges of the property, so that detection of stealth-sized planes to bullet-sized projectiles could be identified and neutralized. Since the laser beams were angled out from the perpendicular edges of the White House grounds, even projectiles at supersonic speed could be spotted in time, locked on and destroyed. This modern technology had been in the R&D stages since 9/11, and could finally be fully implemented to protect the President. Just in time, as some high-ranking officials had stated on a morning talk show. Sarah Little wasn’t amused at the so-called fateful timing of the defense system installation.

“Honey, if they had it, why didn’t they use it earlier?” said the President’s mother, when she spoke to her son after the attack. She had mistrust of the White Man’s political system from the very start of Jackson’s first term. Old enough to remember the civil rights marches and beatings at the hands of Southern bigots, she figured that there were certainly a few of them left alive in D.C. Jackson’s firebrand mother spoke her mind on what was supposedly a secure line in the White House basement, but somehow, years later, a digital recording of their phone call would surface.

“Come on, Mom,” said the President, a bit giddy after experiencing all the fuss over his safety, doctor’s examinations, special meals served just hours after the second attempt on his life, not to mention the destruction of half of the Oval office. “These people care about their President, no matter what color his skin is. And I’m sure they would have installed the laser system earlier if it had been deemed suitable for deployment.”

Future archivists listening to the recording would hear Sarah's distinct “harumph” on the line every so often, as the President’s mother expressed her doubts.

“So, when am I going to see you, son?”
“How about dinner tomorrow?”
“Can we include just family?” Sarah had yearned to see her sons together, and hoped such a meeting was possible. Of course Rudy was always on the list.

“Sounds fine, Mom. Are you indicating we’re leaving the wives out of this one?”

“Oh no. They’re fine to come too. Let’s just keep the kids at home this time. OK? They do have full-time nannies.” Sarah wanted to spare herself the “children’s developmental” chitchat for once. She didn’t really need to hear about the status of each baby tooth and bowel movement. And they always interrupted conversations, as kids were prone to do. It was time for an adult get- together.

“If that is your highness’ wish!” Jackson heard a happy exclamation from his mother at the use of the regal term. He knew she loved the sweet talk, as most mothers did. “As long as the White House cooks can handle both the carnivores and leaf-eaters I think we’ll be OK. I know Fran is partial to barbecued ribs, while Cissy favors her vegetable lasagna.”

“Great,” said Sarah. “Can I call John and give him and Fran the invitation?”

“Sure,” said the President. “Just tell him that it’s a matter of national insecurity!” With that insider’s joke the call ended.

***

Years later, the ‘national insecurity’ mention would be picked apart from every possible angle, because of what may, or may not have been discussed and determined at that particular dinner. The recordings would keep historians running in circles for decades, well into the latter half of the first century of the new millennium.

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