Dropping Stones / Kingmaker SET Read online

  Dropping Stones

  by Paul K. Cwalina

  Text copyright 2014 Paul K. Cwalina

  All rights reserved

  To my wife, Ann, for her love and support during the year-long process of writing this book.

  To my children --- I hope I’ve made you proud.

  To my parents for encouraging me to write since I was a kid. I hope I’ve made you proud.

  Also, special thank you to Kathy Dolman for her encouragement and guidance.

  Chapter One

  The first returns to arrive at our election night headquarters were from the 15th ward - not where I wanted the evening to start, but sometimes the worst news is best received early. The 15th was my opponent, Aldo Giordano’s home ward and my showing there would most likely be the worst of all thirty wards that night.

  The room quieted down a bit as the runner approached us at the west side of the room. I could see the crowd part to allow him through. Greg met him about three quarters of the way and grabbed the sheet of paper from the runner and gave it a quick glance. Then he looked at it again, this time a little more studiously. They walked together toward me. “Are you sure these are correct?” he asked the runner.

  As a campaign manager, Greg was always cautious and never overly-optimistic. I liked that. I didn’t want people pushing sunshine at me all the time. You can’t make good decisions or sustainable plans if you don’t have the truth. He was also anal-retentive and a borderline metrosexual, never having a hair out of place or a non-designer stitch of clothing on his back. He would be the perfect chief of staff if I could pull off this election.

  The runner assured Greg of the accuracy of the numbers.

  “Hang on. I have to make a call to verify these numbers,” Greg said to me. “I’m not sure about these.”

  While he talked on the phone, the runner and I chatted. He looked like he was eighteen or so, probably the son of another campaign volunteer. I thanked him for his help and he wished me luck with the returns.

  “OK, they’re good,” he said, returning his phone to his jacket pocket. He then grabbed my arm, smiled and showed me the sheet. I had come within 116 votes of beating Giordano in his home ward. I should have lost that ward by 500 votes or more, even in our optimistic scenarios.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked him, questioning the veracity of the numbers just as Greg did. He assured me they were good. We looked at each other and knew we were in the midst of a very special election night.

  “This is unbelievable. I can’t wait for the other wards to start coming in,” he said.

  I returned to mingling with supporters, each wishing me the best or subtly hinting that I should remember their support when I take office.

  Runners from the 23rd and 24th wards arrived simultaneously. Their numbers confirmed those from the 15th. I was blowing away Giordano. This one wasn’t even going to be close. Greg was like a mad man dialing the volunteers at each ward, getting as many numbers as he could. We had numbers from most of the wards before the runners even showed up at the hotel.

  We kept a running total on a giant screen on the north wall of the ballroom. The crowd cheered with every update. By 8:40pm, with half of the wards yet to report, it was essentially over. There was no way Giordano could catch up. I grabbed Sarah, pulled her into me and planted a deep kiss. She threw her arms around my neck and responded. I broke the kiss, looked at her and said, “I did it! I can’t believe it! I did it!”

  “I am so proud of you!” she said, cupping my face in her hands. We kissed again and just embraced for the longest time.

  At 8:55pm, my phone rang and I smiled when I saw the number. I programmed it into my phone the previous week when our campaigns exchanged phone numbers for election night. I showed Greg my phone and he smiled and pumped his fist. It was Giordano, making the call no candidate wants to make.

  “Hello,” I said through a wide smile.

  Giordano was not the most gracious in defeat. “Yeah, it’s me,” he grumbled, “I think the voters made a big mistake, but the numbers are what they are.”

  Before I could thank him and wish him well in his retirement, he hung up. As the retiring police chief, he never forgave me for being the councilman that questioned his department about a significant amount of drugs that went missing from the evidence room. He told his family that my persistent call for an investigation was the only reason he was running for mayor. He put over $40,000 of his own money into his campaign just to see me defeated. I don’t think he even wanted to be mayor. From what I understand, his wife was furious. I could only imagine the conversation they were having on this election night.

  The phone call and the numbers made it official, though. In one of the most lopsided victories in the last one hundred years of city elections, I would become the youngest-ever mayor of the third largest city in the state. I walked onto the stage and approached the podium. I leaned into the microphone and said, “Good evening, everyone. I just wanted to let you know that I received a phone call from Mr. Giordano…” The ballroom erupted with cheers. When the room finally quieted down enough, I delivered a victory speech, thanking all the right people. After the speech, someone cued the band to start playing, confetti and balloons started falling from their nets and bags suspended from the ceiling. I descended the stairs of the stage to a crowd of people pushing to shake my hand and optimistically looking forward to a brighter future for their city.

  Around 9:30, Greg ran up to the table where Sarah and I were sitting with her parents. He handed me his phone and said, “You need to take this call right now.” I reached for the phone, but he pulled it away. He said, “Wait. Let’s go to the hospitality suite where it’s quiet.”

  He lifted the phone to speak, “Ma’am, we’re going to go to a quiet spot. Please hold on. Thank you.”

  As we walked, Greg put his hand over the phone’s mic. “Do you know who this is calling for you?!?”

  “Um…no, you haven’t told me yet.”

  “Yvonne freakin’ Callahan.”

  “That’s an odd middle name.”

  “Always a comedian,” Greg said, slightly annoyed.

  “It’s a gift.”

  “Yeah, well put away the stand-up routine. This is Yvonne Callahan. Get serious right now.”

  “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Maybe because she’s our party’s state freakin’ chairman.”

  “Yikes. Why is she calling?” I asked as we reached the suite.

  “Just talk to her,” he said slightly exasperated, and handed me the phone.

  “Hello, Ms. Callahan?”

  “Well, hello there, Mr. Mayor. Congratulations on a very impressive victory, tonight,” she said.

  “Thank you very much. It’s quite an honor to hear that from you.” I looked at Greg for assurance that I said the right thing.

  “You are certainly welcome and thank you for the kind words. How long have you been in the political game?” Her voice dripped elegance and strength, and gave you the immediate sense that she was an accomplished, no-nonsense type of woman.

  “Well, I was elected to the city council four years ago, but I’ve been active in the party since college.”

  “I see. And you enjoy politics and public service?”

  “I believe it’s my calling, ma’am. Yes,” I said, wondering why she was asking such questions.

  “Good answer,” she said. Wow, that felt good to hear. “OK, well I don’t want to keep you from your celebration. After you’ve settled into your new role for a couple months, I think we should have dinner together and talk.”

  I was taken aback and at a bit of a loss for words. “Um..ok… yeah… sure. That would be nice.” I l
ooked to Greg again, this time I’m sure I looked thoroughly confused.

  She chuckled a bit, suggesting that I must have missed something, but I had no idea what it could be. “Ok,” she said. “Let’s keep in touch.”

  “Thank you so much for thinking of me and calling. I really do appreciate it, Ms. Callahan.”

  “Enjoy your evening. Good night.”

  I ended the call and handed the phone back to Greg. “That was nice,” I said naively.

  “What did she say?” Greg asked anxiously.

  “Not much. She congratulated me and said she’d like to have dinner with me some time.”

  Greg was surprised. “Are you freakin’ serious?”

  “Yeah…weird, right?”

  Greg grabbed me by the arm. “Do you have any idea why she called? Do you pay attention to anything that goes on in this party?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Greg was a strange mix of excited and agitated as he lectured me. “Callahan can’t stand Senator Spencer --- hates him with a passion. She’d like nothing more than to see him taken down from within the party.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s up for re-election four years from now…right around the time your first term

  as mayor will expire.”

  “And?”

  “Are you freakin’ serious?”

  “What?”

  “She is going to ask you to run against Spencer in the primary - assuming the two of you hit it off, at least, and you keep your nose clean.”

  “Get outta here.”

  “I’m dead serious. When I gave her the numbers tonight...let’s just say she was very impressed,” he said. He paused briefly, then continued, “Why do you think the party chairman wants to meet you? You think that you’re just so fine that she’s going to drive half way across the state just to have dinner with you?”

  “I don’t know. How does she even know about me?”

  Greg smiled a sly smile and said, “No comment.”

  “You?”

  “Let’s just say, you have some friends. Some you haven’t met, yet.”

  “If you say so,” I said, somewhat proudly and yet a bit concerned at the same time that people I didn’t know were talking about me in other parts of the state.

  Greg wanted to spread the new good news, so he slapped my back, said ‘Good night’,

  and hustled out of the ballroom.

  I returned to the table to find Edmond sitting with Sarah and her folks. Edmond was my biggest supporter throughout the campaign --- financially and spiritually. Tall and fit, he still spoke with a Jamaican accent, even though he had been a citizen of the US for more than twenty years. He wore the same thing every day: khaki slacks, white shoes and one of those ridiculous tropical-island-floral-print-short-sleeve-button-down shirts. I guess it was a reminder of his birthplace on the Caribbean island; perhaps a badge of honor. Every time I saw him, though, I always thought, ‘there’s a family in Jamaica somewhere wondering what happened to their curtains.’ Tonight was no exception.

  Edmond made his money, and still does, through a string of resorts and hotels throughout the Caribbean. He loves his adopted country and city and probably wants to extend his mini empire to the US, someday. I’m not sure what he saw in me, but nobody worked harder on my campaign than Edmond. He must have personally planted over half of the yard signs throughout the city and when the campaign needed cash, he wrote checks without a second of hesitation.

  “Mister Mayor! Mister Mayor! My heart is overjoyed. I am so, so happy for you,” he said, shaking my hand and pulling me in for a hug. His slaps on my back nearly knocked the wind out of me. I broke the hug as quickly as I could, mostly to save my life.

  “Edmond, this would not be possible without you. I don’t know how I can ever fully re-

  pay you.”

  “You don’t worry about dat, Mister Mayor,” he said through a big smile. “You just go and be da best mayor. And I know you will. I see great, great tings in you. Dis is most true.

  You will do great tings. It is in my heart. I know it.”

  If there was anyone for whom I was committed to doing the best possible job as mayor, besides Sarah and the memory of my parents, it was Edmond. The best part of his support was that it was pure and without strings attached. He wanted no job or role in my administration. He expected no favors or payback. He just wanted his adopted city to be a better place to live.

  If there was any pressure to do well as mayor, it came from that unlikely source: Edmond. The thought of letting him down was unbearable.

  Sarah grabbed my arm and said, “Baby, can we go? It’s been a long day.”

  As for Sarah, you simply could not design a better political wife than Sarah. She was smart, witty, beautiful and had all the right social skills. She was well-spoken, well-read and she worked well with people. She lit up every room lucky enough to host her. People wanted to be around her. I have no doubt that a healthy percentage of the people who voted for me did so because of her.

  It had been nearly a year since we made our engagement official. We put off setting a date until this election was settled. I fully expected some serious date-setting conversations in the coming weeks.

  She had put up with a lot during the campaign. Between fundraisers and campaign speeches, stops at every single spaghetti dinner and church picnic in town, knocking on doors and late night strategy meetings with campaign staff, we spent very little time together, especially time alone. But she stood by me the entire time.

  “Oh, boy…honey, I’m going to be here a while, yet,” I said apologetically. “There are too many hands to shake and people to thank. I’m sorry.”

  Her father must have overheard and interrupted, “We’ll take you home, Sweetie. Let him enjoy his night. He has things to do.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind, Mr. Sepchak?”

  “Not at all, son. It’s on our way home, anyway.”

  I turned to Sarah, “Is that OK?”

  “I guess,” she said, managing a pathetic excuse for a smile.

  “OK, get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “I’m proud of you,” she said, the words completely devoid of enthusiasm.

  I kissed her lips, told her that I loved her and said ‘Good night’.

  Chapter Two

  The first year of my administration could not have gone better. The investigation into the police department resulted in three officers being terminated for taking the drugs out of the evidence room as I suspected and selling them on the side. One of them even sold them right from his police cruiser. Remembering his obnoxious election night concession call, we tried like hell to tie Giordano to the illegal operation, just to teach him a lesson in manners, but the DA couldn’t make it stick. The grand jury rejected charges against him. I took consolation in the fact that Giordano had to put out more money for lawyers.

  We found money to expand two of the city’s biggest playgrounds and retro-fit them for special needs kids. We helped finance the long-overdue demolition of almost an entire city block to make room for some new residential real estate. We brought two manufacturing concerns into the city, each were able to use factories that had been abandoned for over a decade. Developers were calling from all over the country. The union contracts were two years away from having to be negotiated and morale throughout city government was running high.

  With a solid first year under my belt, I felt comfortable moving forward on a personal matter. I called Jim, my police chief, in for a private meeting. Jim was a retired Marine and spent twenty years in the military police and another five as a lieutenant and captain in the state prison system. I was criticized heavily from members of the police force, supporters, and even Greg for having gone outside the department to hire a police chief, but I didn’t want to take a chance with the ongoing investigation into the evidence room shenanigans. I also had other reasons. This was one of them.