Presidential Blues

Blues

Michael Cantwell

Copyright © 2016 Michael O’Lone Cantwell

All rights reserved.

Presidential Blues is fiction.

Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Graphic assistance by Suzy Cantwell

KSM Publishing

www.ksmmike.com

ISBN-13:978-0-9908274-5-0

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To Matt and Suzy

May you have a long

history together

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Please Enjoy Other Titles

A Beautiful Song

Three Long Days

Soul Intentions

Soul Directive

Fortunate Soul

Presidential Shadows

Presidential Whispers

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial

purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own

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www.ksmmike.com

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Reality leaves a lot to the imagination.

John Lennon

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Title Page

Dedication

Other Novels

Opening Quote

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Thoughts

CHAPTER ONE

No way Jimi Hendrix told you to light your guitar on fire. It won't help you play better, Bruce said.

I realized teasing my best friend had become a favorite hobby of mine. I had to be careful though, Bruce had inched close to six feet tall and outweighed me by ten or fifteen pounds. I went through a growing phase during the early summer of 1994, but I still stood two inches shorter than he did.

Well, maybe not directly, I said. But Star sent me an email last week and she told me that Jimi talked with her while she meditated with the spirits. Jimi told her to tell me, I should practice more and set the guitar on fire when I really want to get the girls all hot and bothered.

Star had emailed me, and asked about my guitar lessons, but maybe I had exaggerated a bit about Jimi Hendrix telling me to set my rented Les Paul on fire.

I don’t want to get the girls all hot and bothered, Bruce said. I want ‘em to take off their shirts and dance in front of the stage.

Bruce, it’s the same frigging thing, I said. But let’s face it, our band sucks. No way any girl or anyone else is gonna wanna hear us play. Let alone pay us.

Sure they will, Bruce said. We only need to crank it up louder. It works for AC/DC.

Our band had begun to take over our lives during the summer between our freshman and sophomore years of high school. Bruce Rivers, who I had known all my life, and lived nearby, talked me into learning to play guitar that spring after his grandfather sent him one the previous Christmas. Bruce made for a better best friend than a singer. The other two members of our band elected me to tell Bruce we wanted a new lead singer or our group would disband before we even learned to play one complete song.

Bruce, I said. Me and the other guys in the band have thought about your rule about no girls being allowed in the band. We think that maybe we should give Stephanie Nicks, a shot at singing a few songs. You know, maybe as a backup singer at first, and then let her sing a song here and there when your voice gets tired.

Simple. Direct. I figured all my time I served as freshman class president had paid off. I had moved from being a shy, geeky middle school kid, to a leader with big ideas and a bright future. I knew how to navigate dangerous territories with others. Well. Sorta.

Besides, if I ever needed extra help, all I had to do was call on any past President of the United States. They had become friends of mine ever since my Grandpa Frank had given me a special book removed from the Oval Office. The book contained personal notes from all the past presidents through Ronald Reagan. Whenever I read from my book, the presidents would come alive.

As I got older, sometimes I could focus my mind and have an old president appear when I needed advice. It would get crazy when they showed up unannounced. Especially Richard Nixon, who loved to show up and tell me dirty jokes about newspaper reporters. It’s not easy to direct dead men, especially ones with egos the size of Texas.

However, my bigger problem was with my pal Bruce. He thumped his Air Jordan sneaker onto the concrete floor and winged his guitar onto the nearby sofa. What? Are you telling me that no one thinks I can sing? I pulled this band together. My mom lets us practice in our garage. I came up with, ‘The Rivers Edge’ for a band name. Now you think you can tell me who’s gonna sing and not sing?

I peeked around the garage trying to think of something to say. The oil spots couldn't talk about knowing the right words like Thomas Jefferson could. The Jon Bon Jovi poster hanging on the wall next to the spare fridge didn't offer lessons in leadership like President Eisenhower. I spoke from the heart.

No one wants to kick you out of the band, but come on. We've only had a couple months of lessons. My fingertips still hurt when I play more than ten minutes. I can’t always remember a C chord from a D and I for sure can’t play all the scales I’m supposed to know for the next lesson. Maybe we should slow down and let more people join the band. You know, who actually know how to sing and play instruments. That will give you and me time to get better over the summer. Think about it. Will ya?

Bruce shrugged. He tried wiping the disappointment from his face, but I knew it was still there. I’ll think on it, he said. But the only reason you want Stephanie in the band is because you want to get to second or third base with her and you know it.

Bruce had a point. The only problem was that Stephanie’s dad kept her under greater control than Colonel Sanders did with his fried chicken recipe. He didn’t allow her to date and the closest I ever got to her was when we managed a few twirls during the homecoming dance our freshman year. I did manage to sniff the strawberry scent from her shampoo in her hair, but even first base seemed like a far off dream.

If Stephanie’s in the band, then you know Wendy will want in too, Bruce said. Like you said, we need real musicians and she did say she knew almost ten songs on the piano.

I knew Bruce would stick up for Wendy. She grew up next door to Bruce. The three of us had been close friends most of our lives. The band meant more to Bruce than to me. I joined mostly to get out of doing extra chores over the summer. Bruce wanted to glow in the glory of being a rock god. Half-naked girls smiling back while he jammed were his ultimate prize.

Whatever, I said. Let’s not have girls come between us. I don’t want to have another Yoko incident.

Bruce scratched his head. What are you talking about? What’s a Yoko incident?

You need to learn your Beatles history if you want to play some of their songs. Star told me one time she spoke with the spirit of John Lennon and he told Star the real story about Yoko Ono. I gotta go. I’m supposed to be over at Mrs. Macy’s house in ten minutes to help clean out her garage.

Bruce shrugged. Yeah, ok, but for now I’m still the lead singer and leader of the band.

Feeling down about delivering the news to my best friend the band wanted a new singer; I began at a slow pace for Mrs. Macy’s house, three blocks away. I never enjoyed disappointing Bruce. He was always the first one to stick up for me. Except for the huge snowball fight when we were still in middle school. Bruce made half-hearted throws from behind a tree, while Wendy and I were forced to defend ourselves in the open.

I needed to speak with someone who could help. If I called my friend President Jefferson, he would have rambled on about how he and John Adams fought over the words in the Declaration of Independence. If I called on Andrew Jackson, I was afraid his only advice would be to shoot someone. I stopped for a few moments and thought about my problem with Bruce.

A man in tan pants and a blue sports coat waved at me from across the street. I recognized him as President Kennedy.

Ah, guud day to you, Alex, Kennedy said. I understand your band is in search of a new lead singa. Perhaps, a good friend of mine can assist you. He’s faah too busy to be in your band, but possibly he knows of someone. Besides, he tells me he’s not keen on all this new rock and roll you kids want to play.

Thanks, but I think if Stephanie would join us, we’d be ok. I need to figure out how to convince Bruce to let others in the band. Who’s your friend anyway?

Kennedy smiled as if he knew a dirty secret. Ol’ Blue Eyes, Frank Sinatra.

Sinatra. Grandma still plays him on her record player. When I was a little kid, Grandma and Grandpa would make me listen to him during nap time to put me to sleep.

Ah, I don’t think I’ll pass that comment along ta Frank. He sees himself as very hip with the ladies, and wouldn’t want to put anyone to sleep with his music. I’m heading out to Palm Springs next week ta see him. I’ll ask if he knows anyone that might be available. He grew up not far from here in North Jersey ya know.

I could see Mrs. Macy’s house and began to walk towards it. Mr. Kennedy followed. A light breeze kicked up as storm clouds rose in the distance.

So you’re friends with Mr. Sinatra? I asked. Do you think you can get an autograph for Grandma? She’s been depressed ever since Grandpa died last New Year’s Eve.

Kennedy smiled. I’ll see what I can do for ya, young man.

Grandpa Frank told me last year that Mr. Sinatra wanted to play a movie part really bad and the movie producer turned him down. Mr. Sinatra went to some friend of his and got him in the movie. Grandpa said they used a similar story in ‘The Godfather’ movie. Mr. Sinatra’s friend made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Do you know if that’s true or not?

Hollywood is full of stories like that, Alex. Possibly Frank's friends fixed their differences in a way different from how you will settle yours with Bruce.

We continued to walk. Grandpa told me that you stole the election from Mr. Nixon. Did you have friends help you get votes? Other presidents have told me about some crazy things that happen in elections with friends and fighting for votes.

Kennedy frowned. More stories, young man. Yes, the election was close. And agreed, the Republicans claimed fraud in many states, and yes, Hawaii even changed from me being awarded the Electoral Votes to Dick Nixon, but nothing was proven.

I guess I’ll ask Mr. Nixon about it the next time I see him. Grandpa told me, I think it’s called Cook County, in Illinois, where elections are stolen for Democrats all the time. He said people even went to jail for messing with the election.

Your grandfather is confused. Even if I had lost Illinois, I still would have won enough Electoral Votes to win the election. Let’s eh, not forget, too that I had originally won California and after absentee ballots were counted, the state went for Nixon.

I laughed. I’ve met enough presidents to know that you guys play dirty when it comes to elections. President McKinley handed out pieces of soap in the shape of small babies to win votes. I decided to hand out Snickers Bars when I ran for freshman class president. Harry Truman told me he found someone with influence to help him get votes. I told Greg I’d get him on the basketball team if he got some of the boys to vote for me. Jefferson told me about how he beat John Adams with the twisting of arms in the House of Representatives.

Kennedy stared at me before saying, You know faa too much history for someone your age.

I figured Mr. Kennedy was upset because I asked him about the election. Maybe I should have been nicer to Mr. Kennedy since he showed up to help us find a new lead singer, but I wanted to know the truth. I should have known it’s hard to get the truth out of our leaders sometimes.

I appreciate you showing up, Mr. Kennedy, but unless you have a history lesson or can help me with Bruce, I have to help Mrs. Macy clean out her garage. She's moving soon.

Alright then, Kennedy said. Look your best at all times. Make sure you have the proper color suit to wear and a good haircut. It won’t hurt if you visit Palm Beach and get some sun on your face too.

What’s that got to do with history or helping me with Bruce?

Kennedy ran his fingers through is almost perfect brown hair. Since you mentioned the election, has anyone ever told you about the debates between myself and Vice President Nixon?

I had to think about it for a moment. Nah, I don’t think so.

Well then, some might suggest I stole an election, which didn’t happen by the way, but others think I won the election after one of our television debates. Mr. Nixon had been in the hospital with an infection right before the debates. I don’t know who picked out his suit, but it made him appear pale. Who wears a tan suit on black and white television? He came off as tense and upset, but most didn’t realize he had been in the hospital.

Grandpa Frank told me it didn’t hurt that you were much younger and had a pretty wife too.

Yes, well even though I was seen as the much younger and energized candidate, I’m only four years younger than Nixon. Thankfully, we had over seventy million viewers for our first debate to see him bake under those television lights. I will, ah, admit, Nixon had more experience in government, but a little sun on your face, the right suit, and a good haircut. Don’t discount that, Alex.

I shrugged. I guess things have changed since Jefferson debated Adams over States rights versus a central government or Lincoln debated Stephen Douglas about slavery. Now you’re telling me I need a nice suit, a good barber and a suntan to be president.

Kennedy laughed. Gentlemen should always have a clean suit in the closet, even if they aren’t, ah, running for president.

We walked another block before I asked a question. I’m still guessing being president means more than wearing a nice suit. President Lincoln told how hard it was for him to view the grounds at Gettysburg before giving his famous speech, knowing how many died on that spot. President Truman told me that even though he knew the atomic bomb was another military weapon, he still struggled with the idea of blowing up Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Did you have to make any hard decisions as president?

Kennedy stopped walking and rubbed his chin. He caught a deep breath. There have been many. I fought Congress to lower taxes to stimulate growth. The Democrats fought hard against me. I'll never forget the crisis in Cuba. I tried to expand medical care to the elderly. I want to create a department of Urban Affairs and do more to help the citizens of the Appalachia area. However, civil rights, though an easy decision, but one met with violence has been a struggle for me. Do you know about Mr. James Meredith?

I shrugged.

James Meredith is a veteran of our own military. He enrolled into the University of Mississippi, but was denied entrance based only on the color of his skin. He fought the school's decision because ‘Brown versus the Board of Education’ ordered all schools to be open to everyone no matter the color of their skin.

Yeah, I think we learned about that in class. The Brown versus Education ruling I mean.

Mr. Meredith took his fight all the way to the Supreme Court and won his case. Howeva, even after winning, the school fought his enrollment. My brother Bobby, the Attorney General, sent 500 U.S Marshalls to the area. I sent in military police too. There were riots and two people died. James Meredith eventually graduated from the university. He later received a Master’s Degree in economics and a law degree from Columbia University.

Most of the kids I know don’t want to go to school at all, I said. "Mom always tells me how important school is. You must think she's right.

President Kennedy nodded. Let us think of education as the means of developing our greatest abilities, because in each of us is a private hope and dream which, fulfilled, can be translated into benefit for everyone and greater strength for our nation.

Thanks for the story about the election and Mr. Meredith, but I gotta get to work now. I guess I’ll see ya around another time.

You will. However, till then, rememba one last thing. Leadership and learning are indispensable to each otha.

I wasn't sure how all that related to Bruce and the band other than we needed to wear nice suits like The Beatles did on the Ed Sullivan show. Maybe it was a lesson on how people could be excluded for odd reasons, like Bruce not wanting girls in the band, or people not being allowed into schools because of the color of their skin. Being fifteen and not knowing how to deal with irrational friends, or worse yet, parents who didn't understand summer breaks meant no chores or homework wasn't easy.

I thanked President Kennedy for the lesson and advice and walked up the path to Mrs. Macy’s house.

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CHAPTER TWO

Bruce and I took guitar lessons at Gordy's Guitars in Princeton near the university. It wasn't a large shop and there were places closer to home, but Gordy had a reputation for being one of the best instructors around. He had taught Dylan James, who had become a big star. Bruce wanted to be like Dylan, so he convinced his parents he would try harder if Gordy gave us lessons.

Dad never thought I would ever make it big like Pete Townsend or Jimmy Page, two of his favorites. He assumed by summer's end, I would give up. He spoke with Bruce's dad, and they decided Bruce and I could take lessons with Gordy, but we had to take lessons together to save money. Gordy opposed the idea at first, but later approved.

A couple days after I tried to convince Bruce to think about adding another singer for our fledgling band, we had another lesson with Gordy. His full name was Gordon Andrew Davis and he had been to Woodstock.

We entered the store, which smelled like the same incense Star would burn on our porch, when she was meditating. We walked beyond the amplifiers and the one set of drums in the entire store and down an aisle to the glass counter top where Jason stood. He was a college kid, who had taken lessons from Gordy for years, and now worked weekends in the shop. Jason whispered to me and Bruce that Gordy knew Elvis Presley. Jason also told us that Gordy wrote songs that played on the oldies stations. Bruce and I didn't believe Jason.

Jason then told Bruce and me that once a month, Gordy would play with Dylan or other famous musicians, who dropped by to see Gordy. Bruce later asked Gordy about it, but Bruce only got a dirty stare and a mumble to keep practicing.

During the middle of our lesson, Bruce stopped mid pick. Hey, Gordy, do you think I'm a good singer?

Gordy rubbed his chest over his demin shirt, which matched his jeans. Why would you ask a question where you might not like the answer? Besides, you're here for guitar lessons, not singing lessons. Focus on one thing at a time.

I kept working the G scale along the neck of the guitar in three positions trusting Bruce would figure out what Gordy meant. Nah. My best pal rarely listened to adults when the offered advice.

So, you don't think I'm a good singer either? Bruce asked.

Gordy pointed to the sheet music resting on the black stand within a couple feet in front of us. What I'm saying is; Elle Fitzgerald is a singer. Tony Bennett is a singer. Elvis is a singer. Maybe you should leave the singing to others with more talent, practice your scales and stop wasting your lesson time with silly questions.

Gordy had a reputation of being a no nonsense teacher, but that was the first time I had witnessed his sting in person. I again assumed Bruce would take Gordy's cue and go back to practicing scales. Bruce shrugged.

When were you planning on teaching us how to play, 'Stairway to Heaven,' Bruce asked.

I swear Gordy's ponytail spun around like the propellers on a boat engine. Even I almost lost it with my best bud. However, Gordy's response surprised me. I received a lesson in motivation.

I'll tell you what, Bruce. If you return here next Saturday, and can play three major scales to my satisfaction up and down the entire neck of your instrument, I'll teach you the opening of any song you like. However, if you can't, you'll practice the lessons I give you, when I give them to you, and accept the idea that you're not my first student, and I know what I'm doing. Fair?

Bruce shrugged. Deal.

As Bruce and I stood outside the store after our lesson, waiting for a ride home, Bruce finally treated me like his friend again. He had avoided me for days. With Wendy still away at her grandmother's house, I wasn’t sure what Bruce had been doing. I knew we hadn't scheduled any band rehearsals, and if he'd been riding his bike, I woulda seen him.

Maybe having a girl sing a song or two in the group won't be the worst thing in the world, Bruce said. I mean as long as they understand it's still my band. Besides, I need time to work on learning the guitar, so Gordy will teach me more than, 'Somewhere over the Rainbow.' I'm tired of learning all the old songs.

You do know that, 'Stairway to Heaven' has been around since before we were born. Right, Bruce?

Yeah, but it's bitchin. I mean who doesn’t wanna learn how to play that song?

I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because Bruce had ignored me for days, but I felt like poking him. My grandma considers songs like rainbow a classic, the same way you and me consider Led Zeppelin good stuff. Plus, Judy Garland not only sang the rainbow song in the 'Wizard of Oz,' she sang it personally for President Kennedy.

Bruce frowned. How do you know if she sang it for any president?

President Kennedy told me the same time he said he was going to ask Frank Sinatra if he knew someone who could sing in our band.

Bruce leaned his guitar case against the wall and rubbed his eyes. Tell me the truth, Alex. You and me have been friends forever. I've never seen you talking with any president. I gotta admit, me and Wendy have talked about you. We think you're in bizzaro land with the idea you learn history from dead men walking. Do you really think you can yak with people from books?

In all the years I had known Bruce, he had never asked me that question. I knew Mom and Grandpa had each asked me not to tell anyone I spoke with the spirits, but this was Bruce asking the question. If you can't tell your best friend in the whole world your deepest secrets, who could you tell?

You know about my president's book. Right?

Yeah, Bruce said.

I'm not lying to ya. Sometimes, after I read about Washington, Lincoln or even Herbert Hoover, they show up. Mom swears it's all in my head. She even made me visit a doctor, but he said there wasn’t anything wrong with me. The doc told Mom that I have a wild imagination and one day I would outgrow it. But then again, what do doctors know anyway?

So, you're imagining this stuff? Bruce asked. The same way I think about playing centerfield for the Yanks or jamming with my guitar at Madison Square Garden? You're not that messed up in the head? Right? Is that what you're trying to tell me? And who the hell's Hubby Hoover?

I smirked. I'm trying to tell ya that these men are real. Yes, I admit, when I was younger it was kinda creepy and scary. I've learned how to deal with it. I don't know why, but I figured out that nobody else can see them. I get that. Star says she feels a vibe when they're around, so I know deep down it's not all in my head. Grandpa Frank told me to embrace it and that my destiny lives in that book. By the way, Herbert Hoover is a former president. One thing he told me was that, 'Prosperity cannot be restored by raids upon the public Treasury'.

Bruce closed his eyes and rubbed his hands along his face. He opened his eyes and said, Sometimes I wish you would talk ta me the same way the other guys do and not tell me some quote from a dead person who doesn't mean squat ta me. You're pissing me off and it's getting old. Besides, I have no idea what you're talking about when you say crap like raiding the Treasury. What does that even mean?

"If you met Tommy Wilson you'd understand. He thinks your money belongs to his Treasury and so do other presidents. It's never bugged me much when you guys blew me off when I talked about history. Thomas Jefferson and Martin Van Buren keep insisting I tell people about America's past. One of the reasons I don’t do it more often is because I knew