At 10:30 this morning, a young fellow named Richard Kyrle, representing an organization that calls itself South Carolina First paid me a visit at my office downtown. He spent about 70 minutes waving his arms around in front of a PowerPoint presentation he projected on the retractable screen I had built into the ceiling. About three minutes before he was done, my private secretary called to let me know that a Mr. Edmund Ruffin, also of SCF, had arrived and was ready to meet with me. As soon as Mr. Kyrle was done, smiling at me with a mixture of expectancy and relief on his face, I asked her to send Mr. Ruffin in.
Ruffin was all Southern friendliness and gentility, graciously shaking my hand, with a bit too much enthusiasm. “So glad you could meet with us on such short notice, Mr. Collins,” he effused, “we’re also glad to see that you appreciate the advantages of striking when the iron is hot.”
“From Mr. Kyrle’s presentation, I understand that your organization’s mission is to assure that South Carolina gets its rightful place in American politics by arranging to hold both the Democratic and Republican primaries before any other state.”
“That, sir,” Ruffin assured me as he took a seat, “is exactly our intention. As our friend Richard here no doubt illustrated, South Carolina is a perfect choice for that role – one of the original thirteen colonies, rich in history, and now a proud representative of the Sun Belt, the Palmetto State is the new face of American culture and patriotism.”
“A very impressive slide show, Mr. Kyrle,” I responded, “particularly the landscape and sea coast panorama shots.”
“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” Kyrle politely replied.
“So,” Ruffin asked, leaning forward with obvious anticipation, “what do you think? How can South Carolina knock New Hampshire out of the catbird seat and become the First Primary State?”
“I’m well aware, that there’s a some sort of contest going on now among several states, including New Hampshire and South Carolina,” I averred, “but I can’t help noticing that there are a number of complications. The Democratic National Committee, for example, is playing hardball with you, Florida and Michigan, threatening not to seat your state delegates at the Democratic Convention…”
“Oh, pshaw, Mr. Collins,” Ruffin chuckled, “that’s just a lot of brag and fuss – nobody’s taking it the least bit seriously. Besides, South Carolina’s only got fifty four votes at that convention – out of over four thousand delegates. We’re only one percent of the total. What does our opinion matter at the convention? What does New Hampshire’s? They only have thirty delegates. Now, tell me the truth, Mr. Collins, would anyone give two shakes of a lamb’s tail about what the people in New Hampshire think, want or care about if their primary wasn’t the first one?”
“That’s probably why,” I observed, “the New Hampshire state legislature passed a law mandating that their state hold the first presidential primaries every election.”
“Well,” Ruffin demanded, “what’s to stop the South Carolina state legislature from passing a law saying the same thing?”
“You mean,” I inquired, “what’s to stop them, aside from reason, common sense and the generally accepted concept of sanity?”
Ruffin looked over his shoulder, out the window toward the U.S. Capitol. “I don’t notice that reason, common sense or the generally accepted concept of sanity hold any particular sway around here.” He grinned affably as turned back to look at me. “Why should the South Carolina legislature be held to a higher standard?”
“I must admit, you have a point,” I conceded, “but it’s going to be quite a mess if more than one state has a law on its books mandating presidential primary primacy.”
“It’s a mess already!” Ruffin proclaimed confidently. “Here we have the New Hampshire Secretary of State playing Guess My Primary Date with everybody, and rumors going around that New Hampshire may very well hold the first primary elections of 2008 in December of 2007! Where’s your evaluation of the commonly accepted concept of sanity with respect to that? Seems to me the major advantage New Hampshire has had up to this point is their willingness to act loonier than anybody else!”
“Are you implying,” I wondered aloud, “that South Carolina would be willing to move its primary date into December, too, if it meant beating New Hampshire to the punch?”
“In my book,” Ruffin shot back, “scheduling your state’s primaries in the year preceding the election constitutes dirty fighting. And South Carolinians don’t fight dirty unless there’s a good reason. So I would say no, South Carolina would never initiate that action. South Carolina would have a no-first-use policy with respect to insane dates for its presidential primaries.”
“But once a rival state, did so…” I began.
“Then, obviously, doing so would become an option for every state, and the blame would fall squarely at New Hampshire’s doorstep,” Ruffin stated matter-of-factly.
“Understood,” I told him, “but in order to effectively advise you and suggest viable strategy options, I need to know how crazy you are willing to get. Specifically, is this November off the table or not?”
“I can assure you, Mr. Collins,” Ruffin said, “that South Carolina considers the very idea of scheduling a primary election next month to be ludicrous, deranged, idiotic and dangerous.”
“So,” I prodded, “South Carolina would never, under any circumstances, do that?”
“No,” Ruffin protested, “I didn’t say that. If New Hampshire does it, then we figure that gives us a right to do it, too, even if it’s ludicrous, deranged, idiotic and dangerous.”
“Okay, it’s essential I know where you stand on this kind of issue,” I explained, “because if you look at the calendar, you will notice that the first weekday in December this year is Monday, December 3rd. If South Carolina were to schedule its primaries on that day, New Hampshire would probably respond by scheduling theirs for Saturday, December 1st. Given what you just said about scheduling primaries in November, and if you are therefore pledged not to be the first to schedule your primaries in November, but likewise determined to be first, what does South Carolina do in that situation?”
Ruffin pondered my question for a couple of minutes, clearly torn on the horns of a dilemma. “Yeah, I think I see your point, Collins,” he finally volunteered, “if we try to keep this thing sensible, we run a serious risk of looking like fools.”
“Ah, well,” I clarified, “that wasn’t actually the point I was trying to make, but I’m pleased to see that you are comprehending some of the… subtleties that we need to consider in order to arrive at viable solutions.”
“Granted,” Ruffin allowed, “but, just as an example, what would you recommend South Carolina do in just that situation?”
“First, under no circumstances should South Carolina legally obligate itself to be first. If anything your state law should say something like ‘no other state shall precede South Carolina in exercise of its primary elections.’ That exploits the letter of the New Hampshire law, you see. Now, if South Carolina’s law said that, South Carolina could schedule its primaries on December 1st, just like New Hampshire, but it wouldn’t be violating its own law, but it would automatically place New Hampshire in violation of New Hampshire state law, because New Hampshire’s law says New Hampshire has to be first.”
“Brilliant!” Ruffin shouted. “If South Carolina words its state law like that, we can force New Hampshire into opening up November primary dates, and South Carolina won’t have to take any of the blame for behaving like a bunch of power-mad, obsessive maniac morons.”
“Thanks, Mr. Ruffin,” I replied. “I can have a complete strategy paper prepared by close of business tomorrow. I estimate that it will require about four hours to complete.”
“Mr. Collins,” Ruffin said with a smile as he rose, extending his right hand, “you have yourself a deal.”
So we shook on it, after which, I noticed there were about fifteen minutes left. “Excuse me a moment,” I requested, buzzing my private secretary.
“Yes, Mr. Collins?”
“Who’s out there with you at the moment?”
“Your sister Rose, your nephew Jason and Jason’s friend, Paisley – you’re taking them to lunch today; I made the reservations last Friday…”
“Anybody else?”
“Uh, there’s a bicycle messenger.”
“Great. Send everybody in, right now. You come, too.”
“There,” I declared, “we have a just a few minutes, and I need to collect some additional information to aid me in preparation of the deliverable.”
The door opened – in walked Jason, his girlfriend Paisley, my sister Rose, my private secretary and a bicycle messenger. Looking at the bicycle messenger, I took a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet and held it up for him to see. “Got ten minutes or so to participate in a political focus group?”
“Sure,” the bicycle messenger smiled, taking the bill.
“Great. Would you all,” I said, indicating my secretary, the messenger and my luncheon guests, “please make yourselves comfortable on the couch.”
That couch is pretty large – nearly eight feet long, so there was enough room for them. They all appeared a bit bemused, but certainly engaged enough.
“Okay. This is Mr. Ruffin and Mr. Kyrle. They represent an organization that wants South Carolina, not New Hampshire, to be the state that holds its presidential primaries first in the nation. I propose that they tell you why South Carolina should be the first state in the Union to hold primary elections, after which, you give these gentlemen your honest reactions.”
Kyrle blanched whiter than freshly ginned cotton, but Ruffin was undaunted. In fact, he didn’t even notice – or perhaps refused to recognize – that Kyrle was struck dumb and in no condition to present the merits of any political proposition, no matter how minor it might be. “Certainly, Mr. Collins,” Ruffin began, “at the moment, few other things would give me greater pleasure than to do so. Ladies and gentlemen, South Carolina should be the first state in the union to hold presidential primary elections because South Carolina represents the New America. South Carolina looks like the New America, it works like the New America, it acts like the New America and, most importantly, it votes like the New America. From its windswept Atlantic shore to the heights of Sassafras Mountain, South Carolina encompasses every type, kind and designation of American there is. South Carolina is in the Sun Belt, and reflects the great migration of people, industry and technology into the South over the last four decades. And, as one of the original thirteen colonies, South Carolina has roots as deep as any state, including New Hampshire. Now, what has New Hampshire got to recommend it, I ask you? New Hampshire has only one third as many people as South Carolina, and nineteen out of twenty of them are white. And although Americans believe in God, a shocking twenty percent of the people in New Hampshire aren’t religious at all. New Hampshire is in the Rust Belt – it represents the Old America, old ideas, old approaches and old politics. Why should the opinions, conceits and prejudices of a tiny fraction of the population, located in a moribund, isolated, rural state that is living in the past dictate who the rest of us should choose among to lead the greatest nation history has ever known?”
A short respectful silence ensued as Mr. Ruffin’s tiny audience assured themselves he was finished. Then Paisley spoke up.
“Wasn’t South Carolina, like, uh, first at something else pretty significant once?”
“I’m not sure what you are referring to Miss…” Ruffin commenced.
“I mean, in the Civil War,” Paisley politely interrupted. “Wasn’t South Carolina the first state to secede from the Union?”
“Ah, well, yes,” Ruffin admitted, “it was.”
“And the first,” my private secretary chimed in, “to fire on United States troops at Fort Sumter?”
“That, too,” Ruffin confessed. “But that was a long time ago, and a lot of things have happened since then.”
“Like the rise and fall of Reconstruction,” Rose observed.
“And those laws, you had,” Jason said, looking to Paisley for help, “what did they call them Jack Robin or something?”
“Jim Crow,” Paisley quickly provided, “and some of them were passed less than fifty years ago, too.”
The bike messenger eyed Ruffin suspiciously. “How many Hispanics in South Carolina?”
“More than in New Hampshire,” Ruffin proudly crowed, “twice the percentage!”
“And how much would that be?” Jason queried, skeptical.
“Ah, well, about three percent.”
“In New Hampshire?” Rose asked, raising her eyebrows.
“No,” Ruffin muttered, crestfallen, “in South Carolina.”
“Okay,” Jason continued, “when you asked us whether the opinions, conceits and prejudices of a tiny fraction of the population, located in a moribund, isolated, rural state that is living in the past should dictate who our presidential candidates are, you were referring to New Hampshire, right?”
“Correct!” Ruffin affirmed, buoyed by evidence that he was getting his points across.
“So what you are saying,” Rose offered, “is that South Carolina is a rural state that is somewhat less moribund, and marginally less isolated, with a slightly larger tiny fraction of the American population, that is living in a different kind of past than New Hampshire; and that therefore, everybody would be better off if we let the opinions, conceits and prejudices of South Carolinians determine which people we get to vote for to become President, instead of the opinions, conceits and prejudices of the voters in New Hampshire?”
Ruffin turned bright pink, but he was a man about it, for all that. “Yes,” he slowly choked out, “you could put it that way, ma’am.”
As Ruffin turned slowly toward me, I could see that by now, his face was a pallid as Kyrle’s had been, and still remained, since the start of this exercise. “Thank you, Mr. Collins,” he managed, “is there anything else?”
“Nope,” I chirped, all smiles, “all set. I’ll send my deliverable over to your organizational headquarters tomorrow – ” I grinned as I pointed at the fellow wearing the plastic helmet, “via bicycle messenger.”
Ruffin stirred Kyrle to life, and we all got to watch Kyrle imitate a zombie as he packed up his laptop, portable projector and wires. The two of them left us alone without saying another word. Everybody on the couch started looking at one another – Paisley started giggling.
The bike messenger shook his head in disbelief. “Damn, I had no idea people from South Carolina are so weird.”
“Out where the buses don’t run,” Rose agreed.
“Well,” I commented as I opened the door to the waiting room and gestured, indicating it was time for lunch, “if you think those two are strange, you ought to meet some of the godforsaken rubes in New Hampshire.”
“Mr. Collins,” Paisley asked as we entered the waiting room, “is New Hampshire how we ended up with a philandering speed freak, a war mongering Texas cowboy, a paranoid criminal, a comically pious do-gooder, a movie actor with Alzheimer’s, a petroleum oligopoly stooge, a philandering pot head and another war mongering Texas cowboy in the White House?”
“You mean Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Carter, Reagan, Bush 41, Clinton and Bush 43?” I asked, just to make sure I was following her question.
“That’s them.”
“Well, as they say in the Granite State, my dear – ‘Ay-uh, ya sure can’t reckon it’s no accident, eh?’”