Wolf Rally, Mobile Airport, Mobile, Alabama Arnold Wolf was an angry man. His grandfather always said that he had a chip on his shoulder from the day he was born, and by God he wanted the world to know. Arnold Wolf was an excitable man. Whether he was in front of a jury or an audience at a rally, he knew how to please a crowd. Probably due to some craving for the peer approval he lacked as a boy. Arnold Wolf was a brave man. At least he liked to think so. He had done and said things in his life most wouldn’t dream of saying or doing. Damn the consequences.
But a sad man was one thing Arnold Wolf was not.
Things change when you know you have reached the end.
When President Wolf, the man who always dug in, the man who was stubborn as an ox decided to agree to a House budget agreement a mere few days prior that did not include funding for his pet projects, the press tapped away at their “expert analyses” on whether or not the President had a strategy. Pundits chattered on which advisor had his ear on this given occasion, and whether it was a pivot to the centre in preparation for his campaign. In reality, it was none of those. President Wolf was not being a strong or weak man, he was being just that- a man. A man coming to grips with emotions he had hardly felt, in the face of something he had hardly considered. The imminence of his own mortality.
Staffers scratched their heads at how to approach the situation. How does one give human comfort to a man reviled as a demon by half of the population, and adored as a lion by the other? Even Wolf’s own wife was baffled by the situation. He had been more focused on his career and his ego than he ever was on fostering an emotional bond with her. The spousal safety net, so to speak, was non-existent.
So, the accidental president was left alone after his diagnosis. He kept to himself, drifting from the West Wing to the Oval Office, stewing in his own thoughts. The real question, of course, was how the situation could be spun to his advantage. Or could it not? Was it the end of the line?
That was what scared him most. That there was no spin for brain cancer. Not for the media. Not for the American people. And certainly not for himself.
Even in a state of sadness and existential dread brought on by a doctor who was promptly fired, there was one thing President Wolf had to do. It was continue his rallies and continue to speak to the American people. Audiences always validated Wolf, they were his crutch. They gave him strength. And if there was one thing he needed at that point in time, it was to look strong.
The normal rally schedule that was maintained throughout the administration. It was probably the most consistent facet of the Wolf presidency. Coincidentally, on the evening of January 3rd, it returned him to a state that loved him, and would make him look strong, the state of Alabama.
Wolf’s rallies were his trademark. He crisscrossed the country both before and after his upset victory, turning out thousands to public spaces of all kinds. He turned out people of all walks of life, but most were slightly whiter and slightly older than average. Many were akin to the sort of hayseeds that gave him a rough time at his rural elementary school. His favorite type of rally was the kind he was doing that evening. It was the kind where he would park Air Force One in the middle of an airstrip somewhere, and the audience would gather before it, before Wolf. It made him feel strong with its dramatic aesthetic, just seemingly endless supporters below the almighty trinity of the imperial president under bright lights, a show of American military prowess, and the black of the night sky.
Usually, in the time leading up to a rally, Wolf was ecstatic. He talked at a mile per minute, practically shaking in anticipation, like an addict about to enjoy his fix. This time, he was sullen. He sat in his private office on Air Force One, and did not even watch the opening speeches. One was an Evangelical minister, the type that worshipped Wolf. The other was a Republican congressman from the area. The final one was a Senate candidate, one who everyone expected Wolf to endorse during his own speech.
For the first time, Wolf had to be reminded that it was his turn to take the podium.
“Mr. President? It’s time,” the young man said after knocking lightly on the office door.
For the first time, Wolf walked to the podium with tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Tears that would not be seen by anyone, only felt by him, small tears against a hot face.
“WE WANT WOLF! WE WANT WOLF! WE WANT WOLF!” the crowd chanted, their words not coming from individuals but from the mob writ large, drifting into the brisk winter air.
By the time the President reached the podium, he was smiling and waving. The thoughts of death, and disease and despondence slipped away. At the podium, he was immortal. In the minds of the faceless members of the crowd, the sea of supporters, he was God.
“Alabama gave me a verrry big win, back in 2016. You know, it’s probably one of my favorite states. Absolutely filled with hard working, red blooded Americans. Americans that the Swamp Democrats like to brush away, pretend do not exist. Do they care about you? Eh?” Wolf smiled like the cheshire cat.
“I made a budget deal with the Democrats- it’s ok. It’s ok. The WALL will be built. I have been speaking with some of my top people, we are going to use our GREAT and POWERFUL military to build the wall. It’s a national security issue? Right? It’s an invasion. An invasion. Have you been down there? It’s an invasion. Farmers, everybody- they- it’s an invasion.”
“So we are going to build the wall. NAFTA is dead. We are renegotiating. Everybody in Washington tells me it’s going to be ratified. Even the Democrats realize that it was a bad deal for us. President Clifford. He did NAFTA. Funny how the Democrat Party does not defend him anymore. Guess they realized he was a bad guy, should’ve realized that before 2016. I would’ve won even if his criminal wife was not the nominee.”
Some far flung, eerily singular chants of “Lock her up!” broke out.
“Remember TPP? No one remembers TPP... TPP is DEAD! I killed it. Day one. Same with Paris... Paris Climate Agreement. Swamp Democrats were going to sell us down the river, you down the river...the false God of globalism. Everyone thanks me for getting rid of these deals, everyone. Even people who supported them before they say, ‘President Wolf, thank you for making America stronger.’”
“We are so much stronger. Im going to make a deal with China, they have been treating us so unfairly...Swamp Democrats let it happen. They just let it happen. Kim Jong Un, we are working out a deal with that guy. Good negotiator. Iran is afraid again, our military is stronger than EVER.”
“And the ECONOMY? BEST ON RECORD. Best since World War Two. Wow. What the hell was Baharia even doing? Fixed the economy in 15 minutes, that is what I did. Called the right people, made some cuts. TAX CUTS, that’s what fixed it for good. Next year some people say we are doing more cuts. I said- I said- ‘Yes we can do more cuts, I dont know if the American people want them though. They might want to keep paying!’”
The audience booed and chanted for cuts.
“Alright, we will do more cuts, we will do more cuts. Soon.”
‘Soon.’ That word hung in the air, as Wolf trailed off. What did that word mean? What did it mean to a man at the end of the line? Having gotten into his speech, Wolf was suddenly removed from it. Reminded of his mortality. Reminded of what he told himself he would do.
“God chose me to bring America back, to right the ship, to start making us great again.”
The audience cheered.
“God chose me to start, but he has decided I cannot finish it. I will die for my country. I will die making us stronger, bringing America to the top of the heap!”
The audience cheered even more.
Panic flashed behind Wolf’s eyes.
“Someone else has to finish what I started. We need a great man, another leader. Maybe Rick Tawney? I don't know. I need to see. There will be a primary. The socialist Democrats won’t beat us in 2020, I know that much!”
The audience cheered. The panic continued. Suddenly the lights looked brighter than usual. Suddenly Wolf could feel sweat between his palms and the podium. He reached into his pocket. And subtly pulled out a piece of paper. He laid it on the podium. Usually, he was unscripted or used a teleprompter. But on this occasion, he had to remain coherent. The short speech was written by his daughter, the only advisor he truly trusted. If he had it his way, he would run for re-election, damn the medical issues. But in his sorry, emotional state, he could not put up a fight. Cooler heads said that the president needed to make way for someone who could campaign. Someone who could win. Someone who could govern. As he could not properly do those for much longer, cooler heads prevailed.
“I am not running for President in 2020,” he read.
There were boos, gasps, and incoherent yelling from the audience.
“I was diagnosed with grade 3 brain cancer less than one week ago. Even with treatment, it will likely become grade 4 in a year. After that time, I will only have about 8 months left to live. If I were to run for re-election, it would not be fair to the country, to you, or to my family. Thank you, and God Bless the United States of America.”
The audience was silent, apart from gasps and sobs from his most ardent supporters.
The words went on. There was one more sentence that he opted against reading. Stuffing the paper back in his pocket, the President continued.
“God chose me to start making America Great Again, and in the primary, I will do his work by choosing someone to finish the job. In my office, they are already saying I’m a martyr. A martyr? I’m not gone yet! Some people call us the ‘Wolf Pack.’ So tacky. But if that is what we are, we are NOT DONE YET.”
There were cheers again. Strong, loud, voracious cheers.
“I could’ve been living the life, you know. Do you know how much I made on my radio show? Do you know how much Fox News anchors make? A lot. A lot. I chose to throw away my career to be president. Imagine that. Guys like Clifford and Baharia got rich after being president. I did not. But that’s what made me the greatest president God ever created.”
There were loud cheers from his most ardent supporters.
The tears were burning at his eyes again.
“I have work to do. Getting new tax cuts, building the wall, picking the next president. I have to get back to the White House. God bless the great state of Alabama, and God bless America!”
The rally was cut short. There would be anger over the lack of endorsement, but Wolf did not care. Cheers and applause continued. It used to rouse him, motivate him. Now it just felt hollow. It was as if his death was being cheered. His own supporters were the ones most excited for it.
Instead of feeling strong from the rally, he just felt disgusted.