FLAMES OF LIBERTY (1960 American Political RP) - IC

[Sao Nova Europa]

'60

AMERICAN ALT-HISTORY POLITICAL RP



CURRENT DATE: February 1st - 15th 1960

Welcome to FLAMES OF LIBERTY, a 1960s American Political and Character RP where players can explore the ins and outs of government, from the Dixiecrats desperately trying to fight back against the march of progress to progressives fighting for equal rights, social justice, and peace, to conservatives touting an agenda of restoring law and order to a bitterly divided nation. The 1960s were one of the most tumultuous and divisive decades in world history, marked by the civil rights movement, antiwar protests, political assassinations, and the emerging "generation gap".

There is a twist though. This is not an America engaged in a Cold War with the Soviet Union, but with a triumphant Nazi Germany. In this alternative timeline, Adolph Hitler succeeded in crushing the forces of "Judeo-Bolshevism" and imposed complete dominance over the European continent. America managed to defeat the Japanese Empire in the Pacific War and now is locked into a conflict for world domination with a Nazi-led Europe. America has formed the Alliance of Free Nations and American troops are fighting in Africa to support the crumbling Free French regime.

The question of the day is: Will National Socialism or Liberal Democracy stand triumphant in the Cold War for the fate of the Globe?

What is your place in this alt-history America? Are you a war hawk who promises to finally defeat African guerilla groups and stop Free France from collapsing? An antiwar activist who opposes a bloody war to maintain European colonialism? A Dixiecrat who wants to reverse emerging racial integration? Or a civil rights leader who marches for a just and equal society?

Play as a Senator, Governor, Congressperson, Mayor, or any other figure with a hand in the politics of yesteryear. Or run for office, from military hero to the Presidency to fight for your piece of America's Political pie.

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Administrators: Sao Nova Europa (OP)

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Links:

OOC - Congress - Discord

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COMPOSITION:

15 Republican Governors and 35 Democratic Governors

66 Democratic Senators, 34 Republican Senators

283 Democratic Representatives, 153 Republican Representatives

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THE RULES:

1. The OP's word is the final word. You can argue your position in a civil way but in the end, the OP's decision is final.

2. No real people or celebrities as characters. There is no Richard Nixon or John Kennedy that you can play. Politicians post-Truman do not exist, or have been replaced with generic stand-ins: you can play them, should you wish.

3. If you, for whatever reason, must take a leave from the roleplay, that is fine but you should notify in advance. Otherwise, especially if your character is important for the RP, they will be turned over to someone else or turned into an NPC.

4. There is an expectation for a certain level of quality. One or two sentences will not be accepted but can be permitted if your character is engaged in conversation. Otherwise, you are expected to post longer and higher quality posts.

5. Make characters of quality and substance. Avoid Mary Sue flawless characters who are 30-year-olds, actors, former sharecroppers with military service earning a medal of honor and then returning from Africa to attend Harvard. Be sure to give your characters credible weaknesses. But, on the other hand, also avoid sabotage characters. Just because you hate Republicans, don't make a hopelessly corrupt and scandal-ridden Republican with no redeeming qualities.

6. No cheat-edits. Once you've made an IC post, leave it. Edits to formatting are all right along with typos, but don't try to change anything major compared to what you have already written, especially if it has already been responded to. If your character said it in public, it must stay. Gaffes happen, after all.

7. If you are not sure if something is legal or okay, ask OOC first. Always better to check-and there is limited leniency for things that are obviously bad.

8. No events that directly affect another character without permission first. In essence, avoid physical altercations and outrageous "accidents". Assassination is banned, any external action taken against politicians will take place in the form of an event.

9. No meta-gaming. Do not let the OOC influence the realism of your character's actions. If they are in a closed situation in which information is limited, they cannot state-specific statistics, for example.

10. PG-13 limit. Per site-wide rules, nothing too saucy or racy.

11. The IC may have racially charged moments with the RP being in 1960, but the N***** word is unacceptable. Instead, use 'Coloreds' or something along those lines. Racism in the OOC will NOT be tolerated and will result in an immediate ousting from the RP.

12. Nazi Germany managing to win WWII even without American intervention and then surviving is highly unlikely, but it is an interesting scenario so we accept stretching the limits of realism a bit. This is here just to avoid the inevitable post bringing up the issue.

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IMPORTANT NOTE:

Do NOT post unless you've been accepted in the OOC thread. If you want to join this RP, please apply in the OOC thread.

[Sao Nova Europa]

January 1, 1960

President Jackson's New Year Address

President Jonathan Jackson gave a new year's address to the American people. "As we enter a new year and a new decade, we should think harder now, more than ever, as to what we want America to be. Do we want America to be the shining city on a hill, a beacon of freedom and prosperity? Or an America that is afraid and isolated, an America that abandons the Free World? Liberty is a fragile thing. It is not ours by inheritance; it can be extinguished within a single generation. If we want to preserve our liberties, we must fight for them and constantly defend them; for if we lose our liberties, we will never recover them. That's why our brave boys are fighting in Africa; to defend the Free World from the expansion of Fascism and Communism, the two totalitarian ideologies that threaten our very way of life."

"In the past years, under my administration, we oversaw a significant expansion of our national economy. Even our political opponents are forced to admit that the nation is prosperous. This was no accident. It was the result of an administration that eschewed extremism in favor of practicality. The damaging effect of inflation on our wages, pensions, salaries and savings has been brought under control. Taxes have begun to go down. The cost of our government has been reduced and its work proceeds with much fewer employees; thus the discouraging trend of modern governments toward their own limitless expansion has in our case been reversed."

"We are looking at the future with optimism. We are strong abroad and prosperous domestically. America is the leading power in the world. This is my last year as your President. It is my hope that my successor, whomever it may be, will continue my hard work. But I can assure you that even in this last year of my presidency, I will keep working as hard as before. Maybe even harder. I wish to all of you happy holidays and a merry new year!"

Chancellor Speer Announces EEC Conference

Chancellor Albert Speer of the Greater Germanic Reich has announced that a conference of the European Economic Community shall be held in Germania, formerly known as Berlin. "It is important that we work together," the Chancellor said to the press, "to further the security and prosperity of the European continent, and counter the threats of Judeo-Bolshevism and liberalism." While the Chancellor did not give any hints as to the specific subjects that will be discussed in the conference, according to trusted sources the Chancellor will be pushing for further military integration of the EEC. Currently, there is a common defensive clause in the EEC but the Chancellor and his associates are known to want to push for a common military command and greater coordination between the militaries of the EEC nations. It is likely that Italy will resist such attempts, as a significant faction in the Italian government views with suspicion further centralization of power in the hands of the EEC - which is dominated by the Germans. Whether Chancellor Speer will succeed to erode Italian opposition remains to be seen.

Twelve American Soldiers Dead in Ambush

An American convoy was ambushed by militants while driving between the towns of Idelimane and Menaka, in eastern Mali. The militants are thought to belong to the Pan-African Liberation Front, a Marxist Pan-African militia and one of the many insurgent groups plaguing Free France. The American soldiers managed to counter the attack and kill most of the militants, but not before twelve American soldiers had been killed and three seriously injured. The reason for the high casualties is attributed to the success of the ambush. There are calls for increased air strikes against militant targets in the Ménaka Region of eastern Mali, as attacks and ambushes in the region have intensified and have been causing increasing American and French casualties.

[Azekopolaltion]

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Algiers, Dakar, and Back Again

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Darla Cather
Dakar, Senegal
January 1st, 1960

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It is midnight in Dakar.

I have seen the insides of Senators’ bedrooms, and down the barrel of a mobster’s gun. I have had glimpses of some of the most perverted fantasies of the powerful American man. I assure you, my dearest reader, that none have been so awful as the current fighting in the so-called “Free” France.

A few weeks ago, I visited a village a few miles outside Dakar. I hoped to interview a village elder about the paltry rebuilding efforts in marginalized residential areas like this one. I stepped through the wooden gates of the old village—charred and haphazardly supported, having failed in their sacred duty to keep out intruders. For this village had truly been intruded upon. Old walls had crumbles, roofs had been burned, heaps of rubble lay along its paths. How could a few paltry wooden gates defend against the full might of American-manufactured bombs and artillery?

A little boy greeted me at the gates. He wore an elongated, monstrous mask—not a typically ornate, carefully carved one typical of the traditional Senegalese tribals, but a more rudimentary and garish visage instead. With the mask pulled down over his youthful face, the boy followed me around the decimated village as I looked for someone who could speak French. Soon he began to start shouting one word at my back, over and over again. "Toubab, toubab!" He cried. In the little broken Wolof that I know, I translated the word to myself. It was said with derision, with feeling. The word roughly translates to "white-skinned traveler."

The message here is clear. We are not welcome. We are monsters here. The people of Dakar do not need to see images from The Times to know what cruelty is. They have been living it each and every day for the past three years.

I attended a Christmas party last year in Algiers. A verifiably unsettling experience—in a place that is otherwise a sea of Moslems and dark-skinned residents, I was seated at a long mahogany table staring down face after face of sheer blank white, crowned with an evergreen tree topped by a crucifix at the very end of the dining hall. Only a few months ago had I been dressed in a trooper's uniform, my feet sunk deep in the shrubbery of the African jungles on the frontline of the French and American offensive. Now I was dressed in my Sunday best, facing elderly generals (all of whom bore quite the resemblance to Père Noël himself) as I sunk my fork, knife, and teeth into the juicy merguez on the plate below. Bombs splashed and guns blared outside the fortified walls, but at least we were eating well tonight.

Strange of them, to invite me. I was publicly against this war, publicly known for speaking my mind and, perhaps worst of all, I was press-credentialed. Which army man would want little old me at his private dinner party—knowing my eyes were open and my ears were working? In a room full of old male drunkards I was the only working woman, and the only one with any interest in getting to the truth of this whole military intervention. But if I'm being honest about that night in Algiers, the only real conclusion I could arrive at was that the Americans in the room—the honorable West Point-graduate military men along for the French ride—themselves did not know why they were still there.

The truth—the truth they themselves seem to acknowledge in drunken stupors behind closed doors—is that the African Campaign has always been doomed to fail. They have no clue how much longer we intend to stay, how much more money we intend to spend, how much more support we intend to give to a bloodthirsty colonial regime before it is simply too much. A blank check is what we have gifted Charles de Gaulle—a blank check for murder. A war on the entirety of Northwestern Africa will never be won. It will simply kill, and kill, and kill——bright young lives both from our beloved nation and the peoples living under French colonial rule.

We continue to have a choice about who we want to be. Do will still stand for the ideals of freedom and justice? And if we do, why do we continue to insist on a war solely intended to suppress the free peoples of a continent? If you want to fight a war, fight for freedom, the way we did in the Pacific. End support for this bloodthirsty regime, and stand with the Ferhat Abbases of the world, stand with the Patrice Lumumbas of the world, against imperial fascism. The situation in Africa is the defining international crisis of our time because it poses a question about our fundamental values. Why are we fighting to enslave the Algerians, enslave the Senegalese, enslave the Malians? Why not fight to free the Congo? As our elections begin this year, it is a question that must remain at the top of all of our minds. "Never send to know for whom the bell tolls—it tolls for thee."

I begin my journey back to the States next week. It will be my first time back home in well over a year. But for those here in Northwest Africa, living under skies raining Mk-65s and hellfire, they have not had a home since 1957. “Home” has been torn from them. It is with that great privilege that I will arrive back in America, land of the free and home of the brave—home to the ones who have torn home from the innocents of Africa.

[Newne Carriebean7]

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Phoenix, Arizona
Governor’s Mansion
January 1, 1960

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“Who am I?”
.
.
.

The voice echoed out in the relatively humble chambers. Propped up against an aging bed frame which creaked in protest at the modest amount of weight being shifted around, the groans filled the silence that had immediately followed the question.

“Am I a hero?

A coward?

Somewhere in-between?”

Yet more silence was all that was offered, which enabled the thinker within the room to wander, lost more within his own thoughts and self-doubts that kept marching forwards. The figure looked to a mirror which shone the gaunt looking figure of a person well-past his prime.

“ I should have never left acting… those…idiots…it’s all their fault!”

“I’m successful. I’m the master! The boss! Yes! No mortal soul commands me! Not even the goddamn motherfucking President of the United States!”

The man then emerged from his bed, rifling through his clothes before finding ones that smelt the least offensive before throwing on a pair of faded blue levis and a groggy looking button up shirt. He took the most time with his shoes, deciding between a flashy pair of cowboy boots, complete with spurs, one of the props he had taken ‘accidentally’ or a more modest, uninteresting, boring pair of faded running backs that the “practical” side of him wore.

He allied himself with fashion and stroked the dying embers of his own ego, as if there had been any other correct choice. A familiar, yet nostalgic sound soon filled the halls of the Governor’s Mansion.

*Ching*

*Ching*

*Ching*

Arriving at his office, he quietly unlocked the door and peeked out the curtains, seeing the fiery ball of gas in the sky just barely starting to peek up from the Rocky Mountains miles off into the distance, allowing the skies to be a brilliant purplish hue of the morning sun. The man worked in an oval shaped office on the second floor. It’s wall-paper was adorned with various western style scenery, mostly arches and decorative cacti lined the circular shape of the ceiling.

On the floor was a massive rug that was made entirely out of buffalo hides, an expensive yet worthy expenditure. On its walls were various awards he had gotten from yard sales during the depression years, while directly above the entrance to his working quarters (and in direct eye-sight whenever he would be sitting at his desk) was a fanciful looking clock of a cowboy on horseback that told the time.

He glanced down at his desk and took notice of the ink well that was positioned off to the corner of it. The structure itself was sturdily made from chopping down a local tree and refurbishing it into one of the strongest desks he had known, given his habit of slamming fists down whenever he was angered or upset. He then started to examine several waiting papers that his assistant slash drinking buddy slash confidant had laid out neatly for him. As he looked them over, the door swung open, prompting the man to look up.

“Governor Welles. Good morning.” exclaimed a rather modest looking man, no taller than five seven with brown hair that dropped down to his waist. The man certainly had a certain odor around him, but one that had betrayed the obvious thoughts of manure or sweat. The man actually smelt like leathery, burnt bacon, which for a change, was nice to smell.

“Mornin’ youngster. “ The Governor replied between evident bags under his eyes to which his lackey noticed.

“You get enough sleep last night?”

“Oh. I tried. I tried alright.” Chuckled the Governor, though it mostly came out to hissing fits of what could only be described as a cat’s whiskers being plucked like a violin.

“That bad… Huh?”

The Governor let out a dry nod as he reached over for a bottle that contained an orange liquid in it. He eyed it, swishing the contents of it before opening the bottle and taking a small, conservative sip.

His face contorted for a moment before he shook his head at the taste.

“1914 was a shit year.” uttered the Governor. “All those fucking aristocratic idiots getting shot in the face…. Fucking hell!”

“Well…” began Gubernatorial aide Neville DeBeere. “It wasn’t all bad. But I can’t say I completely disagree…”

Governor Fletcher Welles looked up at the man and shot him a ‘are-you fucking-stupid’ sort of look before letting his mouth do more of the talking, in the event of his aide being blinded suddenly and lacking the ability to read basic body language.

“Have you got cotton in your ears or something? Of course it was bad! Neville, I love you, but I can’t keep doing this! You’ve got to learn something, go read a book for-christ’s-sakes!”

DeBeere didn’t even flinch at the abuse, almost expecting it. A small grin emerged before quickly being extinguished in a wave of stone, coldlessness. Such a facial ice-age was melted by global smirkening as his features betrayed his attempts at seriousness.

“I’m-I’m sory-Sorry, I can’t keep a straight face! Sorry, Governor. Won’t happen again.”

“Good.” Gruffly spoke the old man. “Do I have any-mail?”

“You’ve got an unopened christmas card from House Speaker Elroy.”

“Put it in the fireplace, those make great kindling. He can go fuck himself. I’m not returning that favor. Actually, pen him something. Tell Mr. Jenkins to keep sending me kindling. I greatly appreciate that. What a fucking idiot.”

“Duly noted.” replied DeBeere before pulling out a small notepad from his pocket and grabbing one of the hundreds of ceremonial pens that were stashed away underneath the Governor’s desk.
He scribbled something down, nothing that Governor Welles was now lost within his work. He quickly robbed the busy looking gentlemen with a slight knock on the brain, to which the Arizonan howled at his congressional lackey.

“What the fuck was that for?!” hissed a now upright and very infuriating looking Welles. He was about to say something, but pursed his lips at the letter he now held in his hands.

Snatching it with the speed of a flying hornet, Welles’s eyes mused over it for a moment before a sinister looking grin came to his face.

“Oh my God! It’s from a longtime fan of Sheriff! He wants me to autograph his first edition record that he has enclosed of the first three seasons, the pinnacle of my career.”

“I thought being Governor was the pinnacle of your career.” questioned DeBeere, who was met with a hearty scoff by the chief executive of Arizona.

“Political career, DeBeere.” Welles corrected. “My Acting career is something that’s equally precious to me, if not more-so.”

“Well…” Began DeBeere following a long moment of silence, silence that the Actor utilized to sign and write an endearing message for a long-time fan on the front cover of the record.

“To one of the shooting stars, keep shinging bright, With-no… Respectfully yours, Wild Bill.” Welles spoke aloud while carefully managing his cursive to at least be legible to the prospective fan. When he was finished he gingerly placed the copy in a plain looking vanilla envelope and cradled it out of the door to his Office.

“Um… Boss?”

“Yes?” spoke the former Actor with a scent of giddy on the brain and breath before DeBeere’s fingers were directed at one word.

“Shining is spelt without a ‘G’.”

===

“And Now, The 11th Governor of Arizona, Welles Augustine Fletcher, with his New Year’s address.”

“Why, A firm Howdee-doo-dee-doo to all of you-oo-oo-oo! I am blessed to have survived yet another year, against the forces of evil. I am blessed with a strong heart and an even kinder woman by my side. As we all enter this new year, we’ve got new challenges right ‘round the corner, folks! It’s achin’ at the bit to ruin all of your good payin’ jobs n’ handin’ ‘em out to CROOKS! C-R-O-O-K-S! These Crooks are these idiots at the legislature that have wanted my so-called ‘shenanigans’ to be placed outwards. These Crooks are harmin’ all of y’all. Your buiznesszes, your homes and your CHILDREN!!

These enemies of the state, no, of the people’s revolution will be dealt a blow at the ballot box. I urge you all to cast your ballots not just for a straight republican ticket, but a queer one. No, I don’t mean like that, I mean you vote for a couple of Indy-pendants and Idiots with a few bucks that we snuck on the ballot. Throw ‘em away and then I’ll be more than happy to tell these brownshirt thugs masqueradin’ as both democrats n’ republicans in the capitol building’ what I REALLY THINK O’ ‘EM!! We need legisl-laters that now what in the sam hell they is a doin’! These ‘ere legisl-laters couldn’t even tie their own shoes without first takin’ a bribe! They only man that ain’t crocked or crooked is your Governor. I am the knight in shinnin’ n’ shingin’ armor set forth to slay the dragon o’ big gubment that this idiot Democrats n’ liberal Republican cow dung state legis-laters has a doggon cooked up! I’ve tried a many a gumbo in my humble spun life, n’ this is the SHITTIEST TASTIN’ GUMBO, I’SA EVER TRIED IN MY LIFE!!




These legislatures have, on multiple occasions, stood as an obstacle to progress in this state. They have even started to think backwards and possibly impose a regime of segregation on the state. I’m a white man, and I don’t think it’s in the bible that you must be this much of an ass’ ole to the mexicans n’ the blacks. I don’t mean equal rights for christ-sakes, I ain’t a goddamn pinko commie queer who eats shit from a can. However, I mean inna the Bible sense. You must treat each man the way you must be treated. Unless, however, such men hold your family hostage and wish harm upon them. In such cases, I would strongly encourage you to get a boom-stick and introduce such foes that wish you n’ your ilk ill to a good, ol’ fashioned,friendly neighborhood shoot-out!

Now, I am not condonin’ political violence, however, I am saying that this state’s government would be well served should you voice your discontent at the ballot box. I ain’t sayin’ we need to overthrow the state legisl-laters. In fact, I fully and vehemently condemn the interference in a free and fair election. However, I am stating that I am up against the wall, as your Governor, I have a hard time…’governing’ with these individual morons in both the state house and senate. I have always been for Democracy, and I know what it’s like to win a close one. I am a Governor for all them fellas, even the cacti to the humble grand-canyon!

My office doors are more than positioned to be swung open for even the most brain-dead idjit rancher to stop on by to tell me what in the sma-sam hell’s their issue, n’ how Sheriff Wild Bill can git yer problem all nice n’ sorted out! F’s it’s advice y’all are a seekin’ then that’s given out for free. Unlike those fartin’ tootin’ n’ not at all a shootin’ lame duck spineless poli’tikins in the state capitol, who CHARGE GOOD, HONEST MEN N’ WIMMEN FOR ADVICE! That is despicable, deplorable and dishonorable of men who have sunken thousands of your Tax Payer Doll’as to squeeze what they can outta the poor fellas who ain’t got much more than the roof ‘bove their head, lest those vulptureous and hatchet wieldin’ banker scum wanna foreclose on their humble ‘bodes n’ send ‘em packin’ to the capital!

Arizonans, and all of you o’er the radioes n’ telly-visions, ain’t the most gullible idjits. That ain’t to say we’re all blessed with an IQ over 190, however, we can tell when the federal government is screwin’ us over. That’s what I am proud to say I don’t do. I don’t take a million dollars from some fat-cat bajillionaire. I am pleased to announce that a good portion of my donations for my run for Governor came directly from the PEOPLE OF ARIZONA. I hold no master other than the Arizona State Constitution and the hard working folks of this state! Should they voice their displeasure within two years, then that shall be my fault for not listenin’ to the people. Ignore the masses of workers and wimmens of moms at your own peril.

Thank you all for just taking the time out of your day to listen not to an old man ramble on, but to a determined visionary explain himself to his citizenry, to which all men are ultimately responsible too, save for god himself. I eagerly wait for the legisl-laters to come back from their winter break, and then, for finality, we can get to work on the issues that Arizonans actually give a damn about.

Thank you all, and please pray for Dictator Jackson, may his days be long, but neutral. I hope to god that man’s alright in the head. Pray to God, even. In fact, I wish for all of you, right now, to get on your hands and knees while I lead you in a lil’ ol’ ditty my momma taught me.

Dear God, please ensure the safety of President Jackson, make sure that no blood-suckin’ fascist bastard will blow his brains out or, even worse, poison him with my cooking. Please ensure that, in this tumultuous time, he leads the country with respect, and leaves with what dignity he hasn’t sold off to the highest bidder.

Praise be to the Lord, and Amen.”
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Mooresville, Alabama
January 1, 1960

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A bitter cold invaded the air around the shoddy looking two story relic of the antebellum south. Its chill filled the air, freezing out nearly everyone around it. Another form of a relic in the form of a gaunt looking figure adorned in a nightgown emerged from his sleeping quarters. He eyed the room across the hall from him before turning to port and set his feet on a steady motion, each creak of the home giving away his presence to those that might have been within earshot.

Navigating the hallway by way of a freshly lit candle, he grabbed the stick in two hands as he felt his way around the house, each floorboard creaking under his relatively light frame before he came to the stairs. He gripped the railing with one hand and gingerly took the stairs down. He emerged into a dusty looking tiled floor, the only appliance being the trusted heath that sat on the far end of the room. Putting his candle down on the dining room table, the old man fiddled with a box of matches that sat on one side of the table before lighting the stove.

A modest spark was seen as the flames growled, almost as if they were a wild cougar before settling down, the only sound being the omnipresent popping of the stove’s wooden chips exploding. The man quickly got to work, hoisting a small tin pot above the raging fire.
The elderly figure then turned his attention to a discarded (but lengthy) stick in the corner. Looking over it for a moment, he shook his head for a moment before digging out an old pocket knife.

Whittling the time away, Sunlight was now only starting to infiltrate the formerly dimly lit concrete dungeon that he called the eating room. Shifting his eyes to better adjust to the incoming light in the formerly barely-lit room, he eyed a figure that had also emerged from a side corner.

“Coffee’s gonna be ready soon, Hush.”

The woman scoffed before folding her arms around the skinny looking man.

“You forgot your glasses. I thought I’d be a gal and fetch ‘em for ya.”

“Bullshit.” Dismissed William Sparks, attempting to get away from his wife. “If I wanted to be lied to, I’d get my ass to Washin’tin…”

“And where would that leave me?”

“That would earn you some peace and quiet dear, I thought you’d enjoy the idea.” Offered Sparks.

His wife thought it over for a moment before slyly grinning at her husband of almost a decade.

“You’re right.”

“I’m what?”

“I said you're right. I didn’t say you were deaf. You heard what I said. Can’t you take a compliment?”

“When it comes out of your mouth Nata-lie, hell’ll freeze over. Christ..”

“Bill! Watch that tongue of yours or I’ll have to wash your mouth out with some soap.”

“Yeah, Yeah.” The Alabaman waved his wife’s offense to his language away as he picked up the box of matches that he had previously set down. Revealing a small tin box he kept in his coat pocket, he gingerly picked up a thin white stick before striking a match and lighting his cigarette.

The crude Alabaman simply waved off his wife’s nagging as she disappeared into the other room. The smell of freshly lit tobacco lingered in the musty hallways of the antebellum style plantation home.

He turned over to the pair of rejected spectacles. He looked over, making sure his wife wasn’t present before putting them on. He dashed himself over to one corner of the dining room, where a mirror as tall as the Alabaman politician stood proudly. He sucked in his gut and was met by the appearance of thin looking ribs. He might have passed for Anorexic, on the fact that his wife lacked knowing a damn thing about cooking other than how to boil water.

“Con-sarn woman… Tell me to watch my language. I’ll have her watch my goddamn language when she learns to goddamn cook properly!”

Sparks shook his frail fist at the un-used ceiling fan that had been a magnet for dust.

“Oh, Melinda dear, why’d you have to go-one n’ raise such a crummy old’ daughter?”

“Sparks! Coffee’s a gittin’ cold. Get your skinny bee’s hind inn’ere lest I drink the whole pot.”

“Woman, you’d need it. I’ve seen you rise… with the bettles.” Sparks murmured under his breath, not wanting the woman he had been trapped into marrying hear that. He stomped grumpily into the kitchen and snatched the entire pot from her hands, taking a tender sip and suddenly turning his tongue into a sea of stalagmites. The Alabaman leapt back in shock, almost dropping the entire pot of drinkable black gold, being saved by a quick thinking Natalie.

Had his tongue been in working order, the products produced would be a box-set of cuss words. Unfortunately for the Alabaman, he was too occupied nursing his tongue to swear, let alone make a coherent sentence other than a few grunts.

“Careful, it’s hot.” cautioned a laugh disguised as concern feminine voice, to which Sparks stormed off, slamming the dilapidated shutter behind him as he went, the action echoing throughout the antebellum era structure.

The temperature outside was far colder than the inside of his humble abode, and Sparks was about to have the mind to come about and retrieve his coat from the closet when a dilapidated, rust ridden 1941 Chevy in what was supposed to be mint green pulled up by his half-painted picket fence. A man wearing brown spectacles, complete with a pair of overalls held together by thin shoulder straps hopped out of the car and waved the Alabaman Senator down.

“Senay-toor Sparks!”

The senator in his seventies smiles at his address of title, and happily meets the man halfway to his car, by an old soup can that his wife had frequented as target practice on their rural estate.

“Cletus, you bright young son of a bitch ,I’ll be! Say. How’s Nedra doin’? She holdin’ up alright after I got drunk?”

Cletus’s face contorted into a genuine smile as he stifled a few chuckles.

“ Oh, Nedra’s a fine. You know women. Heh! You never came anywhere near my wife, Senay-toor. It was some-other vile man with a temper that dididit.”

“Well, ain’t that the truth! You give women an inch and they’ll take a goddamn mile! They’re almost as worse as the nazis! Almost.” Sparks began, musing his options before having an idea pop inside his head. “Hey, what in the sam hell’s goin’ on with Washin’tin? Do I need to get my ass in the Senate or are you here to shoot the shit with the famous Sparkin’ Sparks?”

Cletus’s bright green eyes sparkled for a moment before the man unfurled a newspaper with the same respect military members would unfurl and hoist the stars and stripes.

“I didn’t come all this way just to hear one of your old military stories-”

“God-damnit.”

“B-But, and this is a big ol’ butt!”

“I can see that. You tried goin’ on a diet?” joked Sparks, peeking at the obese figure of his campaign manager before Cletus dropped some news off.

“But… the president did deliver a new year’s address. Y’wana have a gander?” His chief of staff replied, now wielding a faded yellow newspaper, to which the Alabaman Politician snatched out of his hands and mused through it’s contents.

“I never much cared for the Atlantic Journal, I’m more of a Nashville Enquir-er myself.. But, bullshit’s bullshit. Lemme see here… ‘what we want America to be’. Hah, I see he’s a fixin’ to drive a wedge between the isolationists who are right, such as myself, and the internationalists who are wrong, which has been him for seven straight years. Ok, what other drivel came out from this man’s mouth… lemme have a gander here…. ‘ For-christ's sake, he’s framing’ the War in Africa as one of defendin’ against both the commies and the damn nazzis… He’s an idiot we’ve elected for two terms.”

“I didn’t vote for the man.”

“Neither did I, but that’s what fucking democracy gets us. I can’t believe I almost ran against the son of a bitch back in ‘52. Goddamn Truman was a sinkin’ ship. America was tired of us Democrats runnin’ the show since ‘32. I hope to god they’ve grown tired of those idiots in GOP runnin’ around without pants on legislatively for the past seven years. Get ahold of some journalist and lemme run my mouth to ‘em… actually, cut out the press, we’ll do it ourselves. Can’t trust those goddamn son of bitches who work for Jackson in the press department. I’ll do it myself, with your help of course.”

“Right.” nodded Spark’s chief of staff, grabbing a pen and notepad from his coat pocket and eagerly waiting for the man to speak.

Statement from the U.S. Senate Office of William Dupont Sparks (Democratic-Alabama)

President Jackson, for all his faults, is a man of his word. He has promised to not withdraw from the disastrous war in Africa, and he has kept that promise. He has kept that promise in spite of crying and inconsolable mothers and daughters. He has kept that promise in spite of little hope of overall victory in Africa. We are supporting the anti-democratic oligarchies of France through american blood. We are helping a dictator keep his people down, and supporting the last vestiges of a colonial regime on it’s continent, save for fascist Italy.

American casualties are assuredly mounting, and I say when is enough enough? Will it be enough for General President Kaclk-Jackson to stand knee deep in the blood of americans and the other races in order to claim ultimate victory? I have not seen a pathway towards the light at the end of the tunnel since the first year of this conflict in Africa. We must not throw away precious American lives for the giddy nationalism of a few. If we must impeach the President, then we must.

As Is tradition like Christmas around my humble southern plantation, I shall be drafting and submitting another bill to withdraw all American combat personnel from the African Subcontinent. My Office will keep eager Alabamans and Americans informed as to the progress of such crafting of legislation, and will let them know when I have submitted it for the Congressional Record.

Here is to Peace in Africa, and Peace in our time, thank you.

[Bogmia]

The Boston Herald
1st Jenuary 1960

Dorsey announces his candidacy for the Massachusetts election

Today Evan Dorsey, mayor of Westfield, told newspapers of his intention to run for governor of the state with the Republican party. many in Boston and Massachusetts will know Dorsey for his reputation as a successful lawyer, and in Westfield he is loved by his fellow citizens, who regard him as an excellent politician. however, other people consider him corrupt and recommended, opportunist and infamous. His biggest critic is Mark Pearson, the Democratic candidate who lost the city election against Dorsey, who considers him a sellout, recommended and a climber of hierarchies. Dorsey has consistently denied these allegations and responded forcefully today in a speech at Westfield.

" good morning to all my dear fellow citizens, today, immediately after my declarations to the newspapers of my candidacy in the governor's election, I was attacked and defamed by the Democrats, regarding my relationship with the world of the judiciary and that with the vice-mayor Kellerman , a good friend of mine, who according to them I have nominated only for personal relations between us, I know that some of you have heard the aforementioned slanders and defamations about my person, but I would like to remind you of what our city was like before my candidacy, and now the Dems, as a dog whose bone is taken, they bark at me for said ties. I want to improve your lives and if I succeeded here, I'm sure I will succeed in Massachusetts too. Vote for me for a better state!" the speech was acclaimed and many chanted "Dorsey!, Dorsey! Dorsey!". Dorsey, as an influential figure within the citizenry and the judiciary, will be a formidable opponent for the Democrats.

[Azekopolaltion]

---

Vice President Paul Hargreaves (R-VP)
The White House - Washington, D.C.
January 1, 1960

---

The concept of groundwork had always been very important to Vice President Hargreaves. Groundwork had been the key to his entire career—literal groundwork, in the form of the concrete laid to build the roads, bridges, and towers that had made Oregon one of the flashiest new infrastructure states in the country. Now that same literal groundwork had gone nationwide in the form of the Interstate Highway, Paul's pet project as a top member of the Jackson Administration. But there was groundwork of the metaphorical kind too—perhaps the most important kind of groundwork.

Organization. Networks. Funding. Paul viewed these three elements as crucial to launching any political campaign, and the importance he placed on these factors was why he had such a good election track record. It wasn't about how quickly you got into the race, how fiery your speeches were, or even how firm of a platform you had. No. Paul had learned long ago that even his best policy ideas didn't matter when it came to running a political campaign. Image—an image of the most enduring kind—was not built on either technocratic language or populist idealism. It was built on control—both perceived and real control.

Jonny gave a good speech. He gave a heck of a good speech—but it was not President Jackson's oratorical skill that Paul had ever doubted. There were few men, on Capitol Hill or otherwise, whom Paul had so much respect for as Jonathan Jackson. In eight years of working with him, that hadn't changed. He still wouldn't call the man a brother, or someone he'd willingly call to the family cookout; they were too different for that. But a trusted colleague? An ally? Perhaps, even, a friend? Paul felt that eight years of partnership warranted at least that much acknowledgement of closeness to the sitting leader.

But his time was up now—he'd said so himself, numerous times. Most recently in that wonderful New Year's Address. And as Paul sat alone in his room in the West Wing on New Year's Day, he pondered whether he really had it in him to be that successor. The speculation had already begun. How could it not? A Vice President of the United States with a highly active track record on influencing domestic policy, a long history of governance and legislative activity that had made him a household name all across the country—in some ways, his presidential campaign was a prophecy that had written itself.

But as everyone around him—his wife, his campaign manager in waiting, his Chief of Staff, his closest advisers—encouraged him to officially get in the race, Paul had only a four-word response to their pleas:

Do. Not. Rush it.

Paul knew he had time. He didn't need to look at the polls—he simply knew. Heck, he could afford to even miss a primary or two if it came to that. Right now, politics-wise, Vice President Hargreaves had one priority on his mind and one priority only. And that was this huge stinking mess of a political party that was the so-called GOP.

They had Christians. They had industrialists. They had middle class Americans. Heck, they even had some New Dealers in Republican cloth. The party that had taken Paul in with open arms, in short, was suffering an identity crisis. Sure, they didn't have the kind of systemic corruption that plagued the machine politics of the Democrats. But even so, sometimes, Paul envied the opposition's organization. They had state parties, national parties, unions, mob bosses, Northern dreamy liberals and Southern hardline segregationists all working together to maintain that iron-clad majority in the House and the Senate.

And, most eye-catching to Paul, was the Democrats' significant edge in control over state governments.

It was a tragedy to Paul, just a tragedy, that more gubernatorial seats were occupied by members of that stinking party rather than honest, clean Republicans with solid track records like his. In his experience, the most competent, calm, honest implementers in the country were all descendants of Honest Abe's party. Voters knew about the Democrats, knew about their sleazy populism, knew about their horsetrading and their lies. Why couldn't Republicans at the state level join together and build a coalition of their own? If he could build a party—a real party, not a party in name only—then Paul might not even need the Presidency in 1960 to be the victor in the long run.

The memo had been sent out today—"The Hargreaves Memo," as political staffers had already been instructed to refer to it. The small message was circulating in governors' mail boxes, in the hands of their staffers, on the tables of their offices. And, if it was a successful initiative, it had the potential to change the course of American politics forever.

An Open Invitation to Republican Governors from Vice President Paul Hargreaves

My fellow Republican Governors,

I hope this message finds you healthy, energized, and ready for a year of hard work in service of the American people. I write to you today with a proposition. A proposition that has consequences for our Grand Old Party, our members, and the voters whom we serve,

Our founding fathers intended for the most dramatic change in America to occur at the state level—not in the halls of Congress. It's why practically every dramatic success on the domestic front in the Jackson Administration was, at some point, tested by a state government. I should know: the model for the development, financing, and execution of the Interstate Highway Act was baked during my time expanding highways as governor of Oregon. Many more such examples exist.

It is time, my friends, to move the Republican Party away from being a decentralized, disorganized party system to an integrated, nationally programmatic agenda. The Republicans ought to have the best-run political organization in the country so that we can continue to grow our reach at the state level. The Democrats currently control well over half of all state executive branches in this country—twenty more states than we do. That is unacceptable to me. Any functioning Union of self-sufficient states should have a more even balance of power along party lines.

I thus extend an invitation to every Republican governor—whether a self-professed “conservative” or a labeled moderate, or whatever other label one may choose to claim—to consider accepting membership into our new Republican Governors Association, in order to receive nationally-raised funds and resources to hold and pick up gubernatorial seats around the country. We will meet biannually at a conference location of our choosing, elect leadership to determine election strategy, and will finally move our party towards the kind of political organization that has allowed our colleagues on the other side of the aisle to dominate elections for so long.

I will remain acting chair of this association, as a former Republican governor myself, until our membership has sufficiently grown to elect a chair who is a currently sitting governor. If you wish to access the ample resources of the national Republican campaign, if you wish to see our party more united than ever, and if you wish to, above all, WIN—then join the Republican Governors Association today.

Kindly,
Paul Hargreaves
Vice President of the United States of America

[Catalaonia]

Suburbs of Katy, Texas
Katy, Texas
10:32 AM - 1st January, 1960

The Veteran of American Politics, Oliver Murray, sat at his desk, the very desk which had stood on it's 4 legs for the last 7 years, in his office on the ground floor of his suburban house, slowly reading through the barrage of letters and everything in-between. Not coming up to his mid-70's, the long-time representative in Texas had been forced over the last few years to delegate various tasks such as some town hall meetings, speeches and readings to city councillors on behalf of him. However, still in okay shape considering his old age, Murray read through a letter from one of his most cherished donors - while not gifting him thousands and thousands every 2 years - is was from Charlie's Diner a 1/4 of mile away from his house within the Square of Katy. A smile was brought to his face, leaning back a touch, before a knock at the door came.

"Come in!" Spoke the elder statesman, placing the letter into one of the four draws, sliding it out and in in a matter of seconds, just as the door creeped open. A 30-something woman with bleach blonde hair, wearing a short-ish and a white blouse, with a short stack of various reports, letters, donations and lobbying efforts.

"Hello, Mr Murray. Just got some more paper-work for you, letters and donations. You only have a small gathering at the Katy Town Hall at 2:30 PM" Spoke the secretary, now sitting on the chair opposite.

"Fantastic, Masie. Anything from the corporations?" Asked Olivier, as he was signing off a letter, peering up to her for 1 1/2 seconds, before looking back down. After he finished signing it off, he leaned back, stretching his arms a bit.

"No, not today. Oh, I forgot to get you the Times from outside! I'm sorry, Mr Murray!-" Spoke the Secretary, now a little frantic as she stood now, prepared to quickly get his daily paper from outside.

"Oh, no need, Masie. I'll go get it. I'm only 74" Replied Mr Murray, as both chuckled at the light-hearted joke. As the secretary was just aside him, the US Representative opened the front door, walking only a few steps as Oliver bent down, grasping the newspaper with the word of TIME in red capital letters. Giving a wave to a friendly local, he slowly walked back in, eventually slumping his way back into the dark, leather arm-chair, placing his circular glasses on as he began to read the daily article on the ongoing war in Africa.

As he read through line by line, Oliver became more and more horrified by the news, but his pro-intervention rhetoric had to be remained. He had known two world wars, two very bloody wars, yet, his quest for relevance and the return of the 20's ad 30's for his political career started with trying to defend something he defended in 1916 and 1940, and wouldn't stop in 1960. He placed the paper back down, looking downwards without blinking, merely thinking of something, anything. Eventually, Representative Murray began at work once more.

---

Studio of Radio Katy, Katy
Katy, Texas
1:21 PM - 2nd January, 1960

In the main studio for Radio Katy, the cities main and most popular radio station, was the prime slotted Stephen Jackson-Peirce, one of the up-coming stars of Texan radio, at just aged 29, and the veteran himself, Oliver Murray. Having only become a regular on radio a few years ago, he was found of it's uses. With two sheets of clean, white paper with various notes, the crackling of the radio ended, as the near-30-year old Stephen started.

"Hello and welcome to Radio Katy, the best of the rest of radio's across Katy City and across Texas, and today we have our the member for the 10th District of Texas since 1916 and one of America's political veteran and juggernaut's, Olivier Murray! Great to have you on the show today, Olivier!".

"Great to be back, Steve" Replied Mr Murray, tilting his glasses a little forward.

"So, quite a few people have been saying that we should be leaving Free France due to the bloodshed and horror ongoing in the region - should we?" Asked Stephen, hoping for either a policy change or something like that.

"Well, i've always said we should begin a gradual removal of troops when the quest of peace and freedom have made the full circle, and that has not happened yet. Congressmen who call for immediate removal, while in good nature, often forgot we've been here only 3 years. If we had not had intervened in 1957, we could have seen thousands more dead. I always look at World War 1 - had we not intervened, our world would've been far different than today. We have not made the same mistake, and I will continue to support our intervention". Said Murray in an almost speech-like approach, as Stephen nodded through.

"How about the families of 10 men who died just recently - wouldn't removal of troops have prevented this one of many?" Replied Stephen.

"Well.. Yes, but these men are fighting for international freedom and for democracies interests. If I was in my 20's at this point - I'd already by in Senegal by now" Spoke the Veteran parliamentarian, giving a short smile.

"You're often viewed by populist and dixies as an establishment figure - would you agree with that notion?" Asked Stephen, taking a sip of water.

"If our establishment is freedom, justice and democracy, than yes, I do agree. All of them populists and dixie's will call anyone, whether liberal or conservative, democrat or republican, who doesn't agree with national socialism or whatever Long tries to hide it as, calling it "left-wing populism", is an establishment figure. So I do agree with them - while they spit out vile views on immigrants and on the collapse of American capitalism, the "establishment" of moderate Republicans and Democrats will keep America alive and well" Said the veteran, taking a large sip of water, looking to recover from the longer than needed response.

"A question which I heard my own mother tell me - "When is he gonna run for Governor?" - and I hope you answer, Mr Murray, is, Will you run for Governor this year, to break the mould of a HOR since 1916?" Asked Stephen.

"Not really sure, right now. Focused on delivering for my local people and voting on behalf of them. Ask me again in a few months and it might be different.." He'd chuckle, as did the much-younger man opposite.

"And my last question, Mr Murray, will you be pushing any bills through the house this year?" Asked Stephen, now leaning back a touch.

"With the support of my fellow Republicans, hopefully. We want to offer security for pensioners, and are hoping to increase how much state pensions are injected, as-well as creating more general security for them. I spoke to a man just a few years younger than me, who's pension covered very little. In a modern democracy, that cannot happen, and I wanna be part of keeping Americans safe and secure, warm with heating, warm with food and warm with security" Spoke the statesman, taking a long sip of water.

"Well, thank you Representative Murray, it's been great having you here, and maybe by the end of this year, you'll be the new Texan governor" Spoke the young radio host, smiling to the 74-year old.

"It's good to be here once more, and maybe I'll be back for Christmas as Governor, who knows?" Chuckled Olivier, as he exited the studio, the door closing shut.

[Union Princes]

Blueshirt Rally in Houston, Texas
January 1st, 1960

---

It has happened here.

Brutish thugs of the Blue Legion, the armed militants of the American National Vanguard, occupied Sam Houston Park in a campaign rally for Sullivan Joyner. Their ranks, numbering in the hundreds, had goosestepped their way into the public eye and formed neat rows of loyal fanatics before the political stand. The speaker, none other than Joyner himself, an uncommon sight given there are better orators in the party but it was important for the candidate running for the governorship in Texas. Adjusting his spectacles, Joyner calmly looked across the park and saw the sight before him as wonderful indeed.

Like a dinner show, the podium overlooked the white Texans that came for the promise of free bread and water. Sure enough, the American people, his American people, had given Joyner their curiosity as they sat on the picnic tables and blankets while the Blueshirts passed bread and water to the crowd. Expensive endeavor despite the food and drink being so cheap but history has shown that it will be worth it in the end. Gazing at the potential voters and Blueshirts intermingling, sometimes chatting, sometimes laughing, Joyner began his speech to the white masses. Just then, men in white hoods appeared in the background, hollering in celebration and praising Jesus for sending them a messiah.

Not a colored folk in sight.

Sam Houston Park Speech
My fellow Americans, the brave and true, I hope the bread and water are to your liking. From American farms to American stores, I have brought them to you. To show you the fruits of American labor. Proof of God's blessings on this great country we call home. But unfortunately, Our land, our nation, and our principles are being corrupted from within.

Our system is under attack: the property system, the free enterprise system, and local government. Even our very communities. I wish not to be the naysayer of doom but this is the reality we Americans are facing. Anarchy prevails on the streets of the grand cities in the US, making it difficult for you to even come here to Sam Houston Park, unfortunate circumstances we face today. The Republicans have fallen to the anarchists and antichrists that roam these very streets while some, not all, of the Democrats let them. So why have I gathered you all here today?

We come here, by the grace of God, in deference to the memories of the stalwart patriots that have fought, have pledged their very lives, even their honor, to defend establish and defend the principle that governments are created by the people, empowered by the people, derive their just powers from the consent of the people, and must forever remain subservient to the will of the people. Hence the cruel irony that the President of the United States has signed three years ago the most monstrous, unconstitutional, anti-American bill that has ever been enacted by Congress. It is a sham, a hoax, and a violation of your patriotism, and your well-being. It dishonors the countless men and women who laid down their lives for this country; their bodies being the foundation of what makes this country great. From the War of Independence to the Pacific War, the President has desecrated them all with his tyranny. A stab in the back of our personal liberty. You do not believe me? Look around you. Look at our schools!

The president has sent armed soldiers, men who swore to protect us, to conquer us. To enact his unjust beliefs and tyrannical whims on us! You may have experienced it yourself when a US soldier pointed his bayonet at you for practicing your First Amendment. The Civil Rights bill, thanks to the liberals and left-wing traitors, has brought us into this domestic and foreign mess. Who is the President loyal to? You, my fellow Americans...or them? Who are our enemies? The people who didn't bomb Pearl Harbour or the ones that let it happen?

[The Rio Grande River Basin]

Washington DC

On a simple wooden stage, in front of a gathering crowd, all with badges with “Share Our Wealth” all in capital letters, Senator James Long stepped onto the stage.

“Today, we make a great step forward. When this bill, progress, passes, we will be serfs to Wall Street no more! It’s time for the oppressed and forgotten masses to be represented in the halls of power! I'm for the poor man — all poor men, black and white, they all gotta have a chance. They gotta have a home, a job, and a decent education for their children. 'Every man a king' — that's my slogan. And the folks up on the hill, they’re gonna accept it, or we’re gonna make ‘em. I used to get things done by saying please. Now I dynamite 'em out of my path. And I’m gonna dynamite ‘em out of my path if those sons of bitches try to stop us.”

The crowd cheered, chanting furiously.

“Now. I know they’re some rumours going around me and Hitler. Don't liken me to that sonunvabitch. Anybody that lets his public policies be mixed up with religious prejudice is a plain god-damned fool. The banks, the industries, they aren’t gonna keep us from finally taking what the lord says is ours. The lord’s plan is our plan, and our plan is for us to SHARE OUR WEALTH! I don’t care what ol’ Goldman Sachs thinks. I only care about what the boys at the forks of the creek think of me. And nobody, mark my words, nobody is gonna stop us!”

The crowd howled for more.

“Now, finally, the bastard Joyner. Quote me as saying that that Imperial bastard will never set foot in Louisiana, and that when I call him a sonuvabitch, I am not using profanity, but am referring to the circumstances of his birth.”

The crowd broke into laughter at his barb at Joyner

And people swore, they saw a single tear drop from his eye. He might just make it where his father failed.

St. Paul, Minnesota

“…now, Governor Graythorpe has a New Year’s address.”

Graythorpe adjusted his tie. Odd really. No-one could see him, so why did he do it? Habit?

“My fellow Minnesotans. Welcome. Welcome to a new decade. We face new challenges, new wars. Please. Let us move beyond old rivalries. I say to you, it’s time for change. A change from the establishment, a move forward, rather than backwards. It’s time for the government to work for you, not against you. You, the people, should master the government, and we will, I will, run this state for everyone. Not just those who voted for me, everyone.

Now, please. I’ve seen the scenes on the streets. Please, for America's sake, do not riot. All of you wonderful workers, and union men, please, your concerns are heard. And know this, George Graythorpe is for you. We want healthcare, we want civil rights, we want liberty. We want to give everyone a chance for the American Dream. Until no man starves, or freezes, our work is never done.

Now. Onto the depressing news of this war.

When will Jackson learn? When? It is time that our brothers, our friends, they come home. So I say; Come Home, America.

And New Year to you all."

[Sao Nova Europa]

January 2, 1960
Chicago

The alley was dark and dismal. Buildings loomed up on either side of Jim, feeling like walls pressing in from both sides. The veteran cop was investigating a homicide case that had taken place in that same alleyway. The victim was a young man who had been shot multiple times in the chest. Jim knew the alleyway was a hotspot for drug activity, and he suspected that a drug dealer might have witnessed the murder. Walking in the alleyway, he spotted a drug dealer - a hooded man in his twenties. He was handing over a bag of weed to a ten-year-old child. "Boy," Jim said, "you should leave." The boy was about to protest but seeing his harsh glare, he ran away.

"Oh man!" the drug dealer protested. "Why did you do that? You've got a death wish, asshole?"

"I suggest you cooperate," Jim nonchalantly replied.

"Fuck that!" The drug dealer pulled a knife.

"Go ahead, make my day."

The dealer charged at Jim, but the cop evaded the blow easily, and punched him in the face, busting his teeth as blood flew on the ground. "Now," Jim said, "will you cooperate?" The criminal instead charged again, roaring like a madman. Jim pulled his .44 magnum gun and fired him in the leg. The man screamed in pain and horror. "Alright! Alright!"

Jim holstered his gun. "If you had been taught good manners by your mama, we would have avoided all this." He pulled from his pocket a photograph of the victim. "We need to talk about the murder that took place in this alley last Friday. I know you were here when it happened, and I need your help to solve this case."

"Why...why would...would I do that when you just shot me, asshole?"

"Listen, scumbag, I'm in no mood for long discussions. You either tell me or I shoot you again and tell the department I killed you in self-defense."

"You... you wouldn't?"

Jim's eyes narrowed into two cold, hard stones. His eyes were piercing, like a predator stalking its prey. The detective knew the power of his gaze. It had a way of getting under people's skin, making them feel small and powerless. "Wanna bet your life on it?"

The dealer hesitated for a moment, but then he began to speak. "Fine! I saw the murderer. It was a fat man, old and balding," he said. "He had a big belly and jowls that hung down over his chin. He wore a stained white t-shirt and pants that were too tight around his waist. He smelled like cheap cologne and cigarettes. I was hiding behind a waste can when the whole thing went down. I was too scared to do anything and, for obvious reasons, I didn't want to speak to you cops."

"Thanks. See ya 'round."

The dealer, still clutching his bleeding leg, pleaded with Jim. "Hey! You are gonna leave me here like that?"

"You prefer that I arrest you?"

"No, no, no, no!"

"That's what I thought."

[Sao Nova Europa]

January 2, 1960
Washington DC

President Jonathan Jackson stepped forth on the podium. The room was a sea of gray and black, with rows upon rows of journalists dressed in their finest attire, ready to fire away with their questions. The sound of camera shutters clicking and the scratching of pens on paper filled the air. The room was dimly lit, with only the bright spotlight shining down on the President to illuminate the stage. The wooden podium stood stoically, a symbol of the power and authority that resided behind it.

As the President began to speak, his voice boomed through the room with a commanding presence. "I am here to take any questions you might have. Let us hope that my first press conference for the year goes smoothly," he smiled.

[Newne Carriebean7]

January 2, 1960
Washington DC

(Image)

President Jonathan Jackson stepped forth on the podium. The room was a sea of gray and black, with rows upon rows of journalists dressed in their finest attire, ready to fire away with their questions. The sound of camera shutters clicking and the scratching of pens on paper filled the air. The room was dimly lit, with only the bright spotlight shining down on the President to illuminate the stage. The wooden podium stood stoically, a symbol of the power and authority that resided behind it.

As the President began to speak, his voice boomed through the room with a commanding presence. "I am here to take any questions you might have. Let us hope that my first press conference for the year goes smoothly," he smiled.

"Mr. President!" A reporter asked, his thin frame barking to life as he leapt up to garner the attention of the most powerful person in the room. " Senator Sparks of Alabama has released a statement in response to your new year's address. In it, he has accused you of standing 'knee deep in the blood of Americans in order to claim ultimate victory'. Furthermore, the Senator has promised to draft legislation, again, to withdraw all U.S. Combat personnel from Africa. Do you have any plans of changing your mind from the last three times he's attempted to pass a withdrawal of American troops? Furthermore, are you willing to meet with your former Vice Presidential rival, should he make the effort in trying to talk to you about legislation that you might be amenable into signing into law?"

[Sao Nova Europa]

January 2, 1960
Washington DC

(Image)

President Jonathan Jackson stepped forth on the podium. The room was a sea of gray and black, with rows upon rows of journalists dressed in their finest attire, ready to fire away with their questions. The sound of camera shutters clicking and the scratching of pens on paper filled the air. The room was dimly lit, with only the bright spotlight shining down on the President to illuminate the stage. The wooden podium stood stoically, a symbol of the power and authority that resided behind it.

As the President began to speak, his voice boomed through the room with a commanding presence. "I am here to take any questions you might have. Let us hope that my first press conference for the year goes smoothly," he smiled.

"Mr. President!" A reporter asked, his thin frame barking to life as he leapt up to garner the attention of the most powerful person in the room. " Senator Sparks of Alabama has released a statement in response to your new year's address. In it, he has accused you of standing 'knee deep in the blood of Americans in order to claim ultimate victory'. Furthermore, the Senator has promised to draft legislation, again, to withdraw all U.S. Combat personnel from Africa. Do you have any plans of changing your mind from the last three times he's attempted to pass a withdrawal of American troops? Furthermore, are you willing to meet with your former Vice Presidential rival, should he make the effort in trying to talk to you about legislation that you might be amenable into signing into law?"

"Absolutely not," was the firm answer of Jackson. "It is frankly disgusting to have such accusations hurled against me, when I proudly served this nation in both the Great War and the Pacific War. All the men who served under my command can testify that I would never throw away their lives. The African Campaign is an issue of national security for the United States. Free France allows us to maintain a significant military presence to the south of Nazi-dominated Europe. This allows us to prevent Nazi expansionism abroad. If we allowed Free France to collapse, Nazi Germany could overtake all of West Africa and exploit its resources to prop up their horrific rule in Europe. Leaving now would also cause anarchy and widespread civil conflict, as without the maintenance of authority provided by the Free French administration, West Africa will descend into warlordism. This would severely weaken the geopolitical position of the United States and cause untold suffering and deaths in West Africa. Our war to maintain order in West Africa is not just a rational one; it is also a moral one. We ensure the safety of the good people of West Africa, weaken Nazi Germany, and safeguard American national interests. Lastly, I would like to note that polls show that a plurality of the American people supports this administration's decision to send troops to Africa. This is the best response to those who advocate surrender. Americans do not surrender; American win! As a military commander, I oversaw the defeat of Imperial Japan. Back then, there were also people who advocated surrender. Thankfully, we did not listen to them and we prevailed. We shall prevail again now!"

[Azekopolaltion]

January 2, 1960
Washington DC

(Image)

President Jonathan Jackson stepped forth on the podium. The room was a sea of gray and black, with rows upon rows of journalists dressed in their finest attire, ready to fire away with their questions. The sound of camera shutters clicking and the scratching of pens on paper filled the air. The room was dimly lit, with only the bright spotlight shining down on the President to illuminate the stage. The wooden podium stood stoically, a symbol of the power and authority that resided behind it.

As the President began to speak, his voice boomed through the room with a commanding presence. "I am here to take any questions you might have. Let us hope that my first press conference for the year goes smoothly," he smiled.

Mr. President, Nicholas Capote of The Boston Globe. What’s your assessment of the upcoming presidential election, and do you intend to involve yourself in any capacity in your party’s presidential primaries?

[Sao Nova Europa]

January 2, 1960
Washington DC

(Image)

President Jonathan Jackson stepped forth on the podium. The room was a sea of gray and black, with rows upon rows of journalists dressed in their finest attire, ready to fire away with their questions. The sound of camera shutters clicking and the scratching of pens on paper filled the air. The room was dimly lit, with only the bright spotlight shining down on the President to illuminate the stage. The wooden podium stood stoically, a symbol of the power and authority that resided behind it.

As the President began to speak, his voice boomed through the room with a commanding presence. "I am here to take any questions you might have. Let us hope that my first press conference for the year goes smoothly," he smiled.

Mr. President, Nicholas Capote of The Boston Globe. What’s your assessment of the upcoming presidential election, and do you intend to involve yourself in any capacity in your party’s presidential primaries?

"I believe that the choice of who should be the presidential nominee of the Republican Party should lie with the Republican voters. It is up to the base of our party to choose our next nominee. I shall remain neutral and strive to safeguard the unity of the Grand Old Party."

[Azekopolaltion]

---

Rep. Tommy Byrne [D-NY-7]
The Old House Office Building - Washington, D.C.
January 1, 1960

---

“What they call you ‘Tommy’ for?”

The Congressman was lost in thought, poring over a report on his desk while he chewed at his fingernails. He didn’t bother to look up until Ray Fourier, his chief of staff, repeated the question. Then he responded with a simple “Hmmm?”

“Tommy. What kinda name is that to go by? Huh? I mean, you’ve got so much else going for ya—handsome face, youthful face, military service, fresh style. You’ve only got two things to hold against ya: you’re an Irish Catholic, and you’ve got that goofy name…it don’t make sense to me why you kept it.”

“Goofy?”

“Tommy, it makes you sound like a child.”

The New York Congressman scoffed. Being seen as a child was the last of his worries right now—if anything, he was on a high of pride. He’d been handily re-elected for a second term despite a relatively quiet first two years in the house—at least legislatively. He’d gotten good press for his position on the House Committee on Africa, where he’d been able to position himself as a lower chamber leader against the African Campaign. He was already being touted as a bright example of a New Liberalism in the United States, a fresh young face who could steer Congress away from its swampy past and towards a more modern future.

“Tommy’s my name, Ray. I’m Tommy Byrne and I don’t make apologies for it. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Ray shrugged. “Suit yourself. But you want to be the first Catholic in the White House someday, you’ll have to at least get yourself a smarter name.” They both chuckled over that one. The presidency really seemed a long way off. “So,” his right hand man continued, “what do you want to be first on the bill docket this session?”

Tommy shook his head. “It’s this war, Ray. It’s gotta be this damn war.” It was why he’d run for Congress in the first place, and it was why he was still here. “Folks like ol’ Willie Sparks are crusading against it more intensely now, and the year hasn’t even started.” He chewed his lip. “And you hear about those possible upcoming air strikes in Mali? We’re just doubling down. It’s horrible, plain horrible.” He remained deep in thought for a few more seconds. “But I’ve done enough talking about it the past two years, the constituents know where I stand. Now we’ve got to do something.”

Ray nodded somberly. “What’re you thinking? Looks like Sparks is planning to go head on against the war—his withdrawal bill is already making the rounds. You gonna back that legislation?”

Tommy was a bit quick to shake his head. “No, no more lost causes. No more showboating, we’ve had enough of that. I mean, if that ever makes it to a floor vote, I’ll gladly lend my support. But no, we need some concrete action that everyone can get behind.” He paused before revealing his plans. “I think…I think it’s time we introduce the AAA.”

Ray raised an eyebrow. “Without any cosponsors? It’ll die in committee without the backing of colleagues, you know what the other members are like…no one gives a damn about balanced budgets right now.”

“No, I know. But someone’s gotta do something about that damned bloated Pentagon budget. Best case scenario, we debate the bill on the House floor—and folks on both sides see that it’s just plain common sense to support 1% budget cuts to the DoD if they fail to pass an audit. Worst case, I’m thinking colleagues just amend the bill and strike the Pentagon section, and at least we get a clean piece of legislation that audits the Federal Government. Folks have a right to know the cost of this war.”

His chief of staff remained nodding the whole time. The strategy made a lot of sense: a straightforward, non-controversial legislative win was in sight—and if Tommy could pull it off with the anti-war sections intact, that would be a double win. “Give me a few days to pass the bill around, see if anyone picks it up. You can get a few cosponsors, hopefully in both parties, and then we can introduce.”

“Sounds like a plan.” This wasn’t the same Tommy Byrne as 1958—wide-eyed, passionate, idealistic. He was ready to make some big, concrete changes around this place, and hopefully be taken a bit more seriously in the public eye.

---

Official Name: The Agency Audit Act of 1960

Nickname: The AAA

Overview: A bill to ensure that every major agency of the Federal Government undergoes and passes a clean audit opinion on its financial statements.

Sponsor: Rep. Thomas C. Byrne [D-NY-7]
Co-Sponsors:

---

Section 1: FINDINGS

(a) The Congress finds the following:

(1) General management functions of the Bureau of the Budget need to be significantly enhanced to improve the efficiency and effectiveness of the Federal Government;

(2) Financial management functions of the Bureau of the Budget need to be significantly enhanced to provide overall direction and leadership in the development of a modern federal financial management structure and associated systems;

(3) Billions of dollars are lost each year through fraud, waste, abuse, and mismanagement among the hundreds of programs in the Federal Government;

(4) These losses could be significantly decreased by improved management, including improved central coordination of internal controls and financial accounting;

(5) The Federal Government is in great need of fundamental reform in financial management requirements and practices as financial management systems are obsolete and inefficient, and do not provide complete, consistent, reliable, and timely information;

(6) Current financial reporting practices of the Federal Government do not accurately disclose the current and probable future cost of operating and investment decisions, including the future need for cash or other resources, do not permit adequate comparison of actual costs among executive agencies, and do not provide the timely information required for efficient management of programs.

(b) The purposes of this Act are the following:

(1) Bring more effective general and financial management practices to the Federal Government through statutory provisions which would establish in the Bureau of the Budget a Deputy Director for Management, establish an Office of Federal Financial Management headed by a Controller, and designate a Chief Financial Officer in each executive department and in each major agency of the Federal Government;

(2) Provide for improvement, in each agency, of systems of accounting, financial management, and internal controls to assure the issuance of reliable financial information and to deter fraud, waste, and abuse of Government resources;

(3) Provide for the production of complete, reliable, consistent and timely financial information for use by the executive branch and the Congress in the financing, management, and evaluation of Federal programs;

(4) Recover amounts, for the purposes of deficit reduction, from the Department of Defense should it fail to achieve an unqualified opinion on its full financial statement by the Bureau of the Budget.

Section 2: ESTABLISHMENT OF CHIEF FINANCIAL OFFICERS

(a) The Bureau henceforth shall have a Director for Management appointed by the President, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate. The Deputy Director for Management shall be the chief official responsible for financial management in the United States Government;

(b) FUNCTIONS OF DIRECTOR FOR MANAGEMENT—. The Director for Management shall establish governmentwide financial management policies for executive agencies and shall perform the following financial management functions:

(1) Perform all functions, including all functions delegated by the President, relating to financial management.

(2) Provide overall direction and leadership to the executive branch on financial management matters by establishing financial management policies and requirements, and by monitoring the establishment and operation of Federal Government financial management systems.

(3) Review agency budget requests for financial management systems and operations, and advise on the resources required to develop and effectively operate and maintain Federal Government financial management systems and to correct major deficiencies in such systems.

(4) Review and, where appropriate, recommend to the Director changes to the budget and legislative proposals of agencies to ensure that they are in accordance with financial management plans of the Office of Management and Budget.

(c) Establishment of agency Chief Financial Officers.— There shall be within each agency of the Federal Government an agency Chief Financial Officer. Each agency Chief Financial Officer shall—

(1) Be appointed by the President, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate; or

(2) Be designated by the President, in consultation with the head of the agency, from among officials of the agency who are required by law to be so appointed;

(3) Be appointed or designated, as applicable, from among individuals who possess demonstrated ability in general management of, and knowledge of and extensive practical experience in financial management practices in large governmental or business entities.

(4) The agencies referred to in this section are the following:

(A) The Department of Agriculture.
(B) The Department of Commerce.
(C) The Department of Defense.
(D) The Department of Health and Human Services.
(E) The Department of the Interior.
(F) The Department of Justice.
(G) The Department of Labor.
(H) The Department of State.
(I) The Department of the Treasury.
(J) The Veterans Administration.
(K) The National Aeronautics and Space Administration.

(d) Authority and functions of agency Chief Financial Officers.— An agency Chief Financial Officer shall:

(1) report directly to the head of the agency regarding financial management matters;

(2) oversee all financial management activities relating to the programs and operations of the agency;

(3) develop and maintain an integrated agency accounting and financial management system, including financial reporing and internal controls, which—

(A) complies with applicable accounting principles, standards, and requirements, and internal control stand- ards;
(B) complies with such policies and requirements as may be prescribed by the Director of the Office of Management and Budget;
(C) complies with any other requirements applicable to such systems; and
(D) provides for complete, reliable, consistent, and timely information which is prepared on a uniform basis and which is responsive to the financial information needs of agency management; the development and reporting of cost information; the integration of accounting and budgeting information; and the systematic measurement of performance;

(4) direct, manage, and provide policy guidance and oversight of agency financial management personnel, activities, and operations, including:

(A) the preparation and annual revision of an agency plan to implement the 5-year financial management plan prepared by the Director of the Bureau of the Budget;
(B) the development of agency financial management budgets;
(C) the recruitment, selection, and training of personnel to carry out agency financial management functions;
(D) the approval and management of agency financial management systems design or enhancement projects;
(E) the implementation of agency asset management systems, including systems for cash management, credit management, debt collection, and property and inventory management and control.

(5) prepare and transmit, by not later than 60 days after the submission of the audit report required by this Act, an annual report to the agency head and the Director of the Bureau of the Budget, which shall include—

(A) a description and analysis of the status of financial management of the agency;
(B) the annual financial statements prepared;
(C) the audit report transmitted to the head of the agency;
(D) a summary of the reports on internal accounting and administrative control systems submitted to the President and the Congress;
(E) other information the head of the agency considers appropriate to fully inform the President and the Congress concerning the financial management of the agency.

Section 3: DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE SPENDING REDUCTIONS IN THE ABSENCE OF AN UNQUALIFIED AUDIT OPINION

(a) If during any fiscal year after fiscal year 1960, the Secretary of Defense determines that a department, agency, or other element of the Department of Defense has not achieved an unqualified opinion on its full financial statements for the calendar year ending during such fiscal year--

(1) the amount available to such department, agency, or element for the fiscal year in which such determination is made shall be equal to the amount otherwise authorized to be appropriated minus 1.0 percent;

(2) the amount unavailable to such department, agency, or element for that fiscal year pursuant to paragraph (1) shall be applied on a proportional basis against each program, project, and activity of such department, agency, or element in that fiscal year; and

(3) the Secretary shall deposit in the general fund of the Treasury for purposes of deficit reduction all amounts unavailable to departments, agencies, and elements of the Department in the fiscal year pursuant to determinations made under paragraph (1).

---

This bill is then honorably presented to the House of Representative for consideration in order to ensure clean audits for every federal agency and is backed by Rep. Byrne on Jan 6th, 1960.

[Newne Carriebean7]

---

Phoenix, Arizona
Governor’s Mansion
January 2, 1960

---

*Crack*

The whizzing, zipping sounds of billiards balls smacking against each other filled the air, which was already thick with the smell of cigar smoke. A small group of men leaned over a table, with one idly fixing up his cue stick for another firm whack at that damned 8 ball that had refused to fall. His face was dripping with sweat, as all the men were, owing to the incredible heating expenditure that Governor Welles undertook to ensure that his “prized sons of bitches” weren’t frigidly cold in the winter months. (No such consideration was even thought of at the state legislature, evident in the absence of coat closets and the abundance of snowmen looking scarfed lawmakers whenever the Arizona Legislature would get together.)

For all the governor’s pronouncements of Populism, it was this room that held real sway in Arizonan state politics. Careers were broken overnight over a few too many sips of that damned kentucky bourbon or a few broken pool cues whenever drunkenness would lead to violence.

“And so, I told Elroy to kiss my ass! There would be no education bill in the state of Arizona!”

A rowdy, riotous round of both applause and drunkenly slurred hooting began in appreciation of the man that was in command of Arizona (technically, anyways).

“Hot-damn, Gov’ernor, you-y-y-ou re-really show’-w’wed ‘em, eh?” Stuttered a nervous and drunken regular that Welles had grown fond of.

“Goddamn right. I’m the Law around here. There’s no-one who can command me or beckon me to their side. I am not someone’s lap dog, I am an attack dog!”

“Uh, Governor?”

“What?! What the fuck is it? Can’t you see we’re very uh…busy in our uh…meeting. Quick you idiots, talk about running the state government.”

“Oh. Uh, um… well… I hate taxes. Let’s do something with that.”

“That’s enough, I think we fool’em just right. What is it?”

“Governor Welles, there’s a telegraph for you in your office.”

The Governor’s eyes looked longingly at the game of pool they were still half-finishing before a few minutes later he had found himself back in the circular chambers of governance, away from his Billard Clique.

He mused through the letter that someone had sent him, neglecting to read who it had been from. His eyes marched up and down about how every success of the Jackson Administration had been built up by Republican aligned Governors. He had to restrain a laugh. Arizona was the black sheep of this policy, owing to the man whom he had just penned a response towards. His eyes were slightly tired, still evident from a lack of sleep. He leaned over his former soda pop he had left on the table and took one sip from it.

“Flat. Like my political career. Thank god I’ve still got good looks, hey, DeBeer. You think Hollywood would like me again?”

“Oh, Governor Welles, I’m not-I’m not so sure about that. Well…uh…can I lie to you?”

“If it means telling me something I’d like to hear, but it ain’t the truth? Why, I’d be flattered. Lie away!”

“I’m sure you’d uh…be able to star in a new series of movies. Maybe ones based on your time as Governor. Have you thought of political blockbusters?”

“Political blockbusters? Shit. I can’t bring myself to stoop that low. What’s next, I’m homeless? No thank you, do not pass go, do not collect $200!”

“If I end up in Jail, do I get a pardon?”

“Sure, why the hell not. You’re my friend, after all. I’m not a bastard, I’m a nice man. A friend a day keeps all my bastard children away, that’s what I always say.”

“Do you have any children, Governor?”

The Governor shot him a dead-faced look before replying.

“Shit if I know. I’ll figure it out when I’m dead. I don’t keep track of that. I keep track of my bets and winnings. I’m not a family man.”

“I had no idea.” replied Neville, to which Fletcher smiled slightly at him. He looked over at the clock, which now read 3 PM.

“Welp. It’s getting late. I just want you to do one thing before I’ll parole you for the day. I’ve got this letter intended for some big-whig…”

“Did you expect a letter from the Vice President? What the hell are you, a witch?”

“Wizard. Wizard is a male witch. Don’t be like that. I ain’t a mind reader, nor can I read lips very well. At least not around the bullshit that expels from your lips anyhows…” He frowned before getting the letter out and making several scribbles and crosses throughout it.

To: President Johnathan Jackson of the United States of America
Vice President Paul Hargreaves of the United States of America

Mr. President Mr. Vice President.

I have had a historically antagonistic attitude with the legislature in my state, as such, when your letter arrived in my mail box, I almost thought it was from your disliked boss. You could imagine my surprise when I realized it was from the Vice President, rather than the President. I have been elected by god himself to do the good work for Arizonans, whether my state legislature wishes to do my bidding or not. If you happened to catch my New Year’s address, you would understand my venom towards the establishment big-cats in the Arizona State Legislature.

I firmly believe that it is the Governor’s responsibility to ensure the State runs properly, with minimal interference from the state legislative branch. That is my governing philosophy and I intend to double down upon it. You simply need a few experts surrounding you, along with the occasional populist speech to remind the farmers and others that you are on their side.

However, having more governors that agree with my conservative philosophy is a plus, even if I do have to anchor myself towards the Jackson administration in order to do it. I am not looking for more fame, I have enough of that from my star-studded days as a Hollywood Actor. What I am simply asking for, is respect for the title on my desk and for the character of my soul. That’s not like it’s a full head of cattle, now is it?

I hope to be hearing from you soon, and consider this an acceptance into the Republican Governors Association.

Cordially and with Respect,



11th Governor of Arizona

[The Rio Grande River Basin]

January 2, 1960
Washington DC

(Image)

President Jonathan Jackson stepped forth on the podium. The room was a sea of gray and black, with rows upon rows of journalists dressed in their finest attire, ready to fire away with their questions. The sound of camera shutters clicking and the scratching of pens on paper filled the air. The room was dimly lit, with only the bright spotlight shining down on the President to illuminate the stage. The wooden podium stood stoically, a symbol of the power and authority that resided behind it.

As the President began to speak, his voice boomed through the room with a commanding presence. "I am here to take any questions you might have. Let us hope that my first press conference for the year goes smoothly," he smiled.

"Mr President, Jane Calson of the Daily Record. What's your opinion on James Long's Share Our Wealth bill, and Senator Nelson's voting rights bill?"

[Sao Nova Europa]

January 2, 1960
Washington DC

(Image)

President Jonathan Jackson stepped forth on the podium. The room was a sea of gray and black, with rows upon rows of journalists dressed in their finest attire, ready to fire away with their questions. The sound of camera shutters clicking and the scratching of pens on paper filled the air. The room was dimly lit, with only the bright spotlight shining down on the President to illuminate the stage. The wooden podium stood stoically, a symbol of the power and authority that resided behind it.

As the President began to speak, his voice boomed through the room with a commanding presence. "I am here to take any questions you might have. Let us hope that my first press conference for the year goes smoothly," he smiled.

"Mr President, Jane Calson of the Daily Record. What's your opinion on James Long's Share Our Wealth bill, and Senator Nelson's voting rights bill?"

"It is an unrealistic and populistic bill with no basis in reality," Jackson replied. "Look - I am all for social welfare programs. As a faithful Christian, I firmly believe that we must help the poorest in our society. But not every problem can be solved by throwing tax money at it: in fact, some programs hurt those they claim to want to help. They foster a culture of dependency, cause inflation, and weaken the dollar. Even worse, this particular bill is completely unrealistic. The household estate plan, alone, would mean spending 100% of our GDP. As President, I oversaw the reduction of our national debt from 57% to 46%. The Long plan would not only reverse this trend of lowering our debt; it would skyrocket it and burden our children and grandchildren with debt they would never be able to repay."

Jackson paused for a moment to sip a glass of water. "Thankfully this bill has no chance at all of succeeding. And even if somehow - by some miracle - it did, I would veto it."

[The Rio Grande River Basin]

"Mr President, Jane Calson of the Daily Record. What's your opinion on James Long's Share Our Wealth bill, and Senator Nelson's voting rights bill?"

"It is an unrealistic and populistic bill with no basis in reality," Jackson replied. "Look - I am all for social welfare programs. As a faithful Christian, I firmly believe that we must help the poorest in our society. But not every problem can be solved by throwing tax money at it: in fact, some programs hurt those they claim to want to help. They foster a culture of dependency, cause inflation, and weaken the dollar. Even worse, this particular bill is completely unrealistic. The household estate plan, alone, would mean spending 100% of our GDP. As President, I oversaw the reduction of our national debt from 57% to 46%. The Long plan would not only reverse this trend of lowering our debt; it would skyrocket it and burden our children and grandchildren with debt they would never be able to repay."

Jackson paused for a moment to sip a glass of water. "Thankfully this bill has no chance at all of succeeding. And even if somehow - by some miracle - it did, I would veto it."

The reporter quickly caught on to his, dislike of the bill. So she decided to ask him something else.

“What are your opinions on Senator Long? And do you think he has a chance to succeed you? How about Senator Gary and Governor Nelson?”

[The Rio Grande River Basin]

Capitol Building, Press Conference

“…and now, Senator Nelson Gary of California would like to say a few words to the Press Corps.”

A wave of reporters leapt up, and began hurling questions at him.

He waved his hand, waiting for silence. A series of camera flashes swept him, some, for his own reporters. He gave a soft smile, and spoke, calmly, and with a welcoming tone.

“Hope I find you well, and that the folks here have wined and dined you all. Now, let’s begin. Before I begin taking questions, I’d like to quickly call for unity. Unity of all men, white and black, Latino or Asian. And I call on my Republican, and my Democrat friends, please, vote for the voting rights act. Now, questions.”

[Catalaonia]

Capitol Building, Press Conference

“…and now, Senator Nelson Gary of California would like to say a few words to the Press Corps.”

A wave of reporters leapt up, and began hurling questions at him.

He waved his hand, waiting for silence. A series of camera flashes swept him, some, for his own reporters. He gave a soft smile, and spoke, calmly, and with a welcoming tone.

“Hope I find you well, and that the folks here have wined and dined you all. Now, let’s begin. Before I begin taking questions, I’d like to quickly call for unity. Unity of all men, white and black, Latino or Asian. And I call on my Republican, and my Democrat friends, please, vote for the voting rights act. Now, questions.”

A fairly frail man rose with his arm held high, clutching on a small note-pad. "Senator Gary, Charles Andrews of the New York Times. What's your view on more radical elements of the civil rights movement, such as the likes of Zamari James?".

[The Rio Grande River Basin]

Capitol Building, Press Conference

“…and now, Senator Nelson Gary of California would like to say a few words to the Press Corps.”

A wave of reporters leapt up, and began hurling questions at him.

He waved his hand, waiting for silence. A series of camera flashes swept him, some, for his own reporters. He gave a soft smile, and spoke, calmly, and with a welcoming tone.

“Hope I find you well, and that the folks here have wined and dined you all. Now, let’s begin. Before I begin taking questions, I’d like to quickly call for unity. Unity of all men, white and black, Latino or Asian. And I call on my Republican, and my Democrat friends, please, vote for the voting rights act. Now, questions.”

A fairly frail man rose with his arm held high, clutching on a small note-pad. "Senator Gary, Charles Andrews of the New York Times. What's your view on more radical elements of the civil rights movement, such as the likes of Zamari James?".

“Now, look, I think they have a point, but please, I beseech Mr James, and his allies, please, don’t cause disorder, and stir up riots. I hear their points, but we must all work together to end segregation, and these protests, they just don’t help. But let it be on the record, Senator Gary will work, tirelessly, to help the nation march beyond the stain of racism and segregation. And if Mr James would end his more extreme actions, I would be happy to meet with him, to hear him out.”

[Catalaonia]

A fairly frail man rose with his arm held high, clutching on a small note-pad. "Senator Gary, Charles Andrews of the New York Times. What's your view on more radical elements of the civil rights movement, such as the likes of Zamari James?".

“Now, look, I think they have a point, but please, I beseech Mr James, and his allies, please, don’t cause disorder, and stir up riots. I hear their points, but we must all work together to end segregation, and these protests, they just don’t help. But let it be on the record, Senator Gary will work, tirelessly, to help the nation march beyond the stain of racism and segregation. And if Mr James would end his more extreme actions, I would be happy to meet with him, to hear him out.”

"And your views to the other-side, the likes of the Dixiecrats and the far-right here in America?" Replied the reporter, scribbling down some notations.

[The Rio Grande River Basin]

“Now, look, I think they have a point, but please, I beseech Mr James, and his allies, please, don’t cause disorder, and stir up riots. I hear their points, but we must all work together to end segregation, and these protests, they just don’t help. But let it be on the record, Senator Gary will work, tirelessly, to help the nation march beyond the stain of racism and segregation. And if Mr James would end his more extreme actions, I would be happy to meet with him, to hear him out.”

"And your views to the other-side, the likes of the Dixiecrats and the far-right here in America?" Replied the reporter, scribbling down some notations.

He narrowed his eyes, and coughed a little.

“Look, I respect all my colleagues. But I’m going to say this, right here, right now. I know I disagree with the Dixiecrats on a lot, but they do believe in what they do, and I just so happen to fundamentally disagree with them. But I beg them to see, a black man is no different to a white man. If my kids married a black man, or a black woman, I wouldn’t mind. They’re good people, the African Americans. But the likes of Joyner, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t invite him over for dinner. Any other questions?”