Chapter 4

December in Washington. Doris Austin stood in the cold night air with some of the staff, waiting for FLOTUS to light the national Christmas tree. FLOTUS was the acronym for First Lady of the United States; its companion acronym was POTUS, President of the United States. Many staffers simply used FLOTUS and POTUS as everyday nicknames for the president and his wife. Some people shortened the acronyms even further to Flo and Po.

Next to Doris, Connie shifted from one foot to the other with her gloved hands stuffed into her coat pockets. "I thought this was an indoor job," said Connie.

"It's not that bad," said Doris. "It's only December. Just wait until the cold weather comes."

"Where I'm from, this is cold weather," said Connie.

"I would like to point out that it does get cold in California," said Doris, remembering the trips she had made there with Frank. "In fact, we were hiking in the Sierra Nevada mountains and we got snow in July. I'm not kidding."

"That might as well be a different planet, compared to Santa Barbara," said Connie. "Let's see, I would have been playing volleyball on the sand."

They stood at the edge of a cluster of Secret Service agents and higher ranking staffers who crowded around the First Lady. Proximity was everything: the closer you were to power, the greater your influence. Doris didn't bother elbowing her way to the front. She didn't feel the same competitive spirit as her fellow workers.

Doris remembered a time when she wanted to get ahead, but in her own way. Frank was at the Pentagon, and she was on the campaign trail with Ziggy when he was running for Senate, twenty years ago. Doris was proving to be the pro on polling and the media. She knew how to phrase the polling questions, and how to process the answers, and how to present it to the media. 'You had to tell a story,' she emphasized to the campaign staff and to Ziggy. 'Connect the dots for the average voter. The media certainly won't do it for you. They will let you hang yourself,' she said. Ziggy won, and Doris went to work on his Senate staff.

Years later, when Ziggy was mapping out his first presidential campaign, he told Doris that, if he won, she would be in line for a major appoinment. That was where Doris drew the line. She didn't want to be director of this, or under secretary of that; it did not call her. She told him, 'thanks, but if you win, I want to be at the White House, working your polling strategy.' He was grateful for that: it wasn't the kind of reward most campaigners asked for. Most wanted visibility in order to further their political careers. Doris just wanted to be Ziggy's polling expert, and be better at it than anyone.

A figure pushed back through the crowd. It was the First Lady, trailed by two Secret Service agents. "Hello, Doris. Thanks for coming."

They embraced with that special Washington hug between two professional women: not really a hug, but something resembling a slight coming together of heads and cashmere coats.

"I'm a sucker for old fashioned stuff like this," said Doris.

The First Lady surprised Doris by getting right to the point of coming over. "I miss Frank," she said, "and I know you do, too."

Doris's eyes moistened, and then she shared a real hug with the First Lady. "Thanks," Doris whispered. "You've all been extremely generous."

"We loved him, too," she said. When the First Lady backed away, Doris could see that her eyes were moist as well. They laughed. "What's Christmas without a little tearing up over old times, right?"

Doris laughed. "Go light the tree, Ma'am," she said.

The First Lady winked and slid back through the crowd of important people, all of whom Doris has just upstaged by merely being present. Yes, this was a different kind of power, she knew. She had no title and she wasn't in charge of ten thousand people and a billion dollar budget, but she had more power, in her own way, than any of them could even dream of.

Doris and Connie moved around to the edge of the group so they could observe the lighting. The First Lady stood by a post in the ground on which was mounted a big switch. A brass sextet from the U.S. Army band serenaded the group with pleasant arrangements of carols. A fairly large crowd of onlookers had gathered, sipping on hot beverages in paper cups and singing along with some of the carols.

On cue, the First Lady lifted the switch. A row of light bulbs came on, one at a time, from the switch to the tree, and then continued in a spiral up the tree to the top. As the lighting sequence progressed, accompanied by oohs and ahhs, figures of stars and snowmen and bells and wreaths became visible as they were illuminated. Finally, the lighting sequence reached the top of the tree, and a great star lit up. Everyone applauded the show, and the band launched a jolly number.



As Doris and Connie walked away from the tree, Cory Metcalf, the chief of staff, caught up with them. "Hello, Cory," said Doris.

"The president's hoping for an early Christmas present," said Cory.

"I know, an essay contest winner," said Doris. A group of volunteer readers had been working day and night, reading essays and trying to determine a winner. The response to the contest had amazed everyone. Every day, a postal truck delivered carts of mail to a basement room in the Old Executive Office Building, next door to the White House. Thousands and thousands of entries had been submitted. The president was amazed at the response, but quickly became impatient for a winner.

"Look, you got him hooked on this deal. Now you need to deliver," said Cory, apparently enjoying Doris being on the spot.

"And I will deliver. Would you like to come read a few essays? You can help you know," said Doris.

"Well, uh, it's hardly my kind of thing," said Cory.

"Don't be modest, Cory. You have a natural talent for telling stories," said Doris.

"I think you mean tall tales?"

"That's a nice word for it."

"Why, that's an unfair characterization," said Cory, pretending to be offended.

"I notice you didn't say inaccurate," said Doris.

Cory seemed to take it as a challenge. It was the best way to approach him, Doris had learned. "And I suppose you are suggesting that I improve on my reputation for obfuscation by critiquing a few essays," said Cory.

Doris sighed. "You have a long way to go, but that's the general idea. Connie and I are heading over there now."

Doris steered Connie away from him as he started to open his mouth to object.



The conference room in the basement of the Old Executive Office Building had been completely taken over by Doris's project. There were some grumblings from other staff after having been forced to hold meetings while surrounded by carts of mail and piles of letters and envelopes sorted in specific ways that could not, under pain of retribution from Doris, be disturbed.

Doris had devised the sorting herself. Each letter was opened and read and placed in one of four piles. Essays that were completely illegible or which contained hateful remarks went into the Definitely Not pile. Essays which contained some thoughtful ideas but which had serious grammatical flaws went into the Bad Grammar pile. Essays which showed technical proficiency but had nothing whatever to say went into the No Substance pile. Finally, any essay that contained an interesting point or two and had only minor errors in spelling or grammar went into the Worth Considering pile.

As Doris entered the conference room, several tired faces looked up to greet her with weak smiles. Doris paused as she noticed what appeared to be new carts of mail.

"I thought we weren't accepting any essays past the deadline," said Doris.

"The post office still has to deliver them," said David, a local college student recruited by Connie. Doris noticed that his expression brightened considerably when he spotted Connie at Doris's elbow.

"I suppose if we don't find anything we like we can start looking through the late arrivals. Otherwise, I don't feel obliged to do anything with them," said Doris, removing her coat. "Do you agree, David?"

"Yes, ma'am. Absolutely," said David. The three other volunteers nodded in agreement. The team of four had been working from early in the morning until late at night everyday for about ten days. They had been making good progress, but the thousands of essays kept coming in. However, Doris knew that White House volunteers were often motivated by the possibility of free food.

"Should I order pizza?" said Doris.

A few eyes brightened. "Actually, we're getting a little tired of pizza. How about Chinese?" said David.

"Perfect, especially since Chinatown is only a few blocks away. I'll call and have an assortment of things brought over. I've learned your food preferences by now: we have vegans, we have gluten-free eaters, we have non-fish eaters, and sometimes they overlap."

"I'll eat anything," said Connie.

David smiled at her. "Same here."

Doris went to phone the order while the others resumed their task with a little more enthusiasm. She chose a restaurant that she and Frank had gone to a lot. Sometimes, they stayed in town after work to attend a symphony concert or a play, and they would leave their respective jobs and meet in Chinatown for a quick bite. The proprietor got to know them and often brought them special Chinese dishes that didn't appear on the menu. They were delicious, although she could never remember the names of any of them. Sometimes he carved a whole chicken or duck at their table and served it to them, and Doris would take home the leftovers and use them for one or even two nights.

These memories floated back to her as she dialed and struggled to place the order. Sometimes it was hard to focus on the present. Her mind wanted to wander and dream about the past, especially when a very specific memory came to her, like a meal they had shared. It was so vivid she could smell the food, and touch Frank's arm, and hear the restaurant owner's voice.

With difficulty, she placed the order and hung up the phone. She took a deep breath. That was exhausting, she thought, I should have suggested sushi: Frank couldn't stand sushi, I can order it without a sprint down memory lane.

Upon returning to the conference room, Doris took a seat with the others and drew an envelope from a large wire basket in the center of the table. One of the volunteers, Meg, was just filling the basket with a handful of envelopes from one of the mail carts. "Help yourself," said Meg.

"I hate to say it, but some of these are downright depressing," said Doris, opening envelope and pulling out a sheet of paper containing dark scrawls. "You'd think that by eighth grade, kids would have a basic grasp of how to write a correct sentence."

Meg frowned. "I know what you mean. It almost makes me regret becoming an education major."

Doris scanned the page quickly. She had a hard time finding two words in a row that didn't have something wrong, like inappropriate tense, or references to unknown objects, or spelling so bad it was hard to guess the writer's intention, all presented in a barely legible handwriting. But most of all, the essay seemed to be a discussion of a computer game that was about blowing up cars. Doris could not find the connection between the computer game and the essay topic that had been assigned. Wearily, she tossed it in the Definitely Not pile and grabbed another envelope. She looked across the room at the cardboard box that had been labeled the Definitely Not box; it was depressingly full.

Meanwhile, Connie read aloud parts of an essay that she really liked. The young writer had made a very humorous argument about how a community could convert all of its gas stations to power stations where you charged up your electric car while you went to work or ate dinner at a restaurant or went to a movie.

Doris laughed. "That's a keeper."

After Doris read about ten more essays, varying in quality from okay to terrible, the food arrived. She jumped up from the table, welcoming the break. She paid for the food with her credit card and carried it back to the room. The aroma made her stomach gurgle. The volunteers pushed aside their work to make room for food.

"Mmm," said Meg, the gluten-free eater. "I love their rice noodles. Exactly what I had in mind."

"And they don't overcook the vegetables," said the vegan.

At that moment, Cory Metcalf walked into the conference room. "Hey, I'm just in time," he said as Doris was passing around a container of steamed rice.

"Sorry, this is for workers," said Doris.

"I'm here to work," said Cory.

"I didn't think you would actually come. Here, have an egg roll," said Doris.

Cory took the egg roll and dipped it into a little container of sticky sauce. Then he devoured half of it in one bite. "Oh, man. That's awesome," he exclaimed with a mouthful. "I'm motivated now."

"Good," said Doris. "Start reading." She explained the sorting system to him, then pointed to the Definitely Not box. "It's striking to see the number of essays that end up in that pile."

Cory said, "But that's good news. The more you can weed out the better, right? It will make the selection go faster."

"But it's also a sad commentary on the state of literacy among eighth graders. These kids are going to enter high school next year. I can't imagine how they will make it."

"They will continue on the same path their on," said Cory, "because the high schools have lowered their standards to match those of the graduating eighth graders."

"So you're saying the whole system is flawed," said Doris.

"There's no accountability," said Cory. "That's why the president supports more standardized testing. He's going to love this when he hears about it."

"Oh, brother. Educators across the country are going to hate me," said Doris.

"But not the boss," said Cory, taking an envelope directly from one of the mail carts.

"Not that cart," said Doris. "Those came in past the deadline."

Cory dropped the letter and then paused by another cart. "How about this one?"

"That one's okay."

While she watched Cory reach deep into the cart, Doris said, "Cory, this isn't about political advantage for me. I don't evaluate every move in terms of who gains and who loses," said Doris.

"It's time you started," he said while fishing around keep into the cart.

Doris motioned toward the volunteers. "You're giving our young volunteers a bad impression of government."

"Or the right impression," said Cory. Several volunteers grinned. "Can I make a suggestion?"

Doris sighed. "Go ahead."

"Instead of trying to find the best essay, why not just go with the first one that meets all of your criteria. After all, if it's good, it's good. Who cares if it's the absolute best? You're never going to finish by Christmas at the rate you're going."

The president had hinted at several meetings that he wanted to announce the essay winner before Christmas. Doris was happy that the president was embracing her idea, but now the pressure was on. Christmas was only a week away and there were still thousands of essays to read.

"That doesn't seem fair," said Doris. "If a student puts in a little extra effort, and it shows, I want that student to be recognized. I don't want one that's just good enough."

Cory withdrew his arm from the cart and raised his hand triumphantly. It held a single envelope. "I'm going to show you how easy this is." He read the envelope. "Here's an essay from a girl in Kentucky. By the way, that happens to be a state that voted for the president, so I like it already."

Doris sighed. He was wasting their time. She looked at her watch. If she didn't get to bed soon she would be cranky the next day.

Cory slowly opened the envelope and removed two sheets of paper. Doris could see from that the handwriting was neat. Cory scanned the words silently at first. Doris expected the reaction that the rest of them had been experiencing: surprise and dismay at the low quality of the writing. Instead, he seemed actually interested.

"I don't get what you guys have been complaining about," he said. "The first couple of paragraphs are great. Listen to this..."

Cory cleared his throat and read aloud.


Everything In Balance
by Emily Kennedy

We live in a time in our society where everything depends upon electricity. We use electricity in our homes and at school and in workplaces to run computers and cash registers and lights and automatic door openers and dishwashers (except in our house because our dishwasher is broken and my Dad hasn't fixed it yet).

In order to produce all of this electricity we have power plants, such as the one not far from my house. You can see the smoke stacks from my back yard. It is an old coal plant that used to create a lot of pollution in the air and water, but then government regulations made it stop. However, before it stopped polluting, the plant released arsenic and boron and many other chemicals into the environment for many years. Even today, the plant may be releasing chemicals into the environment even though there are laws against that.

The other day my cat died from some kind of poisoning. We do not what caused it, but there was a coyote that also died, from arsenic poisoning. So I think Toby, my cat, died from arsenic poisoning. I can't prove that the power plant is responsible, but I have a pretty strong belief that there is a connection.

So, this leads to the theme of Everything In Balance. If everything were in balance, then power plants would not cause people and animals to die because then it would be out of balance. Right? Being in balance means that power plants and people and animals can all get along together in the same community.

The White House could get people's opinion on this by taking a survey to find out if people would rather live a long life without electricity, or a short life with electricity. I think many people would vote for a longer life without electricity, which means we could shut all the power plants down and just live like we did before there was electricity.

And maybe I would still have my cat.

Emily Kennedy, Moonville, Kentucky.


Doris discovered that she had a lump in her throat that was the size of a golf ball. She had to swallow hard to dislodge it. The others were silent. Meg's jaw hung open. Cory lowered the page slowly. Then he said, "On second thought..."

"Don't you dare," said Doris, rising from her chair. She snatched the letter from Cory just as he was about to stuff it back to the bottom of the mail cart.

"Doris, you can't be serious. Listen, the president is thinking of reading the essay during one of his weekly radio addresses. He can't read something like that. The energy companies will go through the roof."

"I'm not saying I'm going to recommend it. But I will add it to our Worth Considering pile. Right at the top."

Doris pressed out the creases on the sheets of paper and stapled the envelope to them. Then she placed the pages neatly on the top of the stack.

"It was a joke," said Cory. "You really don't have to use that one."

"Cory I can't tell you how pleased I am that you stopped by," said Doris. "Would you like to read a few more?"

"No, thank you. And I am strongly considering removing that one from consideration."

"You will not touch it. This is my project. Now shoo if you aren't going to help."

Doris loved the look of an important man who realizes that he has just bungled things. Cory's face turned red and his lips were as thin as paper clips as he picked up his coat and strode with determination out of the room.

"Imagine," Doris said after Cory had left, "the White House chief of staff fretting over an essay contest." Then in a lower voice, she added, "Actually, I feel sorry for his wife. But you didn't hear that from me."

The volunteers giggled. Then Doris said, "Connie, I think we've done all the damage we can do here. We have early schedules."

Connie, sitting next to David, said, "I'll stay just a few minutes longer, but you go on."

"Well, if you insist. My eyes are closing." Doris looked at all of them. "Thank you so much. You're doing a great job."

"Thanks for the dinner," said Meg.

At the last moment before leaving, Doris spotted the essay from Emily Kennedy on the stop of the stack. She folded it neatly and put it in her purse. "I will hang onto this one for safekeeping. Certain members of the White House staff have been known to prowl around conference rooms during odd hours."

David chuckled. "This certainly has been an education in government."

"Probably more than you bargained for. Good night."