Paperwork

The city hall building was considered modern, in comparison to most of the rest of the town’s structures.  Though it was built in the seventies, it was much more recently built than any other major building.

The city had seen substantial growth in the late sixties.  The interstate system throughout the state of Ohio had been upgraded and expanded.  Part of the expansion brought more access to more jobs, cementing Hilliard as a bona fide suburb of Columbus.

The growth had been steady through the nineties but stagnated in the new millennium.  Many of the jobs were lost, as some of the major employers moved operation overseas.

This period of economic pause affected construction, especially of new homes.  Without the increase in new homes, the city population began to decline.  In turn, the tax base for the city dwindled, which limited the funds available to expand or build new public facilities.

The condition of the city hall building reminded Bob of folks who would put on airs to appear successful.  If you looked deep at all, one could easily see that the appearance of success was a façade.  Decay and impending failure laid beneath the surface.

Along the main walkway to the front door, were a series of bricks, each with the name of a previous city council member or mayor.  Not too many were well-worn, at least not yet.  Even though some of the names dated back over a hundred years ago, these bricks were only 10 years old.

“More questionable images of success,” Bob thought as he walked on the names of the past.

The door had a long, horizontal handle that appeared, by its color, to be aluminum.  The same material seemed to frame the door.  The rest of it was thick, tempered glass.

Bob reached with his left hand to open the door.  He had expected to assert only a small amount of effort to open the door.

“This is heavier than it looks,” Bob said out loud.

Reaching with his right hand, Bob pulled on the handle until the door began to open.  The struggle with the door seemed to have a metaphorical message.

“This is clearly not the door of opportunity,” Bob thought.  “This door seems to be saying that I should stay away.”

Once he passed through the stubborn door, Bob stood and visually measured the place.  The walls were all paneled with what struck him as cheesy faux oak.  To the left, hanging on the wall was a directory which listed a room number for each of the city departments.

“Let’s see,” Bob spoke in low tones.  “I need the city clerk’s office.”

Making a mental note, he committed to his short-term memory that it was room 215.  Recalling that from the outside, it appeared the building was three stories, he reasoned that the city clerk’s office must be on the second floor.

On the right side of the entryway, Bob saw the elevator doors.  He fought the impulse to take the ride, since his destination was just up one floor.  Slightly hidden behind the directory, Bob noticed a set of stairs.  The paneling had acted as a sort of camouflage, keeping him from being aware of the stairs at first.

As he climbed the stairs, he used the height to gain a different perspective of the entryway.  There was a reception desk, but it was unmanned.  From his position, he could see a master phone with a series of buttons that he figured were the extensions for each of the department offices.  A few of the buttons were lit up, so he knew the system was active.  Also, he saw several personal items on the desk, so he assumed that there was an employee normally stationed there, possibly on a break or at lunch.

As he climbed more of the stairs, he began to see that there was some waffling in the walls.  He determined that since a great deal of the front of the building was glass, the regular exposure to sunlight had caused the paneling to start to buckle.

“We need to get that fixed,” Bob thought.

At the top of the stairs, the first door he saw had the number 201 etched on a plague that was mounted directly on the door.  This gave him the confidence that, indeed, the rooms were numbered according to the floor, second floor with rooms numbered in the 200’s.

Near the end of the hallway, he found the door numbered 215.  He reached out and grasped the doorknob.  A mixture of emotions caused him to pause.

“This must be the place.  I could be satisfied that I found it and call it a day,” he reasoned.  “But Dixie would insist that she come with me to get this done.”

“Do I really want to do this?”

He continued to dialogue in his head.

“No, I really do not want my life to be under anyone’s microscope” he recalled telling Dixie.

“Well, what do you think they would find?”

“I know that there aren’t any skeletons in my closet, so to speak.”

“So, there you have it,” Dixie said with a smile.  “You have nothing to worry about.  You are the perfect candidate!”

“I don’t know about that,” Bob countered.

“Now, why would you say that, Bob?”

“It seems to me that people prefer controversy.  If I don’t have any, then they are likely to make some up,” Bob said with his palms in front of him facing upward.

Dixie reached for his hands and gently grasped them.  She then pulled him close, so that their faces were only inches apart.

“I still think that you are scared.”

“No, I am not scared.  I am just trying to be smart,” he answered her with his own form of reason.

Suddenly, there was a pull on the door.  Bob had gotten lost in his thoughts while still holding the doorknob.  After a second tug from the inside, Bob released the doorknob.

As the door swung open, Bob was face to face with an attractive brunette.  She seemed immediately flustered to have Bob right there in front of her.

“Oh, oh, sorry,” she fumbled out the words.  “I didn’t realize that someone, I mean you, were there.”

Bob found her awkwardness amusing.  He could not help but grin at her.

“No, no, it is my fault.  I got lost in my thoughts and well,” Bob began to regain his focus, “I am here to get the paperwork to get my name on the ballot for the election in November.”

“You want to be on the ballot?”

“Why, yes, I do.  Is this the right office to get that paperwork?”

“I am so sorry,” the woman now seemed flustered.  “My name is Barbara.  I am the city clerk.”

Again, Bob smiled, “Hi Barbara.  My name is Bob, Bob Griffith.”

She reached out her right hand to shake.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Bob Griffith.”

After a short, firm handshake, she moved back into the office.  Circling the lone desk in the room, she opened a drawer and began to pull out some forms.

“Here are the forms that you need.  There are still two weeks before the deadline.”

“Good,” Bob nodded as he received the papers from her.  “Is there anything else I need?”

“Oh,” Barbara said as she tilted her as if she realized something.  “It would be necessary for you to speak with Charlie Maxwell.  You do know who Charlie is?”

“Isn’t he the president of the city council?”

“Why, yes, he is,” Barbara responded as if she were impressed.

“Why would I need to speak with him?”

“Well, we have a practice of having anyone who expresses interest in being on the ballot to speak with Charlie.  He can confirm that you meet the qualifications and, also, give you advice on how to best proceed without breaking any election laws, especially if have never been a candidate.”

Barbara finished that last statement with a strong nod.

“I certainly don’t want to break any laws,” Bob spoke carefully.

Barbara reached for a notepad and pen.

“Can I get your phone number?  I will help to arrange the meeting with Charlie.”

Bob thought that Barbara seemed very efficient.  He like that in people.

“Certainly.”

He gave her his number expecting to receive a call within the day.

It Is About the Party

Cain was, at first blush, an average, ordinary man.  That all changed when you observed him in action.  Though, there was nothing intimidating in his physical appearance, his personality was gruff and abrasive.  He was a brilliantly focused, driven man and nothing deterred him from his goals, nothing.

After graduating from the Ohio State University with a business degree, Cain went into car sales.  He was the type of salesman who never took ‘no’ for an answer.  Every objection he would handle astutely but his gruffness left the prospect feeling cornered.

He viewed sales as a competition.  Every person that walked onto the lot, he saw as an opponent.  His only goal was to make a sale, that day, from that person.  No one ever felt comfortable, or even safe, to say ‘no’ or ‘later’ to him.

Some may have seen him as gifted at persuading people.  If you were to watch him without hearing him, he would give the appearance of a good communicator and connector.  You would think of him as a good people person because he regularly got the sale.

What Cain enjoyed most about car sales, was the opportunity to bully people.  He would start as if he were their best friend.  Adroitly, he would discover the individual’s weakness to the sales pitch and exploited the prospect, often emotionally, until they could not say ‘no’.  Having a prospect cornered with no way out but to say ‘yes’ thrilled him.

He quickly realized that what he thirsted most for was power.  Having the power over people, a skill he developed as a car salesman, motivated him and gave him a thrilling sense of achievement.  It did not take long before he became addicted to the rush of controlling power.

Soon, his addiction could not be fed enough through car sales.  Cain began to look to other pursuits, first, to add to his power intake at work but he soon realized that he needed to dump the car sales for another, more power fulfilling career.  He found politics.

His first impulse was to pursue office himself.  He went the county headquarters of both the Democratic and Republican parties where he spent time interviewing party staffers.  He had no favorite political point of view or agenda.  He only thirsted for power.  When he asked what kind of candidate they were looking to support, he got the standard party line from each group.

“Vanilla, all they want is vanilla,” Cain thought.  “They want a party agenda carried out and they only want a puppet as a candidate.” 

He concluded that there would never be a transfer of any real power to a winning candidate.  The power was intended to stay with the staffers, who would dictate to the office holder what to do, what opinions to express.  This was the opposite of what he personally wanted.  Being someone else’s puppet was not his thing.

The Democratic Party county leadership was changing.  The head of the party, Bob Burtell, was retiring.  He had held the leadership position for over twenty years.  It was expected that one of his cronies would replace him, however, there was no one that stood out or stood up.  Cain saw opportunity.

“Hi Bob, my name is Cain Johnson,” he introduced himself as he entered Bob Burtell’s office.

Bob sized up this stranger and as usual, nothing about Cain’s appearance stood out.

“Welcome, Cain,” Bob said as he shook his hand.  “What can I do for you?”

“Do you mind if I close the door, Bob?”

Cain did not wait for an answer before closing the door.  He went straight from the door to a chair placed at a round table in the corner of the moderately sized office.

At first, Bob was taken aback at the forwardness of Cain.  He was used to being treated as the lead, not someone to be led.  But, there was something in his visitor’s tone that piqued his curiosity so he decided to just go with it.  So, he moved from around his desk and sat in the chair at the table just across from the chair Cain sat in.

As he sat, Bob crossed his arms to indicate that he was willing to give Cain only a few minutes of his time.

“Again, what can I do for you, Mr. Johnson?”

Bob hoped that being more formal with how he addressed Cain would reestablish control for him.

Cain leaned back in his chair to signal that he was not going to be controlled.  He held up his right hand by placing his elbow on the arm rest.  His forefinger on that hand was pointed skyward.

“I understand that you are retiring.  What direction do you want the party to go when you leave?”

Bob tilted his head to the right and frowned.  Placing his right hand over his chin and mouth, he attempted to hide his incredulousness over this stranger asking him such a pointed question.

“What is this man’s agenda?” Bob thought.

When he did not answer right away, Cain chose to continue.

“You are a man of conviction.  The party has been the recipient of your powerful direction.  There is not a man on your staff that has the strength and definiteness of purpose like you do.  The new leader that comes from your current staff will lead the party into decline that may last for decades because he will lack your strengths.

“Let me ask you this, Bob, why would you settle for that?”

Bob was frozen.  These were the concerns that troubled him.  In fact, he would have retired several years ago, but there was not an adequate replacement.  He had hoped to groom the next leader, but there simply was no one with the talents and audacity needed to succeed in the cutthroat world of local politics.

Again, Cain chose to continue.

“Bob, your staff needs more change than just a promotion out of one of your staff to replace you.  This party, your party, needs a bold, fearless leader who will never take ‘no’ as an answer to the party’s agenda.  Right now, the individuals you are considering, do not have that boldness, that gut-defying courage that it will take for this party to dominate locally.  Are you okay with that?”

Now he felt trapped.  There was only one answer that Bob could give.

“Well, no, I am not okay with that.”

“Then you will hire me to replace you.”

Bob interrupted, “But I do not know you.”

“Let me ask you this, Bob, when was the last time any of your staffers came to you with a take no prisoners, we will win whatever the cost, attitude?”

Bob re-crossed his arms and leaned over the table on his elbows.  He moved his head and shoulders toward Cain.

“You already know the answer to that question, or you would not have asked it.”

Cain grinned as he thought, “Astute, yes this man is bright.”

For the next two hours, the two men talked and strategized on how best to carry out the transition of an unknown to the seat of power for the county Democratic Party.