both, you get a more favorable rating than Kiel.”
“Should that make me deliriously happy?”
“I can promise you, it’ll depress the shit out of Kiel.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess.”
“Look, Will, if we can extend these numbers, it means that, as people get to know you, they’ll like you better than Kiel. What more can you ask?”
“I guess you’re right,” Will said.
“I promise you, Tom Black is going to love these numbers.”
“I’ll feel better if he does,” Will said. “Anything else?”
“That’s it for now. Later, we’ll do polling on issues, running mates, the works, but for right now that tells you where you have to go.”
“And where is that?”
“On TV, my friend, and the more often, the better. I’d recommend doing an immediate campaign designed to raise public awareness of you.”
“We don’t have the money yet.”
“Then get all the free time you can grab. Just remember, hardly anybody outside of Georgia knew who Jimmy Carter was when he announced. You’re a lot better off than he was.”
Kitty stuck her head in the door. “There’s a report on CNN that George Kiel will announce on Monday,” she said.
“That’s good news,” Will replied. “We’ll beat him by forty-eight hours.”
“Not really, not unless we start spreading the word now. This means people are already hearing Kiel’s name, and not yours. I’ve had a bunch of calls from press asking what you’re going to do, and I’ve been coy. I think it’s time to telegraph your entry into the race.”
“Okay, do it; tell them I’ll have an announcement to make tomorrow, and you’ll get back to them on time and place. Start angling for the Sunday-morning TV shows, too.”
Moss stood up. “I’ve got to run, Will. I’m going to put together a polling proposal for the next month and send it to Tim. Let me know what you want to do.”
Will stood up and shook his hand. “Thanks, Moss; I’ll be in touch.”
Late in the afternoon Tom Black came to Will’s office, and the two of them compared notes on the announcement speech.
“Yours is too long,” Will said. “I’d like to make it easy for the networks to run the whole thing on the news.”
“Not going to happen,” Tom replied. “If you give them a minute, they’ll run seven seconds; if you give them five minutes, they might run half a minute. Our job is to break the announcement into segments, any one of which they can pick up at different times, and to have one paragraph loaded with the gist.” He tapped Will’s sheet of paper. “I like this: ‘It’s time to make a new center that we can all gravitate to.’ Make that New Center, in caps, and we can craft something that will be a theme for the whole campaign.”
“Start crafting,” Will said. “I’ve got to make some begging calls to scrape up some money. Moss wants us to run a national TV campaign to increase awareness that I’m alive and running.” He handed Tom the poll results.
“Not bad,” Tom said, “but national TV spots are not going to happen anytime soon. We’re going to have to put the money into specific states to win primaries, and let the media make you famous for it.”
“You’ve got a point, but we’re going to need the money, anyway, so I’d better get started.”
“You do that.”
Will started with a list of a hundred men and women who’d given substantial sums to the party in the past during his elections. Eighty-one of them were Georgians. At the top of the list was one Lurton Pitts, fried chicken king. Using a private line that he paid for himself, Will dialed the number. In a moment, he was put through.
“Will, how are you?” Pitts boomed.
“I’m real good, Lurton; how’s the chicken business?”
“Not bad.”
“That’s good, because I’m about to hit you up for some money.”
“I knew there must be a reason for that sinking feeling in my stomach. What’s going on? You’re not running this year.”
“Yes, I
“Should that make me deliriously happy?”
“I can promise you, it’ll depress the shit out of Kiel.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess.”
“Look, Will, if we can extend these numbers, it means that, as people get to know you, they’ll like you better than Kiel. What more can you ask?”
“I guess you’re right,” Will said.
“I promise you, Tom Black is going to love these numbers.”
“I’ll feel better if he does,” Will said. “Anything else?”
“That’s it for now. Later, we’ll do polling on issues, running mates, the works, but for right now that tells you where you have to go.”
“And where is that?”
“On TV, my friend, and the more often, the better. I’d recommend doing an immediate campaign designed to raise public awareness of you.”
“We don’t have the money yet.”
“Then get all the free time you can grab. Just remember, hardly anybody outside of Georgia knew who Jimmy Carter was when he announced. You’re a lot better off than he was.”
Kitty stuck her head in the door. “There’s a report on CNN that George Kiel will announce on Monday,” she said.
“That’s good news,” Will replied. “We’ll beat him by forty-eight hours.”
“Not really, not unless we start spreading the word now. This means people are already hearing Kiel’s name, and not yours. I’ve had a bunch of calls from press asking what you’re going to do, and I’ve been coy. I think it’s time to telegraph your entry into the race.”
“Okay, do it; tell them I’ll have an announcement to make tomorrow, and you’ll get back to them on time and place. Start angling for the Sunday-morning TV shows, too.”
Moss stood up. “I’ve got to run, Will. I’m going to put together a polling proposal for the next month and send it to Tim. Let me know what you want to do.”
Will stood up and shook his hand. “Thanks, Moss; I’ll be in touch.”
Late in the afternoon Tom Black came to Will’s office, and the two of them compared notes on the announcement speech.
“Yours is too long,” Will said. “I’d like to make it easy for the networks to run the whole thing on the news.”
“Not going to happen,” Tom replied. “If you give them a minute, they’ll run seven seconds; if you give them five minutes, they might run half a minute. Our job is to break the announcement into segments, any one of which they can pick up at different times, and to have one paragraph loaded with the gist.” He tapped Will’s sheet of paper. “I like this: ‘It’s time to make a new center that we can all gravitate to.’ Make that New Center, in caps, and we can craft something that will be a theme for the whole campaign.”
“Start crafting,” Will said. “I’ve got to make some begging calls to scrape up some money. Moss wants us to run a national TV campaign to increase awareness that I’m alive and running.” He handed Tom the poll results.
“Not bad,” Tom said, “but national TV spots are not going to happen anytime soon. We’re going to have to put the money into specific states to win primaries, and let the media make you famous for it.”
“You’ve got a point, but we’re going to need the money, anyway, so I’d better get started.”
“You do that.”
Will started with a list of a hundred men and women who’d given substantial sums to the party in the past during his elections. Eighty-one of them were Georgians. At the top of the list was one Lurton Pitts, fried chicken king. Using a private line that he paid for himself, Will dialed the number. In a moment, he was put through.
“Will, how are you?” Pitts boomed.
“I’m real good, Lurton; how’s the chicken business?”
“Not bad.”
“That’s good, because I’m about to hit you up for some money.”
“I knew there must be a reason for that sinking feeling in my stomach. What’s going on? You’re not running this year.”
“Yes, I
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