Chapter 10: Sunday, Father’s Day

Sunday was Father’s Day and Veda opened a bottle of vodka and cried all morning because she missed Uncle Leland so bad. It made for a miserable start to the day. Gramm had me down in the basement harvesting her magic mushrooms and stuffing them into a honey jar. I made a few peanut butter and honey sandwiches for her, then drank a sugar-free Red Bull and went upstairs to outline a campaign schedule. Some generations have to carry other generations – read history, it’s always been that way, like all those old hippies from the Sixties. Gramm was that generation. Where would we be without them? Probably at a sex rehabilitation camp quoting Bible verse and slapping away raunchy paws, afraid to do anything but Twitter like silly fools.

Indian John came by, looked in on us and fired up the barbecue grill. John had brought fresh gator tail steaks. He had a reputation as a gator man, the person to call if a gator got into your swimming pool. He must be a good butcher too, because he plunked a ten pound tail of gator meat on the barbecue. Soon after the Askaloosa brothers roared up to the house in one of their big four-wheelers, raising a dust storm off the road. I’d sent Jeeter a text, and an email, so they were invited to the picnic.

Jeeter and Dante helped Indian John spread the hot charcoals under the barbecue. Branch went off by himself and leaned up against the banyan tree with a six-pack of beers. I went over to welcome him but Jeeter waved me off. “He’s having one of his bad days. They come and go, based on what dreams he’s having about fighting in Afghanistan, or maybe Iraq,” Jeter said. I believed it might be something worse than that, but then we all have our ghosts. Branch would mutter and curse under his breath, then burst into tears. He had unspeakable issues no one wanted to penetrate.

Dante pulled out a set of magic markers with a notepad and tried his hand at drawing campaign slogans. He had an artistic streak and a natural talent for designs. After our success at the Micanopy Flag Day parade, the T-shirt design we settled on read ‘Go Veda.’ My favorite was ‘Tit for Tat Democrat’ but Aunt Veda vetoed that.

The whole time sitting there under the shade of the banyan, smelling those gator steaks sizzle up, Jeeter never took his eyes off me. He’d look at me until I had goose bumps, then I’d look up at him and he’d look away. We did that all afternoon until I was worse off than heat lightening with not a drop of rain in sight.

Veda came out to welcome everyone. I guess she’d gotten sleepy from the vodka and taken a nap. Now she was bright and chipper. I hoped her grieving was done for the day. She went back inside and helped Gramm make salad dishes in the kitchen. They brought them to the picnic table under the old banyan tree by the barbecue pit. Gramm had baked a heaping plate of her bacon-fat cornbread biscuits. Indian John thin sliced the barbecued gator tail and covered it with a ginger-garlic sauce that he’d learned to make in Thailand. I wondered if he was old enough to have served in Vietnam. I still didn’t know enough about him yet, and when I asked Veda she said he was an old friend of Uncle Leland’s and provided security for her campaign. It never dawned on me that we might need it.

Indian John sat with Branch for a while and sipped a beer, but he was unable to reach Branch either. He was deep into one of his impenetrable moods. Jeeter and Dante ignored him. They were used to his behavior. I sat beside Jeeter, nudged him with my elbow and nodded toward Branch. “He gets like that, then comes out of it in a day or two,” Jeeter explained with a sad smile. I knew the feeling, having seen Aunt Veda disappear into her sadness earlier that morning, and many a time over the last nine months.

As we sat down to eat, a car came honking up on us. It was Thorny and her uncle bouncing down our road, followed by a sleek silver Jaguar and another four-wheel drive SUV. Gramm smiled; she welcomed company. Veda went inside to check her make-up and Indian John went to greet the guests. With the new arrivals parked, Indian John led them to the picnic table.

Veda came out of the house looking better and was introduced to an elder from the Seminole tribe, Dr. Heath Baudry. He was a tall, thin man with a dignified nature who wore his grey hair in long Indian braids. His wife, Marlene, was an attractive woman ten years younger who wore her black hair in similar braids. We got to talking and she said she worked as an attorney and Indian rights advocate.

Out of the silver Jaguar stepped the sugar baron I’d seen at Veda’s first event in Gainesville. He wore a dark suit and orange tie, with his black hair slicked back and trimmed nicely. He spoke English with a Cuban accent and had wonderful, gracious manners. John introduced him as Senor Marcel Cutie, pronounced Cu-tea-a, a high-society sugar baron from Kissimmee by Lake Okeechobee. I wondered why he was coming all this way to meet Veda, but instead I went into the kitchen to fetch more plates, glasses and silverware.

Jeeter followed me in and brought out cold beers for everyone. He was behaving himself except for the one time he stood too close to me and we brushed arms. I didn’t yell at him though, and told him where he could find a tray to serve drinks like a proper gentlemen. I even got him to tuck in his shirt, but he refused to wear an apron. I didn’t want our guests to think we were country crackers living out of plastic grocery bags from Publix. Jeeter cooperated and served the beers. He even helped Mrs. Cutie pop open her pop-top can.

John hoisted up a big platter of grilled gator tail that smelled divine and went around serving folks, and ladling out his Thai ginger-garlic sauce. We passed the salads and cornbread. I sat beside Mrs. Cutie, who wore her black hair in a bun with dark Spanish combs. She was dressed in an elegant tan pants suit with an orange silk blouse that matched her husband’s tie, plus a pearl necklace and pearl earrings. She seemed so calm and elegant. I asked if she liked politics, saying I was rather new to it myself.

“Henna, I’ve been helping my husband for years since we came from Cuba. We had sugar cane estates there and lost it all to Fidel Castro. When we got to Miami, we started all over again. Now we work with politicians from both parties to look out for the interests of Cuban-Americans. My husband loves the freedoms of his adopted nation.”

Thorny sat at the other end of the table with her uncle. She had on a little too much make-up but looked cute in sandals, cut-off jeans and a Mexican peasant shirt. She ignored my looks all afternoon and we never got a chance to sneak away and gossip. I was surprised she sat so quietly. Neither she nor her uncle said much; he was an odd duck anyway, either talking too fast about farm equipment or going quiet for long periods. I could tell he and Dante didn’t get along. Maybe Dante was the better salesman. But Thorny’s uncle gave Veda a hundred dollar campaign donation before they left.

I watched Thorny walk to her uncle’s car. He had her by the elbow, like he had more important places to be. She gave me an odd look over her shoulder, then she scrunched up her face and grimaced. I gathered she would have liked to stay. I held my hand to my ear and pantomimed ‘call me.’ She nodded and smiled.

At sundown and with a good meal in her, Veda moved over to sit with Indian John, Dr. Baudry and Senor Cutie. I got up to help Gramm clear the table but Veda called me over to join her, so Jeeter stepped in to help Gramm. Veda liked me there to witness campaign business, I guessed.

Indian John began by saying that Dr. Baudry spoke for the tribe’s management committee and that Senor Cutie was a long-time supporter of the tribe, and of Democratic causes, and an important business partner. “Veda, we’re excited by your campaign and the opportunity you represent to get out voice heard in Washington. The Seminoles need friends in Washington and I think you’d be a fine friend for us and an excellent representative for the district,” Baudry began. He spoke in a deep bass voice with significant authority and crisp diction. I could tell he was a well-educated man, with hardly any cracker accent and the slow, dignified drawl of a native Floridian.

“Well, thank you, Doctor, but we both know I’m a novice when it comes to national politics. And as I remember in the last campaign you supported Earl Tugg.” Veda smiled at him but her eyes stayed sharp and keen.

“Yes, we did support him, but we’re unhappy with that decision,” Baudry explained. “We’re here on a fact-finding mission and to get a measure of your metal. This is going to be a tough race. You’re up against a tea party favorite. You have a wide range of disparate groups to corral if you’re going to win. And Tugg is not going to play fair. He has plenty of outside money and the power of incumbency. But his record leaves little to run on, except that he hates Obama and Obamacare. He wants to cut education, cut assistance for poor people and ignore our nation’s international responsibilities. The sad fact is, he went to Washington and stopped listening to the local people that put him there. Now he thinks he’s a tea party champion and all he had to do is vote no on everything. That’s no way to advance our nation or look after the interests of rural Florida.”

“I agree with you, Dr. Baudry,” Veda said. “Tugg isn’t interested in helping students, or young families, or the elderly. He doesn’t understand the expansion of human rights. He doesn’t care about immigrants or the poor. He’s not any kind of an environmentalist.” Dr. Baudry and Senor Cutie nodded in agreement.

“So what’s it going to take to win your support?” Veda asked next. She got right to the meat of the matter with that question and both men leaned back and paused to give themselves time to answer her. I looked at Senor Cutie. He sat quietly, allowing Dr. Baudry to speak for him. I guess they’d decided to play it that way in advance.

“I’m glad you asked that, Veda. We have two business strategies that we hope you will consider and see your way to support. The tribe believes that gaming casinos are an important potential revenue source for the state and for job creation. Florida is already a leader in tourism. Gaming casinos are a natural extension in that area of entertainment. As you know, Indian tribes in California and several other states are thriving with successful gaming enterprises. This allows us to grow jobs, create a stronger tax base for the state in poorer areas and contribute to like-minded political friends.”

“Providing some of the casino tax revenue is earmarked for local schools and education, I could support that,” Veda said. “What’s your other business strategy for the state?” Jeeter sat down beside me and got excited when he heard Dr. Baudry’s response.

“We look at the revenue generated by medical marijuana in California, Colorado, Oregon and Washington. More than twenty states are enacting some kind of medical marijuana legislation and we want Florida to join them. In California alone, the taxable revenue from medical marijuana is running to several hundred million dollars per year. And according to opinion polls, Floridians support legalization of marijuana by almost sixty percent.”

Instead of responding to Dr. Baudry, Veda turned to Senor Cutie. “And what’s big sugar’s interest in medical marijuana?”

Cutie cleared his throat. “As an investor.”

“Medical marijuana is grown in a controlled environment with significant banking, infrastructure and regulatory concerns, plus security, quality control and supporting laboratory services. It takes a lot of money to deliver the service and meet all the government requirements,” Baudry explained.

“As a medical initiative for cancer patients, those afflicted with chronic seizures and other related illnesses, you have my support,” Veda said. “However, as a medicine, marijuana must be carefully regulated, with education and licensing, especially for care-givers. As to a more general legalization, I’m not yet convinced it serves the people of Florida.”

“Of course,” Baudry said, “there are many regulatory concerns to work out, but it’s a beginning.”

“Some twenty-five percent of our state prisoners are incarcerated for drug offenses. So if we can reduce prison populations and get these kids a decent education, I’ll feel like I’ve done some good,” Veda added.

“Exactly,” Senor Cutie chimed in. I looked over at him and say the fire behind his eyes. I think he genuinely meant it.

“So tell me gentlemen, what did Earl Tugg say about your two strategies when you mentioned them to him?” Veda asked Baudry.

Baudry smiled. “Well, at the beginning of our conversation, Tugg claimed to be a Libertarian. But at the conversation progressed, he began to refer to our initiatives as being part of the sin business. I’m afraid he’s more Born-Again than Libertarian.”

“He’s afraid God is going to close the door to him,” Veda said, “but I can see his point. In some of the rural portions of the district, folks might be smoking pot behind the barn on Friday night but they’d never admit to it in church on Sunday morning.” Senor Cutie smiled at that.

“For lots of cracker farmers, myself included, all that some of us have is our sense of place -- our love and dedication to Florida, family and community -- and a spirit of pride of place that goes back generations to our grandfathers and deeper.” Veda gently tilted her head sideways, watching to see who understood her.

“In this election, you can’t monkey with that. All the voters need to be honored for where they are, rich or poor, urban or rural; they’re all Americans. They all pay their taxes and they contribute.” An easy smile began to spread across Dr. Baudry’s face.

“Lots of Tugg’s base feel run over by the pace of this country. They want to opt out for a simpler time, but the pace of the world won’t give it to them. So they react by saying no to everything,” Veda said.

I saw Jeeter stare at Aunt Veda when she said that. “This is our piece of earth that we want to cultivate and preserve for our next generation of family. It’s our responsibility as human beings and native Floridians,” Veda said and her voice shifted into a huskier tone, like she was a little girl whispering into Uncle Leland’s ear.

“It’s our sense of place, our place on earth. And I’ve decided that in this race I’ll show my own roots to my earth, and make this a campaign about Cracker Pride. But when I say cracker, I mean Cincinnatus, the spirit of the founding fathers in the 1780’s, the educated, self-read gentleman farmer that put down his weapons at the earliest opportunity and celebrated the land’s fertility and renewal.”

Veda plucked on my heartstring when she said that. Even I had to wipe away a tear. Veda was warmed up and rolling, and sounded like Betsy Ross telling George Washington how best to cut a star for the new American flag. Dante slipped me a piece of notepaper with an illustration of a t-shirt that read, ‘Cracker Pride, like Cincinnatus’.

“I intend to win this race and show my own roots of Cracker Pride.” Veda said, finishing up with a beatific smile. I looked over at Dr. Baudry and saw his jaw was hanging loose. Aunt Veda had found her voice. She’d be ripe and ready when it was time to get in front of folks and be ‘on message’ as the DC campaign advisory types like to say.

Veda paused and looked at Baudry, and her voice soften down a peg. “But don’t expect me to lead with your economic initiatives. You have my qualified support, but I have to get elected first.”

“Yes, we understand that and we agree with you,” Baudry said. “We’ll do what we can to get you elected first, and count on your support for these initiatives when the opportunity presents itself. We’re thinking long-term and we want a candidate that can look forward with us.”

On that note Baudry rose from the table, followed by his wife, and Mr. and Mrs. Cutie. Veda shook their hands and walked with them to their cars. Indian John trailed behind and gave her a shoulder squeeze as she waved good-by.

Jeeter reached into his pocket and pulled out a marijuana spliff and started to light it. “We can seal the deal,” he said with a wicked grin that I adored. I slapped the match from his hand and grabbed the joint from his mouth, and put it in my pocket, and winked at him.
“But I want to be a ganja entrepreneur,” Jeeter argued. “Now that’s a business ripe with a future.”

I smiled; my Jeeter, has a lot to learn about politics. Veda and Indian John wandered back to the picnic table to discuss what had happened. Jeeter and I didn’t stay for that. We snuck off to smoke that joint and do some kissing. Politics makes for strange bed fellows – I’m not sure what that means, entirely, but I like to say it.