Nader Chooses Bill's Hat as Running Mate: Popularity Surges

Washington D.C. (associated Poets)

I couldn't believe Futrelle had put me up to this! My hands, cold, sweating, opened and closed as I neared the head of the line where Ralph Nader was signing copies of his book at a white table-cloth covered table. The women in line before me - two loyal members of the CCHCC - were whispering about how handsome Nader was. He wore a navy blue suit, a yellow tie, and a floppy, colorless hat pulled down over his ears.

Unable to afford a copy of Nader's hardback, I instead planned to ask Nader to sign my CORPORATE ROCK STILL SUCKS tshirt. Just to stall him and give me a chance to make my plea. I reached the front of the line. When Nader looked up and recognized me his face went slack. I handed him the black tshirt and a bottle of whiteout to write with. As he bent over the table and labored to spell out his name with the tiny brush, I spoke to him.

"Nader, I hissed, "Give me the hat."

"The hat," Nader said, "is my running mate."

"It's Bill's hat," I protested.

"The hat," Nader said, "is mine."

.....

A week later, in Chicago, on a rainy cold Saturday at ten PM, a purple van was parked across from the Harold Washington Public Library.

I shivered against the cold wall of the dumpster and pulled the newspaper tightly around myself. In the van there was a flash as Your Aunt Barbara lit a cigarette - our prearranged signal.

The rainy alley with its walls of brick suddenly went bright from headlights as a limo pulled into the alley.

Now it was time to make our move: Operation Green Hat.

"...Fearing..." my radio crackled inside my coat "...this is McGrath. Operation Green Hat is go, over."

A door in the side of the library opened and Nader stepped out with his entourage, a short African American man in an Armani suit, a Euro-American woman with red curly hair wearing pumps and a white fur coat, three clowns, and Nader himself.

Ice gripped my entrails. In the shadow of the dumpster I stood up, letting the newspapers fall to the ground, and flattened myself into a doorway.

"...Go..." came the signal. I heard the engine rev across the street. I stepped out into the limo's headlights, hoping my fake goatee hadn't been loosened by the rain, and shouted as loud as I could.

"Oh my God! Keith Richards!!!"

Then I took off running, right past Nader and his startled campaign committee. As I slogged past I heard Nader cry "Keith Richards! Shit! I've got to get his autograph."

So. It was working.

As I skidded around the corner I caught a glimpse of Brian Hagy, pressed against the wall poised to lower a large butterfly net. The van squealed into the street and did a U-turn. The door opened and I piled inside, hearing shouts, and then Hagy was right behind me with the net. With a scream of rubber, the van lurched off toward the Dan Ryan.

And that was how we got Bill's hat back, and saved the Nader campaign from certain embarrassment.

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