Boulder, February 1987
Looking around, Henri estimated that several hundred people were at the Democratic rally in Macky Auditorium. The meeting had begun, or so it had been advertised, at seven-fifteen. Henri arrived with Justin at about seven-thirty. She led him to a seat just in front of the last row, where a half dozen girls were waiting to hoist placards designed to stimulate Democratic passions. As Henri and Justin took their seats, the welcoming speaker was pronouncing a litany of the evil deeds of the Reagan administration. When he was done, the canned music blared in. The apogee—as always—was “Happy Days Are Here Again.” That melody evoked the sacred historical memory of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. In 1932 he had mesmerized the convention in Chicago and, four months later, the voting public nationwide in his decisive victory over President Herbert Hoover—the “Prince of Depression.” Tonight’s speaker in Boulder had referred to Mr. Hoover using the same words, perhaps the millionth time he had been thus recalled to the memory of Democratic audiences. The speaker waved his hands voluptuously as the music played, jubilant music, happiness-is-ahead-for-us music.
It was several minutes before the Democratic congressman was introduced, an elderly man who looked lean and hungry and who was very very indignant about everything President Reagan had done, touching on Iran, Nicaragua, and Ollie North.
“But you’re not here tonight,” Congressman Atkins said, addressing the house full of Democrats, half of them students, “to rue yesterday’s political news. You’re here to celebrate tomorrow’s political news.” Henri found herself gripping the wrist of Justin, who was carried away by the proceedings, clapping boisterously whenever the audience gave him a lead with its applause. “You’re here to listen to a young shining star in the Democratic pantheon.” Atkins paused theatrically.
“Now let me tell you about Reuben Hardwick Castle. Going back not that long—just fifteen, twenty years—he was the most prominent member of his class at the University of North Dakota. Editor in chief of the student newspaper, chairman of the Student Council. He was brave in denouncing the war, but he refused to shield himself from it. He even put off law school, waiting till after his military service to begin law studies at the University of Illinois, all of this so that he could do what he thought was his duty.” The applause had been dutiful, but now was proud.
“He was, fortunately, spared the bloody end so many members of his generation suffered in that terrible war under the leadership of President Nixon. He returned home safely, entering law school the following September. But he didn’t complete his studies—in good conscience he couldn’t complete his studies while he saw the terrible shape his country was in. He was drawn to public life, to do what any good citizen would do—put his God-given talents to work in order to serve his country.” There was a ripple of applause.
“Hold your applause, please, ladies and gentlemen, gathered in this hall of this distinguished university—it gets better. When he was out here in Colorado on a speaking tour for the Democratic Party, he met and soon afterward married a young lady who had been Miss Colorado—and then had gone on to become Miss America!” There was substantial applause.
“Elle est ici?” Justin whispered to his mother.
“On ne sait pas, Justin.”
“Je voudrais la voir.”
“On verra.” They would soon know whether Mrs. Castle was there.
“Priscilla Castle is the mother of a fine young man, and if he’s lucky, one day in just a few years he’ll be a student at the University of Colorado—” There was enthusiastic applause. “And if he does enter this university, I know he’ll end up a proud member of the Democratic Caucus.” The applause now was sustained.
“Reuben Castle was elected first as North Dakota’s sole member of the House of Representatives, where I am honored to serve as one of Colorado’s proud delegation.” The applause had now thinned out. “Only six years ago, he was elected to the Senate, replacing a long-serving Republican. He easily won reelection last fall.
“So! I’m delighted tonight to introduce this great young Democrat. And just to show the special esteem he has for the University of Colorado”—the speaker was slowing down the words he spoke and augmenting the volume with which he spoke them—“he has brought with him Miss America—she is still that, always Miss America, as far as the citizens of Colorado are concerned!”
The congressman turned on his heel and gestured to the people seated on the stage behind him.
Justin felt the sudden pressure of his mother’s hand. “Qu’estce que c’est, Maman?”
“Nothing. Quiet.” Her eyes were fixed on the stage. Had she spoken too sharply to her son? She would make up for it.
“Quiet, darling,” she said, her tone softened.