HOW TO BLOW AN ELECTION, Lesson One:
Frank Miller, leader of Ontario's Progressive Conservative Party, was discussing campaign strategy with three of his senior advisers when a strange, totally unexpected thing happened. Somebody knocked on the door of Miller's office.
The well-oiled Big Blue Machine sprang immediately into action. The strategist closest to the door closed the lights, the one closest to the window pulled the shades. The third man put one finger to his lips, ensuring that nobody would speak in the tense moments that followed.
The person at the door continued to knock. Light started trickling into the room through the blinds and under the door as everybody's eyes adjusted to the dark. "Is anybody there?" the person outside, a man (or a woman with a very husky voice) asked. After five minutes, he was less polite: "Look, I know you're in there. I'd just like to ask you a few questions..."
Eventually, Miller's secretary returned, for a female voice rather harshly asked: "Excuse me, but what are you doing here?"
"I want to see Mr. Miller," the man responded.
"Obviously," the woman icily told him, "Mr. Miller is not in."
"I know he's there," the man insisted. "Somebody closed the light just after I started knocking."
"Are you certain?"
"Positive."
This seemed to momentarily stop the woman, but she eventually countered: "He must have gone out the back door just as you arrived."
"This office doesn't have a back door."
"Then, he must have gone out the window," the woman, clearly exasperated, insisted, "because he's not here now. Please, if you want to see Mr. Miller, you'll have to make an appointment."
"Fair enough. Can you tell me when I'll be able to see him?"
"I'll clear it with him as soon a he gets back."
The next 30 seconds were spent in tense silence. Then - one long buzz, two short ones and one last long one, the signal they had worked out early in the campaign. The coast was clear. The threat was over.
The lights flipped back on. The first adviser drew his hand across his damp forehead and muttered to himself: "Phew, that was close." The second adviser looked through the blinds, but didn't open them. The third adviser sat down opposite Miller and looked respectfully at him across the desk.
"Frank," he said, "we were lucky that time, but we might not be the next time. Don't you think it would be best if we hid you away for a week or two?"
Miller looked weary. "Is that really necessary?" he asked.
"Only until the election blows over," the second adviser said.
"Come on, Frank," the third adviser began, "we've all agreed that the best strategy for the election is to keep you away from the press. The Liberals and," the man's voice lowered in disgust, "the New Democrats can only lose votes by getting bad publicity. Meanwhile, we can just ride the wave of conservative feeling to a...comfortable majority."
"Remember," the first adviser added, "this election, we use the press by not using the press."
"Umm, sure," said Miller, unconvinced. "But, I'm a politician, darn it, not a criminal."
The second adviser sighed philosophically. "Today's politician," he pointed out, "is tomorrow's criminal." Obviously, he wasn't going to last long in the Party.
"But, won't I be missed?" Miller asked.
"Oh, perhaps after three or four months," the second adviser replied.
"Of course, not having top debate the other leaders contributes to you not being missed," the third adviser hastily added.
Miller sighed. "Where will I go?"
Before anybody could say a word, the second adviser answered: "I hear Argentina is nice this time of year."
Neither of the other two was close enough to hit him.
"I would suggest," the third adviser, barely containing his anger, said, "an unscheduled trip out of the province. Quebec might be nice, or the Northwest Territories..."
"What will the press say?"
"They aren't supposed to know. That's the whole point."
Miller agreed, but he looked decidedly glum. "John," he said, "there must be a better way to win a provincial election..."
