As usual, June was in the kitchen, scrubbing her pot. There were other dishes and utensils that needed to be cleaned, but it was this one pot that seemed to get all of her attention. If, by now, it wasn’t the cleanest pot on the North American continent, June was certainly not to blame.
Ward was sitting in his chair in the den, reading the newspaper. It was never clear whether Ward actually got any information from it; he never talked about current events. Perhaps he was singularly interested in the columns of advice for fathers with precocious teenage children. If, on the other hand, one came to the conclusion that Ward had perfected the ability to sleep with his eyes open, holding a newspaper in front of him, one couldn’t be proven wrong by the evidence.
June walked into the den (still scrubbing that damn pot!) and said, “Ward, I’m worried about the Deaver.”
Ward started. Putting the newspaper aside, he asked, “What was that about the Deaver, dear?”
“I’m worried about the Deaver.” Scrub, scrub, scrub. “We got a phone call from the White House this morning.”
“Oh? What about?”
“About this lobbying problem again.”
Ward thought for a moment. By now, one would have thought that this was unnecessary; he always came to the same conclusion. Perhaps he just need the time to return to full consciousness. Sure enough, he eventually said, “I guess I better have a talk with the boy.”
June left, satisfied. Conveniently, the Deaver waltzed through the front door mere moments later, and Ward called him into the den with his usual, “Oh, Deaver, can I talk to you for a minute?”
The Deaver hesitantly entered the room. “Gee, dad,” he said, hands innocently behind his back. “I haven’t done anything.”
“I haven’t accused you of anything, yet.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry, dad.”
“Now,” Ward reasonably asked, “Deaver, what’s all this I hear about you using your connections in Washington to unfairly, and, I might add, illegally influence government decisions?”
“It wasn’t me dad!” Deaver rushed to protest. “It was that Eddie Haskell! He did it! He made me do it! He…he did it and made me do it, too! Honest, dad! That darn Eddie!”
Ward sighed. “You are presently being over $100,000 by the Canadian government,” he told the Deaver, “to lobby the United States government on the issue of acid rain. Evidence is being collected that you were pushing for a special envoy on the subject even while you were Deputy Chief of Staff at the White House. Is this true?”
“G…gosh dad,” the Deaver insisted, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Ward tried to look stern, but, of course, he never managed to look more threatening than limp spaghetti. “If you had any contact with a Canadian official while in office,” he stated, “you could be found guilty of conflict of interest. I could send you to your room for two years, Deaver.”
The Deaver gulped. He knew he was in trouble. “If…if I ever argued in favour of an acid rain accord,” he said, “it was because I really believed in it, dad. I mean, acid rain is bad. Real bad, dad.”
Ward shook his head sadly. “You should learn, Deaver, that it isn’t enough for government to be aboveboard. It must be seen to be aboveboard.” The Deaver was silent. “You know the rules,” Ward continued. “You’re not allowed to lobby former agencies for a year after leaving office, or on issues you were substantially involved in for two years.”
“I didn’t do nothing!” the Deaver stubbornly insisted.
Ward was left with no choice to send the Deaver to his room. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said.
Soon, Wally joined the Deaver in his room. The Deaver explained the situation to him. “Gee, Deaver,” Wally told him, “that’s tough. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know!” the Deaver pouted, lying on his bed. “I wasn’t doing anything thousands of other lobbyists don’t do. There are even hundreds of other former government officials lobbying in Washington!”
“Why do you think they’re picking on you?”
“Maybe…maybe because I wasn’t lobbying for anybody’s clear economic gain,” the Deaver answered. “I was lobbying on an environmental issue. They don’t really understand the environment in Washington. If I had been lobbying on behalf of some arms manufacturer for more funds from the government, they couldn’t do anything to me without doing it to half the other lobbyists in Washington.
“I hope the progress on acid rain isn’t hurt because of this.”
“Gee, Deaver,” Wally remarked, “life is tough.”
“Yes,” the Deaver agreed, tucking his fists under his chin, “it sure is.”