Free Blind Allegiance to Sarah Palin by Frank Bailey

four days later when Sarah entered the office and saw the signs. Her face went from bronze to a shade of red, matching the background of our newly minted Palin for Governor posters. In front of at least two other volunteers—dedicated Cathy Fredericks and high-energy Clark Perry—she asked, lacing each word with dry ice, “Where did those come from?” At that moment, with my back pressed against a door and body withering, I spoke:
    â€œI ordered them. We had only six or seven left—”
    â€œWhy the heck did you do that?” If it didn’t look silly, I’d add about five exclamation points to adequately relay the fire-breathing emotion behind her question. “I, not you, Frank, am running this campaign.”
    As a man who tends to lurk in the shadows of his wife’s ambition, Todd isn’t one to step forward and say, “I told Frank to do that.” When the Sarah thermostat revved high, nobody expected the husband to supply supportive ice to cool things down. As for me, I had no desire to implicate Mr. Palin in anything controversial, realizing that such a move would become a lose-lose proposition for me. Nodding yes to my boss and hero (as a glass-is-half-full guy, all I had to do was convince myself that a fiery temper can be an asset in politics), I said, “Okay.” Feeling sucker punched, I swore to avoid falling into this trap again, naively believing that possible.
    The entire sign exchange took only a minute or two and ended with Sarah storming out of the building. My fellow volunteers had retreated out of the office but heard the exchange (or at least Sarah’s side of it). As was his nature, an animated Clark reentered once the future governor left. With a shake of his head and through a nervous laugh, he said, “Duuuude, you’re in the shithouse now, aren’t you? But you know how Sarah can get,” he added. “And, Frank, I’m off signs for good.”
    Clark had known Sarah for years. Me? I had no idea until that moment “how Sarah can get.”
    That tooth-rattling pothole on the Sarah Highway was never discussedagain, thankfully. Days later, I came to believe that Sarah regretted the outburst. Seldom one to offer apologies or acknowledge blame, she did purchase for me a desperately needed $500 smartphone—an enormous expense for our acorn-sized campaign. I took the gift as a peace offering meant to say, “Frank, you’re here to stay, so don’t sweat it.” Honestly, until that moment, I wondered if this Todd-induced initiative on signs was game-set-match for me. Maybe I’m reading too much into her gesture, but with Sarah, almost nothing is done sans hidden meaning, including smartphoning me.

7
 
    Conflicting Message
    Beauty without grace is the hook without the bait.
    â€”RALPH WALDO EMERSON
    A round May 2006, Kerm Ketchum called me. Kerm, nearing seventy at the time and working long hours for the campaign despite his wife’s terminal illness, is a kind man possessing significant intelligence and patience. Just seeing him you would agree, but we affectionately termed him our “campaign Einstein.” He would willingly drop everything and undertake any task Sarah needed done, from emailing event announcements to delivering signs. To me, he became an advisor and sounding board. A good, good man.
    With his voice quivering through the phone, I knew immediately that he had a shocking message. Kerm said he had been monitoring the email coming into the campaign account. Embarrassed, he explained that a pornographic picture of Sarah had popped up on one of the emails. The thought of such a thing sickened me; I can only imagine how Kerm, who’d known Sarah since she was in grade school, felt. Kerm forwarded the offending email, and I called Todd immediately to give him a heads-up. To my everlasting surprise, Todd’s response was “Is it real?” He sounded amused.
    Stunned, I said,