What if Jefferson Davis decided to run for president? | Opinion

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Too bad Kentucky-born political leader Jefferson Davis, onetime U.S. Senator and former U.S. Secretary of War, didn’t consider a better encore for his performance as president of the Confederate States of America, an office that became a lost cause.

Davis could have run for president of the United States in 1868.

Just imagine this conversation when he filed his paperwork.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Davis,” the clerk says, “you’re not eligible to run for president.”

“Why not?” Davis responds. “I was born a native of Fairview, Kentucky, U.S.A. And I’m 60 years old and registered to vote. I’m completely qualified.”

“Good heavens, man,” the clerk replies, “you led a rebellion against the country.”

“I did no such thing,” Davis rebuts. “That’s a Yankee vermin lie.”

“Six months ago,” the clerk says, “the 14th Amendment to the Constitution was ratified. I know we had a little controversy, but enough states agreed. That amendment says anybody who, and I’ll quote, ‘engaged in insurrection’ can’t hold office.”

“What insurrection?” Davis asks.

“The revolt against the country,” the clerk explains, scowling. “You know, the South attacked the North.”

“Tarnation, son, that weren’t no insurrection,” Davis says, waving his arms across the air. “We didn’t try to overturn the government. We were playing. Just wanted some alone time as Southern states. No insurrection at all. And you attacked us first at Fort Sumter. Even at that, the vast majority of the South, I’m proud to report, was peaceful. Very calm. We never attacked the U.S. Capitol.”

“Hundreds of thousands of people died,” the clerk utters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fifty thousand lives were lost at Gettysburg alone.”

‘Oh, Gettysburg?” Davis says. “Dad-blammit, most of our good ol’ boys were just up there sightseeing. Hiking in the woods. Taking in nature. Camping out.”

“You’re mad,” the clerk alleges, “you’re crazy. You committed treason.”

“I beg your pardon,” Davis asserts, swelling his chest as he takes umbrage. “My record is clean. I was never convicted of any crime, including treason. Look at the facts.”

“But Congress voted to put you on trial,” the clerk protests.

“Yeah, those scallywags,” Davis retorts, “what do they know? They didn’t take me to court because I’d have won. The slimy snakes wanted the trial in Richmond—that jury would have let me walk. So they dropped the case. Therefore, Lord-a-Mercy, I’m innocent. And then Congress wrote that silly 14th Amendment.”

“Yes, yes,” the clerk says, “that disqualifies you.”

“Not at all,” Davis says. “You can’t use that amendment: Congress never passed any procedures to enforce it. You can’t do it by yourself. You don’t have the power.”

The clerk starts to stutter: “But … but … but …”

“Besides,” Davis goes on. “The Amendment doesn’t apply to the presidency. Read it yourself. The words include Congressmen, presidential electors, and other ‘officers’, and I’m quoting, but it doesn’t mention the president.”

“Ridiculous,” the clerk responds, “That wouldn’t make any sense.”

“Don’t blame me,” Davis says, “Bluebellies wrote it. It doesn’t apply to the office I’m running for.”

“It must,” the clerk insists.

“Sorry,” says Davis, “might apply to, say, Gen. Lee, but not me. I agree some squabbles over the last four years got out of hand, and a few of our boys got carried away, but they were defending themselves. Unfortunately, there were some casualties.

“But it would be downright undemocratic to keep me from running. Now, go ahead and file my campaign papers. And vote for me: I’m the only candidate with experience running a country.”

The clerk stammers on, but takes the campaign papers.

Does this historical fantasy sound loony? Of course. You’d have to be crazy to buy these arguments. Right?

Larry Riley is a former newspaper columnist in Muncie, Ind., and journalism/writing instructor at Ball State University, now living in Georgetown.