Observer

The President Has Hats to Sell

News item: Donald Trump wore a baseball cap as he attended the dignified transfer of the remains of six soldiers killed in action in the Middle East. No president has ever worn a baseball cap while attending this sorrowful and poignant ceremony. The cap bore the letters USA, written in gold, the president’s favorite color. Not by accident, the president of the United States sells those caps for $55 in a special online Trump merchandise shop. No president of the United States has ever sold hats while in office.

The president was having a difficult time, that much was clear. He was just an hour or so south of Gettysburg, where he was scheduled to give a few remarks at the town’s new military cemetery, where thousands of Union soldiers were buried. But the words weren’t flowing, and the train was getting closer to the Pennsylvania border.

“It was nearly a hundred years ago,” the president wrote as he tried to set the tone for his speech. He shook his head and crumpled up the paper. “No good,” he muttered. “Approximately eight decades ago,” he wrote again before ripping the paper to shreds. “It’s no use,” he said aloud.

Abraham Lincoln turned to his communications consultant, Chet G. Peatee, in desperation. “That Harvard blowhard Edward Everett is speaking before me, and he’ll make me sound like just another railsplitter from Illinois if I don’t come up with a decent speech,” he said. “I want to start with 1776, which was eighty-seven years ago. Is there a fancy way to say that?

“Why not try ‘four score and seven,’” Chet G. Peatee replied.

“Brilliant!” Lincoln exclaimed. He began scribbling on the backs of envelopes, fully aware that one day historians would marvel that he wrote his speech on the back of envelopes while hurtling through the countryside on a train. “Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this continent …” The words were coming fast and furious now. Great turns of phrase came to mind. “New birth of freedom.” Yes, that was good. “We highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain.” Another moving turn of phrase.

Suddenly a familiar voice interrupted. It was the president’s crafty campaign manager, Hy Lee Dubious. “How’s the address, Abe?”

“Same as always, Hy. 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Abe, Abe, you crazy old railsplitter. I’m talking about your speech in Gettysburg. It’s going to be an event, Abe, a big event. All the newspaper boys will be there, and the artists will be drawing pictures of you and there might even be some of those newfangled cameras. And they’ll all be watching your every move.”

“Good thing I’m so tall,” Lincoln said with a laugh. But Hy Lee Dubious wasn’t smiling. He had the expression of a man who meant business.

“Abe, on that topic, I’ve come up with a proposition for you. Now, before you say ‘no,’ just hear me out.” Lincoln, who was known to be a good listener, kept silent.

“I see you have your stove-pipe hat with you. Good move, Abe. Here’s the thing: Everybody in America knows that you’re the guy with the stove-pipe hat. I mean, can you think of anybody else who wears a stove-pipe hat? Imagine if Stephen Douglas had worn one of them.”

“It would’ve doubled his height,” Lincoln said. Lincoln always was quick with the joke.

“Very funny, Abe,” Dubious said. “Now look – I know a guy who can mass produce stove-pipe hats. He’s just waiting for you to give the word, and he said he’ll split the proceeds with you, half and half. See, Abe, a lot of people believe in you, and when you give your address in Gettysburg wearing a stove-pipe hat, I’m telling you, Abe, half of America will be running to the stores to buy one.”

“Yes, and the other half will try to shoot the people wearing them.” Abe was such a witty man.

“Oh, stop your kidding before historians start telling stories about your dry sense of humor,” Dubious said. “I’m serious, Abe. There’s money to be made in presidential merch.”

“Merch?”

“Merchandise, Abe! You know, authentic Abe Lincoln gear. Like a stove-pipe hat. But there’s more to it, Abe. There are a lot of stove-pipe hats out there. But how do your fans know that they’re getting an authentic Abe Lincoln hat? You need a slogan, Abe. And you need to put the slogan on the hat. Now it just so happens I’ve come up with a great slogan, and again, Abe, just listen to me. Remember, I was the guy who told you to go to McSorley’s bar and have a couple of beers before that Cooper Union speech back in 1860, right? How did that work out?”

“I lost the temperance vote.” When Abe tickled your funny bone, you just had to laugh.

“Hilarious, Abe. Some day I’ll write a book full of your jokes. But here’s my idea: We slap a slogan on those stove-pipe hats. And the slogan is: Make America Win Again. MAWA. Sounds like a town in New Jersey. We’ll sew the letters in a column of gold on the front of the hats. When people see the picture of that hat in the newspapers tomorrow, there’ll be a run on the stores. They’ll be wearing Lincoln merch in every city in the North.”

“Except New York, Hy. There was that whole draft riot thing back a few months ago.”

“OK, Abe. Except New York City. But listen to me, Abe: This is a marketing extravaganza. Just wear a stove-pipe hat with a catchy logo while you are paying tribute to fallen heroes, and you’ll make a fortune.”

Abe looked away for a few minutes. Finally, he found his campaign manager’s eyes. “Do you really think that I would exploit the memories and families of dead soldiers just to make a few bucks by selling hats? Do you think I’m that kind of guy?” Suddenly, Abe did not seem so funny.

His campaign manager turned away in disgust. “You’re honest, Abe. That’s your problem,” he said. “But mark my words: One of these days, some president without any scruples will wear a hat at a ceremony for dead soldiers, and people will line up and give him money so they can wear one of his hats.”

Lincoln considered this. “Well, I guess you really can fool some of the people all of the time.”

Dubious exploded in laughter. “That’s a good one, Abe. Maybe we can trademark that phrase,” he said. “Forget about all that four score and whatever years fancy stuff. Nobody will remember that.”