"Sherlock for President, Part Two"

Many of you are probably wondering, as I was, just what happened to the "Sherlock Holmes for President" campaign proposed here just two issues ago. After a little research, and a little more traveling, I finally located the Holmes campaign headquarters in Sussex Downs, Iowa, and stopped in for a chat. Campaign manager Mallard "Thirsty" Garridebb was there, hard at work, and more than willing to answer a few questions.

"Sorry, but that's Garridebb with two 'b's'," he said in answer to my question. Disappointed, but still determined, I con-
tinued.

"Why haven't we heard anything of the Holmes campaign in the newspapers or on TV?" I asked. "Why wasn't he included in the debate last month?"

"Ah . . . that." Garridebb just shook his head. "It's that Dame Jean Conan Doyle and her copyright ban. No reporter ever had to get anyone's permission to write a story about George Bush or Michael Dukakis, but when it comes to Sherlock Holmes they do. My press releases might as well be ground up and used for gerbil cage filler. As long as Dame Jean says, 'No Sherlock Holmes stories in America,' it's no media coverage for this campaign. Of course, that hasn't been all bad."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, it does mean we don't have to worry about Bush or Dukakis bringing up Holmes's old cocaine habit in the papers. And it was also a blessing during the incident at the Hastyways Motel in Butte, Montana."

"I didn't hear about that."

"And neither did anyone else, thank God. The Secret Service men assigned to Holmes ran to his room in the middle of the night when they heard shots. When they broke down the door, they found Holmes inside, shooting a patriotic 'U.S.A.' in the wall with his hair trigger. The Secret Service boys quit after that. And we also had a heck of a time placating the evangelist and the stripper who were in the room next to Holmes's."

"I had heard that the 'Holmes for President' campaign was going to be a write-in campaign. Is that true?"

"Yes, and darned if we aren't having problems there too. Kansas City, Missouri is full of Sherlockian voters like the Great Alkali Plainsmen, the scion society there. But with the vote for Holmes being a write-in on the ballot, I'm afraid . . . well, you know their reputation."

I admitted I did. Garridebb just shook his head.

"And as if our media problems weren't enough, there's the nd trouble with the buttons and bumper stickers. Haven't seen any of those yet, have you?"

"No."

"Well, you won't, either. Every time I get a bunch of them made up, some damned Sherlockian collector makes off with them. The same thing with leaflets, banners, key chains, billboards, you name it. If we make it up with the name 'Holmes' on it, it's tucked away in some collector's study before nightfall. The fact he's running for president only seems to stir them up all the more. In six months you'll probably be able to buy a button from a dealer in Sherlockian collectibles for ten bucks, but if you want one to wear now and campaign, forget it!"

"Sounds like the Holmes campaign is in real trouble."

"You bet your red, white, and blue deerstalker it is. Worst of all, Holmes has put on weight since the campaign began. If he does get elected, he'll be the heftiest man in the White House since Taft. What's worse, ever since he put on the pounds, all he does is hang around the headquarters here, go over to his club down the block, and then back to his apartment across d the street from that. He won't go out and campaign anymore. He's like a satellite that won't leave its orbit."

Something about Garridebb's last comment rang an alarm bell in my head.

"How would you describe his hands?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know... uh, flipper-like, maybe."

I thanked Mr. Garridebb for his time, and returned to my car, a wiser, yet sadder Sherlockian. Sherlock Holmes was undoubtedly back on the real Sussex Downs by now, having realized his campaign could never succeed with so many factors against it. I should have realized the "best and wisest" man we would ever know would never be so foolish as to run for political office. He was just doing what so many siblings have had to do from time immemorial:

Trying to get his out-of-work brother a job.

(Printed in Plugs & Dottles, November1988.)