Forging America: My Campaign Manager is Roosevelt

"What’s your name?" Leo asked.

"Marcus. Not the Marcus from City Hall who crunches numbers. I’m Marcus the ballplayer," the young man joked.

"Alright, Marcus the ballplayer."

Leo looked at the vibrant young man.

"How old are you? Sixteen?"

"Seventeen. I’ll graduate high school in another year."

"What are your plans after graduation?"

This was a heavy question for a kid from a poor neighborhood.

In the past, the answer was often "I don’t know," "work at a fast-food joint," or "join a gang."

But Marcus’s answer was quick and without hesitation.

He raised his hand and pointed toward the southern part of the city.

That was the direction of the river valley and the Inland Port construction site. Giant gantry cranes were faintly visible in the distance.

"I want to go there."

Marcus’s eyes were resolute.

"I want to operate one of those big cranes, the huge ones that can grab a container weighing dozens of tons like it’s a toy."

Leo raised his eyebrows.

"Why?"

"Because Uncle Frank came to our school and gave a presentation."

Marcus said excitedly.

"He said City Hall and the Union started a technical school to teach people how to operate the new equipment. You just have to study for half a year, get certified, and then you can get a job at the port."

"Apprentices make three thousand dollars a month. It’s even more once you’re fully hired, and there’s insurance and a pension."

Marcus squeezed the muscle on his arm.

"I’m in good shape and have quick reflexes. I think I can do it."

"It’s a lot better than messing around on the streets."

Marcus glanced at the streets in the distance.

"Operating a crane—that’s a real skill. Something you can raise a family on."

Leo looked at Marcus’s shining eyes.

In that moment, he felt an indescribable, immense sense of satisfaction.

This satisfaction even surpassed what he felt when the bill passed in the Senate.

This was the success of social governance.

Employment is the best public safety.

When a seventeen-year-old’s dream is no longer to be the king of the streets, but to operate a piece of modern industrial equipment.

When he starts calculating future wages and benefits instead of the profit from his next bag of contraband.

Then this community has come back to life, and the city’s foundation has been secured.

"You’ll be a great operator, Marcus."

Leo said with conviction.

"That technical school is in the South District. If you want to go, I can write you a letter of recommendation."

"Really?" Marcus jumped up. "That’s awesome!"

Hearing this, the other teenagers around them started clamoring.

"Mr. Mayor, I want to go too!"

"I want a recommendation letter too!"

"I want to learn how to fix engines!"

Leo laughed and waved his hands, signaling for everyone to quiet down.

"Everyone will have a chance. As long as you’re willing to learn, Pittsburgh has plenty of jobs for you."

Just then, a chubby kid holding a ball pushed his way in.

"Mr. Mayor, don’t just talk the talk."

The chubby kid held the ball out to Leo with a mischievous grin.

"Since you came to the court, you can’t leave without showing us a few moves, can you?"

"Yeah! Take a shot, Mayor!"

"Take one! Take one!"

The teenagers started cheering and whistling, egging him on.

Even the few security guards in yellow vests in the distance turned around, watching with interest.

Leo froze for a moment.

He stared at the orange basketball.

He hadn’t touched a ball in a long time.

The last time he played was back in college.

"These shoes aren’t really right for this..." Leo tried to demur.

"Excuses!" Marcus shouted. "If you’re scared to shoot, just say you’re scared to shoot!"

"Who says I’m scared?"

Leo’s competitive spirit was roused.

He stood up, rolling his wrists and shoulders, his joints making soft popping sounds.

He took the basketball. The pebbled surface felt familiar, its rough friction bringing back some of his old touch.

He dribbled the ball twice.

"THUMP, THUMP."

The rhythm felt pretty good.

Leo walked out beyond the three-point line, to the same spot where Marcus had just sunk his shot.

The teenagers quieted down, several pairs of eyes fixed on him.

The pressure was somehow greater than speaking in front of thousands of people.

’If I shoot an airball, this is going to be a huge embarrassment.’

Leo adjusted his stance, feet apart, knees slightly bent.

Roosevelt’s voice rang out in his mind.

The President, who had spent most of his life in a wheelchair, was now acting as his basketball coach.

"Don’t be nervous."

There was a hint of a smile in Roosevelt’s voice.

"Tuck your elbow in, don’t let it flare out."

"Snap your wrist down."

"Keep your eyes on the back of the rim, not the ball."

"Don’t embarrass us. You represent the government’s image right now. If you miss, this isn’t just about one shot—it’s a matter of administrative efficiency."

Leo couldn’t help but laugh grimly to himself.

But he still subconsciously adjusted his form, tightening his core muscles as Roosevelt instructed.

He stared at the orange ring.

The world shrank in that moment.

There was only him and the hoop.

He jumped.

It wasn’t a high jump, but his body was fully extended.

He released the ball.

At the last second, his fingers gently flicked the ball, giving it a perfect backspin.

The basketball left his fingertips, carving a high arc through the air.

Everyone tilted their heads back, their eyes following the ball.

The ball reached its apex and began to fall.

Perfect angle.

Perfect force.

"SWISH!"

A crisp, satisfying sound of friction.

The basketball dropped clean through the hoop. The white net flipped up like a blossoming wave.

"WOAH!!!"

The court erupted in an instant.

The teenagers jumped up and down, cheering wildly.

Marcus rushed over and gave Leo a hard bump on the shoulder.

"That was dead on! Mayor! You’ve played before, haven’t you?"

Leo stood beyond the three-point line, holding his follow-through.

He watched the still-swaying net, his heart pounding.

A pure joy washed over him.

It was a feeling of belonging.

He was one of these kids, a part of this community.

He raised both hands in acknowledgment to the crowd, a brilliant smile on his face.

"Good shot, kid."

There was a trace of pride in Roosevelt’s voice.

"Seems my coaching was quite useful after all."

Leo wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The sun was setting, casting a golden afterglow on the court and stretching everyone’s shadows long.

This was no longer a dreaded slum.

It was full of life.

Leo watched the teenagers who had started running again.

He knew that everything he had done was worth it.

For this shot.

For these smiling faces.

For this city to truly come alive.

At the edge of the court, as Leo was wiping his sweat with a towel, the phone in his pocket suddenly vibrated.

He glanced at the screen. It was Ethan Hawke.

"Hey, Ethan, what’s up? If this is about the budget, let’s talk on Monday. I’m busy losing a game right now," Leo said, answering the phone with a laugh.

"Leo, something’s happened."

On the other end of the line, Ethan’s voice was unusually tense.

"The police department just called."

Leo’s smile froze. He put down the towel, walked to a corner of the court, and lowered his voice.

"What happened?"

"A patrol found someone on the bank of the Allegheny River," Ethan said quickly. "The police thought he was an illegal immigrant and arrested him."

"An arrest?"

Leo shook his head.

"Ethan, you’re my Chief of Staff, not a precinct clerk. You’re reporting a routine public order case to me?"

"The police arrest dozens of drunks, thieves, and drug dealers every day. If I had to personally get involved with every single one, what kind of mayor would I be?"

"Tell the chief to follow procedure. If they arrested some councilman’s relative, tell him to handle it himself and not to bother me."

"No, Leo."

Ethan said, "This time is different."

"The man they arrested... his name is Luigi."

The moment he heard the name, Leo’s mind instinctively jumped to an absurd, defensive association.

"Which Luigi?"

"As in, Mario’s Luigi?"

"Leo, be serious."

Ethan’s voice was frighteningly low.

"This is the Luigi we’ve been talking about."

"Luigi Randall."