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In 1988, I was with David Duke when he announced his candidacy for the Democratic presidential nomination at the National Press Club in Washington, D.C.  David and I are shown above listening to Mike Brooks, chief of the Washington Metropolitan Police Intelligence Division, explaining security procedures. Security was a very real concern due to threats from Jewish groups. People say I look like Benito Mussolini in this photo. David ultimately ran for president on the Populist Party ticket and in 1989 he won election as a Republican to the Louisiana state legislature, after which he waged energetic statewide campaigns as the GOP candidate for governor and U.S. Senator. Little did I know that 20 years after this picture was taken, I would end up in the White House due, ironically, to no exertions of my own.


This is me — Michael Collins Piper — at about five years old. From the expression on my face, you can see what a happy childhood I had, living a nice middle-class existence in a big rambling house and well cared for by my mother (a damned good looking woman) and my father (a very colorful figure) who was a railroad engineer. Later, when I began getting interested in politics, I’m glad to say, my parents shared my nationalist world view and I introduced them to a wide range of reading material that — I can assure you — was not to be found in any other household in the small town in rural Pennsylvania where I grew up. I was known as a “radical” in high school.


The readers will accept my apology for the somewhat misleading title of this volume, which refers to my first days in “the White House.”
Those readers who are familiar with the history of those days know full well — it is no secret — that the White House as we long knew it was not technically that White House that we loved so much; rather, during the first days of my four years in the presidency, the White House was a bombed out shell as a consequence of the cataclysmic events of the Second American Revolution that took place in 2008.
Many will recall that I spent my presidency in residence at the Willard Hotel, not far from where the remains of the White House stood. Needless to say, the White House has since been restored, but not during my term of office.
So, needless to say, when I use the term “the White House” in the title of this work, I am referring to that period of my service in the presidency from the fall of 2008 until January 20, 2013 when my duly-elected successor was sworn into office.
The four years that I served in the presidency provided me — an unapologetic, old-fashioned, no-holds-barred, hell-on-wheels progressive democrat dedicated to fighting for human rights, social justice and, in the spirit of Thomas Jefferson, demanding equal rights for all and special privilege for none — an opportunity to put my philosophy into practice.
Certain once-powerful people weren’t too happy, as a consequence of the policies that were enacted during my years in the White House, but I’d like to think — no, I know for a fact — that it all made for a better America and for a better world.



My First Days in the White House
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