I’m originally from the Portland, Maine area and lived and worked there for years before moving to Southwest Florida. I am currently working on the sequel to Jack Canon’s American Destiny – which will be titled Jack Canon Clean Sweep. The sequel will be available in about three months.
My Dad and Mom were artists, my father painted and my mother wrote poetry and loved to garden. Most Saturdays we loaded up the 1970 Chevy Impala to trek to a one man show somewhere or other. I took a different track graduating with a business degree; owning and operating an Award Winning Franchise Fitness Center. Currently a professional manager I am living in Florida with my beautiful wife and children, and following my passion.
Some of my other projects include a children’s book called Sammy the Sea Turtle – about an infant sea turtle taken from his nest the night he was to find his way to the sea. Sammy lives with the family until their son – the boy who took him, graduates from high school. On that day Sammy, backpack in tow – begins the long journey home.
My second project in the works involves angels – a man during a visit to Bar Harbor Maine encounters an angel; quite accidentally, he is told – she was not supposed to make him aware of her existence. Only three others have ever seen the real thing. Naturally he falls hopelessly in love with the beautiful creature.
It’s the steamy summer of 2016 in Washington, D.C. just days before the Democratic National Convention. A long and painful recession has left ordinary Americans suffering, spawning the hottest Presidential Contest in history. Jack Canon, a man born into privilege, a witness to great social injustice is going to be President of the United States–no matter what! Desperate and corrupt, the leader of the free world orders a hit to slow him down. The plan backfires–the wrong people are dead–a manhunt points to the unthinkable–The President of the United States.
Rewind one year, Jack’s focus on redistribution of wealth and energy has made him powerful enemies. Once his friends, Rogue Billionaires, Oil Sheiks, the Mob, all want him gone. The current President wants him alive–thinking he can win against an unabridged liberal. A Universal Raw Nerve of wealth vs. poverty is exposed becoming a thrill ride as deep machinations of espionage, geo-politics and deception, even murder play out. Kind and charismatic, Jack’s just naughty enough to have you falling for him like one of his loving circle of loyal friends. Of course he’s flawed, a dedicated family man, faithful to one woman, but in love with two. Is it his fault his best friend is impossibly jaw dropping beautiful? Think the crime and passion of the Godfather meets the romance and innocence of Camelot. A story that could spark a movement, a book that can seed a revolution. A heart thumping climax so shocking you’ll pull the covers and draw the shades! One things for sure, through all the drama and suspense, you’ll be pulling for Jack!
Praise For Jack Canon’s American Destiny:
“I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the type to read political novels, but I was surprised by Jack Canon’s American Destiny. The book was so well written that I couldn’t help but keeping reading.”
~A. Brantley, Amazon Reviewer
“Wow – Great Read and Insight into Politics!”
Change is seldom easy, but moving into our new offices the final year of the campaign was anything but hard. Sandy decorated our campaign offices with style, comfortable furnishings, light- colored woods, and plenty of glass. She said her taste was as big as my pocketbook, and lucky for us, friends of the campaign had donated plenty of cash to do the job right.
Sandy popped her head around the door. Dressed in a black skirt and form-fitting zebra print blouse, she carefully positioned the toe end of her black stilettos toward the floor to keep the door from closing. I could just see the faint line between her toes as her foot was flexed.
We had a tight spring closer installed right after one of my senior staff accidentally left the door ajar. There are a lot of sensitive issues discussed in here we would never want the rest of the office to know.
“Jack, you’ve got senior staff in 20 minutes.” Sandy’s voice had an almost musical quality. She rarely spoke to me in anything but the most dulcet tones, a trait which matched her pleasing personality.
“Hey, Sandy,” I jumped up from my seat and moved quickly towards her.
“Come with me; I want to show you something.”
“What’s going on, Jack? You seem excited.”
I didn’t answer – instead I led her gently by the arm toward the seventh floor elevator. We passed several staff members busy working at their desks, each calling out like dominoes, one after the other, “Hey Jack.” I smiled and gave thumbs up as Sandy and I hurried past.
“Damn, the elevator’s busy; let’s take the stairs.”
“Do we have enough time, Jack?” Sounding concerned as we turned the corner.
Ignoring the question, I pushed open the door and started down the steps. Sandy had one hand gripping the cold metal railing and her other digging into my arm for support, luckily she had short nails. A couple of years ago, I mentioned I didn’t like the plastic ones she was wearing. The next day she came into the office, plopped both hands down on my desk, and said, “I cut my nails, Jack!”
It was hard for her to move fast in high heels with her skirt fitted snug just above the knee. She managed by holding tight to my arm, scuffing along, taking quick small steps.
“I’m parked on the third floor of the parking garage. Keep going; it’s only one more floor.”
“Jack, I’m out of breath,” Sandy said as I pushed open the door to P3.
We entered a large open area to see a shiny sports car parked alone.
“It’s my new car; you like it?”
“What is it?”
“It’s a car,” Teasing, knowing what she meant.
“I know it’s a car, what kind is it? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Don’t feel bad. I didn’t know either; I had to look it up. It’s French made, a Bugatti. The guy that delivered it said it’s one of a kind.”
Sitting before us was a machine that pushed the envelope to unreal. Lines so amazing it seemed to be in motion just standing still. The Bugatti Veyron is basically a street legal racecar. Exciting as all hell to drive. I never dreamed I’d own an automobile that could hit a top speed over 250 miles per hour. Truth is, before last night I didn’t even know I wanted one.
My version was custom painted black metallic with shiny chrome over dazzling wheel rims in a wave pattern over the single door. The porcelain moldings formed a body impossible to duplicate with steel alone. The styling was accentuated by a triple round grill that gave the car personality and elevated the handcrafted masterpiece to a work of art. To say this car was rare was an understatement; I’d seen only one similar car and that was in a magazine. The Bugatti was hot, a real head turner, all eyes were on it as I drove to the office this morning.
Sandy said, “It’s beautiful, Jack When did you get it?”
“They just dropped it off last night.” I ran around the car and opened the passenger side door for her.
“Sandy, get in. Let’s go for a spin around the block; we’ve got time.” She tried to enter, first sideways then lowering herself gracefully as far as she could. Instead, she ended up plopping down, practically falling into the very low seat. She crossed her legs, trying to get situated and buckled in. The seats were so steeply angled, they looked like twin toboggans racing downhill.
Watching Sandy try to get comfortable, I thought cars like these are not made for long drives or tight skirts.
Sandy warned, “I hope you’re gonna take it easy, Jack?”
“Engine on,” I spoke. The car was outfitted with prototype voice activated control. The engine obeyed, immediately humming to a start. The understated throatiness of the exhaust stood in quiet contrast to all the glass packs out there trying to Sound Street tough. All the gauges lit blue and the dials went to the hilt before settling down. The windows looked like mirrors from the outside and the interior cabin was nearly sound proof.
“Hear that purr?” I revved up the 16 cylinder 1000 horsepower engine, flooring the accelerator several times, burying the tach.
“Look at this thing Sandy – it doesn’t red line until 12,000 rpm!”
Sandy was admiring the leather wrapped interior, running her hands over the dash settling on the round vent of the chrome airstream.
“We won’t need the air conditioner today,” I joked.
“You think? – It’s like 40 degrees outside; I should’ve brought a sweater. You hurried me out so fast I didn’t have time to think. ”
I told her, “You won’t need it in here; the cabin heats up in seconds.” The car must have been equipped with some type of radiant heat system.
I flipped the dial and we were warm almost immediately.
Sandy said, “I wonder how they do that; I freeze waiting for my car to heat up. You know, Jack, I never thought I’d say this about a car, but this one is sexy… I guess some guys need this sort of thing.”
I sank back into the driver’s seat richly upholstered in a diamond patchwork of raised blond leather. The headrests had the Bugatti Logo richly embroidered to adorn the center. Everything in the cockpit was chrome or leather trimmed with a fragrant new car smell.
It’s always amused me that people are willing to pay many times the intrinsic value of an item just to obtain the status of a brand. This was not one of those times. We were seated in an example of excellence, worth every penny of the $1.6 million price tag. It wouldn’t have mattered what they called it.