Saturday, May 17, 2008
"You want to win," the kid asked Rebecca, "or are you just doing a Ralph Nader kind of thing?"
Feb 26, 2004 | Giacomo parked his car but sat still for a moment, listening to that damned song again. He hated how much he liked it and feared that Rebecca, who was now headed from her car to his, would hear the tune tinking through his open window -- but even so, he couldn't bear to turn it off. It was "Get on Doug's Plank," by a newly formed Illinois supergroup, and it was just about the catchiest thing he'd heard since the demise of Bachman-Turner Overdrive, and it was a good part of the reason that Doug Plank, at the moment the front-runner for the Democratic nomination for senator, was polling over 30 percent -- the only candidate in double digits.
Doug Plank, former Chicago Bears safety, c. 1978, blond and appealing, had just discovered, three months previously, that he was a lifelong Democrat. He peppered his speeches -- he didn't actually give speeches, but instead had faux town-hall meetings, where his volunteers and staff would sit in folding chairs around him and feed him questions to which they'd written the answers -- with football expressions, which seemed to please his volunteers and, ostensibly, the rest of the populace. He would, if elected, "tackle" the state's low high school graduation rate. He would "blitz" the prevalence of childhood asthma in Illinois' urban centers. He considered the state to be at a turning point, with this a "fourth and long situation," the Super Bowl hanging in the balance. And because as a player he gained some renown for spearing opposing players after they'd been tackled, he always got a laugh by promising to give a "late hit" to the unpopular, recently increased vehicle registration fee.
Plank was well-connected with figures moneyed and cultural, and already had this very catchy theme song receiving airtime all over the state. Written by Rick Nielson, the song brought together an Illinois classic-rock supergroup, featuring most of the available members of Cheap Trick (Rockford), REO Speedwagon (Champaign) and Styx (Chicago). Kevin Cronin and Bun E. Carlos, however, refused to be a part; they were Gary Fencik fans and still hoped he'd make a run.
Now Rebecca was at Giacomo's window, looking concerned, and Giacomo extricated himself from the radio and the car and smiled sheepishly.
"You really like that song?" Rebecca asked.
"What song?" Giacomo tried.
"Don't you think Tommy Shaw sounds kind of sick or depressed or something? I don't know why they'd have him sing, instead of Dennis DeYoung or--"
"I'm sorry, Rebecca. I shouldn't have been listening to the song. I know it seems like some kind of betrayal and I..."
"Giacomo. Don't. It's nothing."
And with that she put her hand on his triceps, and he almost swooned. Had she ever touched him before? Not like that, not deliberately. Her fingers on his arm, flesh on flesh under this gracious sun! He felt so strong! But then again, he was feeling very weak...
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Twenty minutes later, while still worried about Giacomo, who was recuperating in the nurse's office from fainting -- probably the heat, everyone figured -- Rebecca found herself in front of Max's ethics class, talking to 30 mildly engaged freshmen and sophomores about her own experiences with ethics, in and out of politics. Almost immediately she was boring everyone, including herself. She was terrible in almost all situations where she had to convince an unresponsive audience about something, or get or keep their attention. It was an awful weakness for a sometime and aspiring-again politician, but she was working on it. Realizing she'd lost everyone in the classroom and was probably wasting everyone's time, including her own, she stopped short and asked if there were any questions.
The silence was arctic.
"Your desks are so shiny," she said brightly, noticing that they were indeed shiny, very clean. "All the chrome is immaculate."
The students gave her what seemed like a collective, unified, orchestrated sneer.
A lanky student in the front row, slouched so low he seemed to be lying down -- didn't the slackers used to sit in back? she wondered -- raised his hand. Though Rebecca knew better, for you never call on someone with that kind of posture, she had no choice but to call on him, given he was the only one with a question.
"Yes?" she said.
"Yeah, you're running for office, right?"
Rebecca considered the question rhetorical, but the young man was waiting for an answer.
"Yes, I am."
"And you're talking about ethics."
"Yes."
"And you want to win, or are you just doing a Ralph Nader kind of thing?"
"I hope to win, actually. I'm running to represent the state of Illinois in Washington."
With this the young man's head jerked back, as if he'd gotten some information he hadn't expected. "But there's no way to be ethical and win," he said. "I know that's obvious and all, but I just figured you were some kind of nut."
"Is that a question?" Rebecca asked.
"I don't know. I guess so."
"Well, to be honest, I haven't been put in a position yet where my values and sense of ethical... rightness has been challenged yet."
"Why?" asked another student, blond and long-faced. This one, a young woman in the front row, appeared to have a twin next to her. Before Rebecca could help it, she'd done a double-take. "Yes, we're twins," said the girl.
"Thank you. You're very lovely, the both of you," Rebecca tossed out. "Um... so..." She was stuck, as usual, not even knowing where to start. How far back does one go? The corruptions of the founding fathers? The relative purity of the American system compared to most of the world's democracies? The myriad ways it could be worse? The myriad ways it was better than it was 100 years ago? She attempted to escape through a focus on specifics. A technicality.
"When you run for state senate, which I did twice, the races aren't typically as competitive as something like a race for a seat in the U.S. Senate. So it never veered into that territory where shady things even enter the picture."
"But pretty soon it will. This is a much bigger thing, right?"
"Well, of course."
"You're gonna need millions of dollars, right?"
"Probably, yes."
Now the young woman turned to the class behind her and asked them a question. "Has anyone here given money to a candidate?"
None of the students raised a hand.
"Has anyone here ever given money to a candidate?"
No movement but the shaking of heads.
"Has anyone ever known anyone who ever donated any money at all to any candidate ever?"
Now the heads shook slower, with more emphasis, cute little grimaces on their faces, all of them apologetic about just how much they were embarrassing their guest, the political aspirant. The young woman turned back to Rebecca and crossed her arms in obvious triumph.
"Looks like you've got a problem," she said.
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