Jack Rodden Studio: Untitled
[dignitaries riding in convertible in town parade]
(c. 1950)

"Grace even catches up to politicians when they ask nicely enough."

Political campaigns look different from the inside. Outside looking in, an observer hopefully sees mostly what the candidate wants them to see. Scenes should seem carefully choreographed, scripts thoughtfully written and practiced, and presentations more or less perfect. Inside looking out, it's continually one damned thing after another, none of which seems quite right or even right-able. The ship seems like it's taking on too much water. The campaign started too late and seems to be falling ever further behind. The difference between inside and outside states gets to grate on the campaign team. Everything takes longer, costs more, and produces less. If not careful, the candidate and team might grow despondent. Were it not for the likely fact that the opposition has it worse, the effort would hardly seem worth it.

Take, for example, the simple idea of the candidate appearing in the Pasco Fourth Of July Parade, a tradition in this legislative district. No self-respecting candidate would dare miss this event, however remote Pasco might seem to the Walla Walla-resident candidate. She must pander to the western side of the district. Demographics strongly suggest that her victory will lie there if it lies anywhere. The newly drawn district boundary borders, recently mandated by a court, make this campaign the first ever run on this map. The candidate's team has been doing a lot of guessing. They had maps made of this fresh territory and went out on a Magellan-like excursion to find the furthest Western boundaries. The district stretches clear up to Connell, a town only one person in the candidate's orbit knows very well. She hopes this parade will draw spectators from the whole area, and she can't afford to miss this experience.

It does not help that on The Fourth, Walla Walla holds its big celebration featuring booths in the park, a big band concert, and plenty of potential voters. A candidate's expected to appear there, too. Being in two places at once has become a requisite skill for the candidate, and she'll try to comply. The parade should be finished by 1 PM. She might make it to the local park festivities by two if she can get away by then. That should give her a few hours to meet and greet passers-by. Her team will populate her booth until she can make her appearance. But where will she find that convertible? It's de rigueur for a candidate to ride in the back of a convertible in Fourth Of July Parades. It's more American than apple freaking pie, but who owns a convertible these days? Who does she know that does?

She finds an online ad for a rental that will set the campaign back a hundred bucks. The choreography associated with securing the rental could be tricky, though, given the necessity of returning for the festivities in the park immediately after the parade. Who will return the rental? Who will drive? After exhausting every other possibility, I volunteer. I was not holding my hand up high and squirming to be chosen, but I agreed it would have to be me driving. The Muse filled out the paperwork online, and my phone rang when she hit the purchase button. It was the convertible's owner reporting that a mistake had been made. His convertible was in Missouri and not available. We toyed with the idea of the candidate just walking the parade route. That could allow her to press some flesh and even hand out fliers, though it wouldn't be optimum.

The Muse suggested just flooding our social media with a request. Who out there has a convertible they could lend to the candidate for a single appearance? Candidacy presents the necessity of asking for stuff. The candidate's forever asking for money, an unseemly activity in almost every other occupation but a necessity if one runs for public office. Since the Supreme Court, in its wisdom and folly, decided that money is people too, the free exchange of lucre has been fully enfranchised, so candidates must become successful beggars and shameless. What's a request for the loan of a convertible in the larger scheme of things? It's the traditional means by which a candidate presents themself on the anniversary of our country's founding. E Pluribus Unum, one convertible could emerge out of many requests. She'll never know if she doesn't ask.

Later that afternoon, we learn that someone in the campaign's orbit happens to have a bright red Miata they're willing to lend. I've never driven a convertible before. I'll be the anonymous presence behind the wheel, holding my Panama straw-covered head down to showcase the candidate waving and throwing candy in the back. Candidacy largely remains a mystery to me. It's like marriage in that it mainly operates via invisible strings. I suppose this means that candidacies are faith-based things, birds that fly in apparent violation of some fundamental physical law. They remain suspended on the candidate's will and courage, the foolhardy courage nobody ever wins awards for exhibiting. It's basically humiliating or would be if it weren't so promising. Imagine when the candidate wins the election and starts traveling to Olympia to begin representing the people in our district. We'll insist that she did it, but we'll secretly know it was the convertible, manifested out of a desperate request by a budding beggar. Grace even catches up to politicians sometimes when they ask nicely enough.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Grace, #PureSchmaltz