He was dressed more casually than I would have expected of someone of his stature, considering this was the California Democratic Convention, but there was no mistaking that the man in the wheelchair before me was Max Cleland. By some stroke of good fortune at that moment there were few people in the hall, and no one else seemed to recognize this man with no legs and only half of his right arm. This was my second close encounter with Sen. Cleland, although I'm certain he has no memory of our first one.
"Senator Cleland, may I introduce myself?" I asked. "I'm Jeeni Criscenzo, and I'm running for Congress against Darrell Issa." The Senator extended his left hand, his eyes full of warmth as he thanked me for running. Imagine that, this giant of a human being was thanking ME!
"Senator, I should be thanking you. You are my personal hero and my role model," I gushed, trying not to sound like an awestruck groupie. He accepted my compliment with some gracious words; and since the man and woman who were with him seemed to be in no hurry, I seized the moment. "I'd like to share with you how you have personally influenced my life and the decisions that I've made," I said, and I went on to tell him the story of the serendipity of the first time we'd met.
Last September, right after my campaign kick-off, when I was in Washington for a conference on the topic of creating a Department of Peace, I had had the opportunity to meet with a political consultant about my campaign. As we concluded our discussion, Annie said to me, "You know why I think you can win this race? Because you haven't once said `Yeah but'."
She wasn't expecting my reply: "Yeah, but!" I exclaimed. Then I told her about what I thought was a very big ""Yeah, but": I am hearing impaired. Even with two hearing aids, I rely a great deal on lip-reading and body language to understand what people are saying. Situations with background noise are a nightmare for me. "I'm afraid my disability is going to make campaigning nearly impossible," I told her. "I don't know if I can do this."
In a flash, Annie's attitude went from enthusiasm to indignation. "You think that's a problem! You go talk to Max Cleland and then you tell me you have a problem!" she commanded, and she ended our conversation.
I'd heard of the senator from Georgia who had lost reelection when the GOP ran TV ads showing his photo side-by-side with Osama bin Laden. I knew that he was a war hero who had lost three limbs in Vietnam and that he had supported John Kerry's campaign. His determination to continue a life of service was an inspiration for anyone else facing physical obstacles.
Annie's admonishment still played in my mind the next day as I attended a congressional hearing. "An exit strategy from Iraq" was the topic, and it was Webcast to accommodate an overflow crowd. As I settled into my seat to observe the discussion in progress, the camera zoomed in on the faces. There on the screen, to my surprise and delight, was none other than Max Cleland! His loss of limbs in no way prevented him from being the most eloquent speaker on the panel.
The coincidence that Sen. Cleland was on this panel, only hours after I'd been advised to talk to him, did not escape me. What contributions this man had made! Who could have faulted him if he had said that Viet Nam was service enough? Yet as sure and as powerful as if he had lost no limbs he stepped up to the plate in the Senate and again went to bat for his country.
I knew then that Annie was right to be upset with me. A hearing impairment was hardly an excuse for failure to give the voters of my district a choice. In fact, it had given me as many gifts as it had taken away. When people speak to me, I give them my full attention. I am keenly sensitive to their body language; and when I repeat what they have told me to make certain I've gotten it right, people feel heard. You don't have to be too imaginative to think of situations where my ability to read lips can come in very handy.
Following the hearing, I decided to take a walk to the Botanical Gardens. I was headed that way when I realized that the man being pushed in a wheelchair in my direction was none other than Sen. Cleland! There was no mistaking that he had no legs. And one sleeve of his suit jacket was draped on his lap, with no wrist or hand at the end. In the moments it took for our paths to cross I thought of how easy it was for me just to decide on the spur of the moment to take a walk - something this man could never do. I thought about my campaign kick-off a few days earlier when I'd spent the entire day traveling throughout my district on public buses and how much more complicated it would be to campaign in a wheelchair and with only one arm!
Each time I've told this story, about how Max Cleland showed me what it meant to make the most of one's abilities, I've regretted that I didn't stop to tell him about it right then and there. So when another opportunity presented itself at the Democratic Convention I wasn't about to let the chance go by again. I shared this story with Max Cleland; and my hero held out his arm, offered a hug, and the power of his extraordinary courage and compassion enveloped me. When I asked him for his endorsement, he gave it without hesitation. I asked to have a picture taken with him, and after the first shot, he said we would need another. In it, he held up his hand to sign "I love you"--a message he knew I would understand. It was a gift that I will cherish for the rest of my life.
In the coming months of this campaign there will be many challenges. There will be times when the struggle to hear and understand will frustrate me. There may even be times when my opponent will use my inability to hear against me. And those will be the times when I will remember the hug that I got from Max Cleland, and I will know that I have what it takes to carry on, for all of us.
To learn more about my grassroots campaign to represent the people of California's 49th District and work for all the people of this country in the House of Representatives, please visit my website at DREAMofJEENIforCONGRESS.com