Dear John Edwards,
Okay, it's all my fault. I admit it, he got in your way, and now you're stuck in your mansion instead of running for POTUS. I didn't mean for it to turn out this way. But do you have to consider endorsing HER to get back at me?
Dear John Edwards,
Okay, it's all my fault. I admit it, he got in your way, and now you're stuck in your mansion instead of running for POTUS. I didn't mean for it to turn out this way. But do you have to consider endorsing HER to get back at me?
I read in the NYTimes this morning that you had some talks with HER this weekend while she was getting her butt kicked in four states and re-shuffling her campaign staff.
John, that hurts, but really, I didn't mean for it to come to this. Is this how you might hurt me to get back at me? By flirting with HER?
Let me come clean. I was standing at Logan airport in Boston in September of 2005 waiting for my father-in-law to get off of a plane. I was standing outside a double-door at one end of the American Airlines section of the terminal. As passengers came out the doors, I could see up a long hallway that must have led to the gate. Every time the doors opened, I peered up the hall, looking for the telltale salt-and-pepper of my father-in-law's hair.
It was during one fleeting moment that the doors opened that I saw HIM.
We all know what he looks like now, but back then, I was struck by his presence, even at that distance. He was tall, lean and all alone. I was pretty sure of what I saw, but the doors closed, so I shook my head in disbelief.
Then the doors opened again and I got another look. Yup, it was him, I was sure of it. And he was alone. No one spoke to him, and he was walking by himself. I guess that's the thing that surprised me most. He was then the rising star of the party who gave that great speech at the convention in Boston less than a year prior, and he was walking all by himself. Each time the doors opened to spit out a weary traveler, he got closer, and I realized that I felt strangely compelled to think of some reason to say something to him.
By the time he got to the doors and walked out, he took a quick glance around and saw stairs leading down to baggage and transportation and he headed immediately down them. I followed.
Reaching out with my right hand, I blurted, "Senator Obama!" I'll admit it, I was a tad nervous.
He instinctively stuck out his hand and smiled in that sort of phony way that people who are used to being recognized in public do when they aren't sure of the intentions of the person spotting them but they don't want to make a bad impression.
I don't remember what his initial response was, but I remember getting a good, firm handshake.
And I said, "I just wanted to tell you that I hope you run for president someday."
He smiled, and kind of laughed and said something like, "Well, thank you. We'll have to see about that." He gave me a dismissive nod and quickly headed down the steps.
But I wasn't done.
"No, Senator, you don't understand," I said. "This is a Montana boy asking you to run for president."
I said it with a slight raise of my eyebrow and a turn of my head. I don't remember whethehr I said it out loud, but I wanted him to know that I meant This is a WHITE boy from Montana asking you to run for president.
He stopped in his tracks, paused and then snapped his head, looking me directly in the face for a few seconds before responding.
He smiled and said, "The Democrats are doing well in Montana right now!"
That impressed me greatly. The guy clearly paid attention to details. In 2004 Montana elected the first Democrat as governor in at least two decades. Montanans voted to legalize medicinal marijuana and it appeared they were poised to make both of the state's U.S. senators Democrats (I wrote back then that I didn't think it would happen, and it only did by a percentage point, but still it happened).
I was surprised by his knowledge. I stammered a bit saying something like, "Well, we'll see how long that lasts."
Ever the audacious hopeful one, he bid me farewell without agreeing that reason for hope was dim.
Then I realized that I said the wrong thing. And I know it wound up hurting you, John.
But, John, it was an accident. I meant to tell him I wanted him to run for president in 2016.
How was I to know that the impact of hearing from a white, 30-something Montanan who was pulling for Deval Patrick as Governor of Massachusetts (I worked there at the time) would be the thing that pushed Obama into the race for the White House so soon? I couldn't.
So, John, I'm sorry that history ganged up on you this year and that a love affair with the conservative Clintons combined with Obama's jumping the gun and ignorant Dem primary voters who weren't paying attention to head-to-head polls with the GOP did you in.
Really, I am. I wanted to vote for you in the worst way. I STILL think you are this generation's Bobby Kennedy. I think you'd have been a wonderful president.
But don't be so mad at me that your conversations with Billary lead you to endorse her.
Please.
Pretty please?
Pretty please with sugar on top?
I'll do anything you ask.
Anything, except vote for her in the primary.