A tale of political awakening and breakfast sausage.
As a child, I can remember an image of the 1972 Democratic convention with delegate totals (I didn't know what the numbers were at the time) on the TV screen, George Wallace in a wheelchair, and the blue background of the Watergate hearings. I remember being 4 years old and driving past Denver University with my 16 year old sister as she tried telling me about the Kent State shooting ("a University like that one over there") -- and for years I didn't want to go to college because I thought soldiers would shoot me.
I remember in fifth grade gym class one year they took a "poll" on which presidential candidate the kids liked...Ford won by about 55%. I remember during the 1980 campaign when Carter suggested that Reagan was a "warmonger" and my older brother asked my Mom: "Why did Carter call Reagan a war-monkey?"
I remember when someone came into the class in 1981 and announced Reagan had been shot, we clapped. A teacher's aide scolded us, "I didn't vote for him either, but I don't want him dead."
more...
The first time I realized it was OK to think for myself was in high school, we had a teacher Mr. Remes, who always made you stand up when you spoke, and whenever you said something, no matter how smart or stupid, he always asked WHY. And he wouldn't let you get away with believing something without explaining (and understanding for yourself) why you thought that way...so many of the kids in my school believed something or the other because "that's what my parents think". I had always suspected that was wrong, but now I had official sanction to "question authority"...so I did.
I left Colorado for NYC and college in 1984. It was the first time I had been out of my cocoon. Being a Coloradan, I had rooted for Hart that year, although "Where's the Beef?" shot him down for Mondale. There was a bumper sticker on one of the doors in my dorm that said, "Mondale is a casket with feet." At a student function, there were people registering voters, and I didn't want to be bothered...(I can assume with reasonable accuracy that I was either drunk, stoned or both)...so I told them, "I don't live here, I'm from Colorado." But they told me the residency requirement was only 30 days...and they really hassled me, so in order to be left alone -- I registered. I checked off Independent (Non-affiliated), because I didn't like to be told who to vote for, and I wanted to think for myself. I hated Reagan, but didn't love Mondale even though I knew I wouldn't vote for any republicans that year. I was truly shocked at how large Reagan's margin was over Mondale...I remember one of the students (a native of NYC) saying she couldn't believe NY state went for Reagan, but "at least Manhattan went for Mondale"...
A year later, I voted against Koch, because I just didn't like his caustic personality...I don't even remember who I voted for.
Summer of 1986. A young man's fancy turns to...paying the rent. I went to the campus job center, and one of the openings they advertised was for a political campaign. Well, I had volunteered for about two weeks in high school for Pat Schroeder, so I though WTF? I got experience, and the job pays $6 / hour...double minimum wage back then. I went in. It was Abe Hirschfeld, in a quixotic quest to become Lt. Governor although the state party and then Gov. Cuomo didn't want anything to do with him. He was nuts, and tried to force a primary for the slot, but since the party opposed him, he needed petitions...lots and lots of petitions, and people like me were there for the hiring, so....but in order to collect signatures for a democratic candidate, you needed to be registered democrat, so I switched. Just like that. For a lunatic, and not for a cause...for a buck and not for a movement, I became a democrat. It didn't feel any different, but I felt more securely employed. But there was a catch, I still couldn't collect signatures, because NYS election law says you have to have been registered since the last election as a democrat to collect sigs....so I worked the graveyard shift on the computers, verifying other people's petitions, and filling in the election district and assembly districts...midnite to nine AM, and it was hot that summer...I'd get off work and go into a bar at 9:00 AM for a couple shots on my way home, then I'd lay in bed in no AC 90 degree heat and try (in vain) to sleep...Hirschfeld never made the ballot. No, it wasn't his philandering with the petitioners that sunk him -- it was his election attorney (my supervisor) who apparently was a plant from the party, and assured that his paperwork was so f@#$%ed up that he was tossed off the ballot!
Two years later, I was hanging out with some girl on a beach in Montauk instead of voting on election day...I would've gone Dukakis, but I didn't much care.
Then something happened. My comfortable world changed. I had dropped out of school, and a girl I'd been living with kicked me out and I had NO job. Suddenly, I was homeless and poor. I could've -- no question -- gone back to Colorado and my oppressive parents and their small minds, but I chose not to avail myself of that safety net. And so for 2.5 years I had no home. I'd leave my suitcase at my favorite bar during the day. I'd stay around the bar until 5:00AM when they'd make me leave, then I'd grab a coffee at the diner, killing time until the sun came up, then I'd go to the park and sleep in the morning sun using my bag as a pillow. Life alone and on the street was REAL, and tough, but honestly? Being white, educated, young and cute made things immensely easier. I got dates, and often they let me stay at their place (cha cha cha). People didn't instinctively flinch when I went into a public place to use the bathroom. I couldn't always shower, but I remembered to wash my feet and change my socks and underwear at least every other day. Breakfast was cigarettes (where'd I get the money?) Lunch was either:
Slice of Pizza,
Hot Dog,
Falafel
Dinner was beer (where'd I get the money?).
Sometimes for a couple weeks on end I'd have a flophouse, someone's couch or basement shack. Eventually the city came to my rescue: I had been living in a cubicle 4' x 8', with no windows, alongside 14 others (we shared two showers and two toilets -- no kitchen) The fire department shut it down, and relocated us to a city paid hotel, and eventually to city housing in Harlem where I paid $195/month for a newly furnished one-bedroom apartment guarded by dope dealers.
Time passed, my looks left me and I gave up hootch. But the experiences I had coming close to being near the bottom of society's underbelly made me realize that we are all in this thing together. And I knew politically, that it wasn't the republicans who gave a shit about me or any of the people I had known, met, or who had helped me along my oddyssey. That is when I truly became a DEMOCRAT. I voted proudly for Clinton in 1992 even though I had supported Governor Moonbeam in the primary, and I felt a warm rush of goose bumps when he won. WE were going to change the world! I'm older, got responsibilities and own property now...I don't give as many nickels to the homeless as I used to, and I don't go back to my old neighborhoods. But I'll never forget what it felt like to be absolutely alone in the world, with NOTHING but my ingenuity and easy appearance to help -- and what it must've been like to be without either, and be in the same spot. It's NOT every man for himself -- we really ARE all in this together -- and that is why I could never be a republican, and why I am a proud democrat today.
xoxo
PBJ