TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

I have been thinking about Christmas this week. 

Actually, I have been thinking about Christmas Eve, which is today. And which, it seems to me, captures more of the essence of Christmas than even the day itself. 

Christmas is about anticipation. About what will happen, not what has occurred. It's about the future, whether that future is mere hours in the offing or a millenia away. And it unites, in perhaps a way that no other holiday can or does, the pedestrian with the profound. In fact, it makes the pedestrian profound. 

Kids will go crazy tonight. Most won't be able to sleep. Those not afraid of some cosmic retribution will sneak a peak out the window or down the stairs in search of Santa Claus. Others will become inveterate Holmes-es (Sherlock, that is), carefully processing every errant sound from a squeaky baseboard to determine if he has come down the chimney, with care or otherwise, along with a satchel of goodies. A few years ago, a friend told me his son had come into his bedroom in the middle of the night, swearing to his father that "Rudolph was in the driveway." 

Two thousand years ago, it was all about anticipation too. We have encrusted that day with layers of theological speculation, so much so that we are now almost in need of theo-archaeologists to carefully remove the layers without destroying the initial insight. It was, after all, about the future, about hope -- cosmic and otherwise. Lots of us call it salvation, and tonight or tomorrow, when many of us cross the church threshold (some for our biennial visit, others for the second time this week), we will hear the ancient story of the incarnate One and be told it was the day we were saved. 

Which has, of late, got me to wondering. 

What for? 

And the best answer I can come up with is . . . 

Tomorrow. 

And so that's what Christmas is about for me. Tomorrow. All the endless tomorrows. With their hopes and dreams and disappointments. Their risings and fallings. And tears and laughter. Even on the day I die, when tomorrow will be unpredictably exciting. In fact, especially then. 

A friend recommended a book earlier this year by a theologian named John Haught. In it, Haught talked about the need to square Christian theology with the fact of evolution. One point he made is that theology should never compete with science, that the truths of the latter are not to be denied by the former, and vice versa. So the earth and all its inhabitants weren't created in six days, the universe (or multi-verse, we really do not know) is billions of years old, the human story represents hardly a nanosecond in this evolutionary time line, and the possibility of intelligent life in spheres beyond our third rock from the sun is hardly remote. The one thing certain is that, whoever and whatever we and our world are, it will not be the same tomorrow. 

In fact, in the deep time of our evolutionary tomorrow, it's gonna be very different. 

Which brings me back to Christmas. Or more precisely Christmas Eve. The one day when we think about nothing but tomorrow. And really look forward to it. 

I am ready this year. All the presents are wrapped. The house is clean (I vacuum). Charles Darwin and Jesus Christ have become bosom buddies in my mind, the former telling me that nothing is forever as the world and its inhabitants constantly morph into newer forms, the latter teaching me that this in itself is a good thing and that somewhere over this evolutionary rainbow there is still a tomorrow that embraces us all. 

And I have a shovel ready. 

In case Rudolph leaves something in the driveway besides a missing sleigh bell. 

Merry Christmas.

BLAGO AND ME

BLAGO AND ME

So now we have spent the better part of two weeks with the news that Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevitch was trying to trade Barack Obama's vacant Senate seat for political contributions and some up front money. 

All the usual suspects showed up. The earnest prosecutor professing shock at the sight of a sitting public servant arranging an apparent bribe. The editorialists bemoaning the state of a state where corruption appears endemic. The other politicians running for cover, with those caught on "the tapes" arranging hastily called press conferences to explain that they too were duped by Blago into thinking those "interviews" for the Senate seat were on the up and up. And the defense lawyer telling an incredulous world that his guy is innocent. 

Hello! 

Is any of this really news? We live in a country where it costs, at a minimum, $500,000 to run for a seat in the House of Representatives. If the district is anywhere near a major media market, the cost rises into the multi-millions of dollars. If one wants to run for statewide office in a place like Illinois (or a dozen other big states like New York or California), the cost is in the tens of millions of dollars. If you win, more than half your time while in office must be spent raising money for the reelection. 

Over time, this lunacy has produced three sorts of candidates and public servants. 

The really rich. 

The really famous. 

And the really stretched. 

The chances of any ordinary upstanding Joe -- even a very talented ordinary upstanding Joe who becomes, say, a Rhodes Scholar -- climbing this greasy pole have become exceedingly slim. For every Obama who works a miracle, there are dozens stymied in a lost Congressional district or a City Council seat from which they will never rise. And even the City Councilmen (and women) are spending all their time raising money in the hopes that lightning may strike.

In 2000, before Hillary Clinton came to New York and told us she wanted to be our Senator, the odds on favorite to run in a Democratic primary for Sen. Moynihan's soon to be vacant post was Westchester County Congresswoman Nita Lowey. That, of course, never happened. What did happen, however, is that, upon news of Lowey's interest in the Senate, three multi-zillionaires sought out the then chair of the Westchester County Democratic Party and told him they were each willing to put up $1 million of their own money to contest Lowey's seat. That could not have been music to the ears of the two dozen County Legislators, town Mayors, Assembly people and State Senators who might have credibly entertained the notion of running for the office, all of whom came from backgrounds that were decidedly modest relative to today's entry fee for a vacant Congressional contest in the New York City suburbs. 

It also shouldn't be music to our ears. Because the present system costs us a lot more than money. 

It costs us talent. 

 Harry Truman was a County Judge (the equivalent of a County Executive) in Independence, Missouri before he became a US Senator during the New Deal. The Prendergast political machine made him a Senator because they thought he was not smart enough to be the state tax assessor. In 1944, FDR made him Vice President and in 1945 be assumed the Presidency upon Roosevelt's death. In the '30s, a guy named Thomas P. O'Neill was elected to the Massachusetts General Court, where he served for almost two decades. In 1952, he ran for a Congressional seat in Cambridge, Massachusetts because the sitting Congressman (a guy named John F. Kennedy) had just been elected to the Senate. After serving for more than two decades there, O'Neill became Speaker of the House. 

In their time, Truman and O'Neill were instrumental in creating and preserving the modern day middle class, not to mention saving the entire free world. 

And neither of them could become President or Speaker of the House in the current political environment. 

Today, New York City is being run by a billionaire. He's a nice guy and a very competent Mayor. But he isn't Fiorella La Guardia. Or Ed Koch. Neither of whom could win today either. Across the river in New Jersey, another billionaire is running that state. He is also a nice guy and appears to be a competent Governor. But he isn't Robert Meyner, New Jersey's Governor in the '50s and the guy who actually beat that era's millionaire candidate, Malcom Forbes. He isn't even Bob Torrecelli, who came up the hard way to become New Jersey's US Senator in the late 1990s. And resigned amidst a scandal involving illegal campaign contributions. 

Which brings us back to Blago. 

There are two basic problems with Rod. One is that he is broke. The other is that he can be corrupt. It is unclear which problem came first, though one suspects there are and have been many politicians over the years who have had their hands in the cookie jar in part because the bill collectors were knocking at the door. This is no excuse, and for every Bagojevich without scruples there is a Chuck Schumer (who is very middle class, rooms with two other Senators in DC, and has never attracted the hint of scandal even as he became a prodigious fundraiser)who proves that morality in the midst of temptation (and an unpaid mortgage) is still possible. As Warren Rudman famously remarked in another context to Oliver North, "Not all of us do it." 

But, c'mon, do we have to make it so hard? Millions to win. Millions more to continue to serve. Multiple residences (which is not something your average middle class guy or gal can afford). A fundraising system that requires you to beg at the feet of the rich. And the de riguer perfect family, with of course the two kids, both of whom will have to go to college. 

In New York today, we are being treated to the daily spectacle of Caroline Kennedy running to be the (appointive) US Senator once Hillary resigns. Some are huffing and puffing that she isn't "qualified." Others are claiming (correctly) that she would have no chance but for her last name and genealogy. Still others are rebutting the huffers and puffers, noting her philanthropic work, her authorship of multiple books on Constitutional law,and her expertise in education policy in the wake of service as a dollar a year employee of the new NYC educational system (where she has received high marks). But the real question is . . . 

Who can raise $70 million for the 2010 election and the 2012 reelection effort, lest the Senate seat be lost to the Democrats? 

And with that, Caroline is suddenly looking very "qualified." 

In a strange way, Blago and Sweet Caroline are opposite sides of the absurd political coin we are constantly flipping. We want to avoid the rich and famous in favor of the modest but qualified. We make it impossible for anyone but the rich and famous to get the jobs and then keep them. And then when that rare modest man or woman of little means comes along, we expect him or her to turn political somersaults in the form of expert governance by day, fundraising shakedowns by night. 

And, oh, by the way, don't neglect the wife (or husband) and the kids. Or the mortgage. 

That there are Blago's out there should not be surprising. 

That there aren't more of them should be. 

In the '90s, I twice ran for Congress and lost. According to the reviews, I gave some great speeches and was very good on the retail side. The press loved me and I even have my "impressively knowledgeable attorney" accolade from the New York Times editorial that I will frame and someday give my kids. I am, however, not a Congressman principally because I couldn't come close to raising the money needed to be competitive, let alone win. 

I'd like to think I am not Rod Blagojevich for reasons that have to do with character. But there is at least one other reason I am not Blago. 

It's that . . . 

I am not a Congressman.

SENATOR "ANYONE"

SENATOR "ANYONE" 

New York needs a Senator. 

Actually, if you listen to the politicians, it needs an Hispanic woman from somewhere north of the Bronx and east of Buffalo who can appeal to independents in the Adirondacks while still winning the boroughs. This ubermensch (or preferably womensch) must have what New Yorkers call "star" power, an asserted requirement in light of who she succeeds both immediately (Hillary Clinton) and historically (Bobby Kennedy). And she (or he, if we are still kidding ourselves) must also be able to raise gajillions of dollars, this the result of the specific need to run for election in both 2010 (to fill out the remainder of the Clinton term) and reelection in 2012 (because, unlike in Delaware, New Yorkers do not believe in caretakers). 

This is a big decision for David Paterson, the state's current Democratic Governor. 

For those of you who do not remember, and all you others who have chosen to forget, Paterson is the guy who replaced the state's prior Democratic Governor, Eliot Spitzer, who had to resign when his dating habits became public. Since then, running the show has been no can of beans. The state has no money, and it's biggest taxpayer is Wall Street, so right now it has no prospect of coming into money anytime soon. Consequently, Paterson has been running around the state explaining to anyone who will listen that cuts are coming. These audiences have praised him for his candor and marvelled at his performances (which are laced with funny asides and mind boggling budgetary detail, all committed to and delivered from memory because the Governor is more or less blind as a consequence of an early childhood disease). He is also asking Hank Paulson and Barack Obama for money, both of whom have promised to get back to him and are themselves working through a rather long list. Now, David Paterson must find a Senator to replace Hillary Clinton. 

In most places, this would be viewed as the rough political equivalent of being forced to play the fiddle while Rome burns. In other words, not such a big deal relative to what else is going on. Delaware has already picked Joe Biden's replacement, and Illinois is so overjoyed by Barack's ascension (and Chicago's place as the new western White House) that picking his Senate replacement appears to be a back pager at best. 

But not here. In New York, finding a Senator is front page news. And so far, the mentionees include two Kennedys, one Cuomo, a County Executive, three Congresswomen . . . 

And me. 

I am not kidding. 

A friend of mine on the Democratic National Committee (or "DNC" to the initiated) called me late one night a few weeks ago to ask whether I had seen the news that Hillary was slated to become Secretary of State. I had and said so. He had too. And was sitting in a bar in Washington talking to other political operatives, all of whom were out of work following the general election and desperately looking for something to do. So they decided to speculate on who David Paterson would appoint and -- being political consultants -- decided it would have to be someone who would otherwise primary Paterson for Governor. This narrowed the field appreciably, the consultants concluding that Andrew Cuomo would get the nod. Andrew, however, being Andrew, was not deemed particularly popular, and in any case, more drinks were being consumed. So the consultants decided that "anyone" who ran against Cuomo in a primary might beat him. 

My friend then said he happened to know an "anyone." 

In New York. 

And that's how I made the list. 

 So I have been thinking seriously about this idea. 

There are, of course, a number of negatives. I am not a woman, or Hispanic, or from upsate New York. I do not even speak Spanish. I do speak French but Quebec unfortunately is still part of Canada. I am an Irish Catholic male who lives in Westchester County, making me on the surface sound more or less like a Republican, which is a type that generally does not win a Democratic primary. Then, of course, my putative (and, I am instructed, desired) opponent, Andrew Cuomo, may not get the Paterson appointment. The women's groups in New York have been touting three Congresswomen. The Nassau County Executive was on the list because he too is interested in being Governor (but apparently not as interested as Andrew Cuomo, who the operatives say is "really" interested). 

Caroline Kennedy is now a mentionee and Bobby Kennedy Jr. was until he took himself out of the running. For the record, I endorsed Barack months before Caroline. But no one came to my press conference. In fact, I didn't even hold one. This undoubtedly was bad planning on my part. But I wasn't a mentionee then. The Kennedys, of course, worry me, as they would any interested candidate. They are very good at producing two things. 

Politicians . . . 

And babies. 

 RFK, Jr. is saying that if Caroline is appointed and runs, the state will see more Kennedys than it ever knew existed. And I believe him. At a book signing party for one of his sisters last year, his mother told me that she had "thirty two grandchildren, and one on the way." All those Kennedy kids have been producing their own . . . Kennedy kids. 

Lots of surrogates. 

But I have two advantages that could put me over the top. One is that, contrary to popular belief, this is not the first time I have been a US Senate mentionee. Back in 1994, fresh from having lost a Congressional primary by 27 points (which followed the loss of an earlier general election by 20 points), a supporter of one of my opponents said I "should run for the Senate." We were in a bar having a drink (I am seeing a pattern here). I thought she meant the state Senate and noted that there already was a Democrat running for that seat. She said, "No. You should run against D'Amato for the US Senate." I asked if I should do this with the "$40,000 I had been able to raise in the last primary, or the $150,000 I had raised in that losing general election." 

She kept drinking. 

But it was a mention. 

The other advantage is more significant. Given the list of mentionees, I think I can get Senator Schumer's endorsement. Schumer, who in 1998 did beat D'Amato, has been overshadowed here in New York ever since Hillary showed up in 2000. And he doesn't like it. Having run the Senate election arm of the DNC for the last two cycles, helping measurably in the process to turn a minority into an almost supermajority, the rumor is that this time Chuck Schumer wants to make sure New York's junior Senator is someone whose star power won't dull his own forever shining bright light. Someone who finally will let him give up those Sunday morning press conferences. In other words, he wants New York's junior Senator to truly be . . . a junior Senator. 

Which more or less eliminates everyone on the list. 

Except me. 

Senator "Anyone".