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My Political Baptism
| Article
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18967 |
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Section : |
MODERN THOUGHT
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| Issue
Date : |
2 / 1991 |
6,210 Words |
| Author
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Herb London
Herb London is dean of the Gallatin Division of New York
University and former Conservative Party candidate for
governor of New York. |
March 17, 1989, was a clear, cool day. There was barely a hint of spring in the air. Majorettes were drinking coffee to keep themselves warm. Cops passed a flask around. It was windy and cool, but it was also bright and clear. God seemed to be pleased with the Irish on this St. Patrick's Day.
For me, this was a special day. I was about to march in New York's most famous parade, and it was a baptism into the city's byzantine political world. Forty-third Street was lined with people. High school bands were rehearsing and people were milling about everywhere. There was a lot of blarney being exchanged but nowhere more than at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-third Street.
At that intersection the well-known politicians and the would-be pols met one another and the press. A reporter for the Associated Press asked me what chance I had to be mayor of New York. On this day with clear skies overhead and God in his heaven, anything seemed possible, including my election. I said as much, realizing that this was a day to honor the blarney stone.
Those who were running for office followed the television cameras like iron shavings gravitate to a magnet. As soon as the klieg lights and the red light on the hand-held cam went on, politicians jockeyed for position. I stood transfixed as the experienced pols cut right in front of me. They had a sixth sense about when the lights would go on. David Dinkins, the borough president of Manhattan, said, "This is a beautiful day for the Irish, a beautiful day for New York. But it's not a day for politics." This was most assuredly a disingenuous claim.
St. Patrick's Day is a day for politics. It is the opening day of the political season, the way February represents the beginning of spring training for baseball players. Fifth Avenue was a who's who of New York's best-known political personalities. Each one had a plastered smile on his face; each one spouted bromides about the luck of the Irish and the Lord smiles on the Irish today.
Unknown Candidate
I was nervous, not because I was about to march in this parade, but because I didn't know how to behave. Glad-handing never suited me; neither does bullshit. When Gabe Pressman, NBC reporter, asked me how it felt to be the "unknown candidate," I responded by saying, "I am unknown because people like you won't give me coverage." My comment didn't make the nightly
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