Posts Tagged ‘Hayden’
The Long View
Taking a break at the pool
I often ask myself, “What would Irv and Ruth do?”
That question comes to mind when I’m trying to decide whether or not to get behind a community project – especially projects that take more tax dollars.
Irv and Ruth Hayden are lifetime family friends and parents of my boyhood friend and current golf partner, Paul.
Irv and Ruth, like many people from Atwood and my home, Longmont, have a community first rather than me first approach to the world. I contrast this to a friend who I had lunch with recently. He told me he was “selfish” when it comes to public policy issues. He was unapologetic when he gave a for instance, “If it (a tax increase) benefits my kids’ school, I’m interested. If it’s for someone else’s kids, not so interested.” He said out loud what many of us may think but would never dare put into words.
That’s not Irv and Ruth’s approach. I was back in Atwood last summer (maybe the summer before) a few days before a vote to increase sales taxes to fund a new swimming pool. Displayed prominently in the Hayden’s yard across the street from my parents’ house was a homemade yard sign. I don’t remember exactly what the sign said but something to the effect of, “Vote yes for the pool. The next generation deserves it, too.”
Irv and Ruth are in their eighties. Only two of their seven children live in Rawlins County. None of their grandchildren call Atwood home. A new swimming pool will not likely boost property values – often an argument made to get people behind a new tax. Irv and Ruth’s support for a new tax will most likely diminish and not boost the size of their personal estate.
There are many other people in Atwood in their sixties, seventies, and eighties who supported the pool tax about which the same things can be said.
Irv and Ruth, and others, don’t use self-interest as the criteria to evaluate community projects and new taxes. It’s not about, “What’s in it for me?” The question Irv and Ruth are asking is, “What’s best for the community.” And not just what’s best for the community this year or next. Irv and Ruth are asking what kind of community do we want this place to be in ten, twenty or forty years from now.
My family is the beneficiary of people who took the long view in Longmont, Colorado. People who I never knew invested in parks, community rose gardens and reservoirs. More recent community leaders rallied the community behind rec centers, museums, and ice rinks. Early residents of Longmont planted trees in our neighborhood that now tower over our home and provide us beauty and shade. Those who invested their time and money to place these treasures in our yard never saw what they grew to become. That’s taking the long view.
It can be hard to look beyond our personal needs and interests. It can be especially difficult during tough economic times. What’s more, not every idea for a community project that reaches the ballot is a good idea. Sometimes the best thing to do is vote no on new taxes.
But, it is the long view – people asking the question, “What kind of community do we want this place to be in ten, twenty or forty years from now – that creates wonderful communities to raise children and grow old. Places like Atwood and Longmont.
The President’s Water Glass
Former President George H.W. Bush
Are there some secrets people should take to the grave? Or, is it always best to come clean?
I’ve told this story to a few people so, perhaps in my case, these questions are moot. I also figure that after nineteen years the statute of limitations has surely passed.
George H. W. Bush, while President, came to Topeka to help Mike Hayden raise money for his 1990 re-election bid for Governor. President Bush gave a keynote address to a large and enthusiastic crowd at the Kansas Expo Center. It was my opportunity to shake the hand of a sitting President – that’s really cool!
My perception of the elder Bush is that he’s a very gracious man. I will always remember the phone call he made to Mike on the morning after election defeat. Mike let those of us in the Cedar Crest kitchen listen in on speaker phone. President Bush conveyed his condolences in the most genuine way, “I’ve lost, too. It’s not fun but you’ll be fine.”
Grace is a quality that is highly undervalued especially in public life. George H.W. Bush had it.
It is quite exciting to be part of a Presidential event. It’s hard to escape the magnitude of what is happening when dozens of Secret Service agents arrive in advance to prep the venue for safety.
One precaution that is taken is building draped walkways to shield the President from public view when he is moving from one place to another. A long “tunnel” with two curves was built in the Expo Center from a room on the side of the main auditorium to the podium where President Bush would speak.
Several Hayden Campaign staff, including me, were given security clearances to help out back stage. There isn’t that much to do with the President’s advance team on the scene. But, at one point, I was enlisted to help.
I was handed a glass of water and told to put it on the podium. I took the glass and headed down the cloth draped hallway.
Juvenile thoughts still spring quickly to mind when you’re twenty-five years old. I must admit that my “be mature” filter designed to sift out bad ideas did not always work to its full capacity nineteen years ago. Sometimes the bad ideas seemed good in the moment.
I rounded the curve of the tunnel when a thought crossed my mind, “What if I took a tiny sip from this glass? Then, I could say I drank from the same glass as the President.” I didn’t have much time – twenty feet – to make a decision. I looked behind me and to the front. I was out of sight to the world.
I did it. I took a small sip. Then rushed to the podium and put the glass in its assigned location.
I felt guilty and rebellious. Would I get in trouble? Had I violated the campaign’s trust? Perhaps. But still…. what an opportunity.
The President and his entourage arrived a few minutes later. I found a spot along the side wall of the auditorium to watch the President’s speech. I watched. I didn’t listen. I waited in anticipation for him to take a drink. Finally, about mid-speech, he paused and took a long drink.
I did it. I could now say that I drank from the same glass as the President.
It didn’t occur to me until a few minutes later that most people would think, while rolling their eyes in disgust, “Are you really that juvenile?”
Sometimes, I guess I was. What can I say? Some brushes with fame are less glorious than others.
The Underdog – Lessons from the Hayden Campaign
On Campaign Trail with Mike and Patti
One of the great experiences of my life was working on the 1986 Hayden for Governor Campaign. I was Mike’s driver for the primary campaign. There’s nothing quite like being on a winning team. I guess you could say it’s the only state champion team I ever played on.
My experience on the ’86 campaign solidified my interest in public policy and politics. I paid a lot of money to earn a public policy degree from Harvard. In the summer of ’86, I had the privilege of spending 12 to 14 hours per day with one of the best public policy thinkers I’ve ever met – and I didn’t have to pay a nickel of tuition.
I read How David Beats Goliath, an article by Malcolm Gladwell, last week. Gladwell tries to answer the question of how underdogs are able to win. The article reminded me of the ’86 Hayden Campaign.
Mike was easily the most qualified candidate for governor in ’86. He had served 14 years in the legislature and two terms as Speaker of the House. He was held in high regard by his colleagues. Anyone who worked with Mike understood his gift for public policy. That’s why more senior legislators chose Mike to be their Speaker.
Yet, Mike was still the underdog. The favorite was a Wichita business man named Larry Jones.
Mike & Patti with Larry Jones & Wife (on Larry's right)
The Hayden Campaign had a fraction of the money in the Jones Campaign coffers. The Hayden Campaign had only two or three paid staff people, relying instead on many volunteers and family members – most of whom had never been part of a statewide campaign.
Kelley Hayden was our press secretary for gosh sakes. I would guess that Kelley is easily the most well read press secretary in the history of press secretaries – and perhaps the only press secretary PhD. He would make references that completely flew over campaign reporters’ heads, pointing out nuance to those reporters particularly slow on the uptake.
Mike’s biggest deficit, from the perspective of Johnson County politicos, was that he came from a hick town no one had ever heard of. Almost all of the Johnson County “in crowd” embraced Mike’s rival Larry Jones.
I remember sitting with Mike in the living room of a Johnson County state senator’s home. She told Mike she respected his work in the legislature but that she was going to support Jones in the primary. She just couldn’t imagine General Election voters supporting anyone from a town as far west as Atwood.
Mike and his campaign team knew how to turn these weaknesses into strengths. Gladwell writes that successful underdogs use their differences as an asset. They don’t try to conform to norms or traditions.
Mike certainly knew how to turn his “hick” status to his favor. He got a crowd of Republicans fired up at a Kansas Day gathering with what I think of as his haircut speech. “They tell me I shouldn’t run for Governor because I have a bad haircut. They tell me I shouldn’t run for Governor because my suit doesn’t fit right,” Mike bellowed (or whispered – it was hard to tell the difference with Mike).
By the time Mike was done, the crowd was on their feet cheering, “Run, Mike, run.”
Mike and the campaign team built a network of former Atwood residents who lived in all corners of the state to augment the network he built as a legislator. Some of Mike’s county chair people had never held a position of status in their local community – let alone at the state level.
Sages didn’t think such an inexperienced, rag tag group would have a chance against the well financed city candidate.
But Mike and his campaign volunteers had something that no amount of money could buy. It’s what Mike liked to call “fire in the belly.”
Mike, Patti and their supporters worked harder than anyone imagined possible. The ’86 Hayden Campaign was the equivalent of a full court press against the Jones’ Campaigns conventional half-court offense.
Gladwell points out in his article that underdog basketball teams almost always run a full court press when they are victorious. The lesson: effort – hard work – can make up for many other shortcomings.
There is no doubt that Hayden campaigners put in the hours. I don’t think it’s possible to account for all the work people did. That’s because, in ’86, people weren’t working to get noticed. The Hayden team was working to elect their candidate and then go home.
I can attest to how hard Mike and Patti worked in those summer months of ’86 because I was in the front seat of their van – of the Mickey RV. Mike got started before dawn at “Sunshine” Rotary Clubs. He stayed up well past his bed time (Mike was famous for wanting to go to bed early) attending county fairs, barbecues, candidate forums and fundraising events night after night after night.
I stood on the sidelines and ate cheese.
We easily put in 90 to 100 hour weeks all summer long. I had an apartment in Lawrence were I technically was staying during the primary campaign. I saw my roommate once.
The ’86 Hayden Campaign was unconventional in other ways, too. We stayed in people’s homes while we campaigned, never hotels. I slept on the floor in homes of people I’d never met.
We held fundraisers in which people contributed five, ten and fifteen dollars. Conventional wisdom was that a candidate should not waste their time attending an event unless guests are charged $100 a head.
I learned a lesson that summer. People give you ten dollars. They’ll likely recruit ten people to vote for you, too. A person gives you a thousand dollars. They’ll likely want an hour of your time.
The Hayden Campaign advertised in the weekly newspapers in all the small counties. Seasoned campaign consultants said that sort of thing was a waste of money. Even Mike’s professional consultants accepted the decision to advertise in weeklies begrudgingly – they did it to humor the candidate not because they thought it was a good idea. Winning campaigns, they said, focused all of their money on television and direct mail.
The city folk and seasoned campaign consultants were gloating when the early election returns came in from Wichita and Johnson County. Larry Jones had a big lead. Jones supporters chanted for the TV cameras, “Clean sweep, clean sweep.”
But, when returns started to arrive from the west, the Jones supporters were silent. Hayden’s margins of victory in the western counties were bigger than anyone would have imagined.
The Hayden victory in ’86 tracked almost exactly with the lessons Gladwell highlights in his article.
Underdogs who win aren’t afraid to be unconventional. Underdogs do things that the “elite” consider trivial or beneath their dignity – like going to $5 fundraisers or running ads in weekly newspapers.
Underdogs work hard. They understand that effort triumphs over talent. Mike didn’t sit back and say vote for me. I’m an accomplished and respected legislator. He and Patti worked twice as hard as any other candidate in the race. His volunteers did, too.
Underdogs are focused on the task at hand. Successful underdogs set out to achieve a specific goal. They’re not looking for admission into the “elite’s” clubs. Hayden Campaign volunteers weren’t looking to improve their status (though some did benefit). The goal was to elect a candidate we believed in.
I will be forever grateful to Mike for letting me “come along for the ride” on his ’86 campaign. He had good reason not to let me be part of his team (which I’ll write about at another time). But, he looked past the liabilities I brought to the campaign and gave me a chance.
I learned so many lessons. I met so many wonderful people. The campaign opened so many doors for me. It was truly a life changing experience.
And, I will forever have the memory of being part of a team like “Hoosiers.” The underdog team that beat Goliath doing things the unconventional way.
There really is nothing quite like the thrill of being part of winning team like that. It is a small moment in time that lasts forever.
The Atwood Advantage
I am reading Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers. His thesis is simple: The context in which you grow up matters.
· What are the norms, rules and habits of your community’s culture?
· What do you have access to when you’re coming of age?
· What are the skills you are able to practice over and over?
· Are you the right age and demographic to take advantage of opportunities?
The answers to these questions will have a lot to say about what you accomplish as an adult according to Gladwell.
Bill Gates, for instance, transferred to a junior high school that had access to computers before most universities. He was able to practice computer programming for hundreds of hours before many of his peers were able to practice at all.
Steve Martin explains in his memoir Born Standing Up (but not in Gladwell’s book) that he grew up a bike ride away from Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm. He got a job in these parks at a young age and was able to hone his skills as an entertainer for years before he “burst onto the entertainment scene.”
As I read, I began to ask myself what is the competitive advantage one gains from coming of age in Atwood in the late 70s and early 80s? The answer, in my case, reinforces Gladwell’s thesis.
I am not a good athlete. Even if I was, the odds are low I could have developed such a talent in Atwood according to Gladwell – not enough access to practice time. Even small cities like Longmont, it is possible to practice one sport year round. This type of specialization, Gladwell suggests, is typical of those who rise to the top in their field.
Those of us growing up in Atwood did have better access to something that is scarce to those living in small and large cities – civic life and politics.
Playing an active role in the community – being active in civic clubs, serving on boards and committees, holding elective office. In cities, these are things that “they” do. In towns like Atwood, these are things that we do. Our friends, neighbors, acquaintances must play a role. The law of numbers dictates that a high proportion of small town folks are also active community leaders – whether they like it or not.
I serve on the St. Vrain School Board. The district has nearly 25,000 students and seven municipalities. There are seven school board members. The same number as in Rawlins County. Most people who live in the St. Vrain school district don’t have a clue who I am. I am a “them.”
Politics and civic life have been part of my life from my earliest memories. I sat on my father’s shoulders in 1968 as he stapled Dole for Senate placards on telephone and electric poles around town.
I went door-to-door for the first time in 1972 when Mike Hayden first ran for the state legislature. The pizza party at Mike and Patti’s house later that night may have been the first time I met Joni. The thing I remember most on that day was a man who lived on 8th Street shooing me from his yard, “I’m votin’ for Hayden. Keep your dang flyer.”
Mom and Dad both served on town boards. Mom was on the Library board. Dad was on the Hospital board when Dr. Walton abruptly left town. I remember looking through the window of the State Bank Meeting room as Dad presided over a full meeting to sort out the options when Dr. Walton left.
Dad was County Attorney for a spell and became mayor my senior year of high school. My dad liked to tell people that our kids – Emma, Joe and Ada Grace – are the only people alive who had a grandfather and a grandmother who both served as Atwood’s mayor (Betty Mickey is the current mayor).
My neighbors served on boards and held elected office, too. When I think about the people who I knew best growing up, most did a stint in some sort of public service. The people who governed community organizations, the town and county were the same people who you saw at school events, church and grocery store.
I had opportunities to serve on community boards myself – and not just student council. I was a youth board member of United Methodist Church. I took part in many civic events as a member of 4-H, Boy Scouts and MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship). Being active in the community was a normal part of life. Not as much in bigger cities.
Many of us growing up in Atwood were able to have a taste of state politics and government thanks to Mike Hayden. We had the opportunity to serve as legislative pages, sometimes more than once. It was normal to have your picture taken with a governor.
When Mike ran for governor in 1986 I was the perfect age (21) and had the family financial means to take on an unpaid, 80 to 100 hour week job as his driver. I was able to do this without jeopardizing my ability to pay for college. Not an option for many.
With assistant to the eventual governor on my resume, I was able to overcome borderline grades to earn a nomination for a Rhoades Scholar interview from KU and then gain admittance to Harvard. As one person who nominated me for the interview said matter of fact, “Your grades are unimpressive. But, you’ve had some good experiences.”
These were my advantages:
· I had many role models in my life who taught me that playing an active role in the community and politics is necessary and good.
· I was from a town and state small enough that I was able to witness government up close not from a distant gallery. Kansas has 65 more legislators than Colorado and, now, a smaller population.
· I was from the right town, the right age and the right income level to take advantage of a family friend’s success as a candidate for governor. Who knows if I’m admitted to Harvard if Mike lost the primary in ’86.
All of these things played a role in shaping my career working with public sector organizations and public leaders.
That is Gladwell’s argument. Success requires hard work. Typically, years of hard work. It also requires good fortune.
I draw three lessons from Gladwell’s work.
· We need to pay attention when opportunity presents itself. Opportunity is more abundant than we sometimes think.
· We need to be prepared to work hard – sometimes very hard – or the opportunity may pass us by.
· When we experience success, we should remain humble. There are a lot of people – and typically a few lucky breaks – that helped us get to where we are. (For fans of Ayn Rand, she didn’t have a clue.)
Community: That was my Atwood advantage.
Bad Luck?
I’m not a good driver. For years, I pretended to be a good driver who had a lot of bad luck. Over time, that story didn’t hold up.
The tone was set on my sixteenth birthday. I drove Matt Cunningham and Tim Yount to Pooch’s Pizza in Herndon to celebrate (we were crazy). On the way home, I slammed on the brakes for no apparent reason. Matt flew from the back to the front seat. His head cracked the rearview mirror.
Dad's Car
I wrecked both my parents’ cars on consecutive Saturday nights. The first time really wasn’t my fault – really. Dean Carlson and I were cruising in Colby when the car was rear ended. Dean had to do several months of physical therapy to deal with the whiplash.
The second Saturday I had more explaining to do. I was giving Brad Leitner a ride home from a wedding dance.
Mom's Car
I started backing out before he closed the door. The door didn’t like that too much.
I even had “bad luck” from the passenger side. Riding around with Denise McMillan one night I shifted her truck from drive to reverse. We were already moving. The transmission didn’t like that too much. I think that was expensive.
It may seem strange with all that bad luck I had two driver jobs. I drove a wheat truck for Bill Lewis one summer. It worked out well. I never rolled a truck – though I had it up on two wheels a couple of times. And, I quickly learned you need to dump your load slowly. It took Tracy Buford and me at least 20 minutes to scoop out the back of the truck once so I could put the hoist back down.
I drove Mike Hayden during the ’86 Campaign for governor. I mostly did okay. There was no body damage on any of the vehicles we used. I did back over a telephone box with a mobile home in Mark Frame’s front yard while touring southwest Kansas. And, there was the time I knocked over several cones along a construction site. But, only once the whole summer did Mike say, “I think I’ll drive.”
My dad helped me buy a Dodge Daytona my sophomore year of college. That was good news for Scott Focke. I quit asking to borrow his Charger. I had a lot of trouble with Scott’s car. I was used to driving a stick shift. Scott’s car had no clutch but a really big brake pedal. My left foot hit that more than once. Apparently, you push down on a clutch a lot harder than on a brake. My passengers were luckiest if their seatbelts were fastened.
The Daytona got its share of scrapes – but mostly on the undercarriage, so it didn’t really show. I was driving a gal home from a date one night near Glenn Frame’s apartment. It was a winding road. I thought I’d show her what the Daytona could do. We went right over the curbs. Twice. The new CV joint set me back a bit. And, I didn’t have a second date.
I was only embarrassed once. I called a tow truck to help me out one day because I’d stalled on my way to Clinton Lake near Lawrence. I’d over heated or something. The tow truck driver put a little gas in the tank and said, “That should help.”
I was beginning to think it was more than bad luck when Joni and I moved to Washington, DC. We were taking Tim Fitzgibbon, a grad school friend, home. We were driving south toward Lafayette Square. That’s the big park right across the street from the White House. It was dark. I didn’t realize my speed. I didn’t realize the park was so close. We went right over the sidewalk and on to the grass.
I did a quick u-turn, squeezed between a utility box and pole and was right back on the street. No harm. No foul. Tim turned to me a little ashen and said, “That’s some of the best and worst driving I’ve ever seen.”
I finally gave in and admitted I was a bad driver when Emma was one year old. Joni and I took Emma to Ireland. We rented a car and drove all over the country. Many of the roads were barely two lanes wide with thick hedges lining both sides. I drove. Joni and Emma rode in back.
One afternoon, Emma’s bottle fell off the front seat and onto the floor. I tried to grab it. I sat back up and saw a bus coming straight toward us. The hedge seemed like our best option.
Joni and Emma stayed at a bed and breakfast while I traveled with a tow truck to get a new car. The rental agent asked me what happened. “Apparently, I’m not a very good driver,” I said.
“I’ve never heard that one before,” she replied and then dutifully noted my comment in her notes.
The first time my Honda civic was nearly totaled was good luck – for me. A woman hit me at 10 miles an hour in a parking lot. She hit the car just right to wrinkle every quarter panel. Got to take out several years of door dings.
The second time I totaled my Honda civic was just dumb. I was driving when I shouldn’t have – late after being up many hours. I fell asleep and ran a red light. I injured a woman. Fortunately, she recovered. But it was wrong and unnecessary.
In the interest of time, I’ll spare the story of my most recent trip into the ditch. Let me just say a few words. East bound. Ice. Guard rail. Median. Guard rail. West bound. Really lucky. New truck.
It’s worked out for the best, really. Joni gets motion sickness very easily. She does best in a car best when she drives. She does. And, I get more time to read when we travel. Everyone’s happy.
Perhaps especially our insurance company.
Raising Money for Jerry’s Kids
My brother Alec loved the Jerry Lewis Telethon, the annual event to raise funds for the Muscular Dystrophy Association. He camped out in our basement each Labor Day Weekend doing his best to pull all nighters to watch the parade of stars and fundraising tally board.
I was not the fan Alec was but I logged my share of hours watching Jerry, in his familiar tux and dangling tie, and Ed McMahon host the show. It was a chance to see the era’s superstars (Superstar Mac Davis and Superstar Tony Orlando) family favorites (Shari Lewis and Lamb Chop) and, of course, Jerry’s old friends (Sammy Davis, Jr.). And, of course, there was the exciting drama of updating the tally board and people from all over the country bringing in the giant checks representing how much they raised.
Alec was nine or ten when he took it upon himself to organize an MDA fundraising event in Atwood. He ordered a carnival kit from MDA. The Hayden’s backyard was our venue. This planning led to an exciting day of “rides,” games and refreshments.
Paul and I manned the zip line – a ride that went from the backyard tree to a pile of mattresses stacked against the fence of his Mamo Kelley’s yard. Sally Hayden set up a palm reading tent near the entrance gate to the backyard. There was a pie tin toss and other games scattered about the yard.
I don’t remember how much money we raised but we were all proud of being part of Alec’s efforts. The Telethon took on added excitement that year.
Forty years later, I have been tapped to help raise funds for Jerry’s Kids. The local area MDA chapter is hosting a fundraising “lock up” on Thursday, March 12. I am one of the “most wanted.”
I could use your help to raise funds. You can go to my fundraising home page where you’ll find a button to click to make a credit card contribution. Every $5, $10 and $20 dollars will help. The funds support research, programs and care for Jerry’s kids.
I appreciate your consideration.
Ramon Comes Marching Home Again
It is funny – strange – the things we remember and associate with momentous events.
Growing up, my family ate a potato and ground beef soup that my parents called Kennedy Stew because that’s what they were eating when President Kennedy was killed. We ate it again while watching President Nixon’s resignation speech, by my mom’s design. Her morbid sense of humor? I don’t know.
I think of laundry every time I hear a story about the space shuttle. I was standing in a friend’s dorm room at our fraternity house, laundry basket under my arm, between loads, when we watched the Space Shuttle Challenger disintegrate before our eyes.
We connect grand sporting events to our personal experiences, too. I was sitting on mom’s lap in our kitchen, tears streaming down my face, when the Royals first lost to the Yankees in the play-offs. I was riding in the Atwood activity bus, straining to hear a portable radio, when George Brett hit a game winning home run to beat the dreaded Yankees and carry the Royals to the World Series for the first time.
When we are very young, our views of events are often myopic – how does this affect me? I’m guilty of that.
I remember one of the most joyous events to occur in Atwood when I was young as a series of personal (yet trivial) disappointments. At the time, the significance of the occasion was completely lost on me.
Ramon Horinek was a POW in Vietnam for nearly six years from 1967 to 1973. He shared a cell for a time with the 2008 Republican nominee for president, John McCain.
I never knew Ramon. He was older than my parents and long gone from Atwood by the time I was born. I had just turned three when the jet he piloted was shot down. I was eight years old and in the second grade when he was released. I found this on the internet that he wrote about himself.
My memories of the Vietnam war are fleeting – snapshots, indeed.
I recall black and white images flickering on the television with reporters standing in front of smoking fields on the evening news.
I remember sitting in St. John’s Catholic Church witnessing Mike and Patti Hayden’s wedding. Mike was wearing a fancy uniform. People said he’d be leaving soon. Later, I was standing in Paul’s bedroom. He was showing me Vietnamese money telling me that Mike had fallen over a waterfall.
I remember that the war was a conversation item during the 1972 presidential election. Someone named McGovern said he’d end the war. No one liked him. Everyone I knew supported Nixon. I was a Humphrey man – that is until I heard his strange, squeaky voice at the Democratic Convention.
And, I remember the black POW flag and bumper stickers plastered across Mr. and Mrs. Horinek’s front porch. I saw the flag and stickers every day but never fully understood their symbolism.
The Horinek’s lived directly across the street from us to the south. I didn’t know them well. Mrs. Horinek was always nice. She often gave Alec and me poppy seed colaches – a Czech pastry. I was no fan of poppy seeds. I accepted the gift politely and then, once out of sight, looked for a bush to deposit the slightly nibbled biscuit.
I cannot imagine – I don’t want to imagine – what it was like for Mr. and Mrs. Horinek to have one of their babies in captivity, not knowing what harms were being inflicted.
The town was abuzz when people learned the news that Ramon would be released. A welcome home ceremony was planned. Everyone would attend.
The day Ramon’s plane landed on American soil my parents let me stay home from school to watch on television. As soon as he walked down the steps of the plane and his name was announced, my mom hurried me out the door toward school.
I approached Ms. Grote’s room ready to join my classmates strutting ever so slightly. I was ready to walk in, interrupt the reading or math lesson, and brag that my parents let me stay home. Instead, I opened the classroom door to see my classmates crowded around Lisa William’s portable TV.
I did not gloat any more. I felt dejected that I’d missed out on a “class party.” They’d been watching, too.
The second disappointment came at the Welcome Home Celebration. Mrs. Jumper’s music classes had been learning songs for a school performance. By chance, the other second grade class had learned the song, “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again” – a Civil War tune. They were asked to perform the song at Ramon’s celebration.
The grade school gymnasium was standing room only for the event. My only memories are that a lot of people sat on the stage, the room was hot and I wasn’t singing. As the other second grade class belted out a chorus of “When Ramon comes marching home again,” a giant R designed to look like a cloud was lowered from the rafters. I felt left out.
Such is the perspective of an eight year old boy.
As a parent, I sometiems become frustrated by my own children’s myopia. I must remind myself that they don’t need to understand everything right now. They will soon enough.
Political Name Dropping
On this first day of the Obama presidency I am reminded of some of my political experiences.
I was a personal assistant to Mike Hayden in 1986. At the time, he was the Kansas Speaker of the House and a candidate for Governor. He was and is a family friend and great-uncle to my children. The campaign ran on a shoe string budget and depended on many volunteers like me.
My responsibilities were to keep the candidate on schedule, chauffeur, provide him with quick bios of the people who we met at each stop and make sure he didn’t have change in his pockets when it was time to speak – he had a bad habit of jiggling the change with his hand while speaking. It was a seven day, 80 to 90 hour a week job for over four months. Not much by today’s campaign standards perhaps but a new experience for me.
Late in the general election the state’s heavy hitters came to help campaign. We were joined by Senator Bob Dole for a two day swing in late October. Senator Dole was not just the most prominent politician in Kansas history, he was a national and international heavy weight as well.
Our two days of campaigning with the Senator were at once intimant and completely non-personal. Driving between stops there would be just four people in the vehicle – me, Mike, the Senator and his traveling aide. The only people who talked were Mike and Senator Dole. The Senator said about a dozen words to me the entire time we were together.
The most intimate setting was a plane ride from western to eastern Kansas. It was a small, private jet. The passenger cabin contained four seats – swivel chairs with tables in the middle similar to those you’d find in an RV.
Before I continue the story I need to mention that Senator Dole was physically handicapped. His right arm was all but destroyed during battle in World War II. Most Kansans of my generation and older are intimately familiar with the story of Dole’s long rehabilitation. More casual observers might notice that Senator Dole always held a pen in his right hand – he did this to discourage people from trying to shake his right hand. Bottom line, the arm and hand were of no use to him at all.
When we boarded the private jet to travel across Kansas, four meals of brisket and cole slaw were handed to Dole’s aide who distributed them on the two tables. I sat across a table from Senator Dole and his aide took the seat across the table from Mike. Mike and Dole’s aide opened their Styrofoam boxes and began to eat. Senator Dole, looking at and talking to Mike, pushed his box across the table toward me.
I had started to open my own meal but paused, unsure what to do. Receiving no direction (not even eye contact) from the Senator I glanced over at his aide. He made a cutting motion with his plastic silver ware and the light bulb went off in my mind. I reached across the table and picked up the Senator’s plastic ware. I opened his box of brisket and cut the open-faced sandwich into bite size pieces. Without saying a word, the Senator was still talking to Mike, I pushed the box back across the table to his side. He immediately began to eat.
When I reflect on that experience, two things come to mind. Powerful people have a unique capacity to elicit help without sound. Senator Dole gave me “orders” without ever an exchange. Perhaps it was a bit rude but I was a 21 year-old kid who was drinking up every moment of the experience. I didn’t mind in the least.
The more important lesson I draw from this experience is that no matter how powerful a person becomes they need help. Senator Dole, due to his physical limitations, needed help with routine tasks. The type of help people – even powerful people – need varies. But, none of us can make it through a typical day without a little support.
A humbling reminder for us all.
