Senator Ted Kennedy, the great Democratic leader just endorsed Barack Obama. Caroline Kennedy, a fine woman, and the daughter of history, endorsed him. They must know something I don't know. Congressman Charles Rangel, a wise old African American pol whom I respect enormously, endorsed Hillary Clinton, and fuzzy headed John Kerry is for Obama (chalk that up as against Obama, one for Clinton) powerful labor organizations who know the needs of their members endorsed Hillary, leading feminists whom I respect endorsed her, and most important, my very smart wife and brilliant sons are for Hillary, believing without a doubt that Hillary will make the best president and bring us back from the brink. Others disagree vehemently. Oprah is for Obama, Oprah who brought us Dr. Phil, the stalker of Britney Spears, so that one goes to Hillary, doesn't it? Roseanne is for Hillary, so that one may go to Obama. And Rosie is for...let's not go there, or we might have to hear who Donald Trump is for, and frankly Scarlett I don't give a damn. Do they all know something I don't know? I like John Edwards more than either of the above leading candidates but nobody is endorsing him. Does nobody know something I don't know?
Here's what I do know. We have two -- no, let's say three -- terrific candidates, and I have problems with all of them. I'm prepared to admit that the problems may be mine; that there is something essential that is missing in my character and my judgment. I am not by nature a fan. I haven't been the fan of any movie-star since Fred Astaire and Audrey Hepburn, he of the magic feet, she of the miraculous eyes and smile, no fan of a baseball player since Jackie Robinson roused a boyhood cheer in me; no pop singer since Roy "Pretty Lady" Orbison left me dazed with admiration for his voice, music and lyrics. This is a somewhat impoverished history of fandom. And my political heroes tend to live in the past, going back to FDR -- too young to vote for him but I was a pre-teen Roosevelt rooter (sounds a bit like I Was A Teen-Age Werewolf, doesn't it?) -- leaving aside my failure to warm to Truman who loved his atom bomb far too much for my taste, Stevenson, a bit snobby and much too regal, and young Kennedy who moved from one Bay of Pigs blunder to another, propelled into history by a terrible tragedy and a beautiful wife, now a figure of mythology, rather than reality. So I concede that I am not a good candidate for candidate loving. But Doctor, help me, I want to fall in love. And I've got to do it by Super Tuesday. Please!
Here's what stands in my way. Foolish little things like thinking that Barack Obama might make a better folk song performer/composer than president. He inspires by his presence, he's pure music, we want to stand up and cheer, but he leaves me awfully confused by his lyrics, which may not matter in a folksong -- as we get carried away by the music -- but matters a great deal in life and government. Don't get me wrong, I love folksingers: Josh White, Burl Ives, Pete Seeger, Judy Collins, Joan Baez, I got all the records -- just sing me a rousing folksong, something of social significance and I am yours forever. But in a candidate for president I want substance more than song, and the more I listen to Obama the more I want him to go cut a record if he can't be more substantial. There appears to be a caution there that I find unsettling. And yet there is something about him that demands respect, something that suggests all kinds of wonderful possibilities. Speak to me Barack, tell me what's on your mind, forget your heart, I know more about that heart than I need or want to know, tell me what you will actually do as president, the nuts and bolts of leading a Bush-battered country into a decent future, not some nonsense like reaching out to the unreachable Bush-loving Republicans to make us all whole again as a people. Forget that impossible dream. I care more about the recession and getting out of the horror movie that is Iraq with that surge that must go on forever. Nor do I give a damn about some fruitless political reconciliation with the Republican Neanderthals in this country. And the Obama fans who write blogs often seem to be saying, "Love this guy or leave the country, you idiot!" Not a good message from those who regard their candidate as the spokesman for brotherly love. As far as Hillary goes, I am deeply offended by Bill's smarmy comparison of Obama to Jesse Jackson (for which she doesn't get a free pass from me) a sneaky kind of racism that says nothing about Obama and a great deal about Bill's failure to show the proper respect for a brilliant, ambitious, idealistic, well-spoken candidate, a respect that candidate deserves. Bill is Hillary's surrogate, and I don't like their playing good cop/bad cop with politics. Doesn't work with me. And if truth be told -- and it rarely is -- I'm not sure I want to hear Hillary's policy wonk voice droning on for the next few years...and yes, I wouldn't like it any better in a male candidate. Still, she knows so damned much about government, maybe not thirty five years worth of knowledge, but this woman knows her stuff, and she can strut it with the best of them. But he's no slouch in the knowledge department, so that might just be a draw.
Swinging back to Obama, I feel there is something oh so superior, and not the good kind of superior about Obama as I am put off by his cold and snapping manner which lurks just behind his warm and engaging smile. And yet his personal history shows that he is a superior person; that he has enormous intelligence and great appeal to the young -- a natural leader -- nothing to scorn in that. Don't get me wrong, I'll vote for any of the above over the egregious, "Say anything to win and hug any damned theocrat for the nomination" John McCain, or the robotic "I'll bring us out of the recession by firing all Americans" CEO Mitt Romney, but those guys are not my problem. Hillary and Barack are my problem, one of them will be my candidate, and I keep swinging back and forth between them like an aging Tarzan on a jungle vine, desperately hoping to make up my mind by Tuesday, clear the tree-tops, and make a safe, smart landing, without landing bruised and battered on the ground below. Just when I think I've done it, I find that I'm swinging towards the other side again. I tell you, it might have been fun when I started, but it no longer is. I'll let you know where I land, if, and when I ever do, but right now, I'm just getting dizzy.