my job brings me into fairly regular contact with several movers and shakers in the political arena, most (ok, fine--all) of whom are insufferable, self-important windbags, but one of whom--a seasoned veteran of many political wars who in the course of his career has scaled the heights, been everywhere and met everybody, and whose last campaign was one of the slickest, shrewdest and most effective i've ever seen (hell, it almost got him elected)--i actually like; this is one of those guys, you put a nickel in, you always get a dollar back.
anyway, back during primary season last year i ran into him in the break room one night and said, "ok, so tell me--what's the deal with obama?"
he snorted and said, "obama? lemme tell you about obama--he's a punk."
"a punk?" i asked, amused. "do tell."
and, boy, did he. turns out a "punk," in political parlance, is a neophyte who expects to reach out and grab the brass ring without having any idea of what he's doing and/or paying his dues first.
"look," he says, animatedly [and i'm paraphrasing here, because it's been awhile], "i know barack obama; i met him years ago and yeah, i was impressed--he's a very glib, charming, book-smart guy. but so what? here you have a guy who comes outta nowhere and manages to parlay some success in local chicago neighborhoods into a state assembly seat--which doesn't amount to shit, trust me [and, since he's been there and done that, i do]. then, after one lame-ass term of voting 'present,' he decides he's now ready to run for congress. which is one thing if he'd been running against somebody ordinary, but he--this ivy-league outsider--goes up against fucking bobby rush--four-term incumbent, former black panther, chicago homeboy, everybody in the district loves him.
"and what happens? he gets his ass handed to him as he damn well should have--but does the loss humble him, give him some sense of perspective? hell, no--next thing you know, sumbitch is running for the goddam senate--the senate, can you believe it?! and then, fifteen minutes after he gets there, instead of thanking god for the lightning strike that got him there, he's running for the presidency of the united states like he actually deserves it?! give me a fucking break."
at which point he crumples his coffee cup, tosses it in the can and strides disgustedly from the room.
* * * * *
flash-forward several months later (i.e., three weeks ago). i run into the guy again--he's been outta the country and it's the first time i've seen him since before the election.
and i ask him, "so, obama--he still a punk?"
and he looks at me, his body language totally changes and he says [and again, i'm paraphrasing], "forget everything i ever said, mike--this guy's the real deal. i've never seen anybody run a campaign like he did; it was almost flawless. and even under pressure, he never cracked--unlike any politician i've ever known, he's the same in private as he is in public: always cool, calm and collected. i'm tellin' ya, this guy's gonna be our generation's roosevelt." [this last said without any trace of irony]
as he walked away, i tried to keep in mind that of course he had to say this shit--like all the other early hillary supporters in our government department, he'd had to do a quick, backpedaling reverse-field and change allegiences once the tide had turned.
but i hadn't seen any reluctance in his eyes (and trust me, i looked for it); on the contrary, i'd seen a cynical, hard-bitten politician turn to mush at the mere mention of our new president-elect's name.
"holy shit," i remember thinking then, "when a punk can fool even the pros, we're really in trouble."
