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The coming Clinton

Maggie's favorite ex-babysitter called -- the one who wants me to try to convince the Ass Ponys to reunite because she and her new husband (married recently just a few steps from the Man Hut by the only judge with whom I've ever had a social drink) so love Chuck Cleaver's present band, Wussy -- to tell us President Bill Clinton is coming to Morehead. Tomorrow.

We were driving. Slowly. Through snow we had not anticipated, on our way to East Lansing, MI, where the uncles don't seem particularly concerned that their primary votes won't count. Maybe twenty miles an hour we were driving in Mamaw's white Chevrolet, passing fresh victims in the ditch every half mile or so, wondering how you get sideways when you have four wheel drive and we don't. Worrying. (We got there, and home. Quicker home in the melt.)

That President Clinton is coming to Morehead, Kentucky, to the new convention center behind the dilapidated mainstreet buildings they've demolished for a parking lot (and one wonders if the debris will be cleared by the time the Secret Service arrives), says several things.

It means Kentucky's May 20 primary will maybe count for something, and Senator Clinton is expected to win (though I cannot quickly find a poll online to substantiate that perception).

It also means they think Morehead is far enough away from the national media that President Clinton won't detract from the candidate's message.

And it means that, at 5:45 tomorrow evening (assuming he's on time, coming down from Maysville, and my recollection is that President Clinton was not a timely fellow) we will have a choice. I am not a supporter of Senator Clinton's candidacy for the Democratic nomination to be President of the United States. If necessary, I will vote for her. I probably won't campaign for her, and I probably won't put her bumpersticker on the old red truck.

On the other hand, I've not been in the presence of a former President, and he is generally considered one hell of a speaker when he's on. I went, long ago, to a rally for Senator Anderson, another man from Illinois who wished to be president, though his was a third party challenge in 1980, I think, and he failed. (On that occasion I actually went to the Republican caucus in Washington State, which led to some years of solicitations from the grand old party before I fell off their lists. Oddly I have somehow fallen onto Hillary Rodham Clinton's e-mailing list, though I cannot quite tell where my e-mail address was harvested.)

And I've always liked the fact that he posed for a photograph with my friend(s) in the Presidents of the United States of America, back when Bill Clinton was the president and they hadn't had a hit. (One of their fathers is or was a well-placed Democratic political consultant.) The Presidents, incidentally, have a new album out, and I remain grateful that Jason (the drummer) and I have not had occasion to rekindle our mutual fondness for single malts. Especially since neither of us have an A&R guy's credit card at hand.

But along that dark road in Michigan I entertained dark thoughts.

We might elect Hillary Rodham Clinton or John McCain, but we believe in Barack Obama. That comes at some cost, and with huge responsibility. Should Obama prove not to be the man we think and hope and pray he is, should he prove venal or corrupt or morally bankrupt or whatever...we will be broken. I was, what, 4 years old when John F. Kennedy was shot, and I remember still my mother's tears as the radio slowly told a story I in no way understood. I remember the layout of that living room in Wedgewood, the sound of the tropical fish tank, and mother's quiet tears. She is not a woman given to such displays of emotion.

I have followed politics avidly since I was that tiny. Never have I felt such hope. Never have I so much believed in the possibility of goodness embodied in one particular candidate.

Should he somehow break faith with his supporters, in the sad way the former governor of New York broke faith with his state (or the former President Clinton did with this country, and Nixon far worse before him, and on and on and on...), I cannot imagine the cost. Or, rather, I can. It's a price we cannot pay.

Which is not to say I think he will. Which is simply to say this is a once-in-a-lifetime sea change. Something to be seized, to be treasured, to be honored all around.

Hope is a precious thing.

Maybe I'll go see Bill Clinton speak tomorrow, maybe I'll stay home with my daughter.

Either is fine.

Losing hope is not fine. Not acceptable. Not today, not tomorrow, no time.

P.S. Went out to run an errand and it was snowing. Here. In March. Insert hell freezing over joke at will.

Posted by grant on March 24, 2008 12:13 PM | Permalink

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