10,065. RUDIMENTS, pt.107

RUDIMENTS, pt. 107

Making Cars

"You know I have people calling for

your head!" That's how I got thrown

off the top of the ticket on my run

for Mayor of Metuchen. I guess it

was 1998; the guy's name was Fred

Keiser, a local lawyer and head of

the town Republicans. He and Stanley

Lease, another local business-person

with lots of shabby real estate holdings,

had asked me to consider running for

Mayor, and, after some very minor

thought, I said OK! At this time, I

was atop an organization, office'd

in Metuchen, from which I wrote and

produced a monthly 28 page (once or

twice 32 pages, when the money was

flush) newspaper which covered Biker

issues, concerns of motorcycle riders,

laws, pending or not, helmets, insurance,

licensing, infractions, law, police, crime,

opinions, events, lives and deaths too. I

delved heavily into state and national

political issues, motorcycle or not (my

call), ran monthly feature articles, photos

and interviews, with 4 or 5 added monthly

columnists too. 2500+ subscribers, pretty

good stuff, multi-state, handed out for

free in a hundred motorcycle shops, stores,

and other assorted places. For whatever

reason, those two guys thought that, because

of that following, I could deliver a local

vote to push the usually-losing Republicans

in Metuchen over the top on a four-term

bloated incumbent of whom most people

were already tired. I wasn't sure what they

were thinking, and I didn't much care. I

then had to present myself before the local

Republican board officials, do the dog-

and-pony show routine with them. Yes,

I even agreed to get rid of my long hair

and beard for the campaign. None of these

people knew what to make of me, (nor did

I, of them, frankly), as I answered their

questions and presented some ideas and

points of view. Fred Keiser, and Stan

Lease too, put the pressure on them,

and I was accepted. OK, cool. Then a

big, stupid county-wide breakfast of the

Middlesex County Republicans, at which

all the local candidates and such new

people, were to be introduced and

mingle. A bunch of freaking, sturdy

politico-geeks, if you were to ask me,

the most lame-bunch of do-nothings I ever

met. Multi-national too  -  Indians and East

Asians for the up and coming population

of towns such as Edison, East Brunswick

and such. No so much Metuchen, where

the operative card at the top of the deck

was White-Man Power and dominance.

Most all of them were engineers, accountants,

lawyers, school teachers, etc. A whole raft

of downsiders without an original thought

among them. I could tell, but they'd never

admit it, that power-thinking to them probably

maxed out in the morning, deciding about

socks. One or two women in the bunch too;

probably worth a throw. (I threw that in on

purpose, to show what a Neanderthal I was

compared to his bunch). So, I got out of

there alive. A few meetings later  - nothing

fun at all  -  'we' had decided how my

'campaign' was going to operate, going door-

to-door, supposedly to every house in town,

(?), lawn sides, the two TV debates, and the

rest of the crud. I was ready to go for broke.

My idea of politics, I realized fairly quickly,

was not theirs. Their idea was 'campaign-safe'.

Say nothing on your own, follow the lead of

the county committee, remain sedate and

in complete order. My idea, which I never

shared, was to run a 'wild-man' campaign,

as I would have put it, meaning the odds in

town were so stacked against me (usually like

2200 D votes to perhaps 800 R votes, in these

elections) that the only way to win was by

running to lose  -  holding nothing back,

letting it all hang out, go for broke, break

the camel's back, shoot he whole wad.

And, frankly, I bet it could have worked.

-

Here's the thing that killed me, and it took

about 2 weeks in. There was a lady in town,

a big cry-baby type, whose daughter had

just died of AIDS. I never touched the

sex-angle of the issue at all. Her point was

that her daughter's life and end had been so

miserable because of her 'orientation' that

the local school board was duty-bound to

begin teaching 'Tolerance.' No one would

touch this with a ten-foot pole, especially

the stone-heads at Keiser's table. It was

never mentioned, the issue was avoided,

and all acted as if it did not exist. So what

occurs? The school board creates a $71,000

a year position to hire a Teacher of Tolerance

to tend to all the grades and classes of the

Metuchen system. Now, in all my religious

studies I had heard of and studied the

Essenes, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and

Gnostic teachings. Closest I'd ever gotten

to something I'd liked was 'Teacher of

Righteousness.' This Tolerance thing 

didn't work for me, especially at 71 

grand a year. So I piped up  -  a

published note in the local paper, a 

few comments around - 'not with my 

tax dollar you don't. You can teach all

the tolerance you wish at home, on your 

dime, and as part of your parental duties, 

but it's not a school issue and certainly 

not for a grossly overpaid position from 

local tax outlay.' Pretty much that's the

idea, not word for word but generally. 

You'd think I ate babies for breakfast. 

Two days later I was as good as dead.

-

Those weeny-babies had all run for cover.

Right or wrong, I'd said my piece, and had

(finally) thrown some sort of red-meat out

to get people roiled. Such had been my plan.

A few more like that, I'd have been somewhere,

and I knew it. The whole sinkhole town was

nothing but a den of complacency and posers

anyway  -  train station losers blubbering

their way to Newark each day for work, 

while pretending their real lineage was

Park Avenue NY and this was the greatest

town in the world. There wasn't anything

there I wouldn't have challenged. The old

corner schoolhouse, about then too, was 

soon coming down, to be replaced by condos 

and all the usual tomfoolery which goes with 

it. A fine, large 5-story building, with trains 

and transportation; I said don't take it

down, transform it into a tech center 

(computer use was then booming new) 

for corporate hook-ups, computer offices, 

and the like. That idea too got blasted. So,

the next morning was when Fred booted me.

He ran in my stead, and I think perhaps he 

got 180 votes. Goes to show. To at least

save some face and set my issue straight,

I bought a one-hundred dollar display box

in that same local paper which had displayed

my letters and essays, and called them all

out, while apologizing for even getting 

involved and ruining their dinners. I did

hold out (facetiously) a 'maybe next time,

and watch out' ending. That was the end

of the political portion of my life that I

never really wanted anyway. But from the

depths of those profundities I now can

speak : liars, incompetents, cowards
and thieves abound.