Remembering When I Couldn't Win For Losing

Way back when, before we had a new young president and no incumbent was running for the office and politics was young again, my personal preferences vs Democratic primary results were zip to 3. It was enough to send me sulking to my tent and it went like this.

"I like Bill Richardson," I told my wife. "He was a successful Federal executive, had some notable diplomatic successes, speaks fluent Spanish and is a state governor. Sounds like a winning story."
After Richardson dropped out of sight, I necessarily adopted a deeply strategic approach.

"The party has great depth this year," I remember explaining over coffee. This black guy, Obama, is young, articulate and promising. But he has a funny name and needs time to season. Hillary has too much baggage for the presidency and Bill is temperamentally unsuited for First Husband. Her job is to succeed Ted Kennedy as Best Senator and then become the first woman majority leader of the Senate.

"I’m switching to John Edwards. Who says an ex-trial lawyer can’t really be a populist? He’s for the little guy because he started out as one. And it looks like Al Gore is too busy being good and honored to run."

When Edwards dropped out after a not-so-super Tuesday I again thoughtfully reconsidered. It was just as well, as he turned out to be more in love with his hair than his country or his wife.

"Hillary has demonstrated the guts of a bear and her human side is peeking through, too. Women are strong for her. Obama’s coming on also, and would make a fine vice president. Why, we could lock in 16 years of a democratic White House given a little team work among rivals!"

My wife is a career executive now retired. She has bumped against more glass ceilings than Einstein and Betty Friedan together could count. "I like Obama," she said.

It was my first indication that unity would not come easily to the Democratic party that year.
When Hillary settled for a "significant achievement," I sensed a pattern developing. "I’m a real kiss of death," I said to the wife, who quietly said nothing. "Way back I even voted for Adlai Stevenson. Twice. Maybe if I backed that Republican fella the Dems could win in November."
　
"Many women, passionate for one of their own to achieve the presidency, are feeling hurt and betrayed," I went on. "How now can they convincingly tell their daughters and grand daughters that ‘Some day you could be President?’"
　
My wife was more secure in her own skin than that. "You all need to get over it. Or don’t you
remember 1968?"

1968 was a year worth remembering. First, Lyndon Johnson took himself out of the running over Vietnam. Then Bobby Kennedy died tragically in Lost Angeles. Finally, from the tumult of the Chicago convention then vice-President Hubert Humphrey emerged as the Democratic nominee to the despair of Eugene McCarthy’s legions of college kids and anti-Vietnam war activists.

But Richard Nixon narrowly beat Humphrey in November because McCarthy’s followers sulked in their tents on election day, and we had more war and Watergate and Republicans as president for 20 of the next 24 years.

"Well," I said slowly, "Richardson, Edwards and Clinton have all come out for Barak Obama, who is already an historic figure, and . . ."

My wife smiled sweetly as only she can. "Now you’re talking," she said. "More coffee?"

That was then, and now of course the country has finally followed my lead. We even have a an echo of Abe Lincoln's team of rivals running the country with Hillary at State and Robert Gates staying on at Defense.

I remember thinking, "The market's up, real estate is rising, we have a new president set to retake the high road at home and abroad, what could possibly go wrong?"