 |
Dead canine. Live campaign? Wag the Dog? Or...?By Rick Horowitz Contingency-wise, you'd like to think you've got it all covered. You're running for the top spot in the land, the presidency of these here United States, you want to make sure you've anticipated everything that could possibly trip you up. You need to know that you're absolutely, totally ready to react to anything you might encounter along the bumpy road to the White House. Including sheepdogs. John Kasich was ready; he reacted, and he won a friend in a crucial state. And George W. Bush? Elizabeth Dole? They may be losing the battle for the all-important bury-the-dog vote. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. The scene is Amherst, New Hampshire. The time is recently. People who are running for president tend to spend a lot of time in New Hampshire, even people like John Kasich, who's a second-tier candidate for president. The reason Kasich, an Ohio congressman, is a second-tier candidate for president is that there is no third tier. His poll numbers are microscopic. People who live in New Hampshire, meanwhile, expect to get a close look at all the presidential candidates, even the microscopic ones. One of the ways they do that is over coffee at somebody's house. Say hello to Linda Kaiser, hostess. John Kasich was on his way to Linda Kaiser's house not long ago when Kaiser felt the sudden urge to leave. A normal reaction, you're thinking; three dozen neighbors and one chatterbox candidate are about to clutter up your living room -- escape while you can! That's not why she left. Why she left, the newspapers say, is: She needed extra ice. Linda Kaiser had forgotten to pick up extra ice. The last thing you want, with three dozen neighbors and one chatterbox candidate about to clutter up your living room, is to run out of ice. Actually, that's not the last thing you want. The last thing you want is to run over your sheepdog while you're backing out of your driveway to go get the ice. Say hello to Magic, family pet. Say goodbye to Magic -- he was 13 when his luck ran out. "He looked up at me," said Linda Kaiser, "and then he died." The etiquette books don't exactly cover this kind of situation. Neither do the political handbooks. Linda Kaiser did the best she could under the circumstances; she carried Magic's lifeless body to the family barn, covered him with a towel and went back -- temporarily, at least -- to politics. The candidate arrives. The candidate hears the awful news. The candidate -- what? Insists on pushing ahead with the event, come hell or dead bow-wow? Creates an instant commemorative lapel ribbon out of napkin shreds? Proposes a new multi-million-dollar Canine Catastrophe Prevention Act? None of the above. John Kasich offered to cancel, just shut the thing down and let the grieving process begin. Linda Kaiser said no; the show would go on. But after the coffee, John Kasich said this: "Get a shovel." He was going to help Linda Kaiser and her husband lay Magic to rest. His own wife would divorce him, he said, if he were to leave the Kaisers without doing his doggie duty. So: "I killed my dog and he buried him," Linda Kaiser told the newspapers. And she said even more than that. "He revealed himself as a real person. I can't imagine Elizabeth Dole or George W. Bush burying my dog." Is this the thing that turns the race around? Is this where Kasich becomes a contender and the front-runners stop being front-runners? Don't count on it. But somewhere deep in the strategy cellars, nervous people in nervous campaigns are bound to be paying attention. They're crafting questions for the next round of telephone surveys: "Would you be more likely or less likely to support a candidate who..." They're testing talking points: "As you know, I've always been in favor of..." And they're laying in a supply of sheepdogs and shovels. Just in case. Posted
6/10/99. Fresh stuff right here twice
weekly!
 |
  |
