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"Woe is me!" says GOP For Anxious Incumbents, the Days Grow ShortBy Rick Horowitz The thing about October, he reminds himself, is: You never know. And for that matter: It all depends. If the campaign is going well and the crowds are energetic and the polls are looking good, October feels like it's ten years long -- can't somebody please hurry it up and make it be over and get us to Election Day already? (Before something goes wrong, that is.) But if the campaign is stumbling and the crowds are just sitting there -- when they show up at all -- and the polls are...well, scary, then October feels as short as a blink. Is there possibly enough time to turn things around before the voters -- his voters -- send him the eviction notice he's had nightmares about since the day he first set foot in the place?
Congressman Cipher is perched in the front row of his campaign van, Rolling America, watching the countryside -- and his political career -- passing before his eyes. The trees are changing colors, and the mornings are gray in a way that summer mornings are never gray. He's in the homestretch now, and he's desperate for signs that he's regaining lost ground, that he's finally got the wind at his back, that he's grabbed onto Big Mom, as he likes to call it. Instead, he's having to decide whether Denny Hastert is the kiss of death. He likes Denny Hastert, Congressman Cipher does. They've been through lots of battles together over the years, and the Speaker has always done what he can to be supportive. The most supportive thing the Speaker could do right now, though, is disappear. Maybe write a check first, and then disappear. But definitely disappear. It's not Denny Hastert's fault that Congressman Cipher doesn't want to be seen anywhere near him, just as it isn't President Bush's fault that Congressman Cipher doesn't want to be seen anywhere near him, that for months now, the congressman's speeches have been filled with example after example of how he's disagreed with the president on this or that issue, of how he's teamed up with this or that Democrat, of just how independent of the president he's always been. "I am not George Bush's rubber stamp," he likes to tell people. "I'm his paper shredder!" This statement, generally delivered at a shout, with both arms thrust toward the sky, never quite produces the intended reaction in his listeners, but the congressman always takes note, and always reminds himself to say it even louder the next time. And now Denny Hastert is suddenly toxic, too, along with any other Republican who knew -- or might have known, or even should have known -- anything about this whole messy business with the congressional pages. A "tragedy," as Congressman Cipher has been saying every 30 minutes for the past two weeks -- but why should he have to take a hit for it? It's not like Speaker Hastert confided in Congressman Cipher. It's not like anybody confided in Congressman Cipher. (Knowing absolutely as little as he needs to know has always been a particular point of pride for him.) And now he might have to cancel one final, stir-up-the-troops visit from Denny Hastert because he can't risk the negative publicity so close to Election Day? Talk about a tragedy! "What if he wore a mask?" Congressman Cipher says it to himself, or thinks he does, but even the van driver turns around to stare at him. "You know," the congressman starts to explain, "Like for Halloween? He could wear a mask even on the plane, and all the time he's here, and then nobody would know who he really..." But by now, the van driver and the others have gone back to doing what they were doing. Congressman Cipher goes back to staring through the window. Outside, the leaves are falling from the trees and spinning along the ground in tight little circles. "You never know," says Congressman Cipher. "It all depends." Posted 10/15/06. Stay ahead of the news
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Rick Horowitz
