the White House -- that pit of dark sin.
Now if the unborn
could toot their own horn
then Huckabee surely would win.
Heavy fog this morning melted into a dismal grey drizzle this afternoon here in northwest Iowa. But the sun made a guest appearance around 5pm, just as I pulled out of Sheldon on my way to Alton, to hear presidential candidate Mike Huckabee. In fact, the sun broke through the clouds in the generous midwestern sky with striking beauty, laying bare the wet fertile fields. It was good to be out and about; it was good to be going to a political campaign; and surely it was good that Huckabee had been a Baptist minister before he became Governor of Arkansas. Prior to his appearance at the Sioux Country Club (where John McCain had preached to the choir just a week before) a 12-year-old girl played patriotic and gospel selections on her violin as the crowd stood in line for corn chowder and brownies. To this intrepid reporter
the chowder was a watery disapointment. The brownies, however, were obviously the work of a good farmer's wife --chock-a-block with creamy marshmallows and mint-chocolate chips. I could have eaten a round dozen of 'em, but showed great restraint by only gobbling six.
Huckabee had had a busy day shaking babies and kissing hands prior to showing up in Alton, but he appeared bouncy as a new kitten as he began his sermon. I don't know if it's something in the water around here or what, but political candidates, even if they were not gospel ministers in a previous life, can't help getting that evangelical glint in their eyes and that evangelical catch in their throats as they address a congregation of dyed-in-the-wool Republicans about immigration, taxes and (would somebody give me an Amen!) abortion. I expected someone to start passing the plate and fished in my pocket for some spare change or at least a collar button.
Actually I missed the first fifteen minutes of his address, since I was closeted with a fellow journalist -- a guy named Michael Finnigan from the Los Angeles Times who had been sent out on special assignment to cover Huckabee for two days. Gullible soul; he introduced himself to me and when I told him I had been a circus clown (among other things) before becoming a radio newscaster he was all agog and wanted some background for possible use in his story on Huckabee. I filled him full of windy tales of my fabled encounters with Michu the World's Smallest Man and the secret to how all those clowns could fit in such a teeny tiny little car. I would have gone on to intimate I had taught Emmett Kelly everything he knew but we both decided to catch the Huckabee finale.
Huckabee spoke at great length and with great feeling about his nine previous trips to Israel. His subject and tone reminded me of a General Conference address and I couldn't help glancing around to see where they had stowed the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
Now I mean no disrespect to Huckabee in person, but I am always irked when a parson starts talking about the poor and the disenfranchised and what he wants to do for them. And I can't help remembering that the Saviour spoke to both the rich and the poor; and generally when he spoke to the rich it was to tickle their ears with reproof. So I wondered if and when Huckabee had last spoken to a homeless person or at a half-way house for addicts, and what he might have said in such a place to such people. What I saw was a man speaking to the comfortable caddy and sportcoat crowd, the people who voted, telling them in polished, pleasing words what a good choice for President he would be because he did care so much for the poor and the down-trodden and those aborted fetuses.
I guess I'm waiting for a candidate who campaigns among those who don't know how to vote or can't vote -- that's the guy I'll put my money on. It's gonna be a long, long wait . . .
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