Don't count unhatched votes*

by sonya hammond

In election years there are two classes of optimists: 

• those grinning from ear to ear at the results of polls, the pronouncements of press prognosticators, and the unprecedented benefits of an opponent's ability to self destruct
  
• those convinced that none of the above will matter as long as they dig up enough dirt on the incumbent's wife.

Pessimists of either party affiliation, however, stand on common ground in the knowledge that the electorate is capable of smooshing egg in the most confident candidate's face [see Thomas Dewey].  As any black-belt pessimist can tell you, it ain't over until the networks tell us it is. 

Although the number of diehard voters still supporting Bob the Dull has dropped to single digits, the following is a public service reminder of why rash optimism should be avoided until sometime after the Inaugural Ball.

A vote for the Dull one may actually be a vote for Jack Kemp. This is not a problem for voters willing to endorse an understudy with a predilection for hip terminology such as 'wow' and 'super', who in a move arguably less irritating than the Lyndon Johnson 'Bird' fetish gave all his kids 'J' names, and whose tenure in 'the wilderness' apparently affected his recall of how he once viewed issues on which he and his running mate had previously differed rather contentiously. 

Jack may remain the requisite 10 paces behind the President-in-Waiting, but in the unlikely event of a Dull win, the actuarial tables and Murphy's Law give him a shot at passing one for The Gipper instead of the NFL.

For those who would argue that it is not PC to mention the 'age issue', spare us. In a GOP campaign so devoid of issues that a headline grabber consists of pointing indignant shaky fingers at what might be concealed in the health records of a 50 year-old opponent, the issue of the age of the oldest candidate ever to run for an office that is notorious for prematurely aging its winners is not only politically correct, it may be one of the few truly serious aspects of a presidential race that rivals that of the tortoise and hare for predictability.

A terrific tan, hair color that may owe as much to the Reagan era as the candidate's sudden conversion to supply-side economics, and heavy usage of the adjective 'vigorous' are understandable ploys from a 73 year-old convinced it is 'his turn' at the helm.

Unfortunately, any benefits accrued toward instilling public confidence in his vitality are usually overshadowed by one of the many shots the candidate has aimed at his foot.

Notable among these was the decision, abruptly and wisely abandoned, of allowing himself to be interviewed with a wife who habitually finished his sentences and is obviously accustomed to reminding him of what he is talking about.**  

Articulate where he falters, charming where he is dour, she was a walking version of the latter-day Reagan need for cue cards, visual aids that the Dull one might consider adopting if only to keep track of his latest positions on what were once well-established beliefs.

Aside from that it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore the age of a man who reminds us daily that he is a bridge back to WW II, a conflict that large numbers of current voters are too young to remember, and if we were meant to be swayed by the news that he was sufficiently 'with it' to chaperone his daughter to a Beatles concert, we must respectfully remind him how many years it has been since that group's last performance. 

His 'bridge to the past' would lead us back to his hero Eisenhower, whose presidential image is more intimately linked to golf courses than creative governing, and to his mentor Nixon, whom only a man completely out of touch with public opinion could consider a role model for anything except how to give a really bad speech.

The reality to which this country was once unwittingly subjected is that physical health is absolutely no guarantee of mental capacity, and the fact that our 40th President was the victim of a disease that insidiously impairs rational thought should be a lesson learned.

No conspicuous tan, photo opportunities from treadmill sessions, or repetitious claims of 'vigor' can ensure that the man holding the world's most powerful office is immune from an affliction that strikes without warning and often without immediately recognizable symptoms.

For any optimists who insist that lightening cannot strike twice, or for whom [as for the candidate] subsequent generations are too 'elite' to suffer, learn or 'do anything real' [so much for the Vietnam vet vote], it is still a bit early to celebrate repeal of the 14th Amendment. Although the Doleful candidate says he hasn't read his party's platform and doesn't feel bound by it, there is little cause for rejoicing.

It will be some time before many GOP convention delegates forget his token offer of pro-choice 'tolerance', somewhat longer for them to overlook relegation of their position to burial in a platform addendum, and perhaps forever before this country's largest block of voters elect the leader of a party that would not only deny them choice but brand them criminals should they exercise any.

On reflection, perhaps the optimists have it right. If pessimistic women voters get out and vote, it's a sure thing that we won't have Bob the Dull to kick around any more.

*Although written during the 1996 election campaign, consider this piece a reminder that those who would ignore history are destined to repeat it.
**She got her comeuppance when she ran for president herself, and her husband, having grown apparently still more vague, kept praising her opponents.

©sonya hammond, 1996

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