Hillary and Rudy: The Coming Mud Bath
Dear Jodi,
I came back from lunch in such a merry mood (and, no, the lunch wasn't the
three-martini kind), brimming over with joy that we live in a land so bountiful
that the Republicans in Congress can give away $792 billion. Then I got your
e-mail and my heart sank. Jodi, do you really find Rudy Giuliani a "complex and
appealing guy"? Are all your friends really hyper for Hillary--thrilled that
the first lady will bless the lucky voters of New York with her divine
presence?
Maybe I should have sensed the warning signs yesterday when you partially
praised Giuliani's
there-will-be-no-public-information-given-to-the-press-while-I'm-mayor media
strategy. Now, I will admit that I voted for Rudy in the 1997 mayoral election
based on the premise that the drastic improvement of life in New York
outweighed his obvious personality flaws. But, Jodi, surely you will agree with
me that temperament alone (not to mention his future vote to re-elect Trent
Lott as Senate majority leader) makes Giuliani cosmically ill-suited to serve
in a legislative body, especially since he would be required to work and play
well with others.
You also find me jaded because I fail to grasp the "promise" of a
Hillary-Rudy Senate race. Jodi, do you really expect a high-minded debate on
public housing and the plight of upstate dairy farmers? The Giuliani-Clinton
campaign would be fought out on your TV screen with dueling negative ads about
Whitewater billing records and police brutality. Such a down-and-dirty contest
would make last year's Schumer-D'Amato mud bath seem like Periclean Athens in
comparison.
What politically would interest me? How about a presidential race between
Bill Bradley and John McCain? As a political reporter, I desperately long to
watch two candidates with enough self-confidence and authenticity to resist the
prefabricated political dictates of the campaign consultants.
For all my apparent grumpiness, one of the joys of this e-mail
correspondence is that you find things in the papers that I had missed, like
Johnny Apple's succulent tribute to cookbook writer Richard Olney. But as
someone who, alas, had to compose one of those formulaic Times death
notices, let me provide a bit of explanation. The problem is not the
Times , which I think would print anything that wasn't obscene or
libelous in these paid notices, but the bereaved themselves. As you look at
this sad-eyed page of agate type amidst your grief, you find yourself deciding
that this is not a moment for creative writing.
Jodi, please write me back with joyous tidings on happier topics.
