Bridgid for Burgess?

This appeared June 4, 2006


I'm at the Market Street Grill and Kerry walks by. He owns the place.

"How am I going to kick start this campaign for minority commissioner?" I say. "The ground hasn't even puffed, let alone swelled."

"Forget about it," says Kerry. "Phils are in it for a playoff spot, maybe two! Rollins wins the batting title and Howard takes the home run prize. Could be sweet!"

"Did the doctors decide to up your meds or something?" I say. "Look, I put people on notice two weeks ago that I'm the perfect choice, and not one call! Best I got was a good luck note from 'Amy in Texas,' but I don't think she's even registered."

"Forget about it," says Kerry. "The Braves are a pushover, and the Mets are a fabrication of the sportswriting media. By the time July 4 rolls around, we could be in sole possession of first place, and maybe even second, too! Oooh, sweet!"

"I hear they are making lots of progress in treating illnesses of the mind these days," I say. "Look, I've carved out a policy niche that no one else seems to have tapped. No one has even come close to calling for the annexation of Chadds Ford, but what do I get? Not even an old 'I'm proud to be a Chester County Democrat' badge."

Bridgid, the manager, walks by. She's now playing forward for the Philadelphia Pirates of the Women's Premier Soccer League.

"Change your name," she says. "I'd go with Smedley, as in Smedley Darlington, 1827-1899. He was kin to the other Darlingtons - Issac, William, Edward, that lot - and spent four glorious years representing the old 6th Congressional District. Plus, Smedley Butler's named after him. He may never have been elected, but Ol' Gimlet Eye knew a thing or two about politics."

I look at Kerry. He blinks. Hard. Ever since she scored the winning goal over the Northhampton Laurels, the girl's got delusions of grandeur.

"Forget about it," says Kerry. "August, I figure 22, 23 wins, no problem. We wrap up home field advantage by Labor Day and just wait for the Cards to hand us the first three of five. Sweet-ness!"

"You should lie down when the furies come," I say. "Look, I can't just go around thinking that just because I've met the president judge's parents and can find my way to the fifth floor of the courthouse without an escort that I'm a shoo-in. I need a campaign strategy. Something like Dinniman's 'I'll-even-wax-your-car-if-you-vote-for-me' plan."

Mr. Handforth - Bridgid's dad - pokes his head out from the kitchen.

"You should be a burgess," he says. "Like Channing Way, 1877-1954, son of Marshall and Anna Eliza Smedley Way. Dad served as burgess of West Chester from '95 to '96 - 1895, you understand - and sonny boy took over the family businesses, so to speak, in 1919."

Kerry looks at me. I blink. Very hard. Mr. Handforth must think his daughter's going to start in the World Cup this week.

"Forget about it," says Kerry. "I could get field level seats, maybe even on the field, for the World Series and ..."

Kerry keeps talking but I stop listening. I need a campaign manager, somebody who can get this thing off the ground.

I leave the grill, wondering who it could be. Then I see him across the street.

"Hey, Freddie Gusz!" says I.