|
 he
ridiculing of national politicians is a constant of American life,
which of course is a glorious and necessary thing. Whether pols
are lashing chicks to bedposts with neckties, blowing wads of dough
on highway spurs to nowhere, or practicing the corrupt arts in more
innovative ways, they constantly invite vicious scrutiny, which
may (ideally at least) reduce the temptation to even greater excess.
That some of us make money from administering lashes does nothing
to temper the situation.
Yet in the
case of fairness, it is worth pointing out that some local politicians
are every bit as deserving of scorn, mockery, and whatever other
abuse is lying about. Allow me to share a story.
As a resident
of the far outback of Richmond, Virginia, I sometimes read the local
paper, and as a result believe I have found the most hilarious politician
of our day. Her name is Gwen C. Hedgepeth. She is a member of the
Richmond city council.
Like most politicians,
and indeed many human beings, Madame Hedgepeth is little interested
in letting her good works go unnoticed. One imagines she puts out
a press release whenever she lifts a robin's egg back into its nest,
and weeps no tear beyond the range of a camera.
That is all
minor-league activity, however.
Not long ago,
the city councilwoman decided that it was time to take strong and
highly public action on behalf of a family center. The city council
had earlier rejected her proposals to grant sums starting at $5
million, later reduced to $2.5 million, and finally knocked down
to a bargain-basement $1.25 million. These setbacks stung, but did
not break her spirit. "Our children need safe places to go,
after school especially," Ms. Hedgepeth told the local Times-Dispatch.
"They need places to find out where their talents are and to
be encouraged."
No doubt she
is correct. Not long ago, Richmond was the homicide capital of the
United States. Kids, especially in two or three select neighborhoods,
killed one another at furious rates. Very tough anti-gun measures
(for illegal guns, one should point out) and other factors have
stanched some of the blood, but these are still hard streets, and
if some of that horror is relieved by providing a place to play
ball that's fine. The building trades would also benefit.
The hilarity
comes when considering Madame Hedgepeth's chief lobbying tool: Fasting.
She donned black and said she'd go without eating until the appropriate
funds were disbursed. Fasting is an honored and time-tested strategy,
of course, and counts many greats among its practitioners. In Ms.
Hedgepeth's hands, however, fasting isn't what it once was, as explained
by Jeremy Redmon of the Times-Dispatch. Redmon reports that
Ms. Hedgepeth began her fast on May 7:
Her fasting
routine has changed several times since then. She announced May
30 she would eat only during a four-hour block each day, from
6:30 to 10:30 a.m. On June 30, she said she would give herself
an eight-hour window daily to eat — from 8:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.
On Tuesday, she completely quit her fasting.
Flexibility
is a wonderful thing, of course, and in that sense Ms. Hedgepeth
has profoundly captured the spirit of our age. She took a high-profile
stand of unquestioned moral clarity. She loudly announced she would
engage in serious self-sacrifice on behalf of her goal. Then she
stepped up to the plate — and ate it.
That isn't
the worst way to conduct a fast, to be sure. One can jam a lot of
tacos down the gullet in four hours, and when she moved to the eight-hour
feeding slot, Ms. Hedgepeth had time to eat an entire horse — shoes,
blanket, saddle, and rider. To no surprise, the councilwoman seems
to have suffered little depravation from her ordeal. "You haven't
lost any pounds," said one constituent as he watched her polish
off a half-foot Subway sandwich.
More to the
point, the Hedgepeth Formulation is a brilliant stroke in that,
if widely adopted, it will allow politicians and mere citizens to
take brave stands without fear of suffering serious inconvenience
or injury. For example, a fellow going after the morality vote might
solemnly announce he will never, ever sleep with his neighbor's
wife — save for the hours of 6am-9am, with perhaps an occasional
switch to evening hours to keep things from getting dull. Similarly,
one seeking the Utah vote could promise to swear off Martinis, save
for the hours of 4 p.m. to midnight, during which time unlimited
guzzling is permitted.
It is the thought
that counts, after all. And what better way to end a day of fasting
than with a good belch and a nightcap. A vaster improvement cannot
be imagined.
Washington
is home to many gifted grafters, poseurs, and shameless cranks.
But there are geniuses who call other places home.
|
