Pol Principles
A local politician steps up to the plate — and eats it.

August 13, 2001 8:20 a.m.

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.