(HOST) The current political campaign has reminded commentator Willem Lange of an epiphany that changed his political orientation forever.
(LANGE) My grandparents hated Democrats, Catholics, and the Irish. As a kid, I could hardly blame them. Staunch evangelical Republicans in a city firmly in the grip of the notorious O’Connell Machine, they paid property taxes quite a bit higher than their more accommodating neighbors. It was okay for me to hang around with my buddy David down by the synagogue, but not with my other buddy, also David, down around the cathedral. They suggested I might disappear and spend the rest of my life singing soprano in the Vatican choir. So I grew up wondering if Franklin Roosevelt really did have a tail and horns hidden under his trousers and his hat.
Then I got my first look into politics, and it wasn’t pretty. I was 22, living in the Adirondacks, and looking for work in the middle of winter. There was work at the Mount van Hoevenberg bobsled run, a state-owned facility, and the boss there said he’d be happy to take me on. But I had to have the endorsement of my local committeeman, a jolly soul who sold insurance and real estate and drove a big Packard. I went to see him. He asked me several questions, and was all smiles until I told him I’d registered Independent – which I was in those days. At that point he started looking at the wall behind me when he spoke.
"I’ll…uh… have to run this by the county board," he said. "I’ll get back to you."
But he didn’t. I went to see him again a week later and learned that I was unacceptable. First priority, he said. went to married Republicans; then single ones; then married Democrats – you get the picture. Never mind that the bob run still needed workers; I was not going to be joining them.
In a stew, I went back to my flat, dug out my old Smith-Corona, and wrote a letter. "Dear Governor Rockefeller," it began. I told him I’d voted for him, went on to describe what had happened, swore I’d rather starve than sign up for unemployment insurance, and mentioned the superintendent had already agreed to hire me. I kept a carbon copy, got a four-cent stamp – I told you this was a while ago – and sent the letter off to Albany.
I never heard from Governor Rockefeller – at least not directly. But about four days later the superintendent called me at the saloon where I was working for meals. "Willy!" he shouted, "You still wanta work?"
"Well, yes," I said. "Pretty likely."
"How soon can you get over here? I’ll start you this afternoon if you want."
That was the beginning of several years of lovely winter-long employment at a fascinating job. It was the start of a lifelong friendship with the gruff old bob run superintendent. And my vote for Governor Rockefeller was the last of my Republican votes.
This is Willem Lange in East Montpelier, and I gotta get back to work.
(TAG) For more commentaries by Willem Lange, go to VPR-dot-net.