There was an election in Greenbelt, MD in 1977. Citizens were voting for the City Council; all incumbents. It took only 50 signatures on a petition to challenge them, and I had some free time, so I became the only fool who took on the group. I say fool now, but at the time the aura of being an elected official clouded my thinking. Fool sounded like Hero, and Election sounded like Easy. Little did I know there was more to this than gathering signatures.The names were easy. I worked from 3:00 – Midnight at the University of Maryland. Getting up in the morning and traipsing around the town checking penmanship was not such a task. In just a few days of knocking on doors, the deed was done. My name was added to the ballot. Hero, here I come. My undergraduate degree was in Political Science. Not really surprising, huh? Now, to put it to the test. Let’s see what the books taught me.
The City of Greenbelt is a fine community. I was a fairly new resident at the time and must admit . . . . naive. There weren’t many apartment units then. Greenbelt started in 1937 as a cooperative community; part of the New Deal. My residency there was because I was a student, with a family who needed a place nearby the campus. Prior to 1974 we were living in Suitland, and I was attending Prince George’s Community College. After transferring to U of MD, the commute became a bit much. Fortunately, I was driving a Chevy Vega, which got pretty good
gas mileage, even though it is considered one of the worst cars ever built. It was red, with a damaged left headlight, that was never fixed. Moving to Greenbelt made sense.
gas mileage, even though it is considered one of the worst cars ever built. It was red, with a damaged left headlight, that was never fixed. Moving to Greenbelt made sense.After filing the signatures with the proper authorities, I was officially a candidate. The campaign was a go, and I was determined to win a seat. Why not? I could govern. Being elected was just a matter of getting
people to like me and making them aware of my desire to improve their lives. A series of mistakes (Comedy of Errors, so to speak) was in my immediate future. “I was going down,” and didn’t even know it.
people to like me and making them aware of my desire to improve their lives. A series of mistakes (Comedy of Errors, so to speak) was in my immediate future. “I was going down,” and didn’t even know it.The contest was not Republican vs. Democrat. Prince George’s County has always been heavily Democrat; even to this day. The Greenbelt City Council election of 1977 pitted Mishkan Torah Synagogue
against Saint Hugh’s Church/School, and I was not a member of either. My daughter did attend St. Hugh’s School, because it was the nearest and least costly private school to our apartment, and like I wrote earlier, I was a student; therefore, pretty much broke. But St. Hugh’s did not require us to be members of the
church.
against Saint Hugh’s Church/School, and I was not a member of either. My daughter did attend St. Hugh’s School, because it was the nearest and least costly private school to our apartment, and like I wrote earlier, I was a student; therefore, pretty much broke. But St. Hugh’s did not require us to be members of the church.It wasn’t a particularly bitter campaign, but sidewalk maintenance was needed in front of both buildings, and that was the underlying campaign issue (not to mention the normal hatred of competing religions). Remember earlier when I mentioned my naivete? Well, keep reading.
My wife during this period was my first. She’s the mother of my kids. Within this post, I will mention wife, and she’s who I mean. Nothing bad, but just a point of reference.
The first thing I did was take out a loan for $350 from the Greenbelt Credit Union to use in my campaign. I needed to print posters, advertise in the Greenbelt News Review, make fliers and other essential electioneering stuff. It doesn’t seem like much of a fund, but it was sufficient. Fortunately, I worked in a place with a copy machine and 
friends willing to help, so duplication of fliers was at the expense of the U of MD (shhh, don’t tell them). I was also writing a column for the sporadically published Consumer’s Friend, which was a free paper distributed to apartment residents in Prince George’s County. The sole purpose of the paper was to advocate for Tenants rights and the editor was an attorney who often lobbied the county on behalf of apartment dwellers.
friends willing to help, so duplication of fliers was at the expense of the U of MD (shhh, don’t tell them). I was also writing a column for the sporadically published Consumer’s Friend, which was a free paper distributed to apartment residents in Prince George’s County. The sole purpose of the paper was to advocate for Tenants rights and the editor was an attorney who often lobbied the county on behalf of apartment dwellers.I got my literature together and started banging on doors. One of the incumbents, Charlie Schwan, who I liked, had deposited his materials in the screen door of one of the homes I eventually approached. My intention was to be a nice guy, so when I knocked on the door and the resident answered, I handed her Charlie’s brochure, mentioning he had left it, and gave her my stuff, too. She was cordial and collected the pieces of propaganda and wished me well. The next day I received a phone call from a fairly influential lady (in her mind) chastising me for
working for Charlie Schwan. Her garbled threats were something like, “You’ll never get elected by the Catholics in this town if you support Charlie Schwan.” Charlie was a member of Mishkan Torah, and apparently, I was thought to be on the side of St. Hugh’s, so she was noting my disloyalty for my permanent record.
working for Charlie Schwan. Her garbled threats were something like, “You’ll never get elected by the Catholics in this town if you support Charlie Schwan.” Charlie was a member of Mishkan Torah, and apparently, I was thought to be on the side of St. Hugh’s, so she was noting my disloyalty for my permanent record.
A couple of days later I received a call from a fellow who wanted me to announce legalization of Marijuana within Greenbelt as part of my platform. Bear in mind this was 1977. I was in favor of it but knew it would kill my campaign. The constituency diversity of Greenbelt was showing. I had to tend to other issues. Everything was set, now on to the actual campaign.To be continued in How to Lose an Election Without Even Trying – Part 2 . . . .
In 1968 I was a skinny, pimple-faced High School Senior. My biggest challenges were refraining from squeezing my zits and soiling my undies in my sleep. Worrying about economics, paying bills, who was in charge of the world, or any of those things took a back seat to fantasizing about my Business teacher, Miss Hopkins, and her Tabu perfume, and selling shoes at Bakers in Iverson Mall. But the whole country was going crazy; I just didn’t think about it.
John Kennedy and then won the election by beating a lame opponent, Barry Goldwater. But now he wanted out. The country was being torn apart by opposition to a war that was none of our business. Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were assassinated. After the death of MLK, the cities erupted in riots. Whole city 
blocks were 
O. J. Simpson won the Heisman Trophy.
television reports, while my parents worried I would be drafted. I worried, too. Everyone was expected to wave a flag and declare love for America, but the young people could not figure out why we were in Southeast Asia. We were being thrown to the dogs for the sake of stopping Communist aggression. Or, so the story went. No one wanted to call it a Civil War.
my tongue, because I understood. No one really wanted to go.
them. They’re safe. You can label me Liberal or whatever, but the fact of the matter is, war kills. It isn’t good for anyone. Everyone suffers.
George Bush was recently involved in a game of “Duck, Duck, Goose” during a news conference held in Iraq. One of the members of the Iraqi media (a minivan, with three reporters and two digital cameras) took off his shoes (size 10) and hurled them at the President in an effort to insult him. I am not up on 
were only female and so many times when I was dying fabric pumps in the back room or bringing them to the women, I saw the soles. Not once did I shake or feel insulted. Maybe it was because they were new and had not yet traveled the road of dirty sidewalks or stepped in gum or anything that might make them filthy. My guess is the soiling of the soles of worn shoes is what adds to the insult of showing them to someone. It seems the indignity can only come from a man, since the theory appears to have originated among the not-so-tolerant-of-females men of 
the Middle East. That’s probably why I never shivered at Bakers. When Dwight Eisenhower was President, I wonder if Buster Browns were used for the gesture, or would it have been Kinney’s or 
some like a man. Typically, men wear pants and have no need to hide their privates. The feminish crosser is most likely just being polite, attempting to avoid showing the sole to innocent observers. It seems to me displaying the bottom of 
dirty bare feet would be more of a disgusting gesture, but like I said earlier, I’m not a student of the theory. Restaurants do not ban soiled shoe soles, only bare feet. So, the owners of eating establishments must not understand the Shoe Insult Theory, either.
baking process to knead the dough, or is there a subtle insult being extended by the pie? Only the Amish know for sure (but they’re not reading this).
Boomer Twilight 