Everybody Ought to Have An Anti-Role Model

When we sold our house in the summer of 2008 our lives were very unsettled. My wife and I, her sister in tow, just wanted a place to hang our hats. Actually, I'm the only one who wears a hat, but you get it, right?

After some quick prospecting of apartment buildings, two occupying opposite banks of a neglected, overgorwn river, and another close to the State House, we decided to sign a six month lease at a well known apartment building on our city's affluent East Side. My wife loved the elegant lobby and the hardwood floors. The fact there was a nice restaurant in the building didn't hurt either.

Before we signed the lease I reminded her, "You know, HE lives there." She said she knew, and that if I didn't mind, neither did she.

He was Chet (not his real name). Since the Phony 80s, Chet has been my very own Anti-Role Model. I'm not being facetious. Chet was the man I never wanted to be.

I recommend that every young and youngish person find an anti-role model. Don't get me wrong. Mentors are great: I've had three mentors myself, men who influenced the way I see things and have conducted myself.

Chet and I crossed paths when I was 32, in my first year working for The Kid, the mayor of our city. I was still trying to figure out where I fit in with his crowd when The Kid startled his staff by hiring Chet as his top political aide. There at least two people on staff who felt they had that job. They were mighty unhappy to find out otherwise.

Chet's claim to fame was his management of The Facist Beast's reelection campaign three years earlier. TFB had run for Governor against a popular, bland incumbent and had lost disastrously. As the campaign progressed TFB's mismanagement of the City became apparent. Corruption was rampant, the city finances so broken that after the election the state took control of city operations. The Facist Beast seemed ticketed for retirement.

I'll say one thing for TFB. He's no quitter. He's also no dope. Somewhere he came across Chet and hired him to run his campaign. Chet effectively implemented TFB's plan, which was brazen in its simplicity. OK, TFB said. I can't win a majority and everybody knows it. So I'll split the opposition.

He did, by the simple expedient of leaving his party. This ploy made him competitive, and he used every device at his disposal as mayor to squeeze out votes. He won, and within months of being sworn in for his third term was embroiled in a scandal that was both farcical and deadly serious. After a year of legal manuevering it led to plea bargain and his resignation from office. If you were in a resident of the city that week you will never forget the incredible, almost triumphal scenes (that is the only word) surrounding his departure from office, including the tearful scene where The Facist Beast embraced The Kid, the City Council President, age 29, and moments away from becoming the Acting Mayor.

Chet had managed to resign from TFB's entourage untouched by scandal. The remarkable end of TFB's career (or so it seemed at the time) was old news a year and half later. The Kid had his failings, but everyone credited him with bringing a sense of calm and order to a City Hall that had known little of it during TFB's eventful reign.

Chet, ignoring the anger and jealousy of the senior staff over his sudden appearance, settled into the hideaway office that had been the domain of Marty (not his real name) my friend and mentor, and the guy who brought me into The Kid's entourage. Marty, unhappy with his position in the City, had abruptly returned to the State House, where he was a power in his own right. I had my chance to follow him. He was more than a little put out when I decided to stay put. I have never regretted that decision.

It wasn't long before Chet called me into his office. Chet was a little guy. At six feet, I was at least five inches taller than he. He had a gruff, raspy voice and was a big fan of jazz music. (At his apartment once, I got to examine his huge record collection) He was going to manage The Kid's reelection campaign next year, he told me. He had been reviewing the resumes of all the mayoral staff, including me, with a view toward staffing the campaign.

He cut to the chase. He didn't think most of the mayor's staff was worth a damn. He named some names to illustrate. He had been watching me, checking me out, thought we could work together. He proposed that I become his assistant, with a view towards me joining the campaign full time as his deputy next summer. I was surprised. I agreed to do it.

From that point on he included me in most campaign planning. He brought me into his meetings with the Mayor. Our working relationship got off to a good start. We spent the rest of the summer and the fall setting out the basic plan for the coming campaign.

It was during the following winter that Chet's life, never that together, was blown apart by a devastating personal tragedy. That was the year Chet descended into his own personal hell, seemingly helpless to stop himself. It left him a physical and mental wreck, his promising career over and his life in ruins.

I had a front seat to all this. What happened left me so shaken, that Chet became my anti-role model. The man that no matter what bad things might happen in my life, I never wanted to be.

END OF PART ONE