It Blew Up

I have been spending time lately cleaning out bankers boxes full of files from my political days in the Phony 80s. I just got finished with a couple of boxes of stuff that I accumlated when I worked for The Kid. One file made me think, of all things, the Space Shuttle Challenger.

The Kid was mayor was a result of a spectacular legal/political disaster that consumed his predecessor, The Facist Beast. The Kid had eeked out a win at the surreal November in July special election, and a year an half later we were facing his first (as it also turned out, last) reelection campaign.

The Kid drew a long shot challenger in the primary. His name was Joe, who held court at the local Boho bar. He positioned himself as the neighborhood guy, opposing the downtown interests The Kid represented. It was a plausible position, but it turned out the challenger never had a chance.

It was Joe's file I was holding. I was in charge of the Oppo research, and I had a complete record of his career as a would be gadfly and critic. He had been around, so the file was thick. Joe, the challenger, scheduled his announcement of candidacy for a Tuesday morning in January at The Historic Landmark Hotel across the street from City Hall. Chet, the putative campaign manager gave me my assignment: cross Washington Street and watch the show.

About fifteen minutes before the start, I made the short walk. He announced in one of the function rooms on the mezzanine, so I trudged up the stairs.

I could see Joe's people did a nice job. He got all three TV stations to cover him. The Big Paper was there. The crowd of supporters filled the room nicely, giving his opener a good feel.

Joe made a good speech. He made a case for electing a neighborhood guy. It was an old argument in our city, but it still played in some wards, where people felt downtown came first. When it was over, while the camermen were breaking down their equipment, I walked back to The Hall to report that the opposition had gotten off to a sure footed start.

The second I walked back into our office I knew something was wrong. Everyone was distracted and agitated, like something bad had just happened. I asked Judy, our back room secretary what was going on.

"It blew up," she said.

"What blew up, Judy?"

"The shuttle. It blew up a minute after it took off. We all saw it."

I went to the TV in the press secretary's office. It was all true. Poor Joe, the day he, the challenger, announces his candidacy for mayor, The Challenger explodes 73 seconds into its flight. His big opening announcement was blown off the 6 o'clock news and into the back pages of The Big Paper. This was why I thought about the Challenger this afternoon, as I tossed Joe's musty manila folder into a trash bag.

If I had put this into a work of fiction, the symbolism would seem very heavy handed, don't you think?