The governor visits the Fair
By Chris Ingram
It was a sunny day in Tampa. The wind wasn’t as brisk as it had been the day before, but it was windy enough to spread the smell of cow dung, cotton candy, and corn dogs around the midway of the Florida State Fair.
There were more muckety-mucks gathered on the Fairgrounds this fine February morning than there would be gathered the rest of the week. Muckety-muck types preferring Starbucks and Berns to elephant ears and deep-fried Snicker bars don’t come to the fair unless there is a good reason.
So in fact, the political elite from the Tampa Bay region had gathered at this unlikely location for what seemed to them a very good reason: the Governor’s luncheon was being held this noon. Outside the gathering hall carnival barkers pitched their games and a child-sized roller coaster’s clickety-clack over its rusty rails was so loud it was almost obnoxious.
But the power elite and those who aspired to be so considered didn’t mind too much. They were here to see and be seen. Candied apples and cheap prizes made in China are for common folk. These folks were at the fair for some politicking. Besides, it was relatively quite inside. Warm and away from the breeze, the meeting hall was dimly lit with annoying fluorescent lights that looked like they’d been installed thirty years ago – this wasn’t Palma Ceia, but the food smelled pretty good no less. And besides, the governor would be here soon.
VIPs at the head table — which stretched so long you wondered why they didn’t just call everyone in the room a VIP — made small talk as others milled around the concrete floor chatting while the smarter ones stood in line waiting patiently at the buffet for their turn to eat black beans and rice, corn dogs, and thinly sliced steak with potatoes. The county commissioner who had sexually harassed an employee said hello to the man who had two weeks before filed an ethics complaint against him. Said commissioner was all smiles and clueless to whom he was being pleasant with. The complainant had a laugh to himself and his lunch companion chuckled too.
Other politicians similarly worked the room making sure they didn’t waste time talking with a nobody if a somebody was close by. Successfully pressing the flesh is an ugly business and one has to be constantly aware of who is around him.
Most of the crowd now seated at tightly packed tables on cheap folding chairs were unaware the governor would soon make his entrance.
But the governor’s chief local hack was keenly aware of where the governor would enter and he staged himself at the door like a Swiss guardsman protecting the Pope. This oddity of a man had the face of Gargamel and the body of Montgomery Burns. It was a combination a mail order bride couldn’t even love. And she didn’t. But regardless of his looks, and his general lack of competence, he was prepared to honor the man he so worshipped. His blind loyalty was a testament to what is wrong with American politics and many of the people who are drawn to it. In fact he was so blind and so loyal he wasn’t even aware of it. You almost felt pity for the man, but not for long because he knew deep down it was a trade-off. His idol valued blind loyalty so he got the honor of holding the door and acting as a real big-wig among all the big-wigs who all knew he was really nothing. That others snickered at his fool meant nothing to the governor, for blindly loyal people made him feel good. Besides, smart people with high levels of integrity and honor made the governor feel insecure. So the hack had the opportunity to shine – and thankfully not bowling balls, or worse, at the shoe store where he belonged.
The man of the hour entered and the hack did his duties escorting him impressively and without tripping over himself or laughing when he realized how ridiculous he looked taking himself so seriously. Now seated, his honor sat at the head table and the lengthy introductions began with the excitement of watching paint dry.
Soon, the best man at the head table was recognized. The agriculture commissioner was not running for re-election due to term-limits. He had toyed with a run for governor, but the money men must have told him “No. It’s Howdy-Doody’s turn.” So this being his last State Fair, he was given his due recognition for his years of public service. And though it wasn’t mentioned, the fact that he’d never embarrassed himself, taken a boatload of cash from some Ponzi-schemer, or charged up strip club visits on his RPOF Amex card certainly meant he should be held in higher regard than most at the head table.
Those annoying fluorescent lights were turned off during a video tribute which with the lights now off, you could see, but could hardly hear. And whoever turned the lights off failed to realize they were so old it took them five minutes to flicker back on once the video was over. But alas, we’re at the fairgrounds, not the Ritz Carlton.
This article appears in Feb 10-16, 2010.