by Robert Verdibello for the Winter 2025 issue
Prologue: Better than baseball
“Your assignment is to write a five hundred word essay on ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ Grades will be determined not only on your answers, but on what we have been learning: sentence structure, punctuation, grammar ….” the school teacher droned on. In the parking lot behind the school where they played once all of the teachers ran back to their white picket fences and the tree lined safety of towns where property taxes were the price of entry, he listened to some of the other boys.
“I want to be a construction worker”
“I want to be a doctor.”
“I want to be a baseball player for the Pirates.”
“The Pirates? Fuck them. They were lucky to beat the Yankees. Why would you want to play for them?”
“Because they have the best player.”
“No they don’t. That’s Mickey Mantle you dope. The Pirates ain’t got nobody. Who do they got?”
“Clemente.”
“You guys are crazy. Those guys ain’t the best.”
“Oh yeah smarty? Who is the best according to your skinny ass?”
“Koufax.”
“He can’t be the best. He’s only a pitcher. Somebody has to hit a home run, or score some runs.”
“No way. As long as you keep the other team from scoring, you can win. Koufax was the best.”
“You’re all crazy. Them boys was all good. But the greatest of all time? Nah ….none of them.”
“So who is the greatest, then?”
“I’ll take my chances with Willie Mays.”
“Damn…that’s right. Willie, shoot. I always forget about Willie.”
“That’s because the Giants should’ve never left New York.”
“Oh! Don’t start that shit again! Just answer the question, what do you want to be?”
“I want to be President of the United States.”
Chapter One: Choppy Waters
The lesson had been learned the summer before. The remnants of Hurricane Irene had traveled up the east coast and flooded out any low lying areas along the shore, and basements throughout the city. Downtown got some flooding but a lot of the water wrapped around Newark Bay along the Hackensack River-front. It was a strange site to see folks lined up in designated areas of the City filling sandbags. These were images from the news that happens in places like Florida, Texas, or anyplace but Jersey City. It seemed like an over-reaction until the wind started to pick up and the bluish grey clouds began to blanket the sky. The trees had begun to change color and multi-colored leaves collected in gutters and catch-basins. Municipal work crews were ordered to make sure that storm drains were clear. The newly constructed Office of Emergency Management would hopefully get its first test to demonstrate competence. Flush the bad old days of graft and incompetence down the drain.
“My son’s football team won this weekend. Depending on what happens with this storm, they may be in play for the state championship. If they do that I will have the biggest barbeque this state has ever seen.”
“Uh-huh. So this is the new command center, huh?” Bottles breathed deeply while looking around the room full of consoles and monitors. It had the smell of an electronics store. “So everybody knows how to use all of this stuff, huh?”
“No way. Most of this stuff just got installed. The city’s barely turned the monitors on. You know how it is …. Stuff gets ordered … takes awhile to get delivered …. has to be installed, de-bugged, re-installed, re-ordered, mis-ordered …. Finally, maybe it works, maybe it dosen’t, maybe if they ordered the right software to go with the equipment, and the vendor was approved by the state and then the county.” Rags was chuckling as he shook his bald head.
“Remember, the order is to keep the gates open during the storm.”
“Sure. I guess that makes sense, but won’t the water come back through the system? You would think it would make sense to keep the gates closed through the surge and then open as the tide goes out, which is what would normally be done unless you’re dealing with an old rusted out gate that is either stuck open or shut. It almost seems like they want everything to flood out.”
“The order is that the gates stay open during the surge to prevent back pressure from causing further damage to the pipes. Do me a favor, don’t think too much about it, just make sure the gates stay open as ordered.”
“I understand. It is the same for the other utilities. I heard that the power company is going to shutdown the grid once the storm makes landfall. But they don’t know how long it will take to bring things back up.”
“We are used to it. We just had a black out. Everything takes three to five days. Just enough time to get everybody upset, but not enough time for it to get out of control. Perfect.”
* * * * *
The sounds of traffic began to fade out as the afternoon sky thickened with bluish-black clouds. Anticipation had been building for the storm as the reporters from the local affiliates set up positions near the ocean. Declarations of emergency and determinations of vital personnel replaced fantasy football transactions. The afternoon and evening highlight shows focusing more on team travel schedules and the impact on games following the storm. Since the start of the new century, a constant mood of anticipation leading to dread bubbled up from the sewer grates seemingly in a yearly cycle of challenge. Ten years of disaster prep. This time the emergency would be met head-on in full anticipation. Preparation made easy over a humid fall weekend. Perfect.
The driving wind and rain became fully noticeable in the glow of the street lights. Glistening sheets ramming against window panes. The roar of the wind building. A never ending stream of reports on the television news. Angry surf along the post-vacation Jersey Shore. Violent waves punishing Long Island. Turgid water seeping into Battery Park City. And then flickering images of the Hudson River invading Christopher Columbus Drive. Pouring into Downtown Jersey City through an aquatic freeway pushing like rush hour traffic to the Turnpike. The final televised images for ten days. At the end of the streets electric transformers exploded off poles and the city quietly submerged under dark and rising waters. Children led by flashlight into bedrooms. School cancelled but without the exuberant joy that follows a snow day.
The first few days had the feel of an extended holiday. October typically marks the start of the holiday season. Beginning at the tail-end of summer, children begin to fantasize about costumes that make them look like their favorite toys. Halloween is the true American holiday; orgies of candy and single-purpose outfits. Tricks or treats. On closer inspection is the realization that it is nestled in the delta of a tangle of ancient traditions. From Diwali to All-Souls Day to the yearly lookout for the great pumpkin. It marks the Earth’s (well, northern hemisphere, anyway) final descent for the calendar year culminating in the winter solstice. When the electricity is not flowing the days seem to get shorter and colder much faster.
After a full week without electricity, mountains of garbage collect along the main thoroughfares. Which makes no sense since garbage trucks run on diesel. The collective warmth of sitting in BJ’s sharing power outlets to charge cell phones, computers and iPads transformed into demands for individual service and satisfaction. The billowing smoke of discontent that would shift with the wind. Individualized echo chambers desperately seeking a unified message; clear direction out of the maelstrom. The boomers failed again – first the banks and then the government. Perfect.
Chapter Two: The New Pollution
“How long are you going to keep messing with that thing? It’s just a big iPhone.” she stated impatiently.
“I’m not playing with the iPad. It’s this Facebook page. People are sending in a lot of posts. Somehow I became an admin of the page so I have to approve what gets released onto the page.”
“What are people posting about?”
“Complaints mostly. Garbage not picked up; school bus was late; leaks in the roof; my landlord sucks; the rent is too damn high.”
“Let me see that.” She took the iPad out of his hand and began scrolling through the page. “Did you create this page yourself?”
“No. I joined the page and started to participate. Then I was asked to be an admin. I make some tweaks to the format of the page now and then. It becomes a job. But a lot of information passes.”
“It seems so disorganized.”
“Not really. Once you get used to viewing the information in this way. It is pretty intuitive to navigate.”
“I still like my spreadsheets.”
“Not everyone can interact with a spreadsheet.” His eyes re-focused on the screen before him. “Why don’t you go back to bed. The kid has school in the morning. I have work to do.”
“The kid? That is your son. And what do you think I am doing? Lying around waiting for you?”
“Don’t start that shit with me again. You followed me back here. You could have stayed in Seattle.”
“You selfish asshole. You have always resented that you need my help. You just can’t stand that you are not the frontman. Just a background thug!”
“That’s it! I’m outta here. Take your spreadsheets and that dead weight kid and go fuck yourself!” He grabbed his jacket and headed out into the warm evening.
* * * * *
The product roll out had been regarded as a success. The use of real-time information on election day allowed for a more efficient use of resources and people. The politicians would be satisfied by the results, but she knew that there was much more that the software could accomplish. To do that she had to keep fine tuning the software by using it in any election she could participate in. Thankfully every year there seemed to be an election in New Jersey. The goal is not just to use workers more efficiently on election day, but to create motivated voters before election day to ensure that the desired voters selected the desired candidate. Mailings and billboards were all well and good when there is a single candidate pre-selected by the political machine. But the goal has to be to reach likely voters well before an election, and provide them with data that leads the voter to the politician who matches the data.
She had moved to Jersey City while working on a state wide campaign. She needed a good size apartment for her and her son. Hoboken was too expensive; Newark did not have the housing stock she desired. She realized how good a choice she had made in the aftermath of Superstorm Sandy. She had volunteered for hours at a time helping neighbors, handing out water, disseminating information through phones and computers. It was more important for her neighbors to charge computers at BJ’s than to purchase water and toilet paper. As the days passed by and demands of a return to normalcy grew louder, she listened to the growing complaints against the politicians in charge. Except for her neighborhood, excuse me, ward – as the locals called it, the machine politicians seemed to be from a different era.
During the cleanup she began working with the local councilman. They both understood that the demographic profile of the city was changing. They would meet often at eateries he selected as he always seemed to know where to go where it would be more private. They were, like most of their neighbors, recent transplants to the city. It was clear that he had ambitions beyond the local neighborhood. He knew the demographic disconnect was real because he had stumbled into it. They both realized that people like themselves were not only pouring into the neighborhood, but looking to spread throughout the city. These are all voters ready to receive information and messaging that the local democrats were incapable of delivering. But first she had to prove that it could work. Her son, that wonderful boy, had provided her with inspiration. The local schools did not fill this new community with confidence. Change was necessary. There was a motivated demographic cohort primed, groomed, and searching for a message of hope and change. School Board elections are city-wide with multiple candidates and slates. Perfect.
* * * * *
“We were impressed by what we saw. You ran a …… spirted campaign” He took a drag from his cigarette.
“Yeah, well. I still lost.”
“What did you expect? You can’t just wake up in this environment and run for Congress. It doesn’t work that way, kid. You have to work your way through the competition and then give them no choice but to support you.”
“I was asked to run.”
“Yeah, well …. You were asked by the wrong people. You have to know what team to join and when to join it.”
“The Mayor asked me. I thought that was pretty good.”
“Which Mayor? The black guy?” There was movement outside the barroom window. The late afternoon sun shone across his raccoon eye mask. “He’s a good guy, but …. He picked the wrong fight and it’s gonna cost him. You should detach yourself from him. There is some talent on his team, so you may want to see if they can be trusted to go with you quietly. You have to find people that you can somewhat trust while never fully trusting anyone.”
“What is this, a mob movie?”
“Worse. It’s Jersey politics.”
“Oh, brother.”
“Don’t laugh. The shit you thought was made up is gonna be nothing compared to the real thing. This whole state is dirty. But that’s what make it so great.”
“In that case …. [faux Marlon Brando chin scratch] …..next time I want my own team.”
“That’s the right attitude. But you can’t have a bunch of misfits. You have to go out and build your team. I can help you do that. I know all the players in this County and they know me. You ready to work?”
“I’m ready. I have someone you should probably meet before we get started. This guy is new to the area, but you are going to love him”
“What are you? A match maker? Besides, I do the intros. I will bring them to you.”
“Hold on. I have some ideas as to how this should go.”
“Just because you were in the service…..”
“You are going to have to trust me. This guy is for real.”
“Awright. Let’s see how this goes. But if this guy turns out to be a misfit or a reject, we do it 100% my way.”
“Perfect.” 🏁
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One response to “THE CANDIDATE: Part Two”
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Wow, the Hurricane Sandy scene. Were you there for that?
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