Remembering My Friend

---

---

It was five years ago today that I lost Steve, one of my best friends, to lung cancer, and my mind is preoccupied with thoughts of him.

I knew Steve when I lived in Arkansas — Little Rock, to be exact. He and his wife Kathy moved in across the hall from a friend of mine, Brady, who lived in an apartment complex close to the one where I lived — easily within walking distance. In fact, I recall a time when we had no choice but to walk to each other's apartments. It was in the last winter I spent in Little Rock, and we got an uncharacteristically heavy snowfall (for Arkansas). We were snowbound for a few days, but the three of us passed the time playing a computer football game at my apartment — and watching TV at Steve's.

In the past, Arkansas snow tended to disappear by midday after an inch or two accumulated during the night. But on this occasion, several inches fell — they still speak of that blizzard in Arkansas — and it was two or three days before enough snow melted for cars to start getting around again.

I have many fond memories of that time. I suppose everyone has periods like that in their lives that they wish would never end, but they always do, of course. When I left Arkansas, it was to enroll in graduate school; at the time I didn't think the move would be permanent. I always figured I would move back to Arkansas after I finished working on my master's. I never did, though, and there are times when I really regret that. It wasn't a conscious decision on my part — it is just the way things turned out.

Steve and a mutual friend of ours, Mike Culpepper (who is also deceased), came to visit me in Texas not long after I moved here. When they arrived and I answered the door, Steve's first words to me were, "You don't live across the parking lot anymore!" That was certainly true. I now lived more than 300 miles away.

I do regret not seeing Steve before he died. I would have liked to have told him how much his friendship had meant to me and how much I was going to miss him. Near the end of his life, I'm not sure Steve would have comprehended what was being said, but still it would have meant a lot to me to express those thoughts to him.

Steve was a typical Arkansas sportsman. I'm not speaking only of the Razorbacks — although Steve was a diehard Hogs fan. He loved to hunt and fish. I went fishing with him a few times, but I never went hunting with him. I've never been a hunter, and I have never owned a gun, but I did join him at deer camp once. The picture at the top of this post was taken that weekend. That was how I did my hunting on that occasion — with a camera.

This picture wasn't as sharp as I would have liked — I've never been more than an amateur photographer — but it is one of my favorites. It captures the vivid sunlight of that day (there is no real indication how chilly it was), and it shows Steve and my dog Pepper (he's that black lump behind Steve).

Steve and Pepper met each other that weekend, and they bonded over a box of fried chicken that Steve had. They would have bonded anyway, I'm sure. Steve was a friendly guy, and Pepper was a friendly dog, especially to anyone who gave him food. Both are gone now, and I miss them very much.

It isn't my way to be melancholy about the past, but sometimes melancholy thoughts take over for awhile, and today is one of those times. If I could go back to any day in my life and re–live it, today I would probably pick that day at deer camp.

Steve would probably understand, but he wouldn't want me to live in the past. Pepper, of course, wouldn't understand much except that I wasn't happy, and it would be his way to try to cheer me up.

In their own ways, they were both forward–looking personalities. I am grateful they were in my life, and I strive to learn from their examples.

I miss you, my friends. Wish you were here.

Losing Another Part of My Childhood

---

A snowy day in another January many years ago. Matt is second from right.

---

Life happens in waves.

Life is also, as John Lennon observed, "what happens while you're busy making other plans."

With that in mind, I have been writing a lot about death lately. I didn't plan it that way. It's just how it has worked out.

A couple of weeks before Christmas, I wrote about the death of my favorite journalism professor.

There have been other times when I have been touched personally by death but not lately — until this week. Death is a topic no writer can avoid for long, though. Shortly before Thanksgiving Charles Manson died. A few days ago the mastermind of the notorious 1964 triple slayings in Mississippi died.

As I say, I have enjoyed a respite from personal experience with death — but that never lasts.

And my vacation from the deaths of personal acquaintances ended this week when I learned that a fellow who grew up near me in Central Arkansas passed away. I don't know the specifics, but I have heard it was heart related.

We were friends. I can't say we were best friends or anything like that. He was about six months older, which isn't a lot, even when you're kids and months seem like years — but, because of when our birthdays fell on the calendar, he was a year ahead of me in school, and so he graduated the year before I did. I always felt like that was a bit of a barrier between us as we got older. We went to school each day with different classmates. We had different teachers.

Still we were practically neighbors. We lived in the country — where neighbors has a different meaning than it does in a city or town. We didn't live in houses that were so close that we could see each other's front doors. You had to do some walking through tree–filled hillsides to get from one to the other.

But we were neighbors. My brother and I played with Matt and his younger brother in the afternoons. Our parents socialized regularly.

Would we have done that if we had lived in town? I don't know. Options tend to be much more limited when you live in the country.

But what might have been is speculation. What was — well, that is a matter of fact.

And since I learned of Matt's death, my thoughts keep returning to memories of my childhood — and what was.

Matt's father built a treehouse that we kids used a lot in the summer. It gets hot and humid in Arkansas in the summer, but we spent many summer nights in that treehouse, playing card games and doing things that kids do when the seemingly limitless free time of summer stretches out before them. Heat and humidity was a small price to pay for all that freedom.

Sometimes the four of us would spend the night in that treehouse. We would lug our sleeping bags up there, then we would sleep on top of them because it was too suffocating to try to sleep inside our sleeping bags.

That treehouse was kind of like a junior frat house, though. We didn't do much sleeping there, and things tended to get broken. Mostly we played cards — and Monopoly — by the light of a lantern or told ghost stories.

When it was quiet in the treehouse, I would sit and let the light summer breeze wash over me, and I would look at the stars sparkling in the sky and the shimmering moon.

We all learned to ride bicycles at about the same time, and that really was like being set free. That was the first time that we were truly mobile, and from that moment on if we were going anywhere we were on our bikes. No longer did we need someone to take us to a neighbor's house a couple of miles down the road. We could get on our bikes and take ourselves there.

Later on, of course, cars replaced bikes, and our journeys took us even farther from home. But that came later.

Our parents and their vehicles still had a place in our lives. We rarely got snow in Central Arkansas, but when we did, we usually needed Matt's father's truck to take us to school. I remember all of us piling into the small cab of that truck (this was before the days of club cabs) on winter mornings and listening to his tape of Charley Pride's greatest hits as we rode into town.

Matt's family moved to Arkansas from Texas when he was in elementary school, and there was always friction between us when the Arkansas Razorbacks played the Texas Longhorns in anything — but especially football. Both our loyalties were to the places where our roots were.

So it was ironic that Matt stayed in my hometown the rest of his life — and I moved to Texas.

Sports always played a prominent role in our relationship. When we were about 8 or 9, we collected and swapped baseball cards and football cards — as many boys did (and, I presume, still do). We usually watched major sports events together, and we played the games as best we could.

Folks in town had the advantage over us in the latter. They had empty lots and open fields in which to play. We lived in the country, which was rocky and hilly. If we wanted to play touch football, we had to do it in the dirt road that slithered past our homes. That was not a problem, though. People seldom drove along that road in those days, and we could usually hear cars coming long before they reached us, giving us time to clear off the road until they went past.

I remember one unusually snowy winter that brought a significant snowfall, not just the usual dusting, and we couldn't wait to play football in it — because we could actually play tackle football for a change.

We soon learned that playing football in snow is a lot colder and wetter than it looks on TV. But when we had had enough, we went to one of our homes — where there would be tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches to warm us up.

Matt was a much better athlete than I was. He played youth baseball with my brother (who was also a better athlete than I was), and I remember watching his games with a touch of envy. Matt looked like a big–league ballplayer in his Little League uniform, whether he was playing in a game or getting a snow cone between games.

As I understand it, Matt coached youth baseball after he grew up.

Matt and I seldom saw each other as adults. The news of Matt's death, consequently, triggers no memories of my adult years — it seems to me that the last time I saw Matt was at my high school class' fifth reunion (Matt wasn't in my class, but his wife was) — but plenty of memories of my childhood.

While I am mourning the loss of my childhood friend, I am also mourning the inevitable loss of my childhood. Matt wasn't my first childhood friend to die — and, unless I'm the next one to go, he certainly won't be the last.

But it is a stark reminder of the constant state of change in which we all must exist.

It is also a reminder that life is short, much too short to not do the things you love. Matt's life was shorter than I ever would have expected when we were growing up. I hope he spent it doing things he loved to do.

And I hope I do the things I love to do before my time on this planet runs out.

R.I.P., Dale Bumpers

---

---

Dale Bumpers must be a patron saint for anyone who dreams of coming from nowhere and winning whatever the greatest prize in that person's chosen profession happens to be. Bumpers' profession — his calling, if you choose to call it that — was in politics.

He may not be the patron saint of all such people, though. Jimmy Carter, who overcame low name recognition to win the presidency, must hold that title for presidential aspirants. But for those with low name recognition who seek lesser offices, well, they couldn't do better than to have Bumpers on their side.

I spent most of the first 30 years of my life in Arkansas, and it often seemed as if Bumpers, who died Friday at the age of 90, had always been a part of the state's political scene, but the truth was that he spent the first 18 years of his career, after serving in World War II and then studying law at Northwestern, in virtual obscurity as a mostly unknown city attorney in the town where he was born — Charleston, a village in Northwest Arkansas.

He entered state politics in 1970 as a Democratic candidate for governor. The incumbent was a Republican so the Democratic primary was crowded. Bumpers was polling at 1% when he entered the race, but he elbowed his way into a runoff with former Gov. Orval Faubus and won it easily. Then, in the general election, he handily defeated the incumbent, Winthrop Rockefeller, in the process earning the reputation of political giant killer.

That wasn't the last giant he toppled, either. In 1974, after serving two two–year terms as governor, Bumpers challenged five–term Sen. Bill Fulbright in the primary and won by a 2–to–1 margin. He went on to serve four terms in the U.S. Senate.

His most memorable moment in the Senate most likely came a few weeks after his retirement from it in 1999, when he was asked to deliver a closing argument in Bill Clinton's Senate impeachment trial. "H.L. Mencken said one time, 'When you hear somebody say, 'This is not about the money,' it's about the money," Bumpers said. "And when you hear somebody say, 'This is not about sex,' it's about sex."

I always love it when someone works in a quote from Mencken.

Bumpers was frequently mentioned as a possible presidential candidate, and I always thought he would have been a good one. He did whatever he thought was right, not what he thought would win him votes. It's my understanding that, even after serving as governor and senator over a period of nearly 30 years, the accomplishment of which he was most proud was playing an important role in the integration of the school district in his hometown — the first in the old Confederacy.

He always had a sunny disposition, whether he actually believed what he said or not. The thing was that he could make others believe it.

I recall when I was on the faculty of the University of Oklahoma, and I attended a lecture being given by former Sen. George McGovern, the Democratic presidential nominee in 1972, the year Bumpers was re–elected governor in a landslide. After the lecture, I went up to McGovern to introduce myself and shake his hand. I told him I had seen him once, late in that '72 campaign when he made a brief stop at the Little Rock airport, and a crowd of both the curious and the committed gathered in a hangar to see him.

McGovern told me he remembered that stop because Bumpers had assured him he would carry Arkansas when the votes were counted about a week later. It didn't work out that way. Richard Nixon carried 69% of the vote, the first time in precisely one century that Arkansas voted for a Republican for president. It has now done so in all but three of the 10 presidential elections that have been held since — and native son Clinton was the Democrats' nominee in two of those elections.

But through that transition, Bumpers continued to win elections. When he was elected governor, observers speculated that he would be one of a new breed of Southern governors — a group that, at the time, included the likes of Jimmy Carter of Georgia. Carter, as I have pointed out, enjoyed his own meteoric rise when he came from nowhere in 1976 to win the presidency. Bumpers later said he had long believed that 1976 was his best opportunity to be elected president.

Bumpers was often mentioned as a possible presidential candidate, but the talk seemed to be loudest in 1980 and 1984. He declined to enter the race both times. I always thought he would have been successful because he had qualities that served Ronald Reagan so well — that sunny disposition I mentioned and remarkable oratorical skills. On a few occasions as a reporter, I covered Bumpers speaking at Labor Day Fish Fries and Chamber of Commerce luncheons in Arkansas, and I always marveled at his speaking style. It was so engaging, so folksy.

He had a real knack for connecting with people, regardless of their political philosophies. It is why in these last couple of days since his death, both Democrats and Republicans in Arkansas have been speaking highly of Bumpers and his ability to reach across the aisle.

Of course, the political landscape in Arkansas has changed considerably since Bumpers was governor. In those days, reaching across the aisle wasn't really the issue. Democrats held nearly every seat in the state legislature, but Bumpers still had to build a consensus on most issues. The legislature had conservative Democrats, liberal Democrats and moderate Democrats. It was the same challenge that Bumpers' Democratic successors, David Pryor (who followed Bumpers to the Senate four years later) and Bill Clinton, faced as governor.

All three understood that it is necessary for each side to give a little, to compromise if great things are to be accomplished. They may not be quite as great as each side envisioned, but they will be better than doing nothing.

Arkansas was fortunate to be governed by such men in times of tremendous change — and doing nothing was not an option.

The Return of the Bradley Effect

---

---

I have written here before of the "Bradley effect," but that was in the context of the 2008 presidential election, a time when voters were deciding whether to elect the first black president. That wasn't as inconsequential a decision as you might think now, more than seven years after the fact. After all, Barack Obama has been elected president twice now. Voters face a different kind of decision in 2016.

Simply put, the Bradley effect refers to the 1982 California gubernatorial campaign of Los Angeles Mayor Tom Bradley. Bradley was black, and polls prior to the election showed him leading the race. But he lost — narrowly — to Republican George Deukmejian (who won by less than 100,000 votes out of more than 7.5 million).

I suppose it goes without saying that the outcome of that election prompted a lot of soul searching, and the general conclusion that most people seemed to reach was that Bradley fared better in the polls because those who were polled did not wish to appear racist — so even if they were undecided or leaning toward the Republican, they told the pollsters that they would vote for Bradley, thus creating an artificial lead for him.

When they went into the voting booths, though, the voters did not have to concern themselves with what others would think of them, and they pulled the lever for the Republican — regardless of what they may have told the pollsters.

I bring this up because I think we could be seeing a new — and fascinating — twist on that theme in the campaign of Donald Trump. It isn't necessary to say much about Trump. So much has already been said about him, including the seemingly daily assertions that the Trump campaign has peaked, which always seem to be followed by a new poll showing Trump with even more support than he had before. Clearly, this guy is tapping into something, with his rhetoric about Muslims and immigration, but it's something a lot of people don't seem to want to acknowledge.

It's all about perceptions. Thirty–three years ago, a lot of Californians didn't want to appear to be racist. Today, perhaps a lot of people don't want to appear to be supporting a racist. Well, a perceived racist.

In case you haven't heard, a Quinnipiac University poll that was released today suggests that half of Americans would be embarrassed if Trump became the president. Could the same dynamic be at work here?

It reminds me in a way of a congressional campaign in my district in central Arkansas a couple of years after the Bradley election. There was a rather flamboyant sheriff in Pulaski County at the time named Tommy Robinson, who had apparently been angling for higher office with some publicity stunts.

Now, that district was represented for decades by Democrat Wilbur Mills, and he was succeeded by a Democrat when he stepped down, but that Democrat chose to run for the U.S. Senate after serving a single term, and a Republican was elected to the seat. The Republican held the seat for six years, then he, too, chose to run for the Senate, and Tommy Robinson announced he was running for the House seat as a Democrat. Historically, it was the right choice. Until the Republican incumbent was elected, the district hadn't been represented by a Republican since Reconstruction.

I don't remember much about the advertising in the Democratic primary (which Robinson won in a runoff) or the general election, but I do remember one of Robinson's ads. I think he used it in both the primary and the general election. It showed a series of vignettes in which friends were talking and one would say, "Who are you voting for for Congress?" and the other would say something like, "Well, you'll probably be surprised, but I'm voting for Tommy Robinson."

And that opened the door to confront all the negative stories that had been circulating about Robinson for years.

Now, as it turned out, Robinson was a crook who got caught up in the House banking scandal. But that was still several years in the future when Robinson first ran for the House.

And my memory of that campaign is that pollsters were quite certain that Robinson's Republican opponent, Judy Petty (who lost to Mills 10 years earlier), would win. Polls were showing her leading, which wasn't really hard to imagine. Petty was running as a Ronald Reagan Republican in a year when Reagan carried three–fifths of the vote in that district.

But the Gipper's popularity didn't trickle down enough for Petty to prevail. Or perhaps those people who told the pollsters they would vote for Petty actually voted for Robinson instead.

And perhaps Donald Trump, like George Deukmejian and Tommy Robinson, will have the last laugh.

The Eternal Randomness of Presidential Politics

---

---

"There's something happening here
But what it is ain't exactly clear."

Buffalo Springfield

---

Peggy Noonan recently observed in The Wall Street Journal that, so far, the 2016 presidential campaign has been full of surprises.

She made this observation in the context of another column that she wrote earlier this year in which she anticipated a "bloody" battle for the GOP's presidential nomination and a "boring" one for the Democrats' nod.

Now, she writes, the Republican campaign has become "exciting" with a record–setting debate night, and the Democrats' campaign has become "ominous." In other words, the presidential campaign — in which not one single vote has been cast in either party — has been full of surprises for Noonan.

That in itself surprises me. I've been aware of Noonan for 30 years, going back to when she wrote President Reagan's moving speech to the nation after the explosion of the Challenger in January 1986. If she's been around presidential politics at least that long, she should know how unpredictable it can be. Really. When has it ever been anything else?

As we approached the time last spring when Hillary Clinton made her candidacy official, I began to have a peculiar feeling about this campaign. Everyone acted as if it was a done deal that Hillary would not only win the Democrats' nomination but would breeze to victory in the general election.

Now, in my experience, nothing is that positive — and I have been following presidential politics most of my life. To be sure, there have been times when non–incumbent front–runners ended up cruising to the nomination as expected, but they usually struggle along the way, losing at least a primary or two. In keeping with history, it hasn't been the fait accompli that Hillary Clinton's march to the nomination appeared to be only a few months ago — and no one has even voted yet.

Now, Hillary insists that she never expected an effortless glide to the nomination, that she always expected it to be competitive. Part of that may be the residual effect of having been the presumptive nominee in 2008 only to lose it to an inexperienced — and largely unknown — guy named Barack Obama when the party's voters began participating in primaries and caucuses. And at least part of it is sure to be P.R.

It reminds me of Election Night 1980, when Hillary's husband lost a narrow race for re–election as Arkansas' governor. I guess you had to be in Arkansas at the time to understand just how popular Bill Clinton was there then — and how shocking it was that he had been voted out of office. True, he lost his first race, in 1974, for the U.S. House seat representing Arkansas' Third District, but he took 48% of the vote in that heavily Republican northwest quadrant of the state. Two years later, he was elected Arkansas' attorney general, facing only modest opposition in the primary and none in the general election. Arkansas elected its statewide officials every two years in those days, and, in 1978, Bill Clinton was elected governor.

1980 turned out to be a Republican year, with Reagan sweeping Jimmy Carter out of the White House and Republicans seizing control of the U.S. Senate. There were clear indications prior to the election that it would turn out that way nationally.

But Arkansas was solidly Democratic in those days. Four years earlier, it had given Carter his highest share of the popular vote outside of Carter's home state of Georgia. Even with a Reagan victory more or less expected, the feeling in Arkansas was that Carter would prevail there again.

But he didn't, and neither did Clinton. Both lost narrowly, and, when speaking to his supporters that night, Clinton said that he and his campaign staff had been aware, in the closing days of the campaign, of shifts within the electorate that pointed to the possibility that he would lose. It didn't come as a shock to them, Clinton insisted.

But I'll guarantee it came as a shock to many Arkansans.

I was probably too young at the time to recognize that for what it was — an early manifestation of the Clintons' obsession with controlling the conversation, whatever it was about. Even if you have been blindsided, never let 'em know that.

That trait is often interpreted as deceitful, and perhaps it is. What I have known about Hillary Clinton for a long time — and others only seem to be understanding now — is that she is a cold fish politically. Her husband is a scoundrel, but he is a likable scoundrel. He has sure–footed natural political instincts. It is why he hasn't lost a general election since he was beaten in that 1980 campaign I mentioned earlier. He lost some presidential primaries but always won the nomination he sought.

Hillary has none of her husband's strengths and all of his weaknesses. It is a combination that isn't likely to hurt her much in the race for the nomination — but it is apt to be troublesome when she is trying to win as many independent and even Republican votes as possible. Because she can't win a national election on the votes from her party alone. No one can — not in a country where more than 40% of voters identify as independents.

Self–defined independents are important because they now outnumber Democrats and Republicans. They may lean to one side or the other, but the fact that they call themselves independent suggests that they cannot be taken for granted.

---

---

In spite of what Noonan says, though, I'm not sold — yet — on the narrative that holds that the emergence of Bernie Sanders on the campaign trail and the possible entry of Vice President Joe Biden — who met with Sen. Elizabeth Warren recently in what may have been the strongest signal yet that he will throw his hat in the ring — suggest that a race Noonan once described as "boring" is becoming "ominous." Well, perhaps "ominous" really isn't the right word. Perhaps Noonan — who is a gifted writer — should use a word like "threatening," because, at the moment, that is what this looks like to me.

As usual, I look to history for guidance. All history, really, but I prefer recent history when it is applicable.

There have been times in the last half century when insurgents have won their parties' nominations. Historically, Democrats have been more prone to it — eventual nominees George McGovern, Jimmy Carter, Michael Dukakis, even Bill Clinton and Barack Obama were nowhere in the polls more than a year before the general election when they were the standard bearers for the out–of–power party — so history does suggest that Sanders might have a chance to win the nomination — provided he can peel off some rich donors and make inroads into certain demographics that currently are in Hillary's camp.

But those donors and demographic groups are going to have to get a lot more nervous about Hillary before they'll be ripe for the picking. The fact that Sanders is drawing huge crowds on the campaign trail indicates to me that a sizable segment of the Democrats craves a real contest for this nomination, one that requires Democrats to take clear stands on issues and promote policies that are designed to help the voters, not the candidates.

I think that is true of voters of all stripes. They want to have a conversation about the issues that affect them and their children. They don't want that conversation to be disrupted by distractions. And the emergence of people like Donald Trump, Ben Carson and Carly Fiorina suggests voters have lost confidence in career politicians to confront and vanquish the problems and are looking for someone who can bring common sense from another field to the White House.

I would say that Hillary is still the odds–on favorite to win the nomination, but those odds are growing ever smaller. If Biden challenges her with a platform that appeals to an electorate that has clearly soured on politics as usual, things could get dicey for the Democrats. Hillary Clinton could find herself in political history books with all the other sure things — like Ed Muskie and Gary Hart.

---

---

Then there's Donald Trump.

A lot of Republicans fear that, if Trump is denied the GOP's nomination, he will run as an independent — and, in the process, hand the White House to the Democrats for four more years. I suppose they are the new Republicans, the ones whose party has lost five of the last six popular votes, a skid that began with Ross Perot's first independent candidacy.

I'm not so sure about that one, either. Hey, it is still very early in the process, and the folks who fear that Trump, with his deep pockets, will keep the Republicans from winning the presidency by running as an independent overlook a few key points that separate 2016 from 1992.

In 1992, the Republicans had been the incumbent party for a dozen years. They never had majorities in both houses of Congress simultaneously — in fact, for half of that time, Democrats controlled both houses — but the general public perception was that the Republicans had ownership of just about everything.

In 2016, Democrats will have been in charge of the White House for eight years, and the policies that will be debated are policies that, by and large, are products of this administration. If historical trends persist, voters will hold them responsible for conditions that exist, even though Republicans have controlled one or both houses of Congress through most of the Obama presidency; and Trump, although he has been seeking the Republican nomination, was supportive of many of those policies — and may tend to draw as many votes from disaffected Democrats as Republicans if he runs as an independent in the general election.

In short, an independent Trump candidacy won't necessarily work against Republicans, as many fear.

I learned a long time ago not to predict what voters will do until we are close to the time when they have to go to the polls. Attitudes are volatile more than a year from the election, and there may be events ahead that will shape the race in ways we cannot imagine.

One thing that voters in both parties must decide is whether essentially political matters are best left to essentially non–political people. If the answer to that is no, the primaries will bear witness to a thinning of the Republican field. I think that is bound to happen anyway. Virtually none of the GOP candidates mired at 1% or 2% in the polls can afford to stay in the race for long, and I am convinced the field will be half its current size before New Year's Day. At least one of the non–politicians is certain to be among those who drop out.

That will make it possible for all the candidates to participate in the same debate — and voters can judge them side by side. The race will become more focused, as it should.

The Difference It Makes

---

---

"Tell people that there's an invisible man in the sky who created the universe, and the vast majority will believe you. Tell them the paint is wet, and they have to touch it to be sure."

George Carlin

---

Unless your lifestyle is a reclusive one, like that of the Unabomber — and, if it is, then you most likely aren't reading this, anyway — you're bound to have seen the TV commercial in which the deejay is posing as a financial advisor. He got his hair cut. He put on a nice suit, and he threw around some impressive–sounding financial terms. Then he asked some unsuspecting dupes if they would trust him to handle their retirement planning. They all said they would. Then he revealed the truth about himself. "I have no financial experience at all," he confessed.

The unsuspecting dupes really shouldn't have been all that unsuspecting, though. It's the kind of sleight–of–hand that magicians have been pulling for generations. Sometimes people really should be hesitant based on what they know — and what they don't know. Nevertheless, there are always people who fall for scams.

And there are those who make up their minds and won't change, come hell or high water. In the words of Simon and Garfunkel, a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest.

In my experience, people — particularly Americans — are too quick to give a second chance — and a third one and a fourth one and, well, you get the picture — to those of whom we have ample reason to be skeptical. Most of us have been guilty of it at one time or another. For some, it's just the way they roll — all the time.

Sometimes we are rewarded for giving a second chance; but just as often, if not more, we are disappointed.

Now, in the case of one Hillary Rodham Clinton ...

Most Americans think they have spent a lot of time observing the Clintons, but I've got them beat. I lived in Arkansas before Bill ever won an election. I wasn't familiar with Hillary when she was a legal adviser to the House Judiciary Committee during its impeachment inquiry; it was after that that she agreed to marry Clinton and move to Arkansas. They were both in Little Rock by 1977; Bill was elected the state's attorney general in 1976. And that is when I — and, I suspect, most of the people in Arkansas — first became acquainted with Hillary.

From that point on, Bill was a fixture in Arkansas politics, and Hillary was often seen with him — not so much in his attorney general days but after that when he ran for governor. Statewide officials were elected to two–year terms in those days, and governors sort of lived with the fact that, unless they were stepping down voluntarily in the next election cycle, they pretty much had to spend half of each term running for office. There was no season for raising money for those campaigns, either; fundraising was — and, I expect, still is — an ongoing process.

Arkansas changed that law in the mid–1980s. Statewide officers are elected to four–year terms today, but Bill and Hillary Clinton cut their political teeth on the old arrangement.

Anyway, having observed the Clintons for more than half my life, I've kind of gone beyond the point of being disappointed by anything they say or do.

Since we are all, to a great extent, the products of our experiences, it seems fair to assume that experience plays a significant role in the mindsets of both Clintons. Indeed, given their behavior in their political lives, it seems to be — to most reasonable people — a sight more than an assumption.

---

Hillary Clinton: With all due respect, the fact is we had four dead Americans.

Sen. Ron Johnson: I understand.

Clinton: Was it because of a protest or was it because of guys out for a walk one night who decided they'd go kill some Americans? What difference, at this point, does it make?

---

In the matter of the Clinton emails, Mrs. Clinton and her supporters want the country to focus on the fact that her people have already gone through the emails and decided which ones to release.

Is that sufficient?

As I recall, it wasn't sufficient 40 years ago when the subject of the congressional investigation in which Mrs. Clinton took part — you know, the one involving President Richard Nixon — offered to release certain White House tapes after they had been screened or edited transcripts of the tapes themselves. I can't say that I know what Hillary Rodham said or thought about that, but I do know what just about every Democrat — and some Republicans — said when Nixon tried to pull that one. They didn't go for it. Nixon went ahead and released edited transcripts, anyway, but they were ridiculed to such an extent that no one really gave them any credibility.

As I recall, when the subject of edited transcripts was first brought up by the White House, special prosecutor Archibald Cox rejected it, saying that transcripts "lack the evidenciary value of the tapes themselves."

(There was something Nixonian in the way Barack Obama insisted he had learned of Hillary's private email through news reports. That, of course, is how Nixon claimed he had learned of the Watergate break–in.)

And now Hillary Clinton reaches into Nixon's playbook. But summaries of her email correspondences — or release of certain emails that were selected by Hillary and/or her staff — lack the evidenciary value of the emails themselves.

Of course, there is more to this than merely the resemblance to a long–ago scandal. There is the question of cyber security. In recent years, we have seen how easily the computer files of huge retail outfits can be hacked and private information can be compromised.

Doesn't that make it even more important that Americans be completely assured that the communications of the secretary of state — whose email correspondence may very well have contained sensitive classified information — cannot be intercepted?

What assurance can they have from a privately run server that sufficient security is in place?

We live in perilous times. It shouldn't be necessary to remind people of that, with all the grisly images we have seen on our TV screens — beheadings, people being burned alive and tossed from buildings — but, nevertheless, there are people who will ignore the facts.

Those are the people who will tell you that ISIS and its allies there in the Middle East are savages, primitive, medieval at best. And I will concede that they follow medieval texts and dress in medieval ways — and, most importantly, they think medieval thoughts. But that does not mean that they turn a blind eye to modern technology. They don't like the modern world, but they know that they must use the tools of the modern world if they are to defeat it. Osama bin Laden and his lieutenants turned modern technology against America in 2001, hijacking airplanes and using computers for all sorts of purposes — communicating with each other, financial transactions, reserving seats on the doomed airplanes.

Why should we think that modern jihadists would behave any differently?

We've heard the stories of their active efforts to recruit people from the West. Doesn't it make sense that they would be looking for people who know how to hack computer systems? It wouldn't surprise me if they already have recruited such people.

It wouldn't really matter where they were, either — although I am quite sure there are already sleeper cells across this country waiting for their orders. Computer hackers can be anywhere. As long as they can connect to the internet, they can go about their business.

What guarantee do we have that Mrs. Clinton's emails, which were not under the protection of the government, were not hacked while she was in office? Oh, I know, there are no guarantees anymore. But it still seems — to me — to be an inexcusable temptation of fate to obsessively control one's email records instead of doing as the law requires.

Fact is, under the law, Mrs. Clinton's email correspondence while secretary of state does not belong to her. Regardless of what it was — a highly sensitive official email to a foreign ally or a personal email to an old friend — it is the property of the U.S. government.

Upon entering office, a president swears to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution. That means following the laws of the land.

Mrs. Clinton asks her audiences these days, "Don't you want to see a woman president of the United States?"

My answer to that is — yes. But I want it to be the right woman for the job. Not just any woman.

And the right woman for the job will not have a history of playing by the rules of her choosing, thoughtlessly putting others at risk. It is the same standard I apply to any man seeking the presidency.

Nixon's Appeal to the Great Silent Majority

---

---

"So tonight, to you, the great silent majority of my fellow Americans, I ask for your support. I pledged in my campaign for the presidency to end the war in a way that we could win the peace. I have initiated a plan of action which will enable me to keep that pledge. The more support I can have from the American people, the sooner that pledge can be redeemed. For the more divided we are at home, the less likely the enemy is to negotiate at Paris."

Richard Nixon
Nov. 3, 1969

---

If it hadn't been for the speeches and statements he made during the Watergate scandal, the speech that Richard Nixon gave 45 years ago tonight might have been remembered as his most significant presidential address.

The American people were divided over the war in Vietnam, a division that came to be perceived along all sorts of other (mostly irrelevant) lines — by race, by age, by gender, by region, by economic status — that weren't entirely irrelevant.

On this night in 1969, Richard Nixon introduced the concept of the mythical "great silent majority" into the American dialogue — suggesting that, in spite of themselves, most middle class Americans agreed with each other but were too polite to say so, and implying that he was one of them — a true–blue patriotic American who had remained silent too long. He contrasted his strategy of political realism with the vocal minority and its unrealistic idealism.

He tried to strike a somewhat defiant note. "If I conclude that increased enemy action jeopardizes our remaining forces in Vietnam," Nixon declared, "I shall not hesitate to take strong and effective measures to deal with that situation." He assured his listeners that was not a threat but a promise.

Nixon appealed for their support — and urged them (again by implication) not to participate in demonstrations against the war or to side with the counterculture — on this night 45 years ago. He had been elected president a year earlier by an extremely narrow margin, and he wanted to build a consensus.

He did better than that, at least initially. Before the speech, Gallup reported that his approval rating was 56%; after the speech, his approval was up 11 points to 67%, nearly the highest of his presidency.

And, in reality, it may well have laid the foundation for his 49–state landslide re–election in 1972.

In many ways, though, I have believed that the speech was a logical extension of the "Southern strategy" Nixon used to win the 1968 presidential campaign. At that time, Democrats still dominated Southern politics, but by using subtle and not–so–subtle appeals to racism, Republicans began chipping away at the Democrats' grip on politics in the South.

The most immediate effect was to siphon off votes upon which the Democrats' presidential nominee could always depend in the past — with the most direct recipient being independent candidate George Wallace. The Republicans hoped to pick off a few Southern states with Wallace and Hubert Humphrey dividing a vote that almost certainly would have defeated Nixon if it had remained united. At least, that is how Nixon saw it.

Nixon learned that divide and conquer works. Wallace still won nearly half a dozen Southern states, but Nixon managed to carry Florida, Virginia, Tennessee and the Carolinas — and, in so doing, won the election. But the Southern strategy was regionally confining. "Silent majority" transcended regional boundaries.

---

---

After his speech 45 years ago tonight, Nixon used appeals to patriotism to define Republicans — and to divide groups of Americans — having already begun a process that would fulfill Lyndon Johnson's prophecy that his advocacy of civil rights legislation had handed the South to the Republicans for a generation.

In hindsight, I would say the ongoing shift from Democrat to Republican in the South truly began in that 1968 election. What other conclusion can one draw? The Democrats swept the nation and many Southern states in 1964, when Johnson faced Barry Goldwater. But, in the 1964 election results, there were clues to be found, hints about the direction the South was traveling.

It happened quietly and gradually. It certainly was not achieved overnight. But little by little, one by one, Southern states voted for Republicans on the federal level, then they began to do it on the state and local levels as well. And, one by one, Republicans picked off each state.

Tomorrow, it is quite likely that my home state of Arkansas will be the last Southern domino to completely fall when Sen. Mark Pryor appears poised to lose his bid for a third term — perhaps the last time that Nixon's political legacy will be felt in America.

The Southern strategy has seen some backsliding in recent elections, though, with Virginia and North Carolina voting for a Democrat for president for the first time in decades and Florida voting Democratic as well — and Democrats representing states like Louisiana and North Carolina in the Senate — but much of that can be attributed to the arrivals of Democrats whose jobs have brought them there from Northern and coastal cities. So the Southern strategy may be around for a few more elections. There may still be some work to be done in some place.

But, by and large, that transition is nearly complete now.

That shift in party preference may have been the most remarkable domestic political development I have witnessed in my lifetime — the transformation of an entire region, the South, from reliably Democrat to reliably Republican. I grew up in the South; it simply went without saying that just about everyone there was a Democrat, and political squabbles came down to the liberal, conservative and moderate wings of the party. Winning the primary in the spring or early summer was tantamount to election; beating the Republican in November was a formality.

Some people would say that Republicans have always been right–wingers, but the truth is that there really was no rightward shift in Republican ideology, in the South or elsewhere, until 1980, when the Reagan campaign and the emergence of the Moral Majority combined to coax conservative Christians into politics. There were pockets of Republican support throughout the South before then. Up until that time, I saw no real political involvement on the part of the churches — but I sure saw it after that.

Nearly all of the Republicans who were nominated in the decades before Reagan — including both Nixon himself and the man Nixon served as vice president, Dwight Eisenhower — are increasingly viewed as too moderate for the modern Republican Party.

It was only after Reagan won the nomination that the momentum for Republicans in the South really became noticeable.

All that was still many years away when Nixon spoke to the "great silent majority" 45 years ago tonight. Nixon drew the lines in the dirt that night.

"Let historians not record that, when America was the most powerful nation in the world, we passed on the other side of the road and allowed the last hopes for peace and freedom of millions of people to be suffocated by the forces of totalitarianism," Nixon said.

Something to think about when you watch the election returns tomorrow night.

Under Exposed

I grew up in Arkansas. I went to school there, graduated from the University of Arkansas, after which I lived and worked in Arkansas for awhile before I decided to move to Texas.

My work experience in Arkansas included some time as a reporter during one of Bill Clinton's campaigns for governor. I was assigned to cover some of his trips around the state, which usually meant traveling in the small, private plane that had been reserved for members of the press — but, once or twice, I got to travel in the candidate's small, private plane and sit next to the candidate.

One of the things I learned from that experience is that it really doesn't take long to fly from one spot in Arkansas to another. If the flight originates in Little Rock, which is in the center of Arkansas, it probably takes 20–30 minutes tops — maybe less — to fly to any of the four corners of the state.

That isn't a lot of time to get to know a person. It was barely enough time to interview the candidate one on one. Sometimes it wasn't even that.

Another thing I learned on that assignment — candidates give the same speech all day. It's the speech of the day, different from the speech that was given the day before and different from the one that will be given the day after — but repeated however many times the candidate speaks that particular day.

If a candidate makes several stops on a given day, many of the reporters who are following him/her can repeat the speech with him/her, word for word, by day's end.

That seems to be SOP on the campaign trail — impersonal though it may be.

Even in such an impersonal setting, one can still make a personal connection with the candidate — and my experience with Bill Clinton was that he could make anyone feel as if he/she was his closest friend.

As I recall, I first met Bill Clinton at a campaign rally in my hometown. He was there to help open the local campaign headquarters. He gave a speech, then worked the crowd, shaking hands and handing out campaign buttons. He came to me, shook my hand, gave me a button (I've still got it) and moved on. We only spoke for a minute if that.

But there was a connection there. I know it ... And knowing Bill as well as I did, well, I felt I could reach some conclusions about him, what motivated him, all that.

Sometimes Hillary was there, sometimes not. She didn't always accompany her husband on his campaign trips in Arkansas, but he was always campaigning. In Arkansas, state officials ran for office every two years until the voters voted to extend the terms to four years. A governor really only had a few months after taking the oath of office before he had to start running again — if he wanted to be re–elected.

Hillary was pregnant with Chelsea during an odd–numbered year and gave birth to her early in an even–numbered year so pregnancy didn't prevent her from campaigning, although the demands of being a young mother may have. Anyway, I don't think she campaigned with her husband much when Chelsea's age could be measured in months. (If she had, I'm sure it would have been the topic of endless conversation and speculation.)

Hillary was rarely there when I covered one of Bill's campaigns.

As a matter of fact, I met Hillary once in a most unexpected way. I was attending a non–political event in Little Rock, and, as I was leaving, I encountered the Clintons on their way to a different event.

Not realizing who she was at first, I almost collided with Hillary. We exchanged a momentary glance. No words were said. None of that really matters, though. We were in the same place at the same time.

There was that connection, you know? Maybe it was the kind of thing that rubbed off on Hillary from Bill. I don't know. But I've been following the trajectory of her career ever since.

Well, being first lady of Arkansas and first lady of the United States isn't exactly resume material. Being first lady of anything, really, is a faux title. No one votes on it; it's a perk that comes with being married to the guy for whom people did vote.

Some first ladies do get to do things of substance. When Bill was governor, he dispatched his wife to conduct community meetings in every county in the state to gather thoughts for improving Arkansas' school system. When he was president, he gave her health care reform.

But after the Clintons emerged from the White House "dead broke," as Hillary said in a recent interview, she went to work in the U.S. Senate — which is something for which people do vote — to support that struggling family. Chelsea, after all, was interested in attending some high–dollar schools.

Then, after she lost the presidential nomination to Barack Obama, and he went on to be elected, she served as secretary of State.

And now she's being mentioned as a possible president again. She even wrote a book to revive interest.

But it is distressing, is it not, to see the absence of coverage for this tome. After all, what could be more important than Hillary? I don't think the poor thing gets enough exposure.

Maybe she needs to take a cue from Oprah and have not only her own TV show but her own TV network that could promote her 24 hours a day.

Someone is missing an opportunity here, I think, just as the networks missed opportunities to replace Jay Leno and David Letterman with Hillary.

But it's not too late for someone to fill this niche and get the nation's attention away from all these unpleasant topics, like jobs and the economy and immigration and health care, and back where it belongs.

On Hillary.

The Sound and the Fury

---

---

I grew up in Faulkner County in central Arkansas.

There was a time, when I was a teenager, that I liked to tell myself that the county was named after William Faulkner, a great novelist from Mississippi — but I knew (thanks to the Arkansas history class we all had to take in fifth grade) that it was really named after the man who composed "The Arkansas Traveler," which was the state song for about 15 years and has been the state historical song since 1987.

William Faulkner, with novels to his credit like "The Sound and the Fury," might be more appropriate today, considering the intensity of the tornado that ripped through the county yesterday and virtually demolished two towns, both only a matter of miles from my hometown.

My hometown, incidentally, appears to have been spared — but that wasn't the case when I was 5 years old.

I grew up in the country on a man–made lake. When my parents wanted to go out, they drove to Little Rock, which was about 30 minutes away, and, on that particular evening, they went out, probably for dinner and a movie.

There was a high school girl named Gail who lived about a mile or so down the road from us. She was the usual babysitter for my brother and me, and I remember that she came over to watch us. Not long after my parents left, the storm started to brew up. My family didn't have a TV in those days so we must have been listening to the radio, and we must have heard that a tornado was headed our way.

Gail called her father and asked him to come get us in his pickup truck. There was a storm cellar at Gail's house, and she figured we would all be safe there.

But we didn't get there in time for it to help us.

As we were heading to her house, I remember looking up through the windshield — and seeing the tornado pass directly over us. It is a sight and a sound I will never forget.

Another thing I will never forget is the scene at Gail's house when everyone was sure the storm had passed us. We emerged from the cellar, and Gail and her siblings ran around their yard, grabbing scraps of paper that were swirling around in the tornado's tailwinds. I don't know what they were — maybe mailing labels or envelopes or pieces of telephone book pages or something else — but Gail and her siblings were calling out names and places when they could read them.

That whole scene is a bit of a blur for me now. I remember a lot of noise — some of it was the wind, some was the shrieks of the young folks as they deduced that pieces of paper in their hands could tell them how far the tornado had traveled. There was so little that anyone knew in those first minutes.

In the background, I remember the sound of Gail's family's TV and the updates on the storm's destruction. If we had been in town, instead of cut off by a line of hills and trees, we probably would have heard a lot of sirens. It was a cacophony.

William Faulkner wrote about the sound and the fury; I heard the sound and witnessed the fury.

It was hilly country where we lived, and the tornado must have bounced around it because there was little, if any, damage out there. We got to Gail's house and joined the rest of the family in the storm cellar — but, by that time, the tornado had passed us, crossed over the hills and touched down in town, plowing through the heart of the community. There were many casualties and a lot of damage in town.

---

---

Faulkner County was declared a disaster area after that tornado — and I have friends there who tell me that it probably will be declared a disaster area again.

The two towns that sustained the greatest damage and loss of life were Mayflower and Vilonia. Neither was very large when I lived there; I'm sure that little has changed, even though the town in which I grew up apparently has tripled, maybe quadrupled, in size since I was in high school.

If yesterday's tornado had hit my hometown, the loss of life probably would have been staggering, and the damage would have been almost incomprehensible. So I guess that is something for which we can be grateful.

But the damage and loss of life must seem incomprehensible to the residents of those two tiny towns as they try to carry on. A friend of mine says the estimate is that 85–90% of each community has been leveled.

Based on some of the pictures I have seen, that's probably correct. If you're reading this and, like me, you no longer live in the area — or even if you have no connection to the area and simply want to see what is happening there — you can see the latest photos and articles at the website of my hometown newspaper, the Log Cabin Democrat, which is offering unlimited access to its material.

Arkansans are tough, and they're accustomed to dealing with tornadoes. The healing process begins almost immediately. I am already hearing stories of examples of the can–do spirit I saw in action so many times when I was growing up, and I know the survivors in those two towns will rise above this.

They will mourn their dead and clear the debris, and that will be painful, but they will be all right.

They've done this before.

Beating the Rap

---

---

"The vote itself was anticlimactic, coming three weeks after the close of my defense. Only the margin of defeat was in doubt. I was just glad the ordeal was over for my family and my country. After the vote, I said I was profoundly sorry for what I had done to trigger the events and the great burden they imposed on the American people, and that I was rededicating myself to 'a time of reconciliation and renewal for America.' I took one question: 'In your heart, sir, can you forgive and forget?' I replied, 'I believe any person who asks for forgiveness has to be prepared to give it.' "

Bill Clinton
"My Life" (2004)

---

On this day in 1999 — 190 years after the birth of Abraham Lincoln — the U.S. Senate acquitted President Bill Clinton of charges of perjury and obstruction of justice.

It was the first time in more than a century — since Lincoln's successor, Andrew Johnson, survived by a single vote — that an American president had been impeached by the House and then managed to be acquitted by the Senate. Articles of impeachment against Richard Nixon were approved by the House Judiciary Committee 40 years ago this summer, but Nixon resigned before the House could vote on them. Obviously, Nixon never faced trial in the Senate.

A year earlier, in January 1998, Clinton famously declared that "I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss (Monica) Lewinsky." He also insisted that he never instructed anyone to lie.

But it was later revealed that Clinton did have an inappropriate relationship with Lewinsky.

And that was a big part of his detractors' case. From that act of deception sprang everything else.

Ultimately, they failed to persuade two–thirds of the Senate to convict, which is what the Constitution requires for the removal of a president. They fell short by a considerable margin. Clinton was correct when he wrote that the outcome was never in doubt. The bar was too high.

That was the calculating way that Clinton looked at things. It was something I picked up on when I covered one of his gubernatorial campaigns in Arkansas. I sat in on an interview with Clinton one day during his runoff with a former Arkansas lieutenant governor. It was observed to Clinton that supporters of the candidate who ran third in the primary were making noises about sitting out the runoff; Clinton, in effect, said he didn't care.

That may be hard to reconcile with the "I feel your pain" image that Clinton cultivated, but it represents merely one side of his political personality. That was the pragmatic, politically savvy Clinton, who understood that, in the most basic terms, if you took a voting bloc that large and that unpredictable, given the indifference most of that candidate's supporters had for both Clinton and his opponent in the runoff, he was better off if they chose not to participate. There was no telling which way they might go.

Clinton ran first in the primary, but he didn't quite reach 50%, forcing a runoff with the runnerup. The third–place finisher had received a lot of votes, but he didn't get enough to make the runoff. As I recall, there was only one other candidate in the primary; he ran fourth and attracted a relative handful of votes.

Therefore, if nearly all the people who voted in the runoff had voted for either Clinton or his opponent the first time, Clinton knew he would win — which he did.

In the Senate 15 years ago today, Clinton knew that the Republicans held the majority in the Senate. But, in order to reach the two–thirds threshold, they needed 12 Democrats to vote with them — and that wasn't going to happen. In fact, while Senate Democrats voted unanimously against conviction, some Republicans voted not acquit as well so the Senate's Republicans finished even farther from their goal than if the vote had been strictly along party lines.

After the vote, a number of Senate Republicans and their aides were quoted as saying they resented the fact that House Republicans had put them in that position. Perhaps they were right to feel that way. The next time the voters went to the polls, Republicans lost ground in the Senate but the numbers remained virtually unchanged in the House.

An Early Look at the 2014 Midterms

---

States in blue are represented by Democrats in the Senate. States in red are represented by Republicans.
States in gray do not have U.S. Senate races on their ballots in 2014.

---

History has shown time and time again that midterm elections are not usually kind to a president's party, especially the second midterms of a presidency.

Heading into 2014, both parties expressed optimism that they could flip the congressional chamber that is held by the other. For a number of reasons, though — including the trends of history — the Republicans currently appear to be in a better position to do that.

Assuming that either is successful.

The Republicans' goal in the 2014 midterms is to hold on to majority status in the House (where they outnumber Democrats by 33 seats) while capturing the Senate (where they are outnumbered by 10, including the two independent members who usually side with the Democrats). For the Democrats, obviously, the objective is reversed — hold the Senate and flip the House.

The Democrats face more of an uphill assignment. To win even a minimal House majority, they must retain all the seats they currently hold and win 17 seats that are currently held by Republicans.

It is hard to flip House seats because districts usually are drawn to favor one party or the other, depending upon who did the redistricting after the latest Census. State lines aren't redrawn every 10 years so Senate races are governed by different dynamics.

Incumbents tend to be harder to beat in district races than statewide races, and they become harder to beat the longer they hold office.

---

---

Political observers are watching Florida's 13th District on the state's western coast, which is holding a special election March 11 to fill the vacancy left by the death of Rep. Bill Young, a Republican who held that seat since 1971.

On the surface, that might lead the casual observer to conclude that a Republican is a lock to replace Young, but the district is not that predictable.

It is true that Young was unopposed roughly one–third of the time during his career, and that enabled him to consolidate a reliable base that produced solid victories whenever he was opposed.

His most recent victories were not as impressive as his earlier ones, but they were substantial. In 2012, when the 81–year–old Young ran against a 38–year–old Democrat who tried to make an issue of his age, 58% of the district's voters still voted for him.

It is also true, however, that Young was more moderate than many of his Republican colleagues, especially on economic issues. He supported raising the minimum wage and extending unemployment benefits. During what turned out to be his final House race, he supported withdrawing from Afghanistan as quickly as possible, earning praise from Democrats like MSNBC host Rachel Maddow.

The district has been trending Democrat nationally. It voted (narrowly) for Barack Obama in 2008 and 2012 — and Democrats are hoping to make a dent in their House deficit by winning this election.

In short, the district that Young represented is not necessarily representative of other Republican–held districts across the country so what happens there in two months probably will have little bearing on other House races in 2014. House races have unique personalities. They're usually driven by issues that directly concern the voters in particular districts. The same issues may not be as important in other districts within the same state or region.

(For awhile, I worked for a newspaper in a county that was heavily dependent on the aluminum industry. There were two aluminum plants in that county, and they were the county's two largest employers. Issues affecting the aluminum industry were of great interest to the voters there — but not to voters who lived in neighboring counties.)

Those voters may always be motivated by local issues in every federal–level election, but their influence is diminished in statewide races. Individual districts are more concentrated.

For a few reasons, it is easy to conclude that the Democrats just might win this seat from the Republicans. The Democrat in the race is Alex Sink, Florida's former chief financial officer and the Democratic nominee for governor four years ago (she lost a squeaker to Rick Scott). The Republican candidate, David Jolly, is a former lobbyist who was also Young's aide.

Thanks to her gubernatorial campaign, Sink has far greater name recognition, which has helped her in the polls. And the district is precisely the kind of district Democrats need to seize from Republicans if they hope to take control of the House. (The problem for Democrats is, I don't see enough districts across the country that meet that description.)

Currently, it seems as if this race is the Democrat's to lose — but there is a potential fly in the ointment. Sink doesn't seem to be a very strong campaigner. That might be a problem, considering the issues that directly affect voters in the 13th.

The 65–year–old Sink seems to be trying to counter that image with a family oriented commercial featuring her father. That probably can't hurt in a district that is older than most (27% of the voters are over 65).

Recent poll results show Jolly with a four–point lead, suggesting that Obamacare may be sinking Sink. Adam C. Smith of the Tampa Bay Times writes that Sink would be wise not to underestimate her opponent.

"This is not just another congressional election," writes Smith. "Congressional District 13 is the ultimate swing district, and both national parties will cast it as a national barometer of the nation's political mood."

Many things could affect that mood. The economic climate could change, and the nature of such a change might favor either candidate. If the next two jobs reports are as poor as the most recent one, it would be likely to help Jolly. If the reports are better in February and March, it might help Sink.

Another wild card in the race will be developments in the implementation of Obamacare, which is likely to be an issue in districts from coast to coast — and, in older districts like Florida's 13th, changes in Social Security benefits will always draw attention.

Then there is the general tenor of the campaign. Coming as early in the election cycle as it does, this special election will receive a lot of national attention. The campaign's tone will say a lot — and shrill, divisive campaigning may well backfire, given the fact that the winner will succeed a man who was seen as bipartisan by colleagues on both sides of the aisle. Negative campaigning may not work as well in 2014 as it has in campaigns past (but may still work in other campaigns in other places this year).

Smith is right. Whoever wins, the victorious party likely will be doing a lot of strutting the day after votes are counted. Right now, I am inclined to think the Democrats will be doing the strutting, but, even if they are, they should remember that special elections are notoriously bad indicators of what to expect in the fall. Nearly eight months will pass between the time the Florida 13th voters go to the polls and the rest of America does. The landscape is likely to look different in November.

If Sink wins, it will simply mean Democrats need to capture 16 Republican–held House seats instead of 17 — and I believe that is highly unlikely. Historically, only Theodore Roosevelt's Republicans (in 1902) and Franklin Roosevelt's Democrats (in 1934) have come close to seizing that many House seats in an election in which the president was not on the ballot.

Realistically, it has never been done on the scale that Democrats need this year.

Currently, most observers think only one other Republican–held seat (besides the one that is the subject of the special election in Florida) is likely to flip. That may change in the months to come, but it shows the enormity of the task facing Democrats this year.

The task is less daunting for the Republicans, who need to win six seats to control the agenda in the Senate. If they win five seats, the chamber will be split 50–50, but Vice President Joe Biden casts the deciding vote in case of a tie so, technically, Democrats will retain the majority if they lose five seats.

Observers agree that Republicans are closer to achieving their goal than Democrats are to achieving theirs. Three Democrat–held Senate seats in states Mitt Romney carried in 2012 — Montana, South Dakota and West Virginia — appear likely to flip. Two other Democrat–held seats, in Arkansas and Alaska, are rated too close to call.

I'll add to that that I see three other incumbent Democrats (from Louisiana, New Hampshire, North Carolina) who could be in trouble this fall. In short, Republicans seem likely to win at least three and possibly as many as eight Democrat–held seats, nearly all in states that voted against Obama in 2012.

None of the Republican–held Senate seats that will be on the 2014 ballot seems to be in danger of flipping.

---

---

I'll probably have more to say about other Senate races later this year, but, right now, I am looking at the Democrat–held seat in my native state of Arkansas, and I have concluded that it is likely to fall to the Republicans.

When I was growing up there, incumbent Democrats faced their only serious opposition in the party primary. They didn't always face Republican opponents, and, if they did, the Republicans were little more than place fillers on the ballot.

Both of the state's U.S. senators and three of the four members of its House delegation were Democrats. It stayed that way in Arkansas long after I left the state, too, but the Republican Party has made considerable gains in recent years. Today all four of the House members are Republicans, as is one of the senators.

The lone remaining Democrat in Arkansas' congressional delegation, Mark Pryor, happens to be the son of a former senator, David Pryor, who represented southern Arkansas in the House before becoming governor and then senator.

Being in Arkansas during one of his campaigns must be like a blast from the past for many Arkansans. Mark Pryor looks a good deal like his father (not unlike the way George W. Bush resembles his father). He even uses the same design that his father used for campaign paraphernalia. I couldn't begin to guess how many bumper stickers, yard signs and lapel buttons I have seen with that red–white–and–blue background on a map of the state with Pryor emblazoned in the middle.

(The absence of any mention of a particular office meant the design could be recycled in every election. I didn't live in Pryor's congressional district, but I saw that design in his gubernatorial and Senate campaigns. Sometimes the stickers were so faded that you couldn't tell from which campaign they came.)

Pryor's father was a pretty popular fellow. He won nearly all of his campaigns and was elected to the Senate three times before he retired. I'm sure the residual good will helped his son in his first two Senate elections.

Both of Pryor's previous victories came before Barack Obama took office, though, and Obama and his agenda have proven to be very unpopular in Arkansas. Well, Obama never really was popular in Arkansas. More than 58% of Arkansans voted for John McCain in 2008, and more than 60% voted for Mitt Romney.

Mark Pryor has been a faithful supporter of Obama's agenda, voting for the $787 billion stimulus and the Affordable Care Act, neither of which is popular in Arkansas.

But Pryor has proven to be more conservative than his father, and he has been known to reach across the aisle for Republican input during legislative standoffs. That might help him in this year's campaign.

His Republican opponent is Tom Cotton, who was elected in 2012 to represent the district that Pryor's father represented in the House decades ago.

Thanks to new boundaries the district acquired after the last Census, it is a more conservative district than it used to be, and Cotton is more conservative than anyone who has represented it in the past. A friend of mine who still lives in Arkansas describes him as being like Texas' Ted Cruz.

That seems to play well in Arkansas. Recent polls suggest a close race between Pryor and Cotton.

I think it will be worth keeping an eye on for the rest of the year.

The National Debut of the Comeback Kid

---

---

"I felt as if the speech was a 200–pound rock I was pushing up a hill. I later joked that I knew I was in trouble when, at the 10–minute mark, the American Samoan delegation started roasting a pig."

Bill Clinton
My Life (2004)

---

When this day dawned 25 years ago, it is probably safe to say that most Americans did not know who Bill Clinton was.

I did because I lived in Arkansas. I grew up there, and, on this day in 1988, Clinton had been governor of the state for a total of more than seven years (not continuously). He had been the state's attorney general for a couple of years prior to becoming governor.

But outside of Arkansas, most people, as I say, probably had not heard of him. That would change before this day was over, though — and not necessarily in a good way, either.

In his presidential memoirs, Clinton wrote that "[a] couple of months before [the Democratic] convention opened in Atlanta, [presidential nominee–to–be] Mike [Dukakis] asked me to nominate him."

(It is traditional for presidential candidates' names to be placed in nomination prior to the roll call of the states, even if the candidate has no chance of winning. It is a practice that goes back to a time in America when conventions really did meet to choose nominees, and no one knew who that might be.

(At most conventions since the end of World War II, there has been no suspense about who the presidential nominee would be. Therefore, being chosen to place the presumptive nominee's name in nomination has become quite a feather in the speaker's cap but hardly strategically important to the nomination process.)

Clinton went on to write that Dukakis felt that, although he was leading then–Vice President George H.W. Bush in the polls, it was necessary for Clinton to "introduce him" to the nation "as a leader whose personal qualities, record in office and new ideas made him the right person for the presidency."

A candidate whose name was to be placed in nomination was allotted 25 minutes for the nominating and seconding speeches, which typically were divided between two, three, sometimes four speakers.

"Because I was his colleague, his friend and a Southerner," Clinton wrote, "they wanted me to do it and to take the entire allotted time."

Clinton agreed but (perhaps with the benefit of considerable hindsight) wrote that he was "flattered ... but wary."

"Conventions are loud meet–and–greet affairs where the words coming from the platform are usually just background music," Clinton wrote, "except for the keynote address and the presidential and vice–presidential acceptance speeches."

In his memoirs, Clinton claimed that he explained to the people in Dukakis' campaign that a long speech was not likely to succeed "unless the delegates and the media were prepared for it." He suggested dimming the lights and having the campaign's floor operatives "keep the delegates quiet. Also [the delegates] couldn't clap too much or it would substantially increase the length of the speech."

Twenty–five years ago today, Clinton said he brought a copy of the speech to Dukakis' hotel suite and showed it to the candidate and his advisers. It would take about 22 minutes to deliver, 25 if applause was minimal, and Clinton promised to cut as much as the campaign staff thought was necessary. Clinton was told to "give it all. Mike wanted America to know him as I did."

Considering the results of that year's election, it is tempting to say "mission accomplished." But that isn't the whole story.

It could well have been the mother of all convention fiasco speeches.

Clinton's speech dragged on for more than half an hour with the delegates erupting into wild applause with every mention of Dukakis' name. Otherwise, though, they appeared to pay little attention.

Network observers made jokes at Clinton's expense that were punctuated by a technician making a cutting motion across his throat, apparently in an attempt to encourage Clinton to wrap it up.

"I had some good lines," Clinton recalled, "but, alas, the biggest applause line I got was near the painful end when I said, 'In closing ...' It was 32 minutes of total disaster."

I was packing to move to Texas when the Democrats convened in 1988, but I remember that, when Clinton returned to Arkansas after the convention, the people of Arkansas were quite warm and supportive. Even those who had disagreed with his politics over the years empathized with what he had been through in Atlanta. Some were even indignant about Clinton's treatment (although, privately, they weren't quite that upset).

Clinton, however, still held his White House ambitions, and he needed some way to overcome the image problem created by his nomination speech.

An appearance on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson was thought to be the answer.

---

---

Carson had been making jokes about Clinton's speech in his monologues. In his memoir, Clinton wrote that one of Carson's "more memorable lines was 'The speech went over about as well as a Velcro condom.' "

After negotiations between Clinton's staff and Carson's, it was decided that Clinton would be a guest, and he would bring his saxophone. The reasoning was simple: Carson had a policy of not having politicians on the show, and, by agreeing to play the sax, Clinton made it possible for Carson to continue to ban politicians (well, those who couldn't play a musical instrument).

Clinton had been playing the sax for years, but most Arkansans didn't know it. Turned out that he wasn't bad, either.

But first there were all sorts of gags that related to Clinton's speech.

Carson gave Clinton an introduction that seemed like it wouldn't end, then, when Clinton came out, Carson pulled out an hourglass and put it on the desk.

Clinton seemed to be a punching bag that was too big to resist.

Clinton did pretty well for himself, though. He explained to Carson that he wanted to make Dukakis look good, and "I succeeded beyond my wildest imagination!" Clinton also told Carson that Dukakis liked the speech so much he wanted to send Clinton to the Republican convention to nominate Bush.

My favorite line from Clinton, though, was when he told Carson he had blown the nominating speech deliberately.

"I always wanted to be on this show in the worst way," he said, "and now I am."

It was a public relations triumph. Clinton charmed Carson and earned his redemption with the voters. When he sought the presidency four years later, Clinton was seldom asked about his speech in Atlanta.

It was the night of the New Hampshire primary in 1992 when Clinton declared himself the "comeback kid" after finishing second when he had declined precipitously in the polls following Gennifer Flowers' assertions that she had an extramarital affair with Clinton.

---

---

Clinton's resilience was well known in Arkansas. Several years earlier, after he lost a gubernatorial re–election bid, he sought the office again and defeated the man who had beaten him in the previous election. From that day forward in Arkansas, he was the comeback kid.

(Actually, he was called Kid Comeback before he won that political rematch — as you can see in the above cartoon that was drawn by a college classmate of mine.)

But it was in Atlanta — and then Los Angeles — nearly 3½ years before the New Hampshire primary when Clinton first established himself nationally as the comeback kid.