There were a number of questions from Rich Miller and Brew McRiley about the two books I had written, along with the article in The Economist. There were also a number of questions about my appearances on the Sunday morning talk shows, and a couple of the speeches I had given over the last two years. After a few minutes, I realized I was being interrogated! It was gentle and polite, but I was answering a whole lot more questions than I was asking.
During a lull, I cornered John over by his bar. “John, who are these guys? What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” he answered. “Refill?”
“Please.” I handed him my glass, and Marilyn slid hers across the bar to him also.
He started making fresh drinks. “They’re just some friends of mine. I’ve known Bob and Rich for years. The young fellow, Brewster, I just met. He was brought by the Millers.”
I sipped my fresh drink. “Yes, but you didn’t really answer my question, did you?” I smiled at him and let it pass.
Over dinner there were a few more questions — political questions! I tried to beg off, saying, “I learned a long time ago not to talk about two things — religion and politics! You get in trouble otherwise.”
“Well, maybe so, but I think we’ve all seen you on television. I loved that debate you had with Ted Kennedy! He looked like he was going to blow a gasket! Who is this young upstart daring to argue with me?” said Bob.
“The argument with Grover was interesting, too. He told me he wasn’t very amused with you. He thought he was the featured speaker, and instead you got the reporters laughing at him,” added Brew.
I looked over at McRiley. “You know Grover Norquist?”
“I’ve known him for a number of years,” he admitted, without explanation.
We continued in this vein through dinner. Over dessert and coffee, Bob Destrier asked, “Have you heard anything about Andy Stewart running again in the Maryland Ninth?”
I shrugged at that. Andy Stewart was the long serving Democratic Representative for the Maryland Ninth District, which covered most of northern Baltimore, Carroll, and Frederick counties. “I am assuming he will be. He hasn’t made any announcements stating that he isn’t. Why, have you heard anything?”
“No. The last I heard he was running again, but he’s probably looking at a primary challenge. He’s vulnerable,” he replied.
“Good. He’s not the world’s greatest Congressman.” In my opinion, actually, he was a self serving dipstick. In this he ranked right up there with most of the rest of Congress. “Who’s going to run against him, Jenkins or Blusinski? Or are we going to have a contested primary?” Tim Jenkins was a contractor in Frederick who had run and lost against Stewart in 1988. Ted Blusinski was a County Commissioner in Carroll County, who had publicly announced his interest in running.
Curiously, the others all looked at each other before answering, so I should have known something was up then. So I’m stupid. Instead, Miller shook his head. “Neither. Tim Jenkins was recently diagnosed with lung cancer. He won’t be running for anything.”
“Damn! He was a nice guy. I met him a few years ago when he hit me up for a donation to the local clinic in Frederick,” I replied.
“Yes, he told me that,” he said.
“What about Blusinski?” Ted wasn’t what I would call a friend, but he was a county commissioner and I knew him. I had met pretty much every local politician, for the simple reason that they all had their hands out. I refused to donate to their election campaigns, but I was known as an easy touch for a local firehouse or clinic or police department benefit.
John answered that one. “Keep it under your hat, but Ted Blusinski is going to be in a different kind of fight next year. A grand jury is sitting in Annapolis and an indictment is pending. It seems his accounting practices were a little lax in regards to a certain set of building permits in Westminster.”
I rolled my eyes at that, especially when Bob added, “Maybe he can get Ted Agnew’s old cell.”
Then I just looked around the room at the others. “So, Tim and Ted are out. What am I doing here? Who are you guys? I know John is with the Republican committee in Baltimore County, but I’ve always thought every man should be allowed one vice.”
That got me a nudge in the side from Marilyn, and Brewster chuckled. John snorted and asked, “So, what’s your vice?”
I grinned and looked at my wife, and then waggled my eyebrows. The rest of the room laughed, even as Marilyn blushed redly. I got another elbow in the ribs at that, making me laugh.
“So, I repeat, who are you guys? Republican organizers? Are you looking for a donation?”
It was Rich who answered. “Well, Bob is the head of the Republican Committee in Frederick County. John you already know, and he’s the head of the Republican Committee in Baltimore County for the Maryland Ninth. I’m with the Republican National Committee out of Washington, as is Brewster here, and I’m involved with recruitment, finding new candidates to run for Congress.”
I nodded in understanding. “And you want me to think up some names of candidates? I guess I can come up with some.”
McRiley laughed, and John slapped his head and muttered. Rich answered, “No! We’re here to recruit you!”
The blood roared in my ears for a second, and then I shook it off. I looked around the room. Marilyn’s face looked stunned, and the others looked expectantly at me for an answer. I shook my head for a second and smiled. “You know, I must be losing my hearing. I thought I just heard you say you wanted me to run for Congress.”
“You heard us right,” agreed Bob.
I laughed loudly at the others. “That is the most ridiculous idea I have ever heard of, and I hear ridiculous ideas on a daily basis! What on God’s green earth would make anybody think I wanted to be a politician!?”
The others started talking all at once. It was Renee Miller who overrode the others and spoke up. She had been quiet up to this point, but she said, “You’re a national figure, whether you realize it or not. Your books, your speeches, your appearances on television — these things have put you in the national spotlight. You have a history of standing for law and order, even at your own risk — yes, we know about your capturing the gang in the Bahamas. Whether you want to be or not, you are now one of the next generation of Republican thinkers. This is your time to do this.”
Rich agreed with her. “This is your time. If not now, when? Are you just going to continue speaking truth to power, or are you going to work for that power, and then grasp it and use it to build a better country.”
I stared at them for a second. “What were you before you got into politics, a used car salesman?”
“Carl, that was out of line!” commented John.
I turned to face him. “John, this is nuts. Stewart won’t even have to run a campaign! All he’ll have to do is print up ten thousand posters with my picture and the words ‘Billionaire Murderer!’ underneath. There is nothing I can do to change that. I would have a better chance of winning with a picture of me in a Nazi uniform at Auschwitz!” I leaned back in my chair. “Now, you tell me, how does anybody campaign for election when they are a billionaire murderer?” I gestured for him to start.
It was the young guy, Brew McRiley, who answered. “I think you’re overstating the situation by a long shot. Break that down into two parts. First, the billionaire label. There isn’t a single Congressman who isn’t already a millionaire or about to become one. The Jeffersonian ideal of the citizen-servant didn’t even exist in Jefferson’s day. Second, you aren’t a murderer. You defended yourself in the sanctity of your own home against a diagnosed psychotic, and validated the Second Amendment while doing so.”