Pain and Politics

Pohainake Parish, my latest book about a parish that declared bankruptcy and started an unstoppable chain of events, is dedicated to “all those elected to public office who aspire to make a difference and soon discover they can’t.”

            I ran for public office, not knowing the system at all, and got elected! All I wanted to do was get the potholes filled and the school system straightened out so that all my real state customers wouldn’t ditch Tangipahoa and go to St. Tammany. Wiley Sharp, God rest his good soul, provided me an office in the old Columbia Theater which he owned at that time. My 70-plus mother was my phone answerer.

            I remember the day an African American came in and told her, “I’m haulin’ for Miss Katie and I needs gas money.” “Gas money” has a lot of different meanings, but not for my Mama. “That’s wonderful,” she replied. “Where’s your car?” He pointed over to the Shell service station. “Okay. Let’s go. I’ll get the tank filled up for you.”  The expression on his face was priceless.

            On another occasion a developer came into my office and offered me $500 if I promised to get the roads in a new subdivision dedicated and paved. I politely refused, but, I said, “I’m on the way to the Chamber of Commerce meeting. Why don’t you come with me and donate that money to one of their worthy projects? I bet that would get you right to the top of their list.” Believe it or not, he went and he became a good member.

            Campaigning was a new experience. When knocking on doors for votes, I rode in my husband’s pickup. He said a Cadillac just wouldn’t sit well with the country people. Carl’s family had been here since before the Confederate War so he knew everybody. Also, he offered a word of caution, “Everybody from the airport east was related, all kin to one another in some way.” We’d be invited in for a cup of coffee. Carl and the home owners would talk about the weather, the milk cows, where the quails were roosting, and Aunt Minnie’s hip replacement. After a while, he’d ask them to vote for me, as if I were a little side project. Once a homeowners showed off the new litter of black Labrador puppies. The little pups were running all around the porch, the yard, and the driveway. Carl backed the pickup truck over one, said $#!%, and lurched forward and got another one. He went inside and bought them both. I sighed, “They’ll never vote for me now!”

            A dear friend of mine had a drinking problem and on the eve of election, she called and begged me to go to Alcoholics Anonymous at a local church with her. All other candidates were out hustling last-minute votes and I’m sitting in a circle of people listening to them say, “My name is Joe and I’m an alcoholic” —I sat there thinking that they’ll probably never be sober enough to vote for me or anyone else for that matter.  

            But in the end, though I tried as diligently as I could to make a difference, it was hard. I was only one vote in a panel of 10 people.  I learned to horse-trade, to make deals, and to swap my vote for what I thought was the best interest of my constituents. I learned to drink beer in bars, play bingo at the fire stations, eat barbecues anywhere at any time, never to joke because politicians have absolutely no sense of humor and smile...smile…smile.

            None of us really knew what we were doing, but we managed to build the jail, a sanitary landfill, pave the roads and change the governing system from Police Jury to Parish Council. Lord knows what we could’ve accomplished if we had known what we were doing! 

Want to know all about it?! Read Pohainake Parish!