Word count: 907 | Reading time: 4 min read
Pretzel Logic
On the night of the presidential visit,some choice words that didn’t cost two thousand bucks.
To Titelman’s driver, it was just another night ofstanding around, waiting for his fare to finish up and go home.
As he leaned against the yellow police barrier, theone set up to keep the John Hinckleys of this world from crossingpaths with POTUS, Titelman’s driver laughed at the steep costof a few words.
“All he wanted was five words with the president,”said Titelman’s driver in explanation for why Titelman was sowilling to ante up $10,000 to be one of 30 guests at dinner withBill.
“An expensive five words,” I responded,fumbling to do the math.
“Yeah, $2,000 a word,” said Titelman’sdriver, quicker on the draw.
The driver wouldn’t say which five words Titelmanwas likely to use or even what he did for a living to afford twogrand per word. And he wouldn’t reveal Titelman’s first name either.
But what he did say, about Titelman driving fromNew York in a limo to drop a hundred C-notes into Big Bill’s campaigncoffer, made we wish right then and there that I could win thelottery.
There are many questions to ask the president. Manythat can be boiled down to five words.
“Did Monica use Presidential kneepads?”might be one.
“Does Hillary really prefer women?” mightbe another.
The question that was really on my mind, though,and the one that I would ask, is far more serious.
“Must you really bomb Iraq?”
The serious young man with the handful of pamphletsdidn’t seem to mind that, once the cameramen turned off theirlights, the crowd surrounding his fellow protestors scamperedaway like roaches.
The young man, a 23-year-old college student fromWashington state named Mitch Chanin, was walking around RittenhouseSquare handing out “Have A Heart” pamphlets to anyonewho would take one.
Mostly, people just walked on by, although the homelessguy with duct tape over his ears did seem somewhat interested.
The pamphlets pointed out that, during OperationDesert Storm, “the U.S. bombed all grain silos; made 111,000bombing runs; used radioactive weapons which caused Gulf War syndromeand that 600,000 children are dead because of the sanctions againstIraq.”
Chanin was part of a group calling itself The PhiladelphiaCoalition To Stop The War Against Iraq, a seemingly ragtag groupof yippie wannabes who run from protest to protest trying to changethe world.
I watched Chanin do his thing. Despite theget-out-of-my-way-and-let-me-get-home attitude of the crowds inconveniencedby the president’s visit, he carried on. No one was payingmuch attention, until a former soldier who served in the GulfWar happened upon the scene.
“They bombed Israel and you can’t let them getaway with that,” Mike Thompson offered as partial rationalefor pressuring Saddam Hussein.
Chanin repeated the points in the pamphlet aboutthe suffering of Iraqis during and since the war. He added thatthere is no evidence (that he knows of, anyway) that proves Husseinis dangerously belligerent.
Thompson, who said he served in the 82nd Airborneduring the war, reminded Chanin that it was Iraq that invadedKuwait and not the other way around.
Not one to keep my opinions to myself, I switchedfrom observer mode to point-of-view guy, offering my take on thesituation.
“Mitch,” I asked, “did you ever seewhat happens when a Scud missile lands?”
He had not.
I had.
And my point was not, oh poor Israel.
My point was that Hussein is not a trustworthy partnerin peace and that, if the Iraqi people are suffering, they canthank him for their misery.
That said, I had to agree with both Chanin and Thompsonthat bombing Iraq won’t accomplish a damn thing.
“Peace is a good idea,” said Thompson,a guy who knows first-hand the alternative. “I was there.I never want to experience that again.”
The cop guarding the presidential barricade didn’tmind at all chatting about her next boss.
My sources tell me it will be Dexter Green, who hasbeen running the housing authority police department since takingover on a temporary basis for the disgraced John Cresci.
Chief Green would suit the officer just fine.
“Green’s a good guy,” said the officer,a black woman in her late 20s. “He really works with thepeople.”
Green, said the cop, is a true believer in communitypolicing, which, she said, makes her job easier and police-publicrelations a whole lot better.
Green, she added, is also both a cop’s cop and ano-nonsense commander.
“When you are bad, he will judge you,”said the cop, referring to Green’s direct approach toward policeofficers who have done wrong.
“And, when you are good, he will pat you onthe back.”
The cop, who said she got to know Green at the policeacademy, added that, as far as she was concerned, Richard Neal,who received one of the sweetest kiss-offs ever to be doled outto an incompetent, did a good job.
That said, she moved up closer to the hotel as theroar of the presidential motorcycle escort made Rittenhouse Squaresound like it was hosting a monster truck rally.
The loud revving ratched up anticipation of the president’sdeparture, with a bag full of dough, from Philly.
As the starstruck crowd buzzed, Midge Rendell stoodby her limo, exhibiting the grace and poise that one must have,I imagine, to put up with a hormonal frat boy like Ed.
After the seven-minute warning expired, nearly tothe second, the presidential motorcade pulled out, a smiling presidentwaving bye-bye to Midge as his limo drove by her.
She waved and smiled back.
I’d pay ten grand to know what she was thinking.
