 |
|
|
Talk of the Nation in 2000 By Anne Gray Brown I live in the little southern town that became the talk of the nation in November 2000: Tallahassee, Florida. If you'll recall, and surely you do, November 2000 was the month that the presidential debacle took center stage. Little, ol' Tallahassee, the capital of Florida, saw its share of news media, amateur photographers, wanna-be reporters, stars and starlets in the making, glitz and glamour queens and kings, future commentators and future media and Hollywood whatevers. Everyone and their mother and father was vying for the Any Warholism moment. I wasn't vying, but I had a bit part in it, too. A friend with connections hooked me up. She knew that I had a tad bit of late-night energy, could turn a phrase if and when such a need arose. Generally, however, she wanted to make sure that we had some memories for the road. In the midst of it all, I hung out, cavorted, did a little PR on behalf of a few VIPs, did a bit of writing for a few folks in the know, shared a front row bench in the court house during some VIMs (Very Important Moments), was sworn to secrecy by written declaration and was, generally, a real, but unofficial go-to girl. All this occurred after-hours from my regular 8-5 gig. Didn't want to be--and was determined not to be--called on the carpet for doing my rightful duty to God and my country. In other words, I didn't want to return to work the next day and be greeted with a note in my mail slot about neglecting my "duties." I knew I'd had to be politically, as well as academically correct on all fronts. After work, I'd rush home, high octane adrenaline flowing, shower, change clothes, grab the "political bag," the grip that separated me from the eight-hour gig, and then I'd take off for an evening, night and early morning of politcal excitement and maneuvering. I was never disappointed. Once my association was established by my friend, I had to be cleared to enter the high security building where much of the Gore-for-President activities were taking place. When I entered the building, I saw that everything and everyone was in a high-octane, political tizzy. Soon, I was in the tizzy. It was a whirlwind of activity going on. A Dorothy/Toto whirlwind. Except, there were no witches in the building. There were, however, witches outside the building, circling and swarming overhead: those folk who wanted GWB to take Florida by any means necessary, including, if need be, a hanging chad. Inside "the building" phones rang, televisions blared, fax machines kicked out correspondences from across the nation, voices rose and shouts became the order of the evening, night and early morning. At some points it was difficult to tell who, in fact, was on first. If GWB was claiming this position, it certainly wasn't because Abbott and Costello had given them permission to do so. Exiting the building in the wee hours of the morning, I'd dash back home, prepare for my real job, grab a couple hours sleep, get up, shower and be off to the halls of academia. Before the dash, however, I'd managed to catch a few minutes of television in an attempt to see in full color what I'd just left in the person. The adrenaline would be in fine gear right about then. On my way to the job that keeps the mortgage paid, I'd pass the plethora of news trucks, reporters, satellite dishes, protesters and every TD&H that feigned interest in what was happening. I couldn't wait to get back in the thick of things! Traffic would often be blocked and motorists had to swirve to keep from hitting wayward pedestrians with camera gear slung over shoulders. A lot of battery chargers were sold in November 2000, I'm sure. This is Tallahassee, my hometown. All this is happening right here in the place where I grew up. Sleepy ol' Tallahassee. As a resident of Florida's capital city, I was, of course, use to the political renderings of the town. I was used to protests rallies and the usual political fanfare at the capital. The local newspaper is called the Tallassee Democrat. Democracy in action. Were the events a political parallel or a political irony? In November 2000, it was rather difficult to tell. What was happening was unreal, I thought. But very real, I saw. "Wow," I'd say to myself as I maneuvered my way through the throng of cars, trucks, people, cats and dogs, squirrels and rabbits that lined the sidewalks, Apalachee Parkway, North Monroe Street, and the area that lead to and immediately fronted the Capitol building. Unbelievable. Up to that point, I didn't know that there were so many global news folks that could assemble themselves into such a small space. But assemble they did. It was difficult to know and see who was what or where was when. I did know why, though. "They" were at "it" again. Doggone their time. After gig-mortgage obligations, duties and responsibilities, and the ritual of feigned recuperation, it was back to the Land of the Debacle. On one of my gig-free days, on my rush to "the building," I came across two guys standing on the corner talking. A lively discussion about the affairs of the state, overheard in passing. A backward glance, however, gave me reason to pause and backtrack a few steps. I thought I recognized one of the men from the multitude of news and media reports covering the election. Turns out my eyes did not deceive me. I turned around, walked back to the corner and very boldly interrupted the men, asking the guy in the rumpled suit to my left: "Are you David Boies?" "Yes,I am," he said with a smile. My goodness, I thought. Here you are, Davie Boies, Al Gore's defender, standing here on the corner of Monroe and Call streets on a cool, fall November morning, as calm and collected as you can be. Unlike me, unharried. I thought that just having the memory of speaking to him and saying something, literally, politically correct would be a pretty good thing, but then I remembered the camera that I always kept with me for such moment-freezing times as this. I walked away, backtracked again, and re-interrupted the duo, asking the November Defender if he would allow me to get a picture with him. "Certainly," he enthusiastically responded. I fumbled around in my political bag, digging through an assortment of non-essentials before I pulled out the old preserver-in-time item: my forever companion: my camera. Completely ignoring the other half of the duo until that very moment that I needed him to honor my appeal to do the picture-taking, Mr. Boies and I became a cornerstone item. Snap! Snap! I think I looked pretty decent that morning. I was wearing a beige, linen jacket and a pair of brown linen pants. My attire didn't matter that crisp, fall morning, because I knew the photos were worth a thousand words. At least to me, they were. The photos became all the more politically correct, because the backdrop was the newly erected federal court building. What an appropriate background, I mused as the three of us shook hands and went our separate ways. So much for southern politeness and "waiting to be asked." Sometime, as my parents often said, you have to take the bull by the horns. The size of the bull and the reason you take him doesn't always matter. As the days of the November political storm trudged onward, every corner of the universe came to discover this sleepy southern capital that had suddenly become the nation's political hotbed. There were rallies, protesters, flag-wavers, marches, poster-bearers and corner poster wavers. Old Glory flew from rooftops, cartops, buildings and bridges. Schools structured lessons around the civic-minded and civic dissenters. The local newspaper, the Tallahassee Democrat, blared political headlines like never before. For thirty-three days, the headlines blared. The print got smaller and smaller, but the headlines remained. Local attorneys came out of the woodwork to defend the beaten, the downtrodden, the misguided and the misbehaving. Every academic discipline now had a contemporary topic in the making, and every teacher, from kindergarten to college, had, at least for a few months, great civics lessons to impart to their students. Late-night funny men had enough material to last until the next presidential election. Never had something so questionable been so good for so many. Hotels, motels, eating establishments, car rental places and copy centers reaped the benefits of instant stardom and economic prosperity. As an unofficial member of a political group "working on the case," I, too, enjoyed the fanfare. I dined, late-night, on steak, lobster, fine wine and the traditional trappings of great cuisine. Late-night meals may account for the girth that I still carry. I housed a few political folk for a few days and relished the early morning conversations over bagels and coffee. I have a few mementos that often serve as great conversation pieces. I participated in the candlelight vigil held on the steps of the Leroy Collins Public Library in support of the Gore campaign. I proofread political documents. I answered phones and directed calls in that secure building. I faxed correspondences, I had dinner with attorney Harry Jacobs whose lawsuit in South Florida helped launch the political storm that eventually reached the United States Supreme Court. I was cleared to enter the media-frenzy Leon County Courthouse and had a front-row seat when Judge Nikki Clark made her ruling regarding Al Gore's argument specific to the South Florida case. I was up front and center during Tallahassee's biggest moment in the sun. I'm not sure if "hanging chads" had made its way into the national lexicon. For nearly forty days and forty nights, Tallahassee had gone from being a sleepy southern town to a national city of the world. I was there, in the mix and in the midst. About the author: Have been a reader of most all things, since age four. My parents subscribed to a number of publications for me during my growing-up years in the 60s. The investment paid off. As a teenager, went to work for about a week, doing a little clerical work, for Jim Fair, a local political gadfly. My parents never knew. I made about $50. Fair was a pony-tailed, Woodstockian kind of fellow. Always have considered myself a little bit on the nerdy side, which is one of the things I absolutely adore about myself. Write poetry and still listen to Richie Havens--as I did when I was a teenager, to the chagrin of my teenage buddies. I'm a book person and a lover of all things literary. I love cats, but am down to one now, Cinnamon, whom everyone knows can "talk." I like to paint, draw and "go to the movies," mostly by myself, beause the kinds of films I like are not necessarily the kinds of films that interest my friends and associates. Have been doing the solo film thing since my teenage years...especially the really good films. I teach English at a local university, and I'm in the final stages of writing my dissertation. It's been fun--albeit a lot of work--but I've enjoyed (and am enjoying) all of the research, writing, and scholarship. I'm at a good place/time in my life. My daughter's got a college degree and a good job, my parents are healthy and just about to celebrate the end of their fifth decade of marriage, my cat's really fat, and I'm enjoying life. Tallahassee is a great place to live. It's an academic town, so there's no shortge of literary interests for the residents. After I retire, I will probably take violin lessons and learn to play the guitar. I'm seriously thinking about going to law school. I'd love to live in Paris for at least one year. I also plan to visit Cuba and I'll write about the artistic side of the communist country. | | | |
First Person Archive Most recent: 2008 November October September August July June May April March February January 2007 December November October September August July June May April March February January 2006 December September Submit Your First Person Story A while back, we invited listeners to send us a short story or a poem about their homes for a feature called "Stories from Home." We're resurrecting this feature, but we're calling it "First Person" a place for you to give us your stories, poems, or short fiction. | |
 |
|
|
