by Al Franken
Look, a lot of Minnesotans voted for Donald Trump. And when I travel around Minnesota, I meet people who voted for him believing that only a true outsider could “drain the swamp” in Washington. I meet committed Republicans who were willing to hold their noses and vote for him so that the Supreme Court would stay in conservative hands. I meet people who bought into the misinformation spread about Hillary Clinton and couldn’t bring themselves to vote for someone who was insufficiently attentive to proper email security protocols.
But where Donald Trump sees a state in which people suspect and resent their neighbors based on where they come from, I see a state where we look out for each other, because we believe that we’re all in this together. Trump might have found a clever way to channel the resentments of the white working class, and he sure does seem good at playing the media for fools, but he’s just plain wrong about what kind of people we are.
Willmar is an agricultural city of about twenty thousand in south-central Minnesota and the seat of Kandiyohi County, the largest turkey-producing county in the largest turkey-producing state in the nation. In June of last year, I took the unusual step of inviting myself to Willmar’s high school graduation. Not just for the free punch and cookies, but because I wanted to introduce the senior who had been voted by the graduating class to be their class speaker.
Her name was Muna Abdulahi, and she had been one of our Senate pages during her junior year. Her principal had recommended her to my office, and my staff told me that her essay and interview had been unbelievably impressive. So, the day the new class of pages arrived in the Senate, I went down to the floor to meet her in person. Muna was easy to pick out of the group of thirty or so, being the only one wearing a hijab (headscarf) with her page uniform. I went up to her and said, “You look like a Minnesotan.”
Muna nodded and smiled. As we talked, I was struck by her poise and intelligence. A few weeks later, the ambassador from Somalia came to the Capitol to meet with a number of senators and members of Congress from states with large Somali communities. I invited Muna to come along so that the ambassador could meet her and see that a Somali Minnesotan was a Senate page.
The Class of 2016 at Willmar Senior High had 236 members. Perusing the list of graduates in the program, I estimated that about 60 percent were your garden-variety Scandinavian/German white Minnesotans, about 25 percent were Hispanic, and about 15 percent were Somali, with a few Asian Americans tossed in. The valedictorian, Maite Marin-Mera, had been born in Ecuador.
As the orchestra played “Pomp and Circumstance,” the graduates entered two by two, walking down the center aisle in their caps and gowns. Muna was up front, because “Abdulahi” was the first name alphabetically. She was holding hands with fellow senior Michelle Carlson, one of two Carlson twins to graduate that day.
The only way to tell Michelle and her twin sister, Mary, apart is that Mary has a slightly shorter haircut. Or maybe it’s Michelle. Otherwise, they’re identical—both are tall, both are brilliant (both graduated with highest honors), and both exude the same spirit of pure positivity and joy.
The whole day was like this. Maite gave a wonderful speech, and so did class president Tate Hovland (half Norwegian, half German), and both received enthusiastic ovations. I introduced Muna, who got a boisterous round of applause as she took the stage and a standing O when she finished.
When it came time to hand out diplomas, the crowd was told to hold their applause until the end. But they couldn’t help themselves. The moment Muna’s name was called, everyone erupted. Clapping, shouting, stomping on the bleachers—and it continued like that through each one of the 236 graduates. These kids loved each other.
The two hours I spent at that high school commencement were a tonic for the year of trash I’d been hearing about our country.
The previous year, I’d been in Willmar to help respond to an avian flu crisis that threatened the turkey industry that employs so many in Kandiyohi County. A number of producers were worried that they might lose their entire operations. But we were able to get some emergency funding to help keep them on their feet.
Were these turkey producers Democrats? Were they Republicans? No idea. Didn’t care. Don’t care. Will never care. Do they care that they have Somali refugees in their community? Yes, they do care. They want them. They need them. They need people like Muna’s dad, who works in IT at the Jennie-O Turkey store.
Perhaps Donald Trump confused Minnesota with somewhere else. About a week after the election, I spoke to Gérard Araud, the French ambassador to the United States. He told me that in France, a Frenchman is someone who can tell you what village his family is from going back centuries. Immigrants never really get to become Frenchmen. It made me think back to the hideous massacre in Paris the year before.
Here in America, of course, we’re all immigrants. Except, of course, for Native Americans against whom we committed genocide. I’m a Jew, but I’m also an American. Muna is Somali, but she’s also an American. On election day, I ran into her on campus at the University of Minnesota, where I was getting out the vote for Hillary. She told me that her sister, Anisa, had been voted homecoming queen.
That’s who we are. In places like France, they isolate their refugees and immigrants. In America, we elect them homecoming queen.
Willmar is a great community. Minnesota is a great state. America is a great country.
Do we have enormous problems? You bet. Do Americans have the right to be angry about those problems? Yes. Are some of those Americans wrong about what the problems are? Sure. Does that make it harder to solve the problems? Oh yeah.
But one thing is for sure. Muna is not the problem. Muna is a big part of the solution. Her classmates know it. Her community knows it.
And her senator knows it, too.
If, when you read this book, the Trump presidency has gone in the direction we all fear it might, you might think it’s strange for me to have ended this book on a hopeful note. But I’m an optimist. And, more importantly, I’m Minnesota’s senator.
And no matter what happens in the years ahead, no matter who’s president, no matter how exciting or depressing our current political environment may be, we who have the honor of serving our state and our country in the Senate always need to remember whom it is we’re serving.
And how fucking great they are.
The End
The Frankens: Joe, Phoebe, Owen, and Alan. Guess what decade I grew up in.
Franken family photo
Believe it or not, I was kind of a nerd.
Franken family photo
Me and Franni in 1971. Pretty cute, huh? She looks good, too.
Franken family photo
Poster for an early Franken and Davis show.
Courtesy of the author
Tom and I played the two finalists in our “Mr. USA” pageant sketch on SNL in 1977.
Photograph Licensed by Edie Baskin Studios. All Rights Reserved.
Me and Tom and Jane Curtin and Gilda Radner. Laraine Newman loves us, too, she just isn’t in this picture.
Copyright Owen Franken
Me and Franni with some walleye we caught in the St. Croix River.
Franken family photo
Me and Franni with some kids we had in the 1980s.
Franken family photo
Danny as Julia Child in a sketch Tom and I wrote. Tom is under the table controlling the pressure on the fake blood with the pump from an insecticide sprayer. The video of this now plays at the Smithsonian.
Copyright Owen Franken
Me as Stuart Smalley, healing nurturer and member of several 12-step programs.
Paramount Pictures/Photofest
Campaigning with Paul and Sheila Wellstone in 1996.
Courtesy of the author
In happier times.
Paul J. Richards/AFP/Getty Images
Me and future president Barack Obama on “The Al Franken Show” in 2006.
Allen Brisson-Smith/The New York Times/Redux
&
nbsp; Me and Karri Turner performing at a USO show in Iraq a couple of weeks after troops complained to Secretary Rumsfeld about having to rely on “hillbilly armor.” “I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” I told the troops. “The bad news is, no cheerleaders this year. The good news is, I’ve got a hundred more of these.”
Copyright Owen Franken
USO tours are the best thing I’ve ever done.
Copyright Owen Franken
Me at a bean feed in 2006.
Copyright Owen Franken
In this bean feed shot, you can actually see some bean residue!
Copyright Owen Franken
Me and my young staff at a DFL dinner early in the campaign. L-R: Andy Barr, future senator Al Franken, Jess McIntosh, Jon-David Schlough, David Benson, Jackie Bateman, Dusty Trice.
Jess McIntosh
A frame from my first campaign ad, featuring my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Molin.
An unhinged Brian Heenan whips up the crowd as TeamFranken arrives in Rochester for the DFL state convention in 2008.
Me and Stephanie Schriock, without whom this book would have come to a sudden and disappointing ending about halfway through.
The Washington Post/Getty Images
Norm Coleman, Dean Barkley, and me at a debate in 2008. You can tell from my body language how annoyed I am with whatever it is Norm is saying.
Marlin Levinson, Copyright 2008, Star Tribune
Research director Matt Fuehrmeyer and communications director Andy Barr backstage at the debate. You can tell from their body language how confident they are in whatever it is I’m saying.
Mandy Grunwald
In happier times.
Cory Ryan/Getty Images
Franni thought she saw Norm Coleman with a fruit basket.
Copyright 2009, Star Tribune
Meeting with Vice President Biden. You can tell from my body language how aware I am that there’s a camera in the room.
White House photo
This photo of me and Vice President Mondale was taken moments before I was sworn in.
ME: Can I do this?
MONDALE: I don’t know.
Franken.senate.gov
Me and Mrs. Molin share a nice moment at my swearing-in party.
Franken.senate.gov
Drew Littman, my first chief of staff, fitting right in at the Minnesota State Fair.
Courtesy of the author
Amy Klobuchar and I both sit on the Judiciary Committee. Here, she shows me the ropes. Specifically, where to get the best tuna sandwich in the Capitol.
Copyright Owen Franken
Me and Lindsey Graham sharing a light moment before impugning each other’s integrity.
Reuters/Kevin Lamarque
At President Obama’s 2011 State of the Union address. See if you can spot the Republicans in this picture.
Copyright Owen Franken
I often draw sketches of colleagues during hearings. Here’s one of my favorites. Favorite sketches, I mean.
Courtesy of the author
Me letting my id out.
Copyright Owen Franken
In happier times.
AP Photo/Genevieve Ross
Alana Petersen, the only state director I’ve ever had.
Terry Gydesen
Current and former chiefs of staff Jeff Lomonaco and Casey Aden-Wansbury, two of the only people on Earth who know the pressure of having your finger on the DeHumorizer™ button.
Ed Shelleby
Me, communications director Ed Shelleby, and energy staffer Bidisha Bhattacharyya reviewing a speech draft. Guess which one of us isn’t a Minnesotan. Hint: It’s Ed. Bidisha’s from Rochester. Ed’s from Cincinnati.
Tom Williams/CQ Roll Call
Me and Franni on the campaign trail in 2014.
Glen Stubbe, Copyright 2014, Star Tribune
Me, Franni, Joe, and Thomasin as I’m about to give my victory speech on election night 2014. This is us when we’re happy.
Glen Stubbe, Copyright 2014, Star Tribune
A precious moment with my grandson Joe at the swearing-in reception for my second term.
Franken.senate.gov
Joe, a couple of years later, using his little sister Avery as a prop.
Franken family photo
Avery without her brother torturing her.
Franken family photo
My grandson Jacob with his brother Charlie.
Franken family photo
Partners in crime.
Franken family photo
Politicians have to send out Christmas cards. Here’s ours.
Heather Ryan
Muna Abdulahi giving the class speech at the Willmar Senior High graduation.
West Central Tribune, Willmar, Minn.
Muna’s sister Anisa being crowned homecoming queen.
West Central Tribune, Willmar, Minn.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I want to thank my wife, Franni, with whom I’ve been sharing this adventure for nearly forty-eight years. I am so grateful to our daughter, Thomasin, and son, Joe, for their love and counsel and their choice of spouses, Brody and Stephanie. So far, Franni and I have been blessed with three beautiful grandchildren, none of whom lifted a finger to help with this thing.
My brother helped, though. He’s a world-class photographer and there are a number of his pictures in the photo inserts, which I hope you enjoyed. Thanks, Owen, for not going into physics. And a special thanks to Franni’s family—all the Brysons, but especially my hero, Fran.
I’d like to thank the people of Minnesota for (barely, at least the first time) giving me the honor and privilege of serving you. For those of you who didn’t vote for me either time, it’s an honor and privilege to serve you, too, and while this book may not have changed your mind about me, thanks for reading it and hearing me out.
I’d also like to thank my fellow senators for their friendship, their mentorship, their partnership, and in the case of several Republicans mentioned in this book, for not getting mad about stuff I wrote.
The political journey in this book wouldn’t have been possible without the hard work of a whole lot of people, few of whom ever get the recognition they deserve. I don’t have room to change that here, but thank you to Stephanie Schriock and Matt Burgess for managing my campaigns, and thank you to every staffer, intern, and volunteer who has been part of those campaigns, or who has helped with my PAC, or who is part of the DFL family in Minnesota. Sorry I made it so difficult sometimes. And special thanks to A. J. Goodman for raising all that money to pay for everything.
Then there are the incredible public servants who help me do my job in the Senate. We have a tradition at our D.C. office. At our Christmas party, I raise a glass “to the best Senate office on Capitol Hill!” We drink, and then I raise my glass again: “And now, to our office!” I don’t want the staff getting a swelled head. But they are the most amazing group of dedicated, brilliant, hard-working people I know. That goes double for our St. Paul office and our other offices around Minnesota. All of that comes from the top, of course.
Drew Littman, my first chief of staff, set it all in motion, putting a great team in place, and creating a culture of excellence. Casey Aden-Wansbury, my original communications director, took the helm from Drew, carried that culture forward, and built on it every day for four years. When Casey left, Jeff Lomonaco, who was my original foreign policy adviser and then legislative director, became chief of staff and provided a seamless transition. As you can tell, I am extremely proud of the remarkable continuity we have enjoyed, both in D.C. and in Minnesota, where Alana Petersen has provided extraordinary leadership as my state director from Day One.
For six years, my scheduler Tara Mazer, took incredible care of me, as has Sara Silvernail, my Minnesota scheduler. You guys are the best! Brynna Schmidt has taken over for Tara in D.C., and is filling big shoes extraordinarily well.
All of these people have been extraordinarily patient and supporti
ve during the writing of this book. In particular, I’d like to thank Jeff, as well as Ed Shelleby, my deputy chief of staff and communications director, who have offered guidance throughout this process and talked me out of at least one possibly career-ending joke. That’s legal, by the way, because I paid them from my book advance. Which reminds me, I should thank Marc Elias and my lawyers at Perkins Coie, who also helped me on a little recount thing a few years back.
Oh, and speaking of lawyers (and my book advance), I’d like to thank Bob Barnett.
I’d also like to thank my editor, Sean Desmond, and the entire team at Twelve—from Jamie Raab, who recently completed her service as publisher, on down to Brian McLendon, Paul Samuelson, Jarrod Taylor, Rachel Kambury, Bailey Donoghue, and everyone else.
