The Pa-la-ti-'shan

by Neal Goldstein

  I approached the crowd.

  “Mr. Green nice of you to drop by,” Captain Breneman the District 12 Commanding Officer greeted me sarcastically. “Want to borrow my bull horn?”

  “I don’t think we’ll need that.”

  The three of us walked down the middle of Front Street towards the barrier. As we passed the neighbors standing on their front steps, Rocky Malone nodded as they acknowledged him.

  “Yo Rock what you doin with the Smoke?”

  Malone stopped and looked at the speaker.

  “Skeeter, if I ever hear you say anything like that to James again, I will personally kick your lame ass. That is, if there’s anything left of you after James is finished. This man has been through enough tonight and he doesn’t need to hear another word from your stupid mouth. So, if I was you I’d crawl back into that shit hole you call a house and pack it in for the night.”

  “Sure Rock,” he said as he backed into his house tripping over the doormat and falling on his backside to the laughter of his neighbors.

  “Reverend Delaney,” I said as I walked up to the barrier. “This is James Brown and his neighbor Rocky Malone.”

  Delaney’s people stopped chanting.

  “Representative Green did the police ask you to intercede here?” Delaney had the commanding presence of a fire and brimstone orator whose Sunday’s sermons singed you with the heat of his passion.

  “No sir, but when I heard you were here I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to hear one of your sermons. I seem to remember the last time you invited me to attend your church you told the congregation a parable about a good neighbor.”

  Delaney nodded.

  “I’m not quite sure how it went.”

  Delaney smiled and began his deep base voice quieted the crowd, “That the neighbor is according to the quality of the good, is plain from the Lord’s parable of the man who fell among thieves, whom, while half dead, the priest passed by, and also the Levite; but the Samaritan, when he bound up his wounds and poured oil and wine, set him on his own beast and brought him to an inn and took care of him; and he exercised the good of charity, is called the neighbor. Hence it may be known that they are the neighbor who are good; whereas they who are in evil are indeed the neighbor, but in quite a different respect; and for this reason they are to be benefited in a different way.”

  “Praise Jesus!” Someone from the crowd shouted to a chorus of “Amens!”

  “Yes, that’s it.” I said.

  “Reverend Delaney,” James Brown said. “My neighbor here,” he pointed at Rocky Malone, “saved my family. I appreciate your concern, all of you, but for tonight we’re staying at his house. We’re safe, we’ll be fine.”

  Delaney smiled at me. “Mr. Green, it appears you paid attention to my sermon.”

  “Reverend, when one speaks the Word with such passion, only those who refuse to listen miss the point.”

  “Will we be seeing you at our congregation again?”

  “How about this Sunday?” I asked.

  “And will you bring your friends with you?”

  Both Brown and Malone nodded.

  “Friends,” Delaney turned and addressed his followers. “It appears the good District Representative Mr. Green here, has been sent to remind me and all of us of the meaning of charity and love for one’s neighbor. This Sunday we’ll all meet in our sanctuary and explore the mystery of the Holy Spirit.”

  “Thank you my son for showing me the way,” Delaney said as he shook Rocky Malone’s hand.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Toto

  After months of profiling, interrogating and psychoanalyzing potential jurors, the Cinaglia jury had finally been selected, seven women and five men. I was fairly certain it must have been a Herculean task to unearth twelve citizens with a pulse in this part of Pennsylvania who could convincingly profess not to have an opinion, either pro or con, about the defendant. The senator’s new attorney, Jack Silver, a veteran of the local criminal defense bar who must have drawn the short straw, sat next to his client and tried to project confidence as the jurors filed into the courtroom for opening statements.

  Robert Blackburn, the Assistant U.S. Attorney who was lead counsel for the government nodded his approval as each of the jurors entered and took their seats. These twelve individuals would now form a unit that for the next six weeks or so that would have the momentous responsibility of deciding the fate of the once legendary state senator from South Philly.

  Blackburn turned his gaze from the jury to the defendant, and the jurors as if under his spell also looked at the senator.

  Cinaglia stared straight ahead, ignoring both the prosecutor and the jury. He could not, however, control the twitch in his right eye, the classic ‘tell’ poker players watched for in an opponent. Blackburn struggled to conceal his smirk.

  The U.S. Attorney approached the dais and waited for the judge’s signal to begin his opening remarks. Peskin nodded and Blackburn slowly turned to the jurors.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to embark on a…”

  Before he could complete his sentence one of the jurors stood up and shouted, “Judge, the defendant has fainted!”

  Pandemonium broke out in the courtroom as court officers ran over to Cinaglia who had fallen out of his chair to the floor.

  Judge Peskin directed the court officers to remove the jurors.

  Blackburn still standing at the dais stared at the defendant. “Jesus Christ, this is unbelievable!”

  I was sitting in the gallery with Mike Bollinger and the governor.

  “Do you think he’s faking a heart attack?” the governor asked.

  Cinaglia’s face looked ghostly white; he was foaming at the mouth. He looked like he was having an epileptic episode.

  “Governor, if he’s faking, he’s giving one hell of a performance,” I observed.

  “That’s right Jim,” Vernon Odom said as the camera panned to the ambulance as it was pulling away from the courthouse, “Senator Cinaglia suffered an apparent heart attack at the outset of his trial. The judge has delayed the proceedings until the senator is released by his doctors and is medically cleared to participate in his own defense. At this point it appears the delay will be at the very least a couple weeks if not longer.”

  “Thank you Vernon,” a somber Jim Gardner responded.

  I was watching the local newscast at the governor’s office.

  “The rumor on the street is that the trial will never come off,” the governor smiled and nodded his head approvingly. “Cinaglia’s on the top of his game. The man’s a fucking genius!”

  I looked at the governor trying to determine if he was pulling my leg.

  “I’m serious,” he responded, as if he were reading my mind.

  “I know, I know,” he said pointing the stub of an unlit cigar in my direction. “You think Cinaglia really suffered a heart attack. But I’m telling you, the man’s timing is exquisite. I mean, he didn’t even let that prick Blackburn start his opening and he’s flopping around on the floor like a tuna that’s just been reeled on to the deck.”

  “He was turning blue, he was choking to death. I really don’t think you can fake something like that.”

  “You don’t know Cinaglia. I’m telling you, he’s a fucking genius. He’ll actually die if he has too, just to fuck with the man. ”

  My cell phone buzzed, I looked at the display. “Excuse me governor, it’s Nicky.”

  He smiled. “Ask her when she’s coming back to work?”

  “Hi honey. The governor says hello. He wants to know when you’re coming back to work.”

  “Tell him when hell freezes over.”

  “Nicky, says hi governor.”

  “We’re waiting for you to take us to the SPCA. You didn’t forget did you?”

  “No, of course I didn’t.” I lied. “It’s just that Senator Cinaglia had a heart attack, or a stroke or something. Didn’t you hear it on the news? Anyway, I’m on my way.”


  After much debate and research, we decided that, instead of going to a breeder, we would visit the pound and see if there was a suitable puppy to rescue.

  Bobby and Nicky were waiting in front of the Parc when I arrived.

  “I’m so excited. I know we’re going to find the perfect puppy,” Bobby said as she jumped into my arms and kissed me on the cheek.

  “I’m sorry that your friend broke his heart. Is he going to be OK?”

  “Bobby, the man had a heart attack, and he’s not my friend. But I’m sure he would appreciate your good wishes.”

  The SPCA was located on Hunting Park Avenue. Bobby talked non-stop during the twenty-minute drive to North Philly. Both Nicky and I got swept up in her enthusiasm. She grabbed both of us by the hand and pulled us towards the entrance. We could hear dogs barking inside the building as we approached.

  “Can I help you?” An old black man with a patch over his right eye, who was missing one of his front teeth, greeted us. He was wearing scubs with SPCA stitched across the breast pocket of his shirt; he smiled at Bobby.

  “We’re here to adopt a puppy.” Bobby replied. Nicky and I nodded.

  “What happened to your eye?” Bobby asked.

  “Bobby, that’s not nice.” Nicky said. She was blushing embarrassed by the child’s directness.

  “That’s all right,” the man responded. “I got sick and that’s why I’m wearing the patch over my eye. What’s your name little lady?”

  “I’m Bobby Green. And these are my parents. We came to adopt a puppy.”

  “Well Miss Green, I’m Anthony Armstrong, you can call me Tony. It’s nice to meet you,” he said and extended his hand. Bobby shook Armstrong’s hand.

  “Tony, what happened to your tooth? Did the tooth fairy leave you a quarter?”

  “No miss, I’m still looking for that quarter. If you see the tooth fairy tell him he owes me one. Now Bobby Green, let’s go see if we can find the right puppy for you and your family.”

  Armstrong led the three of us down a long corridor. As we approached the double doors at the end of the hall the barking dogs got louder.

  “Bobby, some of the dogs get excited when visitors come to the kennel. So you hold your parents hands. After a little bit, the dogs will settle down. You take your time and take a careful look at all the dogs. Picking the right puppy is a very important decision. OK?”

  Bobby nodded acknowledging the significance of the moment.

  When we entered the kennel the crescendo of barking reached its peak. Armstrong signaled the dogs to be quiet to no apparent effect. There must have been fifty cages on each side of the corridor. Most of the cages were occupied. Some of the dogs jumped up as if calling for attention.

  You really don’t need the Kodak moment when girl meets dog. Like Las Vegas, what happens in the kennel, stays in the kennel. Two hours later, when we left the SPCA, the Greens were the proud owners of a three-week old, mostly Chocolate, mostly Labrador, puppy.

  “What are you going to name the puppy?” I asked as the newest member of the family jumped into the back seat with Bobby and licked her face.

  “Mommy and I are reading the Wizard of Oz. I want to name her Toto. Is that OK Mommy?”

  “It sounds good to me,” Nicky replied. “Bernie, what do you think?”

  “Ladies, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

  Both my girls laughed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  The Battle of the Budget and Other Things

  Throughout the spring there are many significant events and celebrations observed across our nation. For example, in March, the fabled swallows return from their winter in Argentina to the Mission in Capistrano. In April, the Japanese Cherry Trees bloom in Washington, DC. In May, Cinco de Mayo is celebrated at a number of prominent venues, most notably San Diego, Phoenix, and even Omaha, Nebraska, of all places.

  In the summer, in Pennsylvania we observe the ritual of the annual budget crisis. This year, for the first time, I was privileged to participate. I was told to anticipate an extended stay at the State Capitol.

  “My advice to you is to bring enough underwear to last you at least two weeks, unless you do your own laundry! You don’t do your own laundry, do you?”

  “Well, Mr. Speaker, as a matter of fact I do.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Damn. Well let me know when you do it, and I’ll give you mine to throw in. Listen son, when you get into town make sure you check in with me. We got our work cut out for us. I think the governor is going to propose a tax increase. The elephants are gonna go on the rampage. You know, calling us the tax and spend Democrats!”

  “Sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “You betcha. See you tomorrow.”

  “The Speaker tells me to anticipate an extended stay in Harrisburg while the Ds and Rs fight over the budget. How about you and Bobby, and Toto come along and watch the kerfuffle?”

  “You know how much I enjoy watching politicians pontificate about the budget. It’s almost as exciting as watching paint dry. But, I have an audition with Serge for a gig. Don’t you remember, I told you we might open for Los Lobos at the Keswick. Besides, Bobby’s classes aren’t over yet remember I enrolled her at an arts program at the Friend’s School.”

  “Oh sure. Like Bobby’s education and your singing career are more important than the budget. Besides, who’s going to do my laundry?”

  “Come here.”

  She kissed me. “I’m really going to miss you,” she said and kissed me again.

  “Listen. If you’re a good boy, Bobby and I will come up for the weekend. OK?”

  “OK.”

  “Before you go to do your civic duty and save the Commonwealth, come with me,” she held out her hand.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” she teased.

  “Will I like it?”

  “Oh yes, I think you will.”

  I did.

  As instructed, I arrived at Harrisburg with enough underwear and other necessities to last for the duration of the budget battle. Harrisburg had taken on the look and feel of a town under siege. There were TV vans from every part of the state driving around in search of a story. Reporters and lobbyists were swarming the corridors of the Capitol Building, looking to buttonhole a legislator to remind him or her of the promise to give them a story, or keep their pet project in the budget. The key players, the governor, the speaker, the senate majority leader and their minority counterparts, were flanked by their aides who acted like human decoys as they traveled the corridors, and deflected the supplicants who wanted a moment with their bosses.

  The speaker’s secretary smiled as she waived me into his office.

  “I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes. It’s standing room only in there,” she said as I walked past her desk.

  “The speaker only told me to bring extra underwear. He didn’t mention anything about shoes,” I said and smiled at her as I walked into the speaker’s office.

  “Bernie, I see you made it through the throng. You know everyone here.”

  I nodded seeing the usual suspects.

  “Your suggestion that we let Attorney General Conrad expose himself, so to speak, is working like a charm. So far the corruption probe is going nowhere. He’s so bad on TV the media is running away from him.

  We were just tossing around some ideas for the budget debate. We’ll be OK in the House, we have enough votes to pass a budget without any of the loyal opposition joining in. But, I figure some of the Republicans from the suburbs around Philly and Pittsburgh are going to break ranks that is, if they want to retain their seats. Bob tells me in the Senate, it’s a whole different ballgame.”

  Robert Shackleford, the minority leader in the Senate looked around the room.

  “Fellas, Manoff told me in no uncertain terms that there was no fucking way he would agree to a tax hike. He’s ready to shutdown the state.”

  “Manhoff’
s full of shit. He must want something,” the speaker replied.

  “Sherm, he just wants to humiliate the governor and make all of us look bad.”

  “OK gents, anyone have any suggestions?” the speaker asked the room.

  “Mr. Speaker.”

  “Yes Bernie.”

  “I’m sure you’ve probably thought about this, but why don’t we turn the argument around.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why don’t we admit defeat and announce that in the absence of bi-partisan support, which the leader of the Republican Senate caucus has informed us will not happen, instead of shutting down the state, and in order to bring fiscal discipline to our government, we will embrace the Republican’s plan and institute budget cuts.

  We can disclose that instead of imposing across the board cuts, our polling among our constituents indicates willingness for the modest temporary income tax increase the governor has proposed. Since we presume that Mr. Manoff is speaking on behalf of his and his caucus’ constituents we’ll let him propose the budget cuts and explain how they will affect the citizens.”

  “We can do that,” the Speaker said. “You know that would really piss him off.”

  “Yes sir. It would also scare some of the members of his caucus into deserting. You know if we can change one vote, the Lt Governor breaks the tie. Or maybe we can persuade one of his caucus to switch parties. That would give us both chambers.”

  “You’re one devious son of a bitch,” the speaker said as he patted me on the back.

  The next morning the legislative sessions opened in both chambers with the usual grandstanding speeches and sideshow antics that occur whenever the media circus raises its tent at the state capitol. The corridors outside the House chamber were crowded with journalists and TV reporters with their video crews and tape recorders all seeking exclusive interviews from legislators who all acted as if they were too busy with the affairs of state to accommodate the press. I was bored beyond the point of even pretending to be listening to the tedious remarks of the representative from Elk County who was railing against the big city liberals’ waste of taxpayer funds to shore up mass transit, or transmit shorelines, or whatever the hell he was against.