by Richard Stevenson
"Here's the deal. If it's true, it's really bad. There's no two ways about it. It is shameful and ugly. Two sources have led us to believe that Louderbush was once in a physically abusive relationship with a young gay man. Louderbush was the abuser. The young man committed suicide—driven to suicide by Louderbush, two of the young man's friends insist.
I'm not sure exactly how that would work; it sounds exaggerated. But whatever the truth of the situation, it does seem as if Louderbush was involved in a gay relationship that was messy and ugly and reflects poorly on his character. It was certainly a violation of his marriage vows, not that that alone disqualifies anybody from public office in this easygoing day and age, or should. But it's the physical and emotional cruelty to his boyfriend that—if true—is something I believe voters need to know about before deciding whether or not to cast a ballot for or against Shy McCloskey's primary election opponent."
I thought about what I'd seen and read of Louderbush. "He doesn't come across as mean."
"I agree."
"He's aggressive and noisy on behalf of what he sees as his libertarian principles. But the only people he seems nasty to are elderly people with medical problems. He wants to abolish Medicare, which at this late date has to be considered a sick joke. But that's all ideological and theoretical, and it's hard to imagine Louderbush actually beating up on any individual he's face-to-face with."
"It could be a Jekyll and Hyde type situation with him. This happens."
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"I guess."
"If it's not true, of course, we'd pay you for your time and effort, and that would be that. Truth, justice, and the American way would prevail whatever you came up with. But if it is true, well, you'd be doing your bit to help elect a good man governor of our state, and Louderbush could slink away and enter rehab and refind Jesus and live to drive us all nuts another day."
I said, "Okay."
"Okay, what?"
"Okay, I'll do it."
"Excellent."
"I hate this stuff."
"So do I."
"Gay people should be held to the same moral standards for their behavior as other people. But anybody Louderbush's age—what is he, in his fifties?—grew up with so much homophobic crap getting heaped on them, it's a miracle most American homosexuals aren't seething and twisted deep inside. Seething or ashamed."
"Really? Are you?"
"No. I got bored with all that long ago. There's just a bit of residual melancholy."
"Before you start looking into what we've got on Louderbush," Dunphy said, "I should tell you one other thing."
"What?"
"We know that the Republicans have gotten wind of this and they don't want it to come out. They want Louderbush on 18
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the Democratic primary ballot. The Ostwind campaign will be working overtime to discredit anything bad you come up with on Louderbush."
"Oh, great."
"They'll say it's all a smear. So you'll need to have all your ducks in a row before we leak this stuff to selected media outlets. Have I whetted your appetite, Don, for your work in the days and weeks ahead?"
I told him no, he hadn't.
[Back to Table of Contents]
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Chapter Two
"What do you know about Kenyon Louderbush?" I asked Timmy. I was hiking up State Street hill, and I was one of those people who walk around on sidewalks looking as if they're trying to keep their left ears from falling off. "I mean, besides the obvious."
"You met with Dunphy?"
"Just now."
"So it's Louderbush he wants you to dig up dirt on? Or was that not it?"
"That was it. Opposition research, so-called."
"That's the euphemism."
"Did you ever hear that Louderbush is gay?"
"No, never. And if he is, what else is new? We're almost at that point."
"Not quite. But it's more than gay."
"Oh?"
"It's physical abuse. Supposedly he repeatedly beat up a young gay man he was involved with about five years ago.
Don't repeat any of this. It's a horrible thing to say about anybody."
"Of course."
"The young guy, a SUNY student, committed suicide.
Supposedly because Louderbush drove him to it. Dunphy wants me to check this out and find out if it's true. And if it is, get the goods and drive Louderbush out of the race."
"How awful."
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"They're terrified that all these right-wingers are registering Democratic, and Louderbush will win the primary, and then Ostwind'll bring the Republicans back in. So Louderbush has to go."
"If it's true," Timmy said, "he should go."
"I know. You've never picked up anything in the assembly about Louderbush? You know the scuttlebutt up there."
I was passing the Bank of America now, and the sidewalk was filling up with people heading out for an early lunch.
Several other pedestrians were also holding their ears in place and talking, and a few were jabbering away, hands-free, at what looked like no one at all.
Timmy said, "Louderbush is thought of as a conservative Democratic straight arrow. His mostly rural district, out beyond Rochester, is heavily Republican. He's a First Gulf War vet who, I think, unseated a GOP old-timer with senility problems who didn't know when to quit. This was fifteen or so years ago. He rose through the assembly ranks as an antitax zealot—the guy seems to be a genuine libertarian—and then when the Tea Partiers came along, Louderbush was all of a sudden more than just another antigovernment kvetch. He's a good speaker, and he has the right personal resume: nurse-wife, three personable teenaged kiddos with Silly Bands on their wrists but probably not on their genitalia, and he teaches Sunday school. When the Republicans looked like they were going with the centrist Ostwind, Kenyon suddenly became the answer to the right wing's prayers."
"Teaches Sunday school. Ah, now we're onto something.
He's a fanatic."
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"No, he's Presbyterian, like you were."
"That's what I mean. They play Guy Lombardo arrangements of Beethoven. On second thought, that's about as violent as Presbyterians generally get."
"Bad enough."
"When I was thirteen, the teen boys' Sunday school teacher, Lawrence McCool, read us sports stories. Heroes, exciting games, sportsmanlike behavior. Mr. McCool was partial to the Yankees, even though central New Jersey had its share of Phillies fans such as myself. There was a prayer before we left the church each week—that's when Jesus elbowed his way in—but the class was mostly sports. Also the odd off-color joke. It was in Sunday school where I first heard the joke whose punch line is, 'Little man of Spic 'n' Span, where were you when the shit hit the fan?'"
"Donald, now I finally grasp what the Reformation was all about."
I passed the Crowne Plaza Hotel. It was in the bar here where some years earlier, when the place was still a Hilton, I interviewed a man in a case that led to my having one of my ears bitten off. The ear was soon re-attached, and now it was practically everybody else out in public who went around apparently in fear of an ear coming loose.
I said, "This afternoon I'm talking to these two people making the accusation against Louderbush. Meanwhile, I'll be in the office googling up what I can on the suicide. Dunphy says what's there is sketchy."
"If it was a SUNY student, you might get something from the school. Although I suppose their records are confidential."
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&
nbsp; "Yes, I suppose they are."
He heard this the way he often hears things I say, and he briefly moved on to another topic before ringing off.
* * * *
Gregory Stiver's obit appeared in both the Albany Times Union and the Schenectady Daily Gazette. Schenectady was where his family lived. The TU also had a brief news story about the suicide. Stiver, 24, was actually a graduate student in economics—
I had imagined someone a bit younger—who had jumped to his death from the roof of the Livingston Quad 4 classroom tower at the State University of New York's Western Avenue campus in Albany. Police had found no evidence of foul play in the late April incident five years earlier. The TU story said friends had described Stiver as despondent in recent weeks.
The unnamed friends attributed Stiver's despondency to his inability to line up a job that would follow the awarding of his master's degree in less than a month's time. Two possible teaching jobs had recently fallen through. There was no mention of a troubled romantic relationship nor of any physical abuse.
The Schenectady obituary described a life that offered no hint that it might come to a sad and early end. Stiver had been an excellent student in Schenectady public schools. He'd been a member of the debating club in high school and had been on the swim team. He had earned a bachelor's degree in economics at SUNY Albany two years before his death. At SUNY, Stiver had been active in the Federalist Society, the 23
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conservative constitutional "originalists"—and also in the Log Cabin Club, the gay Republicans. So he was conservative, he was gay, and he was out.
The photo accompanying the Schenectady obit was a head shot, perhaps a student ID picture, of a pleasant-faced young man with a crew cut and a wide smile. He seemed to be wearing a jacket and tie, an unusual getup for a college student in our casual era.
Stiver was survived, both obits said, by his parents, Anson and Margery Stiver of Schenectady, and by a brother, Hugh, and a sister, Jennifer, also of Schenectady.
A funeral was scheduled to take place at the Fairlawn Presbyterian Church in Schenectady. In lieu of flowers, donations could be made to something called The Eddie Fund, in care of the funeral home.
That's all the Internet had to offer on Gregory Stiver. I googled the Eddie Fund, but nothing came up. Either it was so obscure or so old-fashioned that it had no Internet presence, or sometime during the previous five years the Eddie Fund had ceased to exist. It wasn't in the phone book, either.
* * * *
Virgil Jackman and Janie Insinger had had some sort of falling out, Dunphy had told me. The former friends were no longer speaking to each other, so I was going to have to interview them separately. In fact, I preferred this. I could listen to their own versions of events, cross-check them, and do re-interviews if needed. 24
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Already the two accusers had credibility because both had contacted the McCloskey campaign independently with the same story about a physically abusive Kenyon Louderbush having driven Greg Stiver to suicide. Insinger had also called the Merle Ostwind campaign, she told Dunphy, because she was so angry with Louderbush that she was determined that all of his political opponents should gang up on him and keep him from gaining higher office. Insinger told Dunphy that she had not gone to the press with her charges because she wanted her name kept out of the controversy for family and professional reasons. Exposing Louderbush would have to be left up to individuals of a certain ilk such as myself.
I wasn't sure how it would be possible to confirm and expose Louderbush's reprehensible behavior if one of the two witnesses to it refused to be named. I would have to figure that out; maybe other witnesses could be found and they would be willing to speak out. Dunphy said that if I were to become convinced of Louderbush's guilt, he was ready to approach Louderbush privately—no press leakage at this point—and urge him to save himself from public embarrassment over what we had dug up and drop out of the race. Dunphy told me he would consider this an act of patriotism, not extortion. The US Attorney's interpretation of any such conversation might be harsher, however, and I told Dunphy we needed to find a less indictable way to shove Louderbush off the Democratic ticket. He asked me if I had a law degree, and I admitted that, no, I was just another English major. This gave him pause. He said he knew a lawyer he could ask, and he would do that.
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* * * *
Virgil Jackman was taking a late lunch break at two o'clock from his job as an assistant manager at a chain sporting goods store in the Colonie Mall, and I met him at the Denny's on Wolf Road. He was easy to spot from Dunphy's description: a good six-five with a bodybuilder's physique under his retailer's dress shirt and name tag, wide gray eyes, and an interestingly meaty face with a small shrub of dark blond goatee at the bottom of it, the only thing delicate about him. The place had thinned out after the noon-to-two rush, and we asked for and were led to a corner booth in the nearly deserted far end of the restaurant.
"I'm glad you're here. I didn't think anybody was gonna call me back," Jackman said, "and that was starting to piss me off. I thought about calling the Republicans, but my dad was IUE, a shop steward, and he'd ream my ass if I helped out those management types."
"That's a union?"
"International Union of Electrical Workers. Dad had thirty-five years in at Schenectady GE when they shut down his division five years before he was set to retire. Now he works security at Sears during the week and Home Depot on weekends. Those aren't union shops, for sure, but Dad is still party all the way—campaigned for Obama, African-American no problem. So I can hear him screaming his head off if I even picked up the phone and dialed a Republican."
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The waitress came over, and Jackman ordered a taco salad and an iced tea, and I said those also sounded good to me.
"I know Shy McCloskey has a lot of union endorsements," I said.
"Yeah, that's good. Glad to help out this guy."
"But I'm curious. What if the union endorsee had been the bad guy here? Would you still have exposed his bad behavior?"
"Sure, I would. What was done to Greg was pathetic. It was a sin, and it was a crime. The idea that a guy who would do a thing like that could be the governor makes me sick. So, I'd be pissed even if he was one of our guys."
"How was what Louderbush did a crime? You mean assault?"
"Sure. If I smacked you around even if it's just some roughhousing, if you said stop and I keep it up, that's assault.
Even just touching a person if it's unwanted is assault."
"You know the law on this stuff."
"Yeah. I do. My sister's ex-husband. He used to hit her, and I tried to deal with him on my own. Big mistake. Just call the cops is what I should have done."
"So you have a record?"
"Expunged after one year. I learned my lesson."
The iced tea arrived. An elderly couple hobbled our way and planted themselves in the adjoining booth. "This catsup needs wiped off," the old lady told our waitress, who removed the offending Heinz container.
"So, tell me, Virgil. How did you know Greg Stiver? He was no union man from what I've read about him."
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"I lived in the next-door apartment on Allen Street. I mean, Janie Insinger and I did. We broke up after she decided she was a lesbian, although now she's with a guy again. Some ex-marine. I thought about telling the guy Janie is gonna be nothing but trouble, but I'm dating now myself, and Kimberly says leave it alone, just stay out of it, and I'm sure she's correct. We ran into them one time at a club and everybody ignored each other."
"Janie also contacted the McCloskey campaign, as I guess
you know."
"We aren't on speaking terms, but she left a message saying she was gonna call you guys, and I should, too. I was gonna anyways. Kenyon Louderbush has no business going around running for governor and acting like he's some nice guy with a wife and kids. Not after what he did to Greg Stiver."
"What did he do? Tell me what you saw and heard."
The old couple in the next booth were sitting silently and could have been listening to our every word, and Jackman leaned forward and said quietly but distinctly, "Louderbush would beat the shit out of Greg at least once a week. We didn't know Greg real well, but he gave Janie and I a ride to school on Mondays and Wednesdays, and if Louderbush was there the night before—and we could always hear the crashing around and the yelling—Greg would be all beat up the next day. He had a big bruise one time, and his lip was bleeding on another occasion that I remember. One time he asked me to drive his car because he said his head hurt so much he thought he might have a concussion. Janie and I 28
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both said, hey, you shouldn't let this guy get away with this; you don't deserve to be treated this way. And Greg would always say he didn't want to get the guy in trouble, and sometimes he'd laugh and say this is what he deserves for getting involved with a married man."
The old folks seated next to us seemed frozen in place, and were either studying the menu with fierce concentration or they were taking in everything Jackman said and would have an exciting time hashing it over later in the car.
"How did you know the identity of the man who visited Stiver and beat him?"
"We saw him in the hall lots of times, and I recognized him from the news. One time I even said to him, 'Hi Senator.' I wanted him to know I knew who he was, and I thought that might make him think twice before he beat up on Greg again.
But these guys think they own the world, and they can get away with anything they want."
"Louderbush is an assemblyman, not senator. Could you be confusing him with someone else?"
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