For me, there was nothing complicated about being a human megaphone on individual issues. All I had to do was memorize a series of rote responses:
Same-sex marriage? “Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve.”
Guns? “If they were outlawed only outlaws would have them.”
Global warming? “The biggest hoax perpetrated upon the American people.”
And so on.
“If you are ever stuck for content, go online and rattle off whatever Bill O’Reilly’s Talking Points Memo is peddling. And if you have more time to fill, log onto Salon.com or Daily Kos and take the opposite view,” was another Phil-ism I followed.
The hardest part for me had been wrapping my head around what supposedly united conservatives or connected liberals, because frankly, much of the time I could not see the linkage between the different issues. Sure, there is some symmetry to party platforms, but there is also a complete disconnect between certain Republican and Democratic tenets. Say you believe in the power of private enterprise. Chances are you are also going to stand for lower taxes and fewer government programs. Ok, I get that. And at the other end of the spectrum, if you believe in the necessity of creating a safety net for the disadvantaged, that will translate into support for things like unemployment benefits. Or welfare. Maybe universal healthcare. That makes sense. But why did it necessarily follow that if you were pro-choice, you also thought the Iraq war was a mistake? And that if you supported the death penalty, you probably hated trial lawyers? What does opposition to abortion have to do with whether we waterboard Mohammad? Where was the philosophical or intellectual connection between these issues? Beats the shit out of me. But that’s the way our political discourse has evolved. Certain positions are associated with others solely because over time, they have come to be known as conservative or liberal. Independent thinking is discouraged. It was all or nothing under one label or the other, and it drove me nuts.
Of course, if my radio listeners even heard me ask these questions they’d think I was a closeted left-wing pinko, which wasn’t the case. Because I did genuinely hold some conservative views. Now that I was making a decent six figures, I didn’t want to hand it all over to Uncle Sam. I truly believed that our interrogators should stop at nothing to save American lives if some al Qaeda asshole had information we needed. And I thought that our borders were porous. But some of my thinking would definitely be classified as liberal. Personally, I don’t give a shit if two guys hook up, any more than I want them involved in my bedroom. I’m also for legalizing pot and prostitution, and I really don’t care what a couple of scientists do in a petri dish—in my definition, that’s not life. I’m Stanislaw Pawlowksi and I approve this message!
But Stan Powers would disagree. And right now, Stan Powers was enabling Stanislaw Pawlowski to have a view of the Gulf from his high-rise apartment, wear custom-made sport coats, drive a new model convertible and have his iPhone tab paid for by mobile-phone advertisers.
“I’m not really a wingnut, I just play one on radio,” was the way I always explained this dual existence to Debbie, especially when I was negotiating to see her naked.
“The real you would be just as entertaining,” she’d say.
But I doubted it.
And it was the same with the politicians. What gets a member of Congress elected in a hyper-partisan district is offering a consistently conservative or liberal, if sometimes illogical platform. Those views that served me well while entertaining similarly benefited someone like Margaret Haskel when trying to reach voters because they engendered loyalty from my listeners and her constituents. Just like her nighttime raids with the self-described Minutemen who patrolled the Texas/Mexican border, or the changes she’d made to Texas law to more easily enable parental takeover of public schools, or the YouTube video recorded at a backyard picnic of her saying “Yes, Jugdish, I believe in protecting our borders.” Liberals were repulsed. But her fundraising skyrocketed.
Although Margaret Haskel was in her late 40s, attractive and successful—like Susan Miller—that is where the commonality ended. Texas’s heavily styled governor flaunted her femininity alongside her conservative credentials, and derived great pleasure from titillating her more manly constituents. In a bygone era, she would have earned the moniker of “brick shithouse” with a personality to match the looks. How else to explain the interview she’d given a few years prior in Texas Monthly when she was being recognized as the first female speaker of the state house? The interview was printed as a direct question and answer, without analysis. The questions were pretty standard stuff. But one of the answers was out of the box.
“Madam Speaker, who among famous Texas females do you most admire?”
“Well of course I have the highest regard for my friend Laura Bush. Ann Richards was from a different party but I acknowledge her independence and achievement. And although she was before my time, what I know of Lady Bird Johnson makes me hold her in the highest regard. But judging by the way she ran her house, I’d also have to put Jerry Hall high up on the list, too.”
That answer must have gone over the head of the candy-ass who was writing the article, because there was no follow-up. Instead, came another inane question. Something like:
“And who would you say you most admire from the world of Texas sports?”
It only took about two seconds after the magazine hit mailboxes for Democrats to remind voters of what the former wife of Mick Jagger had once said:
“My mother said it was simple to keep a man. You must be a maid in the living room, a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. I said I’d hire the other two and take care of the bedroom bit.”
But the liberals overplayed their hand when they dug up the quote. The conservatives weren’t offended by her, they loved it—both the men and women. She was a more intelligent Michele Bachmann. And momentarily caught off balance were these self-described progressives, who now found themselves at odds with a sexually liberated…conservative!
Margaret Haskel was the hottest commodity in the GOP and it was to my benefit that she wanted to be in the chair where just weeks prior I’d questioned Bob Tobias.
Still, when she arrived in the studio a few days later, she was not what I’d anticipated. Appearance-wise, she was as advertised. Pretty. Well put together. Properly made up in a California sorta way. Big hooters. Tiny waist. A 45-year-old MILF.
“I’m Molly Hatchet,” she’d said, actually introducing herself to me using her nickname, as she extended her hand. I shook it with not just a little sense of pride. I was almost getting used to this. Here I was again, hosting a presidential candidate in my Tampa studio with a horde of media in the house. I saw Rod Chinkles ask her for an autograph on his side of the glass, and took note that Alex did not so much as raise her head.
For the second time in less than a month, the other side of my studio was crammed with national cameras, there to witness my face-to-face with someone who was potentially the next president of the United States. But the minute we got into the interview, I could tell immediately that she was not about to reveal any intellectual depth. Haskel said not a word without visually surveying her staff for approval, and the result was an antiseptic conversation yielding plenty of coverage but no real headlines. We each played our respective roles.
I asked about terrorism.
“We need to continue to fight them over there so we don’t have to fight them here.”
I inquired about the economy.
“Small businesses are the economic lifeblood of the United States.”
I raised the Second Amendment.
“If guns were outlawed only outlaws would have guns.” (She used my favorite line; I had no retort. Actually, she said that line with a straight face, like it was a creative thought. I might have been more impressed had I not seen it about 500 times previously on bumper stickers, or if she would have added another standard: “gun control means using both hands.” )
It was as if I said “x” and she slid
her finger to “y” and read me an answer. The way she rattled off her responses was disappointing but I couldn’t be too indignant—after all, that’s what I said!
But the audience, at least as indicated by the callers, ate it up. From the minute our conversation began, every line was lit with nothing more substantive than “Joe from St. Petersburg” who wanted to know “how fast Governor Haskel will repeal Obamacare?”
“Just as soon as I sit down from my inaugural address,” was the answer. And judging from the calls, it was the perfect response.
But I didn’t get seriously distressed until the conversation turned to social issues, even as I told her I “admired the conviction of her views.”
“Governor Haskel, let’s do a lightning round on the non-economic issues. When I give you the problem, please try to offer me a solution in a short sentence if possible.”
“Lay it on me, Stan.”
“Ok, what about the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?”
“The Bible speaks of Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”
“Abortion?”
“It’s time we had a president willing to stand up for the rights of the unborn.”
“Prayer in public schools?”
“If Congress can begin its day in prayer, why can’t our schoolchildren?”
I had a Stepford candidate across from me and nothing I raised would shake her from her script. And if I’d been keeping score, she would have batted below the Mendoza Line with me personally. Tobias, by contrast, would have been spot-on with my views. But, of course, the Tobiases didn’t control talk radio ratings. The Margaret Haskels did.
Then it was time to take comments or questions from the audience.
“God bless you Governor Haskel, we are counting on you to take our country back!”
“We know where you were born Governor, Godspeed.”
And:
“I know you won’t apologize for our nation.”
When the “on air” light went dark, my program was over, and Governor Haskel said she’d like to have a word with me.
All of her aides except one left the studio. Haskel got up from her side of the console and walked around to where I’d been seated.
“Stan, I admire the courage of a man willing to say that which needs to be said to protect his country, even when it gets controversial.”
I said some shit like, “I consider it my duty, governor.”
“Well of course you do, because you are a great American.”
I wanted to say, “Why, because I questioned the beliefs of the Democratic frontrunner with that old canard about Judeo-Christian principles?” But instead I remained silent. Her next statement told me that was exactly what she was thinking.
“You have to keep on it. Some of my people have looked into your governor’s faith and believe he’s not a Christian,” she whispered. “Or worse.”
That took me back. What could she possibly think was worse?
“Stan, this is Jackson Hunter,” she said, introducing an aide who had been a flowerpot during the interview. “He’s going to give you his business card. And any time you should need to reach me, about anything, all you have to do is call him. If he speaks to you, he speaks for me. I want you to have that kind of access, okay Stan?”
“Thank you, Governor.”
Jackson Hunter was a 6-foot, late 20s, handsome guy with blue eyes and the full political uniform: blue suit, red tie, white Oxford cloth. He was a bit too perfect. Nothing was out of place.
“And Stan, I understand we might be seeing a bit more of you out in California in just a few weeks. Perhaps you and Jackson will speak before then?”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I smiled and nodded my head affirmatively like I was in the loop. She left, and my revulsion lasted only so long as it took the telephone to ring with a new round of cable TV requests for me to discuss how I thought the Texas governor would play in the I-4 corridor against a homegrown Florida legend.
On the drive home, Phil said he was pleased with how it had gone. Then I picked up a long voice mail message from Jules in which he said that some cable outlet had inquired of him as to when I would be announcing my endorsement for president. That was a first. No one had ever cared before. He also said that a web site with “red state” in its online address had speculated that I was in line for a West Wing position should Governor Haskel win the White House. Some kind of communications position. Like what, I thought, Deputy Senior Advisor for Horseshit? An endorsement was not something I had ever formally offered, nor ever considered, and the fact that anyone would be interested in a formal nod from me was indicative of just how crazy things were getting. I made a mental note to call Phil back and find out what his talk radio textbook had to say on the subject of endorsements. But Jules closed with one more line:
“Stan, your word is worth more right now than any member of the Congress.”
The way he said it made it sound obvious. But I still had trouble computing the fact that whereas just a few years ago I’d be getting my rocks off by interviewing rock stars and debating whether Roger Hodgson or Rick Davies was the true voice of Supertramp, I was now in a position to play kingmaker. Things were changing for me faster than I could comprehend.
And it was beginning to impact my day-to-day lifestyle. Whereas the anonymity of radio had previously enabled me to fly below the radar, now wherever I went, there were hints of recognition. It’s not that people would stop me to say hello, or that paparazzi would jump out of bushes and snap my picture with some scantily clad model (much as I would have loved it), but rather that there was a glint I would detect in the eyes of the people who saw me going about my normal routine. Whether filling my gas tank, walking down the beach, or sitting at the bar at Delrios, if my eyes locked with someone else’s, I could tell that they thought they had seen me before. And it might take them a step or two after crossing my path before they put it together, but they were putting it together. Even though they rarely said anything.
“That was Stan Powers, the host of Morning Power, the guy that all the presidential candidates are trying to befriend.”
Nobody ever said that. But some were thinking it. Or so I was beginning to suspect. Maybe not.
But I was thrilled anytime I heard from Jules. The increasing frequency with which he was reaching out to me (instead of me trying with futility to command his attention) was yet another sign of my success. In a heady moment, I almost called him back and told him with whom I had recently shared a private drink, but I caught myself and said nothing. Not to him. And certainly not to Phil.
CHAPTER 10
So odd was the inconsequential way in which Susan and I had parted at Delrios, that I wasn’t sure whether I’d ever hear from her again, much less when. Obviously she was busy. Heading into Super Tuesday, Tobias had won Florida and Colorado like Susan predicted. Baron had won Nevada, and the two of them had split a few additional states, namely Minnesota (Tobias), Maine (Baron), Arizona (Tobias), and Michigan (Baron). President Summers had won virtually all of the Iowa, New Hampshire and South Carolina votes because new ballots couldn’t be printed in time, and he was now promising that his delegates would be released at the convention in August. Ambassador Brusso was proving to be irreverent in the debates but a nonstarter at the polls. And at the rate they were going, I doubted whether congressmen Foley and Yih would last to see their own state’s primaries in Pennsylvania and California, respectively. Their only role was that of potential spoiler if they lasted that long, but all seemed to be enjoying the limelight. Ditto for Senator Wrigley, who if she took Vermont on Super Tuesday, would count it as her only win.
On the Republican side, Governor James won his home state of Colorado as predicted and was getting a free ride from the media whose members both genuinely liked him and wanted to make sure that Margaret Haskel didn’t wrap up the entire nomination before they could milk their advertisers. A good underdog story was always a winner. But while the mainstream media
built up James every chance it could, it didn’t go too hard on Haskel for fear that they’d help elect one of what I was privately calling the “triple threat” of Figuera, Redfield and Lewis.
Phil and I had strong disagreements about how to handle Wynne James, who was the surprise candidate in the field. While his competitors concentrated on Michigan and Arizona, he’d focused on Minnesota and pulled an upset. And where Figuera, Redfield and Lewis couldn’t win, they were denying Haskel a blowout and put James in second position.
“He’s in second position, Phil,” I argued. “I’ve had virtually every other candidate on recently, why not him?”
“Nobody who would vote for him matters to you, Stan. Your P1s are a combination of Haskel, Redfield, Lewis and Figuera voters. Take any of the four anytime they’ll do your show. You cannot lose with any of them. They are walking sound bytes who will say what your listeners want to hear. But James is a RINO. I’d rather you go kiss Tobias’ ass again than welcome him with open arms.”
“And where am I if James pulls a Romney, Phil? You and I know that the only way Mitt won the nomination is that Ron Paul, Rick Santorum, Newt Gingrich, Michele Bachman, and Herman Cain were all trying to out-credential one another with their conservative bona fides. And Romney slipped in. If it happens again and I’ve treated this guy like shit, where am I?”
“That’s not happening. There aren’t enough country clubbers left in the party to enable this guy. South Carolina was a fluke. Of course he won Colorado, the land of the pot smokers. And fuckin’ Minnesota? They elected Al Franken. What more need I say? That Haskel is beating him even with Redfield, Lewis and Figuera in the race is a testament to her strength.”
• • •
On the eve of Super Tuesday, Susan surfaced again. I was in the big conference room at WRGT post-show, when Alex entered and handed me another “Wilma Blake” message that had been logged at the main number for “Stan Powers.” One fake personality calling another. I figured that my appearance on Hardball the night before had drawn her out. Funny thing was that Phil had actually suggested that I use the appearance to trash Susan Miller (“she’s the Jane Fonda of the New Millenium,” he’d intoned). But I’d resisted and gone hard on Tobias’ religion instead. If he’d known that Susan was now the one person about to give me feedback on the segment, he’d have had a conniption.
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