(This post is) so long, and thanks for all the fish (part 1)

Last night during dinner there was a knock on the door.  It was Jeff Golden canvassing the neighborhood to tell folks about his campaign for county commissioner.  I complain about small-town Medford a lot, but the flip side is that it's nice to live in a place where politicians come out to talk to you personally.   And when they'll sit down at your table and share your tomatoes (one of Jeff's big issues is strengthening the Rogue Valley's local food network) I'm all for that.  We didn't see this happening in L.A.

We'll vote for Jeff - he's a good guy.  He has to share lawn-sign space in our yard with Lynn Howe, who is running for state representative.  Andreas volunteers regularly on Howe's phone bank but I don't do very much political volunteering these days - I just attend the occasional rally or fundraiser.  But I used to be pretty involved in political campaigns.

Thanks to a speechwriter friend, in the summer of 1982 I landed a job on the Washington staff of Walter Mondale’s doomed bid for the 1984 presidency.  Remember Fritz?



I started my short career in D.C. as a researcher for Mondale's political action committee, the Committee for the Future of America.  CFA disbanded when the campaign got rolling and soon I was hired on at Mondale for President.  Job title: Messenger.  It was probably the coolest job I've ever had. 

Every morning I walked from my digs at Dupont Circle all the way out to the Mondale offices in Georgetown.  There I'd get a list of assignments - deliver this, pick up that - that took me to offices on the Hill, mansions in Chevy Chase and Georgetown, newsrooms, consulates, law offices, everywhere around metropolitan Washington.  I travelled on foot and by taxi.  I usually checked in at HQ at noon to pick up a round of afternoon jobs.  It was a blast. 

All good things must come to an end. Eventually the operations boss worked out that it would be cheaper to get me a car and driver than to pay for all those taxicab rides.  Sadly, I didn't so much enjoy spending my whole workday with Al-the-Driver and so I asked to transfer to an indoor job in the fundraising department.  That was fun, too - lots of parties - but not quite as good as being out and about in the city every day.

During my time as messenger there were a few assignments amid the routine rounds of senators and press offices that stood out.  One made me laugh out loud when I saw it in my in-box, because it came with no explanation.  Yes sir, I'll get right on that...

I took a cab over to the Mondale's house, where Mrs. Mondale met me and handed me a package wrapped in white butcher paper.  I hopped back in the waiting taxi and sped off to the designated address.  A uniformed housekeeper answered the doorbell.  I informed her the package was from the Mondales, and she took it away (to the kitchen, I hope).  Mission accomplished.

A good undercover agent doesn't ask questions, but I'm not a good undercover agent (one of my housemates at that time worked for the NSA - we used to tease him to try to get him to tell us what he did at work that day, but he would smile his tight-lipped little smile and say "sorry."  I would have caved right away).  It turns out that a fish caught by the former VP had been auctioned off at a Democratic fundraiser (Mr. Mondale is an avid fisherman), and Mrs. Abell (who once upon a time had been President Lyndon Johnson's social secretary) had placed the winning bid.

So that was a pretty roundabout way of getting to today's culinary topic, which was going to be fish.  Because, like everything else these days, fish is political.  But now I've nattered on so long that I think I'll save the fish part for tomorrow.  It's kind of depressing, anyway, so be forewarned.