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“HE’S A GREAT actor and he’d make a great governor,” Santiago said, holding a picture of Arnold Schwarzenegger from “Conan the Barbarian.” Her husband, Spider Rodriguez, gripped a photo of the actor from the “Pumping Iron” days. “He shows a man what a man should be,” Rodriguez added.
I met Santiago and Rodriguez last week as we awaited the arrival of the Arnold Schwarzenegger roadshow at the City College of New York. Santiago and Rodriguez were there to meet their hero. I was there to validate their use of the word. I had to be there—after all, how often does a California gubernatorial race come to my home (except, of course, when I download porn)?
Schwarzenegger’s publicist warned me to have low expectations of Arnold’s tour of an after-school program that day. “He’s not going to say anything to the media,” she told reporters. “This day is about the kids.” It didn’t take a grizzled New York cynic to point out that if the day was really about “the kids,” the media wouldn’t have been invited in the first place. And CCNY wouldn’t have installed a riser so 30 camera crews could get a good shot. And they wouldn’t have provided audio jacks so our microphones could pick up every word. And the candidate wouldn’t be having lunch later with top GOP fundraisers at The Four Seasons.
But I wasn’t that cynical. I left that role to the big-time reporters, who are always complaining that modern campaigns have become a “circus.” Of course, these reporters are missing the point: They’re the circus; the candidate is simply doing what candidates do—shaking hands, having lunch with money men and meeting the people who write their position papers. It’s all too boring and insignificant to cover, but we cover it anyway—and then complain that it’s a “circus” because other reporters are doing the same. As a result, campaigns treat everything as a photo op because, ostensibly, they are.
So there was the candidate, getting out of a huge Ford Excursion (rookie mistake: A candidate who says he believes in the environment should never be seen getting out of a truck that gets three mpg). But in the flesh, Schwarzenegger looked great in a gray sport jacket, white shirt, khakis and a haircut that looked like it cost more than everything he was wearing. As the last action hero pressed the flesh, there was a noticeable frisson of excitement going through the crowd. I felt it, an actual frisson.
First, the candidate walked through one of the after-school program’s computer labs, encouraging kids to avoid drugs (one kid wrote on her computer this less-than-optimistic couplet: “I don’t do drugs because drugs are bad. And I’m too little”). Next, Arnold was ushered into a classroom. I was one of only two reporters let into the room, his publicist told me, because “you’ve been cool all day.” If that was the entry fee, why was Jimmy Breslin also there? Breslin, the dean of the Angry Old Man wing of the New York press corps, was his irascible self all morning. “I hate this s—t,” he said, listening to Schwarzenegger tell the kids, “You are all reading so well” (hey, at least he said “well” instead of “good”).
“This guy couldn’t last five minutes against a real politician like Hugh Carey,” Breslin groused, evoking a former New York State governor who is best remembered for good governance, patronage jobs to party loyalists, and for being a great drinking buddy of guys like Breslin.
But Breslin is right: These events are garbage. They are filled with sound and cameramen and signify nothing. When one student wrote on the blackboard, “We should say no to drugs,” the star of some of the most violent movies ever made said, “What about violence? We should say no to violence.” The students perked up and one started writing on her computer, “Say no to violence.” She paused before the most complicated word, but Arnold didn’t help (why risk a Dan Quayle moment so early in a campaign? With his accent, he probably would’ve spelled it “violins”).
Outside the room, Breslin was still angry. “Don’t count out Gray Davis. That guy was in Vietnam fighting real battles. This guy, is what, a weightlifter? Weights don’t fire back.”
Later, Schwarzenegger doffed his jacket in the school’s stifling hot gym and the frisson of excitement dissipated. Let’s put it this way: Gravity has not been kind to Arnold. This isn’t “Pumping Iron” anymore. This is “Sagging Slag.”
Next, it was time for some impromptu basketball—and another rookie mistake. Someone needs to tell this candidate that he should never be photographed dribbling a basketball until he stops dribbling like a little girl (and I mean that in the most inflammatory, derogatory, infantile way). And Schwarzenegger should never allow himself to be photographed applauding, either. This man applauds like an ape! Seriously, most people clap by moving their left and right hand together so that they meet, vaguely, in the middle. Schwarzenegger claps by moving one hand into a stationary hand. Try it for yourself. It’s simian!
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Despite easy access to the candidate, no one really asked him anything (so much for the New York press corps’ reputation for lupine inquisition). In fact, the only real question came from some kid with a Lyndon LaRouche button who shadowed Schwarzenegger’s every move. “How are you going to bring back the financial system?” the kid yelled in a voice that sounded like an assassination attempt (character, that is). Arnold didn’t answer. Perhaps, like me, he was confused by the question. Did the “financial system” collapse and no one told us? Does this mean I’m going to have to buy everything with barter? I hope not; it’s such a pain to carry around a chicken all day long.
Finally, Schwarzenegger addressed the 150 kids and roughly the same number of reporters. After another rookie mistake—Arnold, never read your notecards when another person is speaking at the podium—Schwarzenegger spoke eloquently about the after-school programs he championed in California and wants to see nationwide. It’s a heartfelt pitch. Sure, he sometimes sounded like Hans and Franz from “Saturday Night Live”—as when he said, “This program is fantastic! I’ve never seen anything like it!”—but even Breslin couldn’t disparage Schwarzenegger’s work with kids.
“Don’t worry where you come from,” he told the kids. “Worry about where you’re going. Plenty of people are going to tell you that you can’t make it because you’re from the ghetto. That’s all propaganda and lies. You can do whatever you want.”
After giving one of the kids a $5,000 scholarship (nice applause) and an autographed “T3” poster (much bigger applause), Arnold hopped back into the Excursion and went downtown for his power lunch at The Four Seasons with the GOP money men—heirloom tomato, mozzarella and basil salad followed by salmon. He even got to air-kiss Katie Couric on the way in.
I wasn’t invited (besides, Katie and I are so beyond air-kissing), so I lingered on campus, finally running into the LaRouche kid. I reminded him that Schwarzenegger hadn’t answered his question about “the financial system.”
“He didn’t answer because he doesn’t know what to do!” the kid said.
“Do you?” I asked.
“No, but Lyndon LaRouche does!” That was when I said my goodbye. I had spent the morning with a bodybuilder who is going to be governor of California. I had to get back to the real world.
Gersh Kuntzman is also a columnist for The New York Post. His Web site is at www.gersh.tv
© 2003 Newsweek, Inc.
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