I don't know Washington DC real estate at all, other than to say it's absurdly expensive. Washington is a powerful town, probably the most powerful on the planet, where lots of absurd things happen. We pick up the check for way too much of it.
My pay would have been $165,200 per year to start. Then there are the perks, add-ons, expense money, etc. Two years is what I could have counted on, no more with any certainty. But it's not unknown to have two turn into four, four into twenty, and twenty into thirty or more. Being a member of congress is not child's play, and it's not for those not fond of constant travel and getting the snot punched out of them from all sides. Could be members of congress don't get paid enough.
I had the opportunity to find out.
I took a pass.
I would have won.
I've wanted to tell this story for a long time. Yes, some already know, but that's a scant handful of dear friends and family.
How does Congressman Sweeney sound? My Dad's buttons would have burst. Mom would've been real proud, too.
Before Mr. Sherwood's indiscretions became public knowledge, a certain local political junkie asked me to sit and listen to his proposal. That's all he asked; just sit and listen.
I did.
"Now, hear me out. Don't laugh. I want you to run for Congress."
Right about here is where my head started to swell. "Congress? Me? You're kidding, right? I'd get flattened." But, but, but...even if I did get flattened, how many people can walk around with a resume that includes a legitimate run for Congress?
"Listen, you've got a real shot here. Close your eyes and envision your viewing area. Then envision the 10th District."
Yeah, I've got the image, and it's snapping into focus, I probably could have finished his next sentence for him.
"Look, the 10th fits inside your viewing area like it was by design. Don't you see the possibilities?" Actually, yeah, I was starting to see them...and starting to like them. And I knew then and there who'd be my first chief of staff. It would he who asked me to just sit and listen. He'd be my chief. I told him so.
Jump ahead a bit to where the young flashy blonde is front-page news. Jump ahead to where the congressman's protestations are starting to crumble like crackers. Jump ahead to where most already knew with winks and nods that the man's political career was over. He's in deep doo-doo. There's no coming back from that back rub.
(Here is where I need to tell you that I also sought the counsel and advice of another friend inside the system, a friend who's spent a good chunk of his adult life under the dome in Harrisburg. He's not an elected official. He thought I was nuts. He's seen it all, and couldn't have more strongly encouraged me to scrap the idea immediately, because he knows what a burden elected "public service" can be. He knows who he is - I did not discard his advice. )
Now, it's time to sit and listen again. Essentially, the initial conversation is repeated. This time, though, it has a bit more of a serious edge to it. This time I seek a second and a third opinion from likewise trusted political junkies, one of whom works on the other side of the aisle, a man who would be helping the campaign against me. This time one thing is clear - should I have the stones to saddle up, I'd likely win. In fact, it goes beyond likely, I could run away with it. This time my "sit and listen" friend has a mock-up of a campaign poster that reads Rendell, Casey, Sweeney.
"With my luck, I'd win. Then what in hell would I do? I'd have to go to Washington, get sworn in, smile and wave, then act like I had some clue as to what I was doing." That's pretty much what I say to my friend.
He makes a bolder statement, one repeated by those other "advisers" whose opinion I trusted enough to seek. What seems clear is this: My name and face recognition, coupled with Mr. Sherwood's foolish behavior, would have created a juggernaut that would have carried me all the way to the day when my wife and I had to decide on the new drapes for that Georgetown apartment.
I'll make no attempt at pretense; I'd not be a good congressman. At least not right away. In time, perhaps, but not right away.
So, what happened? Simple enough, I didn't want to do it. I don't want to be a congressman, never did.
Someone else wanted to be one big time. And now he is. I first met The Honorable Christopher Carney at a fabled political event held on a mountain in the heat and humidity of Summer. Then, Carney was a guy with stars in his eyes, and decency in his heart, I do believe. He wasn't a dark horse, he wasn't even a horse. Never mind four legs, the guy didn't have one to stand on. But he was going to run in the primary, probably win, then go on to get the bejeebers wooped out of him by the incumbent, one Don Sherwood. Despite that, I offered Carney any help I had to offer. For whatever reason, we just never connected.
The next time I saw Carney, he was the candidate.
"You're gonna win this, you know that, right?" That, by God, is what I said to Chris Carney as we embraced, again in the heat and humidity of yet another Summer. He laughed. "Do you know something I don't?"
Actually, yes, I did know something. I knew my decision to not take a run at that congressional seat was probably the biggest favor I could have ever done for Chris Carney - it effectively guaranteed him the win. I'll say it again; I would have made a lousy congressman, but I would have won.
You, Chris, were the man for the job.
You're welcome, Chris.
