(Originally
published 9/17/13)
With the
2013 New York City mayoral primaries mercifully in the history books—and no
Democratic run-off required—I would like to return to the political contests
that I remember most fondly. The year was 1977. I was fourteen, going on fifteen
at the time and, admittedly, not especially interested in the hot-button issues
of the day. For some reason, though, I was mesmerized by the game of
politics—the theater of it all. As a youth, I collected political buttons,
literature, and posters. I watched candidate debates on local TV, which were a
whole lot more enlightening and entertaining than today’s overly scripted, media-hyped,
canned answer snore-fests.
In 1977,
New York City was in the throes of a fiscal crisis. It was crime-laden,
dirtier than ever, and conspicuously in decline. The scuttlebutt was that the Big Apple’s best days had come and gone. From my perspective in the Bronx’s
Kingsbridge, however, the 1970s were a golden era—a heyday that included
playing stickball games at nearby John F. Kennedy High School, sipping tasty egg
creams from Bill’s Friendly Spot after a grueling day at Cardinal Spellman High
School on the other side of the Bronx, and chowing down on Sam’s Pizza, a
greasy delight that mere words cannot describe. But even if I was blissfully
unaware of it, change was very definitely in the offing—some of it good but
most of it not so good.
The
diminutive Abe Beame, a well-meaning but hapless clubhouse politician who
inherited a train wreck from his predecessor, suave John Lindsay, was the sitting
mayor and reduced to eunuch status vis-à-vis governing.
He was in the wrong
place at the wrong time. Smelling blood in the water, Beame was challenged
in his bid for a second term by a diverse lot of notable and not so notable
politicians: Bella Abzug, Mario Cuomo, Ed Koch, Herman Badillo, Percy Sutton,
and a businessman named Joel Harnett. The Republicans even had a primary that
year featuring liberal Manhattan Congressman Roy Goodman versus conservative
radio talk show host Barry Farber. Both races were highly contested and combative spectacles. I loved the give-and-take so much that I taped several of the
debates with my Panasonic push-button recorder. Audiotapes were made back then
by placing the recorder nearest the television set’s sound speaker and
demanding complete silence in the room, which was usually impossible.
As I
recall, venerable local newsman Gabe Pressman hosted one of the feistier
primary debates. The candidates were seated side by side and interacted with
one another. Bella Abzug badgered Mario Cuomo for being on the Liberal Party
line in November
come what may, while insisting
correctly that he was
not and never was a member of the party. She wanted to know why he was awarded
that ballot line. (Cuomo was Governor Hugh Carey’s anointed candidate to defeat
Beame.) “I’d like to have an answer,” Bella repeated over and over as Mario
tried in vain
to answer. Exasperated, Cuomo interrupted, “Well, when you
close your mouth, I’ll answer!” The live audience at the debate let out a resounding
“Oooh” or some such thing. And, really, this was the tenor of the
contest—contentious and genuine. In the current age of political correctness, Cuomo would
have to apologize for implying a female opponent had a big mouth. But Bella
Abzug did have a big mouth—it was her stock-in-trade.
Mario
Cuomo visited Kingsbridge in his Cuo-mobile in the summer of 1977 during the
primary campaign. Ed Koch, too, passed out fliers on W231st Street, the
neighborhood’s commercial hub. I picked up some campaign literature and buttons
for my collection on the local streets, which pleased me to no end. I did not
exclaim, “Life is good,” because that New Age bromide had not yet been
invented, but I was feeling something along those lines. Before the September
primary day, I had in my possession posters of the candidates from both
parties, apart from Roy Goodman and Joel Harnett, who may not have produced
any. I snatched them off telephone and traffic light poles and they were
covered in staples. Fiscal crisis notwithstanding—the politicians of the day plastered
area neighborhoods with their posters. This is quite rare today. Campaign
buttons are even hard to come by.
For what it
is worth the teenaged me supported Mario Cuomo for mayor, even though I could
not vote. He came in second, and since the winner, Ed Koch, did not achieve the
requisite 40%—part of the New York City election law—there was a run-off
election several weeks later. Koch edged out Cuomo once again. In the general
election, Cuomo, running on the Liberal Party line, gave him a run for his
money but came up short.
Thirty-six
years have passed since the summer of 1977 and that gritty and always exciting
campaign for mayor. I am a lot older—thirty-six years older—and more attuned to
issues, but the youthful exuberance of that time and place has expired. I will
vote in November—I always do—but it doesn't seem to matter as much as it did
in 1977, when I could not vote and did not really care about the issues.
At some point
in time, my mother threw away the posters I had amassed that year. They had
been stashed under my bed for far too long, I suppose. It was many years later
that I considered that act akin to throwing away a prized baseball card
collection. There will be no more Cuo-mobiles passing through my life—ever—and
no more chumming for campaign posters to add to my collection, which is sad.
