I will never lie to the American People - unless I absolutely can't help myself.
I can't tell you how honored and flattered I am that Mr. Diamond and Mr. Silver have asked me to contribute to this blog. The fact that I owe those two scabby sons of bitches money has nothing to do with my decision to participate.
Faithful readers of this blog may recall that Mr. Silver refers to me as Milo, the Smartest Man in the World. Although I tend to agree with him, modesty prevents me from claiming that title. There is a man in Montreal who is a bit smarter than I am and another in Barcelona who comes close, so, in my humble opinion, the title is up for grabs.
Speaking of smart people, I live about four blocks from the former governor of Illinois, Rod Blagojevich. Although intelligence has never been a requirement for holding public office in the state of Illinois, Blagojevich seemed to have been blessed with more than his fair share of gray matter. He speaks well, with a minimum of you knows and awkward pauses. He's a lawyer and a former congressman who at one time time had a bright future. He was also blessed with more than his share of ambition. Rumor has it that he even contemplated running for president.
He had it made, standing in the tall cotton, living high on the hog, double parked on Easy Street. All he had to do was keep his nose clean for a few years and he would be set for life. But he just couldn't do it. His greed, arrogance and hubris ruined his life and his career. He'll be extremely lucky if he doesn't spend the next 10 years in prison.
On the evening of the day he was kicked out of office I had a few glasses of wine and walked the few blocks to his house just to see the media circus that accompanied his downfall. I stood on the corner, 30 or 40 yards from his home, marveling at the news trucks crowding the streets and the helicopters fluttering overhead. Those were sights I expected to see, but what I didn't expect to see was the crowd that had gathered outside his home. There were maybe a hundred people outside of his home, chanting his name, waving placards, calling for him to make an appearance.
I don't know why I was so surprised by the crowd. After all, car accidents, fires and street fights also draw crowds, so why shouldn't a train wreck like Blagojevich attract gawkers. Yes, Blagojevich still has fans and supporters, people who believe that he's getting a raw deal and that once all the evidence comes to light he will be completely exonerated and restored to his former glory. Fat fucking chance.
Standing on that corner made me feel like a voyeur. I felt like I was peeking into a neighbor's window. I felt unclean. What if someone saw me there and thought I was a Blagojevich supporter? What if someone mistook me for someone who cared about a disgraced politician?
I stood on that corner for about 20 minutes, still tipsy from the wine I had been drinking, thinking about the vagaries of life, when a tune started drifting through my head. It was the great "Kansas City" sung by Wilbert Harrison, and it brought to mind another street corner in another town. There's a line in the song that says
Standing on the corner/
12th Street and Vine.
About a year ago a friend and I went to a reunion of my old Army outfit in Kansas City, MO. We made a road trip out of it, partaking of liquid and herbal substances that would have been more appropriate to people half our age. While driving, we had the radio blasting and one of the songs we heard was "Kansas City."
"Fuck, man, we've got to stand on the corner of 12th Street and Vine."
"I'm with you, man. How can you go to Kansas City and not stand on the corner of 12th Street and Vine?"
"I'm going to get one of those disposable cameras and we'll take pictures with the street sign."
"Good idea."
"Do me a huge favor, man. When I die make sure that on my tombstone it says, 'Once stood on the corner of 12th Street and Vine.'"
"Consider it done."
"I'm counting on you, man."
"OK, just remind me again in the morning."
We made it safely to Kansas City and checked into our hotel rooms. The next thing we did was head for the hotel bar, which was packed with drunken veterans. We caught up with old friends, toasted the memories of those that didn't come and, sadly, those that would never come. By closing time we were roaring drunk and ready to find 12th Street and Vine. We went to the lobby and asked the concierge where to find that fabled corner. He had no idea. We asked a few others and nobody knew.
Then I saw an old black woman who was working as a maid and asked her. She smiled at us and immediately gave us directions. She explained that 12th and Vine had once been the heart of Kansas City's black entertainment district. Of course, we were in no condition to drive, but we drove anyway. We found 10th Street and Vine and 14th Street and Vine, but no 12th Street and Vine. Confused, I stopped a cab and asked him for directions and he told us there was no longer any 12th Street and Vine. That whole stretch of city streets had been torn up to make way for housing projects. 12th Street and Vine no longer existed.
As I stood on the corner by Blagojevich's house, I thought back to Kansas City and the corner that had simply disappeared. Then I thought about the governor and the the fact that his career had also disappeared. Was it progress? I suppose so. 12th Street and Vine had been torn down to make way for much needed housing. Blagojevich has been thrown out of office to make way for much needed house cleaning.
Intellectually, I realized that there was really no connection between the two events, but in my heart I knew there was a cosmic thread tying it all together. In the end all I did was confuse myself. That's what happens when you hang around street corners too long.
(Get Milo's book, "Schoolboy," now - The Editors)
