After reading last week’s column about the 50th anniversary of my being elected mayor of Fort Lee, New Jersey, a former friend of mine suggested I run for Mayor of Malibu. (I understand you run for Council not Mayor in Malibu, but since this is a humor column, for the moment, let us go with the premise.) I say “former friend” since I cannot begin to understand why any true friend of mine would want to expose me to the slings and arrows of public life again.
Even though it was fifty years ago, I remember my inauguration. My brother Phil, also my consiglieri, campaign manager and biographer, made it clear to me that my inauguration was not a coronation, and put a wet blanket on my wanting to enter the hall with the King’s entrance from Aida blaring over the loudspeaker. Even then my sick humor tried to interfere with the solemnity of the job.
I suggested in my speech that my goal was to run every four years for Mayor of whatever town happened to be immediately west of Fort Lee. I did some calculations and concluded that in the year 2020 I would be mayor of Rockford, Illinois.
By this logic, I am clearly not mature enough to be Mayor of Malibu, but with some significant seasoning, I will be ready to throw my hat in the ring next century assuming I still have the strength to throw a hat.