Two days later I sat in a hospital bed hooked to an IV, my left side bandaged from the gun shot, and had perhaps the strangest conversation of my life.
“No, No, absolutely not, I can’t do it,” I said
“Oh, come on… you have to consider it. You’re perfect. The party needs a strong candidate with ties to the community.”
“Perfect? are you crazy? I am a public librarian. We’re the original North American socialists …We give books away to people for free and hope they bring them back. How the hell do you think that makes me a good candidate for the Conservative party?” I asked.
“The books thing, you know, giving them away and hoping they come back…”
“Well, yes, most of the time, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything. It is about trust. Your whole business is built on trust and trust is a solid conservative value, and as for being a great candidate you are just going to have to trust me on this one. Have I let you down yet?”
“So, what about the gay thing?”
“Gay thing?” He laughed. “No one gives a shit about sexual identity anymore. Nova Scotia is a socially progressive province; we can make this work…now, if you were a smoker that would be a problem.”
‘Smoking?”
“Yes, smoking is something people don’t have tolerance for anymore. People are forced to hide in stairwells and washroom stalls to enjoy a cigarette. Smokers get shunned from dinner parties and told to leave people’s houses. Gay is a piece of cake compared to being a smoker.”
I laughed until I felt the sutures in my side pull.
“Socially progressive? Are you kidding? Nova Scotia only recently allowed its citizens to shop on Sundays,” I said with another painful laugh.
“Okay bud enough joking around. You need to heal and when you have a bullet wound laughter may not be the best medicine. Let me get right to the point. Since the shooting you’ve become the poster boy for free speech and intellectual freedom. And, you couldn’t have done it in a more dramatic fashion! You stood up to a crew of wacky lefty fascists as they tried to shut down one of the leading lights from the right. Yes, you did have help from a tenth-degree black belt pacifist monk, but it was you leading the charge.”
“He deserves more credit than I do,” I interjected.
“And, just as you were bringing public order back to the public square, one of the nut bars pulls out a handgun and starts shooting—not at the monk or the soccer mom—but at you because she had it in her head that you are the devil because you are giving a platform to people she doesn’t like!”
“Come on Dale, I hardly brought order back to the public. I tore that air horn out of the guy’s hand and knocked him to the ground… I’ll likely be fired and, or charged when I get out of this hospital,” I replied.
“But wait, there is more… you avoid getting killed, thanks to your cat-like reflexes and, wait for it… the fact there is a table top display of Russian Literature and the books act as a shelter, most notably War and Peace—all 1275 pages of it. Man, this is fantastic stuff! You, my friend, are a real hero on the important issues of free speech and intellectual freedom. Lucky for you, these left-wing nut jobs spend more time taking shots on the internet than at the gun range…”
“Dale, you are crazy.”
“Not at all pal. I know political capital when I see it. I’m going to get you elected!”
“Ha, don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
“Hear me out. This is a massive window of opportunity. Shooting at a librarian who just wants to provide a safe space for difficult dialogue has really struck a chord with people. Your story is on fire. Everyone wants to talk to you—all the major networks have called the hospital, your story has gone global, even the Kremlin has tweeted they are happy to hear Tolstoy saved your life. How is that for Russian collusion ?” he said with a massive smile.
So that’s how it started. Fast and crazy. I was pushed through this window of opportunity by a close friend. Dale had been a political hack since we played rugby together in school. Playing any sport, let alone a sport as physically demanding as rugby, was impressive for Dale. He was born with a congenital heart defect. One of his cardiologists joked that Dale needed to be careful as he had the constitution of a humming-bird. He said this made him well suited for politics. Since he did not have much of a heart, he was a perfect fit.
I had been an on and off volunteer for the Conservative party for years. Dale, on the other hand, had been a true-blue fanatical youth member who matured into one of the most well-connected and respected Conservative Party organizers in Canada. While he may be one of the finest political thinkers in the country, the idea of me being a candidate was crazy.
“Look bud, let’s take it day by day. Get your rest and give it some serious thought. Get ready though for all the attention you’re going to get when you get out. Everyone wants to talk to you, and like it or not, you’re going to be a media magnet. You can hate it and wait for the storm to pass or, you can embrace the wave and ride it like Kelly Slater. I know you didn’t plan this turn in your career path, but sometimes a window opens as wide as a barn and it begs you to jump through it,” he said.
When Dale left the hospital, I pondered his pitch. I am old enough to have learned not to say out loud the things I will never do, because I usually end up doing them, but this idea? Who would ever think a gay public librarian would make a star candidate for the Conservative Party of Canada? I had a lot of respect for Dale’s judgment, but this time? Not a chance.
Troy Myers 