Frank and I walked Albro Lake Road at twice our usual campaign pace. We hustled past the scrappy low-end houses with their motley colours, aged paint jobs, boarded-up windows, and broken-down cars. My mood had shifted and it made me see the neigbourhood differently.
Frank caught up to me.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Nothing,” I responded curtly. I would be dammed if I was going to explain the intricacies of modern political campaigns to a guy that could not even organize a shower.
“Okay… Did something happen in the meeting?” he pressed.
“Nothing we need to talk about,” I responded.
“Sure, it is none of my business. Where are we going?”
“I don’t care. You pick.”
“Will do boss,” he said with a smile.
Stunted by negative emotions I didn’t pay attention where Frank took me. He kept us moving forward despite my anger. I needed to snap out of it so I used Clive’s situational awareness training. I scanned the areas in front, to the sides, and behind us. Bring it on, I thought. Where are the anti-free speech warriors and eco-terrorists when you want one? The Bruce Cockburn song ‘If I had a rocket launcher’ came to mind. Rocket launcher? Who needs that? I would rather bludgeon the son of a bitch to death with my bare hands, or maybe a book.
Thoughts of beating a lunatic with Tolstoy made me smile. I began to calm down. Frank did not speak but continued to lead the way. I gained control of my breathing and forced myself to relax. I continued to scan our surroundings and took it all in just the way Clive trained me. I found it therapeutic to walk. I followed Frank without caring where we were going. I realized I had been unfair to him. In comparison to all the trouble he has endured in his young life, my problems were petty and insignificant. I stopped walking and looked him straight in the eye. He stopped and gave me an odd look.
“Is everything ok? Am I doing something wrong?” he asked.
“No Frank. You are doing everything right. I need to apologize to you. I was shitty and I am sorry. I was in a bad mood and I took it out on you. I promise you it won’t happen again,” I said.
“Forget about it,” he said with another smile.
He opened his arms wide and grabbed me in a firm bear hug and pulled me into his substantial frame. I hugged him back. For that moment, I didn’t care that I was in such close proximity to a soiled homeless guy. I did, however, made a mental note to get my new friend a better outfit.
Feeling better, Frank and I got back to business and continued on our way. I didn’t ask him where we were going. He was in charge and I was tagging along. I was very mindful of my breathing and my facial muscles relaxed and made my smile more natural and honest. After another few minutes of walking Frank stopped. We had arrived at our destination.
“Okay. This is it,” he said.
We were standing in front of a ten-storey brownstone building with a broken front door. Number Ten Brule Street; the most notorious address in the neighbourhood and one of the roughest buildings in Halifax. The police visited it regularly. The residents of this rundown, flophouse included a large number of individuals on the Halifax police persons of interest list. Most recently, this building had been the scene of two messy assaults with weapons. Complaints of gunshots were frequent.
I looked at Frank and at the rough brick construction tagged with gang graffiti. The Dark Side and Dart Cru were painted in black on the bricks. Adrenaline rushed through me. I didn’t know if it was fear or my residual anger at Kathleen. Whatever the case, I needed a distraction to get myself out of this foul mood. This building with its poor reputation and advertised threats of violence sprayed on the brick was the perfect distraction. I smiled at Frank and thought Clive would have a fit if he knew what we were up to.
“All right, let’s go,” I said.
Frank didn’t hesitate. This commitment from someone I barely knew fortified me. We walked up the chipped concrete steps and were hit immediately with the smell of urine and stale alcohol. What is it with these places and piss? Can’t people find a more private place to urinate? Frank soldiered on unfazed by the foul stench while I wanted to bleach my nostrils.
Through the main door, we almost collided with a group of young black men dressed in the current street trend of oversized baggy jeans, sweatshirts three sizes too big, and ballcaps. I got the tough guy gangster appeal with its prison rules perception, but as far as an attractive fashion trend goes what the hell were these kids thinking? I pitied the poor bastard who was gay in this culture.
“Hey,” I said.
The boys ignored me and exited.
“Should I put them down as undecided?” Frank asked.
“Don’t be too quick to judge Frank. I think I connected with them,” I said with a smile.
I started to feel better. Our first encounter in the building didn’t result in assault or injury. Things were looking up.
“Let’s hit some doors!” I said enthusiastically.
Our visit proved to be successful. At most doors on the first floor we found people I recognized as regular visitors to the library. Most of the folks we talked to didn’t have any interest in politics and had no idea there was a federal election on. Some thought I was on the hunt for overdue library books and DVD’s. All were shocked when I asked for their votes.
Once we sorted out I wasn’t there to retrieve library property or get them to pay fines, they relaxed and wanted to talk. Many were amused to see a middle-class white civil servant making the rounds in their building. They were very welcoming to us. We had several offers of tea and cold beer. One resident offered a shared swig from a litre sized bottle of warm Colt 45.
All of the residents we talked to took our campaign literature and buttons with enthusiasm. One heavy set woman with breasts the size of sleeping Labrador puppies invited us in for lunch and a movie. She had a DVD from the public library she was keen to share. She stared eagerly at us like we had volunteered to groom her dogs.
I declined the invitation. Frank, on the other hand, seemed interested. With a wink and a nod, he encouraged me to take her up on a shared dinner and a movie. He went so far to say, in full earshot of this generous woman, that taking a break might just be the thing I needed to combat the crazy pressure of the campaign. I gave him a quick look and thanked her for her time.
On the next floor, I knocked on the first door at the top of the stairs. I listened for a response. Nothing. Frank was busy entering his notes on the tablet so I decided to knock again. This time, a muffled voice said something I couldn’t understand. I stood patiently while Frank finished his data collection. The sounds of movement continued. Someone was coming to the door.
The door flew open with a quickness not consistent with the person’s snail-like approach. We were greeted by a middle-aged man with long unkempt hair and a scraggy beard. His confused disheveled appearance made me think he had been hibernating for the winter and had just snapped out of it. He was wrapped in a dirty blanket with brown stains. Except for the blanket, he appeared to be completely naked judging by his bare legs and partially exposed chest.
“Hello,” he said with a high-pitched voice like his vocal cords hadn’t been used in some time.
“Hi, I am the Conservative candidate for the upcoming election and would like know if you any issues you want to discuss?”
“The Conservative eh? Sure, give me a minute. Let me go find some clothes. I thought you were someone else,” he replied.
I tried not to think about who he was expecting wearing only a blanket. He turned and disappeared into the apartment. He left the door open. We stood awkwardly. We tried to cover our discomfort with small talk. Frank and I shared a puzzled glance. I bit my lip to restrain from laughing. Finally, we could hear activity in the dark apartment. We watched as he walked back to the doorway. I had assumed he went to find clothes but he returned wrapped in the same filthy blanket.
“Sorry, I couldn’t find any clothes. There were lots of socks but I hate wearing them. They make my feet sweat,” he said.
“Socks… Yes, I know what you mean. Walking around like we do in this heat can really get the sweat rolling…” I said awkwardly.
“I have found silk socks are best. Silk really wicks away the sweat. You have to stay away from nylon, cotton, and blended fabrics. Silk is the only way to go,” I added.
I felt like an idiot as soon as the words tumbled out. I hoped for a quick change to the subject. No such luck.
“Silk?” the man asked.
“Yes, there is only one good place in the city to get them,” I responded.
“Where’s that?” he asked.
“Dugger’s Men’s wear. It is on Spring Garden Road. Do you know it?” I asked.
“No. I don’t get out much,” he replied.
“Well next time you go to Halifax check the place out. Getting back to the election, what issues do you think are important?” I asked.
“Silk socks eh? Wow, do you think they would work? You have no idea how uncomfortable it gets. My feet sweat like a whore in church. I can’t stand it,” he said.
“They work for me… what about issues in the community?” I asked again.
“No issues are as serious as sweaty uncomfortable feet. Feet are the foundation of everything; if your feet don’t feel good, then you won’t feel good. Silk… It’s worth a shot. Digger’s you said?”
“No, Dugger’s,” I replied.
“Dugger’s. Got it. Can you give me some directions? What bus do I take?”
He caught me completely off guard. Having never been on a Halifax Metro transit bus, I had no idea. Frank stepped in and told him what number bus to get on and what stop to get off. He added clear walking directions for the remaining three blocks to the store.
The man shook our hands enthusiastically and thanked us. He told me I had his vote. He said he could not remember any other politician visiting the building. Most people walk by this shit hole, he added. He wished us well and closed the door. While Frank entered the data into the tablet, I thanked him for pulling me out of that information jam.
“Wow, you sure know your way around. Thanks, I had no idea what bus he needed to get on. I am embarrassed to say I have never been on a Metro Transit bus.”
“When you live at a men’s shelter the bus is a blessing,” He said smiling.
I thanked him again for bailing me out.
“No problem, I will put him down as a Colin Munro supporter, as long as the silk socks work out for him.” said Frank. “Do you think the store will let him in with bare feet?”
“Bare feet are the least of his problem. Let’s hope he finds his clothes. That blanket is foul,” I said.
“Were those shit stains?” he joked.
“Let’s not unravel the mysteries of the Shroud of Urine,” I replied with a smile.
The next floor up from blanket man, I recognized other regular library users. One young black teen named Antonio gave me a big hug. He had practically grown up in the library since grade one. I had not seen him much since he started high school two years ago. He invited us in to meet his family. His mom, dad, grandmother and sister were home. Glasses of beer were on the table and home-cut fries cooked in an open pot on the stove.
We turned down the offer of beer, but we joined the family at the table and chatted about the neighbourhood. Crime and the low level of social assistance were discussed. Antonio’s mother and father were on disability benefits. They explained how hard it was to make ends meet. Antonio planned to go to university next year and they had no idea how they would pay for it. I knew him as a quiet kid with an easy smile and a great appetite for books. I was pleased he had his eye on university. I told his mother everyone at work missed her son.
“We love the library and everyone who works there, even Jacqui. That one is a hard ass!” she said with a laugh that rocked the room.
“Obviously you raised your kids right,” I responded. “Mrs. Beals, whether I win this or not, I want you to call me when Antonio is ready for university. I will help you figure out how to get him there.”
“God bless you Troy! Oh, my fries are ready! You ain’t going anywhere until you try my fries.”
This was more a demand than a request so we stuck around. Frank smiled as he watched Antonio’s mother skim the hot fries from the bubbling oil with a wide shallow wire spatula. She lay them on a large plate covered with paper towel. She sprinkled the fries with coarse ground salt and placed the plate in front of us. Beer was poured for us. We put our glasses together and dug in.
Forty-five minutes later, Frank and I were back on the street. My foul mood had disappeared. The power-dynamic had shifted but there was nothing I could do to change it. I needed to stay focused on the parts I could control. As for the rest of it? I would just have to trust the others. I just needed to figure out a way to keep our messaging positive, in spite of Kathleen’s negative marketing. If folks like Antonio and his family can maintain a positive approach then it should be a cinch for the rest of us.
“Hey, you seem in a much better mood,” said Frank.
“Amazing what a couple of beers can do,” I replied with a wide smile.
“You think we should take a break?” asked Frank.
“Take a break? What for?”
“Because we probably smell like we had a couple of drinks,” he responded.
“This is the north end of Dartmouth and people will be pleased we joined the party. Folks in this neighbourhood don’t trust a guy who doesn’t drink, ” I said with a mischievous wink.
I had been involved in politics long enough to witness a winning attitude and a work ethic could overcome most obstacles. Each new day in a political campaign should be considered full of opportunity, forgiveness and redemption.
Kathleen was still an issue but the people of Dartmouth North had been good to me. They had invited me into their homes and welcomed me at their tables. The beer buzz had worn off hours ago but the glow I got from the people of north Dartmouth continued. I chased it for the rest of the campaign.
Later that night I was back home watching a discussion on CNN’s Anderson Cooper. I liked the guy but tonight his guests were polarized and partisan. The reason of any argument was lost in the noise of the show. I was thankful that no matter how crazy our Canadian political climate got, it hasn’t come close to American politics yet. I was interrupted by the vibration of my mobile phone. Dale was calling.
“Hey, bud. What’s going on? Isn’t it a little late for you?” I said to him.
“It is never too late to talk to you, pal. How was your day?” he asked.
“I have to say Dale, it was fantastic, even if it did have a crazy start with the icing sugar attack. Oh, and let’s not forget the real assault on the office by super bitch…”
“You will warm up to her. She is a professional and will be good for us in the long run, mark my words.”
“Warm up to her? How do you warm up to someone like that? She’s as sweet as an assault rifle,” I replied.
“Trust me, she is good for us. You should have seen her in the press conference. She was fantastic,” he countered.
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
“It was one of the finest pieces of political theatre I have seen in a long time,” explained Dale with a chuckle, ”moments after you and the homeless guy left Kathleen went to work. First, she has to deal with Clive. He was ready to blow a gasket telling her he can’t keep you safe! She didn’t miss a beat or back down. She let him vent and then responded in French. My French is horrible so I have no idea what she said to him but, within minutes, he calmed down. We all watched in silence as Clive left the building back in attack mode.
“With Clive sorted out, we worked all media contacts. She was clear there would be no texts, emails, or Twitter messages. If they wanted to hear about the attack they would have to show up and hear it in person. She coordinated the press conference to start moments before Dot would be back from the hospital. This was a piece of logistical mastery given the fact we did not even know what Dot’s status was at the time! Kathleen had someone at the hospital helping Dot navigate our murky health care system who had Dot cleared to return, complete with a police escort! I would have needed to be in cardiac arrest to see anyone move that fast!”
“Holy shit,” I interjected.
“But wait, there is more. She arranged for the reporters to arrive while the police were wrapping up their investigation. I figured the forensic guys would take days to do the work but she had them in and out in a couple of hours. Media arrives and they can’t get into the office because the police tape is still up with two cruisers and a forensics van parked out front. They flood social media with breaking news alerts. The story started trending within minutes and no one had even been in the building!”
“Wow… I had no idea. When Frank and I left the office, I was so pissed off I turned off my notifications.”
“Well, you should get caught up. Our terrorist attack is a top story. Didn’t you watch The National tonight?” Dale asked.
“No. the new format sucks. I want Mansbridge back. These days, CNN s more entertaining,” I replied.
“Bud, but you may want to stay on top of the Canadian news until at least the end of the election,” Dale said sarcastically.
“Sure. Now, finish the story!” I responded impatiently.
“Okay, with everyone finally in the building, Kathleen has Al give a statement about the attack. He says, while the police have confirmed this is a credible threat, the work of the campaign will continue full speed ahead. Al said you were unavailable for questions because you were knocking on doors. However, he did have your statement to share. As the press are fighting over copies of the statement, Dot arrives. She is quickly surrounded and peppered with questions. Al gestures for Dot to join him at the front. She tells him to hang on a minute. She then proceeds in the direction of the bathroom. She walks by it, and out the rear door to have a cigarette…” said Dale.
“Oh my god, are you joking? That is beautiful!” I said laughing.
“No kidding, man. You can’t make this stuff up,” He replied.
I always admired the way Dot smoked. She did not apologize for her habit or hurry it for anyone. She savoured smoking like she just got out of prison or had just finished her last meal and was headed to her final exit. Kathleen’s instincts were bang on. Dot was a star. I took particular enjoyment when Dale told me Dot’s answer when a reporter asked where I was.
“Where the hell do you think he is?” she replied sharply.
”He is on the street working, like he was yesterday and like he will be tomorrow. Troy has a job to do and he is out doing it, and if you don’t mind I would like to get back to mine.”
After Dale finished his story, I took his advice and caught up with the local news. Our story was everywhere. I should have been available for comment. No one ever said it was going to be easy. Kathleen and I got off on the wrong foot but perhaps she was good for us? Time would tell.
My grandfather came to mind. He used to say, ‘treat everyone as equals when you first meet them. Some of these people will be good to you and deserve to be treated better. These people you should make your friends. Other people won’t be good to you. These people you should ignore, or punch in the face.’
Troy Myers 