Greener Pastures? Dec. 8. 2023


The old saying goes, the more things change, the more they stay the same, and this has never been truer than with the political scene here in what may be the most corrupt county in America.

This struck me hard yesterday when I went to a Christmas Tree lighting in the old county court house, which is the last official act by the outgoing county executive, who served in that post for 20 years, although his leaving office only reflects the changes and the sameness of the last decade,

All this comes ten years – almost to the day – when my poet friend resigned her position was personal secretary to the Virgin Mayor, as if the changes here and now somehow bring to a final conclusion those turbulent years.

Some of the players remain although slightly altered. The congressman, who started out as mayor, has become mayor of the town he helped get the Virgin Mayor elected to, and the Little Man, remains his aide as he had been back then and most likely aways will be – although the Virgin Mayor has long been put out to pasture, returning to his medical practice.

The political war between the State Senator and the Neighboring Mayor has also ended, partly because the Woke Governor redistricted state senate districts so that the state Senator and the Neighboring Mayor would have had to face off against each other, proving too much for the state Senator, who decided to retire, leaving the crown to the Neighboring Mayor – who is now trying to replace the U.S. Senator as the county’s political boss, backing a candidate for mayor of the Big City, now that the Mayor of the Big City is running for governor again.

The old pollical boss, the U.S. Senator is facing serious charges and most likely won’t survive, bitter at the fact that the Neighboring Mayor is contributing to his demise. The two powerful figures have had an on again off again relationship for decades, but the Neighboring Mayor has always been a political opportunists and sees the U.S. Senator’s demise as an opportunity to become undisputed king.

But the U.S. Senator knows where all the bones are buried, and the Neighboring Mayor’s sexual habits, vowing to publish a picture of all of the women the Neighboring Mayor has slept with over the last two decades, a significant list, from what I’m told.

At the end of the day, power is all about who is left standing after the fist fight concludes, or as the rock band, The Who once pointed out, “new boss is the same as the old boss,” or better perhaps, the Springsteen quote about these people aching to be king.

The crew around the retiring county executive is different from those elsewhere, although the Neighboring Mayor – who once plotted to overthrow the retiring county executive, has won that victory, too, simply by waiting.

Many of the faces I saw at the Christmas Tree lighting as familiar faces, who cling to the newly elected County Executive with hope of retaining their access to power, just as others elsewhere have done on a small scale, although almost all of those who had rode the Virgin Mayor’s coattails to power are gone, their plans having come to naught simply because the Virgin Mayor was not powerful enough to protect them, and when he fell, they fell and slunk back to the woodwork out of which they originally crawled.

Some luckily fled before the very end, finding life boats long before most saw the Virgin Mayor’s ship was starting to sink. Joey D and others sailed into new horizons, made alliances with other virgin mayors, and so survived. Some, like our poet, simply walked away, got on with their lives, and found some contentment unconnected to political power, a wise move.

The sadness, of course, is that I still linger on the fringes of this hateful society, no longer nearly as powerful as I once was now that the media I originally worked for as gone belly up. People recognize me as a survivor, but in truth I have no place else to go and cover these less strenuous events to watch the faces of those who once had power and those who are gaining power, knowing that ultimately, they too will eventually fade as new faces rise up out of the dust to replace them.

I have no ties to any of it, except as an observer, someone who has survived long enough to become one more familiar face in the crowd, nodded at, even sometimes admired, but often for all the wrong reasons. I feel a lot like George Bailly, though in my case, I’m lost in the nightmare, watching what was once a livable village turned into a modern Pottersville, as the once familiar landscape turns into massive towers I no longer recognize, and the people who I have rubbed shoulders with move on to greener pastures.

 

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