The real deal missing from provincial politics
In the last column, I was pretty hard on Education Minister Kelly Lamrock and the provincial Liberals in general. What was sad though, was that 500 words couldn't contain my disgust at what's been going on with the provincial government lately.
My disenchantment with the party actually started a few years back when I ran into candidate now premier Shawn Graham. I first met the "Golden Boy" while working a Liberal shindig at the Sussex Golf and Curling Club back in the summer of 2002.
It left quite an impression on me like when I received "the gift" from Santa Claus in 1983 that was in my sister, Carlene's handwriting.
This guy didn't seem real either.
His sweater was draped over his shoulders with the sleeves tied across his collarbone, and his plastic smile displayed an upper row of teeth that resembled piano keys without the flats and sharps. He'd obviously never missed a regular check-up.
On the surface, he reminded me of some pretty-boy named Chad from an exclusive yacht club that I hope one day never to visit.
Like a stealthy KGB agent, I stalked his every move as I went about my duties of cleaning up the clubhouse (I swear Frank). His scripted answers and his yacht club chuckles saturated the crowd, but I couldn't help thinking, "Graham wants to represent New Brunswick? He's Cape Cod…not Cap Pelé."
As he anxiously surveyed the crowd for someone significant to schmooze with, I saw my opportunity to ask a few questions. But just as we made eye contact and I was about to speak, he darted past me without so much as a pardon.
Was it the bag of garbage in my left hand? Maybe it was my incredibly faded Kaplansky Insurance golf shirt from Weymouth, Massachusetts that had "Frenchy's" written all over it?
Either way, a snub is a snub and it all but severed any chances of him entering my good books.
I watched Graham speaking to one loyal card-carrying member, and I got the feeling that beneath his shiny veneer lay the stereotype of the Hollywood used-car salesman (no slight intended on the honest women and men in that profession).
Basically, make the sale.
Luckily for me, and the Liberal who came dangerously close to buying, at 28 per cent interest, an ‘83 Buick that burned oil, the day came to a close with the customary firm handshakes, steady eye contact and empty promises of trust, efficiency and progressive change.
When the tables were put away and the dishes washed, I sat at the bar and wondered why we keep electing people who are not "real" New Brunswickers?
Our politicians should know what it's like to miss a car/mortgage payment; have to use H&R Block; call in pogey cards; send a kid to school hungry; battle the bottle; have to go out west; have no milk; or restlessly lay awake the night before an inevitable eviction notice is served.
That's what a good number of real New Brunswickers are experiencing everyday.
Stay tuned…
outsidethebax@gmail.com
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