Barry Crimmins, Political Satirist.

Ticklish Times in NY-29

By Barry Crimmins

You probably wish former New York Congressman Eric Massa would just go away. It's not so easy for me. You see, "away" for Massa is just a few miles from where I live. So I guess I better get in front of this sad story -- or at least upwind of it.  

Until last Monday, Eric Massa was my congressional rep. I am not running from this. We all make mistakes and by "we all," I mean New York's 29th Congressional District.

I did in fact help Massa during his first Congressional campaign in 2006. I offered my services because he was running against the nincompoop Republican incumbent, Randy Kuhl. Beyond Kuhl's odious political record, there were whispers about domestic violence and heavy drinking that led to a divorce. To make matters worse, Kuhl, a man in late middle-age, sported a henna-tinted perm. That's right, my previous congressman went to a salon to have his hair fashioned into a clown wig. Truth in packaging, I suppose. So we were sent running into the arms of Eric Massa. It wouldn't be long before we'd learn the aptness of the maxim concerning politics and strange bedfellows. As you must know by now, they don't come much stranger than Mr. Massa.

I was never comfortable around Massa, a perpetually fidgety and clammy man. He seemed insincere but I took it as insecurity. He came off as a dork who was trying to be make it as a cool guy. He never knew when to shut up and was forever laughing at his own shitty jokes. But he wasn't Randy Kuhl and in this part of the world that was all we needed to know.

                                                                     RANDY KUHL
After losing to Kuhl in 2006, Massa immediately began running to unseat the incumbent in '08. The newly minted Democrat (he had been an "R" until Kuhl stood between him and political glory) never stopped complaining about the rigors of the campaign trail. His beefs about the need for endless fundraising were sensible but he seemed to spend about two hours a day talking about the five hours a day he devoted to begging for campaign dough. Since he was a cancer survivor, his complaints about long hours were understandable. Then again, why not shut up and just take a goddamned nap?

When Massa wasn't bitching about campaigning, he was trumpeting his military background. A Naval Academy graduate (the University of Chickenshit, according to members of the regular Navy), he asked me to emcee an event for veterans at a war plane museum. This was when I began to doubt Massa's judgment. There are plenty of progressives in New York's Connecticut-sized 29th district and I could have helped with them. Instead he chose to wheel out his most leftist supporter in a freaking airplane hanger in front of a bunch of elderly vets. The former GI's were much more interested in the single-payer beer tap than my observations about our sorry political state. It was a long and unforgettable night, no matter how much I attempt to repress it.

After the Great War Plane Massa-cree of '06, I reduced my involvement with Massa to occasional donations to the contribution can at his Corning office. In 2008, I was happy to see him finally send Kuhl home to his beloved wine country in Hammondsport.

I hoped Eric Massa would become a hard-working and principled dork in Washington. But the next thing I knew, the new congressman was breaking his pledge to not take money from PACs. He did so after (you guessed it) an explanation about how much of his time was lost to raising campaign money. He was still making that complaint yesterday so apparently the PAC money must have served to do something other than eliminate time-wasting fundraising.

Massa made a name for himself when he voted against President Obama's so-called health care reform bill. I called his office before the vote because I'm a proponent of single-payer care. "The rest of the world isn't wrong, we are," I proclaimed.  When I received a Massa mass mailing meant for reactionary Obamacare opponents, it became obvious to me that my congressman was playng the issue both ways. To people like me, he could talk about his support for single payer. To the teadouchebaggers, he could brag about his opposition to Obama. In the end, nothing happened. Tie goes to the corporate medical racketeers.

To his credit, Massa called for U.S. withdrawal from the quagmire in Afghanistan. Yay, principled dork! After that I made a mental note to throw more dough into his campaign can. That was it until a week or so ago when, with the rest of you, I heard Massa announce he wouldn't run for reelection because his cancer had flared up. Before we could react to that sad news, Massa set his spin machine on "puree." He told us that maybe he just has an issue with scar tissue and not cancer but nonetheless his health and his staff and his family could not stand an inquiry being made into his conduct by the House Ethics Committee. So he was resigning immediately! Why? Because he was guilty of  using"salty" language to his staff and god knows, Washington will put up with anything but salty language. It was, as we all remember, the fucking tapes that did in Richard Nixon.

Soon more allegations trickled out: although eligible for laundry service while serving on a ship, Massa had allegedly chosen to do his own washing in a laundry directly across from where enlisted men showered--and at the hour when most of them were showering. And there was a tale of Massa attempting to grope a male lieutenant who was a bunkmate.

At this point I sort of realized that where there was so much smoke, something had to be flaming. Rather than write a million obvious, snickering  jokes about "poopdecks" and "seamen," I instead wrote Massa a kind note because I felt sorry for him. I'd by now guessed why he was so clammy-- it must get pretty humid cooped in a closet in a world full of homophobes. His nervousness and uneven demeanor now made sense. And so I wrote him and thanked him for his efforts, wished him good health and prosperity and asked him to ignore the cruelty directed at him.

That was Saturday night. On Sunday he went on his radio show and tried to explain himself. It got mighty weird. He told of how when men sleep in the same bed together they should sleep one man under a sheet, the other over it. This method helps avoid any accidental sexual contact. How about flipping a coin and the loser gets the floor, Eric? The Three Stooges were the last guys I can think of who could sleep in the same bed free of sexual overtones.

Then he told of how he ended up at a table with all 15 of the "bachelors" on his congressional staff at the end of a drunken wedding party. Massa, by the way, uses the word "bachelor" more often than a 50's movie about marriage-averse single men. Before long and due to his own loopy disclosures, it became obvious that he seeks the company of bachelors more often than say, Clifton Webb.

Anyway, Massa and his staff were holding a post-wedding bachelor party, right where mixed couples had cavorted just a short time earlier. Massa's account of what followed with his 15 hand-picked, drunken, unmarried, dateless, male staffers could make anyone clammy.

"On New Year's Eve, I went to a staff party. It was actually a wedding for a staff member of mine; there were over 250 people there. I was with my wife. And in fact we had a great time. She got the stomach flu," recalled Massa.

{And as we know, it's always fun when your wife gets the stomach flu!}

Massa then danced with the bride and then a bridesmaid. He explains, "I said goodnight to the bridesmaid. I sat down at the table where my whole staff was, all of them by the way bachelors." (It's raining bachelors! Hallelujah!)

"One of them looked at me and as they would do after, I don't know, 15 gin and tonics, and goodness only knows how many bottles of champagne, a staff member made an intonation to me that maybe I should be chasing after the bridesmaid and his points were clear and his words were far more colorful than that," Massa said. "And I grabbed the staff member sitting next to me and said, 'Well, what I really ought to be doing is fracking you.' And then [I] tousled the guy's hair and left, went to my room, because I knew the party was getting to a point where it wasn't right for me to be there."

At best Massa is naive and self-aggrandizing. Mostly he seems like a guy who is used to being well enough positioned in the pecking order to be able to impose silence on his underlings -- even after humiliating them. So he tells this story in which he actually brags about being a cockteaser or tousler or something. The question is, is that even what happened?

I fear it went more like this:

Massa: Her? I don't need to fuck her when I can fuck you. C'mon let's go up to your room. I'll show ya what I can do!

Nervous senior staff member: Congressman, I think it's time you went back to your own room.

(Hey, it's as feasible as anything Eric Massa has come up with.)

On the same radio show, Massa explained that a former Navy bunkmate asked to be moved out of quarters the two shared because of an incident in which Massa claims to have walked in on the roommate while the roomie was masturbating. The former congressman claims that upon walking in on his bunkie, he slapped him on the leg and asked, "Need any help?"

OK, let's flip over all the cards here: I can't imagine any straight man ever doing that. I can't imagine any well adjusted gay man ever doing that, either. I can, however, imagine a clammy, desperate, closeted gay man doing that. Particularly one who could pull rank after offering to pull other things. What is unimaginable is that at a time when he has been exposed for a lifetime of serial sexual harassment, he would offer one disturbingly cheesy anecdote after the next and expect them to exonerate him.

Massa is pretty obviously gay or bi, and who cares? Except for the part about being in the closet and running for congress from this bigoted, fairly backwoods district. He's now provided a led-lined bunker in which the backward-ass status quo around here will bivouac, comfortably entrenched for the foreseeable future. Thanks again, Eric.

Even after his radio antics, I was glad I'd written Massa a kind note. The poor guy was falling apart and there was no need for me to be anything but kind to him. But, Jesus, did I wish he could have decided that it's easier to be out and gay than closeted and preposterous. Of course that's easy for safely-straight-by-coincidence-of-birth me to say.

But then Monday came and with it word that Massa was blaming the Dems for doing him in over Obamacare. I began to get pissed, not because I am an Obama zombie but because this clearly wasn't the case. And I began to realize he was much more predator than victim. The craziness escalated: Massa told a story about a nude confrontation with Rahm Emanuel in the congressional gym. Apparently, there were no witnesses to this encounter -- Emanuel included. And then he decided to state his case on the Glenn Beck Show. By that point, I had really had enough. I wrote Massa again to tell him that I rescinded my earlier compassionate email. I further suggested that if he still had a taste for salty language, he should read my blog. Hi, Eric!

Appearing on Beck, where he somehow managed to out-blather the host, Massa delivered no promised details about corruption in Washington. Beck was crestfallen. Massa had proven he could tease reactionary cocks, too. In this interview came further disclosures from Massa -- this time about tickle fighting his now infamous staff full o' bachelors. A five-man pileup resulted when the supposedly happily married Congressman celebrated his 50th birthday at a stag party with the bach staffers at the condo they shared with Massa in DC. Eventually his chief-of-staff suggested to his boss that he better get his grab-assing self some new accommodations and so Massa moved into his office. I'm guessing he started making the bachelors work a lot of OT after that.

Network commentators of all stripes have come together to openly mock, and guffaw at, Eric Massa. Ever the revisionist, Massa now says he wasn't driven out by Dems or cancer or salty language but that he forced himself out. If only he had done that a long time ago, he could have become a respectable member of the GLBT community rather than a disgraced man who is now exiled to a rural area that has just received a booster shot of bigotry.

Lost in all this is the fact that we have no representative in the House for at least several weeks. This means Massa is not there to speak against clomping deeper into the quagmire in Afghanistan. This means that thousands of unemployed people in this district have no voice whatsoever in the House. This means Massa's gay constituents will have to listen to many neighbors denigrate homosexuals because of Eric Massa's cheesy behavior -- behavior that is all too common among people with power over other people, regardless of  their sexuality. And this means that, embattled governors and lint-headed appointee senators notwithstanding, the most untainted New York Democrat to whom orphaned 29th District dwellers can look is Charles Schumer. To paraphrase my good friend Mike Donovan, if you left Charles Schumer alone in a room with a rat, he'd fuck the rat.

This just in: word comes that Massa may have laid his hands on a male intern. If this sordid rumor becomes a proven fact, Eric Massa will remain in the news and will deserve to be there. And now former shipmates have come forward to confirm many of the sordid details looming in Massa's past.

Mercifully, NY- 29 will soon be put out of its misery. After some baying reactionary reclaims the House seat for the R's this year, the census tally will be revealed and the 29th will be chopped up and redistributed to other districts. It barely survived the 2000 count and the district as it stands has less hope of returning to Congress than Eric Massa himself. So for now, the main task around here is remaining upwind of the stench.

updated 9 hours ago

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A Tribute Before a Eulogy

Note: Here is a note I wrote to my dear friend, Tom Duffy. It concerns ten years of uncomplaining generosity on his part. Left to his own devices he'd probably delete my remarks, so I figured I'd pass them along to the readers of this blog. I should hope he will also bring this to the attention of the readers of his ever effervescent blog, The Garlic. In fact, I demand he do so (in a nice way, of course.)

2/13/10

Tom, Your Aunt Cele lived out her days with dignity and no small measure of joy thanks to your remarkably selfless care for her. For just over a decade you were never, ever concerned with your own needs and desires until you knew your aunt was safe, comfortable and at ease. Needless to state, your own needs rarely made it out of this compassionate triage.

No matter how difficult things became, you responded with calm patience and loving kindness toward your aunt. You missed out on all sorts of opportunities because your responsibility to Cele came first. Despite this, never once did your efforts come grudgingly or with so much as a hint of resentment.

You have set a great example for everyone. Unfortunately you have done so with such modesty and selflessness that no one but you will ever know just how much you did. And since you never kept track of your efforts (because to do so would be to devote time and energy to vanity instead of your aunt) not even you know how much you did.

But Cele did. That's why you were the last person on the planet she looked to, called for and trusted. At the end, yours was the only face to which she could place a name. Even at 97, when she had lost track of every other thing in this world, she knew you. That was how she thanked you. That was how she recognized and honored the very important work you had done. She celebrated you by acknowledging that your devotion to her was so bright and clear that it could be seen through the fog that eventually took her from this life. That was pretty damned impressive and generous, as well!

I am proud and humbled to know you, J. Thomas Duffy. Thanks for the inspiration.

With profound condolences,

Barry

updated 3 weeks ago

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Howard Zinn - A Remembrance

(NOTE: The following expands on some thoughts I posted upon first hearing the news of the passing of Dr. Howard Zinn)

Howard Zinn's voice, his literal voice, is what I will always remember best about him. Measured, wise, gentle and kind, his calmly assertive tone rose to every important political occasion for the past sixty or so years. It never once became shrill.

But did he ever get his point across. With microscopic shifts of inflection, you could hear the arch of an eyebrow, a sniff of disdain or a mettlesome refusal to succumb to unjust authority. It didn't hurt that this vocal artistry had lyrics featuring Howard's always perfectly chosen words.

Professor Zinn's not-so-secret ingredient was a large measure of optimism. This positiveness during daunting times was rooted in parallel moments in history when regular folks (the great historian had unearthed and illuminated) stood for what was right despite lopsided odds. Again and again Howard dulcetly delivered inspiration by speaking of how the courage of such everyday heroes led to change that benefitted us all. Because he knew from whence we came, he had hope for where we were headed. And so he was unflappable. His voice and writing were like his conscience -- clear. He taught us that the most difficult choices were actually the easiest ones to make, provided our moral compass's true north fixed on compassion and courage.

There seemed to be extra hours in the day for Howard. He was always traveling, reading (was there any respectable political publication he didn't blurb?), writing and speaking. He still found time for a rich life with his wonderful wife and editor Roslyn (a magnificent artist whose work continues to bring beauty to us two years after her passing) and their children Jeff Zinn and Myla Kabat-Zinn and their spouses and children.

No one I know could keep up with Howard yet he never seemed rushed or stressed. I think this was because as a preeminent historian, he experienced life in a very sensible context. Howard understood that the bad guys would eventually lose. The task before us was to resist the inevitable stupidities of the moment and make sure to leave a trail that would eventually lead others to the truth about our times. He knew that no matter how badly things were trending, at least a few people of good faith could eventually buck such trends.

The professor joyfully spoke before, and met and listened to, the throngs that greeted him wherever he traveled. Howard knew the value of a crowd. He understood that not only is there strength in numbers but there is also strengthening in them, providing you present a persuasive case. It is one thing to read a rousing political tract by yourself and quite another to realize the same wisdom simultaneously with hundreds of your friends and neighbors.

Therefore Howard appreciated anyone who tried to make crucial information accessible to as many people as possible. When we met, rather than look past a young man who made his living grousing in nightclubs, he encouraged me in every possible way. He compared my work to that of my hero Samuel Clemens (even I had to question him on that one), Finley Peter Dunne, Lenny Bruce and Dick Gregory. He and Roz came to my shows many times and always enthusiastically expressed appreciation for my efforts. He  even introduced me on my album, "Kill the Messenger" back in 1991( audio file below). Whenever I published a piece in the Boston Phoenix or elsewhere, he called with praise, proclaiming that I had outdone myself. In later years he sent emails that implored, "Write, Barry! Write! We need you!" He recommended me to Seven Stories Press and his endorsement resulted in my 2004 book, Never Shake Hands With a War Criminal.

What I remember most fondly are the dozens of marches, protests, picket lines and rallies we attended together. It seemed like it was always freezing at those events. Howard would get up and dazzle the masses with his precise wisdom and reassuring persona. I would then pitch a fit like a lunatic. He could have said his piece and left long before my caterwauling but usually he and Roz would be waiting for me off to the side of the stage when I was done. There they stood bundled in winter coats, hats and scarves, smiling as smoke billowed from the compliments they heaped upon me. They'd tell me that I had delivered exactly what was needed to be said and gushed about how proud they were of me. And then they'd introduce me to friends of theirs ranging from Daniel Ellsberg to Ed, the guy who is organizing the bus mechanics. Soon we'd adjourn to somewhere for a meal where we'd warm up and the Zinns would make sure that everyone got to know just how wonderful everyone else was. It took me quite a while to believe I actually knew these people, let alone could count them as my friends.

Before long Howard and I were meeting for semi-regular coffees in Harvard Square. These get-togethers served as de facto office hours for the professor emeritus. We'd barely settle in before there was an actual line of well-wishers, former students and/or fellow activists. The first few would likely be invited to join us at the table and then Howard patiently spoke with and listened to all comers. I never begrudged these folks their time with the great man. How could I when he and Roz had given so much love, support and guidance to me? Besides, I met dozens of  terrific people during those coffees. There was simply no downside when Howard was around.

Two people who saw me at various confabs with the good doctor were Lewis and Meg Randa of the Peace Abbey in Sherborne, Massachusetts. When I was honored with that remarkable institution's Courage of Conscience Award, it was Howard who did the presenting. As ever, he was philanthropic in his assessment of me. Last night after learning of Howard's death,  I happened to glance at that left-wing Heisman Trophy on my mantle and the tears came and stayed for quite some time. That plaster bird means more to me than any mainstream show biz award ever could.

It is fitting that such a great man of peace had such a disarming personality. Because he was so organically charming and durably gentle, he could forward ideas that many of us dare not even dream about, such as the end of war.

In the April 2006 issue of The Progressive, he made the case in his essay, After the War, excerpted here:

... should we not think beyond this war? Should we begin to think, even before this shameful war is over, about ending our addiction to massive violence and instead using the enormous wealth of our country for human needs? That is, should we begin to speak about ending war—not just this war or that war, but war itself? Perhaps the time has come to bring an end to war, and turn the human race onto a path of health and healing.

A group of internationally known figures, celebrated both for their talent and their dedication to human rights (Gino Strada, Paul Farmer, Kurt Vonnegut, Nadine Gordimer, Eduardo Galeano, and others), will soon launch a worldwide campaign to enlist tens of millions of people in a movement for the renunciation of war, hoping to reach the point where governments, facing popular resistance, will find it difficult or impossible to wage war.

There is a persistent argument against such a possibility, which I have heard from people on all parts of the political spectrum: We will never do away with war because it comes out of human nature. The most compelling counter to that claim is in history: We don't find people spontaneously rushing to make war on others. What we find, rather, is that governments must make the most strenuous efforts to mobilize populations for war. They must entice soldiers with promises of money, education, must hold out to young people whose chances in life look very poor that here is an opportunity to attain respect and status. And if those enticements don't work, governments must use coercion: They must conscript young people, force them into military service, threaten them with prison if they do not comply.

Furthermore, the government must persuade young people and their families that though the soldier may die, though he or she may lose arms or legs, or become blind, that it is all for a noble cause, for God, for country.

When you look at the endless series of wars of this century you do not find a public demanding war, but rather resisting it, until citizens are bombarded with exhortations that appeal, not to a killer instinct, but to a desire to do good, to spread democracy or liberty or overthrow a tyrant...

It [war] poisons everyone who is engaged in it, however different they are in many ways, turns them into killers and torturers, as we are seeing now. It pretends to be concerned with toppling tyrants, and may in fact do so, but the people it kills are the victims of the tyrants. It appears to cleanse the world of evil, but that does not last, because its very nature spawns more evil. War, like violence in general, I concluded, is a drug. It gives a quick high, the thrill of victory, but that wears off and then comes despair.

Now that Howard's gone, we will have to work that much harder. OK, let's take strength from the lesson he taught so many times: there is very little that can't be accomplished by people willing to confront, understand and reclaim history. Consider how much he accomplished on his own and then imagine what we all could do together!

Anyone can make history but changing it is another story. That story was told beautifully by Howard Zinn, whose kind and wizened voice will be what I hear whenever my conscience prompts me to behave like a decent and responsible person. For that and so much more, thanks, Howard.

• Our Man in Boston on Howard Zinn
• Dennis Perrin on Howard Zinn

updated 1 month ago

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Howard Zinn

Here's to our heroic, learned, brilliant, patient, compassionate, generous, and very funny friend, Howard Zinn, who passed away this afternoon. He leaves a legacy of truth, inspiration and optimism. His kind and wizened voice will always be what I hear when my conscience prompts me to behave like a decent and responsible person. Thanks for everything, Howard.

(NOTE: I promise to post a more complete tribute to Professor Zinn when I have had a chance to absorb this sad news for a little while longer.)

updated 1 month ago

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