It is a now deservedly forgotten moment in presidential politicking lore. With the Democratic candidates gathered for one of their countless debates on September 9, 2003, panelist Farai Chideya, purporting to represent the “Gen X crowd,” posed what she called a “very personal” question. “What,” she queried the assemblage, “is your favorite song?”
The least politic of the assembled politicians handled the inquiry best. The “Reverend” Al Sharpton did an inspired vamp, claiming the James Brown tune “Talking Loud, Saying Nothing” not only as his personal favorite song but also as a possible anthem for the Republican party.
The then-frontrunner, Howard Dean, did the worst. The former Vermont governor offered an answer that combined the unique Dr. Dean cocktail of belligerence, smugness, and opaqueness that his followers inexplicably equated with charm. Dean curtly told the audience his favorite song was “One you’ve never heard of–Wyclef Jean, ‘Jaspora.'” Perhaps at that instant the Democratic party came to its senses and began the process of looking away from the unpleasant doctor and anointing as its hero John Kerry, a man who would go on to place the Green Bay Packers’ legendary frozen tundra at “Lambert Field” instead of Lambeau Field.
Presidential candidates often have problems when they address the popular culture. People who run for president aren’t normal. Most of them have been obsessively involved in politics for most of their adult lives.And yet presidential candidates must all compete in the “Beer Primary.” This unofficial part of the election season is where the candidates vie to be the guy (or gal) the voters would most like to have a beer with.
The popular culture gives a candidate the chance to show off his regular guy bona fides. The problem is, the candidates aren’t regular guys. Even if they wanted to be, their chosen life paths leave little room for regular guy pursuits. In a recent conversation with Mitt Romney, I asked the former Massachusetts governor what kind of working hours running for president demanded. “7:00 A.M. to 10:00 P.M., six days a week,” Romney responded. Even if our candidates had been counting down the days until Spider-Man 3 finally hit the cinemas, they still wouldn’t have time to feast on the third Spidey installment’s wondrous mixture of amazing special effects and turgid dialogue.
Of course, it was Romney who most recently stepped gingerly into the pop-culture minefield. When asked what his favorite novel was a couple of weeks ago, a surprised Romney offered up L. Ron Hubbard’s sci-fi epic, Battlefield Earth. Unmoved by the fact that Battlefield Earth has won such diverse sci-fi community decorations as a Saturn Award, Italy’s prestigious Tetradramma d’Oro, and even France’s Gutenberg Award (don’t worry–I don’t actually know what any of those things are either), America’s wiseacre commentariat gleefully seized upon the fact that the Mormon candidate for president had chosen as his favorite novel a work written by Scientology’s founder. Within a few days of hastily citing Battlefield Earth as his favorite, Romney downgraded it to a guilty pleasure and offered the far safer and more acceptable Huckleberry Finn as his all-time favorite.
Perhaps Romney could have handled the favorite novel “issue” in a smoother fashion. Nevertheless, Romney still stands out as a politician who actually reads books. If you think Romney’s reading habit doesn’t make him stand out, answer this: In your wildest dreams, can you picture John Edwards curled up with any book more complex than one that stars an impish chimp and an inscrutable fellow in a yellow hat?
Since it would be too much to expect journalists to stop asking these questions, what the Romney episode points to is the need for a new subspecies of political consultant–one who will help candidates look literate when it comes to pop culture. Most of the candidates need a crash course on the things that ordinary people like. Desperately. Or do you think Hillary Clinton has a favorite NASCAR driver ready for the inevitable occasion when a plucky Edwards supporter demands to know if she’s a Jeff Gordon or Dale Jr. kind of gal?
For the candidates, a deft way with pop culture would do them immeasurable good. The Wall Street Journal‘s John Fund, a confessed sci-fi fan himself, recently wrote that Romney may have done himself some good with sci-fi fans when he initially cited Battlefield Earth as his favorite novel. Frighteningly enough for us normal people, sci-fi fans are legion. In other words, however inadvertently, Romney’s copping to liking sci-fi may actually win him some votes.
Now imagine what a candidate could get done if he achieved fluency in pop culture. Picture a candidate who could effortlessly segue from paying homage to Dale Earnhardt’s #3 to saying how much High Noon has always meant to him. Conjure up a contender who could unashamedly admit that if owning every George Strait record makes him a square, so be it, and then quickly pivot to the many times tears welled in his eyes when sports heroes like Curt Schilling or Willis Reed rose above pain to perform in an almost super-human fashion.
That guy wouldn’t just have a lot of admirers who wanted to have a beer with him. He’d also eventually be known as Mr. President.
Dean Barnett writes at hughhewitt.townhall.com.
