wanted to raise taxes on corporations to better fund the police and public services. Sooner wanted to relax the taxes on business and remove other obstacles to business growth in order to court major corporations to relocate headquarters to Baltimore. The money would mean jobs, which meant more income revenue, property sales, and a whole new demographic. Of course the obstacles to business growth were protecting both the poor residents of Baltimore and the health of the Chesapeake Bay, but that didn’t seem to matter to Sooner or McHenry.
Julian’s clutch of “territory managers” were in rare form, each grilling one another over which high school they attended, and God help you if you weren’t originally from Baltimore. I lingered in the back corner, nursing a nagging headache, trying not to involve myself in the actual workings of the campaign. I wasn’t entirely sure why Julian insisted I attend this meeting. He sure as hell wasn’t paying me to knock on doors or run phone banks.
One particularly amphibian-looking territory manager croaked out his dismay at the Sooner ad blitz. “So when are we going to talk about the TV spots?”
Julian pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “We’re waiting for polling.”
“We have six spots already in the can, Julian,” another advisor outlined. “We have Sooner on his flip-flop with the bailout funds, the parochial shutdown. If we wait too long, the midterm ads are going to start driving up the buys. What’s Sully waiting for?”
Julian’s face twisted in ambivalence. “I don’t think he’s ready to open Pandora’s Box just yet.”
“The box is open, Julian. What the hell?” the toad-faced advisor croaked.
“We don’t know if Sooner’s forward push is gaining any traction,” Julian explained. “If he’s spinning his wheels, it’s better we let him dig himself deeper and deeper. And if I can labor the off-roading metaphor any further, someone please tell me.”
“Has anyone bothered to connect the dots between McHenry and Sooner?” I asked. “Because Joe Q. Public might be interested.”
The entire table fell silent and turned to me. Especially Julian. In fact, I regretted saying anything at all. Wasn’t I supposed to be avoiding active politics?
The toad nodded. “One spot. But…”
“But what?” Julian grumbled.
“We’re afraid it’ll alienate the chamber. Developers. Small businesses, large businesses, retail.”
“I get the picture,” Julian mumbled, turning away.
The toad continued, “Sully carried a lot of business interests last election. Frankly, they won him the election. His record isn’t bad for a Democrat, either. He’s perceived as pro-business.”
I shook my head and retorted, “Sooner is in McHenry’s pocket. You’re not going to lose the business vote with a TV commercial because you’ve already lost the business vote. McHenry is one of them. Hell, he’s their crown prince, and everyone knows Sooner would be his mouthpiece in city hall.”
“That’s not how we understand the public perception,” the advisor muttered before shaking his head at me and turning to Julian. “Who is this guy, anyway?”
Julian smirked. “Dorian Lake.”
“And?”
“Grass roots coordination in West Baltimore.”
The toad chuckled. “You’re kidding.”
Julian leaned into the table and held up a hand to silence him. “The point, Dorian, is that we need to know if unzipping our fly with McHenry will actually mean anything in the voting booth.”
“It will,” I spat.
“I suppose you have polling on that?” the toad jibed with more than a little smugness.
“When’s the last time you really talked to someone in Federal Hill about Harborside Towers? Or people two blocks from where I live about this ‘Manor at Carrollton.’ I’m sure there’s more.”
The toad snickered and looked at the others for backup. “Is this guy serious? Sir, no one opposes inner city redevelopment.”
“You think
Julian’s clutch of “territory managers” were in rare form, each grilling one another over which high school they attended, and God help you if you weren’t originally from Baltimore. I lingered in the back corner, nursing a nagging headache, trying not to involve myself in the actual workings of the campaign. I wasn’t entirely sure why Julian insisted I attend this meeting. He sure as hell wasn’t paying me to knock on doors or run phone banks.
One particularly amphibian-looking territory manager croaked out his dismay at the Sooner ad blitz. “So when are we going to talk about the TV spots?”
Julian pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “We’re waiting for polling.”
“We have six spots already in the can, Julian,” another advisor outlined. “We have Sooner on his flip-flop with the bailout funds, the parochial shutdown. If we wait too long, the midterm ads are going to start driving up the buys. What’s Sully waiting for?”
Julian’s face twisted in ambivalence. “I don’t think he’s ready to open Pandora’s Box just yet.”
“The box is open, Julian. What the hell?” the toad-faced advisor croaked.
“We don’t know if Sooner’s forward push is gaining any traction,” Julian explained. “If he’s spinning his wheels, it’s better we let him dig himself deeper and deeper. And if I can labor the off-roading metaphor any further, someone please tell me.”
“Has anyone bothered to connect the dots between McHenry and Sooner?” I asked. “Because Joe Q. Public might be interested.”
The entire table fell silent and turned to me. Especially Julian. In fact, I regretted saying anything at all. Wasn’t I supposed to be avoiding active politics?
The toad nodded. “One spot. But…”
“But what?” Julian grumbled.
“We’re afraid it’ll alienate the chamber. Developers. Small businesses, large businesses, retail.”
“I get the picture,” Julian mumbled, turning away.
The toad continued, “Sully carried a lot of business interests last election. Frankly, they won him the election. His record isn’t bad for a Democrat, either. He’s perceived as pro-business.”
I shook my head and retorted, “Sooner is in McHenry’s pocket. You’re not going to lose the business vote with a TV commercial because you’ve already lost the business vote. McHenry is one of them. Hell, he’s their crown prince, and everyone knows Sooner would be his mouthpiece in city hall.”
“That’s not how we understand the public perception,” the advisor muttered before shaking his head at me and turning to Julian. “Who is this guy, anyway?”
Julian smirked. “Dorian Lake.”
“And?”
“Grass roots coordination in West Baltimore.”
The toad chuckled. “You’re kidding.”
Julian leaned into the table and held up a hand to silence him. “The point, Dorian, is that we need to know if unzipping our fly with McHenry will actually mean anything in the voting booth.”
“It will,” I spat.
“I suppose you have polling on that?” the toad jibed with more than a little smugness.
“When’s the last time you really talked to someone in Federal Hill about Harborside Towers? Or people two blocks from where I live about this ‘Manor at Carrollton.’ I’m sure there’s more.”
The toad snickered and looked at the others for backup. “Is this guy serious? Sir, no one opposes inner city redevelopment.”
“You think
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