Miles Zusman, meet Charlie Quakenbush, your ticket to Congress

Miles Zusman would never get elected to Congress without a campaign war chest. He needed to raise donations. Even more important than that, he needed people to raise money for him. If that was every going to happen he needed the support of the state Republican Party. He drove 100 miles south to Phoenix, the temperature rising with each passing longitude, to introduce himself to the head of the Arizona Republican Party, a pudgy man named Charlie Quakenbush.

Dark and romantic notions about life in politics filled his head as he walked in the door. The chest was puffed because Miles Zusman had used self-talk to tell himself an endless stream of nice and impressive things about himself. It was a technique that worked well in the past en route to job interviews, public speaking events, blinds dates and such.

Quakenbush projected a cool air of authority. Aspirants came through his door daily, and Miles was just another warm body looking for a higher station in life. They all arrived with the same bleached teeth and air of presumption.

Miles sat at the chairman’s desk and placed his curriculum vitae on its surface. Quakenbush didn’t touch it, regarding it from afar. There were two framed portraits bolted to the office wall behind him. A scowling Barry Goldwater was over one of the chairman’s shoulders, a smiling Ronald Reagan over the other.

Miles Zusman announced his intentions.

“What brings you to the State of Arizona?” the chairman asked skeptically. “The State of Pennsylvania has not gone for a Republican presidential candidate in a long time.” Miles understood the subtext, that what Quakenbush was really saying was, We don’t cotton to your kind here.

“I’m a Republican,” Miles said sprightly. “I read my Bible every day before the sun rises,” he lied. “I have big dreams, and not just about being elected to the U.S. House of Representatives. I want to be the Governor of Arizona one day.”

The chairman slouched to counteract this visitor’s excessive exhilaration. Nothing about Quakenbush suggested enthusiasm. This is what happens in a state where Republicans win seats without even trying.

Miles nudged his CV across the desktop, closer to the party chairman, as if to lend credence to this ambition. Quakenbush still wasn’t engaging with the document.

Aiming to save the moment, Miles launched into one of his political raps emphasizing small government, low taxes and mass incarceration of suspect members of American society, but the effervescence was washing away from his voice. His tone had gone flat working on dead.

@copyright/Mike Consol

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