So, there I was a couple months back, whiling away a lazy summer afternoon at the Armory, when a big ol' crew-cab pickup with big Harold Ford stickers in the rear window backs into a parking spot right out front. "Huh," I thought, "that takes a bit of chutzpah, displaying Democrat campaign paraphernalia around a gun store. I wonder who that is?"
In the door walked Harold Ford Jr. himself, complete with a couple of guys for a sort of mini entourage. Apparently he was here to make his Moderate Democrat bones by being seen shooting at the local range. He was a likeable enough guy, in that "Elect Me To Student Government" sort of way. (When did congresscritters get as young as me, huh? When did that happen?)
He didn't score a lot of points with the range staff, who complained afterwards that he seemed to be distracted and in a hurry during the mandatory safety briefing. (Look folks, I know you've been shooting before, and I know the briefing is basic stuff, but the kid has to give it, so you could make him feel better by at least feigning interest.) After a perfunctory session on the range with a stainless Smith revolver, they came out and settled up. The telling comment came after he left. The old guy who'd been standing at the counter next to him watched Ford and his crew leave and then shook his head. "You know," he mused, "I've been in county politics all my life, been elected to a thing or two, and that's the sorriest thing I've seen in a while. That young man stood next to me for near ten minutes and not once did he ask for my vote."
Come to think about it, he didn't ask me for mine, either...