First Class with the Senator

Sharing the same name as my father, I wasn’t all that surprised when Northwestern Airlines bumped me up to first class back in September, 2003. I was coming back from a wedding so I looked and felt my best as I boarded the plane with my baseball cap covering my face. I peeked out underneath my hat and saw “businessman” written all over the guy I’d be sharing space with - I was badly needing gum.

I fidgeted and tried to sleep as one leather organizer after another passed across the tray-table next to me. I could tell he hadn’t seen such apathy towards his presence since one of his children probably brought home their first date.

All the pleasantries of a vibrant stewardess then rolled up.

“What can I get you gentlemen?”
I played dead so he’d have to answer first.
“Yes Miss, I’ll have a club soda.”
I felt the stewardess look my way.
“And for you sir?”
“Ahh… how ‘bout a vodka martini extremely dry… you know what, on second thought, just give me the vodka.”
Next to me were the eyes… it was eleven a.m. and we were on a plane in Minneapolis heading to Boise. The hour time difference made my morning cocktail look that much more problematic.
I lifted the brim of my hat and prepared a thought, I turned toward the window- seat.
“How are you? Just came from a reception, needed a little hair of the dog.”
Talking to the man I couldn’t stop looking at his suit, it was remarkable. He was in his late fifties and it was immediately apparent he had some very different air about him.
“By the looks of it that must’ve been some wedding?”
I laughed and paused, then broke out the one line I always saved for emergencies, “how’s business?”
“It’s good, it’s been a solid year… how about for you?”
What to say?
“Great… great, I’m havin’ a great year.”
I made the uncomfortable blunder of not asking what he did for a living. My silence provoked his interest.
“So what is it you do there, when you’re not going to weddings?”
Every abstract answer flooded my brain, I decided to stay safe.
“Still a student… gonna graduate in Anthropology soon… how about yourself?”
There was no answer. He started preparing something. He opened a briefcase and pulled out a card.
“Here…”
When I looked at it I almost saw my reflection it was so high gloss. It had a few gold stars on it and told me that the man’s name was Larry Craig. He kept looking at me like I wasn’t seeing it.
“Nice to meet you Larry… says here you’re a … you’re a… is this right? You’re a United States Senator… am I reading this right?”
It was apparent Mr. Craig was used to most everyone calling him, “sir,” and catering to his every wish. He’d been in office so long he found it amusing that I didn’t truly believe him. I tried to sit up a bit and then looked around. Every eye in first class was on me, most of them insidiously jealous.
“So how’s Jimmy Jeffords, that traitor…”
Mr. Craig was expecting, “what’s Capitol Hill like?” Or, “is George Bush a nice guy?”
“You know Senator Jeffords?”
I was ready to say I played racquetball with him every Tuesday and Thursday, but I kept my integrity.
“No… I just know he let the Republican Party down. Stewardess, could I grab another, please.”
Mr. Craig stopped what he was doing.
“I’m in a band with Jim Jeffords… him, myself, John Ashcroft, and Donald Rumsfeld. We’re kind of a glorified barber shop quartet. We just had to kick him out of the group for what he did.”

I’m in first class, drinking straight vodka, and badmouthing a friend of the senator.
“Larry, my name’s Patrick, and I’m very sorry about that… I didn’t mean…”
Mr. Craig is acknowledging the stewardess; he looks down at my glass and orders a white wine. Taking another glance at my watch I can’t help but smile, thinking that I had something to do with a public figure catching a buzz before lunch.
“Oh, that’s all right… he’s a terrible singer anyway. We would always have to go back and re-record over his voice… its better off… he was starting to lose it, you know?”
The only thing I knew was that I had about 966 more American questions lining up in my head. I was getting ready for more, but I decided to spare him.
“Every time you travel you must have some pest next to you firing questions… I’ll let you relax.”
It was crystal clear Mr. Craig hadn’t heard such courtesy from a complete stranger in a long time.
“Usually, if it was later in the day, I’d take you up on that, thank you… but, feel free. The speech I’m giving in Boise is already prepared, so now I’m a little bored.”
Getting an open invitation to pick the brain of man who probably knew what happened at Rosewell was slightly intimidating. I desperately tried to think of the one question I always wanted an answer to. And to tell you the truth, I’m glad it didn’t come to me. I opened the conversation like I’d known him since high school.
“You like to fish?”
I think he saw steam coming out of my ears, and thought I was going straight for the jugular.
“I’m the Senator of Idaho… what do you think?”
His smile was just as big as mine. I had it all figured out. I was going to talk to him about the size of flies and hidden fishing holes, before leading him straight into the war. He, however, took the lead…
“You know who I fish with a lot… the Vice President. That’s all that man wants to do. He calls me up in the middle of the night sometimes and tells me to clear my schedule.”
I am now sitting and getting intoxicated while learning about the daily habits of Dick Cheney, from one of his close friends. I just let him keep going.
“It’s funny… because when I fish with him I never really get to fish. He just makes me row. For hours he doesn’t speak as I navigate him down the rivers.”
A question worthy of asking pops in my head. I interrupted…
“Larry, if you don’t mind, can I ask you something that’s kind of like a growing myth?”
He indicates, “by all means.”
“Is it true that Dick Cheney goes nowhere without his man with the black bag?”
It’s noticeable that Larry Craig is answering questions that have never been posed to him before.
“You mean his doctor… yeah, that is true. He’s in the boat right next to me when we’re fishing. He actually had some problems on the river last year, but I shouldn’t be talking about that.”
It’s obvious the wine is loosening him up. I delve into the corner of my mind where I keep the obscure knowledge. I look for something noteworthy.
“I know he’s a congressman, but do you know James Trafficant?”
Larry Craig is caught off guard. He wants to know one thing.
“Where are you from? Are you from Ohio? Not many people out in Idaho know about James Trafficant.”
“I’m from New Jersey, but the first time I saw that sculpture on his head I became a follower.”
I reached my goal. I had the senator whole-heartedly laughing. He tried to settle down before revealing to me that he very much knew James Trafficant.
“Poor Jim… that man is covered in red tape. And what a ripple effect he left. He sold me a boat some years ago. It was called, “The Jeanne Marie.” It was almost considered a yacht. It was named after his wife. Anyway, I was wondering why he was selling it for such an unbelievable price. I didn’t ask any questions and just bought it. This last time when he got arrested, they listed what he was going to jail for. Halfway down the list I saw my boat. He never paid taxes on it.”
For the first time in my flying history I wanted the plane to never land. I realized I hit the seating-assignment lottery and was going to cash it in for all it was worth.
“So what do you think of G.W.?”
Larry took a breath and thought about his answer.
“I think he’s a misunderstood man. Not figuratively speaking, he’s somebody I just can’t talk about, because I’ve never met him. I’ve spent more time with the Vice President than anyone besides his wife, in the last couple months, probably… but, George, I don’t know him.”
Larry thinks about that for a second before continuing.
“I know his father quite well… I’ve known him since he was with the CIA. And I actually know every other Republican Congressman and Senator, but I’ve just never crossed paths with him.”
He sees I’m ready to hit him with the war, so he offers his insight.
“War is a process… it’s been a year and a half now and it will most certainly take longer, but I think the President is doing the right thing. And, if he’s not, the Republican Party will pay for it.”

Until the plane landed two hours later Larry and I conversed. We discussed everything from J.R Simplot to J.R. Ewing, leaving no state unturned. When we both got up to get our bags the other passengers looked at me like I was senator-elect. People followed behind us as we strolled off the plane, launching questions at Larry about taxes and state- run issues. It couldn’t have been more appropriate that the last time I looked at him and shook his hand goodbye, was the first time I realized that I was so happy not to be standing in his shoes.