Lewis C. Miller

Following a long day at the office, I found my way to a nearby Capitol Hill bar. Upon entering, I noticed that in proper Washington, D.C. fashion, all of the television screens were transmitting the message that had reverberated around town that afternoon: Republican presidential candidate John McCain was suspending his campaign and calling for a postponement of Friday’s scheduled debate with Senator Barack Obama. With my own preliminary assessment of this latest development in mind, I decided to get the perspective of a few fellow patrons. Instead, what unfolded was a revealing, if slightly schizophrenic exercise aided by Pinot Noir.

Allow me to start from the beginning. I take a seat next to a young gentleman who introduces himself as Lewis the Hopeful. He assures me that I can call him Mr. Hope for short – that’s how many of the regulars affectionately refer to him. Given the events of the day, the topic of discussion almost immediately turns to the presidential campaign. Mr. Hope informs me that he is optimistic that a majority of Americans will see through this latest Hail Mary pass being launched by a McCain campaign that has long sense come to the realization that it cannot win this election on the basis of policy and must therefore resort to frenzied attempts at diverting the attention of a (for their sake, necessarily credulous) electorate. This attempt, Mr. Hope believes will be exposed for the pathetic grandstanding that it is.

After talking with Mr. Hope for some time, he informs me that he must regretfully call it a night. I thank the gentleman for his company and I take a quick visual survey of the bar’s remaining patrons. I’m a few drinks in and this has encouraged the often-marginalized and less-inhibited portion of my nature to take precedence. I brazenly take a seat next to a surly fellow who appears to be three or four drinks ahead of me. After an evident once-over (no doubt performed to gauge my resolution), this brusque bar stool inhabitant identifies himself as Lewis the Pessimist. He acknowledges that he is known to most people as Mr. Pessimist, although he isn’t fond of such an address. Come to think of it, he notes, there isn’t much he is fond of these days. After some coaxing (which includes offering to pick up the tab for another round), Mr. Pessimist reluctantly agrees to provide his assessment of the campaign’s recent turn of events.

Mr. Pessimist is of the belief that most Americans will be taken in by John McCain campaign’s latest attempt to avert the public’s attention from the Senator’s (and his running mate’s) vast and blatant vacancy of understanding of the fundamentals of the American economic system. If this attempt is successful, and Mr. Pessimist begrudgingly assumes it will be, Senator McCain and the virtually un-tested and unknown Gov. Palin, will delay, as long as possible, any instance of debate or discourse with their opponents. Of course, as even Mr. Pessimist noted, this occurs at a time when Americans would realistically stand to benefit from hearing a strong, proactive address from their potential President regarding the dire condition of the country’s economy. This Pessimist guy couldn’t be more of a downer. After twenty or so minutes partaking in such gloomy cab, I conjured up a believable escape mechanism, pretending to take a phone call from an anxious colleague.  

Due to a sense of elation following this modest deceit, undoubtedly augmented by the consumption of my third glass of wine, I returned to the bar, after completing my fake phone call, with a new feeling of insolence. I decided that my next candidate for conversation was to be the ostensibly isolated figure seated at the corner of the bar. For most of the evening, this gentleman had appeared primarily concerned with his BlackBerry and the latest headlines being broadcast from the nearest television screen.

This fellow introduced himself as Lewis the Realist. Following a brief sigh that betrayed a slight hint of exasperation, the gentleman told me that he preferred to be addressed as Mr. Realist (although he quickly acknowledged that no one refers to him as such). I decided to humor him and lacking the caution I exhibited earlier in the evening, I quickly initiated the presidential election as our topic of discussion.

Mr. Realist confirms my assumption that he too is a political junkie. “Obsessed is more like it,” he jokes. Mr. Realist raises a point that I had meant to raise in my discussions with Mr. Hope and Mr. Pessimist. Admittedly, I am somewhat resentful that he is taking ownership of a line of thought that I had been constructing ever since the news broke.  The notion being that, despite the perceived breakdown of the mainstream media-John McCain love affair, the Senator is still receiving a conspicuous pass from the Fourth Estate, even on this significant development. Mr. Realist proceeds to divulge his adamant belief that if, at this late point in the campaign, Senator Obama had pulled a stunt of this nature, which is essentially the equivalent to an unprepared student feigning illness in order to avoid the big test, he would have been swiftly (and rightly) flailed for attempting to walk away from a commitment to the American people. Obama’s perceived lack of patriotism would surely have returned as talking point number one for Republicans and campaign surrogates. Mr. Realist recognizes the severe disparity inherent in such a notion, but, true to his nature, he acknowledges the existence of that disparity.

Despite my initial hint of frustration that Mr. Realist had seized upon my theme, I thank him for the discussion, acknowledging to myself that he had laid out the matter much more succinctly than I could have. Brevity, especially in the discussion of politics, is not always my strong suit.  

I glance at my phone and somewhat alarmed at the hour it displays, I determine that I should be heading home. As I reach for my wallet to settle up with the bartender, I let out a slightly audible gasp of surprise at the amount of my tab. It appears I’ve been drinking for three.