When You’re Dying to Win

I have been studying the political landscape for some time now with an eye to running for office somewhere. However, judging from what I see and read about the process, it seems as though it is a lot of hard, hard work and a big commitment of money with wholesale rejection by the voters a good possibility as a candidate`s reward. I have never done well with wholesale rejection. Too many high school dating memories still haunt.

But now, as I digest today’s news, I realize I have been approaching this from a misplaced starting point. I always assumed, not without some reason, I suppose, that a candidate for public office would need to be alive and breathing in order to run and win. But apparently that isn`t so.

On Tuesday, Dennis Hof won a seat in the Nevada state legislature less than a month after dying. Hof defeated Democratic opponent Lesia Romanov. The Nevada Republican died on Oct. 16 at the age of 72 following a weekend of parties to celebrate his birthday.

Although I am happy for Dennis, my heart goes out to Romanov. Imagine knocking on all those doors only to lose to a guy who just recently knocked on only one door – Heaven’s. I think that would give me the sads.

I don’t know whether a dead candidate’s occupation has any influence on his electoral chances but Hof was a fine, upstanding businessman, best known for owning seven legally run brothels in the state of Nevada. He also previously starred in the HBO show “Cathouse.”

This last item might trip me up, I am thinking, as I own no brothels, legal or otherwise, and to be honest, I don’t have the energy to start any. I honestly would not know where to begin. But Dennis did.

So, when my doc says I have one month to live, I am going to enter my name into whatever public office I think could use my talents after I die. If I win, I guess it will be up to the authorities to get me to the meetings and while I might not say much, I promise to be a good, quiet listener.

©2018 Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.