The phone rang in the middle of a great gathering, and little did I know what I was about to hear.

It was mid-October, with only a few more key weeks left before the election. I was holding a fundraiser and pre-Get-out-the-Vote gathering for my supporters. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, and there seemed to be a good reason for it.

The latest polls showed the race was neck-and-neck.  Many of the people in the room had been voting for the losing candidate in my state’s Congressional race every two years for 30 years. This time it seemed to them that maybe – just maybe – this time was different.

I, too, was enjoying the party. And that’s what it felt like – a party.

One of the things I had learned in my first Congressional campaign was just how grueling running for higher office truly is. There are many reasons for this – the constant pressure to raise money, always having to be “on” for the public, knowing that every day counts in a time-limited effort – among others.

But for me, and many other candidates running in districts or states where they might be considered belonging to the “wrong” political party, part of the gruelingness (alright – I think I just made up a new word!) is constantly interacting with people who are predisposed not to like you or want to vote for you.

Most of the time when I walked into a room, or spoke to a group, or shook hands at a plant, or wandered through the County Fair – well, I knew most people’s first reaction to hearing I was a Democrat running for Congress would be to react negatively in some way (sometimes even recoiling involuntarily – a fascinating thing to watch, by the way; I’m actually talking physically recoiling - amazing).

Now, it would have been easy to avoid places where I knew I wouldn’t find a positive initial reception, but in my district, if I did that, I’d lose the election – guaranteed. Because simple math (and registration numbers) dictated that there weren’t enough “natural” supporters to cast enough votes to get me over the top. So I went everywhere and got in front of everyone I could, knowing that I would have to work incredibly hard to turn people to my side. Day after day, I ventured into the proverbial lions’ den, literally working voter by voter to gain support.

And let me tell you, that type of campaign work is if only one thing - grueling.

The rare occasions – like this gathering in Laramie - when I was in a crowd of unconditional supporters - were true bliss. No pressure to explain or defend views. No antagonistic questions. No skepticism. 

As the campaign wore on, I came to realize how important these types of events were for my mental well-being. Frankly, it felt really good to be among people who shared my views and philosophy. Everyone needs some positive reinforcement now and then. And throughout a year-long campaign that spanned a huge geographic area, dammit, I needed a break every once in a while; no – I deserved that break!

So here I was, in mid-October. Just me and 100 or so supporters coming out to pump me, and themselves, up after a long campaign, with the end in sight.  Some good food and drink (not for me – that’s another story).

And then the phone rang.

The phone showed an in-state phone number. Not sure who it was, I excused myself and walked to a quiet, recessed hallway where I could hear above the din.

“This is Joe. Who’s this?”

“Hi, Joe. This is Sally (name changed to protect the innocent) from TV News . Do you have a minute or two to talk?”

“Hey, Sally. I’m kind of in the middle of an event . What can I do for you?”

“Well, this is pretty important and I think you may want to hear what I’ve got to tell you.”

“Um, okay. It can’t wait?”

“I think you’re going to want to hear and react to what I’m going to tell you.”

“Okay – what’s going on?”

It was hard for me to hear over the din of the crowd, but for the next minute or so the reporter hemmed and hawed and stumbled over whatever it was she wanted to tell me. Finally, I got a bit impatient (which you NEVER want to do with the Press) and asked her to get to it.

“Sally, I don’t really know why you called. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m not sure how to say this, but we heard a rumor about you.”

“I’m sorry. A rumor?”

“Yes, a rumor.”

“Oooookaaayyyy. So what’s the rumor?”

“I don’t know how to say it.”

Now I was getting a bit agitated. “Just tell me!”

“Well, here goes. [Even with the background noise, I could literally hear her take a deep breath on the other end of the line] “We heard a rumor that you robbed a bank when you were sixteen years old. ”

“What the Fuck?” Okay, I didn’t actually say that, but I definitely thought it. “Whaaattttt?” is what I actually said – not much smoother.

She repeated, “We heard a rumor that you robbed a bank when you were sixteen years old.”

My mind was spinning – how does one react to something like this? Where could it have come from? Smoothly, I replied, “Well, that’s crazy!”

“Are you saying you didn’t rob a bank when you were sixteen years old?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean no. I did not rob a bank when I was sixteen years old or at any other age.” Mind still spinning. Actually, reeling a bit at this point. Whatever temporary relief the party had afforded had been sucked out of me when this reporter mentioned what I came to think of as “The Rumor.”

“Well, we haven’t decided whether or not we’re going to run with this…”

I cut her off. “How can you run with a story that has no truth to it?”

“Well, can you prove you didn’t rob a bank?”

At this point, against my better judgment, I did let just a wee bit of sarcasm creep into my voice, “Really? How do I prove I didn’t do something? Should I provide with you juvenile records I don’t have and that don’t exist?” I regained my composure. “Look, I’m sorry. But this is crazy. I don’t know what else I can say. It never happened. How can you even think of running with something like this?

“You cut me off. We are just looking for more information.”

More exasperation. “There is no more information. There can’t be because it never happened!” I decided to turn the tables a bit. “Look, I know you like to protect your sources, but is it possible for you to tell me who reported this ‘rumor’?”

“Well, since the person told me that they had heard the rumor, so it didn’t start with them, I think I can tell you.”

Impatient. “Great. Ummm, who was it?”

“Your opponent’s campaign manager.”

My god! The first thought that ran through my head was that they didn’t even try to disguise this ridiculous ploy – were they that dumb?

I thought I’d try to put the stupidity of this in context for the young reporter.

“So let me make sure I understand this. Everyone knows I grew up in suburban New York, just north of New York City. That’s where I lived when I was sixteen years old. Went to a good college, went to graduate school, and have worked successfully for several companies, large and small. I have lived in my state for 16 years. Never a hint or inkling that I ever did anything wrong, let alone robbed a bank, which, by the way, DID NOT HAPPEN. And now, all of a sudden, in an unexpectedly tight race, someone working in my opponent’s campaign says they heard a rumor from a source unknown that I robbed a bank back when I was sixteen years old. I don’t mean to seem like I’m doing your job for you, but did you ask where they heard it from?”

The reporter hesitated, then replied, “No. We didn’t get that information.”

“So what are you going to do? Are you going to run a completely unsubstantiated and untrue story?”

“At this point, I’ve talked with the station manager and we won’t run it unless we get some corroborating information or evidence.”

“Thank you. Please keep me informed immediately if anything changes. Now, I’ve got to get back to campaigning!”

As I hung up the phone, the noise of the room engulfed me. I turned around and realized that I had totally forgotten I was at a campaign event, and that there were a hundred or so people within a stone’s throw of where I was standing who were there for me.

So I did what any good politician would do before I even called my campaign team, I strode back into the party, put on a smile, and went back to work.

I returned to the gathering, but my mind was elsewhere.

I had already spoken to the group earlier in the evening, so my “formal” dutieshad already been performed.

I gathered the remaining crowd and thanked them for their support and dedication to help get me elected. This was standard campaign stuff. I told them I had another obligation with the press that had just come up (not far from the actual truth) and I had to run.

So much for a feel-good, stress-free evening.

My first call was to my “Strategy” person, who had become a good personal friend and most trusted advisor.

I skipped the pleasantries when he answered the phone.

“Rob (again, named changed to protect the innocent), a TV reporter just called me and told me she heard a rumor that I robbed a bank when I was 16 years old.” Just saying it out loud to someone else sounded pretty damn surreal.

“Did you? Rob a bank?” Rob had a relatively sick sense of humor, but I couldn’t tell if he was serious.

“Fuck you.” His sick sense of humor had contagiously spread to me.

He repeated, “Not an answer. Did you?” I realized he probably didn’t think I had done anything like that, but at the same time, he also needed to hear a direct answer from me.

I wasn’t really in the mood for this type of back and forth. “Of course not. That’s crazy. No. No. No. No. Is that clear enough?”

“Got it.” He replied.

And now I realized what I wanted to do. I wanted to expose this crap for what it was. I felt that people needed to know the type of person they had elected and what she and her team were willing to do to stay in office. Because the way you campaign is the way you are going to govern.

“Rob, we need to get this out. We need to tell everyone in this entire state, if it’s the last thing we do, that this is the type of person they elected to represent them in Congress. Voters will totally get it, won’t they?”

There was a bit more silence at the other end of the line than I was expecting.

“Rob – you still there?”

“I’m thinking.” He did that – and still does that – often on the phone. Extended silence while he’s thinking. I didn’t reply or say anything.  Sometimes it’s more powerful to remain quiet and let the silence build until the other person feels they need to say something. But what Rob said next was not what I expected or wanted to hear.

“Listen, Joe. I know you’re not going to like this. But we need to let this one go.”

“What do you mean, ‘Let this one go?’

Look. I know you’re pissed off. I would be too. But let’s think this through. Why would they do this?”

“Because they’re fucking assholes?”

“Because they’re desperate. All indications are this thing is moving in our direction. Frankly, to me, this is a good sign. It may have been clumsily handled, but it tells me they feel like they need to throw a Hail Mary pass.”

I honestly couldn’t tell if Rob was just trying to calm me down or if he actually had a good point. Although either way, it didn’t make me feel any better about being accused of robbing a bank.

“Alright. I get it. But why not expose them? This could be the thing that puts us over the top.”

Riob sighed heavily. He had a way of calmly getting to the point, and I needed that right now. “Joe, let’s say we put you on the record – maybe on an interview on TV – denying this ‘rumor’. You go on TV and tell everyone that, no, you didn’t rob a bank when you were 16 years old. Does that make you feel better?”

“You bet!”

“Okay, but what is the public thinking? They are hearing you deny that you robbed a bank. Then your opponent’s campaign will come out and says, ‘Hey, we just heard the rumor. Of course, we wouldn’t think our opponent would do that, but you never know. We felt obligated to get it out.’ So now we are having a debate about whether or not Joe Wypoxic robbed a bank. Maybe to some people, you sound like you’re protesting too hard and trying to hide something. It’s a no-win situation for you. You’re no longer talking about the issues you care about; you’re now talking about robbing a damn bank!”

As I listened to Rob talk, I grudgingly knew he was right. But I still didn’t want to acknowledge it. “Damn, you’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t let people know this happened?”

I asked Rob, “So capitulation is the only option here? No public response?”

“I knew you were smarter than you look.” He replied. Give your campaign manager a call and let her know what’s going on.  We need to make sure the station doesn’t run with this, and as long as they don’t, we just let it die.”

Rob and I had developed a relationship where putting each other down was a way of showing our respect for each other. Crazy, I know, but a) we’re guys and b) it became a way to relieve the constant stress and pressure of the campaign. I told him, “You know I hate you for this, right?”

He responded as expected. “Screw you.”