BROOKLYN, N.Y--Since it's fast becoming a regular feature of election season 2008, we might as well give it a name.
A "Bloomie" sounds about right.
Two weeks ago today, Democratic frontrunner Barack Obama came to the Big Apple to deliver a "major" address on the economy--and
brought a friend. His name: Michael Bloomberg. Appearing at Cooper
Union, the New York mayor introduced Obama by joking about their
previous meeting at a midtown diner--"It is
my pleasure to introduce [him], and not just
because he picked up the check when we had breakfast together"--and
reminding listeners that while they "may not agree with everything
[Obama] says," he should be commended for "seeking concrete solutions
to our most difficult problems."
This
afternoon's candidate and setting may have been different--but the
drill was the same. As dozens of photographers and reporters swarmed
the tiny Windows We Are storefront in bustling Bay Ridge, Brooklyn,
Bloomberg again took the podium for an introduction and again cracked
wise about a recent meal with the White House hopeful du jour. "I want
to thank you for having me as a guest at your ranch in Arizona," he
said. "As I remember, the barbecued ribs were slightly on the well-done
side, but I loved them anyway. I'm probably still carrying around the
extra pounds." Smiling as Bloomberg repeated the line about "concrete solutions," the
pol, of course, was John McCain, in town for an economic address of his
own. And so the mutual-appreciation society gains another member. While
Bloomberg preens and poses as a presidential player (and, in Obama's
case, stokes speculation about possible veep-hood), the candidates
benefit from his aura of economic competence and the coverage that his
presence guarantees. (Coming to New York City, home of the MSM, doesn't
hurt, either.) With a Bloomie, everyone wins.
Beyond
the photo op, though, how did McCain do? It's hard to say--he didn't
really do much. Following up on an earlier, laissez-faire economic
address that was panned as vague (and even Hoover-esque),
today's speech in Brooklyn was meant to prove that the senator could
translate his airy free-market principles into specific policies
designed to assist struggling homeowners. That much he managed. I'll
leave it to the pocket-protector brigade to argue over the soundness of
proposals like McCain's HOME program, which would help people "trade a
burdensome mortgage for a manageable loan," and his call to stop
stockpiling oil in the Strategic Petroleum Reserve. But suffice it to say,
such specifics are more productive than the mere platitudes of
McCain's recent past.
Still, squashed as I was between
rows of wood-frame cubicles in the hallway separating the window shop's front foyer from its back room, where McCain's advance team had
constructed a makeshift press area complete with backdrop and risers, I
couldn't help but stare--over the heads, mind you, of Mayor Bloomberg
and former Hewlett-Packard CEO (and current McCain economic adviser)
Carly Fiorina--at the senator's massive, scrolling teleprompter.
McCain's economic weakness isn't really a lack of policy proposals;
everyone knew those would come in time. (Expect more policy
speeches to follow over the spring and summer). Instead, it's the
fact that, by his own admission, "economics is something that I've really never understood as well as I should."
Which
is why the most revealing part of the event came when McCain tore
himself away from the cue cards and sat down with six local
small-business owners for an unscripted roundtable. I can't say I was
impressed. A typical exchange went something like this. Squinting, McCain asks Griggs Forelli of Precision Gears Incorporated, a local aerospace parts manufacturer, to "talk about health insurance." "Tell me about your experience with that question," McCain grumbles. Forelli says that every insurer he's tried has raised prices 18 percent a year with no explanation or negotiations. "I wish I were in the insurance business," he says. McCain asks Forelli whether "it would be better" if he "could look out of the state of New York, all over America," for insurance. "Senator, I don't have the answer," says Forelli. McCain repeats the question. Forelli again recounts his woes. Finally, Fiorina steps in. "One of the reasons Sen. McCain is asking this question," she says, "is because he has long proposed that companies be able to look for insurance wherever they choose to find it. The more competition, the better choices and prices you get." The sequence then repeats itself. McCain poses a pat question, nods, scribbles and eventually lets Fiorina bail him out--whether by riffing on his "classic straight talk" support of nuclear energy or boasting of his belief in "the power of choice" to improve the health care system. When Fiorina concluded with a two-minute speechlet on how, "even in this short period of time you can understand why I, as a businesswoman, have entrusted the economy to [McCain]," I couldn't help but think, "Not really." Nearly taciturn--his closing remarks, in contrast, consisted of "thank you everybody; I'm very grateful for this opportunity"--McCain looked like a guy who'd much rather be talking about Iraq than corporate tax rates.
Still, I suspect that the Arizonan accomplished the day's mission--to show that he's willing to learn. "I hope you will look not only at economics but as business itself," said panelist David Mafoud, who supported McCain in 2000 but leaned toward Mitt Romney earlier this year. "It'd be nice to have a president who understands business as a businessman does." The point, in other words, was not what McCain was scribbling on his notepad, but rather that he was scribbling at all. In that regard, we reporters served our purpose. As I was arriving earlier in the afternoon--the event was just about to begin--McCain burst from the front door of Windows We Are and scurried down the street to Kirk's Bay Ridge Eatery, apparently to use the loo. I followed. "It's the cleanest bathroom in the borough!" shouted a patron. After finishing, the senator didn't pose for pictures on the sidewalk--"Too busy!" he yelped--and only stopped when a woman requested an autograph for her epileptic son. "He still gets seizures," she said as the boy smiled. "But he's doing much better." Nodding tensely, McCain repeated the phrase "God bless, God bless, God bless" as he trotted away, missing her outstretched hand. There would be time later to woo the voters of New York. Back inside, Bloomie--and the cameras--were waiting.
Loading Menu