Make no mistake, there's a powerful groundswell of support for my recently announced campaign to be our village's next mayor. Just Tuesday, for example, I got an e-mail that read: "You and this lousy, no-good $%^&*# town and its garbage-filled parks deserve each other."
So there's one vote right there.
But today, in fairness to the village, I offer another idea, one that could shake our political landscape like an earthquake:
What if our mayor was a former governor of Ohio?
What if our mayor was once director of the Peace Corps?
What if he served as U.S. ambassador to India?
What if someone kneels behind Doug Bruce and someone else pushes him backward over the kneeling guy and we all have a good laugh?
Sorry. I let a recurring dream get in the way of my point. Let's focus on those first three questions.
I'm talking, of course, about Richard "Dick" Celeste, whose nickname is a common English derivative of the formal name Richard and who should not be confused with our current mayor: Lionel "Dick" Rivera.
Anyway, I found myself energized about a Celeste mayoral campaign this past Sunday evening when I was at his home. Celeste, as you know, is the president of Colorado College (proud motto: "Striving for Intellectual Honesty and... Lowery Gets the Puck at the Left Circle and He Shoots and He SCORES!!!!!!").
And I don't want to go into detail about why I was invited to the magnificent holiday party at the home of Celeste and his lovely wife, Jacqueline Lundquist, but I will say this: I am sleeping with a member of the Colorado College Board of Trustees.
Here, many of you are probably shocked and are asking, "Good Lord, he's sleeping with El Pomar Foundation chairman and two-time U.S. Olympic Committee president Bill Hybl (CC class of '64)?" And I would say this: No, it's someone else.
The point is, we have a man of great achievement in Dick Celeste who, a while back, announced he will step down in May from his position at Colorado College. This will make him, like most of the school's comparative literature and philosophy graduates, unemployed.
In yet another stroke of luck, Celeste and his wife will stay here. They've purchased a home in the Broadmoor area. And I think you know what this means: That's right, their lawn and shrubs will be heavily watered for free by massive overspray from the resort's golf courses or, as they like to call them during a drought, cranberry bogs.
Let me clarify what I'm trying to say: A former Ohio governor, Peace Corps director and ambassador to India is going to be here anyway, so he might as well get those %$^&*!@ streetlights turned back on.
By way of comparison, here are a few accomplishments of our current mayor:
— May 16, 2010. Tells Denver Post writer: "Some people want a homeless life. Some people, they really do."
— Aug. 9, 2009. Locks himself out of car for personal-record seventh time in one day. (In one incident, it took Rivera two hours with a coat hanger to get frightened Council colleagues Randy Purvis and Larry Small out of the vehicle.)
Also, Celeste graduated magna cum laude (Latin meaning, literally, "white athletic tape holding the eyeglasses together") from Yale University. He then went to Oxford on a Rhodes scholarship. (Our current mayor cannot seem to get our Rhodes plowed or sanded.)
So there I was Sunday night, and I am not kidding, casually leaning or slumping, depending on who you're talking to, against a turn-of-the-century bookcase in the Celeste home, cradling my 27th glass of free red wine and chatting with the man himself.
After nonchalantly using an expensive linen napkin to cover a sizeable stain of pinot noir that had sloshed onto the Celeste family dog from some idiot's glass, I summoned the courage to ask the question.
Will he run for mayor?
Here's what Celeste said: "Oh no, I wouldn't do that."
Which still leaves two Richards — me and Skorman.
And while we both love this town and once had ponytails (OK, mine was a clip-on), there's one major difference between us: If we're standing together and someone yells, "Hey, Dick," I'm the one who will turn and look.
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