Just Another Stove Made of Steel Wool

“Good morning,” said the presumptive candidate. “I’m glad to be here with you today.”
The swarm of anxious political reporters, most relatively young, impressionable and eager to please editors and meet their deadlines, drank in every word.
Utilizing the skills learned in journalism school, and some on the job training, they scribbled down the greeting. Next, they observed the crowd, and how it reacted to the way the candidate strode to the podium. It was an adoring group, to be sure, one like many others along the campaign trail.
The candidate started into the prepared speech.
The reporters were engrossed with the stage setting, the huge American flag that was strategically placed behind the candidate for the photographers, there were campaign workers sporting an array of signs proclaiming their candidate’s name and motto.
Next, the reporters noted that, for the first time in the campaign, the candidate was wearing a light beige suit. In former stops, he had worn a dark blue suit.
Ah, it must mean something, they thought. Could it be that there was a hidden meaning in this switch of suits from dark to light? Was it, they pondered, a change in policy that would portend a lighter touch to the campaign?
The candidate droned on, saying the things all office seekers are supposed to say, but still, the reporters were baffled.
“Look at the shoes he’s wearing today. He never wore slip-on moccasins before, they were always tie-type shoes, Florsheim, I believe,” said a reporter more seasoned than the rest.
“See how the hand is being held on the podium,” whispered the other reporter. “It’s shaking more than it did the other day. You know, I heard that there was history of some muscular disease in the family. I wonder…”
Applause broke the cacophony of rhetoric, but the reporters missed the words that happened just before the hand clapping started, they were puzzled about the shoes and the slightly shaking hand.
“Oh, gosh, look at the color of the tie today,” said another, as she shook her head. “That’s not a wise choice of color with that suit,” she said half aloud so the other pool reporters could hear.
“You know, it could be that he’s color blind,” said one of the people from Chicago. “I’m calling into the national desk to have them see if there were any medical reports that he visited an eye doctor within the last six months,” he added.
“A color-blind president?” thought one of the older reporters in the pack. “Has there ever been a color blind president in the history of the nation?”
Applause broke out again, but the pack was so engrossed in the hidden meanings that they missed that quote too.
The candidate grasped the microphone, and began to walk toward the front of the stage, sweat was apparent, but after all, it was summer, and in this part of the country, the humidity is always a killer.
“Call the medical desk, and see what it means if someone is sweating a lot,” ordered a senior reporter to an intern. “See whether it could mean some illness or disease.”
“Got it, I’m on it, chief,” said the impressionable intern.
“How long is he going to ramble today?” quizzed the woman from the New York metro daily. “I got a deadline in half an hour, and he hasn’t said anything fresh, so come on, Bud, gimme a quotable quote.”
That out-loud mumble sent fright raging among the reporters. They began to fret about their impending deadlines. The national editor would be screaming for a lead, for something. The political commentators would be searching for some new nut phrase to build tomorrow’s column around, to show this guy was a toad if ever there was one.
They quit listening to what the candidate was saying, what the audience was asking, and what real news there may be in what was being stated.
Thus, based on the candidate’s first two sentences of the whistle stop speech before an adoring public, what could we expect to learn about the campaign or the presumptive candidate?
“In a speech before a mostly-partisan crowd, the presumptive candidate today ignited speculation about his health.
“Standing on stage, it was noted by seasoned observers that there was a slight trembling in the hand, and it was also seen that the candidate was wearing slip-on moccasins, which may mean that he is in the early stages of some unspecified medical problem. Before today, he had always worn tie-up style shoes. The suit he wore was also a markedly different one than in past stops, an indication that there may be some new psychology in the campaign to attract younger, more liberal voters.”
The stories went on endlessly about the deteriorating health of the man and the switch in campaign style and strategy. It was just another stove manufactured of steel wool, all show, no go.
Forgotten was the fact that the crowd of voters simply adored the man and the speech he gave. They pressed in for autographs and to have photos taken with him.
All that action was missed by the pack of reporters as they pounded on laptops, banging out tomorrow’s “big” story.
Remember, the only thing those impression makers really heard that candidate say was, “Good morning, I’m glad to be here with you today.”