What’s Wrong With Purple?

On January 24, 1967, the high temperature in Chicago was a toasty 65 degrees. Two days later, it started snowing. Between January 26 and 27, a cold front ushered in a blizzard that dropped a 23-inch white blanket on the city’s streets, still a record single-storm snowfall to this day. I was not quite two years old, and I have no memory of the storm, but I’ve heard about that storm many, many times – anyone who lived through that storm and its 50 mile-per-hour winds and 15-foot drifts will never (let you) forget it.

The Blizzard of ’67 was surely the seminal weather event of that winter, but the seminal political event that winter – at least for my family – was the contest for alderman in Chicago’s 40th Ward in the Albany Park neighborhood. The race wasn’t particularly close or notable, except that the loser was Herb Veith – my father. And – as the photo at the top of this post illustrates – it marks the first and only time I have lent my likeness to campaign literature. Not that I had a choice; I’m the little kid nestled between the bespectacled candidate’s buzz cut and my mother’s sporty bouffant.

Like the Blizzard of ’67, my Dad’s brief dalliance with politics was something I heard about growing up. It was not the subject of a lot of discussion or reminiscing, by any means. Until recently, all I really knew is (1) that Dad ran against Seymour Simon, a machine-backed fixture of Democratic politics in Chicago who later became a justice of the Illinois Supreme Court, and (2) that Seymour cleaned Dad’s clock. A couple of months ago I noticed the campaign flyer, which hangs in a frame in my office at home. It got me to thinking about Dad’s run for alderman and his politics and my politics and what it all meant, if anything.

The Bliss of Political Apathy

For most of my adult life, my engagement with politics at all levels – local, state, and national – was minimal. At some point, I became very cynical about politics and, mostly, politicians. I came to a view that I hold today more than ever: most politicians (particularly the legislators in Washington) don’t give a rat’s ass about me, or about “doing what’s right,” or “upholding the Constitution,” or anything else. Their purpose is gaining and retaining power, and to do that they need to be re-elected. Every. Single. Thing. They. Do. It’s all about being re-elected. For that reason, they vote with their wallets in mind. It’s really that simple. It’s all about self-preservation. The office is the source of their power, and the power is the thing. And you vote however you need to vote to keep the money flowing into your campaign coffers. If a member of Congress is from a district that is solidly Blue or Red, the way to retain power is to be more Blue or more Red than his or her primary opponent, to please the donors. Upholding the Constitution? Doing what’s right for the country? Compromise? Quaint ideas all. Quaint.

I studied political science a little bit in college, attended law school, and entered the legal profession – so I did not entirely avoid the cohort of citizens who follow and, in many cases, have strong opinions about politics and policy and government and all that. As I got busy with life – becoming an adult, working, starting a family, honing my sports trivia knowledge, etc. – my cynicism may have drifted to apathy. I just did not have a lot of time to invest into following politics, given my other interests. Typically, I voted – and I believe I always voted in the Presidential election – but at no point did I really dig in and engage, and pick a side. I have always been someone who voted for people, not parties. I believe I’ve voted in 10 Presidential elections – and I’m 6-3-1, meaning I voted for the ticket of one political party six time, the other three times, and on one occasion I abstained because I could not in good conscience vote for either candidate. But aside from reading up on the presidential candidates and their policies and doing a rough assessment of what seemed, at the time, to fit my view of what is best for the country, I was mostly apathetic. It was blissful, frankly.

Five years ago, all that changed. This isn’t a post about the last five years in America or the events of January 6, 2021 or anything else. Frankly, I don’t have the energy. But about five years ago something – more like someone – happened that punched me in the face and said, “you have to pay more attention to what’s going on here!” And I did. I paid a lot of attention, because it was hard not to. And I emerged from those five years a more engaged, educated citizen. With higher blood pressure. And anxiety. For that, I am … thankful? Well – I am thankful for the “more engaged, educated” part, at least.

The Color Purple

Today, politics in America is all about being Blue or being Red. If you are Team Blue, you’re a far-left liberal socialist Antifa-loving police-hating open-borders China-loving radical Democrat. If you are Team Red, you are a far-right conservative Limbaugh-loving QAnon spouting Proud Boy Oath Keeper Capitol lynch mob racist.

It’s all so stupid. We are all human beings. We are all Americans. Many of us are blessed with comfortable lives and more “things” than we need. Most of us have good hearts and would help a friend (or even a stranger) in need without hesitation. Most of us take no pleasure in seeing others suffer. Most of us take no pleasure in unfairness and injustice in any form. Most of us are law-abiding and norm-respecting. Most of us admire people who work hard and make an honest living, but are also empathetic and understand that some people have been dealt an impossibly difficult hand of cards with which to play the game of life.

What’s wrong with Purple? Why Red or Blue? Why isn’t it okay to be Purple?

Why Do I Prefer Purple?

I’m officially declaring myself Purple – an Independent. Many of my friends identify Blue or Red. I have close, close friends on both sides. Happily, the political cauldron of the last four years has not caused me to lose any friends – at least as far as I know. I have had many calm, civil conversations with people on both sides of the political spectrum with whom I disagree. One observation: many, many people are single-issue voters. And that single issue is money. Like, which candidate is more likely than the other to (a) keep the stock market humming, and (b) minimize my tax bill? But that’s obviously not universally true; one well-taken lesson learned from recent political history is that your net worth does not necessarily predict whether you are Team Red or Team Blue. And both the rich and poor can chafe at the so-called “establishment” if it suits their world view, and they do.

But living in the cauldron did get me to think a lot about how people come to have such strong and seemingly unshakeable political opinions – or, more to the point, why some people who I know to be smart, generous, thoughtful, and rational are so willing to look the other way when it comes to objectively indefensible, awful behavior by someone on “their team.” Many, many people ask one question when determining whether to support a candidate: “Republican or Democrat?” I think that’s nuts. It was one thing for fans of the Chicago Cubs in 2016 to cheer for Aroldis Chapman, the closer with domestic abuse issues who came over in a mid-season trade and was instrumental in the Cubs winning the World Series. He could throw a ball 102 miles an hour, after all. But I wouldn’t have voted for him had he run for President, or the Senate, or for the local Water Reclamation District. I am convinced, however, that there are people who would happily vote Aroldis Chapman for President – as long he was on the right team. Character be damned.

Part of the answer to why some are so staunchly Democrat or so staunchly Republican is that we all live in our own information bubbles. The opinions I reach about candidates or elected officials are based on the information I consume, which is a set of information unique to me. I get that. But in some cases it’s also at least a little bit about where we come from, where we live now, where we work and – most importantly – who we grew up around, who we live and work and play with on a regular basis.

“Vote for Our Dad”

I’m not sure I ever noticed it before I looked at the campaign flyer, but Herb Veith ran as a “Non-Partisan Candidate.” I knew he didn’t run as a Democrat, because I knew he ran against Seymour Simon and the Machine, and the Machine won. And I thought about something else. When I was a kid I would occasionally ask my Dad or Mom on election day, “who’d you vote for?” The answer was always in the form of a question and was always the same: “Can you keep a secret?” Me, with the excitement of someone about to be entrusted with a secret: “Yeah!!!” My parent (either one): “Well so can I.” Every. Single. Time. To this day, I do not know my parents’ politics. In researching this post, my oldest brother had a minority view – that my parents were staunch Republicans at one point. But none of the other siblings I spoke to shared that memory. They all remember what I remember vividly:  “Can you keep a secret?”

If my brother is right and my Dad was a Republican in the 1960s, so be it. I had no clue. I’m thankful I had a clean slate, coming out of childhood. Or at least that I could approach politics without the burden of my parents’ political beliefs.

I love that campaign flyer. I love the front side because it shows may parents and our dog, Pirate, and all nine of the kids jammed into the living room in the best clothes we could dig up to stand still (or be held without fussing) for a couple minutes. And I love seeing those baseboard radiators that would hiss and moan on days like today, when the temperature flirted with zero. And I really love that the front of the flyer describes my Dad as a “Non-Partisan Candidate for Alderman.”

And I love the backside of the campaign flyer, too. I love the simplicity of “VEITH IS …” and “VEITH WILL …”  And the reminder to anyone conditioned to think otherwise, “YOU NEED NOT DECLARE YOUR PARTY TO VOTE THE ALDERMANIC BALLOT.” I asked a few of my siblings and my Mom why my Dad threw his hat in the ring and decided to take on Seymour Simon, who was pretty much a sure thing. No one knew for certain. The consensus was that he’d gotten a taste of political activism when the Chicago Public Schools wanted to re-draw boundaries in a way that would have resulted in his kids having to cross bustling Irving Park Road to attend Cleveland School, which was about a half-mile away, rather than attend Bateman School, a short block-and-a-half walk north on Sacramento Avenue.

What seems certain to me – based on the flyer, and on my family’s recollection, and my own knowledge of my father’s life – was that he was not on a power trip, and that he had no desire to make a life in politics. By then, after a decade of working every type of job imaginable to feed a growing brood of children, he had settled into what would become a life-altering gig for him, a job as a State Farm Insurance agent. In short, my Dad most likely ran for alderman because some buddies at the local tavern said, “Herbie, you should run for alderman!” And my Dad – who was endlessly curious and adventurous in his own way – likely said, why not?! And thought … maybe, just maybe, I can do some good for the neighborhood.

My Dad was the ultimate neighborhood guy – he lived in and raised his family in a brick bungalow he bought from his in-laws. He served the neighborhood, and that service was returned with the patronage of generations of friends and acquaintances who insured their cars and their homes with State Farm, through him. He took a run at Seymour Simon not because he thought it was going to make him rich, or powerful, or notorious, or run up his number of Twitter followers. Maybe he’d get a few more people to stroll into his agency – which was located in a different ward. I suspect he just wanted to serve the neighborhood. To make living in the ward incrementally better.

I Have A Dream

About 10 days ago, I was talking to a guy who has served for close to a decade on the park district board and school board in his suburban Chicago community, and is presently running for an aldermanic seat. I mentioned my Dad, and the fact that he ran for alderman more than half a century ago in the 40th Ward. I asked him about serving on a school board during a pandemic, and serving in local government – generally – during such a polarizing time in America.

He confirmed my worst fears, frankly. He said parents and teachers and administrators advocating their positions are more strident than ever. Compromise is rare. Public meetings are heated. Respecting different points of view? Not so much. Members of the school board are routinely accused of “playing politics.” A school board!! Red vs. Blue is perceived to be a thing – even at the school board level.

Ever the optimist, I am hopeful that this day in American political life passes – just like the Blizzard of ’67. I am certain that by the time the voters of the 40th Ward – about 20% of whom took the opportunity to “Vote for Our Dad” – trudged to the polls about a month later, the streets were clear and the sidewalks were shoveled. The storm was etched in the city’s history and the memories of all who survived. But it passed, and life went on. Perhaps this period of intense polarization in America will pass, too.

I have a dream. Mine is less noble and aspirational than Dr. King’s, to be sure, but I dream of a day of selfless, intelligent, public service at all levels of government. I dream of bipartisan legislation of real significance. I dream of politicians who can reach across the aisle and cut deals, and not have to worry about being “primaried” to oblivion. Better, I dream of politicians who do the right thing because their terms are limited – politicians who serve the public for a reasonable number of years, and then go back to being teachers or lawyers or doctors or insurance agents.

Imagine that world. Just imagine it.

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