I'm so opposed to political personality cults that it's almost as crazy as belonging to one; I really
want my politicians to have feet of clay—give me Danton over Robespierre
and over your precious Marquis de Lafayette too, any time.
So when I first started hearing about
Cory Booker, the perfect candidate, coming out of Oxford and Yale as a
documentary-film hero to get rid of Sharpe James, the wicked old scoundrel mayor of Newark, New Jersey, I was skeptical: there's no way, I told myself, that anybody this precisely configured is not a corporate tool.
But what the hell? When there's a blizzard
he's there in person to clear away the snow, when there's a hurricane he
tours the flood-soaked streets, and now
he rescues girls from blazing buildings! So I give up.
And then there's the tortured Batman to Booker's sunny Superman, Governor
Andrew Cuomo of New York, a Dark Knight of the noblest aspirations and the most suspect methods; I expect him to be up to no good and he keeps doing things I approve of, absolutely behind my back. Now, unable to persuade the state legislature to set up the health insurance exchange required under the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, he's just gone and
taken care of it himself. I'll take it!