One With a Desk?

The night of the election was a moment of triumph blended with loss. Ben won, but now the campaign, and the community it created were over. Even as I stood by Ben at the Sheraton negotiating the waves of adulation I was haunted by what was ending.

We started in the spring more than a dozen points down, erased that deficit, and then won decisively. Now, my role was to wave "Bon Voyage," as the SS McAdams sailed off to become a new county government - no small project for a burgeoning body politic destined to become, in about eight years, over half the size of the city of Chicago.

At that moment, for me, the ride was over. My friend Joel sensed my mixed emotions. He suggested I might apply for a county volunteer board, and I reviewed the options. One advisory board dealing with bicycles had my interest.

I'd wait for Ben to settle in and make my application.

Then someone mentioned a few positions in the new government that Ben would have to fill. Maybe I should apply. I took a flier and submitted my resume, innocent of any salary expectations - with no position specified. Out of the blue a call came from a woman named Debbie asking to schedule an interview.

What I remember about that interview with Nichole
Dunn is speculation about the cost of a child's college education. No doubt there was more, but that's all that I recall. I spent the hour petrified she'd ask something about mill levies.

A week later I was at work when my phone exploded in my pocket. It was Ben.

"I'm calling to offer you a job," he said.

"Yes," I replied.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'll take it." I blurted out.

He paused for a moment, thinking how to rearrange the script he'd designed for the call.

Ben proceeded with a description of the job title and salary level: the specifics of which hit my ear drum and then bounced off.

Finally he concluded, "Would there be a problem if we announced your acceptance?"

That sentence I heard.

"A problem? What kind of problem could there possibly be?"

I hung up and stood with a blank expression. Eventually a fellow crew member asked, "Who was that?"

"Our new mayor," I replied.

"What did he want?"

"He offered me a job," I said, incredulously.

"Really? One with a desk?"

"I think so."

With that I walked up to the office, sat down, and composed a two sentence e-mail giving my two weeks notice.

Something happened to me that happens to only .0000005% of the adult American population. At the age of 62 I began a new career more excited about tomorrow than at any other time in my wonderfully blessed life.