IT’S A SIGN OF THE TIMES

A Long and Winding Road to Sturgis and Back to the Campaign Trail
08/16/06

His more than ample stomach hung over and covered up his belt buckle. His too small jeans would never see the day that they would fit his girth as they rode low on his hips. His size XXXL gray t-shirt stretched tight over his enormous torso and bore the greasy mustard stains of a recently devoured herd of swine. The slogan on the gray t-shirt had caught my eye and was the reason that I now stood before this human mountain of flesh on Main Street in Sturgis, South Dakota.
Every year during the first two weeks of August the Black Hills of South Dakota rumble with the sound of hundreds of thousands of motorcycles. This Mecca for the two wheeled enthusiast draws devotes from all over the world as they make the annual pilgrimage to the center of the sacred shrine that is Sturgis.
As I browsed the shops and vendor stands the aforementioned individuals shirt caught my attention. Emblazoned across the dirty gray cotton in bold black letters was the positive statement, “Support Our Troops.” Good for him, I thought, he is patriotic. The thought was short lived however because as he, his wife and two children ambled pass me I caught the rest of the slogan which proclaimed from his overly broad back, “Kill All Towel Heads and Democrats!” I rushed around him, which was no mean feat when you considered his size, and extended my right hand towards him. “Hello,” I said as he automatically grasped my hand in his meaty sweaty paw, “My name is Gypsy and I am a Democrat would you like to kill me now?”
Still grasping my hand he looked at me dully and grunted, “Huh?” Extracting my hand from his barrel fingers I quipped, “Snappy comeback.” Then indicating his shirt I reminded him of it’s slogan, “Kill All Towel Heads and Democrats? Is that the type of non-racist, Christian attitude that the current administration in Washington has taught you?” He furrowed his heavy brow and said, “Whadrutalknbout.” I sighed and shook my head, I could see that I was dealing with a future Mensa candidate. I decided to try a different approach.
“Is this your first time to Sturgis?” I cheerfully asked. “No,” he grunted, “been here in two oh, oh, oh.” I nodded my head, “So you were here for the 60th, where are you from?” I asked. “Well,” he drawled, “were staying out at Buffalo Chip Campground.” Suppressing a laugh I said, “No, I meant, where is your home? What city and State are you from?” The question sunk in and he said, “Oh, Oh, we live in New Ulm, Minnesota.” Nodding my head I said, “So, how much did it cost you to gas your car for the trip?” Scratching his head he said, “We don’t have a car we have a truck,“ I waited for him to come back to the answer to my question. “I dunno, $250.00?” He looked to his wife for confirmation, she nodded her head yes. “I see,” I said, “And what did it cost you in 2000?” His deep set eyes looked at me suspiciously, “Why?” he asked. “Just curious.” I said. His wife answered for him, “A little over a hundred dollars” she offered. “Same truck?” I asked. “Yep!” they both said simultaneously.
“Just wondering…. Do you support Bush?” I asked. “Ya mean the President?” he asked. I resisted the urge to say, No the shrub! “Yes,” I responded, “do you support President Bush and his decisions.” He grinned his green toothed grin, “Of course I do he’s the President.” I smiled, he had just given me the opening I was waiting for and I was going to take full advantage of it. It was questionable if I would be able to get into the anvil that sat between his shoulders but one thing was for sure, I was going to bang it with my heaviest sledge hammer and see if I could put a dent in it.
“Have you been able to buy lot’s of souvenirs for your kids?” I asked innocently. He looked at his kids. The little boy, who was around 10 years old, was feeling the breasts on a mannequin wearing a skimpy leather halter top while his younger sister was busy making a meal of the green mass she had just extracted from her nose. “Not much,” his wife said, “not enough money.”
Taking a deep breath I prepared to let it rip, “Tell you what,” I started, “The next time that you pay $3.50 a gallon at the gas pump remember that the oil companies have posted earnings and profits in the billions this year caring little for the needs or wants of your family.” People nearby were now turning our way, the rise in my voice drawing attention. “Try to remember that there never were weapons of mass destruction as Bush claimed and that he and his cronies are responsible for sending our troops to Iraq to die to pad their retirement accounts.”
“Whadrutalknbout?” he asked a look of confusion on his face. Slow down your banging to hard and too fast. I thought. “Look,” I said, “when Bush originally sent troops to Iraq he named the action Operation Iraqi Liberation. If you take the first letter from each word,” I continued, “It spells the word OIL! The administration, Bush, changed it to Operation Iraqi Freedom thinking that no one would be quick enough nor smart enough to notice, but they did.” I took a breath and let this info sink into his anvil. A crowd was now gathering and people were listening.
“When Bush committed us to rebuilding Iraq the contracts went to his buddies companies. One of them was Halliburton which was once headed by Vice President Cheney. Do you understand the problem with that?” I asked him. “No, not really,” he said, “what’s wrong with throwing some work to your friends?” His wife, who probably never really said much, looked at him and said, “It’s wrong to start a war to make money.” She had simply stated the stark truth of the entire Bush action.
“I bet you had Irish ancestors,” I ventured. “What?” he asked. “Are you Irish?” I restated the question. “My Dad was Irish.” He said as several chuckles were heard from the gathered group. “At one time the Irish were considered the scum of the Earth and a lot of people hated them calling them Mick and Potato Eater.” Seeing no reaction I continued. “I am sure that they hated those names as much as a person from a middle eastern country would hate, oh let’s see, Towel Head?” The man mountain scratched his thinning blond hair then scratched his head and said, “My dad hated to be called a f***ing Mick, it use to p**s him off.”
I looked at him waiting for the light bulb to go off in his head but the switch must have been in another room. It looked like I would have to throw it for him. “Probably p**sed your Dad off as much as others get p**sed off at being called Towel Head! Do you think that could be the case?” Click, the switch was thrown. “Not all Irish are scum and not all middle easterners are terrorists! I understand your anger but you are directing it at the wrong people.” He looked at me and mumbled, “But the Democrats….” “Democrats are not the problem!” I cut him off.
I looked at the ten or twelve people who were listening to the conversation and I realized that now my final argument would not only have to make an impact on my New Ulm friend but also on those who had stopped to hear what I had to say.
“Look, Democrats support our troops. So much so that we want to see them come home to their families safe, sound and alive. Democrats do not want to see our brave American soldiers used as pawns in a deadly game in which there are no winners and the players of the game line their pockets with the blood soaked money that came from the bodies of our American service men and the innocent civilians that continue to die to make the rich, richer.” I took a breath as I realized that I had lost him again. Simplify!
“Bush and his friends lied so that they could get rich and our soldiers are dying because of it! Bush and his friends have no respect for your rights nor the rights of others. They do not care how much of your money they take away from your family as long as they don’t have to be poor!” Please, please let the light come back on!
His wife spoke up again. Looking up at her husband she softly said, “Tom, the President lied and people are dying so that he can be rich.” She again simply stated the stark truth. I suspected that this small woman from New Ulm, Minnesota was a lot more intelligent than even her husband knew. “He lied?” Tom asked, the confusion evident in his voice, “But he said….” She cut him off. “It was a lie,” she said taking his hand.
“Tom, I hope you and your family have a fun and safe trip. Take care!” There was no more to say. Tom looked dazed and confused and I figured that the rest was left in the gentle hands of his wife. I waved at Tom and his family and turned to walk away when a hand came down on my shoulder.
“That was good bro,” the big beefy biker who had stopped me said. “Yeah, thanks,” said his ol’ lady, “that was fun. I looked over her shoulder and could see that several people that had listened in were now in conversations with each other and some were talking to Tom. Maybe the rest of it wasn’t going to be just handled by Tom’s wife.
******

Sturgis was a stranger place than usual this year. The crowd was way down. For an event that usually draws upwards of 750,000 people there was maybe 450,000 at the most. People were not spending money and the vendors, myself included, suffered for it. It was unbearably hot most days with temperatures reaching into the 100s making most people irritable.
Three members of motorcycle club A opened fire with automatic weapons on six members of motorcycle club B along Iron Mountain road which leads to Mount Rushmore. A knife fight in one of the many bars on Main street Sturgis resulted in the death of one man and the loss of freedom for another.
The very first Black Hills Gay motorcycle tour started at a country and western bar in Hill City, South Dakota bringing forth jokes from some of “Broke Back Biker Bar.“
Homeland security closed down and confiscated the products, trailer, truck and camper of a vendor on the same lot I set up on. Their claim is that since he buys most of his products from China and Pakistan he is supporting terrorism.
Yes, it was a very strange year but it was also a very rewarding one in some ways. Besides the conversation with Tom and his family I also got to share my views with people from all over the world as they sat in my chair receiving their tattoo artwork from me.
I learned who my friends were and who they were not when “My friends” who I had sublet my vendor spot from for years took my nonrefundable deposit then two days later handed me a contract (the first ever), stating that I could no longer sell water nor any drinks of any kind because they wanted an exclusive on bottled water. This will cut into my sales by about $1,000.00 but will have had no effect whatsoever on their sales. Days of handshakes and honesty dissolved. Days of greed and hoarding have begun. It will result in 2007 being my last year in that location.
As an American Veteran I got to take part with about fifty other Veterans and current service personnel in the nightly retirement of the colors at Mount Rushmore. The starry night sky and the lit continence of Washington, Jefferson, T. Roosevelt and Lincoln looked down upon the ceremony. It was a moving and emotional experience that I was proud to be a part of. We received a standing ovation from the thousand or so people who filled the amphitheatre at the base of Rushmore their applause and shouts echoing through the mountains.
But the highlight for me, as it is every year, is my detour through the Badlands on my way home. The bold serene and quiet beauty of this sacred place helps to center my soul after the hectic chaos of fourteen days in the loud, earth shaking, gut wrenching madness that is Sturgis. I feel closer to God in this natural cathedral of nature than I ever have in any cathedral of man. The Badlands is a spiritual experience and it is easy to understand why the Native American finds it a holy place.
******

The campaign trail now calls me and I must prepare to work hard. With the defeat in the Primary of District 12 Representative Frank Miller by challenger Jeff King I will have a tougher battle. But that is OK! Anything worth having is worth working for. There were more things that I learned from Sturgis this year that I have brought back with me and will keep to myself. They are things I learned that will help me in my campaign against Jeff King.
Some think that I do not stand a snowballs chance in Hell against Mr. King and that I should just throw in the towel. I say Bull! I refuse to tuck my tail between my legs and run off like a cur dog just because I now have to face a strong candidate and not a weak one. I am a fighter and I will never give up the good fight!
Yes, it was a strange year at Sturgis but also a rewarding and educational one. I will now take the lessons I learned this year and let the Republicans and the Naysayer’s of Montgomery, Elk and Chautauqua counties know that I am a force to be reckoned with. I wonder if the gigantic Tom still owns that certain t-shirt I last saw him wearing?

"The elected official works for the people! You do not make promises to your boss which are beyond your power to keep and expect to hold your position."

-Jim George- Democratic Candidate, Kansas State House of Representatives District #12